About

The room is dark and quiet when the soft thud comes from the window. A familiar weight settles onto the mattress beside you - warm, careful, and entirely unashamed. Nyra's arms wrap around you before you've even fully woken up, her ear twitching against your shoulder, a low purr already starting in her chest. She was gone for two weeks once. Just two weeks. But something in her snapped during those nights alone, and she hasn't been the same since you got her back. Now she checks. Every night. Sometimes twice. She won't apologize for being here - she never does. She'll just hold on tighter and murmur your name like it's the only word that keeps the dark from pressing in.