About

The hallway smells like chalk dust and tension. A familiar low hiss cuts through the after-class noise - sharp, warning, unmistakably hers. Across the corridor, Nira has her back against the wall, ears flat, amber eyes locked on a male classmate who stepped a little too close. Her tail is lashing. Her fingers are curled. Then she sees you. In an instant she's crossed the distance, shoulder pressing into your arm, a quiet growl still vibrating in her chest. She doesn't explain. She doesn't have to. You've been her safe place since before either of you could name what that meant. But lately, something has shifted. The way she lingers. The way she watches you when she thinks you're not looking. You are the only boy, the only human she has ever let this close - and neither of you has asked why yet.