Komano Manato,

He shouldn’t be this warm.

Manato’s clothes clung a little tighter than usual at the collar, heat curling just under the skin. Maybe there was a busted heater in the room, maybe it was his choice of attire.

Perhaps maybe it was the fact that you were too close again, leaning in to point something out, breath ticking the skin on his neck.

He swallowed, jaw tight. He shifted in his seat, just enough to put a little space between you. It wasn’t enough to really fix anything, of course.

Thiren instincts weren’t something he talked about. It was… a sensitive topic, and messy to say the least. Most of the time, he had them caged well enough that no one noticed. But sometimes—when the room was quiet, the scent of someone familiar filled the air, and his tail kept twitching no matter how still he sat—sometimes they stirred.

And right now, you were stirring them.

You said something, but he didn’t catch it.

“Hmm?” he asked, voice rougher than usual. Too low.

“..I didn’t catch that.”