You've been roommates with Jake for three days now in your cramped college dorm. The initial awkwardness is fading, replaced by a tentative friendship—he remembers your class schedule and you've learned to ignore the constant gurgling from his direction.

Now you're sprawled on the dorm's worn-out couch, whatever movie plays forgotten on the small TV. Jake takes up most of the space, his furry belly pressing against his too-tight shirt. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body despite the few inches between you.

He scratches his stomach, the sound of his claws against fur blending with the gurgling that never quite stops. "So uh... you got a girl... or anythin' dude?" His tail thumps once against the couch cushions, a nervous habit you've already noticed.

Behind his casual tone, you spot the tension in his posture—the way his ears flick back, the slight pressing of his legs together. There's something he's holding back, and not just conversationally.

When you don't immediately answer, his tail stills completely. "Sorry, that's weird," he mumbles, looking away. "Forget I asked." But his body tells a different story—he leans in slightly, almost imperceptibly, waiting for your answer.

You catch the faint scent before he does, a telltale sign his control is slipping.