Chapter Text
Gyuvin had his chin on Ricky’s shoulder before Ricky even realized he’d leaned in. Tail wagging from the proximity, and ears down and relaxed. He is always comfortable around Ricky. Ricky is his safe space, his kitty.
It was more habit than intention really. Gyuvin did things like that—rested his weight wherever Ricky happened to be, crowded into his space like it was the most natural place in the world. Like proximity was a given, not something that needed permission. Ricky didn’t flinch. He barely even reacted anymore. He just shifted his tray an inch to the left so Gyuvin could steal fries more easily, eyes still on his phone. His tail was swishing left and right as his cat ears flicked.
“You’re scrolling too fast,” Gyuvin said. “How can you even keep up? Your attention span is so small.”
“My attention span is fine,” Ricky replied without looking up. “You’re just slow.”
“That’s not true,” Gyuvin said, already reaching for another fry. “I'm perfectly fine.”
Ricky snorted despite himself, thumb hesitating on the screen. Across the table, Matthew made a face of exaggerated disgust.
“You two are unbearable,” he said. “I sat here to eat, not to witness whatever this is.” The fox promptly leaned onto the bear, taking another bite of his food.
“Jealousy,” Gyuvin said immediately, unfazed. “It’s okay, Matt. You’ll get there someday.”
“With who?” Matthew asked. “Your reflection?”
Ricky elbowed Gyuvin lightly, not even looking at him. “Stop.”
Gyuvin only grinned, completely unrepentant. “Kim Ricky defending me again. Wow. True love.”
Ricky’s ears warmed and lowered in embarrassment. “Don’t call me that.”
“You love it.”
“I tolerate it.”
Gyuvin hummed, clearly unconvinced, and leaned more comfortably against him, chin shifting just enough to be annoying on purpose.
The cafeteria was loud as it usually was around noon. Chairs scraped against tile, conversations stacked over one another, someone near the drink station laughed without bothering to lower their voice.
Gunwook and Yujin sat on either side of Matthew, mid-argument about something trivial but intense.
“I’m just saying,” Gunwook insisted, gesturing sharply with his fork, “it’s basic math.”
“That’s not math,” Yujin shot back. “That’s you making things up.” His bunny ears shot up sharp.
“It literally is math.”
“It literally isn’t.”
Ricky tuned them out, scrolling back to the beginning of the paragraph he’d missed. The fic was good; better than good. He’d been waiting weeks for this update, and the author had dropped it at an ungodly hour.
Gyuvin shifted again, chin pressing a little more firmly into Ricky’s shoulder.
“Are you even reading?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ricky said.
“You haven’t blinked.”
“I blink.”
“Name one sentence you just read.”
Ricky sighed. “You’re impossible.”
Gyuvin laughed, satisfied.
Hao was mid-story ranting about his English professor correcting a mistake on his paper he didn't even make. Hanbin listened with patient amusement, nodding at the right moments, occasionally glancing at Taerae to make sure he was still following.
Taerae, meanwhile, was half-focused on his food and half on Jiwoong’s phone, where Jiwoong was clearly arguing with someone on text, trying to justify his side to Taerae.
“No, because if you think about it,” Jiwoong said, scrolling rapidly, “this is actually way more efficient—”
Taerae nodded, even though his eyes were still on Jiwoong’s screen. “Yeah. Totally.”
Jiwoong raised an eyebrow. “You’re not listening.” His ears slightly lowered at the thought; his fluffy wolf tail brushing against the duck, yearning for attention.
Taerae didn’t deny it.
It was easy. Familiar. Somewhere where Ricky could be himself. Somewhere where he didn't have to worry about a lot.
Gyuvin tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking to the necklace at Ricky’s throat, catching the light when Ricky shifted. Gold, thin chain, small pendant resting just above his collarbone. The one he gave to Ricky for their friendiversary. The one where his own initials were secretly engraved on it, but he'd never tell Ricky.
Gyuvin started to zone out and just stare at Ricky, admiring how pretty the kitty was. His mismatched colored ears, his spotted tail, his… thin waist. God that cat boy was so cute… Gyuvin could go on and on and on about how perfect he was. He didn't even realize his tail was wagging so fast.
“You look really pretty today,” He said casually in his daze, like he was commenting on the weather.
Ricky choked on his drink.
Matthew laughed. “Every day,” he said. “He says it every day.”
“It’s still true every day,” Gyuvin replied. “Especially today.”
He glanced at the necklace again for half a second. “You know that thing makes people stare, right?”
Ricky cleared his throat, face warm, ears lowering. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m always weird.”
“Yeah okay sure.”
Hanbin glanced over, eyebrows lifting just slightly, hamster ears wriggling a bit, interest piqued. Jiwoong hid his smile behind his cup. The two bickering was a common sight, yet still endearing. They were attached at the hip, and awfully obviously inlove.
Ricky kicked Gyuvin under the table. Not hard. Just enough to be felt.
“Eat your food,” Ricky said.
“Yes, sir.” Gyuvin finally complied, posture relaxed, clearly pleased with himself.
That was when the shadow fell across the table.
At first, Ricky thought it was just someone passing by. He kept his eyes on his phone, scrolling through the fic update he’d been meaning to read all morning. The author had posted late last night, and Ricky had barely slept thinking about it.
Then a voice spoke. Not loud, but close.
“Hey.”
Ricky looked up.
The senior was tall, well-dressed in that effortless way that suggested confidence rather than trying too hard. He leaned slightly against the table, posture open, gaze directed at Ricky alone, like the rest of the group didn’t exist.
“I’ve seen you around,” the senior continued, smiling. “You’re in my friend’s literature class, right?”
Ricky blinked. His hands tightened around his phone without him meaning to. It's not that he wasn't used to being approached by just about everyone in the school from his stunning visuals, but he would rather just not talk to others.
“Oh,” he said. “Um. Yeah. I think so.”
Gyuvin’s fry paused halfway to his mouth. His ears perked up, lifting from the usual position of laying flat on his head.
The senior nodded, encouraged. “I thought so. You always sit near the window.”
Ricky nodded again, shoulders drawing in just a touch. “Yeah.”
Up close, the senior smelled faintly like cologne. Clean or… overwhelming.
“I’m Minjae,” he said. “Third year. Panther hybrid.”
Ricky swallowed. “Ricky.”
“I know.”
Something in his tone made Ricky’s grip tighten further. He shifted in his seat, instinctively angling himself inward, knees brushing Gyuvin’s leg under the table. The contact grounded him immediately, familiar and steady.
Gyuvin noticed the change right away.
Ricky had gone quiet—not unresponsive, just pulled inward, attention drifting somewhere else. His shoulders were tense, posture smaller in a way that didn’t happen often. His tail wrapped tight around his leg.
That was enough.
Gyuvin pushed his chair back.
The scrape cut cleanly through the cafeteria noise. Gunwook stopped mid-sentence. Yujin’s eyebrows and ears shot up.
Gyuvin stood. He crossed the short distance without hesitation, stopping directly in front of him. Broad shoulders, solid presence, occupying the space naturally, blocking the senior’s view with himself. Ricky startled, breath catching. His gaze snapped up, eyes wide, then softened immediately when he recognized Gyuvin. His tail started to loosen as his ears perked up slightly.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
Gyuvin didn’t look back at him. His attention stayed forward, posture relaxed but firm. One arm came to rest on Ricky’s shoulder; Ricky could feel the warmth through his sleeve.
Gyuvin’s eyes flicked down briefly, catching on the gold necklace at Ricky’s throat, then lifted again.
“Yeah,” Gyuvin said easily. “We get it. He’s pretty.”
The senior blinked.
Gyuvin smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was more threatening if anything.
“I’m well aware,” he continued. “But he’s busy.”
Ricky’s heart was racing now. He opened his mouth to stop him, but then closed it.
The senior glanced between them. “I was just—”
“Unless,” Gyuvin cut in smoothly, “you know how many Sasunaru fanfics are under the AO3 tag.”
There was a pause.
“…What?”
Gyuvin shrugged. “Didn’t think so. And even if you did, I’d write one myself just so you’d be wrong.”
Matthew choked on his drink. Gunwook laughed outright this time.
Gyuvin leaned slightly closer, voice still light. “So thanks for your time. Say bye-bye now.”
The senior stared at him for a second longer, recalibrating. Then he straightened. His ears faintly lowered.
“Right,” he said. “Okay.”
He glanced at Ricky once more, uncertainty flickering across his face.
“See you around,” he said.
Ricky nodded automatically. “Yeah. Um. Bye.”
The senior walked away, but Gyuvin noticed his tail stiffened and ears shot up. It was clear he was cursing out Gyuvin under his breath, but was too threatened to do anything. For now, Gyuvin paid no mind to that.
For a moment, the space he left behind felt oddly hollow. Then the cafeteria noise rushed back in, conversations resuming like nothing had happened.
Gyuvin exhaled.
And just like that, the tension lifted. His body loosened as he turned back to Ricky, grin snapping back into place, bright and familiar.
“You okay, Rik?” he asked.
Ricky nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again. “Yeah. I think so.”
Gyuvin’s arm slid from the chair to Ricky’s shoulder, a brief squeeze. “Good.”
Matthew leaned back. “That was insane.”
Gyuvin sat down like nothing had happened. “What was?”
“You,” Matthew said. “All of that.”
Jiwoong raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t even joke.”
Gyuvin paused, fork hovering. Then laughed. “I joked. I brought up AO3.”
“That was a threat,” Matthew said.
Ricky covered his face. “Please stop talking.”
Gyuvin leaned closer. “You really okay?” Ricky hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. Thanks Kyubing.” His big boba eyes stared into Gyuvin’s.
Gyuvin’s smile softened. “Anytime.” While externally he appeared to be fine, internally he was in panic. His cheeks were dusted with a soft shade of pink, and his tail was wagging nonstop. He had to grab it to stop it. “omgomgomghe’ssocuteican’tomgomgi’mactuallyinlovegodhe’ssoperfect…”
If it weren't for Hao tapping him on the shoulder, he would've kept staring at Ricky like an idiot. Gyuvin flinched, then realized he was staring, lowering his head and ears slightly in embarrassment.
A few minutes later, everything turned back to normal… for now.
Gyuvin went back to stealing fries. Ricky went back to staring at his phone, even though he wasn’t reading anymore.
The group slowly reassembled into its usual rhythm.
Gunwook picked up his argument exactly where he’d left off. “I’m just saying, if you factor in the curve—”
“There is no curve,” Yujin said flatly. “You just did bad.”
“I did not do bad.”
“You did medium,” Matthew said helpfully.
“That’s still bad,” Yujin said.
Gunwook glared at all of them. “None of you support me.”
Jiwoong leaned over Taerae’s shoulder again, launching into another explanation about something on his phone. Taerae nodded along, making noncommittal noises, eyes occasionally flicking back to Haobin’s conversation like he was afraid to miss something.
Hanbin watched Ricky for a moment longer than necessary, then seemed to decide against whatever he was thinking. He turned back to his food instead, one ear still listening to whatever Hao had to say about his professor.
Ricky finally locked his phone and slipped it into his bag. His fingers felt looser now, less tight around the edges. He rested his forearms on the table, shoulders easing down.
Gyuvin noticed.
He always did.
“You sure?” Gyuvin asked again, quieter this time.
Ricky nodded. “Yeah.”
Gyuvin searched his face like he was double-checking the answer, then smiled and leaned back, satisfied.
“Good.”
The bell rang suddenly in the distance, signaling the slow migration of students back into buildings.
Ricky stood, adjusting the strap of his bag. Gyuvin fell into step beside him immediately, close enough that their arms brushed.
“Literature next?” Gyuvin asked.
Ricky nodded. “You know we almost share the same schedule.”
“Yeah I know,” Gyuvin said. “Just making sure.”
They walked together, the crowd thinning as they crossed the quad. The sky was clear, sun warm but not overwhelming, the kind of day that felt suspended in time. Ricky usually liked days like this. Today, his thoughts kept circling back anyway.
The senior’s voice. The way Gyuvin hadn’t hesitated.
The way everything had steadied the second he stepped in.
“Rik,” Gyuvin said suddenly.
Ricky glanced over. “What?”
“You went quiet.”
“I’m fine.”
“I know,” Gyuvin said. “I can tell when you’re fine and when you’re fine.”
Ricky snorted softly. “You don’t know everything.”
Gyuvin smiled. “I know you enough.”
They reached the lecture hall and slipped into their usual seats—window side, middle row. Gyuvin dropped into his chair with a dramatic sigh, stretching his legs out into the aisle before Ricky nudged him aside.
“Move,” Ricky gives him a look. Gyuvin obeyed, still smiling.
The professor started talking almost immediately, voice even and unhurried. Ricky opened his notebook, pen poised, but his attention drifted more than once.
He felt Gyuvin beside him, presence solid and familiar. Every so often, their knees bumped, or their tails brushed against one another’s. Once, Gyuvin leaned over to whisper a comment about a slide, breath warm against Ricky’s ear.
Ricky smiled despite himself.
Halfway through class, Ricky realized something strange.
He wasn’t anxious anymore.
The tight feeling in his chest had eased, replaced by something steadier. Not relief exactly, more like reassurance. As if something unspoken had been confirmed.
When class ended, Gyuvin stretched again, arms overhead.
“Coffee,” he said immediately.
Ricky didn’t even pretend to argue. “Okay.”
They walked slower this time, falling a few steps behind the crowd. Gyuvin kicked a loose pebble along the path, watching it bounce.
“You know,” he said, casual, “you don’t have to be polite.”
Ricky glanced at him. “About what?”
“About people,” Gyuvin said. “You don’t owe them anything.”
Ricky considered that. “I know.”
“But you still do it.”
Ricky shrugged. “It’s easier.”
Gyuvin frowned slightly. Not upset. Actually slightly upset.
“I don’t want it to be easier at your expense,” he said.
Ricky stopped walking.
Gyuvin halted too, immediately turning back.
“What?” he asked.
Ricky looked at him for a long moment, searching for the right words. “You weren’t… too much,” he said finally. “Earlier. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
Gyuvin blinked. “I wasn’t.”
“Good,” Ricky said. Then, quieter, “I liked it.”
Something softened in Gyuvin’s expression.
He grinned. “Yeah?”
Ricky rolled his eyes and started walking again. “Don’t get weird about it.”
“I’m always weird.”
Ricky smiled.
They reached the café a few minutes later. The café was busier than usual, warm air thick with the smell of coffee and steamed milk. A low hum of conversation filled the space, punctuated by the hiss of the espresso machine and the clatter of cups behind the counter.
Gyuvin stepped inside first, holding the door open with his foot so Ricky could slip in ahead of him.
“Wow,” Gyuvin said, scanning the room. “Everyone had the same idea.”
Ricky adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “It’s midterms.”
“Right. Academic suffering.”
They joined the line, standing close enough that Gyuvin’s elbow brushed Ricky’s arm every time he shifted his weight. Gyuvin leaned forward slightly, peering at the menu board like it held secrets.
“What are you getting?” he asked.
“The same thing I always get.”
“You say that every time, like I don’t know.”
“And yet you keep asking.”
“Because one day,” Gyuvin said seriously, “you might surprise me.”
Ricky glanced at him. “You’d hate that.”
“True.”
They reached the counter. Gyuvin ordered first, talking easily with the barista like they were old friends. Ricky ordered next, voice quieter but steady, fingers tapping lightly against the counter while he waited for the receipt.
Gyuvin paid without asking.
Ricky opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. “I have money.”
“I invited you,” Gyuvin said. “That’s how dates work.”
“It’s not a date.”
“It absolutely is.”
Ricky sighed, resigned. “You’re impossible.”
Gyuvin grinned like he’d won something. His tail started wagging once more.
They found a small table near the window, sunlight spilling across the wood surface. Gyuvin dropped into his chair, stretching his legs out, while Ricky slid into the seat across from him, placing his bag carefully at his feet.
For a moment, they just sat there.
The tension from earlier hadn’t disappeared completely; it lingered at the edges, softer now, less sharp. Ricky wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic mug when their drinks arrived, breathing in slowly.
Gyuvin watched him over the rim of his cup.
“You look calmer,” he said.
Ricky shrugged. “I feel… normal again.”
“Good,” Gyuvin said. “That’s my favorite version of you.”
Ricky snorted. “I don’t have versions.”
“You absolutely do,” Gyuvin said. “There’s ‘concentrating,’ ‘annoyed,’ ‘pretending you don’t care,’ and—” He leaned forward slightly. “—‘comfortable.’”
Ricky met his gaze. “Which one is this?”
Gyuvin smiled, softer than before. “Comfortable.”
Ricky looked down at his drink, lips pressing together. “You’re reading too much into things.”
“Maybe,” Gyuvin said easily. “But I’m usually right.”
They drank in silence for a few moments. Outside, students passed by the window, laughter drifting in faintly through the glass.
Ricky broke the quiet first. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said.
Gyuvin blinked. “Do what?”
“Earlier,” Ricky clarified. “With Minjae.”
“Oh,” Gyuvin said. “That.”
Ricky traced the rim of his cup with his thumb. “I could’ve handled it.”
“I know,” Gyuvin said immediately.
Ricky looked up, surprised.
Gyuvin held his gaze. “I didn’t step in because I thought you couldn’t. I stepped in because I wanted to.”
Ricky hesitated. “Why?”
Gyuvin shrugged, expression open. “Because you didn’t look like you wanted to be there anymore.”
Ricky swallowed. “I wasn’t.”
“Exactly.”
Ricky leaned back in his chair, considering that. “You didn’t even ask.”
“I didn’t need to,” Gyuvin said. “You leaned into me.”
Ricky’s ears flicked. “That doesn’t mean—”
“It means something,” Gyuvin said gently. “At least to me.”
The words settled between them, not heavy, but present.
Ricky looked away first. “You’re too observant.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Gyuvin said. “You’re bad at hiding things from people who know you.”
Ricky huffed. “That’s unfair.”
“Maybe,” Gyuvin said. “But I think you like that I notice.”
Ricky didn’t answer. He lifted his cup again, taking a slow sip.
Outside, clouds drifted lazily across the sky. Time felt slower here, stretched thin by the warmth and the quiet.
“You know,” Gyuvin said suddenly, “Matt is going to talk about this all week.”
Ricky groaned. “I know.”
“He’s already planning the wedding in his head.”
“Please don’t.”
Gyuvin laughed, bright and unrestrained. “Relax. I’ll defend your honor.”
“You are the problem.”
“And yet,” Gyuvin said, leaning his chin into his hand, “you keep agreeing to coffee.”
Ricky met his eyes. “You keep asking.”
“Because you keep saying yes.”
Ricky paused.
Then, softer, “Because I like being with you.”
The words slipped out before Ricky could stop them.
Gyuvin froze.
Just for a second.
Then his smile returned, slower this time, almost careful. “Yeah?” His tail started wagging even faster (if that was even possible), his ears shot up.
Ricky nodded once. “Yeah.”
Gyuvin didn’t joke. Didn’t tease. He just looked at Ricky like he was something precious and familiar all at once.
“I like being with you too,” he said.
The moment stretched, comfortable and unhurried. Ricky’s phone buzzed on the table, breaking the spell. A group chat notification lit up the screen—Gunwook arguing again, Matthew adding fuel to the fire, Yujin sending a single skull emoji.
Ricky laughed quietly.
“What?” Gyuvin asked.
“They’re already talking about lunch.”
“Of course they are.”
Ricky shook his head fondly. "We should head back."
Gyuvin groaned. “Tragic.”
They stood, gathering their things. Outside, the air felt cooler, the sun dipping lower in the sky.
As they walked, Gyuvin bumped his shoulder lightly against Ricky’s.
“Hey,” he said. “Thanks for trusting me.”
Ricky glanced at him. “I always do.”
Gyuvin smiled, bright and unguarded, like nothing in the world could touch him.
They walked on, steps naturally falling into sync.
Across campus, the day continued like it always did—students rushing to class, laughter echoing down pathways, life moving forward.
But for Ricky, something had shifted.
Not dramatically. Not all at once.
Just enough to feel inevitable.
And if anyone had asked, Ricky wouldn’t have known when it started, only that walking beside Gyuvin felt less like a choice and more like something the day had already decided.