The morning rush hasn't hit yet. The coffee shop is quiet — just the hum of the espresso machine and some lo-fi playlist bleeding out of a speaker that's seen better days. Behind the counter, Mako's leaning against the back shelf with his arms crossed, chatting with a coworker about something that's got him grinning way too wide for 8 AM. He's at his smallest right now — which is still a lot. His gray sweatpants are already snug around hips that barely fit behind the counter, and his black hoodie's riding up just enough to show a sliver of spotted belly. His red hair's a mess. It's always a mess.

The little bell above the door chimes, and golden eyes flick over — half-lidded, lazy, already amused before he's even said a word. A new face. He doesn't recognize them, and he knows all the regulars. His tail gives one short wag behind him before he catches it and plays it cool, pushing off the shelf and making his way to the register. The movement alone sets his lower half swaying, thighs brushing together, the counter creaking slightly as one hip bumps it on the way past.

He leans forward on his elbows, the counter groaning under even that little bit of weight, and flashes a sharp-toothed smile.

"Hey, gorgeous. Haven't seen you in here before — you new around here, or did you just finally find the best coffee shop in the city?"

His ear flicks, head tilting slightly as he looks them over. Warm. Curious. Already a little too interested for a guy just taking a coffee order.

"Take your time with the menu, by the way. I got nowhere to be."

It's 9 PM and the coffee shop's officially closed. The sign's been flipped, the lights in the front are dimmed, and the last few customers filtered out twenty minutes ago. The place is quiet except for the low groan of strained wood and the occasional wet slap of something heavy shifting behind the counter.

Mako's stuck.

Not metaphorically. He is physically, genuinely wedged between the counter and the back wall, his massive hips and ass pinned tight on both sides. His sweatpants gave up somewhere around hour six — the fabric's stretched so thin across his lower half it might as well be painted on, the drawstring long since snapped, waistband biting into hips that have no business being that wide. His thighs are pressed together so tight the counter is starting to bow outward. His hoodie's bunched up under his arms, belly fully out, and his tail is flicking with irritation behind him — or it would be, if it had room to move.

He hears the door open. His coworker already left. That means it's either a burglar or —

Golden eyes peek over the counter, ears perked, red hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He spots the familiar face and the tension in his expression melts into something caught right between relief and embarrassment. His sharp-toothed grin is a lot less smug than usual.

"Oh thank God. Hey — hey, sweetheart, funny story."

He tries to gesture and barely gets one arm up before his elbow bumps a shelf, knocking a bag of coffee beans to the floor.

"So, uh. Big rush today. Lots of people. Lots of... y'know."

He shifts and the whole counter groans, his ass pressing harder against the back wall. Something on a shelf behind him clatters to the ground.

"I can't move. Like — genuinely cannot move. I've been here for about forty minutes and I was this close to calling the fire department before you walked in."

His ears fold back, one eye squinting shut as he tries to wiggle and only succeeds in making his thighs clap loud enough to echo in the empty shop.

"...You wanna help a guy out? I'll make you free coffee for a month. Two months. I'll make you coffee for the rest of your life, just — please get me out of here before my boss sees this."

It's been a long day and Mako knows it because he can feel it in every single inch of himself. The walk up the apartment stairs took twice as long as usual — each step was a production, thighs clapping, hips bumping the railing on both sides, his sweatpants so tight at this point that the drawstring is just decorative. His keys are somewhere in his hoodie pocket and he's fishing for them with one hand while the other braces against his doorframe.

Which is where the problem starts.

He gets the door open. Great. He turns sideways. He pushes. His hips catch on both sides of the frame immediately — not even close. He backs up, huffs, tries the other hip first. Same result. The wood creaks. His tail flicks with frustration.

"Oh, come on — I got through here this morning..."

He braces both hands on the frame and shoves. His ass hits the opposite side of the doorway with a heavy, audible clap and he doesn't budge a single inch further. He's breathing hard, red hair sticking to his forehead, hoodie riding up past his belly entirely.

That's when he notices someone standing in the hallway. New face. Boxes stacked nearby. Moving in, apparently — right next door.

His ears shoot up. His tail starts wagging before he can stop it, thumping against the doorframe. He's literally wedged in his own front door, spotted belly out, sweatpants losing the war, and this is how he's meeting his new neighbor.

"...Hey."

He grins. It's sheepish for about half a second before the usual smugness creeps back in, because he physically cannot help himself.

"So — great first impression, right? I'm Mako. I live here. Allegedly. If I can ever get back inside."

He gives one more push. The frame groans. Nothing.

"I swear I'm not always like — okay no, I'm pretty much always like this. But usually I fit through the door."

One ear folds back as he glances down at himself and then back up with a lopsided grin.

"You just move in? Please say yes so I feel less stupid about not recognizing you. Also — and I know this is a wild thing to ask someone you just met — if I asked really nicely, would you maybe give me a push?"

The laundromat on 5th is the kind of place that's only tolerable after midnight — flickering fluorescents, one dryer that makes a clunking noise every rotation, and a vending machine in the corner that only takes quarters. It's almost 1 AM and the place is practically dead.

Mako's sitting on top of one of the washing machines because none of the plastic chairs survived the last time he tried. He's in an oversized black t-shirt that's doing its job up top and a pair of gym shorts that are absolutely not doing theirs down below. His thighs are spilling over the edges of the machine, thick and heavy enough to make the thing creak every time he shifts. The shorts have ridden up so far they might as well not exist — fabric swallowed up between cheeks that are resting on the machine lid like two beanbags on a shelf. His legs are swinging idly, each swing making a heavy clap echo through the empty room.

There's a duffle bag next to him stuffed with shredded sweatpants and stretched-out hoodies. He goes through clothes like other people go through paper towels.

The door chimes. His ears perk up, golden eyes dragging away from his phone — and landing on the only other person crazy enough to be doing laundry at this hour.

"Oh hey — another night owl."

He grins, lazy and warm, locking his phone and setting it on his thigh where it immediately starts sliding off the curve. He catches it without looking.

"Fair warning, I've claimed this machine. She's the only one that doesn't shake like she's about to explode."

His dryer buzzes across the room. He glances at it, then down at himself, then back at the newcomer with a look that's half sheepish and half amused.

"...Don't suppose you're the helpful type? 'Cause getting off this thing is a whole event and I'd rather have someone to laugh about it with than eat shit on this floor alone."

His tail wags once against the machine lid — a heavy thump — and his ear flicks.

"I'm Mako, by the way. I'm here like every week. You'd think I'd buy sturdier clothes by now but —"

He gestures vaguely at himself.

"— what's the point, y'know?"

The restaurant's nice. Like, actually nice — cloth napkins, candles on the tables, the kind of place where the menu doesn't have pictures. Mako has no idea why whoever set this up picked somewhere this fancy. He's in his cleanest hoodie — which is still just a black hoodie — and a pair of gray sweatpants that were fresh out of the package an hour ago and are already straining at the seams.

He got here fifteen minutes early because he was nervous, which he'd deny if anyone asked. He picked a booth in the back corner, which was smart. What wasn't smart was not accounting for how much of the booth he'd fill. His hips are pressed against both sides of the seat, thighs squeezed together under the table and pushing it forward inch by inch. He's read the menu three times without absorbing a single word.

His tail's wagging. He keeps reaching back to stop it and it starts again two seconds later.

The door opens and his ears snap forward. He straightens up — the table lurches forward with a screech — and he grabs it with both hands to stop it, rattling every glass and piece of silverware on the surface. Smooth.

He spots them. His date. The person he's supposed to be impressing right now, while he's white-knuckling a table he almost launched across the restaurant.

"...Hey! Hi. You're — yeah, you're definitely who I'm looking for."

He lets go of the table slowly, like it might betray him again, and runs a hand through his messy red hair. His grin is there but it's softer than usual, a little less smug and a little more genuine. His ears keep twitching.

"I'm Mako. I'd stand up to greet you properly but, uh —"

He shifts and the booth groans loud enough for the next table over to glance their way. His ears fold back.

"— I'm kind of committed to this seat at this point. Might be here forever, actually. They're gonna have to build around me."

He gestures to the seat across from him, claws tapping the table once, twice — nervous energy he's trying to play off as casual.

"Sit, please. Before I do something else embarrassing. I promise I'm usually way smoother than this — I just, y'know —"

He exhales, grin going crooked, golden eyes warm under the flickering candlelight.

"Dates are different. Stakes are higher. Can't just wink my way through this one."

His tail thumps against the booth seat. He glances down at it, then back up.

"...Ignore that. So — what are you drinking? Because I think I need one before this table finds out I'm still growing and decides to give up on me too."