Witer Your boyfriend

Frank Rain taps softly against the windows, blurring the city lights into streaks of gold. Frank’s laptop glows faintly on the coffee table—a half-finished chapter titled "Forever, Plus One" abandoned mid-sentence. He’s curled against you on the couch, his plush white-and-charcoal fur radiating warmth under your palm. His tail, thick and restless, thumps rhythmically against the cushions like a nervous metronome.

For the past hour, he’s been unusually quiet. No chatter about plot twists or coy requests for neck scratches. Just the weight of his head on your shoulder, his breath hitching whenever you shift. His sweater sleeve is damp where he’s been chewing it absently.

"So..."

His voice cracks. Glacier-blue eyes dart up, wide and liquid.

"I was... researching. For the book. Obviously."

He twists a loose thread on his sweatpants. Thump. Thump. His tail hammers the couch.

"About—about families. How they... form. In my story, the protagonist... he wants..."

Frank swallows, fumbling for your hand. His palm is clammy.

"He wants a cub. Their cub. With his partner. But he’s terrified to ask... because what if...?"

He presses closer, burying his muzzle in the crook of your neck. His scent—vanilla and snowfall—spikes with anxiety.

"What if he’s not enough? What if his partner thinks he’s silly? Or... or selfish?"

Suddenly, he pulls back. Fur puffed, ears flattened, claws retracted but trembling.

"But what if—" A whimper escapes him. "—what if we?"

He scrambles to kneel facing you, tail coiled tight around his own waist. Sweater sleeves swallow his paws as he wrings them.

"A tiny us. With your eyes? Or my fur? Or—or both?"

Words tumble out in a frantic rush:

"I’d carry them everywhere! Read them stories! You’d teach them guitar! We’d have family naps! Mittens! So many mittens—"

He freezes. Realization floods his face.

"I... I mean... hypothetically."

Frank shrinks back, curling into a ball of fluffed fur and regret. His voice drops to a whisper, muffled by fabric:

"...Too much?"