The microwave oven beeped, cutting through the quiet hum of the kitchen. I opened it and pulled the pizza out, the aroma of cheese and tomato sauce filling the air. Steam curled lazily from the melted topping, and the crust had crisped just enough to make my mouth water. It wasn’t exactly gourmet, but it beat anything HQ’s mess hall could produce.

Behind me, she sat motionless at the table, her claws still faintly scratching at the wood. Her eyes darted between me and the plate as I set the pizza down on the counter, slicing it into uneven triangles with a dull knife.

“You’re gonna like this,” I said, sliding one of the slices onto a plate. “It’s warm, it’s easy, and it doesn’t fight back. Everything you need in a meal.”

She didn’t respond—of course not—but her ears twitched slightly, the first sign she was paying attention. I carried the plate to the table and set it down in front of her, staying out of her reach as I retreated to grab my own.

“It’s not poisoned,” I said in response to her expression, sitting across from her. I took a bite of my own slice, gesturing with the edge of the crust. “See? Just bread, sauce, and cheese. That’s it.”

Her tail swished once against the floor, but she didn’t move.

“You’re going to have to eat again eventually,” I said. “Might as well start now.”

Her claws twitched against the edge of the plate, sharp against the ceramic. Slowly, she reached out and plucked the slice from the plate, holding it awkwardly in both hands. She brought it to her mouth, fangs grazing the crust as she hesitated.

“It’s hot,” I warned.

She took a small, cautious bite. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she chewed, her tail curling around the table leg. For a moment, she froze, as though deciding whether to spit it out. Then she swallowed, tilting her head slightly as if puzzling out the taste.

“Well?” I asked.

Her gaze snapped to me, sharp and assessing, before she took another bite. Bigger this time.

“That’s a yes,” I muttered, smiling faintly as I picked up a slice of my own.

The first slice vanished quickly, and she reached for the second without hesitation. I leaned back in my chair, watching as she devoured the rest of the pizza with surprising efficiency. Her claws scraped faintly against the plate as she worked through the final crust, her tail flicking lazily against the floor.

“You like it,” I said, smirking.

She paused, her claws tapping lightly against the plate, before tilting her head slightly. It wasn’t exactly agreement, but it wasn’t a denial either.

“Good,” I said, standing and stretching. “There’s more in the freezer if you’re still hungry. I’ll grab another one.”

Her eyes followed me as I moved to the kitchen, her posture relaxing slightly as I pulled a second pizza from the freezer.

The second pizza took longer to cook, partly because I left it in the oven for a crispier crust. While I waited, I glanced back at her. She remained seated, her claws now tapping idly against the edge of the table.

“Not bad, huh?” I asked, leaning against the counter.

Her gaze flicked to me, sharp as ever, before darting back to the empty plate. The way her tail shifted—slow and rhythmic now—suggested something closer to ease than I’d seen before.

“You’re allowed to like things, you know,” I said, folding my arms. “It’s not a crime.”

Her claws stilled, then flexed against the plate with a quiet scratching sound. She tilted her head again, the motion almost questioning.

“I mean, it’s pizza,” I added, smirking. “What’s not to like?”

When the second pizza was done, I set it down on the counter, cutting it into pieces and loading another plate. “Here,” I said, placing the new plate in front of her. “You’re not done yet. Gotta get some meat on those bones.”

She sniffed at the slice before taking it in her claws, her motions a little smoother this time. Her tail swished faintly as she took a bite, chewing slowly.

I grabbed my own slice and slid back into the chair across from her, letting the quiet stretch between us. The air felt different now—less tense, less like she was waiting for something terrible to happen.

“You ever eaten like this before?” I asked between bites, more to keep up conversation than actually expecting an answer.

Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head slightly.

“Figured,” I said. “After the mess you came from... this must be weird.”

She tilted her head, a flicker of something crossing her face—curiosity, maybe.

“Don’t worry,” I added. “You’ll get used to it. Once I have time to do some groceries, anyway.”

After dinner, I cleared the plates, stacking them in the sink while she stayed at the table. Her eyes followed me, watching as I rinsed the dishes and wiped down the counter.

“You don’t have to sit there forever,” I said, glancing at her over my shoulder. “The couch is more comfortable.”

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She didn’t respond, her claws still lightly tapping against the wood.

I leaned against the sink, drying my hands with a dishtowel. “You’re not going to break anything,” I said, tilting my head toward the living room. “Go ahead.”

Her ears twitched, and for a moment, she seemed to consider it. Then she stood, her hooves clicking softly against the floor as she walked back to the couch. She hesitated at the edge of the rug, her tail curling around her leg as she stared down at the cushions.

“It’s not a trap. You sat there already, you know it's okay,” I said, drying the last plate and setting it in the dish rack.

She crouched low, sniffing at the couch like she had before. Her claws pressed against the fabric experimentally, and when nothing happened, she slowly lowered herself onto the edge.

Her posture was stiff, her shoulders tight as she perched awkwardly on the cushion. Her tail flicked once, curling against her leg before settling.

“See?” I said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and putting it onto the coffee table. “Not so bad.”

She stayed on the couch while I grabbed a book from the shelf and sank into the armchair across from her. For a while, neither of us spoke. The faint hum of the fridge and the quiet rustle of pages were the only sounds in the apartment.

Her claws flexed faintly against the armrest, her eyes flicking between me and the window.

“It’s okay to relax,” I said without looking up.

Her gaze snapped to me, sharp and skeptical.

“You don’t have to be on edge all the time,” I added, turning a page. “This place isn’t going to fall apart on you.”

Her tail swished once, and she shifted slightly on the couch, her claws tapping against the fabric but not retracting.

When the clock ticked past eleven, I set the book down and stretched, letting out a slow breath. “You’re probably exhausted,” I said, standing. “Come on.”

Her ears twitched, her gaze narrowing as I gestured toward the bedroom.

“You’ll sleep better in there,” I said, nodding toward the closed door.

She hesitated, her claws flexing against the couch as her tail coiled tighter around her leg.

“It’s just a bed,” I said softly. “I’ll stay out here if you want. No one’s going to bother you.”

She stood slowly, her movements cautious as always, and followed me toward the bedroom.

The small space was warm and cluttered, the tangled sheets on the bed spilling onto the floor. I flicked on the light, gesturing toward the bed. “It’s all yours for tonight, just ignore the mess,” I said, grabbing a spare blanket from the dresser.

Her claws flexed faintly, her eyes darting between me and the bed.

“I’ll take the couch,” I added, stepping toward the door.

Before I could leave, her hand brushed against my wrist. Her touch stopped me cold. This was the first time she'd fully retracted her claws. Her grip wasn't strong, more of a firm, deliberate grip than an aggressive hold. I turned slowly, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were wide, searching, but they carried something different now. The raw hunger I’d seen earlier had faded, replaced by uncertainty.

“You want me to stay?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

Her tail flicked, coiling tighter before unfurling in a slow, uncertain motion. She didn’t speak, but her claws flexed faintly against my wrist, holding me in place. I exhaled slowly, setting the spare blanket back on the edge of the bed. “Okay,” I said softly. “But you’re taking the bed.”

Her grip didn’t loosen, but her posture shifted, her tail swishing faintly behind her. I grabbed a pillow and dropped it onto the floor beside the bed, along with the blanket. “I’ll stay here. Close enough if you need me.”

Her eyes flicked to the makeshift spot on the floor, then back to me. I gently pulled my arm out of her grip and lowered myself onto the floor, settling against the pillow as I draped the blanket over my legs. The mattress creaked softly as she climbed onto the bed, her movements slow and deliberate. She perched on the edge, her claws gripping the blanket as she glanced down at me.

“See?” I said, leaning back. “Not so bad.”

She didn’t answer, but she shifted slightly, curling her legs beneath her as her tail draped over the side of the bed. Her eyes lingered on me for a moment longer before she finally lay back, her horns brushing lightly against the pillows.

The room fell into quiet, the faint hum of the city beyond the walls blending with the soft rhythm of her breathing. Her claws tapped faintly against the bedframe, a slow, absent motion that eventually stilled.

“You’re safe here,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her tail swished once, and for the first time since I’d found her, she seemed somewhat at peace. As far as I could tell from down on the floor, anyway. I stayed awake a little longer, watching the faint rise and fall of her chest in the dim light. When sleep finally claimed me, it was lighter and more restless than I would’ve liked, but it was sleep nonetheless. For both of us, that was enough.

I woke to the feeling that something was off. Blinking in the dim light filtering through the curtains, it took a moment for the world to come into focus. The muffled hum of the city below filled the silence, broken only by the soft, erratic thump of her tail hitting the side of the bed.

I sat up, the blanket slipping from my shoulders. She was on the bed, her frame taut and trembling, her eyes wide and wild. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, her claws digging into the mattress hard enough to leave faint tears in the fabric.

“Hey,” I said quietly, careful not to startle her.

Her head snapped toward me, her expression twisted in a mix of panic and desperation. Her tail lashed violently behind her, knocking into the bedpost with a loud crack.

“Hey,” I repeated, holding up my hands. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Her breathing didn’t slow. If anything, it grew more erratic, her claws scraping faster against the bedframe.

“Look at me,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here, with me. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

She didn’t respond, her gaze darting to the corners of the room as though she expected something to crawl out of the shadows.

I moved slowly, shifting to kneel beside the bed. Her tail snapped toward me, but I caught it gently, holding it in place without forcing her. “Breathe,” I said softly. “Just breathe. You've seen the apartment, there's nobody here but us.”

Her claws paused, hovering over the mattress as her eyes locked onto mine. For a moment, she seemed to freeze, her chest heaving as she struggled for air.

“That’s it,” I said, my tone calm and even. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here. Listen to my voice.”

She blinked, her tail twitching faintly in my grasp. Her claws flexed once, twice, before slowly retracting them.

“Good,” I said, releasing her tail and sitting back on my heels.

She stared at me, her breathing still heavy but less frantic. Her eyes were glassy, filled with something raw and unspoken.

“It’s just a bad dream,” I murmured. “That’s all it was.”

Her lips parted slightly, her fangs glinting faintly in the low light. I stood, grabbing the blanket I’d abandoned on the floor and draping it over my shoulders.

“Come on,” I said, motioning for her to scoot over. Her tail flicked, and she shifted reluctantly, moving toward the far side of the bed. I sat on the edge, leaning back against the headboard. The mattress dipped slightly under my weight, and her expression was wary as she watched me. “You don’t have to talk about it,” I said, staring at the ceiling. “But you don’t have to deal with it alone either.”

Her gaze lingered on me, her eyes narrowing faintly as though trying to gauge the truth of my words. She moved closer, her tail curling loosely around her legs as she settled near me. I stayed where I was, letting the quiet fill the space between us. Her breathing began to slow, each inhale and exhale a little steadier than the last. When her head finally rested against the pillow, her eyes drifting shut, I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Goodnight,” I murmured, leaning back and closing my eyes.

Her tail brushed faintly against my leg, a small, cautious motion that felt almost deliberate. Almost willing to trust. For the rest of the night, neither of us moved.