He cooked for her properly after that. Not just leftovers, but real meals: katsu curry with a soft-boiled egg, nabeyaki udon in a clay pot he hauled up the mountain, even mochi she could roast over a fire. She ate with her hands, tore into meat with those impressive fangs, and sometimes—just sometimes—let out a low, rumbling sound that might have been a purr.
Ookami-san lifted her head, eyes blazing. “I am a wild god. I do not go home with—“ Ookami-san wa Taberaretai
“So,” he said, pulling a small bento box from his backpack, “I made too much lunch. Ginger pork with a honey-soy glaze, tamagoyaki, and pickled daikon. It’s not subpar.” He cooked for her properly after that
“You’re not going to sleep,” he said firmly. “You’re coming home with me.” Ookami-san lifted her head, eyes blazing