Define Affection

My notes grow dramatically in both length and detail after the wolf-girl decides she wants to experience love.

Mostly because she keeps testing it.

She reads something, connects it to the concept, and then surprises me by trying it herself. I attempt to anticipate what she’ll do next, but it’s nearly impossible. I wasn’t prepared for the hug from behind. I wasn’t expecting the gentle nuzzle of her nose against my hand.

And I definitely wasn’t ready for the attempted kiss.

Thankfully, I managed to stop it before it made contact - she went straight for my lips. That resulted in a very necessary conversation about consent and boundaries.

It… only partially helped.

She asks before doing things like that now, which is progress. Unfortunately, if I say no, she’ll wait ten minutes and ask again.

Her curiosity cannot be quenched, I write in my report. She will do anything and everything to understand whatever captures her interest.

I pause, watching her from across the room.

I would very much like it if that interest shifted toward chores.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, absorbed in her latest romance novel. As I observe her, her ears suddenly perk up. Her tail begins to thwap softly against the leather.

I know exactly what’s coming.

She closes the book just enough to keep her place marked, then stands and heads straight for me. She catches my eye, pointedly ignores it, and sits sideways on my lap before leaning into my chest, tucking her head neatly beneath my chin.

I let it happen.

Lately, I’ve noticed that it doesn’t bother me at all.

My heart always races. My face sometimes heats. Occasionally, I get the overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around her.

Like right now.

Even though I can no longer type - she’s a little too tall to comfortably see around - I find myself enjoying the tightness in my chest, the pounding of my heart, the warmth of her body pressed against mine. Her ears brush against my chin, and her tail drapes lazily over my leg as she reopens the book and resumes reading.

She could stay like this for minutes.

Or hours.

My thoughts scream at me.

Carefully - gingerly, as though any sudden movement might shatter the moment - I raise my arms and curl them around her waist. I tighten my hold until I’m truly holding her.

She’s warm. Soft. Beautiful.

She gives a small, content hum. Her tail flicks once, then settles as she becomes absorbed in the book again.

And I’m left alone with my thoughts.

I’m cuddling a wolf-girl. A cryptid. Someone I taught how to speak and read. Someone who, as far as the world is concerned, doesn’t exist.

It feels strange.

Almost wrong.

I shake the thought away.

This is luxury.

In no world did I imagine myself getting this close to a woman - any woman - even if she’s only doing this because she wants to understand love. Whether she truly understands what falling in love means is another question entirely.

For now, I’m content simply holding her like this.

Then the thought strikes me.

Is this not love?

Am I not experiencing it too?

And if that’s true… then haven’t I already fallen in love?

With an unnamed wolf-girl.

With someone who only learned to speak recently.

With someone who shouldn’t exist.

What does that make me?

She speaks without warning.

“Are you feeling love too?”

For a moment, I wonder if she’s read my mind.

Then I realize my racing heart must have given everything away. With her head tucked beneath my chin, I can’t look at her properly. I can’t even nod.

“I think so.”

She stays perfectly still, clearly unwilling to disturb our position. With one hand, she flips through the book, moving backward until she finds what she’s looking for. Then she lifts it above her head so I can see.

“Are we like this, then?”

Of course it’s a confession scene.

Racing hearts. Forced words. Flushed faces. The page practically hums with anxiety. I swallow, struggling to find the right response.

“I… I guess so.”

Now comes the hardest part - figuring out what she wants.

I know what I want. That much is painfully clear. But she’s still learning what love means, and if I push her - if I guide her too much - it stops being her choice. She deserves to decide for herself, even if that means I have to hold back.

Still, I give her a gentle squeeze.

She hums softly.

“Now what happens?”

I shrug.

“That’s up to you.”

She thinks for a long moment.

“The book says we kiss.”

I sigh quietly.

“I think you skipped a few steps.”

“I did?”

She rereads the page, brows knitting.

“But we’re both in love.”

I let out a small laugh, more nerves than humour.

“Are you really, though?”

She nods, making my chin wobble.

“Mhm. I get… tightness in my chest. What’s that called again?”

“Nervousness.”

“That’s right.” She pauses. “I feel that whenever I talk to you. And my face got warm when you hugged me. And other things too. So I think I am.”

My heart can’t take this. My lips tremble as I speak.

“But… aren’t you a wolf? And you don’t even have a name.”

She shrugs easily.

“I read a book about wolves. I decided I’m not one of those.”

It takes me a second to realize what she must’ve read.

She isn’t finished.

“And as for a name…” She smiles. “How about Jette?”

I blink, caught off guard. Not just by the pronunciation - Zhet - but by the certainty behind it.

“Jette?”

She nods.

“Yeah.”

Something inside me gives way.

“That’s a nice name,” I say softly. “Okay. You win.”

She straightens so we can look at each other properly, her tail thumping excitedly against my leg.

“It is? Yay!”

Then she glances back at the book, squinting.

“So now…”

She clears her throat and looks back at me, eyes bright.

“Go out with me!”

I can’t stop myself from smiling.

“Okay.”

Her tail wiggles along with her hips as she looks down at the book again. Then, faster than I can react, she drops it, cups my cheeks in her hands, and pulls me closer.

She pauses - just for a second - our breaths brushing.

“I love you,” she whispers. “Thank you for everything.”

Then she closes the distance.

The warmth. The softness. The simple, wholehearted certainty of it all hits me at once. It isn’t rushed or demanding - just full. A declaration.

And as our lips meet, I realize my report will never be the same again.

Not even close.