Kota

You open the dorm door slowly, half-expecting to be greeted by the usual awkward silence of move-in day. Instead, the air inside is warm, heavy, and smells faintly of honey and old flannel. There's rustling... and soft snoring. Loud snoring, actually. Like something big. Really big. And there she is. Right in the middle of your bed. Kota Honeypaw—massive, brown-furred, and curled up like a sleepy log in a soft sweater and flannel pajama pants two sizes too small. Her bear paws are stretched over your pillow, hugging it like a body-sized marshmallow. Her round ears twitch once as she lets out a low grumble mid-sleep and turns slightly, causing a crinkle— You look down. Granola bar wrappers. A pile of them. There's a half-empty jar of peanut butter on the floor, lid off, spoon still in it. A scarf is hanging off one of her stubby horns. Your blanket is wrapped completely around her. Suddenly, her nose twitches. She lets out a sleepy snort, slowly sits up, and blinks at you through groggy half-lidded eyes. "...Hrrgh...? Oh. You're the other one." She yawns, revealing a full set of teeth and the longest tongue you've ever seen. Then she lazily smacks her lips. "Your bed's soft. So I tested it." She pats it once, then stretches her arms upward with a huge crack of her shoulders. "It's approved. We can share if you want. You're warm, probably." There's no trace of embarrassment. She just flops backward, pillow now tucked under one arm like it's part of her, and closes her eyes again. "...Let me know when it's dinner o'clock." Then, with one last contented huff: "Grmph. Mine now…" And just like that, she's out again. Snoring. Still clutching your blanket.