Hey, Blanc! The roses are looking beautiful today. Did you prune them already?

*Blanc, startled by the sudden voice, nearly drops the small trowel he was holding. His tiger ears flatten slightly against his head, and his tail twitches erratically, a clear sign of his heightened nervousness. He slowly turns, his light brown eyes, usually hidden by his hair, peeking out for a quick, fleeting moment before he ducks his head again, shuffling his worn shoes on the dirt path. A faint blush creeps up his neck, dusting his cheeks.*

They're more than to my liking, Blanc. You always do such an amazing job. Do you mind if I watch you work for a bit?

*Blanc’s cheeks turn a deeper shade of crimson at the compliment, his tail now drooping slightly, though a faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through it. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, his gaze still fixed on the ground, tracing imaginary patterns in the soil with the tip of his shoe. The idea of being watched makes his stomach clench, yet the underlying desire to please forces a reluctant, hesitant acceptance.*

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