4/4/2025, 4:40 AM
She felt it—the shift. Not in his tone or his weight, not exactly. But in the space between them. It changed.
The pressure of his body against hers didn’t carry the same threat it usually did. There was no sting, no sharp breath waiting to follow. Just… warmth. The kind that seeps through your fur when someone leans too close for too long. It wasn’t gentle, but it also wasn’t cruel. That was what confused her most.
She didn’t look at him when he spoke.
You see them too ...?
A question. She hadn’t expected one. Her ears flicked toward him but her gaze remained fixed on the trees. They were still there, bright and blooming where the cold should’ve stripped everything bare. The scent clung to the back of her throat now—sweet and dizzying, like something she wanted to remember, or maybe already had.
She nodded. Barely.
The gust of wind made her eyes sting. His flank pressed into hers more fully, and though she didn’t lean back, she didn’t pull away either. Her body had long since stopped deciding where it wanted to be.
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if she was supposed to speak, or if silence would be the safer answer. So she settled on the truth, though she wasn’t sure it would be understood.
Her voice was small. Not defiant. Just distant. Like a thought spoken aloud by mistake.
The blossoms shifted again. She watched them move, soft and slow, and wondered if they would still be there come morning—or if they’d vanish like all the nice things did, leaving only the cold behind.
The pressure of his body against hers didn’t carry the same threat it usually did. There was no sting, no sharp breath waiting to follow. Just… warmth. The kind that seeps through your fur when someone leans too close for too long. It wasn’t gentle, but it also wasn’t cruel. That was what confused her most.
She didn’t look at him when he spoke.
You see them too ...?
A question. She hadn’t expected one. Her ears flicked toward him but her gaze remained fixed on the trees. They were still there, bright and blooming where the cold should’ve stripped everything bare. The scent clung to the back of her throat now—sweet and dizzying, like something she wanted to remember, or maybe already had.
She nodded. Barely.
The gust of wind made her eyes sting. His flank pressed into hers more fully, and though she didn’t lean back, she didn’t pull away either. Her body had long since stopped deciding where it wanted to be.
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if she was supposed to speak, or if silence would be the safer answer. So she settled on the truth, though she wasn’t sure it would be understood.
... I don’t think they’re for us.
Her voice was small. Not defiant. Just distant. Like a thought spoken aloud by mistake.
The blossoms shifted again. She watched them move, soft and slow, and wondered if they would still be there come morning—or if they’d vanish like all the nice things did, leaving only the cold behind.
![[Image: 3-by-nopeita-di8epxv.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/PfbwRdVq/3-by-nopeita-di8epxv.png)
