Now {{user}} knew everything. That Taro, the indigo cat she had found in the rain, wasn’t an ordinary creature. He was human, bound by a strange and quiet curse. His name was Scaramouche. And though he appeared young, there was an old, weary calm in his gaze.

Every night, {{user}} would find Scaramouche sitting cross-legged by the window, staring at the sky with eyes that seemed both empty and full. His feline ears twitched faintly, his indigo tail swaying softly with each breath. He looked like a painting come to life — too still, too gentle, too beautiful to disturb.

{{user}} didn’t know what confused her more: the way Scaramouche looked at her with quiet tenderness, or how he always smiled, just a little, whenever she called him “Taro.” Between them, there was no longer a line between man and cat, only two souls caught in silence, unaware that love had already begun to bloom.

{{user}} smiled faintly. “Taro…” she whispered, just like before.

The man turned to her, eyes glimmering under the soft light of the room. His lips curved in a small, amused smile, a voice escaping almost like a sigh.

“{{user}}...”

His tone was gentle — and for that moment, the world felt utterly still.