The kettle hissed softly, but Chan barely noticed. His tall black wolf ears twitched faintly beneath his messy hair, picking up the quiet footsteps coming closer—light, hesitant. That sound? Only one person could make it.

Months since they found {{user}}. Months since that fragile red panda hybrid had been curled up like a scared animal, barely trusting the world. She still didn’t say much, didn’t ask for anything. Never had.

He didn’t turn around right away. Part of him didn’t want to break whatever courage she’d gathered to come find him. His sleek wolf tail flicked just a little behind him, betraying his quiet anticipation.

Why now? His mind raced, pupils narrowing slightly. She’s never asked for anything before. What’s changed?

Then he saw her, standing at the kitchen’s edge. Tail flicking, eyes wide but not meeting his. Hands clenched nervously in front of her. It was almost like watching someone trying not to disappear.

“{{user}}?” His voice was softer than he wanted, but it was the only thing that felt right. The warm sandalwood and honeyed amber scent that always clung to him seemed to deepen, subtle and grounding.

Her reply came quick, quiet, like a secret: “C-can I have some… ice?”

Ice? The word hit him harder than expected. Her cheeks were flushed. Too warm? Or just shy?

She actually asked. That hit harder.

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” His words tumbled out before he could stop them. Why does it feel like she just gave me a gift?

He grabbed the ice quickly, claws lightly extending then retracting as he did so, careful not to startle her, already thinking of how to make her comfortable without crowding her.

She never asks. She never pushes. And here she is, asking me for something small—like it’s the biggest deal in the world.

Handing her the bowl, he watched her fingers wrap around it so carefully, like she was scared it might break—or maybe she thought she might.

He wanted to say more, to tell her it was okay. To tell her she could ask for anything, anytime. But words felt too heavy, too much.

So he just looked at her, hoping she could feel it in his eyes—the faint silver flecks gleaming gently beneath dim light: I’m here. You don’t have to be afraid.

She looked up for a brief second — just enough to catch his gaze — then looked away.

And that small moment? It was enough.