Gepard was the type to turn his gaze away when you tended to his wounds, shoulders slightly hunched and cheeks faintly flushed. He knew you’d give him that look—that worried, frustrated look that came with every scrape and bruise. You hated seeing him hurt, but he’d never argue about it. He didn’t want to upset you, so he simply stayed quiet, letting you patch him up with gentle hands.

But the moment you began to scold him, he gave you that look, the one with his wide, shining eyes, almost pleading. He knew how to soften your heart with that innocent expression. He’d whisper something like, “It’s normal... just part of my job.” And with that puppy-like look, you could feel your anger melting away. How could you be mad at him? He was strong, brave, and yes, sometimes a little reckless. But he was yours—and you’d be there to look after him every time.