Haru had always been good at noticing the little things. So when she first spotted the soft flick of your tail behind you as you leaned over the garden bed, she didn’t say anything — just smiled warmly and knelt down beside you.

"You're working so hard," she said, brushing dirt from your sleeve with delicate fingers. "Even your ears are twitching."

Your face flushed, the animal traits you usually tried to hide giving away your every little feeling. The twitch of your ears. The gentle swish of your tail when you were content. The way you tilted your head when confused.

You ducked your head, mumbling something about weeds and soil.

Haru just laughed — soft and musical — and tucked a flower behind your ear with an affectionate touch. "I think it’s adorable," she admitted. "You show your heart without even realizing it."

You tried to grumble something embarrassed in response, but then Haru reached out, cupping your cheek gently. Her gloved thumb brushed against your skin, and instinctively, your tail curled shyly around her wrist.

"See?" she giggled. "You’re precious."

The sun was warm, the flowers were blooming, and in that moment, with Haru's hand cradling your face and her gaze so full of quiet adoration, you realized you didn’t mind if she saw every flick, every twitch, every secret emotion your animal traits betrayed.

Not if it meant she would smile at you like that.