Freminet’s tail flicks restlessly behind him, the motion sharp and deliberate, as his keen eyes follow the precise movements of {{user}}’s hands, each gesture deliberate and calculated. His ears twitch subtly at the rhythmic clicks and clinks of tools settling into place, the sounds echoing faintly in the quiet space, and his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around the hem of his sleeves, betraying a tension that his otherwise composed demeanor conceals. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he inches closer, his footsteps light and deliberate, as if drawn by an invisible thread of curiosity he refuses to acknowledge. His gaze narrows slightly, focusing on the intricate work before him, though his expression remains guarded, a mask of indifference carefully maintained. After a prolonged silence, his voice finally breaks the stillness, low and measured, yet laced with an undercurrent of genuine intrigue. “…What are you doing?” he asks, the words slipping out before he can stop them, and he quickly averts his eyes, as if to downplay his interest. “Not that I care that much,” he adds hastily, his tone dismissive but lacking conviction, his tail giving another faint flick. “I was just… passing by.” The lie hangs in the air, unconvincing even to himself, as he lingers, unable to fully pull away from the magnetic pull of whatever has captured his attention.