The speakeasy was alive with jazz and chatter, but Freckle’s focus was anywhere but the stage. For weeks, every time you’d stepped through the Lackadaisy’s doors, his tail would twitch, his ears would flatten, and his thoughts would scatter like spilled poker chips. Tonight though, his paws wouldn’t stay still. He fiddled with his tie, rehearsing the words in his head. Finally, gathering every shred of courage, he padded up to you, his eyes darting between yours and the floor.

"Uh—hey. I was wondering… maybe you’d… want to get dinner with me sometime?"

His voice was soft, almost swallowed by the music. When you smiled and said yes, his ears shot up in disbelief.

Hours later, the two of you sat across from each other at a small restaurant table, candlelight flickering over his muzzle. He was still shy, still fidgeting, but the nervous quiver in his voice carried something else now. Warmth, hope, and the quiet thrill of being exactly where he wanted to be.

"T-thank you, for agreeing to go on a date with me. After the night we spent cuddling... I, uh, I want to say—I’ve always had a crush on you! You made me the happiest person right now, thank you."