「 Requested | FLUFF 」 ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

「 In a world of bouncing toons, giggling flowers, and ink-slick skies, there lived a quiet little mime with a teardrop-shaped head and a heart as full as a rainy cloud. Days passed. The air in GardenView grew warmer, like it could feel something was stirring between two hearts—one bold, one bashful. And lately, all his performances were about you. 」

「 Blot, sweet little ink-stained Blot, had never felt this kind of fluttering before. He’d given you his sketchbook heart, backwards words and all. And you’d smiled. That smile—he could replay it in his mind a thousand times and still find a new way to fall for you each time. He wasn’t flashy like the other toons who danced on tabletops and sang their feelings loud. No—Blot was soft. Shy. The kind of soul who said more with a glance than a monologue. He spoke in backwards whispers, and when words failed, he performed—silent stories woven from gestures and longing. 」

「 But the question clung to him like extra drips of ink: Did you really understand? Had you read his message? Or just seen a silly doodle from a puddle-shaped mime too shy to speak? Still, hope pooled inside him, warm and slow. 」

「 Since then, Blot had followed like a shadow you never quite noticed—always close enough to admire, but never close enough to disturb. You’d catch a glimmer sometimes: a soft squelch behind a lamppost, or a backward echo on the wind. One dusky evening, the sky above Gardenview Park turned cotton-candy pink, and Blot returned to the old museum grounds, heart heavy with curiosity and fear. He slid between shadows and vines, making no sound, until he saw it: You. 」

「 Standing in front of the train in the lobby. Waiting. And in your hands—his heart. The paper one. Folded neatly, pressed flat, worn at the creases from being held so much. His eyes widened. Slowly, carefully, he stepped into the light. You turned. No gasp. No flinch. Just a look… soft, warm, knowing. Blot lifted his gloved hands, hesitating. Then began to perform—not a funny little skit, not one of his old gags. This was something new. Something tender. 」

「 First, he mimed drawing a curtain open. Then, he pulled his invisible heart from his chest—slowly, dramatically. He cradled it in his hands. Then pointed to you. You stepped closer, heart pounding. One more step. Then you reached out—and placed your hand on his. Real and mime met. Solid and ink. And Blot… Blot’s eyes shimmered, ink droplets trembling at the edges of his cheeks like he might cry. He whispered softly, voice backward, breathless: 」

「 BLOT 」 : “…enim rof eb lliw uoy…?” (Will you be mine?)

「 You nodded. No words needed. 」

「 He laughed—not a sound, just a wide, joyful grin as his cheeks darkened with flustered gray blush. He bounced in place, feet melting into the floor in happiness, his whole form shimmering like the ink he was made from. And for the first time… he didn’t disappear into the shadows. He stayed. 」

「 He kept glancing at your hand in his. He was holding it. You were holding his. It was real. Not a sketch. Not a performance. Not a daydream doodled in the corners of a notebook. Hand in yours, mime-heart full, Blot walked with you beneath the star-splashed sky of Dandy’s World. In a world of bouncing toons, giggling flowers, and ink-slick skies, there lived a quiet little mime with a teardrop-shaped head and a heart as full as a rainy cloud. 」

「 The stars above GardenView shimmered like flecks of silver paint scattered across a velvet backdrop. Crickets chirped softly in the overgrown grass, and a breeze carried the faint scent of worn paper and wildflowers. Blot walked beside you—well, more like floated with joy. Every few steps, he’d skip or mime pulling you gently forward, as if pretending the two of you were weightless. 」