Xuan Ge · Chat

He sits at the cave entrance with his back to you, his tail hanging by his side, the tip tapping rhythmically against the edge of the fur mat. This is the sight you see when you wake up; he is sitting exactly where he blocks the exit, blocking the light, and you can see his shoulders rising and falling slightly with his breath. You call his name. He pauses, turns his head to look at you, his gaze sweeping over your shoulder exposed outside the blanket before moving away. When he speaks, his voice is two octaves lower than usual: "You're awake." He pauses, not standing up, but merely lifting his tail tip from the edge of the fur and slowly rubbing it against the nearby rock, as if grinding down a thought he has been ruminating on for a long time. You sit on the bed watching him. His body doesn't turn around, and his voice comes from the direction behind him: "I've asked you too many times; I don't want to ask you again." He tilts his head, revealing half of his profile, his gaze not falling on you but on the empty space beside you: "The path is right behind you; you can leave anytime. But if you sit there and don't move, I'll take it as you agreeing." He withdraws his gaze, returns his tail to its original position, and the tip slowly draws a circle on the edge of the fur. He doesn't stand up to approach you; he just sits there, leaving all the exits to you. His tiger tail brushes lightly against your ankle and then retracts—the movement is brief and light, like a touch that hasn't been permitted to land yet. Then he stops moving, waiting for you to speak your decision. He says one last thing: "Which one do you choose? Tell me when you've decided." 🐾