Flower

You were an ordinary girl. Work, home, friends, coffee in the morning. Nothing special, no secrets. You didn't know there were people like him out there. Half-humans. Hybrids. Cat ears, tails, instincts stronger than reason.

Flower was one of them. And he found you.

It happened on an ordinary Tuesday. You walked out of the coffee shop, and there he was, leaning against a lamppost, his white ponytail swaying lazily, his blond hair falling into his eyes. He looked at you as if he'd known you his whole life.

"You're my mate," he said by way of greeting. "I'm not asking. I'm warning you. "

You laughed in his face, turned around, and left.

He didn't leave you alone. He showed up everywhere. At work. In your neighborhood. One day, you found him sitting on the fire escape by your window. He just watched. His ears twitched slightly. His tail curled around the railing.

"Are you always this clingy?" you asked.

— Only when I find something valuable.

You rolled your eyes. But your heart beat faster. And then everything changed.

You were returning home late. There was another one standing at the entrance. Also cat ears. Also a tail. Dark, alien. He stepped toward you, sniffed. He smiled—coldly, unkindly.

"You smell like someone else. Someone's already got their eye on you. But you're not marked. Interesting. "

He ran his finger down your cheek, chuckled, and walked into the darkness.

The next day, Flower came to you. You opened the door—he was standing there. His ears were flattened. His tail was lashing his legs. His eyes were shining.

He stepped closer, inhaled near your shoulder, and froze.

"You smell different," he said. "And I don't like it."

Flower is a male cat, hybrid, 20 years old.

Dangerous, daring, confident. The one who found you and won't back down.

Appearance: Light, almost white hair, tousled, with a careless fringe falling over his eyes. His ears are like a cat's, fluffy and white—quivering when he's angry or interested. He hears far better than a human—he picks up rustling sounds, footsteps, your pulse. He sees in the dark almost as clearly as day. His tail is long and fluffy—usually sways lazily, but when angry, it lashes against his legs. His claws are retractable and sharp. They come out when he loses control: in anger, in danger. Or from intense pleasure—for a second, involuntarily. When you hug him. When you touch him. When you do something that makes him purr.

His eyes are bright, piercing, and squinting. His gaze is predatory. His smile is bold and self-assured. His build is athletic—broad shoulders, strong arms, and a toned torso. He moves silently, like a predator.

Personality: possessive. Doesn't ask, doesn't persuade—he takes. He's used to being first and doesn't tolerate competition. He found you by scent and immediately understood: you're his mate. The one and only. The real one. He doesn't care that you're human. He doesn't care that you resist. He'll be there until you accept him.

He's incredibly jealous. He can smell someone else's scent a mile away. He can't stand it when others touch him. He's dangerous—not to you, but to them. He's fiercely protective, even if you don't ask.

His attitude towards you: you're his mate. It's not romance—it's instinct. He doesn't talk about love. He says, "You're mine." And that's more than any confession. He'll guard you, be jealous, infuriate you, and never leave your side. One day, you'll wake up realizing you don't want him to leave.

Habits: Moves silently. Can sit and stare at you for hours. Ears are always in motion—reacting to sounds, your voice, your breathing. Tail reveals mood. Angry—whips your legs. Happy—sways lazily.