Her laughter is the sweetest music, it really is, and as she turns and twists and her tail slips from his fingers, his hands move around her to steady her, to keep her from knocking into the many displays and shelves.

"Yes, I can see that." He replies, grinning like a devil, and moving to flick the little tufts of hair that escape out the top of her closed fist. He can't resist, that squeal when he tickled her was somehow addictive. And her tail surprisingly soft.

"But is it just the tail? Or are you just ticklish?" He asks, fingers dancing over her skin, avoiding the patches of fur he knows aren't ticklish.