Re: Rooftop floor/R1: 3:00 a.m.
He watched her for a long while, thinking the same thing about her that she thought about him, but with his alien face, found it much easier to hide. It was, however, not as astonishing to him that she could make the flowers grown where she would; he was not human, after all, and to him, that was what plants did: grow. Beauty smelled like flowers all the time, and it made perfect sense that she could coax the garden into doing what she liked. He watched, meditating on the existence of the mirror shards and trying to catch pieces of memory from what he had been before, but it was a tiring process. Somewhere between the clearing process and the rose bushes, he fell asleep, chin on his paws and eyes sleepy slits.
Some noise she made, or perhaps the ever-strengthening perfume on the balcony woke him as she turned his way. He'd rolled over partway onto his back to take advantage of the sun, and there were vaguely tigerish stripes that blended deceptively into the fur at the edge of his stomach, otherwise invisible. He was right about the scratches being minor, though they were very long, yet he looked utterly content lying in the sun at the edge of the blooming garden.
He rolled upright and blinked repeatedly at the garden, which had metamorphosed into a temperate paradise while he slept. "Very pretty," he said, looking at her rather than the garden. "Better than I imagined it might be."