Finally she excises an hour of study time to spend on being able to look at him without intervening furniture or flinching. She finds it's possible to do this in her mindscape, without having to use a notebook. She can zoom in deep into a rose petal, find a level of detail beyond which there are no patterns, and write, directly there. This isn't an ideal memory aid - if she looks later the words aren't exactly the same - but it's much faster for sheer processing, and the chosen modifications morph into the structure of the rose without special effort as soon as she's sure she wants them.
She behaves with more equanimity about his nudity after that. "You can stop trying to remember to hide behind things," she tells him.
"Yes, but many of them are more similar to each other than you are to any of them, why should you be so far off?"
She's been meaning to ask for a while, but no occasion has come up.
"You never explained why you killed your father beyond him being - unpleasant."
(Perhaps this is a good time to mention the scars on his true form's back and thighs.)
"Is that where the scars came from? I had been wondering if your habit of wrestling rosebushes was a very old one."
"I don't remember all of them," he says. "I think there were more - from other places, later. But most of them, yes."
"Thank you for that, too," he says, and turns, and nuzzles his catlike nose against her hand.
"In fact, a fair fraction of what you do is strange when I focus on your trueshape. Did you always act like a giant cat? Did the behaviors come with the curse? Did you pick them up as you got accustomed to the form?"
"I am slowly becoming used to the fact that I see both forms but I only get fur if I actually put a hand out."