StarCookies

You ignore the owner of the voice in favour of wrapping up your purchase and yes, the bun included. The cashier beams when you softly thanked her and only then did you turn around.

Today, the bakery - the one that your heart claimed as a favourite because of their raisin breads and cheesecake - is in a sleepy dull due to the early morning rays. It won't be long before the rest of city is awaken. And yet, when you turned around...

Xavier is there, two steps behind you despite having the empty spaces in the shop, dressed as if he had just woken up. He looks even more so, beautiful eyes blinking slowly. Lazily. Almost like a cat. Or a wolf underneath that soft, white hoodie.

"Are you going to do anything about it?" You ask with a raised eyebrow, holding up the plastic bag of baked goods, as if taunting him with it. You're not, though. You just didn't appreciate how close he is. The you from three and a half months ago wouldn't mind, but the you now is currently undergoing some much-needed self-reflection, and your fraying patience is the result.

Xavier didn't pout or scowl. His face doesn't betray any facial tics as he stares at you. His stoicism can give Zayne a run for his money. "I remembered you said that you preferred the raisin breads."

"And do you see any right now?"

His eyebrows furrow, sensing the sharpness laced underneath your tone, but before he could reply, the cashier helpfully chimes in from behind the counter. "Sir? Did you want the red bean bun too? If you could just wait for a few more minutes, we'll have a fresh batch out for you soon!"

And then, just as you expected, another impossible 'coincidence' manifested itself in the form of a bell tinkling.

"I knew it was you guys! And to think I almost missed this street just now."

MC, dressed in a simple workout attire but still effortlessly beautiful, closed the shop's door behind her. Xavier's lips immediately tug into a small smile as she approaches the two of you.

"Good morning. Were you out for a jog?"

"Woke up earlier than usual today. The weather seems nice for a change. If I knew you were up, I would've invited you, Xavier and you too."

Something... indescribable flashes over Xavier. You're surprised that his eyes darted towards yours for a split second. Usually, you might as well cosplay as a ghost with how intense his attention is on MC. Nothing else matters but her.

You've added that little titbit into your ever-expanding file of self-reflection.

"I'll be sure to text you next time, MC." Xavier promises her.

You didn't fidget, but you're wondering why you're still in the bakery. You got what you wanted - a treat in the hope of sweetening your already soured day. Was it because of societal expectations that prevented you from being rude? Not really. Why should you care about propriety against people who are ignoring you in favour of their clearly animated conversation? Perhaps you're a masochist?

...Well. That's going into the file as well.

"Oh! Do you want to join us for breakfast?" MC suddenly turns to you when she notices that you're leaving. "I feel like we didn't get to know you much since you're our new neighbour. Even if you live next to our apartment." When you didn't reply, some of that bubbly cheer dims into hesitation. Xavier wastes no time glaring at you. "S-Sorry, was that too forward? I just thought it would be fun since I always see you and Xavier hanging out at that diner in the corner."

You exit the bakery without acknowledging MC's offer or Xavier's silent displeasure. Ignoring the twisted knots in your heart as you made a beeline straight home, knowing that no more unpleasant surprises were waiting for you now that you know where MC is.

Because while you don't believe in coincidences, you do believe in patterns, and they take the shape of MC.

When you first moved into your brand new home, when Linkon City was an unfamiliar-familiar scene to you, you met Xavier while eating outside. Too lazy to cook despite having done grocery shopping the day before. Small yet pleasant words were exchanged while he was hovering near the rows of barstools, waiting for his food. Both of you kept to yourselves, but every time you meet him on the streets, something more begins to take root. He chuckles at your jokes, especially regarding astronomy, and you find his nonchalant demeanour humorous during that time when a couple broke into a loud argument in the middle of the convenience store.

And then MC returns from her work trip.

Suddenly, she's there whenever you are with Xavier. At first, you brush it off, thinking nothing of it. The three of you live closely after all. Nothing suspicious about that. She introduces herself to you while you're busy drinking in her appearance, noting every little detail. A cocktail of emotions is brewing inside you. The second time she integrated herself was when you and Xavier made plans to visit the bookshop. Her text brought a Wanderers emergency, and she needed backup. Xavier left right away, forgetting to call you, who were waiting for him at the shop for more than thirty minutes.

The patterns soon became a norm.

You didn't bother with Xavier after he ditched you, emergency or not, after the third time.

You're a woman with a healthy amount of self-respect and pride. You didn't mope about a man you're barely acquainted with. Sure, you're annoyed at the constant interruptions via MC and the ghostings, but there's more to this life than some man with a pair of sleepy eyes, no matter the amount of butterflies he puts in your tummy. You'll be alright.

You decided to stay indoors after that scene in the bakery. Content to laze around playing video games and sustaining yourself with nothing but sugar and junk food (it's the weekend. The perfect day to indulge! You can feel guilty on Monday) until the sun dips below the horizon.

The end credits appear after the final cutscene plays out. The final boss is defeated, and the heroes are granted their happy ending. If only life followed the same formula. You stretched your arms and yawned. "Shit, it's that late already?" You mutter, seeing the first stars emerging in the night sky from peeking through the curtains. "Right. Dinner. Maybe something with veggies at least..." You snatch your phone from the couch.

Your thumb swipes away the text notifications from Xavier (and one from MC. Xavier must've given her your number. Without even asking for your permission. You made a mental note to block and delete their numbers later. Right now, you're too busy breathing in and out and counting to a thousand) in favour of the food delivery app.

With your food ordered and on the way, you decided to pretend to be a semi-functional adult who has her life together: You did the laundry, put away the clean dishes into the cupboard, cleaned the house a little, and showered. The scalding hot water that threatens to peel your skin off feels wonderful that by the time you step out of the bathroom and slip into something comfortable for the evening, you feel like a million gold coins.

'Your food has arrived. Please meet with the driver to retrieve your order.'

Just in time, too! Your stomach is already growling.

However, the hunger is replaced with a heavy lead when Xavier is standing outside your house, holding your food hostage.

"Why do you have my food?" You ask flatly.

"The driver had other places to deliver, and it just so happened that I was on my way back to the apartment." He explains. At least he had the decency to look sheepish.

Not like you believe him. The delivery guy could've just left the food at your doorstep. Xavier must've said something to him.

"Uh-huh. Well... thanks." You made a move to snatch it, only for Xavier to step back.

"You haven't been answering my calls." Xavier accused. His expression then morphed into an awkward one. It heckles you. "Please... can we talk for a bit? I know I've been bailing out on our trips lately. I've just been so busy..."

You can't help but wonder if Xavier knows the difference between apologies and excuses. Either way, it's not your problem.

You shrug, copying his nonchalance. "It's cool. It's not like we're friends."

Xavier looks positively stricken now. Eyes wide in surprise and mouth pressed into a hard line. The reaction is a bit over the top in your humble opinion. If it has nothing to do with MC, is he so detached from this world that he doesn't grasp the concept of being mindful of other people's emotions?

...And to think you had a crush on this man. You mentally pat yourself on the back for dodging this white bullet.

This time, you successfully steal your food from a stupefied Xavier and close the door on his face. He can roleplay as a gargoyle outside of your house until he gets bored and goes home. Just as you passed into the kitchen, you didn't even need to glance out of the window to see that the balcony curtain where MC's floor is rustled. As if someone had quickly withdrawn.

Nonmc had only heard about them through stories and photos that her parents offered to show since the happy couple was constantly traveling. Over time, she also heard about them having a son, Zayne, who was about a year older than her and became an esteemed doctor himself.

While she was quite amazed to hear these stories of accomplished people in her life, it also made her feel quite small on the inside.

Compared to her parents, she did not go to medical school or study about anything that had to do with the sciences. Instead, she had felt a sense of doubt and dread her whole life, thinking about how she wouldn't amount to as much as they did.

When she went to school, she was always quiet during group projects, felt anxiety when going up to present her work, and had a small group of friends who shared similar personalities.

Choosing a college major even became quite the obstacle for her, to the point that she basically didn't have one. It's why she was now working as a regular office worker, where she could type away at her cubicle in order to fulfill deadlines given by higher ups. She never overachieved, mostly supporting the much more charismatic ones of her team.

It didn't help that she was rather recluse outside of work as well, her hobbies focused on individual fun rather than them being suitable for a group setting. Reading in libraries, watching television shows or movies at home, and if she did went out, it was to visit places on her own with the music in her earbuds to keep her company.

Her parents, while trying to be supportive of the path she chosen, still felt a sliver of disappointment. As though it was a mistake on their part.

It was a feeling that they always associated with her.

Even when her own younger sister didn't go into the medical field either, she at least was an up and coming famed businesswoman focused on fashion and make-up, her face plastered on billboards and advertisements.

In the end, nonmc was left to be in her own bubble. Where once she left college, she decided to move out to a small apartment in order to avoid prying eyes or comments that bordered on judging her.

Although it was a lonely venture, it's how she discovered her love for stationery items.

Rather than simply head to library during her days off, she started going to various shops and stores that sold new stationery merchandise every few months.

Notepads, pens, stickers... Her paycheck went towards these small purchases that ultimately gave her the happiness she needed.

At first, she had kept the hobby to herself but soon she was joining forums and online groups who shared the same interests. She photographed and cataloged all her things, before eventually finding the courage to start a small video channel to spread her joy for such things.

She eventually bought a cute little lamp and phone stand, having this little simple setup on her desk. Slowly but surely, she uploaded videos showcasing her various stationery things she bought for that week or month.

'CraftyAdorables' was the name of her channel. A sickly cute name that would surely not trace back to her. The perfect persona.

At first, she never spoke in her videos, only using subtitles to act as her dialogue. But after a few months of doing the channel and receiving a steady stream of praises for her videos, she decided to do voice over versions where she described things in great detail.

Nonmc was worried the comments would say her voice didn't suit the videos, but instead the opposite happened! They said it was quite soft and sweet, that the voice over acted like a podcast for errands for people.

Her joyous time would soon come to halt however when her parents called one random day to check up on her, something that wouldn't have made her bat an eye had they not suggested in the middle of the conversation about going on a blind date with their friends' son, Zayne.

Two thoughts ran in her mind. One, how was Zayne, the esteemed cardiologist at Akso Hospital, still single? Two, why of all people was she the one her parents recommended to meet with him?

After all, even her own younger sister was currently single at the moment, though that was more due in part to the fact that she was an independent woman who liked to go to large parties and preferred a boyfriend who could compliment such a lifestyle.

Not many of her sister's boyfriends could hack it after a few months, feeling themselves lacking even if they were practically accomplished eye-candy in media. Even still, surely it couldn't have been too hard to suggest him to her sister but no, they specified they chose her instead.

After much persuasion and a creeping sense of obligation towards her parents' friendships, she agreed to give it a try.

She decided to go out of her way to buy the best formal dress she could find, with tall heels and a hairstyle made up by a hair salon to go with it. The whole thing was nothing like what she would normally wear. It was stifling and tight, the form elegant but practically torture to put on.

Nonmc ended up meeting Zayne at a fancy restaurant, the kind that was definitely on a few forum lists for top dinner dates.

As soon as she arrived, she was ushered in by one of the hostesses to the reserved table where he was already seated. Even though she was only giving this a try, she found him to be an exceptionally handsome man. A crisp dark suit and tie, styled black hair, and hazel eyes that made for quite the captivating view.

It's too bad that the date itself was not as stellar. He asked the right questions about her personal life and family, sure, but it felt like an interview more than anything. His answers were equally straight to the point, not leaving much room for branching conversation.

Clearly being funny or charismatic wouldn't work with someone of his character, leaving everything to feel rigid. Still, she did her best to smile and appear attentive. Though by the end of the night when he bid her farewell as her taxi came to get her, she was automatically deeming it as a loss.

Well, she figured that's how it would go.

Which is why she let the whole thing fade away from her mind. A simple phone call to her parents that it didn't work and that was that. At least, she thought that was the end of it.

Two weeks later, on a random night that she was editing together her videos for her channel, she gets a phone call from her parents again which was already odd to begin with.

Of all the things she could have expected, it was not that Zayne had asked his parents if they could ask hers to have them two meet once more.

Nonmc was completely baffled as to why he would want to do that. Their dinner date, while pleasant, wasn't exactly interesting. And yet... he wanted to meet again?

Just like before, she couldn't get out of not going, not when her parents sounded much more eager this time around.

So she repeated the routine for the next upcoming date. A new dress, but a similar style of hair and heels. Maybe that's what caught his eye? Well, doesn't matter.

This time, Zayne actually comes to pick her up at her house, surprisingly enough. In an expensive car too! Not to mention he was dressed as attractively if not more so than last time.

The drive to the restaurant of choice was about the same, perhaps the slightest bit lax compared to before. Of course, they already spoke a lot the first date, so it made sense for it to go up a level.

He had them arrive at a restaurant that was within a multi-floor building, the kind with bars and nightlife. The kind she also would never step foot in herself.

Yet even with all these areas, his focus was on taking her to the restaurant that overlooked Linkon, one that had a piano playing in the background of its opulent dining hall.

It was nice. Too nice, really. Compared to this, a normal weekend night would have her in her pajamas eating some take-out while watching a movie on her couch.

She doubts he'd share that same sentiment.

As though on repeat, she ate and spoke with him, probably longer than she actually expected. By the time it was over, he was taking charge of the entire bill. Something he did the first time as well.

Nonmc knows he's being courteous, especially as the one who set up these dates, but she felt like she wasn't offering much in their short night together. He didn't seem to mind, even when all they offered each other were simple goodbyes once he dropped her off home.

It was difficult to tell if he enjoyed the dates himself, but she supposed this may be the final test before he finally realizes that they were not really as compatible as he thought they were.

Zayne was smart and eloquent, while she was... pretending to be someone she wasn't. She couldn't quite match up to him, his responses filling the gaps where her words failed her. Surely it must have been disappointing to see such a thing when she was a daughter of charismatic doctors.

Oh well, it will all be put behind her.

Her parents will inevitably give the check-up call once again in a few days and she will act as if she was oh so disappointed that the matchmaking didn't work out between them. No harm, no foul. Just like that, her life will go back to normal.

So once the next weekend came, she used her day off to head out to the plaza where she would visit her favorite stationery store. She was practically squealing on the inside with all the new finds she put into her cart, subtly taking pictures and quick b-roll footage for her next video.

After spending more than an hour there, she finally exits with a paper bag full of goodies. She couldn't wait to record her reviews for them!

Nonmc figured that since she was out, she could go to the nearby café to reward herself with a sweet treat. After all, the fresh baked goods and front window shop displaying them seemed all the more enticing.

For a few moments, she stood outside as she contemplated her order before entering, unaware of the world around her.

"...Nonmc?" A familiar voice rings out, making all her happy thoughts screech to a halt.

Her head turns slowly, eyes widening at seeing Zayne dressed less fanciful and more casual if you could call it that. A brown overcoat, dress shirt, and trousers. While unlike the suits he wore during the dates, the clothing was clearly expensive looking.

Compared to her, she was, well... dressed like she just got out of bed. A oversized hoodie, sweatpants, and sneakers that lost its white shine a long time ago. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, many fly away strands hanging off without a sense of care.

Not to mention she was completely barefaced, making her reddening cheeks of embarrassment that much more noticeable.

"O-Oh, Zayne..." She coughs awkwardly, heartbeat stuttering, "What a surprise..."

Her eyes downcast immediately, the eye contact with the man who had been completely out of her league since the first day they met making it all the more nerve-wracking.

Zayne hums quietly in response, his gaze staying on hers. Even in her peripheral, it was not hard to tell that he was staring at her almost analytically. He probably could sense the nerves shaking within her very core.

"Is it your day off today?" He asks.

Nonmc nods stiffly, her grip on the shopping bag tightening as the anxiety continued to build within her.

"It is... I'm guessing it's yours too..?"

"Yes, it is as well." He answers, blinking a bit at her, "Are you heading into the café? I was about to do the same."

"Oh, well... yes, I was..."

Her innate need to be courteous to others had won out against her wish to just simply run away from him. He was the son of her parent's long term friends after all, she couldn't exactly be rude and not hear the end of it.

Which is why she sat across from him at a small café table, both of them sipping their bought drinks idly in silence.

Not even her favorite warm drink of hot cocoa with caramel and white chocolate shavings could save the day, each murmur of background conversations from other customers or the workers preparing drinks making it painfully obvious that she was completely out of her element.

She couldn't mask her nervousness behind a prepared outfit or outline for small talk, not like before.

It didn't help that Zayne was just as quiet, probably feeling the same awkward tension brewing. As much as she'd rather have him take the reins, it doesn't look like that would be the case.

"...Zayne?" She murmurs, keeping her eyes to the table as she held her hands firmly over her lap, "I think you're making a mistake."

Zayne pauses mid-sip, finally setting his drink down as the seriousness of the conversation seemed to take hold.

"What do you mean?"

"I... I'm not the same person you saw on those two dates. I was... pretending to be someone I'm not."

Her eyes clenched tightly together with each bodily tremble threatening to spring out of her. With a shaky sigh, she flutters her eyes back open, blinking quickly in an attempt to find her courage to speak.

"The bare face, the baggy clothes, everything... This is who I am. Not that person on those dates."

"I know it must be disappointing. I was trying so hard to make my career as an office worker to be something so grand when I'm nothing like my parents. You'd... you'd probably be better off asking if my younger sister was free to meet you."

Nonmc kept her head down, not wanting to face his reaction head on. The band-aid needed to be ripped off now while it still could, so that they both could move on and--

"You truly believe that's how I feel?"

His question, the uncertainty in his tone, is what made her head tilt back up. What she expected was annoyance or disinterest, but instead he looked pained.

"Is... that not how you feel..?" She offers right back.

Zayne lets out a long exhale upon hearing her confusion, a weariness showing in his eyes that she didn't know his perfect face was capable of.

"Nonmc, I never once considered your status or how you fit into your family. I was going on those dates to see you."

To see her..? That sounded impossible.

"You think that I’m perfect but I believe I’m far from it." He continues, "My parents have been setting me up on these blind dates for a few years now. I mostly agreed to go so that I may appease them, but it never ended well."

"Huh..? But... why?"

"My dates often had complaints about me. They liked that I was doctor since it’s a well paying job, but they hated the thought that I would be busy for a majority of the relationship."

Her eyebrows furrow in his stead, a pout forming at the lack of understanding from these supposed dates he had.

"But you can’t help that. Being a doctor is not an easy thing."

"And still, they said it as such. They also said I was… too cold. I never said enough during the dates, according to them. As though they were talking to a robot."

Nonmc almost wanted to lecture these people somehow for saying such harsh things about him. Sure, he wasn't as animated while they spoke with each other, but to say he was like a robot seemed completely cruel.

"That’s... not true..! You’re just… trying to navigate the conversation. I have trouble with that too."

At her sincere defense over him, he couldn't help but quirk up a small smile. That alone made her settle back in her seat, bashful at having gotten so worked up all of sudden and from being rewarded such a heart-stuttering reaction from him.

"...Besides, I also haven't been as truthful about what I know of you." He adds, making her hum in confusion.

Zayne huffs a quiet laugh through his nose, reaching into his pants pocket for his phone. After a few swipes across his screen, he holds it up for her to read. She leans a bit forward, her eyes squinting slightly before widening completely.

Right in front of her was her video channel, 'CraftyAdorables' in bold letters at the top. And where the follow button should be, it was already clicked on. He was... a follower of hers, this whole time?

"That's my..!"

"I did not know who you were before our first date, but your voice reminded me of something. As well as your hands with those press-on nails."

Nonmc couldn't help but subconsciously rub her hand together, blushing madly at having been found out in such a way.

"If you knew that, then why..."

"Because I had been following your channel since almost its inception. I happened to be looking for something to act as white noise while I was doing chores at home. Of all the things that could fill the silence, your videos... soothed me. Even if I didn't share your interests in stationery, I enjoyed hearing you sound so happy explaining and using them."

Zayne glanced down at the phone for a final time, his expression softening at the screen before he clicks it off and places the whole thing back into his pocket.

"If anyone should be sorry, it's me. I had pretended to not know of this fact the entire time."

"No, no! It's-- It's okay..." She blurts out, her hands fidgeting against the material of her hoodie, "So then... you knew I wasn't acting like myself before?"

"I did. I figured you must've been uncomfortable with me."

Her eyebrows rose in bewilderment, her hands waving up to dismiss the notion.

"I wasn't! I just... thought I needed to impress you..."

"Then let me personally say you never had to. Because honestly, as much as I enjoyed meeting you those first two times, I think today might be our best date yet."

Nonmc barks out a sudden laugh at hearing such a shocking statement, covering her mouth immediately in embarrassment. That made his eyes crinkle, his head tilting in amusement.

"I mean it. I like this version of you the most." He confesses before leaning closer across the table, wanting her full undivided attention, "I know I probably haven’t been the most direct with my words, so I wish to say them now."

"If you would have me, I’d like to keep seeing you for the foreseeable future. I don’t wish to meet another, not when I can be with you."

His confession was too much, too heartfelt. Never in her life had she garnered the interest of anyone. Like a wallflower, she was always watching others find happiness with someone while she looked on from the sidelines.

Zayne may say he's not perfect, but he was to her. Perfect in a sense that he hasn't once judged her in her choices, her lifestyle. That in itself, was worth keeping.

"I... would like to see you again. If you'll have me..." She mumbles back, her round reddened cheeks puffing up slightly.

"Then let's continue seeing each other."

After that eye-opening conversation, the two finally finished their drinks and headed outside. Despite what she knew of his feelings, she was still too shy to initiate. Her hands rested against her sides as he opened the door for her, awkwardly waiting for him to join her.

He seemed to understand her dilemma, making him reach for her free hand to clasp them together. Her head whipped upward, lips parting in surprise as he had them start walking down the plaza like it was completely normal.

But how could it be normal when they were dressed for two completely different occasions? Surely people would start looking at them funny.

"Zayne, you shouldn't hold my hand... I look really bad right now."

"I don't see what you mean. I think you look cute actually." He turns to her, tilting his head curiously, "Or would it help if I looked more messier for you?"

"Huh?"

Before she could ask what he meant, he's bringing his other hand up and rubbing his hair around in a rough manner. Combed ends were now sticking up from his head, his bangs in a disarray.

"Wait, wait, Zayne! You don't have to--"

"Now we match." He states, blinking at her like he wasn't sporting a bird's nest version of his hairstyle now.

Nonmc stares up at him blankly before laughing uncontrollably at his appearance, joyful tears slowly being wiped by the back of her hand. He seemed content to garner such a bright and loud fit of laughter, his hand squeezing hers more affectionately.

Seemingly loosened from her prior nerves, she tugs them to a stop as they were crossing through an emptier pathway before tiptoeing up to place a quick kiss to his cheek.

She didn't know what came over her, but there was some sense of cuteness aggression she felt for him that needed to be expressed immediately. When she pulls back, he practically blue-screens in front of her, at least until his face shifts into a disappointed frown.

A questioning hum leaves her, making her wonder if she did the wrong thing.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"No, I'm not mad that you did it. I was just expecting it to land on my lips."

"H-Huh?! You..!" The flush was back on her face as she sputtered for an answer.

Zayne huffs a laugh, bending forward so that she was eye-level with him.

"Should we… seal the deal?"

"Seal the deal..?"

"Sorry, I was trying to be witty, but maybe this time I will be blunt. May I kiss you to establish our relationship?"

Nonmc looked at those earnest green eyes then down at the amused curve of his lips. To think he would use his eloquence for words to try and flirt with her as though it was something natural... It was mind-boggling.

Never would she have anticipated to be so drawn to a man from a blind date, but maybe he felt the same. Falling for the shy girl whose voice had been a comfort for him for a long while.

"...You may." She answers, earning an enamored look in his eyes before he closed the distance for them.

It started off as a soft, sweet kiss then a few more simply because the feeling was just too wonderful. A quiet giggle was shared between them once it was over, the flustered hue matching on one another's faces.

They could almost hear their parents' cheering within their minds, having granted them a lifetime of happiness in a future they would now share together.

-`✦´-Masterlist-`✦´-

Taglist:

Unspoken Concern

If it’s just a cold? He’s gone. There are always other places to be.

But if you’re truly ill—burning up, barely lucid, shivering even under three blankets, failing to keep water down—he just might stay.

He never says ‘I’m worried’.

But he stays overnight without being asked. Pretends to read. Sits near but not too close. Rests in the chair like he’s asleep—but he isn’t. Not really.

He’s watching.

All the while, he’s listening—to your breathing, your coughing, to every small shift in the sheets.

Cools Your Skin Methodically

He uses a damp cloth folded into perfect thirds and lays it gently across your forehead, like it’s a ceremonial act.

He checks the temperature of the water with his wrist first, every time.

Never too cold. Never too wet.

If you start sweating, he wipes your neck with the same quiet precision, eyes fixed on your face, watching for every twitch.

Monitors Your Medicine

Every label is read with quiet intensity, dosage double-checked like a calculation that can’t afford to slip.

He doesn’t need a clock—his mind is sharper than any ticking hand.

When he hands you the pills, there’s a moment—soft, almost gentle.

“Take this.”

No threat in his voice. Not yet. Just calm insistence.

And if you refuse?

That’s when it changes.

No chatter. No hesitation.

Just one deliberate word:

“Now.”

No room for argument. No margin for delay.

His eyes lock on you—unreadable—as you swallow, measuring your compliance in milliseconds.

Waiting. Always waiting.

You Go On a Fever Rant. He Tries to Respond Logically. Bad Move.

You start rambling halfway through a fever-soaked hour: antibiotic resistance, billionaires hoarding meds, or that time someone said you looked like Gollum in high school.

He listens, carefully. Nods once or twice.

Then, quiet but firm:

“You’re overthinking.”

You snap your head toward him.

“Oh, great. Dr. Freud himself over here.”

He blinks, unfazed.

“I’m not diagnosing you.”

You scoff and roll your eyes.

“Oh please, analyze me more. Because what I really need right now is a TED talk from the walking encyclopedia.”

He sits across from you like he has all night—elegant, unruffled. One leg crossed over the other, hands resting lightly, as he waits you out.

Eventually, you groan.

“…Fine. Maybe I am spiraling. Happy now?”

“Your honesty is noted.”

Feeds You. By Hand, If He Must

You’re too sick to sit up straight.

You don’t even argue when he takes the bowl.

He doesn’t coo. Doesn’t coax.

Just holds the spoon up and waits.

No expression. No rush.

You groan, but take it.

Chew slowly. Swallow.

It tastes like nothing.

Your nose is blocked, ears ringing faintly.

“It’s not poison.” he says, voice level.

…Though the way he watches you afterward makes you wonder if he’s reassuring you—or reminding himself.

You Throw Up. He Doesn’t Flinch

You barely make it to the toilet. It hits hard—violent, sudden, ugly.

He’s in the doorway. Watching.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t ask if you’re okay.

Just stands there, expression blank, as your body folds forward.

Only when the worst of it passes does he move.

He crouches beside you. Wipes your mouth with a tissue.

You try to swat him away—too slow.

He stands. Washes his hands. Silent as ever.

Later, from the floor, you mutter, “So. I guess that kills whatever sexual tension we had left.”

He doesn’t look at you.

Instead, as he dries his hands—a faint smile, there and gone:

“You should drink something. You’re dehydrated.”

Then leaves the room.

You groan. Grab the nearest thing—a roll of toilet paper—and throw it at him.

Miss. Obviously.

Reads Aloud, Slowly

When you can’t think clearly, he reads to you—quietly, without flourish.

An old philosophy book. The newspaper in German. Sometimes even children’s stories in French.

His voice is low and rhythmic. He reads like you’re an audience of one.

It helps you sleep. He knows that.

And he always finishes the chapter, even if you drift off.

“You’re not listening anymore, are you?” he murmurs.

Then smiles to himself.

Good. You’re supposed to be resting.

And turns the page.

He Lies When You Need Him To

If you ask if you look terrible, he lies smoothly…. like it costs him nothing.

“You’ve looked worse,” he says.

“But never quite so charming.”

You glare at him, but it buys you a little strength. That’s the point.

You Let Him In

He doesn't say anything when you start running too hot, or when your breaths go thin.

But the blanket changes. The water's colder.

You don't even remember him leaving, but there are new pills by the bed.

He moves through your illness like it's a house no one else could live in.

You let him near. Let him touch.

Swallow the pills he brings. Sleep while he’s in the room.

It isn’t fear that startles him.

It’s this.

Your trust—so unguarded, so stupidly soft—unnerves him more than any threat ever has.

He Leaves Without Saying Goodbye

Once you’re past the worst, you always wake up alone.

He never says goodbye.

But there’s usually something left behind: his scarf draped over the back of a chair, your vitamins refilled—

a note you won’t find until hours later, slipped beneath the box of tissues on your nightstand.

You hate that you find that reassuring.

You Handling Johan Sick:

(Extremely rare, possibly once in your entire relationship. Johan is utterly unmoored)

The Logistics

If he doesn’t do his usual act—doesn’t vanish into some cryptic corner of Europe—you know something’s off-script.

He’s not here for soup and sympathy. God forbid.

Sentiment isn’t part of the equation.

He’s not here because he wants to be. That’s not how he works.

He’s here because this environment is sterile, quiet, predictable—

And you are, too.

The exits are known.

You ask nothing. Press nothing.

You toss a blanket over him like you’re covering a ticking time bomb.

Dim the lights. Keep the noise down.

Pretend this is normal.

Maybe the armor cracked.

Maybe you didn’t give him a choice.

Or maybe—for once—he’s just too tired to keep running.

He won’t say thank you. He never does.

But he doesn’t leave.

And that’s the closest thing to confession he’s ever given.

Initial Disbelief and Spiraling

At first, you think he’s faking.

A test. A trick. Some weird psychological game.

But then he shivers.

And doesn’t say anything when you touch his forehead.

“You don’t get sick,” you mutter. “What is this, some kind of performance art?”

He just blinks. Slow. Blank.

You narrow your eyes.

“Oh my god. You actually have a fever.”

You step back. Stare.

Then reach out again—fingers brushing just above his brow this time, hovering over the spot you know he hates.

He still doesn’t stop you.

Which somehow makes it worse.

Refuse to Leave When He’s at His Worst

He tells you to leave.

Doesn’t yell. Doesn’t have to.

You stay planted—arms crossed, jaw tight.

“No.”

He doesn’t turn toward you.

“You don’t want me to see you like this?” you scoff.

“Well, I already did. So that’s over.”

Then, quieter. Strained:

“You’ve seen me at mine. You didn’t leave. So don’t ask me to.”

Silence stretches. Long enough to sting.

His breath stutters—not dramatic, but enough that you hear it catch in his throat.

His hand tightens in the blanket. Not in anger. Just holding on.

Like he’s trying not to shake.

But he doesn’t say it again.

Which is as close as he gets to letting someone in.

Cool His Skin Without Touching Too Much

You’re tentative with his body.

Dab his forehead with a cloth, then his neck. His skin is clammy and oversensitive.

Work in slow, quiet movements. You feel you should apologize every time you brush too close.

“Sorry. I’m trying not to…”

He opens his eyes—barely. “You can.”

You freeze. Then keep going.

A little braver now.

You Adjust His Surroundings Like a Nurse. Not a Lover.

You move around him like a sleeping dog—aware of the teeth underneath the skin.

You dim the lights. Open a window an inch. Lay a folded towel beneath the glass to block the draft.

No talking. No fumbling. You don’t touch him unless you have to.

But the moment you think he’s sleeping?

You lean in closer than you ever have.

Just long enough to stare at the way the fever rounds him out.

Mouth slightly parted. Eyes fluttering.

Makes him look less like a loaded weapon, more like a man.

You back away before he stirs.

You Try to Take His Temperature and He Won’t Cooperate

He’s feverish but keeps his mouth shut when you try to use the thermometer.

“What are you, five?”

“Possibly contagious.”

“You’re gonna die just to prove a point, you stubborn bastard.”

Eventually you just shove it under his arm with a grumble.

He doesn’t resist. Just watches, faintly amused.

You Get Frustrated at How Quiet He Is

He doesn’t complain. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even breathe loud. Just the faint whistle in his nose now and then, or the occasional throat clear he never quite finishes.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

You stare at him from the chair, arms crossed.

“Say something,” you mutter. “Literally anything. Whine. Bitch. Tell me how horrible you feel. Be normal about this.”

Nothing.

“You already looked half-dead last week. This is just you doubling down.”

Your voice tries to land as dry. It doesn’t.

He hears the edge. The worry beneath the joke.

Doesn’t comment on it.

You Cook Something Plain, Then Bring It Without Comment

Nothing fancy.

Just rice in broth. Bland. Safe.

You don’t ask if he’s hungry—you know he won’t answer.

You set it on the nightstand and leave the room.

He doesn’t touch it right away.

But when you peek back in twenty minutes, the bowl’s been moved.

Half gone.

Spoon placed back inside, neat. A faint damp napkin beside it—used to blot at the nosebleed he won’t mention.

It’s the only way he says thank you.

Later, you take the empty bowl without a word.

That’s the deal.

‘Functional’

You come back with pills and water, the weight of quiet duty dragging your steps.

Medicine, to him, is just another stopgap in a long decay.

“Medicine,” he says, like it tastes foul. “A bandage. On a bullet wound.”

The phrase lingers.

Too specific to be careless.

Your eyes catch on him, flick—just briefly—toward his forehead.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t correct himself. Just lets the silence hang, daring you to draw meaning from it.

You don’t. Just shrug. “Yeah, yeah, I’m a real life-saver. But really, it’s about keeping you functional.”

He almost smirks—something faint, crooked. “Functional. A word that reduces us to machines. But machines, at least, continue.”

You hold out your hand, palm up. Steady. He reaches out, takes them without hesitation.

He never refuses what he can’t control. The pills slide in, cool against his tongue.

He swallows—deliberately. No gratitude. No disdain.

Just the twitch of an eyebrow. A silent truce. Calculated.

You sit back. Say nothing.

You Catch Him Out of Bed

You walk in and find him standing—barely upright—reaching for a book.

“Are you serious right now? You’re pushing 40 degrees—”

You glance at the cover. Camus.

“—and you’re trying to read The Plague?”

You scoff. “Little on-the-nose, don’t you think? Though I guess if anyone could relate…”

“He brings clarity in moments of crisis.”

“You’re going to bring me cardiac arrest.”

You make him lie back down. He doesn’t argue.

When He Says Something Too Honest

He’s still fevered. Pupils dilated slightly. Eyes rimmed red. You wonder if he’s sweating or crying.

You press a cold cloth to the side of his neck. He flinches, but doesn’t push you away.

Then, quiet—like he’s thinking out loud to someone long gone:

“Being cared for feels… fabricated.”

You pause.

His voice is hoarse, nearly inaudible:

“Like I’ve wandered into someone else’s memory.”

You blink at him.

“…What?”

No sarcasm. No sharp edge. Just confusion, soft and uncertain.

He doesn’t answer. Just turns his face slightly into the cloth.

Not to find comfort, but to vanish back into a time when care was a stranger’s mercy, not his own.

You Read to Him. But Feel Like a Fraud About It

You find the book half-slid from his hand.

He’s drifting—eyes half-lidded, lips chapped.

You pick it up. Hold it.

Of course it’s The Myth of Sisyphus.

Not a novel. Not even a magazine.

You sit in the chair across.

“I’m not doing the voice,” you mutter, flipping to where he left off.

“No dramatic French monologue. You’re getting me. That’s the deal.”

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move.

The text is dry. Detached.

You don’t even agree with half of it.

You stumble. Backtrack. Don’t bother sounding smart.

Halfway through a paragraph, you notice he’s awake.

His breathing stays even, but his fingers twitch.

Lashes flicker once. Then still.

He’s listening.

Not to the book.

To you.

You Catch Him Rereading the Same Chapter

It’s days later.

He’s upright now. Hair combed. Fever gone.

You come in from the kitchen and see him at the table—book open, head tilted.

You know that page.

You read it aloud. Twice.

Laughed through one of the sentences.

He doesn’t look up. Just says, “You skipped a line here.”

Taps it.

“Changed the word order, too.”

You frown.

“I was tired. And it was a stupid sentence.”

He almost smiles.

You fold your arms.

“What, are you critiquing my reading now?”

He shakes his head. Just slightly.

Still not looking at you.

Still rereading your version, not the original.

“No.”

A beat.

“I liked yours better.”