I want to turn into a matcha drinking cat

You plucked a strawberry from the bowl, turning it between your fingers. It was perfectly ripe and deep red in color, almost jewel-bright.

"Silver," you said, keeping your voice light.

A slow blink. He was back, just barely. His eyes opened halfway, hazy with almost-sleep, and he turned his head toward you.

"Yes?"

"Want one?" You held up the strawberry.

He looked at the strawberry, then at you. "Sure."

You smiled.

“Come take a bite then.” Just as he leaned forward the smallest degree, you brought the strawberry to your own lips, keeping them there.

Silver stilled.

You expected flustered. You expected the tips of his ears to go pink, for him to sit back and look away, maybe clear his throat and ask quietly if he could take the ones in the bowl instead. That was the script you'd written in your head. You tease, he flusters, you laugh, you give him a proper one, everything stays soft and sweet and safe.

Silver did not follow the script.

He held your gaze for a moment that stretched just a little too long and then he leaned in until he was close enough that you could feel his warmth.

He took the other end of the strawberry between his lips.

You wanted to ascend. No, you were sure you were going to ascend over cloud nine and straight up to the heavens. Because he was so close and his eyelashes were so long and so pretty and the only thing keeping your lips from touching was a single piece of strawberry. You feel him linger slightly longer before taking a bite.

You felt his lips lightly graze against yours. Very slightly, but they definitely did. You closed your eyes. Just when you thought he was going to kiss you properly for real, he pulled back.

Silver sat back and chewed thoughtfully. For a moment his gaze seemed to land on your lips, the redness of the half-eaten strawberry against your lips seemed to make him feel a little warm. He shifted his gaze to compose himself. There was something in the line of his mouth, the faintest, most composed shadow of satisfaction, that made your brain go completely, spectacularly blank.

"...It's sweet," he said simply.

You stared at him.

He looked back at you, perfectly serene, and reached past you to take a whole strawberry from the bowl himself.

You almost forgot that you still had half a strawberry in your mouth. Not wanting to lose any more of your dignity you forced yourself to chew and swallow. It was sweet, but you could barely taste it as you immediately lurched forward after and grabbed his wrist to stop him from eating the whole strawberry in his hand.

"Did you want another?" he asked, surprised by your sudden gesture.

Your face was hot.

"I—" You stopped. Started again. "You— that was—"

"You offered." A soft smile crossed Silver’s face. "I only accepted."

Your heart was threatening to burst out of your chest and your knees felt weak — even though you were sitting — but you were not going to let this man get away. You shifted closer.

“You’ll indulge me again then?” The bright red of your face really betrayed the confidence you tried to put into your words as you pressed him.

Silver looked at you for a long moment. Something in his expression had shifted, His gaze dropped to your lips for just a fraction of a second before finding your eyes again.

"I did linger," he admitted like he was acknowledging something he'd been turning over since it happened, "I shouldn't have done that without asking."

"I'm not complaining," you said, a little breathless.

"I know." The almost-smile graced his lips again. "Your face was very honest."

You groaned, cursing yourself for being so weak for this man. He glanced down at the strawberry still in his hand. He lifted it towards you. You felt your breath catch, lips parting slightly, ready. And then he paused.

Something crossed his face. Not hesitation exactly. More like a realization. He set the strawberry down. Your eyes widened in slight surprise because you had expected him to stop, perhaps he had changed his mind, but then he leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, and you stayed perfectly still half in anticipation, half from your body going into a nervous crash out. His hand came up, gentle but certain, fingertips barely grazing your jaw.

And then his lips touched yours.

Soft. Tentative at first and then, when you didn't pull away, he was a little more certain. His lips press a little firmer against yours. There was warmth where his fingertips rested against your jaw. Warmth where his mouth met yours. The whole world went very quiet, narrowed down to the smell of strawberries and Silver, impossibly close, kissing you delicately, his own desires growing more and more apparent by the second. Your hands found the sofa cushions and held on for dear life.

When he pulled back it was only by a breath. forehead tipping gently against yours. "That was sweeter," he murmured. Quieter than before.

He smiled softly at you, cheeks tinted pink. You were sure however, the color of your face would rival the strawberries.

“We should get strawberries more often.” You coughed out, pulling away, trying to regain your composure.

And that was just his eyes. You hadn't even gotten to his face yet. His face was a whole separate emergency.

It didn't help that he clearly spent half his waking hours training and his PE uniform was not doing a sufficient job of hiding the evidence. Silver had the build of someone raised by a knight and the face of a prince straight out of a fairy tale, a combination that turned out so perfect and perfectly lethal for your heart.

You were thinking about this with concentration when you realized he'd stopped talking.

"Are you alright?"

You blinked. Slowly, the field reassembled itself around you. Silver was watching you with that same composed, steady expression he always wore.

You had apparently been staring at him for the entire length of whatever conversation you'd been having. Your body, sensing you'd had a rough day, had decided that this was a perfectly acceptable coping mechanism.

"You're very pretty."

"Huh?"

"Huh." You pressed your hand over your mouth half a second too late.

Silver stared at you. You stared back at him over your own hand.

“…were you perhaps thinking about something else?” Silver questions you calmly, realizing your attention had dissolved mid conversation.

He was giving you an easy out. All you had to do was say yes, sorry, long day, and Silver would simply accept it, because that was the kind of person he was. Uncomplicated, earnest, devastatingly decent.

You should take it.

You were going to take it.

Except Silver was standing there completely unaware that he was the thing you'd been thinking about. That he had been for an embarrassingly long time now. That, currently, the gold of the afternoon light catching the silver of his hair makes him look straight out of a painting that would ruin you for every other art forever.

He didn't know any of that. Letting this man walk around unaware felt wrong. Felt like a public safety issue. There ought to be some kind of warning. You were practically doing him a service.

"I was thinking about you, actually."

A beat. Then two.

“Me? Was there something of concern?”

“Yeah… you’re— you look good. Always.”

"...I see," he said, after a moment. Then you saw it. The faint tint of pink that climbed his cheekbones. The way his gaze dropped quietly. You almost forgot to be embarrassed.

How. How was that allowed. He'd gotten just slightly shyer and somehow that made everything worse.

"...Thank you," Silver said, somehow managed to have regained enough composure to look at you. "Is that why you have a habit of looking at me?"

He was smiling softly now and you physically felt your cheeks burn.

"I don't— I wasn't—" You stopped. You had been. You absolutely had been, and he'd noticed. You should have known that Silver would have the awareness of a handsome coiled spring, he had clocked you long before you'd clocked yourself.

The jacket is red —deep, rich red, the kind that looks expensive— with gold embroidery running up the front and along the sleeves in elaborate curling patterns. The collar sits high and neat against his throat.

And his hair, still that sandy-blonde that refuses to lie flat, still a little tousled at the crown in a way that probably can't be helped. But someone has taken the front section and pinned it back. Three small clips over his bangs, tucking his bangs just enough to open up his face.

There's something on his lashes too. Something subtle, just enough to make his eyes look sharper. He's leaning against the wall with his cheek propped in one hand, watching you take all of this in, and the expression on his face is one you recognize intimately.

"You're starin'," he says.

"I'm looking," you say, which is not a defense.

"Same thing."

It is, unfortunately, the same thing. You are very much looking.

"Your hair," you say.

Something flickers across his face. Not quite embarrassment, but almost. "What about it.”

"You look good…" you start.

He smirks. Of course he does. He probably stood in front of a mirror with those pins between his fingers and thought ‘yeah. This'll do it.’ The smile at the corner of his mouth has that particular smug smile. Speaking of his lips, it looks incredibly delicious, lip gloss lightly shining under the room’s lights.

“We’re done with the shoot, right?”

You could tell he was caught of guard because his ears stood slightly “…yeah, why?”

“I’m going to ruin your make up.” You take his face in both hands and kiss him before he can reply.

He makes a sound against your mouth —surprised, a little breathless. He tenses up for a moment then you feel him smile against your lips. He kisses you back properly. He tasted faintly sweet, the lip gloss transferring soft and slick between you.

You press closer. His back against the wall. His hand finds from your wrist an it trails up your arm, he tilts his head, and the kiss deepens without either of you deciding it. His teeth catch your lower lip and you make a small sound before you can stop it.

You feel him exhale through his nose. Satisfied. Insufferable. You bite back. You hear him let out a small moan, the sound coaxing out a grin from you.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and considerably more wrecked than they were a minute ago. He frowns slightly at your comeback but teases anyway,

“got you a little excited, huh?”

You roll your eyes at his comment, then tugs at his jacket, "This jacket is a problem."

“Careful that’s expensive.” You see his lips turn into a frown again, you double down with a pout of your own.

“Now that look’s just cheating. You want it off or somethin’?” Oh that smug smile is back, the smile that makes you want to devour him —or the other way around. Anything works.

“You’ll take it off?” You take him up on his offer.

He moves fast, slips out of your grip and flips your positions in one smooth motion, your back meeting the wall with a soft thud, his arm braced beside your head. "Whoa there," he snickers. "Calm down."

“Stop playing around.”

You see his ears fold slightly, seemingly taken aback by your stern tone. Oh dang you were serious about ruining his make up.

“Don’t have anymore shoots here. But you’re going to have to compensate me, yeah?” He shrugs, you could feel his breath against your skin with how close he is.

“Doesn’t sound like a problem.” Your mirror that smug smile of his, gaze locking on him. Then his eyes flutter close as he leans in to kiss you again.

The card tucked between the stems read:

To the individual of my esteem,

I have deliberated at length over the appropriate means of conveying this. I have selected these flowers following a rigorous evaluation of available specimens. They are the finest I could find.

It has come to my attention that my lungs expand with greater force when you are in the vicinity. Furthermore, You possess qualities I have found myself unable to disregard no matter how I have tried. I notice you. More than is perhaps reasonable.

Do not mistake this for weakness! It is a declaration of fact! I will be expecting a direct response.

…and it was unsigned. You only stared at it for a long moment.

"...Okay."

The way of words certainly feels familiar but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. There was no recipient, no sender. You had no idea if you were even supposed to receive this. How were you supposed to give a direct response?

You almost bumped into Sebek when you turned the corner. You held the flowers carefully in your arms because whoever it was for, the sender had clearly poured a lot of effort and feelings into it. It was most definitely something precious either way.

Sebek had purposely been standing nearby your classroom. Waiting. He grew both giddy and flustered when he saw you appear, flowers in hand.

“Oh, Sebek. I didn’t see you there.” You apologized for almost bumping into him. “Someone left these on by desk. It’s not signed so I don’t even know if it was even for me.” You gestured towards the flowers. “It’s a shame though. I’m sure whoever sent it poured a lot of love.”

Sebek mentally cursed himself. He had, as it would turn out, forgotten to sign it. He had written three drafts. The first one had been too long. The second one had accidentally turned into a speech about Malleus. The third one, the third one was good. He had hand-picked only the best of flowers in full bloom, but he had forgotten to write his name. Or yours for that matter. And now he was faced with this predicament.

“HUMAN—“ he really was about to confess, but Malleus just so happened to have turned around the corner and approached them with great interest. Most likely because you had a beautiful bouquet in hand.

Sebek’s words caught in his throat. Instead what came out was,

“WAKASAMA?”

Malleus had made comment about how the entire ordeal was ‘very interesting indeed’ with a knowing expression. The entire encounter left you very confused and with a very beautiful bouquet of flowers.

He had caught you the next day after afternoon lessons, fell into step beside you, and delivered the sentence with all the confidence of someone announcing a military victory,

"Your academic performance this term is above average. It reflects well on your overall character."

You looked at him. He looked back.

"...Thank you," you said slowly, slightly confused at the sudden compliment "Yours too?"

"Mine is exceptional," he said, because apparently he could not help himself, "as Young Master Malleus’ retainer anything less than perfect would be a disgrace.” He paused, “But that is beside the point. The point is. You are commendable."

"Commendable?”

"Yes."

You pressed your lips together. "Sebek."

"What is it, human?”

"You’ve been acting weird lately. What’s up?"

Sebek grew flustered at the comment. Because apparently you noticed something was up but not quite exactly what is up. “NOTHING IS OF YOUR CONCERN” He straightens his jacket, “I SHALL TAKE YOU TO YOUR NEXT CLASS.”

You only watched in confusion as he stomps, now a few steps in front of you. His ears were bright pink though.

His next attempt was Lilia's idea. Which, in hindsight, should have been the first warning sign.

"A serenade," Lilia had said, eyes gleaming with mischief. He definitely thought this was going to be very funny. "Nothing says devotion like music. Young Master Malleus plays strings beautifully, does he not?"

This was, objectively, a trap. Sebek walked into it completely. He borrowed a violin.

Day one, the strings. Day two, the bow hold. Days three to five, a sound that Malleus, had described as ‘spirited’. Lilia had only looked at him with the expression of a man clearly very entertained, which was worse.

Malleus had offered, out of the kindness of his heart, to help him. But how could Sebek receive such kindness from his liege. Silver had additionally made some kind of comment, as Sebek would interpret, about ‘courting someone with one’s own effort’. Since then, Sebek has been very clear he’d win you over with his own.

You were passing by the practice room on your way back when you heard him. You heard a sound then a glimpse of green hair as you passed by and decided to take a peek. He was standing inside with the posture of a man going to war —back straight, chin up, violin tucked under his jaw. He drew the bow across the strings.

It was... some kind of sound.

You leaned closer to the open door.

He played exactly eight notes. They were not the right eight notes, but they were committed. Then he looked up, he saw you standing by the door with a big smile on your face. You see his face go crimson, seemingly surprised by your presence and lowered the bow.

"HUMAN, IT IS COMMON DECENCY TO ANNOUNCE ONESELF WHEN YOU ENTER" he was very obviously trying to hide his embarrassment by increasing the volume of his voice.

“You were performing.” You couldn’t help but giggle, he was being, oddly enough, cute.

“HOW MUCH DID YOU HEAR!?”

"All of it.” You added before he could scream again, “It’s admirable. Your dedication to it.”

His jaw tightened. "Young Master Malleus plays strings with extraordinary refinement. I am in the process of… developing the requisite.”

A pause,

“I am… practicing for someone.”

“Malleus?”

Sebek looks rather defeated at this point. You were not completely wrong, but necessarily right. “OF COURSE THERE IS NO ONE MORE ADMIRABLE THAN YOUNG MASTER MALLEUS ahem—“ he coughs as he —miraculously— stops himself from going into another monologue about the young prince of Briar Valley, “I am practicing to serenade someone else.”

“Oh?” That last bit caught your interest.

"I have devoted considerable effort to this endeavour. And yet it occurs to me that I may lack fundamental comprehension of human courtship customs. The results have been... insufficient." You almost felt bad because he seemed to be genuinely working through it.

“And what have you tried?” You tilt your head at his words, genuinely invested in whatever he had going on. Sebek on the other hand, was screaming inside because you asking that specific question meant you have realized exactly none of his efforts.

“Flowers, letters, compliments. All which should have been on par to human standards, but perhaps.. it is I who is lacking”

You could almost see Sebek sulking at that point. He had tried really hard. At least that was what it seemed like. What kind of person would have had flowers and love letters thrown their way and not realize of existing romantic intentions from the other party. And seeing that he is still trying, it seemed like whoever this person was had not given him a proper rejection. Then at that exact moment, the gears in your head turn. Flowers… letters… the compliments he kept giving you lately.

oh.

And then it clicked. You gasped at the realization,

“Okay, don’t scream to the heavens if I’m wrong, but by any chance” Your words left your lips as you thought of the best way to ask,

“Sebek, is it me you are trying to court?”

Your guess must’ve hit the mark because he went bright red and if you only had a tomato in hand right now they’d be twins.

You were sure you were also red. Maybe not as red, but definitely red.

“Sebek… I am so sorry.” You were mentally beating yourself up over the entire situation. You had put the poor boy through a field day —weeks of them apparently. But you also felt, really, really happy because he had put so much effort and it was clear he didn’t want to present anything to you that was less than perfect.

"I HAVE NOTHING TO BE PITIED FOR—" he caught himself, he has been doing that a lot lately. He’s been so aware of you and of himself in extent. And then at a lower volume, "I am not so easily deterred."

You looked at him.

He looked back, ears still crimson, eyes burning into you like a man who had decided that dignity was the hill he was going to die on.

"I had accounted," he continued, very carefully, "for the possibility that my initial efforts were lacking and had intended to improve them. I still intend to improve them."

"Sebek."

"I have not yet played the violin correctly."

"Sebek—"

"I have not yet played it once correctly," he said, with the gravity of someone filing a formal complaint against himself, "and I refuse to consider this concluded until I have done so at least.”

"Sebek, I like you."

He stopped. The practice room was very quiet.

You were definitely red now. Fully, completely red. But you had started it so you kept going.

"I didn't realize," you said, "and I'm sorry it took me so long. But I— yes. It's yes. If you are asking what I think you’re asking."

Sebek stared at you. You watched him have a complete melt down.

"...You," he started. Stopped. "You are —"

Stopped again.

Then, because apparently it was very important that he finishes what he started,

"I HAVE NOT YET SERENADED YOU PROPERLY.”

You laughed before you could stop it, you were sure you snorted and when you looked back at him he was still not looking at you but he seemed to be… almost relieved.

"Then come find me," you said, "when you have."

He looked back at you then. He looked so terribly, earnestly happy that it made your chest ache a little.

"I SHALL HOLD YOU TO THAT." he said.

"Have you tried singing? Perhaps that would be a better option.” you suggested. Then you added shyly because you figured after everything it was best to be direct, “I would not like to wait too long to date you. To be honest.”

You just threw whatever composure he had gathered in the short moment out the window because he went right back to being bright red. “HUMANN—“

“I’M SAYING. I’m being direct. Like you said in your letter.”

Sebek had considered what he wrote then decided, perhaps, this once, “I will consider the singing…”

“Good.” You smiled and walked towards him, then planted a short kiss on his crimson cheek. “Good luck charm.”

He really, really almost fell back at that and you quickly skipped away before he could yell in your ear,

"Okay."

He paused, "For a month."

"Sure."

"And…” he was clearly improvising now, "packed lunches with those little—"

"The triangle sandwiches?"

“Those."

"Done."

Ruggie looked at you. His ear twitched, you couldn’t help but grin. The thing about beast men is that their beast features are often more honest than their human ones and that often made things more convenient for you.

You never pushed back. That was the thing about you. He'd built his whole life around the push and pull of negotiation, around the moment when the other person is caught off guard and he could work with that. But you just agreed every single time like you'd already done the math and decided he was worth it. He should be pleased. Unlimited food, packed lunches, someone cooking for him, objectively a win.

Somehow he still felt like the one losing because truthfully you’ve made your way into his heart. He’s weak when it comes to you. He was so used to taking but you made him want to give. It made his whole strategy completely useless and he wasn’t sure how he felt about this.

"Y’know most people would argue a little.” he said.

"About sandwiches?" You tilted your head. "No, not my thing."

"Well more food for me.” He lets out his signature laugh.

You smiled and reached for his ears again. He let you this time —that had taken a while, not that either of you had said so out loud. There'd been a time when being treated gently had made him go wary. Waiting for the catch. People didn't do things without wanting something back, that was just how it was. Even after becoming lovers, he still didn't fully understand that there wasn't anything in the world you wouldn’t trade to see him happy and content.

Your fingers moved slowly, scratching lightly at the base of them, and Ruggie felt the exact moment his brain stopped cooperating with the rest of him.

His ears drooped just slightly. Folding under your touch which he absolutely had no control over. Your hands were warm and you smelled familiar and he wanted nothing but to bury himself in your scent.

He heard you giggle.

"It’s not really nice to tease." he said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You giggled."

“I just want to take care of you.”

His ears drooped lower at your words and he looked at you like he was about to protest. You noticed his tail swaying like it was restless. “If you offer a hyena too much, he might just take them all.”

“Doesn’t sound like a problem” you smile “Now come here.”

You opened your arms. He sighs on defeat, moving without making a thing of it and tucked himself against your chest with his face buried in you and his arms finding their usual place like they already knew where to go. Despite all the banter, he was hugging you rather possessively. You noticed. His hugs were always rather possessive.

You closed your arms around him and pressed a small kiss to the top of his head, right between his ears. He went very still.

"That wasn't in the agreement," he said, muffled.

"Sue me then.” You muttered out jokingly.

"I’ll take a kiss instead."

It was your turn to be caught off guard. You blushed, “Where did that come from?”

“You said I could take anything.” He grins, his tail brushing rather excitedly against your leg.

“You’re twisting my words!” You frown.

“You can’t take back what you said.”

“I’ll kiss you if you kiss me back.” You had to bite back the silly grin almost forming on your lips.

“Sounds like a good trade.”

Idia's kisses are accidental discoveries, his own more than yours. He overthinks everything leading up to it to the point of paralysis, so when it actually happens it tends to catch him off guard too. They're a little clumsy, a little desperate, gone almost before they're there because he panics. His face goes completely red immediately after and he will not make eye contact. But Idia is many things and one of those things is a learner. And you are a system he’s very interested in understanding. He notices what makes you pause. What makes your breath catch and he will use it. You’re going to find yourself breathless in no time and he will have the nerve to look smug about it while still being completely red in the face, because he figured you out, and watching you realize it is its own reward. The fumbling never fully goes away. But underneath it now is someone who knows exactly what he's doing.

Vil's kisses are precise and intentional as everything he does is. He won't kiss you carelessly or at an inconvenient angle. He tilts your face toward him at exactly the right angle, and when his lips meet yours, it is precisely what he intended it to be. Most of his kisses are sensual in a way that feels almost unfair. He is fully aware of what he's doing to you and he does it anyway, unhurried, like he has choreographed this and you are simply catching up. Vil doesn’t do things halfway and kissing you is no exception. He'd sooner not do it than do it poorly. He's not cold about it, there's real warmth underneath the composure, but he maintains his elegance even here. He has a habit of studying your face afterward with an expression you can't quite read. If you look particularly affected, which you always are, he'll look satisfied and say nothing. If you tell him the kiss was nice he will accept this as the obvious truth.

Rook's kisses are reverent. He approaches you like you are something worth appreciating slowly, and he takes his time, not in a teasing way but in the way of someone who is genuinely savoring the moment. You will feel adored in a way that's almost overwhelming. He has a tendency to murmur something against your lips or your cheek, in French half the time, that you may or may not be able to translate. His hands are gentle, expressive, always moving slightly as if he can't quite contain what he's feeling. He has a particular fondness for your hands. He'll take them and press his lips to your knuckles with the kind of care that makes something small feel big. There's nothing performative about it despite everything. When Rook kisses you, it is entirely sincere, and that sincerity is its own kind of intensity.

Lilia's kisses are surprising, in timing, in tenderness, in how much they catch you off guard every single time. He'll appear from nowhere and be gone again before you've fully processed it, laughing softly at your expressions. He’s always playful on the surface. But Lilia has loved and lost across centuries in ways you can't fully comprehend, and sometimes you feel the weight of that in the way he holds you. His kisses can go from light to something much deeper without warning. and in those moments you get the sense that he is very aware of you. Not just of you here right now, but of the fact that you are here at all and that this is something he has for however long he has it. When the tenderness tips into something else entirely, his kisses become consuming. You'll feel his teeth sometimes, a graze, a bite, never quite where you expect it. and he'll laugh softly at your reaction. He’d devour you and feel no guilt about it. He chose to love and hold you completely, for as long as he can.

He groans at your movement but showed no signs of waking. The sun was not awake yet after all.

You shifted again, just slightly. This time he stirred. It was subtle, the faint tension of someone surfacing from sleep. Something about him sharpened, just briefly. Then his eyes opened slightly and met yours. You could almost feel it, the way his body went from loose and dead to the world to aware.

You freeze. Prepared if he were to yell in your ear at that very second. You could tell his guard was up. He seemed to stay like that for a few seconds, perhaps assessing the situation.

Then— nothing.

He hadn’t sensed any threat. The tension left him as quickly as it came, “…’s just you.” You hear a small murmur and then he was asleep again within seconds, his grip not loosening at all.

You stared at the ceiling, heart doing something embarrassing. You waited until your heart wasn’t drumming as loud against your chest before trying again.

"Sebek." A little louder this time. He made a sound that was not even close to a word and turned his face into your shoulder.

"Sebek, I can’t move—"

He nuzzled deeper into you. The cold of night seems to make your warmth all the more enticing.

"Sebek—"

A low groan. His arms tightened. At that point you were almost sure no force on earth could undo the blanket burrito that is Sebek —and you seem to be apart of the ingredient this time.

You sighed in defeat, your gaze decided to settle on his sleeping face instead. His expression was so completely unguarded it almost wasn't fair. All that loud, rigid, relentless intensity, just gone. He looked younger. Softer. The furrow between his brows that seemed permanent during waking hours had smoothed out entirely.

Cute, you thought, again, helplessly, for what was probably the hundredth time. You were going to be here for a while. You closed your eyes.

Fine, you decided. Fine. A little longer.