#ace reader

Genre : fluff

Warnings : there's a brief sexual connotation from Angel because it's Angel but it's nothing too drastic.

A/n : Kasane Teto to the rescue once again. She invokes something deep within me that makes my fingers type at super speed. There may be spelling errors in this, I apologise if so, my eyes haven't been the best lately my keyboard gets blurry when I'm staring at a screen for too long :/ i'll be getting new contacts soon them bitches are expensive. This is a shorter post because it's more dialogue heavy, I'm trying to practice not describing characters actions so much because I feel like it clutters my writing a lot and ruins pacing. I love and hate writing sm grr

The funny thing about being married to Alastor is that nobody ever believes you.

Not because it's a secret - no no no, the rings are right there. His polished red band with antique etching, yours something elegant he picked because "it suits you my dear!" - but because neither of you behave the way people expect married couples to.

No clinging.

No pet names.

No public displays of affection.

Just... proximity. Familiarity. A shared understanding so seamless it borders on eerie.

Most days, you and Alastor function like old friends who simply happen to share a room, a routine, and an eternal partnership forged in life or death depending on who you ask (and Alastor never gives a straight answer).

So naturally, when you woke up that morning feeling... different - softer, warmer, a little more romantic than usual - it didn't feel like a big thing.

It just felt like one of those rare days.

Breakfast as the hotel was business as usual. Charlie chatting brightly, Vaggie observing, Angel was applying makeup whilst eating pancakes, Husk nursing a drink far too early. Alastor sat next to you, hands folded politely, legs crossed, his smile fixed pleasant as ever.

You reached for your tea, he reached for sugar at the same time and your fingers happen to brush. When you paused, there was a flicker - brief, fond - behind his eyes.

"Sugar, dear?" He hummed out lightly, suddenly brighter than he was as he grabbed your cup and the sugar, setting your tea down in front of you kindly.

You smile at him affectionately, resting your face in the palm of your hand," always the gentleman."

"It's simple ettiquette," he took a spoonful of sugar," how many teaspoons?"

"Mmm... guess."

His ear flicked, amusement in his gaze," Oh?"

You grin at him cheekily," you should know this information!" You laughed out at his reaction.

Alastor’s smile curves, unhurried. He doesn’t even glance at the sugar, “Two and a half,” he says, already measuring it out. “Any more and you claim it overwhelms the tea. Any less and you drink it politely while resenting me.”

He stirs once. Twice. Exact.

You watch, fond, chin in your palm. “Predictable.”

“Attentive,” he corrects lightly, sliding the cup back toward you.

Your fingers brush again as you take it. Neither of you reacts this time. There’s no need.

You take a sip. Perfect.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“Of course.”

Something in you softens. It isn’t dramatic. It never is. Just one of those moments where affection feels close to the surface instead of tucked neatly away.

You lean closer and press a brief kiss to the corner of his mouth.

That’s all.

There’s a pause - not shock, not outrage. Just a subtle break in the rhythm of the room.

Charlie falters mid-sentence, then recovers, smiling quietly to herself.

Vaggie’s brows lift, then settle. Not surprised - just reassessing.

Husk glances over the rim of his glass, snorts softly, and goes back to his drink.

Angel’s eyes narrow a fraction, thoughtful rather than stunned, pausing it chewing his pancakes.

No one says anything right away.

Alastor’s hand comes to rest at your lower back, familiar and light, “My dear,” he says pleasantly, “you’re feeling bold today.”

You laugh lightly," It was a 'thank you' kiss.”

He accepts that without question.

It’s only then that you notice the looks. They were not gawking, just… puzzled.

You frown slightly at them all, “what.”

Angel is the first to speak, raising a brow with a sharp grin," didn't realise you two were... y'know..." He made an 'O' and then put a finger in and out of it. Mimicking sex. Childishly.

"Hah." You merely deadpanned out at him before you blink in realisation. You turn, gaze sweeping the room. “hold on, did you all think we were just friends?”

There’s a beat.

Angel shrugs. “I mean. Kinda?”

Husk grunts. “Figured you were close.”

“Close?” you repeat, incredulous.

Charlie tilts her head, thoughtful. “You’re always together, but you don’t… you know. Act like most couples.”

Alastor chuckles, clearly amused, “How disappointing we must be.” he reaches over to your tea and took a sip of it now that you were distracted.

You blink, shaking your head at the others, “I thought it was rather obvious.”

“Obvious how?” Angel asks with a haughty snort, legs crossing over one another as he looks over the two of you like you were his new favourite reality show.

You gesture between yourself and Alastor with puffed-out cheeks like the answer was right in front of them, “The way he always knows what I want before I say it? The way we gravitate toward each other in a room?? The fact that he never touches anyone but somehow always finds a way to be near me???”

Alastor’s smile sharpens, very pleased, “You flatter me.”

“I’m serious,” you groan to the man, genuinely baffled before turning back to the group of demons with slumped shoulders,“ Did none of you notice?”

Husk snorts again. “Guess we just didn’t wanna assume.”

Alastor leans in slightly, voice warm and faintly teasing. “It seems, my dear, that our chemistry is… understated.”

You glance up at him,“ You’re telling me people didn’t clock us?”

“Apparently not.”

You sigh, mock-offended. “All these years.”

He squeezes your hand once. “Tragic.”

Vaggie rolls her eyes as she went back to picking at her breakfast as she shrugged casually," you two keep it private. It's none of our business."

Charlie nodded enthusastically with a sunny smile," Yeah!! It's nice to know you guys are married! I always thought it was weird that Y/n would come out of the same bedroom every morning with Alastor so now I at least know she's not sneaking into his room at night like a creep-"

"Oh my god..." your fingers come to your temple and began to rub at Charlie's description, Angel's amused cackles making a headache begin to build up.

You felt the familiar pat to the top of your head, it was sympathetic. But you could sense Alastor's amusement from a mile away.

"Maybe telegraphing our affection once in a while wouldn't hurt." You hear him say, the unmistakable grin to his voice making you have to fight back a smile of your own," just to prevent the assumptions that you're my stalker, of course!"

Twenty people sit around the set, bored, waiting for his cue. The lights have already been dimmed to save on the bill. Jill, his scene partner, is almost falling asleep. Only the director, Chris, is watching him intently.

"Alright, let's do a facial!" Chris snaps, and Leon flinches. The set jolts out of its stupor. "Claire, get the Cetaphil! Touch up Jill's makeup and reset the lights!"

"What?" Jill props herself up on her elbows. "That wasn't in the script!"

"Jill, come on. It'll be faster this way." Chris steps onto the set while the studio rearranges itself for the new shot. Leon retreats to the side of the fake laboratory. Claire passes him a towel to cover himself. No one meet his eyes.

"I'm in, if some of the takes go on my 0F." Jill tilts her face toward Claire for a touch-up. The camera operator nearly bumps into Leon with the new close-up rig, waiting for direction on where to set it. Everyone is tired, wants to go home, and everyone, surely, is disappointed in Leon.

Chris exhales sharply. A vein always pops up at his temple when he hears the word of this site. "It's my mortal enemy, Jill. This shit is killing my business."

"It's mutually enriching, don't be a hypocrite. You're just bitter it didn't work out for you."

Chris waves her off and walks away. Leon thinks he should follow him, but he's pinned in place by guilt. And he's not needed on set anymore anyway. He's a malfunction to be fixed, not someone whose apologies anyone wants to hear.

"I'm sorry, Jill," he says, not daring to lift his eyes.

"Don't be," she laughs. "This happens all the time. Worse things happen on set, trust me."

He knows. Of course he knows, and he doesn't dare forget it. Resident Pleasure,  Chris's studio, is an exception in the industry. If this had happened to Leon at a bigger studio, he'd be fined, or by tomorrow he'd be out of work entirely. This industry doesn't forgive a man's body for failing.

He rocks back on his heels, not knowing what to do. People move around him, busy fixing his mistake, and he feels like dead weight. The guilt is so sharp that he's almost ready to start moving lights and cameras himself.  Anything to stop being useless.

"My manager keeps asking about you," Jill starts from across the set. Claire pauses her makeup work to glance at Leon. "Still not interested in setting up an account?"

"No. Still not."

"Shame. You're turning down big money. Very big money. By the end of the year I could buy this studio," she jokes, lowering her voice so Chris won't hear. No one is ever going to buy Resident Pleasure from Chris, of course,  out of respect alone. A veteran of the industry himself, he moved behind the camera like many do. He promised himself he wouldn't repeat the mistakes that had happened to him. People joke that Resident Pleasure is almost a family-run studio.

"You could do podcasts," Claire chimes in, smiling at him. "I'm thinking of starting one. I'm so sick of bloggers who invite performers on, stare at their tits, and ask how they did in high school."

Jill laughs. "Oh god. I've been invited to those. Why can't they come up with new questions?"

"Exactly. That's why I want to do my own.  So I can show that this is a normal job."

Leon huffs out a quiet laugh. Normal job? Familiar job, maybe. Normal is a word reserved for people inside the industry, not outside it.

"By the way, Ada was on a podcast recently," Claire says, more carefully, brushing mascara onto Jill's lashes. "Did you watch it? It was huge."

This day really is trying to kill him. Leon wants to lean against the wall, then remembers it's cardboard.

"No. I didn't watch." Then he adds, "Did you?"

"Mm. Skimmed it." He understands immediately that Claire is probably sparing his feelings. All this talk about OnlyFans and podcasts  is just a gentle form of pity. A reminder that Leon could make money differently. "They asked her about Raccoon City."

"Of course they fucking did. Raccoon City." He exhales, almost grateful for the flash of anger,  it pulls him out of the stupor of guilt. He adjusts the towel, picks up his water. By now, Claire has already brought out the Cetaphil.

"She didn't name any names, by the way!" Claire tilts the bottle, trying to figure out the angle to Jill's face — careful not to get it in her eyes. "She just mentioned it."

"She never name me." And Leon should be grateful, but knowing Ada, this is just another manipulative move. She pretends that he doesn’t exist. 

"You don't have an NDA with her?" Jill cuts in. Their industry is small, and few people want to be linked to it publicly. Success is built on collaboration, so rumors travel fast. "You don't? God, Leon, you sweet naive thing. I don't understand how you've worked here this long without a scandal. It's actually impressive."

He smiles, lost, and shrugs. The small praise feels painful against the backdrop of guilt. Chris still isn't looking at him. Leon tells himself it's just because Chris is busy.

"Come on my podcast," Claire calls. "You can control the narrative yourself."

"Thanks, but I'll pass." It's hard for him to turn Claire down. They're almost family. "How's Sherry?"

"Oh, she asked about you! But her mother is such a bitch, I'd love to call CPS on them — the kid is constantly alone. I take her in whenever I can, but still. Her parents are too busy with their jobs at Umbrella."

"God, does anyone not work for Umbrella?" Jill marvels. "Half my tips on OnlyFans come from their employees."

Claire high-fives Jill.

"Yeah! Fighting the corporation however we can," she laughs.

Chris calls out for non-essentials to clear the set, and Leon has to go. He goes through the usual procedure. Shower, removing his makeup (himself this time, Claire is needed on set to cover Jill’s phace in fake cum), signing the paperwork. He decides not to go to Chris for his payment. Too ashamed.

Someone says goodbye to him. He barely hears it. He gets in his car, turns on music, drives off immediately. The focus of the shoot drains out of him like a switch was flipped, and all the pain blooms in his body. Skin scorched from the lights, dry from makeup, eyes like sandpaper. A dull ache in his temples, and of course…another bodyparts. Typical performer aches. And this is him working without medication. He's heard too much about side effects and sometimes ambulances.

He doesn't trust himself, so he avoids silence and pauses. Sometimes exhaustion is pleasant, sedative, almost. Other times it's monotonous and torturous. The first kind quiets your thoughts, the apathy is kind. The second kind makes every thought painful and catastrophic. Today is the second kind.

"Maybe I need a shrink," he chuckles to himself, but pulls into a health food store instead. Inside it's pleasantly cold and green; everyone is dressed in expensive athleisure with healthy faces and healthy smiles. The economy in this country has started sorting supermarkets by social class. The upper class used to gather in castles. Now they gather over the berry display. Berries. How can something so small cost so much?

Leon walks through familiar aisles, picks up his familiar set of groceries. Routine is supposed to comfort, the green labels are supposed to convince him he's a normal person. Maybe even a real member of society. He always visits fancy supermarkets afters set. It helps to dull the images from the shoot. Beige, yellow, white. A blur of skin and lights and fake cum.

He turns around. He always notices when someone looks at him too long, trying to place where they've seen him. But the aisle only has two teenage girls with their mother.  Pilates outfit, picking out almonds. Girls are giggling. There's no way they could know him.

"Mom, take a picture of us?" That can't be for him. Leon returns to picking out his soy protein. "Excuse me, can we get a photo? My classmates won't believe me. Someone thinks you are AI."

Leon freezes. The girl is looking directly at him, no shame, clearly addressing him. The mother already has her phone ready, and nothing about this seems to faze her. This is Los Angeles. Photos with celebrities are part of the routine.

"With me?" Leon flushes deeply and tries to figure out what exactly is happening. Sure, everyone on the internet warns about Gen Alpha, but not this much. The girl is maybe twelve, in bright clothes with a fistful of beaded bracelets. She is absolutely not his audience.

"Yes! Please!" The girl steps in next to him. "It's for TikTok!"

He stalls again and silently stands beside her. He knows he shouldn't be doing this. That this is a mistake. A prank. Or — maybe even a crime?

The camera flashes; the mother smiles at the two of them, and the girl runs off, beaming.

"Thanks, Special Guy!" she calls over her shoulder, disappearing toward the register.

“It’s fucking cold.”

You curse under your breath as you tug the coat tighter around your frame, burrowing your nose into the scarf that Thatch had lent you. Lucky bastard himself was cozy in the galley, probably all warmed up from cooking up dinner for the rest of the crew while you were sent out to explore the island that’s been snowed and iced over like Admiral Kuzan’s Winter Wonderland. It’ll be fun, Ace said. To tag along with everyone else.

Everyone else, also known as, your crewmates who all have incredibly strong, cold-resistant builds or powers to keep them toasty, twenty-four seven.

You glare at Marco at the front of the group, who is literally unfazed and looking all too comfortable for wearing shorts, sandals, and his usual shirt unbuttoned when it’s below freezing and blizzarding. He chuckles and shakes his head at you, as you continue to shiver lightly even with all the layers you’d managed to bundle on, teeth chattering as you sniffle. Your snot might freeze, at this rate, then you.

A sudden weight launches itself over your back, and you nearly topple forwards with a surprised noise that escapes the back of your throat. 

“It’s not that cold!” Ace exclaims from above you, and you nearly shove him off if not for the immense warmth that spreads through. Like Marco, he’s in his usual state of half-dressed, and you envy his powers that keep him unbothered by the chill. But almost immediately, your annoyance melts away, just as the chill across your body does, and Ace chuckles as he lets himself drape over your frame. 

“It’s not my fault the entire crew is as tolerant to the cold as they are to alcohol,” you snip back, glancing back at the rest of your team trudging through the snow. “Let’s go, we gotta keep up.”

He finally relents, leaning back to let you continue walking, stepping through the footsteps left by Jozu so you don’t sink into the snow any more than necessary.

Though you’re one of the newer recruits to join the crew, you found yourself by Ace’s side more times than not. You provided him the stability and strategy while he brought to you the spontaneity and the firepower (quite literally) and it didn’t take long for the two of you to click, as friends and on the battlefield as well. He’d drag you to explore and show you things he discovered, while you shared with him your knowledge and techniques you’ve gathered over the years, teaching him of cultures and history and survival tips all around. It was the perfect amount of push and pull, one that has, without fail, executed so effortlessly.

And that compatibility may have led you to harbor a slight crush on the man. It wasn’t hard to develop feelings for him when you’d been with him for all this time. He’s doted over you countless times, watching your back and looking out for you, showing you kindness that you’d never received before. 

Even now, he’d opted to walk behind you to make sure you were keeping up, offering a steady hand at your back when you faltered, and without a doubt, ready at any moment to catch you if you’d slipped or fell.

It made your heart absolutely soar. Despite the shivers that wracked your body, it felt like your heart was doing somersaults and backflips in your chest with every warm touch.

The snow howls around you—the icy winds growing thicker and thicker like a white curtain. Even with Jozu's hulking figure in front of you, his shadow begins to fade into white and gray with each step you falter, holding your ground to avoid being blown away. 

A warm hand rests against your back, and you can barely lift your head against the wind to look up at Ace.

“The storm’s getting worse,” he says, a bit more firmly with his usual cheerfulness stored away. “C’mon, get on my back. We need to catch up with them.”

Without waiting for a response, he crouches down in front of you, and you have no choice but to suck up your pride, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him pick you up. “This alright?”

Ace’s entire body radiates with heat, and you press yourself to his back, letting out a shaky sigh as you feel yourself regaining feeling in your limbs and fingers. “Yeah.”

With one last nod, he walks on. But the blizzard rages on, even more violently that has you tightening your hold on Ace, who even falters against the strong winds a couple of times. The curtain of rushing white is blinding, and you can barely tell where you’d come from and where you were headed—the stretch of snow looking the same no matter which way you looked.

He says your name—but it’s nearly lost in the wind, if not for you feeling his chest rumble. You look up to see what he’s looking at. There’s a small crevice between some jagged rocks sticking up from the ground, but it's probably big enough for you and Ace to slip inside, and take shelter from the storm. You nod, and he shifts his direction to head towards it, letting you down gently so you can slip in, before he follows. It’s big enough for both of you to be seated comfortably across from another.

“Let’s wait for the storm to die down a bit,” Ace peeks out, observing the white blur together like rushing waters. “We’ll end up lost if we keep going at this rate.”

Your teeth chatter loudly as you curl up, hugging your knees tightly to your chest as you try to warm up to no avail. Ace immediately scoots over towards you, sitting just inches away from you before he spreads his arms. “C’mere. I’ll warm you up.”

Without hesitation, you crawl onto his lap, sitting on his thighs as you wrap your arms around his middle, digging your face into his chest. The thought of you clinging to his bare top would normally make you embarrassed to hell and back, but you were too cold to dwell on that, especially when the man had offered open arms and all. And thank the Blues for him—his warmth encases you pleasantly, as Ace hugs you tightly to his chest, pulling you impossibly closer to him. Taking in a deep breath, your body relaxes, his comforting scent of smoke and cedarwood filling your nose and soothing the tension in your cold limbs.

You can’t help it as you feel your eyes close, exhaustion hitting you in an instant, but Ace squeezes you, jolting you awake and you look up to meet his gaze. “Can’t fall asleep right now. Try to stay awake with me for a little while longer, alright?”

You hum against his chest. “Sorry. It’s just… really nice.”

Ace considers a thought, before he leans over to rest his chin on top of your head. “Then let’s talk. Ask me anything.”

“What, like we’re two schoolgirls gossiping?”

Ace laughs, a pretty sound that echoes around the stone walls and drowns out the wind outside. “Yeah, sure.”

You chuckle, playing along. “Then… you think Marco will confess to his little crush anytime soon?”

Ah, yes, the new nurse that the doctor’s taken a liking to. You and Ace have pointed it out, and you’re well aware of the piling bets that have accumulated among all the Commanders. Last you heard, the pool had reached nearly a million Berry. 

Ace huffs. “I think she’ll do it first. Bet a hundred thousand Berry on it, and Izo agreed with me, so I’m pretty confident about it.”

“Maybe I should add to that pool too,” you murmur thoughtfully at the thought of free Berry. “Izo’s never wrong.”

“Exactly,” Ace agrees matter-of-factly. “But, well, what about you?”

“What about me?” you deflect, maybe a bit too hastily. But if he notices, he doesn’t point it out.

“Do you like anyone?” Ace asks, straight to the point, and you can't help but wonder what sort of expression is on his face. Because for you, you feel your heart drop to your gut—and you really hope he didn’t feel you flinch.

“You answer first,” you counter shakily, hoping he doesn’t catch your nervous tone. It takes everything in you to not blurt out his goddamn name. “And then maybe I’ll tell you.”

It’s dangerous territory, you realize. But you can’t help the nagging curiosity that’s been on your mind for quite some time, now. It's a fitting question to his little scenario, after all.

“You better keep your word, then,” Ace says, but his words hold no bite. “Well. What if I said I do?”

Ouch. You actually weren’t expecting that. It makes you wince, and you make sure to keep your head lowered, still hiding your face in his chest so he doesn’t see. Could it be you? But what if it wasn’t— what if it was someone like Tate? Or even a long lost lover, a childhood crush that never left his hold and you didn’t know about all this time? 

Realizing you’ve been quiet for a moment too long, you let out a nervous chuckle. “I mean, I’d ask who it is, but you don’t have to tell me if it’s a secret.”

Perhaps it’s better you never know, anyways. 

Ace hums in mock thought again. And just as you wait for his answer, you feel the breath escape you as his arms tighten around your frame. Slowly, he lowers his head, lips right above your ear, and you freeze as he whispers. “Let me tell you a secret, then.”

His voice drops several octaves and you suppress the shiver that runs through you at the feeling of his breath right at your ear. You’re all warmed up now—maybe on the verge of overheating, and Ace seems to know full well since he laughs, leaning back and prompting you to look up at him to meet his gaze.

“I like you too much to keep it from you anymore,” he confesses, a slight flush across his cheeks as he grins down at you. A hand comes up to cup your cheek, a warm thumb swiping over your skin as he cradles it. “I’d like to keep you in my arms like this, if you’ll let me.”

Any and all thought in your head melts in an instant, and you’re left a flustered mess once his words sink in. Ace grins even wider at your surprise, and your brain works overtime to come up with a response.

Instead, Ace just brushes your cheek again, his eyes flickering to your lips, before they meet your gaze. “What do you say?”

Unconsciously, you find yourself doing the same—eyes lingering on his pink lips that makes your heart beat faster against your ribs, heat spreading across your cheeks. Releasing the vice grip you had on Ace, you lean back a little so you can raise both hands to cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing against his freckles as you murmur his name. “Ace…”

You feel him flinch under your touch, but he smiles up at you, with a look so fond and gentle that has you nearly melting in his arms as he says your own name softly.

Mustering up all your courage, you lean down to press your lips against his, feeling his warmth overtake you entirely. You answer, slowly moving your lips against his, savoring his warmth, his taste, everything he has to offer you, just as you offer yourself to him. Affection, adoration, love, cherish. Without any words you convey it to him as the wind howls outside and the snow rages on, oblivious to you.

“Is that a yes?” Ace asks, as you part from him, a little bit breathless. “Because I sure hope it is.”

You can’t help but laugh at him at how ridiculous he is, and how he’s all yours, now.

“Of course,” you breathe out, pressing your lips against his once more. 

Your friends swore that this guy was “absolutely perfect for you” and “you just need to give him a chance,” and they promised that you wouldn’t be disappointed. Rumi was the first one to bring it up. Zoey was the loudest and most persistent advocate. Even Mira had agreed and encouraged you to try one date just to see if he interested you.

You had never met him directly, but the girls had all shown you tons of pictures of Baby. You had heard some of their music and met most of the other members of the group when they were on various dates with your friends. Each of them made similar comments from time to time.

You reminded them each multiple times that you didn’t really have any interest dating anyone right now. They insisted that Baby had similar hesitations, but they all thought that you would make great friends if nothing else. It might have just been to stop their persistent remarks, but you finally agree to go on a date with the idol.

The Huntr/x girls help you get ready. They pick out your outfit and insist on doing your makeup for you. You let them fuss over you, enjoying the chaos and laughter that always surrounds you when all four of you hang out like this. The sinking feeling doesn’t settle in until they announce that you are ready. It forces you to remember that all of this is for a date that you didn’t really want.

When you get to the restaurant, you find Baby quickly. He’s dressed up as well and looks just as uncomfortable as you feel. You introduce yourself and take a seat. He gives you a quick once over, focusing more on your hair and jewelry than your figure.

“Compliment her.” You hear the comment smothered by a cough. Your face scrunches in confusion. Leaning to the side, you make out Romance huddled into the booth behind Baby. He looks like he’s trying to stay hidden, so you shrug it off and focus back on Baby.

“Your hair looks nice?” Baby says awkwardly, the words coming out as more of a question than a statement. There’s another cough behind him and he adds, “It’s a cute style.”

“Thanks,” You smile at the compliment. “Your hair looks nice too. I love the color.” There’s a groan from the booth behind you that sounds an awful lot like Rumi. You start to turn around and look, but an appetizer is set on the table in front of you, distracting you before you can.

You chat casually with Baby as you eat, discussing hobbies and interests. Every third sentence there’s a groan, a cough, or some muttered words from different places around you. It’s three specific tables, actually. You actively ignore it until you’ve finished dessert because as annoying as the prying is, you aren’t going to let it come between you and cake. Baby has slowly gotten quieter after every instance, appearing to get more uncomfortable.

You lean forward and drop your voice to a whisper. “I’m getting tired of the audience. Do you want to get out of here? Maybe go to an arcade and actually have some fun?”

Baby’s eyes light up and the tension visibly leaves his shoulders. “Absolutely!”

You stand quickly, telling the staff to send the bill to the table behind you. Rumi pretends to act surprised, but Jinu just waves over the ticket, accepting without complaint. You wave and Zoey and Mystery at the second table on your way out, and Baby sticks out his tongue to the third table that has Romance, Mira, and Abby all squeezed together.

You and Baby laugh, now light-hearted and happy to actually be doing something you enjoy. You spend the rest of your night playing games together. Clearly, they were all correct about the two of you getting along, even if they didn’t understand exactly how you would fit together.

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