#reverse comfort

And you weren't, because on top of your car is the one and only Phenomaman. He's just.. laying on the hood of your car, and it's a little dented.. How heavy was this guy?

Ditching your keys in the door, you set down your work back and make your way over to your car and the hero. Either he doesn't hear your approach or he just doesn't care. Questioning whether you should say something or not, you just stand by the car staring down at him for a moment.

'He's seen better days,' you think to yourself as you get a glimpse of his rough face. Slightly overgrown beard, eyes bloodshot, hell his nose is a little red.

"You uh..." You wonder what to say, what do normal people do in this scenario? "You alright there buddy?" Was the best you could muster.

You'd rather he didn't respond at all, but instead his head slowly turns so he's looking at you. His eyes look worse now that you can see them clearly. And for a moment, all you do is stare at each other.. awkward.

"I am not 'alright there, buddy'." The way he repeated what you said like he'd never heard anything like it almost made you laugh, but you didn't. That would be rude.

Nodding slightly, you check your phone for the time and let out a sigh. If you're gonna be late, you just won't show up at all, best to call your boss and let him know. Maybe you'll fake being sick again.

"Look, uh, Phenomaman, I'm gonna be frank here and just tell you. You look like shit," you raise your hand to gesture to his whole, sulking like a teen who got dumped on prom get up, "Would you like to come inside? It's cold out." Then you add, "Do you even get colds?" With a whisper to yourself.

"I do not," he replies. Shit he heard that last bit, good hearing, but very embarrassing. While you shame yourself internally for saying the last part out loud, he gets up from your car and stands tall in front of you. He's about a foot taller than you, no matter your height.

And it's back to staring at each other. Thankfully not for long as he breaks the silence.

"Thank you for inviting me into your home, I graciously accept your hospitality." He smiles, well, tries too, it comes out sad and just makes him look more pathetic.

"Oh, okay, yeah," you muster up, giving him a thumbs up before turning around and making your way back to your front door. Why did you invite a very famous superhero into your house, and why did he accept?!

He follows closely, his large frame a bit intimidating as it looms over you while you unlock your door again. It unlocks quickly and you step aside, allowing him to enter first while you grab your bag.

"Make yourself at home, I have to make a call really quick." You wave your phone a little as you lock the door. He lets out a hum and looks around while you push past him to get to your bedroom.

While you're busy calling your boss, he walks down the hall and looks at the place. Every piece of furniture, every poster, every picture. He likes looking at the pictures, seeing you smile with friends or maybe family, it warms his alien heart. He slowly makes his way to the living room and sits down on the couch, a slight 'crack' coming from his weight.

When you come back you see that he's playing with a throw pillow, resting it on his lap and fiddling with the edges.

"So, what's got you in a funk?" You ask, walking over and sitting next to him. At first you were scared to be so casual with him, but seeing as he accepted your offer and seems overall like a wet cat, he probably won't mind.

"I ..." He seems to lose the words in his throat for a moment, looking down at the floor. "Blonde Blazer broke up with me, and I have no clue why." Oh, yikes, breakups.

"It was so sudden..." He whispers, raising his hands so he can rest his face in them.

"Hey, it's alright," you assure, hesitantly resting a hand on his bicep. "Breakups happen all the time, and sometimes you never get a reason. It's... Sadly natural for that to happen."

He looks over at you, eyeing your face up and down, it makes you nervous.

"I suppose if it is.. natural, I should not complain." He says, letting his hands fall back on to the pillow.

"That's not what I said." You reply almost instantly, shocking yourself with how eager you felt to help. "Just because they're natural doesn't mean you can't be sad about it."

He hums, and looks over at you again.

"Have you gone through such things?" He asks, and good lord did you wish he hadn't.

"Uh, yeah. I've had a few nasty breakups, and it took me months to get over some of them." You nervously chuckle, looking away from him to gather yourself.

"I am sorry to hear that," he responds. He sets the pillow on his lap aside to the couch arm and turns his upper body to you.

Then he hugs you.

It's bone crushing, making you huff at first before adjusting. And it's a little awkward, but you raise your arms and hug him back. Your arms barely reach each other. Patting his back, he relaxes in your arms and rests his head on your shoulder.

"It'll be alright buddy." You mutter, questioning to yourself what the fuck is going on. This is crazy.

Riddle's eyes go wide, and for a moment, his face goes completely red—not from anger, but from pure, unfiltered embarrassment. He glances around, hoping no one else is witnessing this absolute spectacle you’re making.

"Please," you continue, voice wobbling as if you're on the verge of tears, "Grant me one more chance to bask in your presence! Your mercy, oh merciful ruler!" You bow dramatically, forehead almost touching the ground.

He sputters, clearly flustered beyond belief. "W-What are you doing? Get up! That's completely unnecessary—!"

"No!" You hold up the rose like a peace offering. "Not until you talk to me again! I will stay here on my knees if I must! Forever! Or until I get a cramp, whichever comes first!"

He’s torn between laughing at the ridiculousness of it and dying from second-hand embarrassment. “This is ridiculous! I—” He looks at the rose, then at you, eyes softening just a bit. “Fine, fine, just… stand up already.”

You spring to your feet, grinning triumphantly. “So, we’re good?”

Riddle sighs, rubbing his temples. "You're impossible."

“Does that mean yes?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him playfully.

“Yes. But stop being so dramatic. The whole dorm probably heard you…”

You don’t care. You throw your arms around him in a spontaneous hug, and for a second, Riddle freezes, stunned by the unexpected affection. Then, hesitantly, he returns the hug. He’s still embarrassed, but there’s a softness to his grip, a sign that he missed this closeness just as much as you did.

He pulls you into his room, and as soon as the door clicks shut, the embarrassment on his face fades, replaced with a quiet vulnerability. He avoids your eyes, walking over to his desk, his voice quieter now. “I… I was afraid,” he admits. “That maybe you were getting tired of me. I know I’m difficult sometimes, and—”

“Whoa, whoa,” you interrupt, stepping closer. “Where is this coming from?”

He sits down, staring at the floor. “You could be with someone more… easygoing. Less rigid. Someone who doesn’t argue over every little thing.”

You blink, surprised. “Riddle, I knew what I was getting into when I started dating you. I chose you, remember?”

He looks up at you, eyes filled with uncertainty, and you notice his hands trembling just slightly. “But what if I drive you away? What if one day you just… stop trying?”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice. Before you can think, you step forward, kneeling in front of him. Without hesitation, you cup his face in your hands, gently brushing your thumb against his cheek. “That’s not going to happen. Ever.”

His eyes glisten slightly, the tension of the past few days unraveling as he leans into your touch. “But—”

“No buts,” you insist softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you. Stubbornness, rules, and all. And honestly, I think the petty arguments are kinda fun. It keeps things… interesting.”

He lets out a shaky breath, and you feel a few tears slip down his cheeks. “You don’t know how hard it is for me,” he whispers. “To balance everything, to try and be perfect all the time… I don’t want to lose you because of my shortcomings.”

You smile gently, brushing away the tears with your thumb as you lean in and kiss his cheek softly. “You’re not going to lose me. You don’t have to be perfect, Riddle. I didn’t fall in love with perfection, I fell in love with you.”

He stares at you for a moment, tears still threatening to spill over, but his grip on your hand tightens as if he’s holding on to your words. “I… I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve the world,” you whisper, pulling him into a tight hug, cradling his head against your shoulder as he allows himself to cry softly into your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, gently whispering reassurances as he finally lets go of the weight he’s been carrying.

“I missed you,” he mumbles between sniffles, his voice fragile in a way you’ve rarely heard before.

“I missed you too,” you say, kissing the top of his head. “Let’s never do this silent treatment thing again, okay?”

He nods, still clinging to you, and you feel his lips press a soft kiss against your shoulder, a wordless promise.

Leona Kingscholar

It’s been two long days of silence. And if you know one thing about Leona Kingscholar, it’s that his stubbornness rivals your own. You’ve been circling around each other, neither one of you willing to be the first to admit defeat. But the silence is eating away at you, and, well… you miss him.

So, you hatch a plan. A very dramatic, ridiculous, and completely unnecessary plan.

Armed with a large bouquet of sunflowers—because roses are too obvious—you march into Savanaclaw with all the confidence of someone who is absolutely not going to be embarrassed by this. Nope. You pass by several confused students on your way to Leona’s room, each one giving you strange looks as you carry the huge bouquet.

You stop in front of his door, take a deep breath, and knock. No answer. You knock again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

Sighing, you decide to just barge in—because what’s a grand gesture without a bit of dramatic flair? Pushing open the door, you find Leona lounging on his bed, arms behind his head, eyes closed.

Perfect.

You march up to him and stand by his bed, holding the bouquet in front of you like a shield. “Leona Kingscholar, hear me out!” you declare, in a tone that’s probably more suited for a court jester than someone in an actual relationship.

One of his ears twitches, and his eyes crack open, glancing at you. You stand tall and proud, despite how ridiculous you feel, presenting the sunflowers like they’re some rare treasure. “I come bearing these humble sunflowers as an offering to ask for your forgiveness, O Great King of Beasts.”

He snorts. Actually snorts. “What are you on about, herbivore?”

You drop to one knee dramatically, holding the flowers up to him as if you’re a knight swearing fealty to his king. “Please, Leona! Forgive my transgressions! I was wrong to argue with you, and I cannot bear another moment without your esteemed company!”

Leona raises an eyebrow, staring at you with what can only be described as amusement. “You’re really going all out, huh?”

“I am but a humble servant, groveling for your mercy!” you continue, refusing to break character. “Please, take these sunflowers as a token of my undying affection and devotion!”

By now, Leona is fully awake, sitting up and resting his chin in his hand, clearly trying to hold back laughter. “Sunflowers, huh? How thoughtful of you.”

“Of course!” You stand up dramatically, thrusting the bouquet toward him. “They represent my radiant affection for you!”

Leona finally lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But do you forgive me?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him.

He rolls his eyes, but the grin on his face betrays his amusement. “Yeah, yeah, you’re forgiven. Just stop with the theatrics, would ya?”

You grin, knowing you’ve won him over. But there’s something still lingering in the air, some tension that hasn’t quite disappeared yet. Leona might be laughing, but you can tell he’s still a bit on edge, still a little distant.

Setting the sunflowers aside, you walk over to the bed and sit next to him. “Leona, I know it was a dumb fight, but… you know you’re the only one for me, right?”

He glances at you, his smile fading slightly as he considers your words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say softly, scooting closer. “I mean it. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he’s quiet, and you can see the tension in his shoulders start to ease. Then, without a word, he shifts, pulling you down onto the bed with him, his body practically draping over yours like a big, heavy, warm blanket. His arms wrap around you, his tail curling possessively around your leg, anchoring you to him.

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, letting out a low, contented sigh. “You better not,” he mumbles against your skin. “I don’t feel like dealing with anyone else’s nonsense.”

You smile softly, running your fingers through his hair, scratching gently behind his ears. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Leona presses closer, his body relaxing fully against yours as if he’s been waiting for this. His weight is comforting, and you can feel the way he melts into your embrace, his tail tightening just slightly around you as if to say, mine.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him as close as you can, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours. “You okay now?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah,” he mutters, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. “Just don’t pull that silent treatment crap again. Hate it.”

You chuckle softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Deal.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but the way he snuggles even closer to you tells you that all is forgiven. You hold him tight, and in that moment, with him lying on top of you like a big, lazy cat, everything feels right again.

Azul Ashengrotto

It’s been two long, dreadful days of silence between you and Azul. And for someone like him—someone who thrives on words, on negotiation, on control—it’s been absolutely agonizing. But his pride won’t let him be the first to crack. He’s stubborn like that.

And you? Well, you’re not much better.

But enough is enough. The tension between you both is suffocating, and while you’re both great at the silent treatment, it’s clear this little game of emotional chicken has to end. You’ve had enough of this cold war, and after mulling over how to make amends, you come up with the most absurd, ridiculous plan that just might work.

You stand outside the Mostro Lounge, a grin on your face, feeling more than a little proud of yourself. In your arms is the biggest, gaudiest, most unnecessary floral arrangement imaginable—an explosion of blues and purples that makes it look like you’ve picked half of the Coral Sea to present to Azul. There are seashells, ribbons, and even a tiny fake octopus plush dangling from the bouquet, like the cherry on top of your ridiculous masterpiece.

You march into the Lounge, catching the attention of several customers, who stop to stare as you make your way toward Azul’s office. Ignoring their looks, you throw the door open dramatically, the bouquet nearly tipping you over with its weight.

“Azul Ashengrotto!” you declare, bursting into his office. He’s sitting at his desk, and the second he sees you and the monstrosity of flowers in your arms, his eyes go wide. “I have come to beg for your forgiveness!”

He blinks, clearly caught off guard by the sheer audacity of the display. “W-What…?”

You march up to him, practically dropping the bouquet on his desk with a flourish. “These flowers represent my sincere regret for my terrible behavior during our argument. As you can see, they are over-the-top and completely unnecessary, much like my stubbornness.”

Azul stares at the bouquet, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Y-You…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to compose himself, but there’s a telltale twitch at the corner of his lips that suggests he’s seconds away from laughing. “This is absurd.”

“I know,” you reply with a dramatic sigh, throwing a hand to your forehead like a tragic figure. “I have been plagued with guilt these past two days, Azul. I couldn’t bear another moment without your lovely company.”

He finally cracks, letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re insufferable.”

“Only for you, darling.” You lean over the desk, waggling your eyebrows, and he sighs, shaking his head. His laughter is light, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that pulls at your heartstrings. He may be smiling, but something’s still weighing on him.

With a small smile, Azul stands from his desk and walks around it until he’s standing right in front of you. He reaches for your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles before looking up at you with a much softer expression than before.

“I’ll admit… I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. “But I—” He pauses, his gaze dropping to the floor, as if debating whether or not to say the next words. “Did you… only come back because you thought you had to? Or do you still… want me?”

His voice cracks, just a little, but it’s enough to make your heart break. You blink in surprise, your breath catching at the rawness in his question.

“Azul…” you say softly, stepping closer, cupping his face gently in your hands. His eyes dart to yours, filled with a mix of uncertainty and hope, and it almost shatters you. “Of course I want you. Always.”

He swallows hard, and you can see the tears welling up in his eyes, ones he’s desperately trying to hide. But you won’t let him. You pull him close, wrapping your arms around him tightly, holding him as if you could shield him from the insecurities swirling in his mind.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his temple. “I love you. I’ve always loved you since I met you, and I always will. No matter what.”

Azul clings to you, his arms wrapping around your waist, burying his face in your shoulder as his breath hitches. The tears come slowly, quietly, and you feel them soak into your shirt as he holds you like you’re his lifeline.

You kiss the top of his head, brushing your lips against his hair, then down to his tear-streaked cheeks. “I’m here,” you whisper between each kiss, your voice soft and soothing. “I’m right here. You’re not alone, Azul. You never were.”

He squeezes you tighter, as if afraid to let go, and you can feel the tension slowly leaving his body. You keep kissing away his tears, gentle and patient, letting him take all the time he needs. Eventually, his breathing steadies, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed but filled with so much affection it makes your heart swell.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs again, though there’s no bite to his words. He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, his lips brushing yours in the lightest of touches.

“Ridiculous, but yours” you reply, grinning, and he huffs a quiet laugh.

“Yes… you are,” he whispers, and this time, when he kisses you, it’s slow and tender, his lips soft but firm against yours, filled with all the love and relief he’s been holding back. You kiss him back with just as much affection, your arms wrapping around him as you both lose yourselves in the moment.

When he finally pulls away, you rest your forehead against his once more, both of you breathing a little heavier but feeling lighter than you have in days.

“No more arguments, okay?” you murmur, smiling softly.

“No promises,” he teases, but there’s a warmth in his voice now, a comfort that reassures you everything will be just fine.

And as you hold him close, with his head resting against your shoulder, you know it too. Everything will be just fine.

Jamil Viper

After two long days of silence, the weight of the unresolved argument with Jamil has become unbearable. You’re done waiting for him to make the first move, especially knowing how he can be—cautious, calculating, always one step ahead but never one to make the first emotional leap. You miss him, and more importantly, you want to make things right, even if it means doing something absolutely ridiculous.

Which is how you find yourself standing outside his dorm, holding a tray of… pancakes. Not just any pancakes, though. These are heart shaped, perfectly arranged to spell out “I’M SORRY” in big, syrup-drenched letters. You’re not sure what possessed you to make pancakes an apology tool, but hey, everyone loves pancakes, right?

With a deep breath, you knock on his door. After a moment, Jamil opens it, his expression neutral, but the second he spots the tray, his eyes narrow in confusion.

“What... is this?”

You grin sheepishly, lifting the tray up like a peace offering. “An apology. In pancake form.”

Jamil blinks at the sight, clearly trying to process this ridiculous gesture. “You… made pancakes to say sorry?”

“Yes. And they’re shaped like hearts. See? I even used syrup to write it out so there’s no confusion.” You point to the pancakes proudly. “You can’t stay mad at me after this, right?”

For a moment, Jamil just stares at the tray, his expression unreadable, before a slow, reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He lets out a quiet huff of laughter, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Maybe, but I’m yours.”

He shakes his head, but there’s no denying the amusement in his eyes. “You could have just apologized with words, you know.”

“I could have,” you agree, “but where’s the fun in that?” You give him your best hopeful grin, offering him a plate. “Come on, at least eat one. They’re good! I even made them heart-shaped.”

Jamil sighs, taking the plate from you with a resigned smile. He grabs one of the heart-shaped pancakes and bites into it, giving you a side glance. “I suppose I can’t stay mad after this.”

You watch him closely, noticing the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. You know him well enough to see through his calm facade. Beneath it all, he’s still embarrassed—mostly about the argument, but also because he let his temper get the best of him. You can tell that’s what’s really bothering him, even now.

“You know,” you say softly, stepping closer, “it’s okay that we argued.”

Jamil looks at you, his brows furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t have to feel bad for losing your temper. You don’t always have to hold everything in around me. It’s okay to let it out, to be angry, to argue. We’re not always going to agree, and that’s fine.” You place your hand gently on his arm. “I’ll always come back and fix things, even if you feel like you can’t. That’s what we do, right?”

Jamil stares at you for a moment, his expression softening as your words sink in. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, one that he rarely shows, and it breaks your heart just a little. Slowly, he sets the plate down and reaches for you, pulling you into his arms.

“You’re too forgiving,” he murmurs, resting his chin on top of your head.

“And you’re too hard on yourself,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. “I meant it. You don’t have to be perfect with me, Jamil. You can be yourself, temper and all.”

He lets out a quiet sigh, his grip tightening slightly around you. “You’ll regret saying that one day.”

“I doubt it,” you tease, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “But if I do, I’ll make more food.”

That earns you a small, genuine laugh, and before you can say anything else, Jamil leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His lips linger for a moment, and when he pulls back, his expression is softer than you’ve seen in days.

“You’re serious about that promise?” he asks quietly, his hand cupping your cheek. “That no matter what, you’ll always come back?”

You nod, holding his gaze. “Always. Even if we argue, even if things get tough, I’ll be right here. I’ll come back and fix it, even if you can’t.”

Jamil’s eyes flicker with emotion, and before you know it, he’s kissing you—soft and slow at first, but there’s a desperation behind it, a need for reassurance. You kiss him back with the same intensity, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer, trying to pour every bit of love and understanding into the kiss.

When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless, but the tension that had been there for the past two days is gone. He rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he exhales slowly.

“I’ll hold you to that promise,” he whispers, and you can hear the relief in his voice. “Just don’t make me wait this long next time.”

You smile, reaching up to brush your lips against his again. “Deal. But only if you agree to eat more pancakes.”

He chuckles, pulling you back into his arms. “Fine. But only because they’re heart-shaped.”

And just like that, everything feels right again.

Vil Schoenheit

After two days of tense silence between you and Vil, you know you need to go all out if you’re going to get him to forgive you. Apologies are one thing, but Vil is someone who values effort, refinement, and, of course, aesthetic appeal. You can’t just go in with flowers—no, you need to apologize in a way that matches his standards.

So naturally, you end up outside his dorm with a full-on spa set-up. A luxury at-home facial kit, to be precise, complete with rare, imported skincare masks and the finest essential oils. You may or may not have spent more on this than you’ve ever spent on yourself before, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

When Vil opens the door, his eyes immediately narrow at the sight of you holding a basket filled with beautifully arranged skincare products. “What… is this?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You smile, trying to play it cool. “An apology. In skincare form.” You thrust the basket toward him. “I thought maybe you’d like to, uh, pamper yourself and—look! I even got the organic lavender serum you were talking about last month!”

Vil stares at the basket, then at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re bribing me with skincare?”

“Technically, I’m apologizing with skincare,” you correct, flashing a sheepish grin. “I know I messed up, and I know you like to unwind with your beauty routine, so I thought this might help smooth things over. Literally and figuratively.”

For a long moment, he just stands there, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. You’re starting to think you might’ve miscalculated when, suddenly, a soft chuckle escapes him. “You are… absolutely ridiculous.”

You blink. “So… that’s a yes on the skincare?”

Vil shakes his head, but the faintest smile is playing on his lips. “You’re lucky you’re my sweet potato.”

Relief floods through you at his words. “I’ll take that as forgiveness, then.”

He sighs, taking the basket from you and setting it on the table. “Yes, I forgive you.” But even as he says it, there’s a hesitation in his eyes, a flicker of something deeper that makes you pause.

You step closer, gently reaching for his hand. “Are you still mad?”

Vil glances away for a moment, and you can see the tension in his posture. When he speaks, his voice is softer, more vulnerable than usual. “No, I’m not mad. But… I was afraid. So, so afraid that I’d pushed you away too. That I’d lost the one person who could tolerate me.”

Your heart clenches at his words. You can feel the weight of all the pressure he’s put on himself, the fear of losing someone important. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight embrace, wrapping your arms around him as if you could shield him from that fear. “Vil, listen to me. I’m not here because I tolerate you. I’m here because I love you.”

He stiffens in your arms for a moment, but slowly, he relaxes, his hands coming to rest on your back. “You say that now, but—”

You cut him off, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “No, I mean it. Loving someone isn’t about tolerating them. It’s about being with them because you can’t imagine being anywhere else.” You brush a strand of hair from his face, your thumb gently tracing his cheek. “I’m here because you’re everything to me, Vil. Even if you’re mean sometimes. Even if we argue. I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes soften at your words, and for a moment, he just looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face. Then, without a word, he leans in and presses a soft, tender kiss to your lips, his hands gently cradling your face. The kiss is slow, almost tentative, as if he’s still afraid you’ll disappear.

When he finally pulls away, you can see the unshed tears in his eyes, though he quickly blinks them away. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You do,” you whisper back, kissing him again, softer this time, lingering against his lips. “And I’m staying. Forever, even if you’re a diva sometimes.”

Vil lets out a soft, breathy laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “Forever?” he repeats, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Forever,” you promise, pulling him closer until his arms wrap around you fully. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, holding him tight, and for the first time in two days, everything feels right again.

And as he hugs you back, his grip a little tighter than before, you know he believes you.

Idia Shroud

You stand outside of Idia’s room, holding a stack of video game cases in one hand and a ridiculously oversized plush of his favorite game character in the other. This might be the dumbest idea you’ve ever had, but it’s not like you could just waltz in and hand him a flower. Idia isn’t exactly the flowers-and-chocolates type. No, he needs something bigger. Geekier. Something so outrageous that it’ll leave him flustered beyond belief—something that only you would dare to pull off.

So here you are, wearing a custom-made cosplay of the main character from his favorite RPG. And if this doesn’t get him to forgive you, you don’t know what will.

You knock on his door, bracing yourself for what’s about to come next. At first, there’s no response, so you knock again, louder this time. After a few seconds, you hear shuffling inside and the telltale sound of something crashing to the floor—classic Idia. Finally, the door creaks open just enough for you to see a pair of glowing eyes peeking through the gap.

“What… are you wearing?” His voice is barely audible, and you can already tell he’s regretting opening the door.

With a dramatic flourish, you throw your arms wide and hold out the plush. “Oh, mighty Idia, Lord of the Underworld and Master of All Games, I come bearing offerings to beg for your forgiveness!” You strike a pose, holding the plush in front of you like it’s some kind of magical artifact.

Idia’s eyes go wide, and you swear his hair flares up a notch, turning into a bright pink. He blinks, clearly stunned, before his hand shoots out to yank you inside his room, slamming the door shut behind you.

“W-What are you doing?!” His voice cracks as he looks at you, then the plush, then the video games. His hair is now a brilliant shade of neon pink, a sign that he’s absolutely mortified. “Are you trying to kill me from embarrassment?!”

You can’t help but grin at how flustered he is. “Hey, I had to go big! You were ignoring me for two whole days!”

“I wasn’t ignoring you!” He fidgets, avoiding eye contact as his hair flickers pink. “I just… thought maybe you were tired of me or something…”

Your grin fades, replaced with surprise. “Tired of you? What are you talking about?”

Idia sinks into his gaming chair, nervously picking at the hem of his hoodie. “I just figured… you know, you’d realize you could do better. I mean, c’mon, I’m not exactly ‘catch of the year’ material. You’re always out there, living in the real world, and I’m… well, here. Playing games and… avoiding people.”

You take a deep breath, moving closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “Idia,” you say firmly, “if you seriously think I’d ever get tired of you, you’re out of your mind.”

He glances up at you, clearly unconvinced, so you kneel down, placing the plush in his lap before grabbing his hands. “You mean the world to me. I’d literally fight God in a 1v1 death match if it meant keeping you.”

His eyes go wide again, his hair flaring even brighter. “Y-You’d what?”

“I mean it,” you continue, squeezing his hands. “I love you, okay? Whether we’re sitting in here gaming or you’re talking to me about your latest game binge, or even when you’re convinced that you’re somehow not enough. You are enough, Idia. You’re more than enough.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, processing your words. Then, slowly, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around you in the most awkward, yet endearing hug imaginable. His face is buried in your shoulder, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hair as it flares even pinker. “You’re… too good for me,” he mumbles against your shoulder, his voice small.

You chuckle softly, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight. “Nope. You’re stuck with me.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability in them. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do.” You lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek, watching as his hair flickers with warmth. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

Idia blinks a few times before he wraps his arms around you again, pulling you closer this time. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “But I guess… I forgive you. Not that I was really mad in the first place.”

You laugh, nuzzling into his neck. “Good. ‘Cause I missed you.”

His grip tightens around you, and for a moment, you both stay like that—wrapped up in each other, the tension of the past few days melting away. Finally, he pulls back, his eyes flicking toward his gaming setup. “So, uh… you wanna play something?”

You grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The two of you settle onto the floor, your back leaning against his chest as he hands you a controller. He wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, his hair still glowing a soft pink at the ends as the game starts up.

As you start playing, he presses a quick kiss to your temple. “Thanks. For, y’know… everything.”

You smile, leaning back into his warmth. “Anytime, Idia. Anytime.”

Malleus Draconia

The wind howls as you trudge across the campus, dragging a massive stone gargoyle behind you. It weighs approximately as much as a baby elephant, and if anyone else saw you right now, they’d think you’d completely lost it. But you know exactly what you’re doing. You know the storm swirling above Night Raven College is because of him, and if there’s one thing Malleus Draconia loves more than you (or so you like to tease), it’s a well-crafted gargoyle.

So here you are, yanking the poor stone creature across the wet grass like you’re on some kind of mission. Your arms ache, your back is screaming, and you’re about to regret this grand gesture entirely—until you finally see the towering spires of Diasomnia in the distance. Almost there.

You pause for a second to catch your breath, leaning on the gargoyle like it’s an old friend. “You’d better work,” you mutter to it, “because if I have to drag you all the way back, I swear—”

A gust of wind nearly knocks you over, reminding you why you’re out here in the first place. You shake off the rain, grit your teeth, and resume your march toward Diasomnia’s courtyard.

Once you arrive, you park the gargoyle right underneath Malleus’s window. Perfect placement. You could be a medieval decorator at this point.

You pick up a few rocks from the ground, size them up in your hand, and start tossing them at his window, each one making a soft thunk against the glass. After the third throw, the window creaks open, and Malleus leans out, looking down with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. His eyes land on the gargoyle first, then on you, soaked to the bone and holding a rock like you’re about to reenact some ancient ritual.

“Huh?” is all he says, blinking at the sight before him.

“Malleus!” you shout dramatically, “Come down! I brought you a peace offering!”

He stares at the gargoyle, then at you, before disappearing from the window in a blur. Within seconds, he’s outside, standing in front of you, his expression unreadable but his eyes glowing faintly with that magical storm swirling around them. The weather above you rumbles ominously, thunder echoing across the sky.

“Malleus, I—”

Before you can even finish, he pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You freeze for a second, surprised, then feel his body trembling slightly against yours. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and filled with regret. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. The storm… I didn’t know it would affect you too.”

You realize then that his hands are shaking, gripping onto you like you’re his lifeline. Your heart softens, and you return the hug, pressing your face into his neck. “No, I’m sorry,” you mumble into his skin. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I should’ve come sooner… with or without the gargoyle.”

He lets out a shaky breath, and you feel the tension begin to fade from his body. Slowly, the storm above you starts to calm—the wind softens, the rain turns into a light drizzle, and the ominous clouds roll back as if they were never there to begin with.

You pull back just enough to look at him, his glowing eyes now gentle as they meet yours. “So, uh… do you like the gargoyle?” you ask, grinning a little.

Malleus chuckles softly, his eyes flicking to the stone statue behind you. “It’s… impressive. Though you didn’t have to go through such lengths.”

You shrug. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

He smiles, a genuine, relieved smile, and before you can say anything else, he tugs you back toward the castle. “Come inside,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “You’re soaked, and you brought a guest. We should both dry off.”

The two of you (and your new gargoyle friend) make your way to his room, and as soon as the door closes behind you, Malleus pulls you onto his bed, wrapping himself around you like a possessive dragon hoarding his most precious treasure. His arms curl around your waist, and his body presses snugly against yours as he buries his face in your neck.

You stroke his hair gently, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the last bit of chill from the storm. “You know I love you, right?” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“I know,” he replies quietly, his grip on you tightening slightly. “I just… sometimes, I worry.”

You pull back enough to kiss him properly, your lips brushing against his softly, reassuringly. “You don’t have to worry,” you murmur between kisses. “You mean everything to me. And if I have to drag a hundred gargoyles across campus to prove it, I will.”

Malleus chuckles against your lips, a low, warm sound that rumbles through his chest. “Please don’t. One is more than enough.”

You laugh softly, nuzzling into his neck as you both settle into a comfortable silence, the storm outside completely gone now, leaving only peace and quiet—and a very satisfied, if slightly confused, gargoyle standing guard outside.

Rollo Flamme

The argument with Rollo had left a strange tension in the air, but knowing him, it was probably accompanied by a quiet storm of overthinking and guilt on his end. Rollo Flamme wasn’t one to voice his frustrations loudly, but his brooding could be as heavy as the weight of the world.

You figure it’s time to fix this, and, because you can’t just do anything the normal way, you decide on something special—something that’d be just the right mix of thoughtful and ridiculous to get his attention.

That’s why you find yourself in the Bell Tower, with a bundle of parchment paper in your arms. Not just any parchment, though—carefully selected handwritten notes of every philosophical thought, poetry piece, and historical fact you know Rollo’s obsessed with. You’ve even bound it like a book, with a dramatic title on the front: “An Ode to Perfection: Why Rollo is Always Right (Sometimes)”. It’s sarcastic enough to make him smile, but sincere enough to show you care.

Climbing the stairs of the bell tower is no small feat, but you’re determined. Once at the top, you glance out at the courtyard, where you know he’ll be, and with a deep breath, you shout, “ROLLO FLAMME, I HAVE CLIMBED THE HEIGHTS TO OFFER YOU THIS SYMBOL OF MY UNDYING RESPECT AND HUMILITY!”

Your voice echoes dramatically through the courtyard, and sure enough, you see Rollo down below, startled out of his brooding. He looks up, eyes widening at the sight of you, but it’s hard to tell if he’s more confused or horrified by the spectacle.

“I OFFER THIS—” you hold the makeshift book high, “—AS A PEACE TREATY BETWEEN US, THAT WE MAY NEVER AGAIN BE SEPARATED BY MERE MORTAL PETTINESS!”

Rollo stares for a long moment, before he suddenly breaks into a full-on sprint toward the tower. He’s halfway up the stairs before you know it, and when he reaches the top, his face is a mix of red embarrassment and panic.

“What are you doing?” he half-hisses, half-pleads, his cheeks flushed from both the running and the mortification of what you’ve just done in full view of the school. His voice lowers as he grabs your arm and tries to pull you away from the edge. “Are you insane? You could’ve fallen, and—”

“I wasn’t going to fall!” you grin, holding out the “book” triumphantly. “I came to apologize.”

He stares at the bundle of papers in your hand, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What… is this?”

“An apology. Written in beautiful calligraphy and filled with all the reasons why you’re wonderful, overthinking, but still somehow right most of the time.” You wiggle the book in front of his face. “It’s all for you.”

Rollo’s face, already red from exertion, turns an even deeper shade of crimson. His lips part, but no words come out for a second as he glares at the book, then at you. “You… climbed the bell tower. Yelled in front of everyone. And wrote a whole book to—”

“Get you to forgive me, yeah,” you finish for him, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I figured you’d appreciate the effort, Mr. Perfectionist.”

He looks at the book again, his hands shaky as he takes it from you, carefully cradling it as if it’s some kind of sacred artifact. His voice drops to a whisper. “You… didn’t have to go this far. I was never angry at you.”

You blink, surprised by his words. “What do you mean?”

Rollo glances down, his fingers curling tighter around the book. “I thought… maybe you’d realize you didn’t need someone like me. That you’d see how much of a burden I am.”

Your heart clenches at his words. Without hesitation, you step closer, reaching out to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Rollo Flamme, if you think for a second that I’d leave you, you’re wrong. I’d get into a fistfight with God for you, and win.”

His eyes widen, and a nervous chuckle escapes his lips. “That’s… quite dramatic.”

“You inspire drama,” you reply with a grin, but then your tone softens, and you pull him into a tight hug. “You mean the world to me, Rollo. I don’t care about your overthinking, your brooding, or your perfectionism. I care about you.”

He tenses for a moment in your embrace, but then slowly, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around you in return. His hands still tremble slightly, but he buries his face in your shoulder, his grip tightening as if he’s afraid to let go. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shake your head, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his temple. “You deserve all of it. And more.”

For a moment, he just holds onto you, breathing deeply as if trying to calm his racing thoughts. Then, after a long silence, he pulls back slightly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he looks at you. “I… apologize as well. For doubting… for everything.”

You smile, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his face. “We’re both forgiven then.”

He nods, his face still flushed with embarrassment but now softened with relief. Without another word, he pulls you back into his room, where you spend the rest of the afternoon curled up together—Rollo resting his head against your shoulder, still clutching the book you made him, while you hold him close, reassuring him with soft kisses and whispered words of love.

The tower bells toll softly in the background, but for the two of you, there’s nothing but the warmth of each other’s presence.

“[Name]..?” He calls out for you softly, closing the front door and setting his practice bag down on the floor next to his shoes. “I’m on the couch Sei,” you reply, getting ready to open your arms for Nagi to envelop himself on you.

And he does—as you expect. This cycle has been the same for the (now) past four days. Nagi calls out your name, you reply that you’re on the couch, and he just lays on you for hours to try and make himself feel comfortable. You didn’t mind at first(you never have), but you’ve started to grow concerned for the poor boy.

His large body practically squishes you compactly on the couch, but you’d rather stay silent than complain to him, which could possibly worsen his mood. So, you do what you do best; comfort him.

His head rests upon your chest, buried between the mounds he likes to call his “favorite pillows,” seemingly trying to escape everything in the outside world—besides you and him. You gently reach your hands into his hair, playing with the surprisingly soft, white, fluffy locs. You can hear him sigh—a loud one at that.

“Oh Sei..” you coo, pulling up his head and cupping his face with your hands. He looks up at you with such an exhausted expression on his face, his eyes looking duller than normal. He pouts, sensing your doting nature—which to him means you’ll coddle him until he feels better.

You place a small kiss atop his forehead, setting his head back down on your chest so he can rest. You can feel him trying to lean deeper into your warmth, despite quite literally being pancaked on top of you.

“Go sleep for a while baby,” you whisper, ruffling his hair and pulling his body up closer to you. He hums in response, practically already asleep from how exhausted he is—physically and mentally.

As he sleeps, you try and come up with a plan to try and make Nagi feel better. However, you’re caught off guard by something you hadn’t noticed earlier— Nagi is so fucking sweaty. Not drenched in sweat, his skin just feels sticky against your skin.

And with that, a brilliant idea pops up in your head.

X X X

After about an hour of letting Nagi sleep, you gently shake his shoulder to wake him up. He groans loudly, which he always does whenever you try waking him up. “Seiii..” you lean into his ear and coo, which makes him perk his head up at the sudden noise. “..mm..?” he hums, lifting his head more and tilting it towards you. You try sitting up, but the weight of your boyfriend prevents you from doing so.

“Sei, get up for me real quick,” you sigh, and Nagi obliges—at an alarmingly slow rate. He finally sits up, and you take a huge breath in, having been under all of that weight for so long. “Oh my gosh.. I can breathe!” You exclaim, being half sarcastic to mess around with Nagi, but instead you’re just met with a sad pout on his face, looking down at his hands in embarrassment. “..Sorry..” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“Oh no, no! Sei I was just kidding!!” you blurt out, climbing over to him on the couch to lift his head up and make him look at you. His pout falters slightly, partly because he’s letting out a big yawn, tears forming in his eyes because of it.

You smile at his sleepy nature, placing a small peck on his cheek. You see a slight blush appear on his face, which makes you even happier. “Hey, I have an idea,” you start, looking at Nagi with loving eyes and a warm smile. “Hm..?” he hums, having absolutely no idea what you could be planning. In all honesty, he had no interest in doing anything else than going back to sleep while laying on you.

You grab his hand, getting up from the couch, insisting him to get up as well. He groans quietly, “noo.. don’t wanna get up..” You tug at his arm gently, trying to egg him on. “Seishiro get up, I promise it’ll be worth your time,” you coo towards him, and he reluctantly gets up and trails behind you as you walk further into your shared apartment.

You lead him to the bathroom, where in the center sits a grand-looking bathtub—the kind you see in fancy penthouses. The tub is thankfully big enough for Nagi to fit in, as you both had went shopping for it a while ago. It was mostly for you, since you like to take baths on your self-care nights. But tonight, Nagi is using it.

“Go get undressed,” you order, and he perks his head up at you with a curious look on his face. “Not like that!!” you exclaim, a blush slowly creeping up on your face. “Just go get undressed and come back here.” You hand him a large towel to use as a coverup, and you send him outside to go undress.

As soon as he leaves, you start running a bath for him: warm water—not too hot or too cold, bubble bath soap, Nagi’s shampoo and conditioner—which you had convinced him to buy, and a small hand towel.

Nagi comes back into the bathroom, yawning into his hand before looking at you and the scene in front of him. “What’s all this?” he questions, walking up right in front of you. “Well.. you’ve been practically sulking all week, and you just look like you need a break.” You rub the back of your neck nervously, trying not to embarrass yourself while explaining what you had planned. “I wanted to give you a bath— I know it’d be a hassle for you to do it, so I thought why don’t I help you out?” you smile up at him, his tall figure looming over you.

“Let me take care of you Sei..” you say, placing your palm on his chest, leaning in closer to him. “How could he say no to a hassle-free bath?” you thought, as you triumphantly reassure yourself. He looks down at you, his eyes softer than the dull ones you had seen earlier.

“You’d do that.. for me?” he questions, finding it too good to be true. “Yes Seishiro!! I would! Now get in this bath before it gets cold!” you exclaim, sarcastically rushing him towards the bath. Nagi sighs, before removing the towel wrapped around his waist and stepping into the bath.

He fortunately fits perfectly in it—sitting up in the bath, the water just barely touches his shoulders, and if he leans back against the tub, the water is just right under his chin.

You can see him immediately relax as the warm water envelopes him in the tub, seeing him close his eyes already as he leans his head back against the tub. “Aw Sei..” you tease, ruffling his hair gently, internally geeking at how cute Nagi is when he’s like this—all soft, letting his guard down around you.

Eventually, you snap out of this in-awe trance your boyfriend has on you, and get to work. First, you run some cold water in the sink on that hand towel you grabbed earlier, folding it up and placing it on Nagi’s forehead. He hums at the cool sensation on his forehead, not showing any discomfort or disinterest in it. You take that as a sign to keep going.

Cupping up your hands to bring some water up to his hair, you gently start massaging his head, trying to get some of that stress and tension out of him. You hear him groan quietly, and take that as a sign he’s enjoying himself. Squirting some of his shampoo into your palm, you lather the lemon-scented liquid between your hands, and soon get to work on his head.

You kneed and massage the soap into his hair for about five minutes, noticing that Nagi had fallen asleep somewhere between that time. You giggle softly, finding his constant sleepy nature so peculiar— but it’s something you’ll always love about Nagi.

Cupping your hands again with water, you slowly rinse out all the soap from his hair, making sure every last spud is out. Squirting a nice sized dollop of conditioner into your hands, you gently apply the substance to the ends of Nagi’s hair, letting it sit in his white locs for a couple of minutes.

You double check that he’s sleeping, and silently creep out of the bathroom to the kitchen. You quickly fill up a tea kettle with water, putting it on the stove to heat up. Placing two cups on the counter, you place a lemon flavored tea bag in each, and hurry on back to the bathroom, where Nagi still sits asleep in the tub.

You secretly snap a picture of him in this state— all sleepy, covered in bubbles up to his chin, with his hair looking crazy and spiky due to the conditioner.

Moving back to your spot, you gently begin rinsing out the conditioner from Nagi’s hair, getting every last trace out. Nagi feels your hands back in his hair, and leans back into your touch.

“[Name].. you’re s’good to me..” he coos, leaning his head back further to look at you. His sudden comment causes a soft blush to lace your cheeks, making you turn away from him in embarrassment.

“I’m just trying to help you feel better..” you mumble, turning back to him, finishing up with rinsing his hair.

“There, all clean!” you exclaim, feeling proud of yourself for aiding your boyfriend in taking care of himself. Nagi is still looking back at you from his seat, raising his arm up towards you, his wet hand cupping your cheek.

The sudden movement catches you off guard.

“Thank you [name],” he starts, looking up into your eyes with a small smile on his face. “‘Dunno what I’d do without you,” he admits, leaning his head back down, trying to hide the blush on his face.

You smile, placing a kiss on the top of his head. “Aw Sei.. you know I’d do anything for you, especially when it comes to taking care of you.” you mumble into his hair, draping your arms around him.

He lifts your hand up towards his face and places a gentle kiss on it, holding it close to him. You smile, placing another kiss atop his head.

Suddenly, you hear the kettle squealing from the kitchen, which makes you perk up. “Ah! Go dry off Sei, I’ll be in the kitchen, ‘kay?” You walk around to the other side of the tub and unplug the drain, handing Nagi his towel before leaving the bathroom.

You rush over to the stove, taking the kettle off of it, and pouring its contents into the two cups on the counter. You put a little bit of honey in yours, as the smell of lemon fills your nose.

Before you can turn around to go look for Nagi, you feel a pair of large arms wrap around you, pulling you back into a very warm body. Nagi finished drying off quicker than you anticipated, and now he’s the one surprising you. You assumed he was just wearing sweatpants after drying off, seeing and feeing his bare arms wrap around you.

He leans his head atop of yours, his chin resting gently on the very top of your head. “You made my favorite..” he mumbles, pulling you closer back into him. Reaching your arm up to cup his face, you smile, “I figured you’d want some tea after a nice bath. Was I right?”

He moves his head down, turning you around so he can nod at you. “Yeah.. thank you baby,” he mumbles, placing a soft kiss on your lips, pulling you towards his chest in a very warm, loving hug.

You lean your head on his chest, feeling his warmth radiate all around you. “You’re welcome Sei.. just wanted to make you feel better.” You kiss his collarbone gently, whispering a quiet “I hope it did” to yourself.

Moving back from him, you grab the cups of tea and head towards the couch, with Nagi following close behind. Similar to your positions earlier, you’re now laid back on the couch, with Nagi’s back against your chest. You both sip on your lemon tea, before Nagi turns back over on you, laying his head against your chest once more. Seeing Nagi drift off into comfortable sleep, you decide to do the same, having ended the day with making your boyfriend feel better and holding him safe in your arms.

────୨ৎ────

a/n: I randomly came up with the idea for this fic while skipping my 1st and 2nd classes today while sitting in the parking lot (｡ᵕ ◞ _◟)

I only proofread this once, so please ignore if I made any grammatical/typing mistakes..

i really do like how this one turned out tho !! sorry if it ran a little long— i just wanted the plot to flow smooth "( – ⌓ – )

this might be ooc, and i’m sorry if it is !!! i tried writing Nagi more tired and exhausted than he normally acts, but i dunno if i wrote him right.. pls let me know if this is ooc (◞‸◟)

anyways i hope u enjoyed this fic !! likes and reblogs are appreciated, as well as feedback (っ'ヮ'c)

Leon was an expert at hiding how he felt.

You’ve seen it time and time again, how easily he’s able to keep his emotions from bubbling to the surface. Each time he’s come back from a mission just to be thrown into another one. Each report he’s had to make in your home office and recount every gruesome detail of what he’s seen. Leon was good at making sure the mask didn’t crack until he had no choice.

It wasn’t like you judged him much for how he acted. It was natural to stay closed off in this profession. You were no stranger to work that hurt, feelings you’d prefer be stored in old boxes. Filing away the government’s dirty secrets wasn’t the happiest job, not when you knew the kinds of things that happened out in the field. But it gave you Leon. So long as he stayed working for these people, you knew you would, too.

When you picked Leon up from the airport that evening, he seemed restless to get in the car. He dumped his duffle in the back seat and tried not to wince when you snaked a hand through his bangs.

You felt your chest tighten when Leon’s face set in a scowl instead of smiling back instinctively. He looked wrung out. Since meeting him through the agency, he’d always been a tough egg to crack.

“Mission go sideways?” You asked. You knew the drill. It wasn’t right to poke around for bad details. Leon would give them to you if he thought it was necessary, usually disguised as him asking to proofread his reports. “They kept you for a while before they cleared you.”

Leon offered you one of his famous smirks, tainted by the uneasy look on his face. He looked a little too nauseated for you to buy it.

“I made it out,” Leon swallowed hard and shrugged. He wouldn’t look at you when he said it. “So did the rescue target. Best case scenario, right?”

“Sounds like it,” You nod softly. If he didn’t want to talk about it, that was fine. You knew it would trickle out eventually.

Without a response, you shift gears and head towards home—which was really your home that Leon had slowly moved into in between missions. It was one of those times you were thankful you worked up in admin instead of on the field. The idea there was a stable place for you both to go back to when you weren’t drowning in work made all the difference.

It was hard to mind your own business when Leon’s leg bounced feverishly up and down in the passenger seat. Eyes glued to the highway, you caught a glimpse of him every few seconds. His compression shirt seemed too tight on him, arms squeezed over his stomach like his innards might fall out if he didn’t. You watched him swallow compulsively, again and again until he let out a shaky breath and turned to the window.

“Motion sick?” You keep one hand on the wheel, reaching another one over to rub at his shoulder. Leon tenses up at your touch, face a little too sweaty. You could tell he wasn’t feeling himself.

“I’m fine,” he shrugged you off, looking out toward the endless grey roads and occasional trees.

“You’re looking a little gray,” you comment anyways, because you cared more about his paling face ruining the detailing of your car than you did his mission confidentiality. Leon choked back whatever feelings he kept lurking somewhere beneath his skin and chuckled.

“What, you saying I’m getting too old for you already?”

You snort, feeling some of the tension dissipate with his words. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

The moon was high in the sky by the time you pulled into your building’s parking lot. Leon kept a hand brushing gently over his stomach on the elevator ride up. He tried to make small talk about the weather and the time of day and the houseplants of his that you managed to keep alive.

You could see through it almost as clear as he probably could. Pretending he was alright was better than isolating himself, you figured. Maybe that was what he needed.

Leon showered as you put away your dried dishes from earlier that day. You crossed off a few items on your shopping list and tried not to think about how long Leon was taking to decompress.

Suggestions of a late dinner, a movie in bed, a normal talk about your days like normal people were swiftly rejected by the time the shower stopped running. Leon had sprawled out on his side of the bed, staring down at his phone when you headed into the bathroom. When you came back out in your pyjamas, the lights were already out.

Leon sighed, slow and sleepy as you crawled under the covers and kissed the back of his head. Leon turned around to press his face into yours, arms brushing over you. He kept you at an arm’s length, determined not to cling to you after being away for so long.

You tolerate his subtle, avoidant pushes away from you until you feel your eyes closed, Leon’s body warmth just a few feet away from yours.

Things were fine until they weren’t.

The night went on peacefully until you felt yourself lulled awake by certain sounds, certain motions from beside you. As you slowly awaken, moon still in the sky, you turn to the back of Leon’s sleeping frame.

As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you realize he’s no longer sprawled, instead curled into himself, face pressed into his pillow like he’d make less noise. You could hear the short, uneven breaths escape him, the occasional whimper of discomfort making your heart heavy.

“Leon,” you snake your arms over, touching his now-sweaty hair and pressing a palm to his back. You can feel him shaking under your touch. “Leon. Hey.”

“G’back to bed,” Leon chokes out so harshly, it sounds like he’s holding back vomit. His body convulses again before he mutters out a painful, “Fuck.”

Leon seems to curl in tighter when he realizes you’re awake. You sit up, more awake now and aware that Leon is holding his middle like his stomach is about to break out of his skin.

“Hey,” you inch forward, pressing your body up against his back and spooning him from behind. You can feel his heartbeat hammering away against your chest. “Talk to me. You feeling sick?”

Leon turns, his head coming up and under your chin. You brush back his bangs, feeling his hot breath on your arm while you check for a fever. You wonder for a moment if he’s caught one of those bad bugs from the airport.

“Wasn’t s’posed to—” Leon turned, pressing his knuckles up to his mouth. He let out a thick, sour-sounding burp that devolved into a panicked-sounding groan. “Sorry—I’m sorry, this is so stupid—”

Leon hugs himself tighter, and alarm bells go off when you recognize the desperate, apologetic tone he uses when he’s pushed things too far into his own head. The strong agent veneer they all thought they knew at the agency was covered in cracks tonight. This must have really been a rough mission.

“Come here,” You lift the blanket with one hand and wrap you both in it, your hands snaking around his middle.

You pull him close, your fingers hike up his shirt and go straight to his stomach, feeling the contents churn and jostle with what you can only recognize as the worst case of anxiety you’ve seen from him in months. He lets out a groan of indignation as you encourage him to accept the touch.

“I know. You’re the big guy at work, and you think you have to be him right now,” you murmur, letting your hand drop from his belly and up to his rigid shoulders. “You can put that away. It’s okay to feel bad. You’re okay.”

Leon needed to let things out, one way or another. You didn’t think it’d be like this. It was worth it, reminding him he could be smaller with you. His best qualities were the ones that made him human, even if human meant ruminating until he felt sick to his stomach.

Leon’s breathing picked up, his heartbeat in his throat as he turned around and pushed himself into you. You rubbed his back in slow circles, patting him gently when his stomach groaned low and painfully loud.

“Thought it would—get better,” Leon tried to save face, but it was hard when everything felt so wrong. “It wasn't so bad during the flight. Didn’t wanna talk about it. Didn’t think—”

You’d only seen it happen a few times with him. Watching the anxiety he filed away turn into something more physical. It was usually a headache, loss of appetite, maybe he felt more irritated or isolated than usual. This seemed a little different.

“Is that when it started? The flight home?” You keep Leon in your embrace, hands trailing over his arms, back and stomach. You hummed in sympathy when his stomach churned from the tough.

Leon shook his head, and you carded a hand through his bangs again. “Before.”

“And they cleared you medically,” you repeat the words you’ve had to say since what happened in Spain. That nothing was left inside of him, that there wasn’t anything physically wrong with him.

“They said I was fine,” Leon pushed out through his teeth. It felt like every breath was torture, though you had a feeling from the start that it wasn’t because of any physical injury.

“Okay. So you’re wound up. You’re having a strong reaction,” you suggest gently. You slipped back into your work voice, hoping Leon would take it better. “If you don’t talk about what’s setting you off, it bubbles up in worse ways.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Leon muttered, a little too desperate. The edge to his voice was back. You knew it was hard for him to admit when he didn’t feel strong. For someone in the field, it was unnatural. Dangerous, even. You had to remind him this wasn’t the field.

You pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. “I think you’d feel better if you talked about what’s bothering you.”

“You shouldn’t have to know about it,” he swallowed. It seemed he’d forgotten exactly what you did for a living.

“I’ve dealt with bad. You know I have. You don’t have to worry about that,” You reassured him. Leon tensed up hard enough for you to get your answer.

You both lay there, wide awake as Leon kept himself turned away from you in your arms. He wouldn’t budge on it, no matter how much you tried to coax it out of him, remind him that he was safe and that this wasn’t your first bad mission rodeo. You could tell the thought was stuck in his head. You hated seeing him get so torn up about things beyond his control.

It was not soon after that Leon let out a groan, much sicker than before. You held him, letting him ride out the nausea until he jolted up and out of bed.

“Don’t—don’t follow,” he gagged, gruff voice trying to mask its unravelling. You let him go, and Leon scrambled to the bathroom connecting to your bedroom.

You sat up, turning away as you heard him purge whatever he’d eaten on the plane. It was better to respect the boundaries he put into place. You’d realized that over the years of knowing him. Pushing him made him feel unsafe. It would only set him off, even after he’d already fallen apart.

Leon was troubled, every agent was a little bit troubled, but he wasn’t as detached as he wished he was with you. You knew if you gave him time to fall apart on his own, he’d come back. He knew you’d wait for him here without judgement.

Wordlessly, you felt around for your bottle of ice water sitting on the nightstand. You lifted up the plastic waste basket you kept by your bed just in case, eyeing the antacids you always kept in your bedside drawer.

You winced at what you heard in the room over. The thought of leaving Leon there any longer tore you up, but you knew better than most how Leon needed to process things. He was used to being alone.

Sure enough, he emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later. His shirt was gone, his breath still unsteady. You could smell the mouthwash on his lips from your spot on the bed. Leon stared at you with glassy eyes, keeping a part of that cold persona intact despite the wetness that leaked from the corners.

“Feeling better?” You offer him a smile. That seemed to break him more than any forceful push to talk could. You watched Leon stumble forward, hand still pressed to his stomach, and fall right into your arms.

“Leon. Honey,” you wrapped him up and pulled him close. When you started seeing each other and became whatever this was, you both couldn’t stand the nicknames. This one always felt right in the moments where Leon didn’t seem to want to hear his own name.

“I shot a kid,” Leon whispered. You felt a weight fall on your chest as a deep, guttural sob broke the silence. Thick tears stuck to your night shirt as Leon gripped onto you, rocking you both back and forth like he couldn’t quite rid himself of the energy.

“Okay,” you cradle his head against your chest and shoulder, under the crook of your neck. “How did it happen?”

“Looked like a kid. A little girl,” Leon’s voice broke when he said it. His breath came out in laboured bursts, like he couldn’t get enough air in. “Was—wasn’t herself anymore. Dead already—didn’t have a choice, but it—she looked at me like a little kid would—before I—”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry it happened,” you squeeze him tighter. No wonder he felt sick to his stomach thinking about it. You understood how rough the field work could be, even if you never did much of it yourself. “She wasn’t there anymore. You were able to let her rest, Leon. I know it’s hard to think of it that way—”

“I kill everyone,” Leon whimpered, “Can’t be around anyone normal, feels like I hurt people for a living, I never wanted to kill anyone—wanted to help people, I just—”

Your heart hurt for him. It took him years of after-work drinks and midnight dates and sleeping in the same bed for him to tell you why he really joined the agency. Like most of you, it wasn’t by choice. Leon was damn good at pretending like this job didn’t get to him.

Anger simmered deep beneath you as Leon let everything spill out into your embrace. His handler should have made him speak with a professional after sending him away for so long. Clearly, they hadn’t let Leon unpack his mission beyond the physical assessment.

“You saved who you could have saved,” you reassured him. His shoulders trembled at your kind words, and he pressed himself so close to you, it felt like he’d crawled under your skin. “You’re even braver for talking about it. It’s so hard to say out loud. But you’re gonna be okay.”

The two of you went back and forth for what felt like hours. Leon letting all his demons run out in the open. You beside him, ensuring his thoughts didn’t spiral.

When Leon had his breathing under control, you stretched your arm out and wriggled your fingers towards your water bottle until it was in your grip. He drank half of it, still rocking back and forth against your chest from the excess adrenaline. You ran a line over his bare skin, tracing each scar, burn mark, and bullet hole.

“Sorry,” he choked out. Hydration seemed to bring him back to his senses. He laughed, even though he didn’t look very amused. “Didn’t…think I’d do that. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it and…”

He didn’t look like agent Kennedy. Instead, Leon felt like the rookie cop he’d once described to you in detail after sharing two bottles of red wine.

“You had a lot of things build up before that moment. Sometimes you just need to let it happen,” you kept a hand on his back, the other tracing over his stomach muscles, which seemed to settle from earlier. He hadn’t thrown up since having to scramble out of bed earlier. “Still feeling off?”

“Mmmh,” Leon breathed into your neck. The tension in his shoulders was still there, but nowhere near as tight.

“I’ll get you some tea,” you kissed him tenderly on the cheek, ruffled his hair and untangled yourself from his hold. When a strong arm grasped onto your shoulder, you fell back with a laugh. “You can come with me if you’re feeling up for it.”

“Only if I can hold you the whole time,” Leon looked up and smiled back at you weakly. “At least let me feel like the big strong agent.”

“I’ll let you project all you want if you get some sleep after,” you throw back.

Leon stifled a yawn, shoulders still a little shaky. “Deal.”

As Leon trailed behind you to the kitchen, strong arms hanging weakly over your shoulders, you wondered if you’d finally cracked Leon open wide enough to keep his needy side open. That wouldn’t be so bad, you thought. The way he’d trusted you completely in your arms made you feel warmer than anything.

All you knew now was that Leon was getting at least a month off after you called HQ tomorrow. After all, you were known to be very persuasive with your work.