#soft!reader

-

"Wait."

His hand froze midair, clutching the knife about to slice through the flower heads. He raised an eyebrow and gave you a critical look.

"Don't cut that yet," you continued, undeterred. "Cut that a minute before we add it."

Your tone wasn't condescending, but it was assertive in a way that made his ego curdle. Just a bit.

"And why, pray tell, should I follow what you say?" He sneered.

You merely blinked.

"Well, these particular flower heads are most potent when it's freshly cut." You replied matter-of-factly. "Considering its integrative properties with this potion, we'd want its quality to be as potent as possible when we add it."

Malfoy gave you another skeptical look. He wasn't used to being interfered with in Potions. In fact, he was used to handling the brunt of the work to ensure his stellar marks were left unmarred by his partners' incompetence. So, yes, ego was poked. Just a bit.

"No," he replied as if he were talking to a five-year-old. "Doing that just exceeds the optimal potency level. You'll ruin the viscosity and increase the acidity of the potion." Admittedly, he did feel proud of shutting you down. Ego restored.

"For a freshly harvested flower head, yes, that's true, but..." Merlin, will this witch back down? You gently pinched the ends of the petals between your fingers. "These ones were put on a stasis charm. It's winter and its sensitive period after harvest is significantly shortened in the cold. Hence, the charm. The magical influence interferes with the properties of the plant. Feel the petals? They're not as soft as they should be; there's rigidity. That means the release of its sap will be explosive right after the cut."

Malfoy was silent. Reluctantly, he felt the petals between his fingers and, damn it, you were right. He opened his mouth as if to refute you but nothing came out. What you said made perfect sense. Again, damn it.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes but put away the flower heads. You gave him a small smile and continued your work.

-

"Wait."

Malfoy clicked his tongue irritably. He turned sharply to you.

"What now?" He snapped. To your credit, you did hold an apologetic expression.

"I'll do the stirring." You offered. He narrowed his eyes but begrudgingly passed you the stirring rod.

"For Merlin's sake, the stirring is elementary. Don't muck it up." He grumbled as he moved away from the cauldron.

A few minutes passed as he started tidying up the rest of the station when, at the corner of his eye, he saw what you did.

You stirred counter clockwise at the end. Once.

Malfoy was enraged.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He yelled-whispered, grabbing your wrist away from the cauldron. "The instructions were to stir clockwise continuously. Are you daft? Or are you perhaps mad-"

He stopped abruptly when the potion's color transformed from a muted blue to a vibrant turquoise. Perhaps the most vibrant turquoise he's seen on a potion like this, its color almost emitting a soft glow. Malfoy looked at the potion a few seconds more before shooting you a disbelieving look.

There was a glint of triumph in your eyes as your attention was completely fixated on the potion. He saw the slightest upturn of your lips before you schooled your expression back to neutrality. You turned back to him.

"The potion is similar to Moonseed Poison." You explained. "The procedure is almost identical and its properties are all derived from the same family of ingredients."

He scoffed. "And you thought it would be a good idea to apply the same principle to a potion that has completely different effects?"

You shrugged. "Same principle." You eyed the hand still holding your wrist, and he immediately withdrew his hand. He pinched the nose of his bridge, staving off an oncoming headache.

"Merlin, witch." He groaned. "And you didn't think to tell me?"

That gave you pause. You looked away almost sheepishly and added in a small voice. "...I thought you wouldn't be very cooperative."

You fiddled with your fingers and was adamant to look at anywhere but him. At least you had the decency to look a bit guilty.

He gave you a (barely) long-suffering look before moving past to scoop the potion for submission.

To his dismay, Slughorn praised your potion to the point Malfoy wondered if he would cream his pants. He sat back in his seat with a deep scowl in his face which you deemed not to comment on. You continued to work on your report silently even as Malfoy grumbled beside you.

After a while, he turned to you. "How did you know?"

You gave a questioning hum as you continued to work, refusing to look his way.

"How did you know the same principle would work?"

Your quill stuttered before you resumed.

"I didn't."

He raised a brow, giving you an expectant look. You pursed your lips slightly and glanced at him cautiously.

"Gut feeling."

Malfoy turned away from you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to calm himself. "Bloody hell."

-

From then on, he began to notice you more. It was more so because he had now acknowledged your existence. You were promoted from the title or "irrelevant ghost" to "insufferable potions partner."

As you continued to be paired with him in Potions (to his dismay), he realized that, despite your penchant for having unconventional methods, perhaps there was a reason you were always close behind on the class rankings as the third or fourth top student. You had an intuitive sense for the interactions in each potion, making you an acceptable potions partner. He also realized that the only reason you lagged behind in rankings is because of your experimentations and your cursed gut feeling. With your potions, it was either a hit or miss.

Despite his initial annoyance with you, he couldn't deny that you were indeed competent. He began to develop a reluctant amicability with you and this was quite unfortunate because you began to do things he didn't understand.

-

One Charms class, he had run late and all seats had been taken up except for the one beside you. After receiving an admonishment from Flitwick, he sat beside you with a scowl, murmuring curses under his breath.

He had just set down his inkpot when you put a green apple in his desk space. Before he could say anything, you leaned close to him and whispered.

"I noticed you weren't at breakfast earlier. Figured I'd grab you your daily drugs." You flashed him a small smile before returning to your notes.

He was so surprised that he forgot all about his earlier frustrations. He managed to mumble a thanks before turning to his parchment.

-

"You have a Quidditch match later, right?"

That startled Malfoy. You two have never talked about anything besides academics. He nodded.

You rummaged through your pocket, and you pulled out a small charm shaped in a broom figurine.

He raised a brow at you inquisitively.

"It's a good luck charm." You rolled your eyes, a smile playing at your lips. "Not that you need it, of course. I know you're a good Seeker, but I figured I'd give you one anyway."

He continued to stare at you questioningly, and you grew conscious. Your fingers slowly closed around the charm.

"Well, you don't have to take it. I suppose I could just give it to another player–"

"Whatever." He scoffed and held out his hand. "Give it here. Merlin knows you'll accidentally set somebody on fire with your charms."

Your hand came up to your chest in affront as the other dropped the charm onto his open hand. "Excuse me? That was one time!"

-

Malfoy was met with cheers from the team as he descended from the broom, snitch in hand. He walked proudly, chest out and ego inflated, as absorbed all the praises.

Through it all, the small broomstick charm weighed heavily on his pocket.

-

The two of you were at the library working on a joint Potions project. It was raining hard outside and your table was right beside a window.

"Let me know when the rain gets any more interesting. I'm sure it can write the paper for us."

Malfoy drawled from across the table, interrupting your reverie of watching the rain. You didn't respond, and he paid you no mind as he kept writing down on his parchment.

He felt the prickle of your stare on him instead. He waited a few moments for your gaze to pass, but it didn't. He looked up from his parchment and raised a critical eyebrow at you.

You didn't deem his look with a response. You just kept looking at him as if examining a specimen from behind a glass, chin tucked in one hand and eyes lucid.

"Your eyes have a little blue in them."

That threw him off. What?

"What?" He managed, unable to school the look of shock and confusion from his face.

Again, you didn't respond and simply went back to your work.

-

One particularly boring History of Magic class, he felt a nudge at the side of his leg. He shot you a flat look–yes, he happened to sit next to you again because he can sit anywhere he pleases, thank you very much–and you held out your hand filled with candies from Honeydukes.

"Want one?" You whispered, smiling shyly at him.

He didn't say anything and just grabbed from the pile. As he popped the candy into his mouth, he noticed you struggling to open one. He wordlessly grabbed the candy, opened it, and gave it back to you.

There was a flash of surprise on your face before you shot him a smile. He watched you pop the candy into your mouth.

-

Apparently, your title has once again elevated from "annoying potions partner" to "tolerable person to be around."

Yes, he knew of your existence, your presence in the couch right by the fireplace. But when he sat by his friends close to your chair, he also began to notice other things.

He now knew that your expression wasn't as stoic when you're reading. The changes in your face were subtle but he noticed them. A raised brow. Pursed lips. Crinkled eyes. He also now knew that when the younger Slytherins would come up to you, you would also give them small charms or lean into them as if sharing a secret.

He also now has a collection of charms because of you. It could be for a match, an exam, a stressful day, or a random reason you would come up with. He kept telling himself to throw away those junk. He never did.

-

The weather outside was chilly. Which was really something to consider when having a class outside for Care of Magical Creatures. Most of the students were bundled up and huddled together to retain as much warmth as possible.

Malfoy stood beneath a tree, gaze fixed to the courtyard where a certain someone should be walking now that class was about to start.

Sure enough, there you were. All frantic, frazzled, and panting by the time you settled next to him.

He looked at you expectantly as if you owed him an explanation.

"I fell asleep."

"Wonderful."

"Did you miss me?"

"Witch, you must be mad."

You bit back a smile as you tried to tune into the lesson. That was, until you heard him click his tongue annoyedly. You turned to Malfoy questioningly before you felt fabric wrap around your neck.

"If you wanted to die of the cold, you could've just told me to push you into the Black Lake." He grumbled as he adjusted his scarf to be more comfortable on you.

You blinked at him, unsure how to react to such a gesture. By the time, he let go of the scarf, you were positively drowning in his scent. You sunk your head further into the scarf to hide the smile you were struggling to fight.

When you muttered your thanks, all the response you got was a grunt.

-

"Here."

He dropped a bag from Honeydukes beside you as you looked up from your book. You were sitting at one of the larger couches across the fireplace since you had the common room all to yourself. You looked up at him, and he made sure to school a look of nonchalance. Hands tucked inside his pockets and hair mussed just so. That probably didn't work as well because his face was frozen from the cold.

You raised a quizzical brow at him.

He scoffed and plopped down beside you unceremoniously, draping his arm across the couch behind you.

"It's sugar quills. You'd know if you had the decency to at least open the bag."

"Oh."

A pleasantly surprised expression passed your face and you checked that, indeed, there was an assortment of sugar quills in the bag. You still gave him a scrutinizing look as if asking Why?

He rolled his eyes. "You were complaining about running out. You wouldn't shut up about it." A quiet affronted gasp escaped you.

"It was one time..." You pouted, voice small in slight embarrassment. You opened the bag and grabbed a quill. "Thank you."

He only grunted and propped up his head with the arm resting behind you. This gave him the perfect view over your shoulder. And of your nape, apparently. A thought he quickly shook off. His eyes, however, kept drifting to the small hairs that tickled your nape and to the mole nestled at the bottom right.

He blinked his thoughts away. Ridiculous.

Thankfully, a sudden rush of warmth distracted him from his thoughts, realizing that you had cast a warming charm on him. There was a little twinge in his chest at the gesture, although he'd blame the charm for that.

You nudged the bad of sugars quills toward him and flashed him a small smile. "Share?"

He shrugged and grabbed one as you returned to your book. He didn't say anything else and just watched you from the corner of his eye, his head propped up far too closely next to you.

Malfoy didn't know what possessed him to buy those sugar quills. Or to sit down next to you when all he thought about after returning was to lie in his bed. And he certainly didn't know why he kept trying to lean closer to you.

Eager for a distraction, he tried to peek at what you were reading, eyes narrowing at the plethora of unfamiliar words. His curiosity won out.

"What are you reading?" He asked, leaning down to read better.

You startled, and turned to him to explain. This was, unfortunately, a mistake because both of you didn't realize how close he was leaning over your shoulder. This resulted in your faces being mere inches from each other, your breaths mingling. You shared a surprised look before immediately turning away from each other.

"It's 1984 by George Orwell." You finally said, voice small, and eyes adamantly glued to the book. He turned back to you which, again, was a mistake because he now noticed how flushed your nape had become. Damn it. "It's a muggle book. Social commentary on totalitarianism told through a dystopian setting."

A moment passed.

Malfoy cleared his throat awkwardly, attempting to tamper his speeding heartbeat. Merlin, that warming charm must really be overheating him. He blamed your Charms proficiency.

He swallowed, trying to focus on your words than your reddened cheeks.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "So what does doublethink mean?"

At that, the conversation turned for the better as you explained the details of the book to him. Malfoy, thankfully, was intrigued enough to override his earlier thoughts. You both eased into a comfortable atmosphere and, at some point, you had leaned your head against his arm behind.

Wearing Thin

A story about what it costs to survive—and the one person who refuses to let you lose yourself trying.

pairings: randall kirkland x softangelgirlfriend!reader

synopsis: When kindness starts to look like a liability, you learn how to survive—you take less risk, give less away, stop reaching for people who won’t reach back.

She learns.

Randall is the one who notices first.

What starts as irritation turns into something sharper when the softness he couldn’t stand is replaced by something colder, quieter—something that looks too much like everyone else.

The argument that follows isn’t really about survival.

It’s about what she’s willing to lose to stay alive—and why he can’t stand watching her become someone she’s not.

CONTENT WARNING: emotional distress, survival setting, loss of identity, behavioral change, being taken advantage of, self-sacrificing tendencies, moral ambiguity, arguments/conflict, harsh environment, implied violence/danger, anxiety, internal conflict, themes of survival, angst, soft randall (if you squint)

word count: 2.1k

a/n: thanks to the lovely anon who requested this!! i had so much fun writing this and love the idea of randall dating someone who’s like the complete opposite of him. love this concept and the idea of randall noticing her change before anyone else just stuck in my head. considering turning this into like a non plot series type thing, so think of this as like how they were before they got together type thing!

She says thank you too much.

Not in a way that draws attention, not in that bright, performative tone people use when they’re trying to be liked. It’s quieter than that. Automatic. Like it’s stitched into her, like she doesn’t know how to exist without softening everything around her.

“Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

“I appreciate it.”

It slips out of her without thinking. For everything. Someone hands her a cup of water, she thanks them. Someone barely spares her a glance, she thanks them anyway, like acknowledgment in itself is something she owes something back for. Half the time, the people she says it to don’t even register it. The other half, they take it and give nothing in return.

Randall notices before he realizes he’s watching her.

And it bugs him.

Not because it’s wrong—he doesn’t care about that, doesn’t even know if it is—but because it doesn’t fit. Not here. Not somewhere that eats through people until there’s nothing left but what’s necessary. Softness like that doesn’t last. It gets worn down, traded off piece by piece until there’s nothing left to take.

Or it gets you hurt.

“You always like that?” he asks one afternoon, voice cutting in without warning.

She’s sitting off to the side, splitting what little food she has into two uneven portions. The bigger half is already gone from her hands, passed quietly to someone who hadn’t even asked for it.

She glances up at him, and there’s no embarrassment in it. No defensiveness. Just that same open, unguarded look that makes it hard to tell whether she doesn’t understand what he’s saying or just doesn’t agree.

“Like what?”

He tips his chin toward the empty space in her hands. “That,” he says. “Giving your stuff out like it’s unlimited.”

“They needed it.”

“So do you.”

She shrugs easy, like it’s not even worth arguing. Like her own needs don’t carry the same weight in her head. “I’ll be okay.”

Randall lets out a short breath through his nose, something between a scoff and a laugh.

He shifts his weight against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely over his chest. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Heard that one before.”

There’s no real bite to it. Not like there usually is when he talks.

She watches him for a second, like she’s actually thinking about it, like she might take it seriously.

“Still,” she says after a second, “thank you.”

He frowns at her like she said something that doesn’t make sense.

“For what?”

She tilts her head slightly. “For saying something.” Then continues softer. “For looking out for me.”

That throws him off in a way he doesn’t like.

He hadn’t meant it like that. Hadn’t meant it as anything, really. It was just… a comment. An observation.

“I didn’t say anything,” he shoots back immediately. “I made a comment.”

“It counts.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

She smiles anyway.

That… irritates him more than it should.

He looks away first.

“Whatever,” he mutters.

It’s small, but it’s real, like his intention doesn’t change the outcome for her. Like it counts regardless.

And that should’ve been the end of it.

It isn’t.

He doesn’t notice the change right away.

Or maybe he does, and just doesn’t care enough to name it.

At first, it’s small.

She hesitates.

Someone asks for help, and she pauses instead of moving right away. Just a second—but it’s there. Like she’s thinking about it now, running it through a set of rules that didn’t exist before. Sometimes she still steps in. Sometimes she doesn’t.

Then she stops offering.

Stops hovering near people who look like they’re struggling. Stops splitting what she has. Keeps to herself more, stops inserting herself into situations that don’t directly involve her. It’s as if she’s learned where the invisible lines are and decided not to cross them anymore. Like she’s finally figuring out how things work.

Smart.

That’s what it is.

Smart.

Her voice changes too, a little. Less extra. Less… her.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

The extra words disappear. The softness that used to round everything out gets trimmed away, piece by piece, until what’s left is efficient. Careful. Distant.

And eventually, the thank yous stop.

That’s what Randall notices first.

Not in some big, dramatic way. It’s just… gone. A beat that used to exist, a rhythm he hadn’t realized he’d gotten used to until it wasn’t there anymore.

She hands him something one day—he doesn’t even remember what—and turns away like it’s nothing.

No pause. No acknowledgment. No “thanks.”

Nothing.

He waits for it without meaning to. It doesn’t come. He catches himself almost saying something.

Doesn’t

Just watches her walk off, something in his expression tightening for a second before it disappears. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything.

But it does.

Because once he sees it, he can’t stop seeing it.

It’s in everything she does. Or doesn’t do.

She doesn’t look at people the same way anymore. Doesn’t step in. Doesn’t react. Someone drops something right next to her and she just keeps walking like she didn’t hear it.

Someone asks for help, and she gestures vaguely toward someone else instead of stepping in herself. She keeps her food now—every bit of it—tucked away like she’s finally learned the lesson everyone else picked up years ago.

And maybe that’s a good thing.

Maybe that’s what she’s supposed to do.

But it doesn’t sit right.

Not because the behavior itself is wrong, but because it’s her doing it, and it looks… off. Like she’s wearing something that doesn’t quite fit, like it pulls in the wrong places.

Randall leans back against the wall one evening, arms crossed, watching her pass by like she doesn’t even register he’s there.

“Hey.”

“What?”

She pauses, but she doesn’t fully turn toward him. The distance is subtle, but it’s there now—something measured in the way she holds herself, in how much of her she allows anyone to see.

“When’d you start ignoring people?”

“I don’t.”

He lets out a quiet huff. “Yeah. You do,” he continues, flat. “Just watched you do it.”

“They’ll figure it out.”

“That’s new.”

There’s something different there. Not colder, exactly. Just… shut down in a way it wasn’t before.

“People said I needed to stop,” she says.

“Stop what?”

“Being stupid.”

The word sits wrong.

Randall’s expression shifts, something sharper creeping in.

“Who said that?”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she says, a little firmer now, though her voice stays level. “They weren’t wrong.”

He pushes off the wall then, uncrossing his arms.

“Right,” he says, tone flat. “So now you just don’t do anything.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She exhales, already looking annoyed. “I’m just not making things harder for myself anymore.”

“By what—acting like you don’t see anything?” he cuts in.

“By not being an easy target.”

“So this is you fixing it?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“You call this better?”

“I call it necessary.”

There’s no softness left in it.

“Necessary,” he repeats, pushing off the wall as irritation sharpens into something more pointed. “No. This isn’t necessary. This is you turning into everyone else.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” she shoots back, and finally there’s some heat in her voice. “They’re still alive, aren’t they?”

“Barely.”

“But they are.”

“And you think this is why?” he presses, stepping closer now, frustration creeping in around the edges. “You think acting like you don’t care is what’s keeping them alive?”

“It’s part of it.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s what’s left after everything else gets stripped away.”

She exhales sharply, already looking like she wants out of the conversation. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Yeah, you are,” he counters, stepping into her path before she can move past him. “Because this isn’t you.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I don’t have to. I saw who you were before.”

“Yeah?” she says, turning fully toward him now, something raw slipping through the cracks. “And where did that get me?”

It lands.

Not loud, not dramatic, but exactly where it needs to.

“Nowhere,” she continues, quieter but sharper. “It got me taken advantage of. It got me ignored. It almost got me hurt.”

“And this is better?”

“It’s safer.”

“Is it,” he asks, voice dropping, “or is it just easier?”

Her jaw tightens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” he shoots back, something deeper threading through the frustration now. “I’ve seen what this place does to people.”

“So have I.”

“Then you should know better.”

“Know better than to survive?”

“No,” he says, the word cutting clean. “Know better than to lose yourself doing it.”

She lets out a quiet, humorless breath. “That’s easy for you to say.”

That one sticks.

Because it’s not wrong.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, even though he already knows.

“It means you already know how to be like this,” she says, gesturing toward him. “You don’t hesitate. You don’t second-guess. You don’t care about people you shouldn’t. That’s how you survive here.”

Each word lands steady, deliberate.

“And I don’t,” she adds, softer now. “So I’m learning.”

Something twists in his chest, sharp and immediate.

“Yeah,” he mutters, jaw tightening, “and how’s that working out for you?”

“Better than before.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he says, stepping closer again, voice rougher now. “Because you look miserable.”

That stops her.

Not completely, but enough to crack something in the surface she’s been holding together.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” he cuts in, not letting her pull away from it. “You don’t talk to anyone, you don’t help unless you have to, you don’t—” He exhales, shaking his head. “That’s not surviving. That’s just existing.”

She swallows, gaze dropping for a second before she forces it back up. “At least I’m still here.”

And that—

That’s it.

“This place already ruins people,” he says, quieter now, but heavier. “Don’t help it.”

He holds her gaze, something real breaking through the usual edge in his voice.

“Do you think I like being like this?” he adds. “You think this is something you should be aiming for?”

She doesn’t answer.

Because she doesn’t have one.

“I didn’t start like this,” he continues, dragging a hand over the back of his neck, pacing once like he needs to burn off the weight of it. “Nobody does. This place takes whatever you were and grinds it down until this is what’s left.”

He gestures to himself, something bitter flickering across his face.

“And you want to speed that up?” he asks, looking back at her. “You want to do that to yourself on purpose?”

Her expression shifts, just slightly.

“I’m just trying to survive,” she says, but it’s quieter now. Less certain.

“Yeah,” he replies. “So was I.”

The words settle between them, heavy.

“And look how that turned out.”

That’s what finally gets through.

She looks at him differently then, like she’s seeing past the surface of him for the first time, like she’s noticing what it cost him to get here.

“I don’t know what else to do,” she admits, and there’s something fragile in it now, something honest.

Randall exhales slowly, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders.

“You keep going,” he says. “The way you were.”

“That doesn’t work here.”

“It did,” he counters. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Barely.”

“Barely counts.”

She lets out a small breath, shaking her head. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I can’t keep being that person if it’s going to get me killed,” she says, voice tightening again, but not as defensive. “I can’t keep giving things away, trusting people, acting like things are normal when they’re not.”

“I’m not saying be stupid,” he says, more controlled now. “I’m saying don’t kill the only part of you that makes this place bearable.”

She goes still.

“Not just for you,” he adds, quieter.

Her gaze lifts back to his, something unspoken settling between them.

“You don’t have to be like me,” he says. “That’s not something you should want.”

A beat passes.

“Trust me.”

There’s something almost ironic about it, but neither of them acknowledges it.

Silence settles, but it’s different now. Less sharp. Less guarded.

She looks down at her hands, turning everything over, and for once he doesn’t interrupt it. He lets the quiet sit, lets her work through it without pushing.

After a moment, she exhales, her shoulders loosening just slightly.

“…Okay.”

It’s not a promise.

But it’s something.

It doesn’t fix everything, doesn’t magically undo the shift.

The next time someone asks for help, she still hesitates. It’s there, that pause, that instinct to pull back, to protect herself the way she’s been trying to.

Then, slowly, she steps in anyway.

Not like before. Not automatic.

But it’s hers.

Later, when she passes Randall in the hallway, she slows just enough to catch his attention, holding something out for him to take.

“Here.”

He takes it, glancing at her.

She starts to walk off.

There’s a pause.

It’s small. Uncertain.

“…Thanks,” she says, quieter than it used to be.

It’s quieter now. A little uncertain, like she’s still figuring out how much of herself she’s allowed to keep without it costing her.

Randall nods once, like it’s nothing.

“Yeah.” he mutters.

But he doesn’t look away as she walks off, watching her as she goes.

And this time, there’s no irritation in it.

Just something quieter.

Something that looks a lot like him making sure she doesn’t disappear into this place the way everyone else eventually does—even if he never says that part out loud.

It’s because he’s decided—quietly, without saying it out loud—that if the world tries to take that softness from her again, it’s going to have to go through him first.

“But, I shouldn’t have to ask you, you should just tell me.” You whined, a familiar pout covering your face. You stepped up onto the truck step, not even making it inside before he grabbed your hand and spun you around to face him. His large hand gripped your chin firmly, not hard, but firm enough to make you listen. “C’mon, honey. You barely gave me a chance to tell you.” Your eyebrows furrowed at this, shaking your head you began whining again. “But, You had the entire time I was coming down the driveway to tell me I looked pretty.” Your eyes looked anywhere but him. Yes, you were actually upset. But, that’s just you getting used to Rafe spoiling you.

“I did have all that time, huh? Should’ve scooped you up at the front door and carried you allll the way down here, huh?” You nodded in agreement bashfully, face warm as he looked at you lovingly. “Look at me,” Your big eyes met his again. “You are the prettiest, sweetest girl I’ve ever met. Your hair looks so good, huh, do all this for me?” He asks. “Mhm! And I even put this pretty bow, look!” You exclaimed, mood now uplifted after his chain of compliments. You turned around, hand pointing out your white lace bow placed strategically in your half up half down.

“So pretty.” He exhales, fingers reaching up to graze it. “You done pouting now? Cause’ you didn’t even give me a kiss.” Turning around to face him once more, you began kissing him all over his face. “I’m - kiss - done - kiss - pouting!” You said, ending your sentence off with a kiss. “You didn’t even kiss my lips.” He complained, rolling his eyes in annoyance. Your mouth dropped in shock, “How come you get to roll your eyes but not me!” You shrieked. He kissed you roughly, tongue slipping between your lips with ease. His large hand wrapped around your neck, holding you there softly. You moved in sync, beginning to let out little whines as his mouth moved against yours desperately. He pulled away, leaving you breathless and your lip combo now on his lips.

“Shh, baby.” Was all he whispered, pushing you down into the car seat and buckling your seatbelt. He placed one last kiss on your lips, short and sweet, before closing the door and crossing over to the driver side. He swung open the door, hopping in and buckling himself. “Ready, baby?” He questioned. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” You bounced excitedly, moving the blanket that was strictly designated for you, over your legs.

As you walked around the mall, hands interlaced. Rafe had to keep a tight hold on you or else you’d run off. But when you peeped Bath and Body Works, you broke away from Rafe who was now talking to a salesman that encountered the both of you. Like a kid in a candy store, you smelled every scent you could, using the tester lotions and everything. 10 minutes after, you were now in line to check out. Two perfumes, two lotions and two body washes. “Hi!” You greeted the cashier politely. She muttered something back quietly, “Excuse me?” You questioned sweetly. “I said, looks like you enjoyed shopping.” She repeated, huffing at you.

You were taken aback. Did you come at her wrong? Rough day at work? You looked around wearily, eyebrows furrowing. “Okay, your total is 76.90. How will you be paying today?” Her voice was monotone, expression blank as she stared at you. “Card.” A smooth voice said from behind you, you knew who it was, you could recognize his cologne from a mile away. The cashiers eyes twinkled at the sound of Rafe, who held out his card to her. You leaned back onto him, his arm coming to wrap around your waist. “Running off, eh?” He muttered. Shaking your head, “Couldn’t resist B&BW.” You whispered back.

He chuckled lowly, paying no mind to the cashier as she fronted the prettiest smile she could for him. She handed back his card and looked over at you, watching as his arm around your waist tightened. “Bag?” She asks. Girl, what do you think? You thought. Rafe seemed to see straight through you as he answered for you, “Yeah.” She began packing the items into the bag, handing it straight to you. “Thank you!” You smiled. “Yeah, welcome.” She answered, but her eyes stayed trained on Rafe. Meanwhile, his were trained on you. He swiftly took the bag without even so much as glancing at her. He switched the bag to the other hand, which held 3 other bags. “Do you want me to carry one, I know your strong but your making me feel bad.” You whined.

He shook his head stubbornly. “No. I wanna carry ‘em. This is my workout for the day, or for right now. If you know what I’m saying.” He said. You slapped at his chest playfully, face growing warm again at that. “Rafe! You can’t say that out loud!” You whisper yelled at him. He laughed loudly, finding himself really funny. “It’s funny?” You asked. He struggled to catch his breath, as his face began turning light pink. “Uh huh. Whew. That was hilarious, think you brought a tear to my eye.” He sighed loudly as he fake wiped a tear. “You think I spent too much?” You muttered, looking at the bags he held. Victoria’s Secret, PacSun, Lululemon and a small pandora bracelet within the PacSun bag.