˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ about me ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

zomie | 9teen | brown skin girly | puerto rican and cuban | native puerto rican | yes im in school and yes i hate college. |

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ interests & hobbies ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

i like to collect things! especially anime figures and mugs | writer | i write too much or don't write at all ('''– ⌓ –)＝３ | i watch lots of animes! and read manga so feel free to talk to me about those! | yuri for the win >.< | kyle lover ^^ | hyper fixating on cod rn |

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ about my blog ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

only write for cod and jjk for rn </3| | can request anything between those two and i'll do my best to deliver! | nonstop yapper so i may post one after another ( 〃．．) | i'm very indecisive about themes because i wanna do all of them >.< | please become moots with me | terribly awkward, shy, and introverted | gimme some time i beg |

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ rules ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

only request from the two listed | doesn't matter which character ^^ | you can do poly pair ups! makes things hotter! | no character x character | i don't like making work that doesn't make me the center of attention （○｀Ｏ´○）| no male! reader | i only write fem! reader and gn! reader | the more specific the more it helps me! | lemme hear your thoughts i beg | any genre | smut is permitted just give me some time im shy yall |

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ m.list ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

cod m.list | jjk m.list |

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ recent work ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

you suck a pool >ᴗ< with tf141

Flat tire with tf141 (T⌓T)

Drunk at the bar with fiancé graves (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

touch starved toru (jjk)

ghost angst (╥_╥)

gaz fixes your sink on a hot summer day (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

nanami walking you home (gasp what a gentleman) o(“°0°’’)o ! !

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ tags ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

#zomieyaps | #zomieblogs | #zomiewrites | #zomiereblogs

Chapter Two - The Price of Protection

>-;;⁠;⁠;€ᐷ parings: Barbarian!tf141 x civilized reader

>-;;⁠;⁠;€ᐷ synopsis: After a terrifying dream of being hunted through an endless forest, you wake to a reality that feels just as inescapable. Surrounded by unfamiliar territory and the looming presence of the tribe, the truth behind your sacrifice becomes clear. When Price offers you a choice, you quickly learn it isn’t a choice at all—only a different kind of loss.

>-;;⁠;⁠;€ᐷ contents: Themes of fear, captivity, and coercion. References to blood, hunting, and predator/prey dynamics. Emotional distress, forced marriage, and feelings of isolation.

Reader discretion is advised!

>-;;⁠;⁠;€ᐷ word count: 1.5k

Series Masterlist | next | moodboard | playlist

Cold air bites at your face as you push through the dense woods, branches snagging at your clothes like they’re trying to keep you there. Each step crunches too loudly beneath your feet, the sound swallowed by the endless stretch of trees around you.

The forest doesn’t feel real.

It feels…awake.

Watching.

You don’t remember how you got here. With every step, that thought slips further from your grasp, like trying to hold water in your hands. Hours could have passed. Maybe days. Time feels wrong here, stretched thin and tangled.

And then you hear it.

A wet, tearing sound.

Your body stills, breath catching in your throat. It’s unmistakable, the sound of something feeding. A predator that’s already caught its prey.

You should run.

Every instinct in your body screams at you to turn around, to get as far away from that sound as possible but your feet don’t listen. Something pulls you forward, slow and quiet, like you’re being led.

Drawn in.

Your steps grow lighter, more careful, as you move closer. The sound gets louder. Clearer. Your stomach twists, fear and curiosity knotting together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

Then you see him.

At first, it’s just a shape, broad, hunched, massive.

Then the details come into focus.

A back covered in scars. Not small ones, no, these are deep, jagged marks that carve across his skin, wrapping around his body like proof of every fight he’s ever survived. Old wounds. Brutal ones.

Your nose wrinkles as the scent hits you.

Blood.

Thick. Metallic. Overwhelming.

It coats him. Smears across his skin, his hands, his mask.

The animal beneath him is barely recognizable, but the patches of white wool cling to red-stained ground, matted and ruined. A sheep…or something like it. Torn apart.

Your breath stutters.

The mask.

It clicks into place all at once, your blood running cold.

You know him.

The wolf.

The quiet one. The one who never speaks but always watches. The one whose gaze feels like it cuts straight through you.

Your heart starts to race, pounding so hard it feels like it might give you away. You take a slow step back

and a branch snaps beneath your foot.

The sound echoes.

Loud. Sharp. Final.

Everything stops.

The tearing. The movement. Even the forest feels like it goes still.

Then

He moves.

His head snaps toward you with a speed that shouldn’t be possible, something inhuman in the way it happens. Too fast. Too precise.

Your eyes lock with his.

And whatever you thought you knew about him doesn’t matter anymore.

There’s nothing human in his gaze.

His pupils are blown wide, swallowing what little color you can see. There’s no recognition. No hesitation.

Just instinct.

Just hunger.

A long, suffocating second passes. Maybe more. You can’t tell.

Your body forgets how to move. Your lungs forget how to breathe.

Then your heart slams against your ribs—

Run.

You don’t think. You don’t hesitate.

You turn your back on the predator—every lesson you’ve ever been taught screaming at you not to and you run.

Branches whip at your face as you tear through the forest, your heartbeat roaring in your ears.

Faster.

You can hear him behind you.

Not chasing—no, hunting.

There’s a difference.

He doesn’t stumble. Doesn’t slow. The forest doesn’t touch him the way it does you. Where you trip and falter, he tears through everything in his path like it was never there to begin with.

Closer.

You can hear it, the heavy, controlled rhythm of him gaining on you. Feel it, like a shadow at your back.

Your lungs burn. Your legs scream.

Ahead, you see it—

An opening.

Light spills through the trees like something holy, something safe, and you push yourself harder, ignoring the sharp sting of branches slicing your skin, the ache in your feet—

Closer.

So close.

You can almost make it—

And then—

Something slams into you.

Claws dig into your back, pain ripping through you as the force drags you down. The ground disappears beneath you.

And everything goes black.

—

You jolt upright with a sharp gasp, lungs dragging in air like you’ve been drowning.

Your heart is still racing. Too fast. Too loud.

For a moment, you don’t know where you are.

The furs piled on top of you feel suffocating, heavy and wrong, and you shove them off in a panic. Your skin is damp with sweat despite the cold.

“It was a dream,” you whisper to yourself, your voice shaking. “Just a dream…”

You try to slow your breathing. Try to steady the frantic pounding in your chest.

You’re safe.

You’re—

Your feet hit the ground as you climb out of the bed, and pain shoots through them. You wince, staggering slightly.

It feels real.

Like you were running.

The thought sends a fresh wave of unease through you, but it’s quickly replaced by something stronger. Something deeper.

You want your mom.

The need hits suddenly, sharply, like a bruise pressed too hard. You want her voice, her hands, something familiar to anchor you—

You look around.

And everything shatters.

This isn’t your home.

The tent. The furs. The smell of smoke and something wild lingering in the air.

It all comes rushing back.

Your chest tightens as the memory settles in fully.

You’re not going home.

Your father isn’t here.

No one is.

You’ve been given away.

Left here—with them.

Your knees weaken, and you stumble back, hitting the edge of the bed. The betrayal stings fresh all over again, even if part of you understands why.

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing the tears back. Thinking about it won’t change anything.

It just makes it worse.

A faint glow filters through the tent, signaling early morning. It’s quiet outside, too quiet. No voices. No movement.

Dead.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

Are they only active at night?

You hesitate before inching toward the entrance, fingers brushing the rough fabric as you peek outside.

The sunlight hits your eyes, and you squint, blinking against the brightness. Dew clings to the grass, sparkling faintly.

It looks…peaceful.

Empty.

Too empty.

Tents are scattered around, silent and still, each one holding something you don’t want to think about.

Beasts.

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away, and step outside. The grass is cold and wet beneath your feet, grounding in a way the tent wasn’t.

You take a slow breath.

And then your gaze drifts to the forest.

It stands there, quiet and looming. Not as terrifying as in your dream but not harmless, either.

Something about it still feels wrong.

And then the thought creeps in.

Run.

Your body shifts before your mind fully catches up. One step. Then another.

If you go now…if you’re fast enough…

Maybe you could make it home by nightfall.

Maybe they wouldn’t catch you.

Maybe—

“If you run,” a deep voice cuts through the silence, calm and certain, “I can—and will—catch you.”

Your entire body locks up.

Slowly, you turn.

The Bear stands behind you.

Without the layers of furs and armor, he somehow looks even more imposing. Solid. Unmovable. His presence alone presses down on you, heavy and controlled.

There’s nothing wild about him.

He doesn’t need to be.

He already knows he’s in control.

Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating.

“But you weren’t thinking that,” he adds, tilting his head slightly, his gaze sharp. “Were you?”

You shake your head quickly.

He studies you for a moment…then nods once.

“Good.”

The word isn’t kind. It’s final.

“I’ve been told,” he continues after a beat, his tone measured, “that you didn’t agree to our arrangement.”

You swallow, forcing your voice to work. “…No. I—I didn’t.”

His jaw shifts slightly, tongue pressing against his cheek in irritation. Not explosive anger controlled annoyance.

“Right.”

He glances toward the forest, then back at you.

“If you don’t want to be here anymore,” he says evenly, “you can leave.”

Hope sparks so suddenly it almost hurts.

“Re—”

“But,” he cuts in, his voice sharpening just enough to stop you cold.

He steps closer.

Once. Twice.

Each step feels deliberate, like he’s making sure you understand every word that follows.

“The deal is off.”

Your breath catches.

“Your people will no longer have our protection.” Another step. “And we will be free to hunt them—if we please.”

The hope dies instantly.

Crushed beneath the weight of what he’s saying.

This is why.

This is why they sent you.

Not for power. Not for gain.

For survival.

One life...for many

Your throat tightens as the realization settles in. The betrayal doesn’t disappear but it changes. Twists into something heavier.

Something you can’t ignore.

“Will you leave,” he asks, watching you closely, “now that you know?”

You hesitate.

Then slowly shake your head.

His gaze lingers, expectant.

You force the words out.

“No… I’ll stay. And marry you.”

A small pause.

“You will marry us,” he corrects, calm but firm.

Your stomach drops.

“…Us?”

He nods once, completely unfazed.

“You’ll have seven days,” he continues, already turning slightly as if the conversation is nearing its end, “to learn our rituals. To prepare.”

He glances over his shoulder.

“I’ll send four women to you. They’ll teach you what you need to know.”

There’s a beat.

“I expect a lot from you.”

And just like that, he walks away.

No hesitation. No doubt.

Like your decision was never really a question.

You stand there for a moment, the weight of everything pressing down on you all at once.

Then you turn and stumble back into the tent.

The air feels heavier now.

Colder.

A strange mix of emotions twists in your chest- fear, dread…something almost like relief buried beneath it.

Your parents didn’t give you away for nothing.

They were trying to save everyone else.

That has to mean something.

…Right?

You sink onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly ahead.

Seven days.

Four beasts.

Their rituals. Their traditions.

And you have to survive long enough to make it to the wedding.

If you even can.

hiii i’m back 🥹 so sorry for being so long and i promise not to be gone for that long again !! ALSO I changed up some ppl Gaz is now the snow leopard and soap is the hyena!

>-;;⁠;⁠;€ᐷ status: ongoing

>-;;⁠;⁠;€ᐷ parings: barbarian tf141 x civilized reader

>-;;⁠;⁠;€ᐷ synopsis: You were raised to fear them—savages cloaked in bone and fur, the brutal warriors who roam the northern wilds. The stories called them monsters. Beasts. Killers. You never imagined you’d be handed over to them like an offering. One morning, without warning or explanation, your parents deliver you into the hands of the very tribe they claimed to hate. No tearful goodbye. No reason why. Just a silent command to obey. They wear skulls on their heads and speak in a tongue you barely understand. Their bodies are marked by scars and blood, towering figures draped in teeth and fur. They don’t offer names. Only stares. Grunts. Strange rituals. You were told they were savages. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this. Dragged into the heart of their territory, you’re forced to adapt to their wild, brutal world—one where silence is a language, and power is worn like a crown. You should be terrified. But fear begins to shift into something else. Curiosity. Anger. Hunger. And though you don’t know why you were sent here… you’re beginning to think they have no intention of ever letting you go.

>-;;⁠;⁠;€ᐷ chapters: The offering (1) |

Chapter One —The Offering

>-;;⁠;⁠;€ᐷ parings: Barbarian!tf141 x civilized reader

>-;;⁠;⁠;€ᐷ synopsis: On the day meant to mark your passage into womanhood, something feels wrong. The smiles are forced, the ceremony hollow, until you're taken beyond the village, hooded, and left in the hands of those once called monsters.

>-;;⁠;⁠;€ᐷ contents: Barbarian AU, price is the bear, ghost is the dark wolf, gaz is the snow leopard , and soap is the hyena!, it'll make sense later, arranged offering/non-consensual trade, mentions of dehumanization and folklore-based fear, implied threats of violence, implied cannibalism, fear of cannibalism, reader is in her 20's, implied sexual violence (fear of rape; does not occur), emotional distress (panic, fear, dissociation)

Reader discretion is advised!

>-;;⁠;⁠;€ᐷ word count: 1k+ words

Series Masterlist | next | moodboard | playlist

You should’ve known something was wrong.

You had only seen your parents once that morning—briefly, distantly—before the others swept you off to get ready. Your mother barely looked at you. Your father said nothing at all. They wore stiff expressions, both avoiding your eyes, speaking to others instead of to you. You told yourself it was just nerves. Ceremony jitters. Tradition, maybe. But something about it… something about it felt off.

Today was supposed to be a celebration. Your celebration.

They were honoring you—finally recognizing you as a woman of the village. After years of preparation, you had completed the long-standing ritual required of all women to earn that title. Now, you were of marrying age. That’s what they said, at least.

The feast, the procession, the jewelry pressed into your skin, the way your hands were painted with ink and powder—it was all tradition. All supposed to mark a joyful transition.

But joy didn’t come. Not from your parents. Not from you.

Even as the village cheered, even as petals were thrown and horns were blown, you couldn’t shake the tight coil in your gut. Couldn’t ignore how your hands trembled when they fastened your ceremonial cloak around your shoulders. Couldn’t stop the way your throat dried up when they kissed your forehead, then stepped back.

Why weren’t they smiling?

Why weren’t you?

The parade began.

You were paraded through the village like a lamb fattened for slaughter—crowned with woven branches, led barefoot through the dirt. Cheers followed you. So did drums. Women danced, children ran, and men watched.

And then…

Then something changed.

The music didn’t stop. But the people around you did.

Hands closed around your arms. You turned, confused, lips parted to speak, but they were already moving you. Steering you toward the edge of the square, past the far fences. You looked back once—just once.

Your parents didn’t stop them.

They didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t move.

You thought maybe it was part of the ritual. That it was symbolic. That perhaps you had to be led into the forest as part of becoming a woman.

But no one told you where you were going. No one answered your questions.

And then came the hood.

Rough cloth. Damp. Smelling of smoke and old leather. It was pulled over your head with practiced hands. Tight hands. You kicked, cried out, struggled until something hard cracked against your skull and the world went black.

⸻

You wake cold. Your bones ache. The world smells of damp earth and pine needles.

Your body is covered in furs you don’t recognize, resting on the floor of something that might be a tent—or maybe a cave. Light flickers behind your closed eyelids. A fire?

You open your eyes.

The ceiling above is made of thick animal hide, stitched together crudely. Bones line the seams. Your breath fogs in the air. You sit up slowly, teeth chattering.

Outside, voices murmur. Deep. Masculine. Sharp like flint.

You crawl toward the opening and peer out.

The forest surrounds you—tall, dark, endless. And scattered within it are shelters just like this one. Fires burn in pits. People move among them, cloaked in furs, metal glinting on their arms and chests.

Not your people.

Barbarians.

The ones your parents warned you about.

The ones they called less than men—the beasts who lived in the mountains, who raided villages, who wore wolves like armor and drank the blood of their enemies.

You scramble back, panic clawing its way up your throat. Your heart pounds so hard it echoes in your ears.

This wasn’t part of the ritual.

This wasn’t symbolic.

You weren’t being honored.

You’d been given.

You’d been offered.

Your parents gave you to them.

The same people they called savages. The same people they said weren’t even human.

You remember the way your mother’s voice dropped to a whisper whenever they were mentioned. How your father’s jaw would tighten when the name of their tribe was spoken aloud. Don’t say it where children can hear, he once warned, eyes darting to the corners of the room like something might be listening.

They spoke of these people like a myth. Like monsters.

Beasts in human skin who roamed the highlands, tasting human flesh like it was delicacy. Creatures who didn’t just want your body, but your soul—your emotions, your fear, your pain. They fed on it, lived in it, thirsted for it.

They were stories told by firelight, warnings woven into bedtime lullabies. Don’t stray from the path. Don’t follow the drums. Don’t answer the howling in the night.

And now, here you are.

Not stolen.

Traded.

Like meat.

Like nothing.

You can’t believe it.

You refuse to believe it.

No. There has to be something else—anything else. A mistake, a mix-up, some elaborate ritual your village kept secret until the final moment. Something twisted and old and symbolic.

But the truth keeps pressing in, heavy and suffocating.

You weren’t taken.

You were given.

Your thoughts race, frantic and desperate, trying to conjure even a single explanation that makes sense. Maybe it was a trade agreement. Maybe for peace. Or protection. A gesture of loyalty. A debt.

Maybe they didn’t want to, maybe they had no choice—

But no matter how you twist it, no matter how you try to make the puzzle fit, it all leads back to the same gut-sickening truth:

Your parents handed you over.

Their only child.

Their daughter.

They let you go without a fight.

Your breath comes faster now. Too fast. Your chest rises and falls in shallow gulps, your eyes burn as tears sting your lower lashes. You press your palms against the ground, trying to steady yourself, but the earth feels like it’s swaying beneath you.

And that’s when you hear it—

Footsteps.

Not one.

Several.

Heavy. Measured. Coming closer.

You freeze.

Then, instinct kicks in.

Your eyes dart around the tent—this massive structure of stitched hide and bone—but there’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. It’s just you and the fire. You press yourself back, scooting until you’re wedged in the farthest corner, limbs curled in, body shaking. The firelight flickers over you briefly, exposing the sheer panic on your face.

The footsteps stop just outside.

Your lungs go still.

The flap of the tent shifts—drawn aside—and they enter.

One by one.

Four enormous figures, each one ducking under the threshold, their sheer mass making the already-huge space feel crushingly small. Their presence is immediate. Dominant. Terrifying.

They don’t look human.

They look like nightmares.

Each one is cloaked in fur, bone, leather. Adorned with teeth and claws strung like trophies along their bodies. They wear masks—animal heads hollowed and worn like armor.

The first wears a towering bear skull atop his broad shoulders, his eyes hidden beneath the thick shadow of the mask. He carries no weapon, but you don’t need one to be dangerous when you’re that large.

The second wears a dark wolf’s head, pelt draped like a cloak over his chest. He doesn’t move like the others—there’s a stillness to him, a silence that makes your skin crawl.

The third is lighter, with a leopard mask and a body decorated in ivory beads, claws, and white spotted fur. His head tilts when he looks at you, and for some reason, it feels almost gentle. Almost.

The fourth—

God. You hate the fourth.

He wears a cat-like animal mask—something feline, maybe a hyena. His chest is bare, thickly muscled, marked with old scars and painted lines. The way he walks is casual, almost amused. A predator with time to spare.

They stop just inside.

Four men.

Four monsters.

Four beasts.

You don’t know which one is worse.

You curl in tighter, trying to shrink into the shadows, praying they’ll ignore you. But they don’t speak. They just stare—through you, past you, into you. Like they’re trying to figure out if you’re a threat, or prey.

They feel too close.

Even when they’re standing on the other side of the fire, they feel right on top of you.

And somewhere deep in your stomach, dread coils.

You hope—God, you hope—that they really are monsters. That they’re more beast than man. Because if they’re men… if they’re human… if they have the capacity to feel, to want—

Then this will be so much worse.

You’ve heard stories. Of what men do. What they take. Of women discarded and broken, left as nothing but vessels for someone else’s hunger. If these are the kind of men your village feared—if your parents knew that, and still gave you up—

It would almost be better to be eaten.

Bones and all.

The silence stretches on, heavy and unbearable. You feel their eyes on you, picking you apart, weighing every breath, every twitch. You can’t stand it. You can’t stand the not knowing.

So you break.

Your voice comes out small, terrified. Cracked like old wood.

“Are you… gonna eat me?”

It’s barely more than a whisper. A child’s voice. A broken prayer.

The silence holds for one breath.

Two.

And then the hyena-mask lets out a howl of laughter.

It bursts from his chest like an explosion, his head thrown back as the sound echoes through the tent. Loud. Wild. Startling.

You flinch so hard your back hits the wall of the tent.

God, how you want that stupid hyena to shut up.

The leopard looks at you, visibly confused.

“…Eat… you…?” he repeats, tilting his head.

His voice is low, accented. Soft in a way that doesn’t match the rest of him.

The hyena is still laughing, hands on his hips now like he can’t breathe, and you burn with shame. Your face goes hot, your eyes prick with humiliation.

How stupid. How stupid you must sound.

“Johnny.” The bear-mask speaks at last. His voice is deep, gravelly, sharp with warning.

The laughing one—Johnny, apparently—chokes on another chuckle, then finally quiets, though you still see the grin twitching beneath his mask.

You press further back into the corner, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.

The panther is still watching you.

But something’s shifted.

He’s not confused anymore. He looks… curious.

And the silence returns.

Streetlights flicker softly above, casting pools of golden light across the sidewalk as the two of you walk side by side. The distant hum of traffic blends with the low buzz of cicadas in the warm night air. A cool breeze brushes past, tugging at your clothes and whipping your hair into your face. Beside you, Nanami’s usually pristine hair, always neatly slicked back at work, is mussed slightly by the wind, a few strands falling loose across his forehead. It’s strange, seeing him like this. Less buttoned-up. More… human. Gentle.

“You really didn’t have to walk me home, Nanami,” you say softly, glancing up at him. There’s a hint of guilt in your voice, though you’re secretly grateful. It’s rare to have time alone with him like this.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his hands tucked neatly into his coat pockets. “It’s really no problem,” he says, and a small, genuine smile appears, subtle, but unmistakable. “It wasn’t all that much trouble.”

You smile too, looking ahead again as the two of you slow your pace. “Still… I know you’ve been working non-stop lately. You could’ve gone straight home.”

“I could’ve,” he replies, calm as always. “But I didn’t want to.”

That quiet admission makes your heart skip. It’s simple. Honest. You don’t reply right away, unsure how to answer something like that without sounding like a schoolgirl with a crush. Which, unfortunately, you sort of are.

Nanami stops at the curb as you reach your building. He turns slightly to face you. “I know you’ve had a hard week. Between the mission and all the reports piling up… I just thought you might want the company.”

You glance at him again, the way his eyes soften when they meet yours. He always speaks so plainly, so carefully. Like every word is chosen with purpose. You admire that about him—his control, his composure. He never lets anything slip… and yet here he is, letting his guard down just a little.

“I do want the company,” you admit quietly. “Especially yours.”

For a moment, the air between you shifts. Something unspoken hovers just beneath the surface—warm, uncertain, but full of potential.

He exhales softly, almost like a sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear.”

You glance at his hair again, a small laugh escaping before you can stop it. “Your hair’s all messed up, by the way.”

He raises a brow, bringing one hand up to smooth it back with his usual precision. “Is it that bad?”

“Not bad,” you say, still smiling. “Just… different. Kind of nice, actually.”

He lets out a quiet hum, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, but the corner of his mouth quirks up again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You linger at the entrance of your apartment building, neither of you making a move to leave.

“Do you want to come in for tea or something?” you ask before you can talk yourself out of it. “Only if you’re not too tired.”

There’s a beat of silence, and for a second you think he’ll politely decline, like he usually does. But then he nods once, slowly.

“I wouldn’t mind tea.”

Your heart does another flip, but you manage to keep your face calm, at least on the outside.

You push the door open and hold it for him. He steps in beside you, and for the first time in weeks, something feels a little easier. A little lighter. You’re not sure where this is going, or what it means, but for tonight… it’s enough.