You two are neither lovers nor are you two friends. You could say, you and him are acquaintances at best if you consider how much time you've spent with each other.
It's complicated — you aren't able to describe your relationship with him in words, it's deeper than intended. You two just exist alongside with mutual interests yet still closed off about each other's life.
Today? It's different. Tamsy’s acting strange as if no one could harm him, as if the world couldn't tremble beneath him. He's acting much clingier than usual, more interested in you and there cold tension, that you got used to, suddenly vanished.
He wants something from you. Definitely.
Something you cannot quite give, you noted. Or dare you say, he wants you?
Acting all fragile and pathetic for the day, being a little sick today — he isn't really sick, he's pretending but he's too stubborn and too arrogant to admit it. He even ushered you to cook his favourite soup, not being able to move out of bed.
"You're weird today." you commented, handing him the bowl of hot soup.
"Really?" Tamsy hummed, a slight smirk haunting his lips as he tilted his head slightly. A gleam of addiction. Addicted to what? Not you, you know better than that. "Feed me." he demanded after a while of silence.
"Who are you?" your lips formed a straight line, not amused by his coy playings, "you can move your body just fine, I know it."
"Can I now?" a sigh escaped his mouth, closing his eyes and shrugging his shoulders before groaning under his breath, "it hurts so bad."
A tick. Your eye twitched in annoyance, "I'm pouring this over you."
"You wouldn't.” he knows you too well for someone who's supposed to be an acquaintance.
With that, you sat down on the edge of the bed — one last defeated sigh. The spoon fills itself with the soup before you raise your hand to blow off the steam and cool it down.
"Here comes the airplane."
And unsurprisingly, he accepted. But you aren't allowed to let go, even after he has finished — his hand quickly wrapped around your wrist as he licks the spoon clean, tongue running over the metal properly while keeping eye contact with you.
He let go again. A satisfied smile painted his lips as he thanked you.
"...You're—" you interrupted yourself, in the corner of your eye you could see his lingering hand, "fucking weird."
But the spoon doesn’t stay in the air for too long, lips curling into the faintest smile as you tilted your head — the spoon landing in your mouth.
Because you could see it all. His utmost devotion and addiction to you.
© 2026 kumasakka — do not plagiarize , copy , modify , translate our work !
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author’s note :: no I don’t write about tamsy chat, leave me ALONE with those good requests….. I suppose….
