percy

It was one cookie.

One. Single. Cookie.

You feel it's important to establish this fact before anything else, because the way Percy Jackson is currently sitting at the edge of the couch with his arms crossed, jaw set, resolutely facing the wall like he's been personally wronged by the universe…you'd think you had committed some kind of federal offense. Treason, maybe. Crimes against the state. At minimum a misdemeanor.

"Perce."

Silence.

"Percy."

More silence. Pointed silence. The kind that has a whole personality attached to it.

You press your lips together to suppress a smile, because gods, he is so ridiculous. He is so spectacularly, almost artistically ridiculous, and somehow that just makes you want to kiss him more, which feels like a design flaw in your brain you should probably bring up with a professional.

Here's what happened: Annabeth came over. Annabeth was hungry. Percy had set his blue cookie (one of Sally's, obviously, wrapped in parchment and everything like it was a religious artifact) on the coffee table while he went to grab something from the kitchen. Annabeth had reached for it, looked at you, raised an eyebrow in question.

And you had done a small, casual shrug. A diplomatic shrug. A shrug that said I am not the cookie's keeper, which felt completely reasonable and civilized at the time.

The cookie was gone in four bites.

Percy came back into the room, looked at the empty parchment paper, looked at Annabeth, looked at you, and the expression that moved across his face was something you would describe only as a man watching his entire legacy dissolve before his eyes. A Renaissance painting of grief. Perseus Jackson, 2000s, oil on canvas.

Annabeth had apologized, laughed, and left twenty minutes later.

That was an hour ago.

"Okay," you say, shifting on the couch toward him. "I want to say, in my defense—"

"Nope." His voice is clipped, the vocal equivalent of a door closing in your face.

"I didn't give it to her, she just—"

"You shrugged." He says it like the word itself is a wound. He still won't look at you, jaw working like he's chewing on further grievances he hasn't yet chosen to deploy. "I saw you. I came back and I watched the security footage of your face and you shrugged!"

"There's no security footage—"

"In my mind there is." He huffs and slides a deliberate inch down the couch, away from you, because apparently physical proximity is now something you have to earn. "I had been thinking about that cookie since noon. Since noon! I told it I'd be back."

You stare at him.

You stare at the sharp, indignant line of his jaw and his magnificently crossed arms and the way his sea-green eyes are fixed on the middle distance with focused conviction.

You almost lose it. You almost completely, catastrophically lose it right there on the couch and you have to physically bite down on the inside of your cheek so hard it's going to leave a mark, because if you laugh right now Percy will simply evaporate from the indignity of it and you will never forgive yourself. This is a solemn moment. You will treat it as such. You are a good partner.

You are barely a good partner.

"Baby," you say carefully.

"Don't."

"I'm sorry."

"You're not."

"I am," you insist, and okay, you're like forty percent sorry. Maybe thirty-eight. The remaining sixty-two percent of you is absolutely, helplessly charmed by the fact that this boy—this boy who has fought actual monsters with actual weapons and navigated actual labyrinths and held the weight of the actual sky on his actual shoulders—is currently pouting about a cookie.

You scoot closer to him. He scoots away a solid two inches this time.

You scoot closer again. He moves again. Another inch. He's running out of couch and you are genuinely curious whether he has considered that or whether the floor becomes an option when the armrest runs out.

It was one cookie.

One. Single. Cookie.

You feel it's important to establish this fact before anything else, because the way Percy Jackson is currently sitting at the edge of the couch with his arms crossed, jaw set, resolutely facing the wall like he's been personally wronged by the universe…you'd think you had committed some kind of federal offense. Treason, maybe. Crimes against the state. At minimum a misdemeanor.

"Perce."

Silence.

"Percy."

More silence. Pointed silence. The kind that has a whole personality attached to it.

You press your lips together to suppress a smile, because gods, he is so ridiculous. He is so spectacularly, almost artistically ridiculous, and somehow that just makes you want to kiss him more, which feels like a design flaw in your brain you should probably bring up with a professional.

Here's what happened: Annabeth came over. Annabeth was hungry. Percy had set his blue cookie (one of Sally's, obviously, wrapped in parchment and everything like it was a religious artifact) on the coffee table while he went to grab something from the kitchen. Annabeth had reached for it, looked at you, raised an eyebrow in question.

And you had done a small, casual shrug. A diplomatic shrug. A shrug that said I am not the cookie's keeper, which felt completely reasonable and civilized at the time.

The cookie was gone in four bites.

Percy came back into the room, looked at the empty parchment paper, looked at Annabeth, looked at you, and the expression that moved across his face was something you would describe only as a man watching his entire legacy dissolve before his eyes. A Renaissance painting of grief. Perseus Jackson, 2000s, oil on canvas.

Annabeth had apologized, laughed, and left twenty minutes later.

That was an hour ago.

"Okay," you say, shifting on the couch toward him. "I want to say, in my defense—"

"Nope." His voice is clipped, the vocal equivalent of a door closing in your face.

"I didn't give it to her, she just—"

"You shrugged." He says it like the word itself is a wound. He still won't look at you, jaw working like he's chewing on further grievances he hasn't yet chosen to deploy. "I saw you. I came back and I watched the security footage of your face and you shrugged!"

"There's no security footage—"

"In my mind there is." He huffs and slides a deliberate inch down the couch, away from you, because apparently physical proximity is now something you have to earn. "I had been thinking about that cookie since noon. Since noon! I told it I'd be back."

You stare at him.

You stare at the sharp, indignant line of his jaw and his magnificently crossed arms and the way his sea-green eyes are fixed on the middle distance with focused conviction.

You almost lose it. You almost completely, catastrophically lose it right there on the couch and you have to physically bite down on the inside of your cheek so hard it's going to leave a mark, because if you laugh right now Percy will simply evaporate from the indignity of it and you will never forgive yourself. This is a solemn moment. You will treat it as such. You are a good partner.

You are barely a good partner.

"Baby," you say carefully.

"Don't."

"I'm sorry."

"You're not."

"I am," you insist, and okay, you're like forty percent sorry. Maybe thirty-eight. The remaining sixty-two percent of you is absolutely, helplessly charmed by the fact that this boy—this boy who has fought actual monsters with actual weapons and navigated actual labyrinths and held the weight of the actual sky on his actual shoulders—is currently pouting about a cookie.

You scoot closer to him. He scoots away a solid two inches this time.

You scoot closer again. He moves again. Another inch. He's running out of couch and you are genuinely curious whether he has considered that or whether the floor becomes an option when the armrest runs out.

"Percy Jackson."

"I'm not talking to you."

"You keep talking to me."

"I'm talking at you." He turns just enough to level you with a look so profoundly martyred it belongs in a cathedral somewhere, before snapping his face away again. "There's a difference."

"Right," you say. "Very evolved."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I know. I took it as one anyway." He turns his face away again.

You look at the way he keeps almost glancing at you and then catching himself and redirecting, like eye contact is a resource he's rationing because he knows that the moment he actually looks at you it's over.

"Perce?"

"No."

You lean slightly toward him. "Perce."

He turns his cheek away, a smooth, practiced motion.

"Baby."

"I'm busy."

You mutter a prayer at the ceiling. You look at it for a while. You ask it, silently, what you have done to deserve this, and the ceiling offers no answers, which is fair.

You lean in and press your lips to the side of his face—soft, deliberate, right at his cheekbone, just below the temple where the skin is warm.

Percy goes completely still.

His jaw unclenches by a fraction. His shoulders drop approximately one millimeter. He doesn't pull away, but he doesn't turn toward you either. He's in the negotiation phase now, you can feel the internal arbitration between pride and the fact that your mouth was just on his face.

He still won't look at you. But the pout has lost some structural integrity. It's a load-bearing pout, and you've just taken out a wall. His mouth keeps twitching at the corner like it's mounting a quiet insurrection, one side pulling toward a smile that his brain is desperately trying to veto.

He clears his throat. Adjusts his crossed arms. Very professional.

"Perce," you say softly.

"Mm."

"Look at me."

"In a minute."

"It's been an hour."

"I'm on my own timeline."

"Percy—"

He turns his cheek away again. Not away away, just at an angle. You note that he has stopped scooting, at least.

You think about being a reasonable adult who communicates through words and then you look at the deliberate angle of his jaw and the way he is absolutely, one hundred percent fighting a smile and you think: nope.

You reach out and take his face in both hands. Your palms against his jaw, fingers light on his cheeks, and you turn him toward you with the unambiguous energy of someone who has simply decided that the dramatic portion of the evening is over now, thank you, we're moving on.

He comes. He was always going to come (you both know that, it was never really in question) but he does it with his eyes still tracking sideways.

You kiss him.

And Percy, for all his sulking, for all his forensic cookie analysis and strategic couch migration and carefully rationed eye contact, kisses you back immediately. Like a reflex. Like his mouth just knows, has always known, and the rest of him was simply killing time. You feel the last of the pout dissolve into something warm and unguarded within about half a second, feel him exhale through his nose like he's been holding something he didn't realize he was holding, and he kisses you like he means it, like he's been waiting, because—obviously—he has.

When you pull back, his eyes stay closed for a beat too long. His lashes are dark against his cheekbones. There's a faint flush along his jaw.

He opens his eyes. And says, with immense solemnity, slightly breathless:

"Fine. You're forgiven."

The grin takes over your face before you can do a single thing about it. It just happens and Percy tries not to grin back. It lasts three seconds. Maybe four, which honestly is a personal best. Then it breaks through anyway, slow and crooked and completely against his will, and his eyes are so soft when they settle on yours that it gets you every time. Every single time, like the first time, an ambush. Unfair.

"It was a really good cookie," he says.

"I know, baby."

"She didn't appreciate it. You could just tell. She ate it like it was—" he waves a hand, "—a cracker or something."

"Annabeth is a monster," you nod with full sincerity.

"Thank you." He points at you. "That's all I needed. That's literally all I needed to hear."

His hands find your waist. And then you feel the slight shift in his grip, a half-second warning before Percy flips you over with a grin that has absolutely nothing apologetic in it and his mouth is everywhere—your cheek, your nose, the corner of your eye, your jaw, your temple. He’s laughing and you are shrieking, actually shrieking, laughing so hard your ribs ache.

"Percy!”

"Payback," he announces cheerfully into your neck. He is completely unbothered by your protests, laughing that low, warm laugh that you feel more than hear. "Direct consequences.”

And then there's nothing but his laughter and yours twisted together, and the warm impossible weight of him, and the way he says your name between kisses like it's a word he invented specifically to like the sound of.

It was one cookie.

One. Single. Cookie.

Completely, utterly worth it.

You and Dylan got into an argument two days ago and you haven’t talked since. He’s been busy with his YouTube channel but not making any time for you, leaving you feeling lonely and helpless. You went out with a few friends five hours ago and just got back home kinda tipsy but not fully drunk. Now you don’t usually drink so this was a new feeling for you not knowing how to stand properly without feeling wompy. You enter the house in your heals in dress, just wanting to go to bed feeling physically and emotionally tired, but then you see him…Dylan

Dylan looked up from the TV when he heard the door open. He immediately takes notice of you as you stumble a little, knowing right away you are a little tipsy. He got up from the couch and walked over to you, concern etched on his face.

"Hey..." he said softly, watching as you wobbled on your heels. "Are you okay?"

"I am good" you say your voice tipsy as you walk a few steps but stumble

Dylan's concern grew as he saw you struggle to keep your balance, stepping forward to help support you.

"You sure about that?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice though still mainly concerned.

He wrapped a supportive arm around your waist, helping you steady yourself.

Your eyes widen slightly due to proximity as you accidentally lean into him due to being tipsy, yours eyes fall to his lips, lingering there as you lick yojr own involuntarily leaning into him more

Dylan was taken slightly aback by your sudden closeness, but he quickly recovered and instinctively returned the kiss, responding to your unexpected move with a mix of surprise and desire.

He deepened the kiss, his hand on your waist pulling you closer as he pressed his body flush against yours.

Your hands moved instinctively up to his shoulder, clutching onto his shirt as you tilted your head, deepening the kiss further, your body pressing against his for support. Your mind clouded with a mix of desire and the effects of alcohol

He could feel the effects of your tipsiness in the way you clung to him for support, your body boneless against his. Dylan suddenly pulls away, his expression shifting from passion to something more conflicted. His grip on you loosens slightly as he studies your face.

"Wait—hold on," he says, voice rough but cautious. "You’re not thinking straight right now." His thumb brushes your cheekbone before he forces himself to step back entirely.

"We gotta talk about this when you're sober." your eyes search his face, confusion and a hint of hurt clouding your gaze.

"Why...?" you murmured, voice tinged with both disappointment and a slight slur from the alcohol. "I'm fine."

You tried to step closer, but the movement only made you wobble more, causing you to reach out to steady yourself by clinging onto him once more.

"Okay, you're absolutely not fine," Dylan asserts, catching you again as you sway. He supports you more out of necessity than desire this time, his grip firm but not intimate.

"You're tipsy," he clarifies, his voice still holding a note of concern. "And I'm not gonna take advantage of you like this." His expression softens somewhat, a hint of guilt tingeing his next words.

"We'll talk tomorrow once you've sobered up, alright?" "For now let’s get you off those heels before you fall and take me down with you." Your brow furrows in slight annoyance, but you don't protest as he helps you steady yourself. Despite your slightly intoxicated state, you can recognize the wisdom in his words.

"Fine..." you grumble reluctantly, letting him assist you out of your heels. A mixture of frustration tinge your tone Dylan can sense the irritation in your tone, despite the influence of the alcohol. He sets your heels aside, his touch gentle but efficient.

"Hey, don't get all grumpy on me now," he says, a hint of sarcasm lacing his voice. "This is for your own good, and you know it." With a swift motion, he scoops you up in his arms, careful not to let you lose balance.

"You're gonna sleep this off and we're gonna talk in the morning, got it?"

Your initial surprise at being suddenly scooped up slowly gives way to a mix of resignation and annoyance as you are carried towards the bedroom. You grumble, but you don't protest, knowing he has a point. The alcohol is still clouding your mind enough to make you less resistant than usual. You cling to him, your head feeling heavy.

"Fine," you mutter, resting your head against his shoulder, your voice slightly muffled. "We'll talk in the morning..." Dylan carries you to the bedroom, his footsteps quiet on the floorboards. He maneuvers you through the doorway and gently sets you on the edge of the bed, propping you up so you're sitting upright. For a moment, he's silent as he looks down at you—taking in your disheveled state with a mixture of fond amusement and slight worry.

"Alright, stay there," he instructs, his voice firmer now. "I'm gonna get you something warm to change into." He turns away, heading towards the closet. You nod in response, leaning back against the bed, the room spinning slightly. You manage to keep yourself sitting upright, but it takes a visible effort. The alcohol still clouding your judgement a bit, you can't help but admire Dylan's back as he retrieves clothes from the closet. Your eyes linger for a moment, appreciating the way his muscles move under his shirt.

Dylan rummages through the closet, selecting a random marvel hoodie you love, (I mean you loved all your marvel hoddies) and a pair of cozy sweatpants. He turns back towards you, clothes in hand, to find you staring at him with a slightly dreamy expression. He raises an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You know you're ogling me right now, right?" he teases, coming to stand before you with the clothes Your roll your eye, scoffing slightly

"God forbid a girl wants to admire her boyfriend, jeez" you say rolling your eyes, but it was true I mean he was your boyfriend why should you not admire him?

He chuckles at your sassy response, amused by your feigned annoyance. He knows you're just playing and enjoys the banter.

"Admire away," he quips, a playful gleam in his eyes. "But try to keep your drool in check."

He carefully drapes the clothes on the bed next to you, his touch lingering almost intentionally.

He taps your knee lightly. "But yeah… I guess I am." His voice softens just slightly as he adds: "Your guy.*"

Now change before you pass out on me."

You roll your eyes, taking the clothes from him. Despite your current state of mind, you're still feisty and somewhat cheeky. You smirk at him as you stand on shaky legs, starting to undress.

"Dangerous, huh?" you say, raising an eyebrow in a mix of coyness and playfulness. "I'll take that as a compliment."

You slip into the cozy clothes, the comfortable fabric surrounding you like a familiar embrace. You can't shake the lingering effects of the alcohol, but the familiarity of it all helps anchor you slightly.

Dylan, meanwhile, is struggling to keep his thoughts and desires in check. The sight of you undressing, coupled with your tipsy and teasing demeanor, is testing his resolve in more ways than one. He leans against the door frame, crossing his arms and trying to appear unruffled.

"You would take that as a compliment," he quips back. "You're a menace even when you're sober, and that's only enhanced right now."You let out a soft chuckle, enjoying the exchange even in your slightly disoriented state.

"A menace, huh?" you echo, smoothing out the hoodie and pulling the waistband of the sweatpants to sit correctly. Your movements are still a bit clumsy, but at least you're dressed now.

You give Dylan a cheeky grin. "Why, thank you" you do a bow theatrical before going and setting on the bed again. He can't help but chuckle at your exaggerated display, the sight of you in your oversized hoodie and sweatpants somehow endearing and adorable even in your tipsy state.

"Careful with the theatrics, sweetheart," he teases lightly. "You might lose your balance."

He grabs a spare blanket from the foot of the bed and tosses it gently over your legs. "Stay put," he orders lightly. "I'm getting water—and aspirin for tomorrow." You comply, sinking back into the pillows with a contented sigh. The effects of the alcohol are still lingering, but you feel a bit more grounded now that you're dressed and sitting down. You watch as he moves around the room, fetching the water and aspirin. There's a hint of affection and concern in your eyes despite the banter as your smile Dylan returns from the kitchen with a glass of water and the aspirin. He sets both on the bedside table within your reach. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, his gaze flicking over you again. He can see that the alcohol is starting to settle a bit more, but there's still a hint of that tipsy playfulness in your eyes. He reaches out to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from your face.

"Drink up," he instructs softly, his touch lingering slightly longer than necessary. You take the pill and drink water.

You drain the entire glass, feeling the water cool your parched throat. The aspirin, too, feels like a welcome promise of relief come morning. Your eyes meet Dylan's again through slightly drooping eyelids.

"Bossy," you murmur, a soft tease in your tone. "You're lucky I'm too tipsy to argue with you."

You lean back against the pillows, a small yawn escaping your lips before you can stop it. fast-forward to the next morning. The sunlight filters in softly through the curtains, filling the room with gentle morning light. Dylan is the first one to wake up.

As his eyes flutter open, he takes a moment to adjust to the morning. His gaze falls on you—still asleep beside him,his arms around you,looking a bit more disheveled and less tipsy than last night.

He stretches slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He glances at the clock, realizing it's still rather early

You stir slightly at the sound of movement, blinking awake as sunlight warms your face. Your head feels heavy, but the sharp edges of last night’s intoxication have dulled into a mild ache. You groan softly and nuzzle deeper into Dylan’s chest like it might shield you from reality.

The aspirin and water seem to have done their job—your head doesn’t feel like it’s splitting open (yet), but there’s still that familiar foggy aftermath of drinking. Dylan can feel you stirring against him, and a small, fond smile curves at the corner of his lips. His arms tighten around you reflexively, his touch gentle and reassuring.

"Morning," he murmurs, his voice still raspy with sleep. His eyes roam over your face, taking in your bleary-eyed and slightly disheveled state. The memory of last night's events are still vivid in his mind, and a hint of concern still flickers within his gaze.

You lost your valued necklace in a lake, while at a party. Your friend held you as you sobbed when jack approached you two.

"What's going on?" He comes to your side.

"I lost my necklace in the lake." You wipe your tears, yet more fall. jack quickly left your side, as you locked eyes with ethan who was blocked by jack. You let your head fall back down, your sobs slowly coming to an end. Minutes passed when jack finally approached you again. In his hands, was your special necklace. Thought you noticed he wasn't wet from the water.

"Oh my—" you rise from your seat, taking the necklace from his hands.

You the pull him into a hug, which he accepts and close your eyes. You soon open your eyes, neither of you pulling back. Behind jack was Ethan. He stood still, watching you both. His hands in his pockets. His whole body was completely drenched in water.

goes up to him did...did you just bring me my necklace..?

he was slightly shocked that you were talking to him. He nods. "I did, yeah"

Why? you say

He shrugs, water still dripping from his hair. His voice is casual but his eyes hold something deeper.

"Why not? Saw you crying like the world ended over a piece of jewelry. Figured it’d be easier to just fish it out than listen to you sob all night." A smirk plays on his lips. "Besides... someone had to do the actual work." He glances pointedly at jake, who stiffens slightly.

looks back at him and then at ethan. Thanks...that necklace is like really important to me...thank you for getting it says smiling at him

he feels his heart skip a beat as he sees your smile. Damn - he wasn't expecting that. He tries to keep his face casual.

"Don't mention it. Just glad you can stop bawling your eyes out now." He smirked, teasing you now.

rolls eyes and just when i started to like you ethan....you had to go start being annoying again says slightly jokingly with a sigh at the end

He chuckles at your tone, though he feels his heartbeat again. Damnit - he shouldn't be enjoying this. He lifts a brow, his smirk widening.

"Oh really now? You were starting to like me?" He feigned surprise, putting a hand to his chest in a mock gesture of dramatic shock.

Maybe a little bit...only for a while

His smirk softens into something more genuine. He shakes his head, sending droplets of water everywhere.

"Careful there—sounds dangerously close to a compliment." He steps closer, just enough to be in your space without actually touching you. "You might make me think you actually appreciate me diving into that freezing lake for you."

furrows my eyebrows you know i meant it right? Thanking you for doing that?

He exhales sharply, almost a laugh. His teasing facade cracks for just a second—enough for you to see something real flicker in his eyes before he hides it again.

"Yeah, I know." A pause. Then, quieter: "...You're welcome."

smiles genuinely and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear The sight of your smile nearly makes him lose his breath. He can't help but smile aswell. Damn—he was not expecting this. He swallows, the air around them suddenly feeling more charged. He forces himself to sound casual again.

Damn look at us having a normal conversation, who would've thought?

He laughs, shaking his head. This whole thing should be weird—the two of you bantering like this after months of arguing and fights. Yet somehow it feels... comfortable? He can't help but enjoy it. "Yeah, crazy right, princess? You actually being pleasant for once."

rolls eyes more like you actually being nice for once...

He snorts, the smirk returning to his face. You both know full well he's not the only one at fault here. "Oh please, you're just as bad as me. The number of insults you've thrown at me—" He begins to count on his fingers, grinning.

laughs at him counting ok you got me puts my hands up in surrender

He narrows his eyes playfully, pretending to think it over before dramatically sighing. "Fine, truce then. For now." He reaches out and flicks your forehead lightly.

You should..................i gotta go i say looking at my friends..........anyway I'll see you around i guess ethan turning to leave and walking towards my friends

He nods, a strange sense of disappointment washing over him as you walk away. Which is weird, considering he never thought he'd enjoy this. He watches you go, his mind spinning. Just as you reach your friends, he calls after you, his tone still playful.

"Try not to miss me too much, princess!"

Oh i won't, thank you for being so worried about my wellbeing i say sarcastically looking back for a second as i continue walking

Fast forward a few weeks later—you hadn’t expected to run into E/n again, but here he was, leaning against his ridiculously expensive car outside your favorite café. He raises an eyebrow at you as you approach.

"Miss me yet?" He smirks. Clearly, the universe had other plans.

What are you doing here?

He pushes off his car, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looks as stupidly attractive as ever. "What, can't a guy get some coffee without you interrogating him?"

You come over here??

He shrugs, leaning against the car again. He's clearly enjoying your annoyance way too much. His smirk widens.

"Believe it or not, this café has the best coffee in town. And I'm kind of a coffee addict. So yeah...here I am."

Really...i thought you would go to some rich ass place....not such a lowdown cafe

He rolls his eyes, but there's a trace of amusement to it. He crosses his arms, his smirk still in place.

"Please, those high-end places are overrated. They charge insane prices just for the label, and their coffee isn't even that good."

Hm hums in amusement aren't you full of surprises

He raises a brow, his smirk matching your amusement. He's enjoying this little banter way more than he would ever admit. "You have no idea." He says leaning a little closer to your ear. His gaze flicks to the café door, then back at you. "You coming in, or do you plan on standing out here all day gawking at me?"

rolls eyes and walks to the cafe door giving him a slight shove as i walk towards the door and open it

He shakes his head, hiding a chuckle as you shove him. He follows you inside, the door closing behind him. The café is fairly crowded, the aroma of coffee and warm pastries filling the air. He follows you to the counter, his eyes taking in the surroundings. Surprisingly, he seems almost comfortable in this environment.

"You come here often, huh?" He asks, leaning his hip against the counter.

"Yeah" you say

He nods, watching you order with the familiarity of a regular. There's something oddly normal about this—him standing next to you in some random café, waiting for coffee like any other person would. It feels...weirdly good.

"What’s your usual?" He asks casually.

Just a chai and a vanilla cream croissant, you?

He grins, already knowing what he wants. "Americano. And a chocolate croissants, I have a major sweet tooth."

you chuckle "Can't blame you"

He laughs as well, enjoying this oddly casual conversation. If anyone had told him months ago that he'd be here, having a normal chat with you, he'd have called them insane. Yet, here they are, bantering over coffee orders.

"Gotta' get my sugar high in the middle of the day." He quips, flashing you a smirk.

you couldn't help but smile.

He blinks, surprised by the genuine smile on your face. His smirk softens into something he'd never admit is fondness. He's so used to seeing your eye rolls or sarcastic replies to his remarks, that this smile is throwing him off.

"Careful, princess. I might think you don't hate me if you keep smiling like that."

"I don't hatee you..........not anymore atleast" you say

His expression shifts—just for a second—before he recovers with a scoff, though it lacks any real bite. He stares at you for half a second too long.

"That’s progress, I guess." He turns to the barista as their drinks and pastries are set down on the counter. He hands over his card before you can even reach for yours. "My treat."

No, you dont need to- and he pays

He ignores your protest, handing you your chai and vanilla croissant.

"Too late. Don't worry about it, princess." He takes his coffee and a bite into his chocolate croissant with a satisfied look. "Just consider it a peace offering or something."

you take your food,face turning into closed lip smile for a second before saying "Thanks" as you walk over to an empty table.

He follows you, his own pastry in hand. He smirks, watching as you give him that rare closed mouth smile. Damn—you're throwing off his usual teasing game here.

"You're welcome." He takes a large sip of his coffee, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips. "Mm.".

your eyes linger for a second on his lips, before taking another sip of your chai "mmm...I know right the chai's so good too" taking a bite of the croissant "and the food too"

He pretends not to notice your lingering gaze. Damn. He's used to seeing you annoyed or pissed whenever he's around, not whatever this relaxed, easy-going version is. He shifts in his seat, trying to stay casual even as his heart pounds in his ears. He takes a large bite of his pastry, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, it is. Best café in town, for sure." His gaze flicks back to you, noticing something. "You got a little..."

He points to your mouth with a smirk.

"Hm?" you question slightly as you try to wipe it off.

You fail to get it completely, which just makes him smirk more. He leans in a little closer, enjoying teasing you way more than he should.

"Still there. Lemme..."

He reaches out, hesitating for just a moment before he gently wipes the smudge of cream off your lip with his thumb. His touch is surprisingly soft for the usual cocky bastard he is.

"Thanks..." you say

His smirk falters for a split second—something flickering in his eyes as he stares at your lips. He pulls his hand back slowly, clearing his throat.

"Yeah." He nods once, taking another sip of coffee to hide the fact that he’s suddenly way too aware of how close you two are right now. "No problem."

There's an awkward silence for a moment before he finally decides to break it.

"So, uh..." He clears his throat again, trying to maintain his usual cocky demeanor even though his heart is beating faster than it should be. He takes another bite of his croissant, as if that'll somehow ground him. "You always come here alone or is there..." he pauses, not really wanting to finish that question

"Nope....alone.....well mostly but few times with anne whos my bsf we both know that ....but mostly alone.....its nice, calming and you know i can just relax by myself......unlike today where somebody had to come and ruin my peaceful solitude" you say teasing him at the last sentence

He scoffs, but there's no real annoyance in it. If anything, he looks almost...pleased? Like the fact that you had to deal with him today was somehow a good thing.

"Ruin your peace? Please." He leans back in his chair, smirking as he takes another sip of coffee. "You're enjoying this way too much for it to be ruining anything."

A beat. Then—

"...Unless I'm wrong?"

"You are wrong...im just tolerating you...but atleast i got a free meal out of it" you say jokingly