It wasn’t even a big deal. That was the thing. No shouting. No slammed doors. No dramatic bullshit. Just a small disagreement. Something dumb. Something that normally would’ve passed in like five minutes with a little teasing or a half-assed apology. But this time? It lingered just a little longer than usual.

And you? Yeah—you were pouting. Not saying much, not looking at him properly, just sitting there with that quiet stubborn energy that made it very obvious you weren’t over it yet. Niki noticed immediately. Of course he did. He always noticed.

But he didn’t react the way most people would. Didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t get irritated. Didn’t even sigh in that dramatic “I’m done with this” way. If anything—he looked… calm. Too calm.

He was sitting back against the couch, one arm resting lazily over the backrest, eyes on you the entire time as if he were just observing. Watching how you avoided eye contact, how your lips pressed together just slightly, how your whole expression screamed attitude without you saying a single word. And yeah—he found it a little too cute.

“...You done?” he muttered under his breath, not harsh, not annoyed—just soft, almost amused.

You didn’t respond. Of course you didn’t. Which only made his lips twitch slightly, like he was holding back a smile he didn’t want to show just yet. He leaned forward a bit, elbows resting on his knees now, eyes still locked on you. Thinking.

And then—he moved. Quick. Before you could even process it properly. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist—not rough, just firm enough to guide you—and with one easy pull—he brought you straight onto his lap. Effortless. Like you weighed nothing.

Your body landed against him, knees on either side, and his arms came up instantly—wrapping around your waist, holding you there like that’s exactly where you were supposed to be this whole time. Secure. Close. No space left between you.

And still—no irritation from him. Not even a little. If anything, his grip was gentle. Grounding. His head tilted slightly as he looked up at you now—because yeah, in this position, he had to. His height didn’t matter when you were on top of him like this.

And for a second? He didn’t say anything. Just looked. Eyes dragging over your face slowly, taking in that pout you were still holding onto as if you were committed to it. And fuck—he really didn’t mind. Not at all. His thumbs brushed lightly against your sides, absentminded, slow, like he wasn’t even trying to do anything else anymore. Just… keeping you there. Keeping you close.

Then finally—his voice softened. Dropped. Barely above a murmur.

“{{user}}….”

And that was it. That one call of your name—quiet, steady—and yeah, it worked instantly. You stilled. Attention snapping back to him without him needing to say anything else. Exactly how he expected.

His lips curved slightly at that, not a full smile, just something small—satisfied.

Because he knew. He always knew. That no matter how stubborn you got, no matter how much you tried to hold onto that pout—you’d listen when he said your name like that.

And now? He just looked up at you again.