“That movie sucked,” Katana repeats for the tenth time that night, poking at his food.

He refuses to make eye contact with you as he continues sulking in his seat. The movie had been some girly rom-com that you might as well have squealed and twirled your hair at. As per his internal guide to being a good…whatever he was to you, he had pretended to be into it until actually getting into his seat. It had been full of weepy eyed females and their loser beta boyfriends and he immediately began to worry if that’s how he looked with you.

Was he your weak beta boyfriend? Were you going to turn into a strong independent sigma that didn’t need him? He had worked himself into a sweat so bad you didn’t even let him hang his arm around your shoulder (another indication you were turning into a sigma).

The millisecond the movie was over Katana had dragged you to the furthest (and cheapest) shop he could find, complaining the entire time about how stupid it was for you to even make him buy you the tickets in the first place. When he glanced at you to push the point of how upset he was further (eye contact is the best way to assert dominance after all), you were staring up at him with those abnormally large beady little eyes of yours, and he had almost crumbled into a—gag, an apology.

It’s not that he doesn’t…have certain feelings towards you. He’s been seeing you off and on for years. You even knew his grandfather and he’d vaguely alluded to something close to approving of you, but it’s not like you two have a label. Katana occasionally takes you out to places to pacify your clinginess and he sometimes stays the night at your place, and there was the time he let you talk his ear off, something about a future or whatever, but he hadn’t really listened to that so it doesn’t count.

“I hope you brought your wallet tonight,” he continues to grumble, “because I sure didn’t.”