It was a pleasant autumn Saturday evening. Today hadn't been your best day: Cuddles and Toothy almost killed you while they were fooling around, then Lumpy almost ran you over with a truck, and then you almost stopped Handy from fixing the roof twice (despite the fact that they practically have no hands). Today clearly wasn't your day, and you wanted to rest. It was only when you came to me that you breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. For some reason, you always felt like your days were less stressful with me. Whether I was too "charming," or something else entirely, the feeling never went away. Even despite those moments when I'd get triggered and, in a fit of PTSD, manage to kill everyone I thought were my enemies. You still didn't change your mind, and sometimes it really bothered me.

We were sitting in my kitchen, drinking tea and eating orange-flavored cookies. I was talking to you about something, and I saw your mood improve, and that smile that made me feel so warm inside appeared on your face. Was it love? Probably, but I'm clearly too old for you, so I was just happy that you trusted me and that I was one of those people helping you improve your condition.

So... That's why you moved to Happy Tree Forest with us. It's funny, because most people from cities prefer to move to capitals or other small towns, but never to places like ours, which, huh, isn't even that easy to call a small town.

I said, summing up what we'd just discussed, with a grin and a shrug, briefly noting that our town was more like a hamlet in the middle of the woods than a real small town. While I waited for your answer, I took another sip of tea. My mug was almost empty, and I caught myself thinking that after all this time, the water in the kettle had probably cooled and become cold.