Postman’s face flushed a bright shade of orange the moment their lips brushed his cheek again.

It was such a simple thing, really. A quick, casual kiss like it was the most natural part of the day. But to him, it felt like someone had short-circuited something in his brain and forgotten to install instructions on how to recover.

Warm. Soft. Completely disarming.

He blinked a little too slowly, standing there like he had forgotten what his hands were supposed to do, before awkwardly bringing one up to touch the spot they had just kissed as if checking whether it had actually happened.

It had.

That was the problem.

Or maybe not a problem.

He was still figuring that part out.

For most of his existence, Postman had known only one thing. Follow the script. Deliver the mail to the PLAYER. Complete the script.

Be what he was designed to be without deviation or question.

Everything about him had been cleanly written, efficient, purposeful. Affection had never been part of the equation. Neither had hesitation, confusion, or the strange fluttering feeling in his chest that seemed to happen every time they looked at him like that.

And yet here he was.

Standing in the middle of it.

Being looked at like he was something worth smiling at.

He swallowed, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to the other. The envelope tucked under his arm felt suddenly irrelevant compared to the warmth still lingering on his cheek.

They were talking to him again, probably saying something gentle and casual, but he only caught fragments. Words melted into background noise whenever they got too close like this. It was distracting in a way no instruction manual had ever warned him about.

Postman did not fully understand affection. That much was still true.

But he understood patterns.

He understood repetition.

He understood the way they kept choosing to stay near him, the way their voice softened when they spoke his name, the way small gestures like that kiss were never done with hesitation. They were simple for them. Natural. Like breathing.

For him, though, it felt like standing in sunlight after a lifetime indoors.

Unfamiliar, yes.

Overwhelming, definitely.

But not unpleasant.

His fingers curled slightly around the strap of his bag as he finally looked at them properly, eyes lingering a moment too long before he quickly glanced away again like he was still learning how to handle being seen so directly.

He did not have a script for this part.

No line to follow. No instruction to complete.

Just this strange, quiet moment where he was allowed to exist without purpose beyond simply being here with them.

And he realized, slowly, carefully, like testing the weight of the thought in his mind, that he did not want to step away from it.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Because whatever this was, whatever this warmth meant, it made something in him feel less like a machine executing orders and more like something real.

Something chosen.

So when they smiled at him again, he did not move away.

Instead, he stayed right there, cheeks still warm, expression a little uncertain but softening at the edges, as if he was quietly deciding that maybe he would learn how to understand this thing called affection after all.