Chan stretched across Jiji’s couch like he owned the place, one arm behind his head, the other holding her wrist so she couldn’t walk away.

“You don’t need a bodyguard,” he declared confidently. “Why do you need protection when you have me?”

She raised a brow. “Because you’re my boyfriend, not a trained professional?”

Chan scoffed dramatically, sitting up to puff out his chest like an overconfident golden retriever.

“Please. I’m your boyfriend,” he said, pointing at himself with exaggerated swagger. “I’ll protect you. From anything. Anyone.”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he repeated proudly. “I’m strong! Fearless! Basically invincible. Why else do you think I train so—”

A tiny dot of movement on his shoulder stopped him mid-sentence.

Jiji squinted. “…Chan?”

“Hm?” he said, still bragging.

“There’s a spider on your shoulder.”

Silence.

Chan slowly turned his head.

Saw it.

The spider wiggled one leg like a friendly hello.

Chan didn’t say a word—just released the most unholy, high-pitched scream known to humankind, launched himself off the couch, and sprinted behind her like she was a human shield.

“GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF, OH MY—JIJI, HELP ME—”

She was doubled over laughing before she could help herself, tears forming in her eyes.

He clutched the back of her shirt. “STOP LAUGHING AND SAVE ME—”

She flicked the spider off him effortlessly.

“It’s gone,” she said.

Chan stayed frozen, hands still gripping her shoulders, breathing like he’d narrowly escaped death.

Then she looked back at him, smirking.

“‘Protect’ my butt.”

His jaw dropped. “Wh—HEY! I can protect you from real threats! Not from… not from… eight-legged demons!”

“It was literally the size of a sesame seed.”

“It had intentions, Jiji.”

She laughed again, turning fully to him. “You are unbelievable.”

Chan pouted, cheeks burning pink. “I am still your protector…”

“Sure you are, big hero.”

He crossed his arms dramatically. “Maybe I don’t want to protect you anymore.”

She stepped forward, poking his cheek. “And maybe you still screamed like a toddler.”

He grabbed her hand, pulling her closer despite his embarrassment, softening.

“…Even if I scream,” he mumbled, “I’ll still protect you.”

“From spiders?”

“No,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, “from everything else.”

She smiled, feeling his hands tighten around her.

“Deal,” she said. “But I’m handling all bug-related emergencies from now on.”

Chan groaned in defeat. “Fine.”

But when she kissed his cheek, he brightened again—just like that—because even if he wasn’t brave around spiders, he was brave about one thing:

Loving her.