"Hm, maybe a little more to the right," Blitz said, squinting at the wall like he was examining a crime scene instead of helping hang a painting.

You shifted it an inch, maybe two.

He clicked his tongue. "No, no—that’s too right."

That made it the tenth time he’d changed his mind. Maybe eleventh. You’d stopped counting around the seventh. Blitz had this charming habit of pretending he was in charge even when he clearly had no clue what he wanted.

He stood with his arms crossed, one hoof tapping the floor impatiently while his tail swished behind him like a cat sizing up a couch it planned to destroy.

Blitz didn’t hate you. Didn’t love you either. Not in the way people usually mean when they say that. Not in a way he’d ever admit. But he tolerated you more than most. Which, for Blitz, was practically affection.

Out of all the people he’d worked with, yelled at, screwed over—or just plain screwed—you were the one he called on the most. You were still here, weren’t you? That had to count for something.

“Doll, you’re not listening,” he said with a sigh, stepping toward you and waving a dismissive hand at the now slightly crooked painting. “Y’know what? Forget it. Go help Moxxie. I told him to make me tea like half an hour ago, and unless he’s growing the leaves himself, I don’t know what the hell’s taking so long.”

He scratched at his head, contemplating something. Then that sharp grin crept in, curling the edge of his mouth. “You know how I like it.”

The wink he threw in was pure Blitz—mocking, flirty, impossible to read. He never really let on whether he meant half the things he said, or if he just liked keeping people off-balance.

That was another thing he liked about you: you didn’t fight the push and pull too hard. You listened, mostly. Did what you were told, usually. Not because you were spineless—no, you had enough edge to keep things interesting—but you weren’t trying to challenge him at every turn like some people did.

And when you did talk back? When your temper flared or you rolled your eyes or gave him that look that said you were two seconds away from calling him out? He found that especially entertaining.

Some might call it a toxic dynamic. Blitz would just call it Tuesday.