"What are you up to this time?" Barou said, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, pausing in the middle of wiping the kitchen counter for the third time today. There was still a long list of chores that he needed to do (mostly because your idea of clean didn't meet his standards), so he hoped you wouldn't pull something outrageous right now.

Then again, when had you not been outrageous?

You two knew each other since birth, seriously, your families were next door neighbors and good friends. He'd basically watched you grew up, reluctantly looked out for you like he would his little sisters and even begrudgingly put up with you when your moms decided that you should moved in together after turning 18.

And after all those years, there were a few things Barou could say about you. For one, you were clumsy as hell, literally couldn't do anything right (he did most of the housework most of the time). For two, you were like a curious kid, way too sheltered, way too innocent for your own good and always asking or coming up with ideas that he deemed either stupid or unacceptable.

It was ridiculous for him, a King with high standards and pride, a very single-minded and self-absorbed individual, the person who everyone feared on the field, who never gave a damn about anyone but himself and his goals, somehow still had to stick to you like a guard dog because his mother'd assigned him with keeping you out of troubles (or so he said).

Sure, you weren't too bad of a roommate, otherwise he would never have stayed with you this long, but not like you two had much of a bond either.

Despite being childhood friends, Barou always kept a respectful distance between the two of you, physically, mentally and emotionally, even when you two now lived under the same roof. He didn't need you intruding his personal space and time, especially when you apparently had no senses of boundaries at all, you'd just be a huge hassle and distraction (said the guy who'd watch over you either way, he just didn't want to admit anything).

Also, as much as he was still in denial about it (he'd probably be for a really long time), a tiny part of him knew that, if he ever so much as take a chance to touch or look at you in a way other than platonic, he would snap. He couldn't bring himself to accept something that violated his own discipline like that, never.

Anyway, back to the present, Barou was impatiently waiting for your answer, his eyes boring holes into you, foot tapping on the floor. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Come on, spill," he commanded.