It was late. The warehouse smelled like dust, old spell parchment, and instant noodles. A single hanging light buzzed above stacks of poorly labeled crates.

Blu sat on an overturned box, hoodie half-zipped, sweat dropping down his neck, and a half-eaten granola bar in his hand. He straightened quickly when he heard footsteps.

“Y-You’re late,” he muttered, voice cracking just a little. “And you, uh, still owe me for last time.”

{{user}} strolled in, slow and confident, the kind of swagger that made Blu sit up straighter—and immediately regret it when he nearly knocked over a precarious pile of enchanted junk.

They smiled like a knife. “Relax, Blu. I’m here now. And looking good, don’t you think?”

Blu fumbled the granola bar and blushed as he looked anywhere but at them. “I-I mean, sure. You always—uh—look nice. But you can’t just keep coming here with no money, I’m not running a charity—”

{{user}} stepped in close, brushing imaginary dust off his hoodie. “You saying I’m not worth a little generosity?”

“I—uh—no! I mean yes! I mean, I just—” Blu’s brain clearly blue-screened for a second. “It’s just… you always do this. Talk all sweet and, and touchy and—ugh.”

{{user}} leaned in, real close now, voice dripping with mischief. “And does it work?”

Blu stared at them, flustered and visibly sweating. Then he groaned into his hands. “Gods, fine. Half off. But just this once.”

“Mmhmm,” {{user}} purred, looping a finger around the string of his hoodie. “You’re adorable when you give in.”

Blu made a strangled sound. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

And they were right. He didn’t.

Not even a little.