You were his favorite out of the eleven, he himself couldn’t believe it once he finally figured out what the swell of his heart meant whenever you smiled softly at him, when you accepted and obliged to his wishes so obediently, to know that somehow, you had managed to sneak and squeeze yourself into his heart and turned you into his favorite, even if he tried to deny it. And it was only reasonable to take you in as his secretary — his right hand. He knew he shouldn’t be picking favorites, but oh he couldn’t help himself, you were practically asking for it — with that god sweet smile of yours, and how you followed his orders like a puppy.

He wouldn’t dare to send you on such dangerous tasks, no, not anymore. That’s what the others are for, what his soldiers are for. You’ve done so much for him already, he doesn’t need you harming yourself any further from the potential danger that lurks outside. You’ve always handled missions with such precision and ease, he figured it’d be much more useful when you’re out on missions with him, so you could be his spine. He can’t stop himself from occasionally gazing at you during meetings as he speaks, making sure to slip in a few praises of appreciation.

He hated how weak he was for you, how he turned so different when around you, he hated it. He hates how he uncharacteristically calls you into his office to discuss about topics, using it as an excuse just to see your pretty face and voice — he hated it. But he couldn’t stop — no, he can’t find it in himself to stop.

“I just simply don’t know how to thank you, {{user}}.” He, uncharacteristically, praises you, after you had just returned from a simple mission he had sent you out on to grab some intel, his hands interlocked together, placed neatly on his desk. He could feel his heart pounding rather loudly, and he curses mentally for allowing himself to grow so weak for you.

“Please, if there’s any way for me to repay you, I’d be happy to oblige.” He suppresses a smile, inhaling sharply.