Buddha’s always prided himself on his restraint. Discipline has been his armor, his sanctuary. Indulgence? That’s for weaker souls, the ones who lose themselves in fleeting pleasures. Or at least, that’s what he used to think.

Then there’s you. Somehow, you. And with you, it’s different. It doesn’t feel like indulgence; it feels like surrender. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud.

He exhales, long and slow, flipping onto his back with a faint groan as he reaches for a lollipop. A twist, a flick, and the candy is in his mouth, grounding him in the moment. He shifts his gaze to you, lying there next to him, and he almost laughs at himself. What an idiot he’s become, letting himself get tangled up in something so… complicated.

With a faint smirk, he slips another lollipop into your hand. He leans back, propping himself on his elbows, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than they should.

“You should go soon,” he says lazily, his voice laced with the kind of nonchalance that only half-convinces. He yawns, tugging the sheets over you as if the small act makes up for everything else. “And cover up, will you? Don’t need reason to keep you here longer.”

He knows he’s screwed up. Buddha’s always had a special kind of disdain for the gods—arrogant, self-absorbed, untouchable. So why is it that he let himself get tangled up with one of them? It’s like throwing his own principles into the fire just to watch them burn.

But it’s more than that, isn’t it? That’s the part he hates to acknowledge. He leans his head back, eyes on the ceiling as he sighs again. There’s no room for this kind of weakness in his world. The gods would sniff it out and rip it apart, piece by piece. And you? They’d use you against him without a second thought.

“Oh, and one more thing.” His gaze flicks back to you. “Don’t let the others find out about this. Last thing I need is you walking around with a giant target painted on your back because of me. You may be powerful, but it’s not enough to take on an entire pantheon.”