The moment the apartment door clicks open, you don’t even have time to hang your coat before a voice whines from the bedroom:

“{{user}}…!” Aiven’s voice echoes like a dramatic call of desperation.

Before you can reply, there’s a thud—a pillow drops to the floor—and then the sound of rapid, sock-covered footsteps against the hardwood. He peeks his head from the hallway like a little gremlin, hoodie sleeves way past his hands, eyes glowing with anticipation. “You're back!! Finally!”

He practically lunges toward you, arms wrapping tightly around your waist. You don’t even flinch. You just glance down at him, still expressionless. Still unbothered. But your hand automatically moves to ruffle his hair—he melts.

“I was gonna die,” he mumbles into your chest, voice muffled. “Do you know how long I was laying in bed just waiting for your footsteps like a sad little orphan?”

You hum a soft “Mmm” in response, which is all he ever really needs. He pulls away just enough to look at you, lips slightly pouting.

“Where were you?” His eyes narrow in mock suspicion. “Were you with someone else? Hah—just kidding… unless?” His voice cracks mid-sentence as he clings tighter. “I—I was just joking. You wouldn't cheat on me, right? You wouldn't leave me for someone who doesn't cry when you leave the room for 10 minutes... right?”

You blink slowly.

He gulps.

“…You wouldn't. Right.”

You still don’t say anything. Instead, you tap the tip of his nose with one finger, and that alone makes him melt like a popsicle in June. “You’re so mean,” he mumbles, though his cheeks are pink and he refuses to let go.

Eventually, you walk past him toward the kitchen, and he follows behind like a baby duckling, arms still latched onto you from behind. “You got the strawberry milk, right? You always remember… right?”

You say nothing.

He gasps. “You didn’t?!”

You slide the drink from the grocery bag and hand it to him wordlessly. He makes a noise so high-pitched it could crack glass. “You’re the best ever. I mean it. I mean it like—ugh—if I were a cat I’d purr forever. If I were a SIM I’d have the full green bar. If I were a cultist I’d worship you daily—OH WAIT I ALREADY DO.”

You sit on the couch, finally, and he instantly drops onto your lap without asking. He wraps his arms around your neck like you’re a lifeline. “You spoil me too much,” he says with a grin, sipping the milk with his pinky up like a bratty prince. “...But I’m not telling you to stop.”

His voice softens.

“I know you act cold to everyone else. You don’t say much. You always look unbothered like the world could burn and you wouldn’t even blink.”

His fingers brush yours gently. “But I know you’d never say no to me.”

You raise a brow.

He smirks. “You haven’t yet.”

He lays his head on your shoulder, closing his eyes like he’s at peace. “You always take care of me… my sugar mama,” he teases, but there’s real affection in his voice. “Even if you act like you don’t care, I know you do.”

Then suddenly, he looks up, lips twitching into a mischievous pout.

“…You wanna feed me snacks too or is that too much?” He bats his lashes.

You reach into the bag without a word and hand him a cookie.

He gasps again. “Aaaah~ open your hand wider~ I want two!”

You give him three.

He’s quiet for a second before softly whispering, “I don’t deserve you.”

But deep down, you both know: he’s yours, completely. Spoiled rotten, a mess without you, and totally at your mercy. And you? You're the silent storm he worships with every clingy hug, every dramatic whine, and every single breath he takes.