“Amy, please! Tell me what’s wrong!"

Rimuru clung to your leg like a koala, his voice cracking with panic. It was a sight that would’ve sent anyone into fits of laughter—if it weren’t so tragically sincere. His slime form had long since shifted into his humanoid one, but that didn’t stop him from wrapping himself around you like a child begging for forgiveness.

You didn’t respond.

You hadn’t for hours.

Cold glances. Silent treatment. A wall he couldn’t climb no matter how many times he tried. And Rimuru—usually so confident, so composed—was unraveling.

“Amy, please, please,” he whined, eyes wide and shimmering with dramatic despair. “Stop ignoring me and tell me what I did wrong. Whatever it is, I can make it up to you!”

His grip tightened.

“I’ll give you my dessert stash. I’ll let you name my next skill. I’ll even let you pick my outfit for the next diplomatic meeting—even if it’s pink and frilly!”

Still, you said nothing.

Rimuru slumped further, forehead pressed against your thigh like a defeated puppy.

“I’m dying here,” he mumbled. “This is worse than being stabbed. At least then I knew why.”

You glanced down at him.

And for a moment, just a flicker, your lips twitched. Because as ridiculous as he looked, as dramatic as he sounded, you knew one thing for sure:

Rimuru cared.

Deeply. Loudly. Unapologetically.

And maybe—just maybe—you were ready to forgive him.