holy shit I just got a jump scare that one of the new people I follow and read their fics account suddenly didn’t show up anymore and I gen thought they deleted their account 😭🙏
Synopsis: After a long day of being interrogated about Wesker's work in Africa, you try to drown your sorrows in liquor. Too bad it won't work out as planned with Chris Redfield watching your every move.
Includes: Minor reader injury, excessive drinking, vaguely referenced unwanted advances from a stranger, spoliers for Re5, my first time posting my writing publicly. Enjoy!
Hurt/Comfort with plot. Reader is referred to as 'Doc.'
wc: 3.8k+
“I had it handled.” Your tone was matter of fact and icy. You were not the best fighter by any stretch of the imagination, but you were positive you could have taken down that wobbling drunk with a good kick.
Chris kept his eyes on the road. From the streetlights outside the car that came and went as Chris drove his hummer towards your home, you could see his stony expression illuminate and darken.
“You were just about on the receiving end of a right hook.” His hands tightly grip the steering wheel. Not in anger, but in frustration at the situation you’d found yourself in.
“And I was preparing to counter just like Jill taught me. Your point?”
“My point? You almost got in a bar fight! Why were you even in there at this time of night?”
Your mouth falls open. “Oh so it’s my fault some small-dicked idiot doesn’t know what ‘no’ means?”
“That’s not what I said-“
“And you didn’t have to! I’m a grown ass woman. I can handle my own problems. I don’t need you playing hero for me. And if I want to drink myself into a coma on a weekday, I have every right to do that without getting chewed out by you.”
You look at Chris with a withering glare and he shuts his mouth and keeps driving. A tense silence overtakes the car. In truth, your night getting cut short by a drunk asshole then Chris intervening on the almost fight was just the final incident after a long day that made you see red. You shift uncomfortably in your carefully curated, business casual outfit. A minute later, you let out a tired sigh.
“I’m sorry. If you must know, I had a tough day and I didn’t want to drink alone.”
The captain tilts his head, still keeping his eyes on the road. “The D.S.O. interview?”
You could feel your eyes getting hot. When you had married Albert Wesker all those years ago, you couldn’t imagine that your life would be like this; living under the protection of the B.S.A.A. and questioned on yet another aspect of Albert Wesker’s work every few months. It’s days like this when it feels like Albert isn’t actually gone. Even in death, his stain on the world of bioterrorism still found ways to torment your existence. You being a former Umbrella scientist didn’t help your case either, regardless of the fact that you never participated in Albert’s schemes.
“More like interrogation… but yeah.”
Chris’ expression softens. “What was it about this time?”
You take a deep calming breath, debating on keeping the details to yourself as usual. Chris wasn’t your friend. He was your designated agent that gave you assignments whenever another virus made itself known (which was more often than you would think). You made a point to keep things professional between you two. Anything more felt taboo given the circumstances of your relationship. The will to keep it that way had worn thin with the day’s events, so you relented but kept the answer short.
“Africa. Again.”
More silence. You notice Chris sigh and look annoyed, but don’t draw attention to it. Africa was a sensitive subject for both of you. It marked the explosive conclusion to your marriage with Albert, and the beginning of your strained alliance with his murderer. You didn’t hold it against Chris in the slightest. You really didn't. Deep down you know Albert would have ended humanity with a smirk plastered on his face. You’d already mourned the loss of the man you married long before his heart stopped beating. Since then, Chris had surprisingly and unwaveringly advocated for you. He even worked out a deal on you becoming a consultant on viruses for the B.S.A.A. in exchange for protection. He’d helped you so much over the years. More than you could ever hope to repay. That debt continues to grow with every kind gesture. You hated it.
Tonight for example: after Chris grabbed that drunk’s arm on the backswing and pinned him to the bar counter, both of you got kicked out. You didn’t even get your drink. You’d already had a rough day, so you yelled at Chris about him being a stalker and an asshole as you stomped back to your car. A comical insult considering knowing your whereabouts was a part of his job. All you wanted to do was go back home, resigned to drink alone, but lo and behold your car wouldn’t start and Chris noticed. He had every right to leave you to fend for yourself, but instead he insisted on driving you home.
“You’d think after three years they’d run out of questions to ask. The government keeps hiring investigators more stupid than the last. It’s incredible really.” You quip with some annoyance after a moment, trying to ease the tension. Chris still stares at the road in silence, so you keep going.
“They demanded a lot of answers about why we helped each other that day. That was a fun trip down memory lane. Don’t be surprised if someone calls you to verify that I told them the truth.”
Chris takes a deep breath, shifts in his seat and his posture relaxes slightly. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
“I am talking to you.”
“I mean beyond the one-word answers. I know there’s a lot on your mind. You can talk to me.”
You roll your eyes and go back to looking at the streetlights go by out the window.
“Right. Because you’re so unbiased about this subject.”
“I’m serious. I’ll just listen if you need to vent.”
“You’re already driving me home. I don’t need any more favors from you tonight.”
“It’s not a favor. I just want to help.”
You think about it for a moment. This wasn’t the first time Chris tried to get you to open up to him. But instead of brushing it off like before, you consider it. And the more you thought about it, the more it made sense that Chris would be the perfect person to weigh in on your interview with the D.S.O. He worked under Wesker at the R.P.D., knew nearly every single thing there was to know about him from tracking Wesker down over the years, and he’d witnessed Wesker’s possessive treatment of you the day he died. He didn’t look at you with disdain like most of the B.S.A.A. He saw you for who you were. The only person who could even be remotely as qualified was Jill, but she was still getting back on her feet after what happened in Africa. Plus, you doubted she would willingly listen to a rant about anything remotely associated to the man who brainwashed her.
Plus it would be nice to have someone listen to your complaints without looking at you like you were the scum of the earth.
Eventually, Chris pulls up to the small house that the B.S.A.A. had put you in for witness protection. It was an older one story house with a few problems here and there, but it was inconspicuous and you had managed to make it feel more like ‘yours’ with the handful decorations and plants you had accumulated over the last few months.
Chris pulls into the driveway and puts his hummer into park. Both of you just sit in silence for a few seconds, with Chris staring at the steering wheel and you at the sad excuse of a flower bed leading up to your front door.
“Doc-”
“Sure.”
Chris looks at you, confused. “What?”
You turn your gaze from the window to Chris. “I’d… appreciate having someone to vent to.”
You unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car. You lean your head back in the car before you close the door with a cheeky smile. “Care to join me so I don’t have to drink alone?”
____________________________________
If nothing else, Chris Redfield proved to be a great drinking buddy. He took what was offered to him, drank without complaint, and took care to keep both of your glasses full throughout your animated storytelling of the day’s events. Although he did limit himself because he had to be sober enough to drive home, which you understood.
You on the other hand, had enough drinks in you to cause the vibe of the room to feel fuzzy, your social filter to disappear, your shoes and socks to be discrded in the corner, and to have any soft surface to feel like the most comfortable thing in the universe. You had completely relaxed laying out on the end of your sofa by the side table where Chris opted to sit in the armchair caddy cornered to the couch next to you, listening intently to your retelling of the days events.
“…then this pencil pushing government lackey asks me if I personally had anything to do with the development of that plaga strain that popped up in Africa.”
You motion your empty glass to Chris, and he reaches over from his spot in the armchair to grab the whiskey bottle on the coffee table to pour more into your glass while nursing his own drink.
“Thank you. And when I told him no, he started going on this tirade. And if he’d read any further than the last name at the top of the damn page, then he’d know my specialty isn’t parasites. It’s viruses! Yet this half-assed excuse of-”
You hiccup and take a moment to compose yourself after the hiccup before continuing while Chris makes no attempt to hide his smirk at your drunkenness.
“-half-assed excuse of a government agent goes on this rant of how I had to have been involved. There was no conceivable way that I wasn’t at least consulted on the development of the new plaga. So I tried to break down the differences between a virus and a parasite to him, and by the end of that little lesson I was convinced he didn’t know his ass from his elbow!”
You down the whiskey is one clean chug. Chris let’s out a light-hearted laugh at that, much to your annoyance.
“It’s not funny,” you admonish while wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
“It isn’t, but the way you’re telling it is.”
“Well, I’m glad my suffering is entertaining to you.”
“Go on, what happened next?”
Your face grows a bit more serious.
“The bit after that isn’t as funny.”
Another charismatic smile. “Go ahead. I want to hear it.”
You look at Chris, and the look on his face is so genuine, so kind, that you find yourself speaking before you can stop yourself.
“He started questioning me on what I was doing if I wasn’t helping create these things. He was asking why I stood by and did nothing. Why didn’t I try to contact anyone, sabotage the work, try to leave… that kind of thing. And how many deaths could have been avoided if I just sucked it up and called someone.”
In truth, those questions that the agent asked you prompted a well of guilt that you’d safely tucked away to return with a vengeance. In reality, there was very little you could have done to influence the outcome of anything Wesker was involved in, and there was nothing that could have been done to stop Uroboros before Chris and Sheva were sent to Africa.
But there was always that little pit of guilt haunting the back of your mind: If you were cleverer, you could have gotten a radio sooner. If you cared more, the subjects for those experiments wouldn’t have died. If you weren’t so afraid you could have stolen a phone or a laptop and ended Wesker’s reign of bioweapon terror years sooner.
That last one weighed heavy on your mind long before the D.S.O. interview.
You feel tears start to prick your eyes and you remember why you wanted to drink in the first place. You can’t be consumed by guilt if you’re too intoxicated to remember it.
“Top me off will you?” The request comes out in a mumble, laced with a false jovialness that not even you are convinced of. You don’t even hold up the glass in Chris’ general direction. You only stare mindlessly into it from your perch on the couch.
“Hey…look at me.”
You look up from your glass and become slightly startled from Chris’ close proximity. You hadn’t even realized Chris had gotten up from the armchair on your right to kneel in front of you at the end of the couch. You can feel the heat of him he’s so close. His concerned and comforting look and tone brings you dangerously close to shedding tears. Suddenly, Chris’ presence in your house feels suffocating and his gaze makes you feel exposed. You look to the side and stare at the rug.
“I’m sorry this was a bad idea. I think you should go.”
You move to get up from the couch and Chris mercifully backs up and gives you room to walk. Calling your movement a walk at this point was generous. You shuffled like the undead trying to head to your front door; unbalanced yet somehow still walking upright.
“Doc-”
You call over your shoulder back to him. “I’ll escort you out. Do me a solid and forget this happened.” You start to turn back towards the door and you feel your foot catch, stomach drop and body lurch forward.
In the moment, you forget about the little wooden divider between the hallway to your front door and the living room. Thankfully, by throwing your other foot forward and flailing your arms you catch your weight and you don’t fall to the ground. But the shock of suddenly almost losing your balance causes the grip on your glass to loosen. Before you could stop it, the glass in your hand slips between your fingers and shatters in the little hallway to your front door between your kitchen and living room. In your drunken and vulnerable state, the symphony of glass sounds like a death toll.
“Oh.. shit I’m sorry about that. Just… just get out. Watch the glass.”
You didn’t know why you were apologizing to Chris for breaking your own things. You felt like you were being viewed under a microscope and every little thing was being analyzed by Chris, who still wore his worried demeanor under a decisive mask of calmness.
“Hey it’s alright. You go sit back down…” His voice is so infuriatingly calm.
Chris’ body starts to try and move past you towards your kitchen, presumably to find something to clean up your blunder for you. The very idea of having this man do any more favors for you made your chest tighten and you to move to clean up the mess before he does too quickly.
“No this needs to ge- mph!”
When you stepped towards your kitchen to get a broom, you felt an agonizingly sharp pain in your foot. You instinctively lift the injured foot and lean on the archway, but drunkenness and balance rarely ever agree with each other. Your hand doesn’t gain enough purchase on the wall, so your arm slides past its target and you gracelessly and painfully crumple to the ground. It was a kind of fall that knocked the wind out of you for a moment.
“Shit.” You breathe out heavily, trying and failing to hold back your tears and attempting to get up. Chris is quick to act before you make much progress. He kneels down in front of you, gently grasping your shoulders, taking care to step around the glass in the process.
“Where does it hurt? That sounded painful.”
“I’m fine.” You grit through your teeth.
Once you’re sitting upright on the ground, Chris takes one look at your foot, and you see a slight shift in his expression where his eyes get just a tad wider. You can physically see him shift from concerned friend to authoritative captain. He speaks with soft authority.
“Stay put. Don’t get up.”
Before you can say anything, he disappears into your kitchen. You lift your leg and tilt your head to get a better view of your foot and you see red. Your foot is smeared with blood and bits of glass. You instinctively go to pull a larger glass piece out of your foot, but even with all of the whiskey you drank, it hurts like hell and you hiss in pain. You hear hurried footfall from the kitchen.
“Hey! Don’t do that.”
Chris gently removes the hand that’s trying to pick out the glass from your foot, places a wet rag in your hand, then moves it back to your foot, lightly clasping his hand over yours and your foot for a moment and you wince. He watches you with kind eyes.
“Keep that on there, ok?”
“I don’t want your-”
He doesn’t give you a chance to finish before you see him return to the kitchen. A moment later he reappears with a broom and a first aid kit. Chris tosses the first aid kit beside you and quickly sweeps the glass into a small pile by the arch so it’s out of the way of foot traffic and haphazardly leans the broom on the wall. Smudges of blood remain on the floor, but Chris ignores it in favor of sitting down next to you and digging supplies out of the med kit; disinfectant, tweezers, gauze.
“Stop! Okay? You really don’t have to do that…” You hear your words slurring together.
Chris ignores your protest and gently, but firmly, wraps his fingers around your ankle. He pulls it towards himself and you let go of the wet cloth as he perches your ankle on his knee.
“I do, actually. You’ve had a lot to drink and this glass isn’t going to pick out itself.”
“Will you just stop? I can bandage myself up.”
A lie. You’re too drunk and you know it. He knows it. You weakly try to pull back your foot, but there is resistance from Chris’ grip. You looks at you with a soft, but exasperated look.
“You’re drunk and you’re bleeding! Just let me take care of you.”
“And why the fuck do you even want to?” You’re angry. Angry at yourself for letting yourself get friendly with Chris. Pissed at Chris for being so nice after your repeated attempts to keep him at arms length. Heated from him ignoring your requests to stop helping you because you sure as hell don’t deserve it.
Chris looks at you and answers straight away, gently pulling your foot back towards him by your ankle.
“Because I’m not going to leave you when you need help!”
You just looked at Chris with your puffy eyes, flushed face, and tear-streaked cheeks. You two sit there for a long moment looking at each other. You’re frozen in your spot from his words.
“Why the hell are you of all people still trying to help me? You should hate me.” Your tone is incredulous and quiet.
You knew for a fact that your presence at the B.S.A.A. as a consultant instead of criminal at Chris’ own insistence caused far more trouble than it was worth over the years. The attempted kidnappings, the death threats, the extortion attempts and countless other events that occurred as a result of your proximity to Wesker and the B.S.A.A. caused, at best, a headache for the captain. Wasted time, wasted resources, wasted manpower, wasted anything that could be used to fight bioweapons instead of bad actors that wanted you dead at worst. Chris had absolutely no incentive to keep helping you after Africa, yet here he was. He had every right to look at you with disgust for sleeping with the enemy, yet he’s always tried to befriend you.
The silence stretches for an uncomfortable amount of time while Chris picks the glass out of your foot. It stretches through Chris disinfecting the wounds. It ends when he starts to bandage your foot with a roll of gauze.
“Your only crime here is falling in love with the wrong man.”
Chris wraps the final bit of gauze around your foot, and looks back up at you with a reserved playfulness.
“Last I checked, you get left off with a warning on that one.”
“People died because I didn’t do enough-”
“People died because Wesker was a psychopath. That’s not your fault.”
You look at Chris in silent shock.
No one in the years after Wesker died had told you that you weren’t at fault for what he did. You were always met with suspicious glances, strict professionalism, or outright disdain when you were forced to talk about him or any projects he was related to. You thought you deserved it. Even Jill still held you at arm’s length when it came to being vulnerable about what happened with Wesker. This was the first time that anyone had shown you genuine compassion and absolved you completely of guilt. And it’s devastating.
You can’t do anything except burst into tears.
Your vision goes blurry and before you can even think about stopping it, your body is wracked with sobs and you cry. Still unbalanced from your drinking, you lean on the wall facing Chris.
There’s a moment where Chris isn’t sure of what to do. But he knows that he can’t leave you like this. Chris tentatively reaches out his hand towards your shoulder, carefully watching you to gauge whether or not you wanted physical comfort.
“Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay…” Chris’ voice falls over you like a weighted blanket. The heavy soothing tonality of his voice cuts through guilt that had been plaguing your mind and you can’t help but lean into his touch when his hand rubs your shoulder.
You don’t fight him when he pulls you into his lap. His embrace is warm, comforting and everything that you didn’t know you needed up until the moment you had it. One of your hands grab a fistful of his shirt for support, and you bury your face in Chris’ neck as you continue to sob.
“It’s alright, let it out…”
The captain’s tone never wavers outside of that low, soothing timbre. Chris uses the hand that’s not wrapped around your torso to rub comforting circles between your shoulders. His touch is consistent and methodical. It takes a long time, but eventually your breathing starts to even, sobs morph into sniffles, and rigid muscles relax into Chris’ embrace.
“Do you need anything? Anything at all?”
You hesitate for a moment, but nod your head. You let go of Chris’ shirt and maneuver your arms over his shoulders and squeeze. Chris gets the message immediately. Chris wraps his arms around you in a tight and comforting hug. The heat of him engulfs you fully and for the first time in a long time, you feel like everything is okay.
There’s no Wesker, no D.S.O., no bioterrorism organizations intruding on your life.
There’s only you and Chris.
And for once, that’s enough.
_____________________________
Hopefully this will be a full series but we'll see if that happens with my work schedule. Thanks for reading!
ASTIE MY BELOVED I HOPE YOURE HAVING A WONDERFUL DAAAAYYYY!! I love you so so much and I’m so so proud of all of the hard work you do. I’ll manifest perfectly clear skin and excellent grades for you. <3 <3 <3
HIIII D 😭😭😭 thank you sm for this cuz I have exams this week 🥹
To start this off, let me just say that this is a callout rant post about my shitty classmates. Now let me get started. 😁🫶
To my shitty little child celebrity of a classmate, you are not special. Just because you're somewhat famous doesn't mean no one sees right through you. You are a narcissistic little runt who has nothing better to do in his life other than take advantage of your position in life and cause problems all around you. You are a racist, bigoted, embodiment of a person who will peak in their career. You laugh at others for their misfortune and you will never grow up.
The next one is to the rest of my classmates, you guys are just sad. It's just upsetting to see how much you guys haven't changed. You don't learn from your mistakes and you guys do anything and everything to blame anyone else for your problems. You guys are the worst people I've unfortunately been put into a class to. You guys act like you defying teachers, skipping classes, being loud, and not "giving a shit" about what happens with your grades are cool but it's not. It just shows how little effort you have into actually being anything in the future. I would say I'm disappointed that you haven't grown but I won't, 'cause that's what I kinda expected from all of you. Barely anyone in this class has changed and it's just so predictable.
In conclusion, I hope this school stops coddling all of you so you all learn to actually grow the fuck up. No one else but you guys is responsible for your grades dropping and your guys not passing.
Jamil didn’t want you to go. You were the only one who truly understood him. So why were you going to leave him? He hated that you stood at the mirror and barely even spared him a glance. It was like he meant nothing to you; just like he did to everyone else.
Jamil was standing now, just as you were about to take your first step into your home world. He was happy for you, of course. He was nothing if not a supportive boyfriend. But he didn’t want to see you go. What if when you went through that mirror you would never return? Would he be waiting his whole life for someone who he’ll never see again? What if you find someone better than him and you love them more than him? What then? …What then.
By your second step, he was moments away from running up to you. He knew that you would hate him if he grabbed you by the waist and didn’t let go. But it was too much for him. For you to come into his life and to leave as abruptly as you are, how cruel of you.
How cruel.
Why couldn’t he just be selfish? Just once. He had spent all his life doing something against his will, and then you came and made his world bright again. But now you’re leaving, leaving him alone.
He just wants to be selfish with you just once. One time is all he wants. He’s selfish of you. He wants all of you, and yet he can never seem to get it.
Summary: Jamil invites you over super early before you have to start your day. But why?
WC: 1062
Tags: Jamil x reader, fluff, gn!reader, self insert for Astie because I said so, Jamil cook the food, Kalim is the sunshine baby in the sky in teletubbies
a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @astiesgoldenberry ! For me it’s still the day before, but I hope that you have a good day today. I know you said you have a bunch of shit to do, but I believe in you. Jamil believes in you. I love you, I hope you enjoy this and have a beautiful birthday!
It was still dark outside, the early morning sun not even fully arisen in the sky yet. You smacked your phone trying to turn off the blaring alarm coming from it. “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” you repeated over and over until your fingers finally found the button to silence it. You looked at your phone, seeing just how early it was. Why of all days does today have to be the day I have to get up early, you thought to yourself as you let out a long exhale. Your day was about to be busy, full of running around and finishing school projects, there wasn’t going to be a moment to breathe it felt like. Just as you were rolling out of bed to get ready, your phone vibrated. Why is someone messaging you this early, now is not the time.
You aggressively snatched your phone off the bed and huffed as you opened your notifications, all animosity you had left you as you saw the name across your new messages. Jamil. He was always up this early too, probably making sure Kalim was awake and getting ready for his own classes. You opened his message.
[Jamil] hey, come to the dorm before your classes (: and don’t say you don’t have time, I know you can spare a minute or two
[Y/N] if you think I am coming over to help you get Kalim ready, then I refuse lol he can be late for class
You laughed as you sent the message. You assumed that wasn’t why Jamil wanted you to come over anyway, but it was funny to tease him a little bit. As you finished getting dressed, he texted back.
[Jamil] pfft, he’s already up and awake, stop playing around and come over already
[Y/N] okk, fineeeee ;D
After sending the message, you threw your shoes on and headed out of your dorm. The sun was starting to rise now, giving you a beautiful visual on your way to Scarabia’s dorm. You were wondering why Jamil really asked you to come over at the crack of dawn, but maybe seeing him so early in the day would be a good sign that your day would be a good one. Jamil always made you feel safe and centered, there was no stress when you were with him. And given the enormous list of tasks you had on your to-do list for today, this would be the highlight of your day.
You arrived at the Scarabia dorm, texting him to let him know you were here instead of knocking and waking up those that were still asleep. You hit send and within a few seconds saw Jamil in front of you holding the door open. “Were you just waiting for me at the door?” you teased. Jamil looked like he had been up for a little bit, already fully dressed and wide awake. There’s no way he just woke up a few minutes ago, you thought to yourself. Jamil smiled at you as you came inside the dorm and followed behind him. “Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t,” he shrugged and then gave a soft laugh.
He was leading you towards the kitchen, a common place where the two of you spent time together. Every time you came over to Scarabia, Jamil enjoyed showing you his cooking skills and even helped teach you new ways to cook things. You weren’t allowed to cook a lot at home, so it was nice having someone so willing to teach you and help you learn. As you got to the kitchen doors, Jamil paused and turned to you. “Okay, before we go inside, you have to close your eyes,” he said with a beaming smile. “Close my eyes? You better not lead me into a snake pit, Mr. Viper,” you giggled as you closed your eyes. You held out your hand and Jamil took it as he led you through the doors. You could tell there were more people in the kitchen from the small hushes and shh’s you heard.
Jamil led you to the table and sat you down. “Can I open my eyes yet?” you asked. The crowd at the table whispered to each other. Jamil was standing behind your chair and leaned down in your ear and spoke. “Sure, open your eyes.” You opened your eyes to see a whole entourage of Scarabia students in front of you smiling. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY !!!!” they all shouted. Jamil led the group in singing to you happy birthday as you looked around the room in awe. He had got the whole dorm together just to have them wish you a happy birthday? As they finished singing, you clapped your hands and smiled widely. “Jamil, what is all this?!” you exclaimed.
“That’s not all!” Kalim shouted from across the table and then proceeded to get up and run to the kitchen counter. He grabbed a tray that was there, carried it over, and set it down in front of you. You looked at the dish in front of you and then up at Kalim. “You made this?” you asked surprised. “Oh, god no, Jamil’s been up for hours just to make sure it was perfect for you,” he said as he put his hand on Jamil’s shoulder. Jamil must’ve not wanted you to know he had been up for those hours as he shyly looked away as Kalim boasted about him.
The dish in front of you was one of your favorites. The thought that Jamil had made it for you made your heart swoon. The champorado in the bowl looked amazing, Jamil must’ve been up early soaking the rice this morning. “How’d you know this was my favorite?” you asked Jamil as he sat down beside you. “What do you mean? You told me a long time ago it was your favorite. I just wanted you to have it for your birthday,” he replied. You smiled down at your bowl of food and then looked back at Jamil. “Thank you, I appreciate you a lot. This is definitely giving me the boost I needed to get me through this long day~” Jamil pulled your face close to his and gave your forehead a gentle kiss. “You might have a long day, but it’ll be a good day. Happy birthday, mahal ko.”
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