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𝘚𝘜𝘔𝘔𝘈𝘙𝘠: Liz and Patty ask you to come over to help them study. It doesn’t go well… But hey at least you can see your boyfe Death the Kid!
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You don’t even get a chance to sit down before Patty Thompson is already grabbing your hands dramatically, eyes wide like she’s about to collapse from academic despair.
“That’s not dramatic at all,” you say dryly, but you’re already smiling.
Liz Thompson leans against the doorway, arms crossed, looking equally stressed but trying to hide it better.
“Okay, no, she’s right this time,” Liz sighs. “We have the written exam coming up, and Kid is… not exactly helpful.”
“I am helpful!” Patty argues immediately. “I bring snacks!”
“That’s still emotional support!”
You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you, shaking your head. You already know where this is going.
Liz steps closer, lowering her voice just a bit. “Look… you’re, like, the only person we know who actually understands this stuff and has the patience to explain it without losing it.”
Patty nods aggressively. “AND YOU’RE NICE. Kid just starts talking about symmetry and then I forget what the question was.”
You pause. Because you know exactly what they’re asking.
“You want me to tutor you?”
Both of them light up like you just said yes.
“And at Kid’s place,” Liz adds quickly. “So we can study in a ‘structured environment.’”
“AND so you’re already there when he gets back,” Patty whispers loudly.
You sigh but it’s soft, not annoyed.
They scream. Actually scream.
You’ve been to Death the Kid’s manor more times than you can count, but it still feels different every time.
Perfect. Symmetrical. Balanced down to the smallest detail. Even the walk up the steps feels measured, like the world itself is aligning under your feet.
Patty kicks the door open immediately.
Liz mutters, “God help us.”
You step inside, already pulling your bag off your shoulder.
“Alright,” you say, slipping into that calm tone you always use when you’re trying to keep things on track. “Let’s at least try to focus for a bit.”
“Define ‘bit,’” Liz says.
“Longer than five minutes.”
It starts… okay. Surprisingly okay.
You’re seated at the long table, papers spread out neatly (thanks to Kid’s influence), explaining a concept slowly while Liz actually listens.
Patty is… trying. Kind of.
“So the answer isn’t just about memorizing,” you explain gently, tapping the paper. “You have to understand why it works.”
Liz nods. “Okay, that makes sense.”
“What if I simply don’t understand anything at all.”
You press your fingers to your temple, but you’re smiling a little.
“Okay. Then we break it down even more.”
And you do. You re-explain. You simplify. You draw little diagrams.
You stay patient even when Patty gets distracted by literally nothing and Liz starts getting frustrated.
You don’t snap. You don’t rush. You just keep trying.
The front door opens. You don’t even notice at first. But he does. Death the Kid stops in the doorway the moment he sees you. And everything else just pauses.
His voice is softer than usual. Not quite just different.
You look up. And immediately smile.
That’s it. That’s all it takes.
He crosses the room without hesitation, steps measured but faster than usual, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing that matters in the entire perfectly aligned space.
“Welcome back, Kid,” Liz says.
“You’re interrupting a miracle,” Patty adds. “She’s teaching us.”
Kid barely acknowledges them. Because he’s already standing beside you.
You nod. “They asked nicely.”
“They begged,” Liz corrects.
“They desperately begged,” Patty adds.
Kid exhales softly, something almost fond in it.
Then his attention returns fully to you. Always back to you.
“You’ve been patient with them?” he asks.
You shrug lightly. “I’m trying.”
Then his gloved hand lifts gently, fingers brushing under your chin not forceful, not demanding. Just enough to tilt your face up toward him.
“Of course you are,” he murmurs.
His thumb brushes lightly along your jaw, then he carefully tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear. Slow. Deliberate. Like he’s aligning something precious. Placing a gentle peck on your lips.
“You have remarkable patience,” he continues softly. “Far more than most.”
Liz snorts. “That’s because she’s not you.”
Patty nods. “You would’ve left already.”
Kid ignores them completely. Because he’s still looking at you. Studying your face not critically, but admiringly.
“And perfectly balanced,” he adds, almost to himself.
Your cheeks warm. “You say that every time.”
“And I mean it every time.”
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It lasts maybe another twenty minutes. Maybe. Before Patty flops dramatically across the table.
“I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE.”
“I can feel it in my soul.”
Liz rubs her face. “She’s not coming back from this.”
You lean back slightly, exhaling. You tried. You really did.
“Okay,” you admit finally. “Maybe we take a break.”
Patty shoots upright immediately. “BREAK TIME.”
And somehow… You let it happen.
You don’t even realize how it shifts.
One moment you’re surrounded by notes and frustration. And the next, Patty is holding your hand.
“Ooooh, your nails are perfect for painting.”
Liz is already grabbing supplies.
“You deserve a break,” she says. “And honestly, we’re more useful like this.”
“That’s debatable.” But you don’t pull away.
Because you’re tired. And a little frustrated.
“Sit still,” Liz says, surprisingly focused as she starts painting your nails.
Patty is already behind you.
“You’re gonna mess it up.”
You laugh softly. “You can try.”
Kid had stepped out earlier. You didn’t notice when. But when he comes back, he pauses.
Because the scene in front of him is… not what he expected.
You’re sitting there, shoulders slightly slumped, clearly worn out but letting Patty play with your hair while Liz concentrates on your nails.
You look soft. A little frustrated. But still gentle. Still trying.
And something in his chest tightens.
You glance up. You hadn’t even heard him come in.
“I’m okay,” you say automatically.
He doesn’t believe you. Not for a second.
He disappears again without a word.
And comes back a few minutes later. Holding a plate.
“What’s that?” Patty asks.
Kid walks straight to you. Of course he does.
And when he sets it down in front of you, chocolate cake. Your favorite.
“You’re frustrated,” he says simply. “You’ve been working hard.” His tone softens again.
“You deserve something pleasant.”
Your heart does that thing again. The quiet flip.
He leans down to where you’re sitting so he can place a kiss on your forehead.
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He watches you take a bite. Waits.
You nod, smiling a little. “Yeah.”
There’s a small pause. Then—
Liz raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Patty gasps. “ARE YOU KIDNAPPING HER.”
“I am relocating her,” Kid corrects calmly.
He offers his hand. And you take it without hesitation.
His hand stays around yours the entire walk. Not tight. Not possessive. Just… there. A steady, grounding presence as he leads you through the halls of the manor, each step measured, familiar, but just a little quicker than usual. He doesn’t look back to check if you’re following. He already knows you are.
“You didn’t have to rescue me,” you say softly, glancing up at him.
There’s no hesitation in his voice.
“You were,” he repeats, gentler this time. “Your shoulders were tense. Your tone shifted. You were becoming frustrated.”
You huff a small laugh. “You make it sound so serious.”
He slows slightly as you reach his room. Then pauses. Just for a moment.
“You give your energy to others very easily,” he says quietly. “I don’t like seeing you worn down because of it.”
Something about the way he says it. Calm, honest, not dramatic, makes your chest feel warm.
“I’m okay,” you murmur. Rubbing your thumb on his hand.
“I know but I would still like to take care of you.”
When the door opens, it’s exactly what you expect. Perfect. Everything aligned with near impossible precision, symmetry in every visible detail. But there are small things now. Subtle ones. A blanket draped just slightly off-center on one side of the bed. A pillow that doesn’t quite match the other. Things that would have bothered him before. Things he’s… learned to tolerate.
“You can sit,” he says, gesturing toward the bed.
You slip your shoes off and settle onto the edge, watching him as he moves around the room. There’s a shift in him. Less rigid. Still precise but softer at the edges. He sets something down on the table. Then turns back to you.
You raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning on escaping.”
“I would prefer you didn’t.”
There’s the faintest hint of humor in his voice.
He doesn’t rush. That’s the thing. Everything he does is intentional.
He brings in a small tray neatly arranged, of course. Filled with bowls of something, cucumbers, and steamy hot towels.
You tilt your head. “What’s all that?”
“I’ve observed that you enjoy these,” he says, completely serious. “They are relaxing.”
“How long have you been planning this?”
His face starts to heat up and get pink. And it makes your heart actually stutter.
“Come here,” he says quietly, sitting beside you.
You shift closer without thinking. Of course you do. He dips the cloth into warm water first, testing the temperature with careful precision before bringing it toward your face.
Still he moves slowly. Gently wiping your skin, careful not to be abrupt, not to startle you. His touch is so controlled it almost feels delicate. Like you’re something he’s afraid of mishandling.
“You’re very focused,” you murmur.
“I want to do this correctly.”
“You’re putting on a face mask, Kid. There’s no wrong way.”
“There is always a correct way.”
You smile a little. “Of course there is.”
When he finishes, he sets the cloth aside and opens one of the containers.
His fingers brush against your cheek as he applies the mask, cool against your skin now, a contrast to the warmth from before. He spreads it evenly, carefully. Symmetrically. Of course. You can feel the slight pauses, him adjusting, making sure both sides match.
“You’re concentrating too hard,” you mumble.
You laugh softly. And he stills for just a second. Because that sound. He always notices it.
You do. And he’s closer than you expected. Sitting right in front of you, his expression calm but his gaze fixed. Studying. Not critically. Never critically.
“…Your face is very balanced.”
You roll your eyes lightly. “There it is.”
But his voice softens again.
“You look very peaceful now pretty girl”
That one hits differently.
“Are you going to just sit there?” you ask.
He pauses. “I was intending to remain nearby.”
“Or,” you say, shifting back onto the bed, “you could actually relax for once.”
He hesitates. That’s rare.
“I am familiar with the concept.”
There’s a moment where he considers it. Really considers it. Then he moves. Carefully. Laying beside you, still a little stiff at first. Not quite sure where to put his hands. Not quite sure how close is correct. So you fix it for him. You shift closer, gently taking his arm and pulling it under your head.
“Is this acceptable?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah,” you murmur. “It is.”
The room settles. Everything slows. Your breathing evens out, the earlier frustration fading completely now.
Kid watches you. Of course he does.
“You were very patient with them,” he says after a while.
You laugh softly. “They tried a little.”
“You always show up when someone needs you.”
You tilt your head slightly against his arm. “Is that a bad thing?”
“But it means you deserve someone who does the same for you.”
Your chest tightens a little. “You do that,” you say softly.
It happens slowly. His fingers brush against yours first. Then linger.
Then, carefully like he’s making a deliberate decision he intertwines them.
“Your hands are smaller,” he notes.
Your heart does that thing again.
“That’s a weird compliment.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Time passes. You’re not sure how much. The face mask dries. The room is quiet. Too quiet. The kind that makes your eyes heavy.
“You’re falling asleep,” he murmurs.
You shift closer without thinking.
Your head pressing more into his arm, your body naturally curling toward his.
He stiffens for half a second. Then relaxes.
He should probably wake you. Tell you to wash the mask off. Fix the blanket. Restore order.
Because you’re comfortable. Because you’re calm. Because you’re here. And that matters more. So instead, he adjusts slightly just enough to make sure you’re supported, that your head rests properly, that nothing feels uneven. Then his free hand comes to wrap around your waist. Giving it a tight squeeze.
“This is balanced,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to hear. Not perfect in the way he used to define it. Not precise. Not symmetrical in structure. But right.
You don’t fully wake. Just enough to shift, blinking slightly.
You don’t even open your eyes all the way.
He exhales softly. “Anytime.”
For a while… it stays perfect. Quiet. Still. The kind of calm that feels earned. You’re half asleep, face mask long forgotten, breathing slow and even as you curl slightly into Death the Kid’s side. And he doesn’t move. Doesn’t dare to.
One arm beneath your head, the other resting lightly against your hair fingers barely shifting every now and then like he’s making small, unconscious adjustments. Maintaining balance. Maintaining this.
“…Acceptable,” he murmurs under his breath.
Because it is. It really is.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~It starts faint. Footsteps in the hallway. Fast. Uneven. Very, very uneven.
He knows those footsteps.
The calm shatters instantly as Patty Thompson and Liz Thompson storm in like a hurricane.
You flinch awake slightly at the noise, blinking in confusion.
Kid doesn’t move. Not physically. But the tension that snaps through him is immediate.
“Lower your voices,” he says sharply, though still careful not to jostle you. “She is resting.”
Liz squints at the two of you.
“Is she wearing a face mask?”
You groan softly, finally lifting your head just enough to look at them.
“YOU ABANDONED US,” Patty accuses, pointing dramatically.
Kid exhales slowly. Very slowly. The kind of breath that says he is this close to losing patience.
“You interrupted a quiet environment,” he says, voice tight. “Your entrance was asymmetrical, your volume is excessive, and your presence is—”
“disruptive,” he corrects.
Patty plops onto the edge of the bed anyway.
“Oh my god, your skin looks so shiny.”
“That’s the mask,” you mumble, still half asleep.
Liz leans in, inspecting your face like it’s a science experiment.
“Wait, it actually looks good.”
Kid’s eye twitches again.
“You are both too close.”
“We’re literally just looking.”
“You are breathing unevenly near her face.”
“Kid what does that even mean?”
You let out a small laugh sleepy, soft and shift again, instinctively leaning back into Kid’s side. Without hesitation, his arm adjusts to support you again.
“…She chose her side,” Patty whispers loudly.
“I did not make this a competition,” Kid replies immediately.
“You literally kidnapped her with cake.”
“Honestly, that was kind of smooth,” Liz adds.
You huff a quiet laugh into his shoulder. Kid goes still.
“…You are all speaking too much.”
Patty suddenly gasps again.
Liz crosses her arms. “You made one for her and not us?”
“You did not require one.”
You finally sit up a little, rubbing your eyes carefully so you don’t mess up the mask too much.
“…We can all do one,” you mumble.
Kid turns to you immediately.
“I mean if that would make you happy.”
Liz smirks. “Guess we’re staying.”
Kid closes his eyes for a brief moment. Recalculating. Rebalancing.
What was supposed to be quiet…
Becomes something else entirely.
You’re sitting cross legged now, Patty practically bouncing as Kid very reluctantly prepares more face masks with the same careful precision. Liz watches him.
“You’re putting way more effort into hers.”
“I am applying equal care.”
“You literally measured it.”
You laugh softly again. And there it is. That small shift in him. The tension easing. Because you’re smiling.
Eventually, all four of you end up on the bed. Which is already… a lot for Kid to process. Spacing. Alignment. Positions. Everything is slightly off. But he tolerates it. Because you’re there.
Patty leans against you. “We’re bonding.”
Liz stretches out on the other side. “This is weirdly nice.”
There’s a pause. He looks around once more. Takes in the uneven arrangement. The chaos. The noise. Then looks back at you.
It’s not quiet anymore. Not perfectly still. Patty keeps talking. Liz keeps commenting. But underneath it. There’s warmth. You relax again, leaning slightly into Kid’s side. And this time, even with the others there. He lets his hand rest lightly over yours again. Grounded. Steady. Present.
“Your positions are still uneven,” he mutters after a while.
Liz groans. “Kid, let it go.”
Patty shifts dramatically, nearly knocking into you.
Kid sighs. But his grip on your hand tightens just slightly.
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I don’t even know how many words this was. But it was a pain in my ass to write.
IM SORRY FOR BEING INACTIVE! Life got to serious for a second and I forgot I have adult things to do.
But I hope this makes up for it! If it flops then… I dunno
Don’t forget to like and reblog! 🤍🌸
