#warmup*

[somebodywithawifi]

Okay lads I'm bored gimme a request or two

[missmichellebelle]

In Yuuri’s defense, he had been on the seventh hour of an eight hour workday that had felt entirely too long. He had been running on five hours of sleep, a snickers bar, and the idea that he could go home and sleep in another forty-five minutes. He’d been on autopilot for at least two hours at that point, and he hadn’t even noticed that the guy he was ringing up happened to be absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.

He reasons, now, that it had been better that way. If he’d known, things might’ve been a lot worse.

(Although it’s hard to imagine how.)

As Yuuri had bagged several mystery novels that he’d never heard of, the guy had asked, “Do you want my number?”

Yuuri's first thought had been, oh right, for the membership discount, because he is a retail robot, and the natural response to that had been, “Yes.”

If fate was kind to him, the guy’s number would have come up in the system. If it was kind to him, the guy would have meant what Yuuri had thought he had meant.

(Spoiler alert: he did not mean what Yuuri thought he meant.)

“I’m sorry, there doesn’t appear to be a membership with that number,” Yuuri had replied automatically. “Do you want to try a different one?”

“A... A what?”

That had been the moment Yuuri had finally looked up and realized how far the guy was leaning onto the register counter, how perfectly angular his features were, the starlight color of his hair. It had been like a slap in the face, and he had suddenly felt more awake than he had in hours.

“What?” Yuuri had mimicked back.

“A membership?”

“Yes?”

“You... You don’t want my number?”

“I what?”

(He’d used one of the membership numbers he knew by heart. He gave the guy a bag for free, and didn’t meet his eyes once. Phichit had been a mix of giggles and sympathy when Yuuri had asked him to cover the registers while he went and hid in the bathroom until his mortification had died down.

“Why do these things happen to me?” He’d moaned after work, and Phichit had given him a tight hug and told him not to worry about it—he’d never see the guy again, right?)

Phichit had been wrong.

Phichit had been so wrong.

“Let’s try this again.” He doesn’t have any books with him today. He’s just standing there, holding out his hand, waiting for Yuuri to take it. “I’m Victor. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” A beat. “Romantically?”

There’s a café on the second floor that Victor vaguely gestures towards.

“Uh.” Yuuri’s eyes shift around nervously, wondering if any of the managers are about to come over and yell at him for some reason. He forgets to shake Victor’s hand, and it slowly falls, along with his hopeful expression.

“I—” Oh god, is he doing this? Yep, he’s doing this. “I get half off in the café upstairs,” he blurts, staring more at the collar of Victor’s shirt than his face. “So.” He breathes. “Maybe I should buy you a cup of coffee.” He closes his eyes. “Romantically.” Oh god, is he dying? He feels like he’s dying. Maybe he’s just blushing? It’s definitely one of the two. Maybe both. Whatever it is, Attractive Victor can probably totally tell.

He sticks out his hand abruptly like maybe that will hide how embarrassed he is. “I’m Yuuri.” And I never do this, can you tell?

For a second, he considers the possible truth that Victor might have been so put off by Yuuri’s behavior that the idea of getting coffee with him is suddenly the Very Last Thing he’d ever want to do.

But then Victor’s hand is soft when it curls around Yuuri’s fingers in what is definitely not a handshake, and Yuuri’s eyes startle open when he feels Victor’s lips brush against his knuckles.

“That sounds wonderful, Yuuri.”

[missmichellebelle]

cake and victuuri for the one word prompt

“He’s cute, huh?” Yuuko asks in a low voice, nudging Yuuri’s ribs with her elbow until he squirms away from the contact.

“Stop it,” he hisses, glancing nervously at where the pastry chef had disappeared through the doors. There’s no way they’re thick enough to block the sound of voices. “We’re planning your wedding, not—” Yuuri’s not even sure. Not trying to find him a boyfriend? Yuuko’s been doing that since he came out. “I thought you invited me along for my opinion,” he diverts, staring down at the lilac tablecloth.

When Yuuko had called him that morning and asked if he’d like to go cake tasting with him, Yuuri hadn’t hesitated. He normally can’t justify eating a piece of cake—it’s generally too much of a good thing, especially when he doesn’t have the sweet tooth for it. But trying bites of dozens of different kind of cakes? It doesn’t even feel like a violation of his diet.

“I did,” she insists, and her grin curls impishly. “And I’m asking for your opinion—do you think he’s cute?”

Yuuri slips his fingers beneath the frames of his glasses to properly press at his eyes.

“You’re getting married,” he groans, and wishes the baker would come back with the cake samples so that their mouths would be too busy eating to talk.

“Yeah, but you aren’t,” she counters, and before Yuuri can say anything else (what would he even say?) the doors open and the baker walks back out.

“We have quite a few options here at Nikiforov,” he says in his smooth voice, and Yuuri finds he might be staring a little harder than he had been before. He’s cute, huh? Well, duh. Just because Yuuri doesn’t date doesn’t mean he’s completely blind. “I’m sure you and your fiancé will find something to your liking.” He’s smiling and... Looking at Yuuri.

He shouldn’t be surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s made that particular mistake.

“Oh, no—” Yuuko starts, flailing her hands around like the motion might be able to cut the train of thought completely.

“We’re just friends,” Yuuri tacks on.

“—we grew up together—”

“Her fiancé couldn’t make it today.”

“—and he’s just helping me out—”

“I’m really just here for the cake.”

“—and besides, he’s gay—”

“Y-Yuuko!”

“—and single.”

Yuuri stares at her in absolute mortification and would absolutely stand and leave except he drove both of them and that would mean leaving her here and Takeshi would kill him if he even knew Yuuri had thought about it and—

“I see,” says the pastry chef as he looks between them. Yuuri stares at the tablecloth harder, like maybe it will become sentient suddenly and devour him. That would be nice. “Well then.” He makes a flourish that draws Yuuri’s attention, picking up a very small, golden colored pastry. It doesn’t look like cake, the texture too smooth and too shiny. The garnish on top looks like a miniature dollop of whipped cream accented by... A piece of lemon rind? Yuuri doesn’t understand its purpose, but it’s lovely, for something so small.

The next thing he knows, the treat is being held at his lips, an assault of lemon and vanilla and the baker’s charming voice saying, “Let’s see how your gay, single childhood best friend likes this one.”

(”So how do you feel about a spring wedding? I think you and Victor could pull off that whole floral pastel motif,” Yuuko suggests as they leave the bakery, and Yuuri groans into his hands. He feels like he’s been blushing for an hour, and his skin is still warm to the touch. The taste of buttercream still sits on his tongue, and every time he remembers how it got there, any and all progress at calming down dissipates.

He bumps Yuuko with his shoulder in a pathetic attempt at a shove.

“I hate you so much.”)

[missmichellebelle]

38. “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” victurri.

more reluctant betrothal au? more reluctant betrothal au.

[ send me a # & a ship ] [ all my victuuri fic ] [ my ko-fi ]

“Yuuri? Yuuri.”

The ground is cold and hard beneath him as Yuuri tries to open his eyes. He doesn’t remember where he is, or how he got there, but that voice—that’s Victor. Yuuri would know it anywhere, like it or not.

“Victor?” 

There’s a sudden rushing exhale from somewhere nearby, a blur of words that are too hushed and too quick for Yuuri to catch. 

“Where am I?” He pushes a hand over his eyes; his glasses are missing. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” Victor explains as Yuuri’s conscious mind comes back to him. He’s on the floor, but he’s propped up, supported by something warm and firm and—and breathing. “Straight into my arms.”

Yuuri works his eyes open as much as he can manage and finds the dimness of the palace hallways, and Victor. He’s close, almost as close as he could possibly be. As close as he’s been since they first met so many weeks ago, a tangle of limbs and adrenaline on a sidewalk. The hallway is lit by low burning gas lamps, and Yuuri can hardly see his face apart from a shine in his eyes.

There’s relief, and a playfulness, when he speaks.

“You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

And just like that, Yuuri’s daze splinters and he’s pushing away in a panic, stumbling backwards until his palms catch against the marble. There’s a drag to his movements, and a wave of exhaustion nearly flattens him against the floor again.

“I didn’t—” Yuuri protests, trying his best to stand and swaying precariously. His legs feel weak, trembling like a baby doe’s, and he presses his shoulder into the wall before he collapses again. It seems his sleeplessness has finally caught up with him.

“Yuuri?” Victor’s voice is different—more strained, more worried. He stands up as well, but he keeps his distance. “Are you okay?” His voice is cautious, careful, like Yuuri is some kind of, some kind of spooked animal. Yuuri grits his teeth.

“I’m fine.” The lie is like sandpaper over his tongue. “I was just going back to my room for the night.” If he’s this exhausted, maybe he’ll sleep this time. Maybe he’ll sleep deeply enough that the dreams won’t come.

“You can hardly stand,” Victor points out. “I wouldn’t call that fine.“

“I’m just tired.” That, at least, isn’t a lie. Victor doesn’t need to know that he’s been tired for weeks. It’s not like anything can be done to help it. “It’s late.”

“It is.” Victor tips his head to the side. “What are you doing up so late, anyway?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Not that Yuuri was up to anything secretive. He’d been in his favorite corner of the library, trying to tire himself out with books. It used to be that he’d try to sneak out, to go for a run or wander the gardens, but considering how many near-death experiences he’s had in the last month, his parents—and therefore Yuuri’s contingent of bodyguards—has become especially protective.

It’s almost as if Victor is bad luck.

“Well, you never know when the Crown Prince might be wondering around in need of assistance.”

“I don’t need your help,” Yuuri insists, sliding another step back. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I just—” His knee buckles and he stumbles, and then Victor is there, hand on his arm and keeping him steady.

“You just need to lie down,” Victor says. “If you won’t let me help you back to your room, at least let me escort you. For my sake.”

Yuuri frowns and looks away, ignoring the warm point of contact where Victor’s hand is curled just above his elbow.

“You don’t need to,” he mumbles.

“I’m sure most of the kingdom would disagree, but I would assume you knew me better by now, Yuuri.” Victor let’s go but doesn’t take a step back, his hands hovering and ready to catch Yuuri the second his body gives out on him again. “I don’t do things unless I want to do them.”

“So you broke our betrothal because that’s what you wanted to do,” Yuuri concludes, eyes cast towards the ground. He doesn’t know why it makes his chest feel heavy, why it makes his his heart clench painfully. It’s what he wanted, after all. For Victor to be free of the obligation. For the game of pretend to end.

But Victor was supposed to leave. And he hadn’t.

Victor doesn’t respond for a long time, choosing instead to step away before graciously offering his arm. The smile on his face looks like porcelain in the gaslight. When he finally speaks, it’s as if Yuuri never said anything.

“Allow me to see you to your bedroom, Your Highness.”

The formality that Yuuri has known his whole life is like a bucket of cold water when it comes from Victor. It’s proper, it’s protocol, and Yuuri hates how wrong it feels.

Yuuri quietly takes his arm and allows himself to be walked back to his room. It takes longer than it should, Yuuri’s legs weak and his head heavy. He’s nervous about the short trek from the door to his bed, but he doesn’t dare ask Victor to cross the threshold. He is not brave to ask for so much.

He’s just turned the knob when Victor breaks the long silence of their walk with a rushed, “Yuuri.” And Yuuri pauses, letting his weight rest against the doorframe.

Victor is staring at him, lips parted, and then smiles, small and brittle. 

“Goodnight, Yuuri.”

The words don’t match Victor’s smile, and Yuuri has the urge to reach out and touch, curious if his fingers will brighten or shatter it.

He does not intend to actually press his fingers to Victor’s lower lip, to push at the corner of his mouth until the shock on Victor’s face twitches into a smile.

“Goodnight, Victor.”

[missmichellebelle]

Victuuri, 79??

79. “That’s the third time I’ve saved your life!”

[ send me a # & a ship ] [ all my victuuri fic ]

They’ve been traveling in silence for nearly twenty minutes when Victor says, “You know, you really should be more careful.” He says it loftily, casually, with a familiarity that doesn’t exist between them. Yuuri stares at the scrapes that stripe from his wrists to his forearms and fights the urge to tear Shinju’s reins from Victor’s hands so that he can make his escape—back to the stables, deeper into the woods, it doesn’t matter where so long as it gets him out of this awkward game of pretend that he and Victor are constantly trapped in.

He can just imagine his parents disappointed faces when they learned of his actions.

“I am careful,” Yuuri responds, although he says it more to Shinju’s mane than to Victor. It feels wrong to be astride a horse and not properly riding it—he hasn’t been led like this since he was a child.

But he supposes he should be grateful. Victor could have insisted they ride double instead.

“Are you?” Victor asks pleasantly. “Aren’t you usually accompanied on your morning rides?”

It’s not a question that warrants an answer—Victor already knows it.

“We’re lucky I found you. With both you and your horse injured, things could have been a lot worse.”

Yuuri’s not sure he would call it luck. It’s more like… Inevitable coincidence.

He distracts himself from the unfortunate reality of Victor’s statement (surely someone else would have found him eventually) by looking back at Kaito. He’s tethered to Shinju’s saddle with a lead, and is keeping up with their leisurely pace easily enough. But there’s an unevenness to his gait that betrays his injury, and Yuuri forgets his own discomfort in his concern.

“How much further is it?” He asks. The sooner they’re back at the stables, the sooner both Kaito and himself can be treated, and the sooner Yuuri can try to unravel the mess of his morning. It wouldn’t be the first time Kaito had ever thrown him, but he’s hardly a novice anymore and Kaito isn’t a colt. They’ve been riding together for a decade.

It doesn’t make sense.

“Unfortunately, a few more miles. Your ride took you quite a ways from the palace.” Victor looks back at Yuuri with the sort of smile that is impossible to decipher and therefore absolutely infuriating. “Were you looking for something, Your Highness?”

Yuuri nearly looks around to see if someone else has joined them—Victor hardly ever addresses him properly unless there’s an audience. But their only company remains Victor’s borrowed palace horse and Yuuri’s own.

Peace, he thinks, staring morosely at the leather of Shinju’s saddle. Space. Somewhere I could go and be alone with my thoughts for once. A quiet place where I don’t have to be the Crown Prince, even if just for a moment.

“Riding helps me clear my head,” is how he actually answers. He’s been slipping away from his contingent at least once a week for the last several years, just to pretend at having some semblance of freedom. At this point, it’s less an escape and more of an agreement. Only a few hours, they’d made him promise. And never beyond the gates.

They were rules that Yuuri had always followed.

Until one day he hadn’t.

He can’t blame anyone for Victor’s presence—it was his own foolishness that brought him into their lives.

Victor slows to a stop, and the horses halt behind him.

“We shouldn’t delay,” Yuuri insists, impatience buzzing in his limbs with the utter lack of control he currently has. “Kaito is injured, and—”

“And so are you.” There’s a strange pinch to Victor’s face that Yuuri doesn’t understand. “You know, if we were keeping count, that’s the third time I’ve saved your life, and—”

“We’re not.” Yuuri bristles. “In fact, while we’re discussing it, let me free you of any obligation you feel to continue doing so. You…” It hurts when his hands curl into fists, the bruises on his knuckles still fresh, still tender. “You got your prize.” The words are thick, like bile, and Yuuri feels a hot pressure behind his eyes. “It’s over. It’s done.”

Please just take me home. Please just leave it alone.

The silence that follows stretches for so long that Yuuri thinks maybe Victor will do just that. That maybe this entire morning can stay here in the woods, and be left behind with Yuuri’s wounded pride.

“Do you think that’s why I saved you the first time?” Victor’s voice is startling in its suddenness, and then jarring in its uncharacteristic hollowness. It’s a sound that Yuuri is completely and utterly unfamiliar with. “Do you think I—what?” Victor laughs without humor. “Somehow divined that I would be summoned to the palace?” He isn’t quite yelling, but his voice is escalating—a blunt force that grows more and more incredulous. “That I knew I would be offered your hand in exchange for my favor to the crown?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time!” The anger flares, sharp and painful, and Yuuri wishes he were anywhere else. Wishes he had some reason, some excuse, to leave this conversation behind. “Others have done far worse for a chance at the crown!”

Because at the end of the day, that’s all Yuuri is. He is his parents, and his family. He is their kingdom, and their rule, and their riches. He is their power.

He is a white golden circlet imbedded with fine gems, and that is all he ever will be.

So you can stop pretending, he should say, but his throat is too tight to speak. Stop pretending to be interested in me. Stop pretending to be charming. Stop pretending to care about my well-being.

Stop pretending you aren’t just like the rest of them.

“…is that why you think I’m here? That I’m only interested in your title?”

It makes Yuuri laugh—a single, sob-like sound, more grief than mirth.

“What else do I have to offer?”

[missmichellebelle]

Loss - Victuuri <3

(set near the end of chapter 2 of we’re after the same rainbows)

Yuuri shrieks as a water balloon smacks into the back of his head, the water soaking into the neck of his camp t-shirt and no doubt making whatever Takeshi wrote along the neckline even more illegible. When he spins around, he narrowly avoids a second balloon that explodes in the dirt at his feet.

Phichit is just bouncing out of view, bright laughter trailing after him. He’s gone before Yuuri’s even got a water balloon in his hand.

He… Is not very good at this, but at least he’s having fun.

A herd of sprout campers runs by, and a little boy with blond hair throws a balloon at him with much more force than he should be capable of. It explodes against Yuuri’s chest, making him gasp as water splashes against his face, and all the boys laugh before they flock out of sight.

“I’m doomed,” Yuuri murmurs as he removes his glasses and tries to wipe them clean on his damp shirt.

A water balloon pops at his ankles, water jumping up to his knees, and he jumps away from it in surprise.

“Yuuri! You’re an easy target if you just stand there like that!”

He shoves his glasses back up his nose, and turns to find Victor standing there, tossing a bright yellow water balloon up and down in his hand. He doesn’t even look a little wet. Of course he doesn’t.

“Did you—”

The yellow water balloon hits the grass at his feet, making him jump again.

“Victor! We’re on the same team!” Yuuri cries in dismay, backing up slowly. He just needs to get to the edge of the woods, find some cover in the trees. He’s out in the open here.

Victor pauses where he’s fishing out another balloon, and cocks his head to the side.

“There are teams?”

A water balloon pops suddenly on the bathroom wall behind Victor, just missing his face, and is followed by a loud call of, “Found him!” It sounds like JJ.

“Whoops.” Victor glances backwards, and then darts forward. The next thing Yuuri knows is Victor has him by the wrist and is tugging him quickly away between two cabins. “Then I guess we should stick together now.” Victor smiles at him.

“Uh—” Three water balloons pop just behind them, and Victor’s laugh is almost taunting. “That’s probably not a good idea.” Yuuri’s words squeak as Victor tugs him sharply around a corner. “I-I’m not very good at this.” Not that he isn’t having fun, but that doesn’t stop the fact that he is nearly drenched head-to-toe and Victor is still completely dry. Yuuri can see where he signed Victor’s shirt on the sleeve of his shirt. “I’ll make you lose.”

He’s pretty sure there aren’t winners or losers. They’ll run around until there are no more water balloons and they’re too exhausted to go on.

Chris appears before them suddenly, drawing them up short, and Victor looks down at Yuuri with bright eyes.

“Then I guess we’ll lose together,” he says easily as JJ and Georgi flank them from behind.

A water balloon pops against the side of his head, and Victor laughs.

[missmichellebelle]

Prompt: Stars for Victuuri

“What’s it like?” The question comes soft and timid, nearly lost in the gentle sighs of the wind as it breathes past them. The sound it pulls out of the tall, silken white grass is nearly musical—if he wasn’t looking at a night sky occupied by three separate moons in varying stages, it would be a visceral reminder of how very far from home Victor truly is.

“What’s what like?” Victor keeps his voice just as quiet, as if speaking any louder might shatter the sky around them. Which, he’s learned, could very well happen on some planets.

(Okay, maybe not something quite so dire, but he can’t say with confidence that there wouldn’t be any consequences for even the smallest of things.

The preparations for going off planet are immensely extensive and mind-bogglingly thorough.

Victor still doesn’t think it’s enough.)

“Where you come from.” Yuuri turns to look at him, and he looks nearly human in that moment except for the way his eyes refract the moonlight like the finest quality gemstones. Victor wonders what color they would be, if Yuuri wasn’t an alien.

Then he remembers that out of the entire population on this planet with a name he can’t pronounce, he’s the one who’s different. Here, Victor is the alien, not Yuuri.

“What’s it like?” Yuuri reiterates, letting the grass curl around his hand. When he touches it, the end lights up like a firefly, and Victor’s throat tightens at the simple beauty of it.

How does he tell Yuuri about Earth when this is the world he knows? How does he talk about a planet that his race used and abused and are only now making any sort of dent in the damage their ancestors did? What is Earth’s soiled water and dead fields to all of this? 

“I’ve never been anywhere else,” Yuuri continues, letting the plant lights fade away and turning back to the stars and constellations that look nothing like the ones Victor can see from Earth. “But I’m sure if it’s where you come from, it must be very beautiful.”

Victor can feel the blush from his collarbones to his hairline, and he is thankful that Yuuri’s people do not have a propensity for seeing in the dark. He swallows thickly, looking up at the stars instead of the fine, shimmering fibers that serve as Yuuri’s eyelashes, and reaches blindly in the grass for Yuuri’s hand. The skin is rougher than it looks, hard and cold to the touch like raw minerals, and thinks that however little he thinks of his own planet, there’s a very good chance that Yuuri will look upon it with the same awe that Victor feels now.

“I’ll take you there one day,” he promises, and Yuuri gives his hand a gentle, hopeful squeeze.

@makkaroon | send me soft warm-up prompts <3

[missmichellebelle]

decided to do warm-up drabbles before I sit down for a good chunk of writing. I’ll just be posting them here, because they shouldn’t be too long and I’m literally writing them on a whim so. here goes?

(if you want to leave prompts for future ones, that would be neat <3)

warm-up drabble #1 - ereri, 584 words

The rain shouldn’t come as a surprise. The sky has been a pale, disheartening grey for the better part of a week, but when nothing continued to come from it, most people—Levi included—had stopped thinking the rain would inevitably come. They were just a few cloudy days, a welcome respite after an unseasonably warm October and hopefully the beginning of the chilly weather that fall was generally known and loved for.

As Levi walks briskly down the quickly dampening sidewalk, thinking forlornly of the umbrella propped up next to the door of his apartment, he finds himself annoyingly surprised. It seems those weak, pale clouds had a storm in them, after all.

Around the corner is a bus stop that Levi always passes on his walk home, and he speeds to a run so that he can slip under the protective cover of its plastic awning. The rain is louder under here, a constant tink-tink-tink-tink, and Levi can almost imagine that the sound is coming from the rivers of water dripping from his hair, his clothes, his fingertips.

There’s a low whistle beside him, and Levi turns with a start to see that he’s not the only person seeking shelter there.

At the opposite end of the bus stop is a witch.

Well, not really. It’s some guy dressed as a witch, pointy hat and old-timey broom and all. Levi can catch the faint smell of cinnamon.

“Forgot your umbrella?” The witch asks, his grin revealing two rows of perfect teeth, and Levi blinks, slowly.

“No, I just enjoy jogging in the rain in business casual,” he responds, dryly, one eyebrow quirked as if to say are you a fucking dumbass? The guy snorts, rubbing a finger under his cold-reddened nose.

“Hey, I’m not one to judge what you like to do in your free time,” the guy counters in that same casual, easy-going way, like he isn’t stranded beneath a bus awning in the middle of the night. He shoves his hands in his pockets, peeking out of their shelter a bit so that rain drops ricochet off the brim of his witch’s hat. Levi nearly asks him to take it off—he looks fucking ridiculous. “Kind of sucks, right? Rain on Halloween?”

Oh. Right. It’s Halloween. Levi’s never really been a holidays sort of person, and Halloween was something he never really did as a child and therefore never had the chance to outgrow.

At least it explains the costume. He feels a little better knowing that he’s not stuck under here with some nut-job.

“Not big on Halloween?” The witch barrels on in the space of Levi’s silence.

“It’s childish.” Levi looks at the guy’s costume pointedly, and is surprised when he gets a laugh in return.

“And here I thought you were in the spirit, dressed as a vampire and everything.” Again, his grin is toothy, and Levi thinks that his costume was a poor choice. No one would ever believe that a sunshine-smile guy like this was a witch.

“Clever,” Levi drawls. Because he’s never heard the vampire thing before.

“I’m Eren.” Eren shuffles his cinnamon broom to rest against his shoulder so that he can stretch a hand into the no-man’s space between them. It’s too far for Levi to be able to stretch across and meet it, so he has to heave a resigned sigh and take the few steps to close the gap.

“Levi.” Not that he cares.

Not that it matters.

(But he doesn’t move away.)