(A/N: Have diabetes, this is an order.)
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The morning sun filtered through the window blinds, casting golden stripes across the wooden floor of the apartment. They had moved here to keep a low profile.
The soft hum of a kettle boiling filled the cozy kitchen, where Makima stood, her silhouette framed by the warm glow.
She was dressed in a loose, oversized sweater that slipped off one shoulder, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone and the porcelain skin beneath.
One hand stirred her coffee absentmindedly, while the other held a book she had been half-heartedly skimming for days.
Behind her, the faint clinking of metal punctuated the stillness. Veilhem sat cross-legged on the floor of the living room, his armor scattered in disassembled pieces around him.
His calloused hands worked methodically, tightening bolts and polishing steel with a precision that betrayed years of battle-hardened discipline.
An imposing, battle-worn warrior meticulously cleaning his gear in the middle of a peaceful department.
Makima glanced over her shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips. "Do you really have to do that here?" Her tone was light, teasing.
"Affirmative. Where else am I supposed to maintain it? The cram bathroom?" Veilhem replied without missing a beat, his focus unwavering.
She chuckled, taking a sip of her coffee. "I don't know. Maybe at a blacksmith shop, where all that medieval junk belongs?"
He paused, giving her a deadpan look. "Do you want me to march into battle with this junk?"
He paused for dramatic effect before adding dryly. "Because I can do that."
Makima shook her head, amused. "No, I'd hate for you to look shabby in whatever you do. It makes me look bad."
"Good." He returned to his task with renewed determination. "Besides, it's not like you're doing anything productive either. Reading the same book for days doesn't count."
She raised an eyebrow, closing the book with a deliberate snap. "I'm savoring it. Some of us appreciate the craftsmanship of a well-written story. Not everyone feels the need to rush through life like you."
"It's not a rush. It's called efficient." Veilhem countered, not looking up.
Makima laughed softly, setting her cup down. She walked over to the doorway that separated the kitchen and living room, leaning casually against the frame as she watched him work. "Efficient, huh? Then why does it take you an hour to clean something that's just going to get dirty the moment you step outside?"
He didn't break his rhythm, holding up a freshly polished piece of armor to inspect it. "Because this 'dirty' armor is the only thing keeping me alive when chaos inevitably finds us. Unlike some people, I don't have the luxury of invincibility."
Makima tilted her head, a sly smile curling her lips. "I'm not invincible. Just… hard to kill."
Veilhem let out a quiet snort of amusement, setting the piece aside. "You're impossible to kill, and you know it. Stop pretending to be relatable."
"I'm very relatable." Makima protested, feigning a pout.
"I drink coffee, read books, and clean up after your messes. If anything, I'm the most human person in this room."
Veilhem muttered under his breath as he reached for his gauntlets, his movements deliberate. She could almost see the sarcastic eye roll even without seeing it directly. "Right, because humans regularly manipulate reality and control terrifying curses."
Makima crouched beside him, picking up a smaller piece of armor and turning it over in her hands. "You're one to talk, Mr. Walking Tank. Do you even count as human anymore with that physical strength?"
He shot her a smug glance. "Fair point. But at least I don't pretend."
Her laugh was soft and genuine, and for a moment, the two shared a rare quiet understanding.
Eventually, Makima stood, brushing off her knees. "Well, while you play dress-up, I'm going to make lunch."
"Make sure it's edible this time." Veilhem called after her, not even looking up. "The last attempt was a disaster."
She paused in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder with a wicked grin. "Oh, don't worry. I'll make something unforgettable."
Of course, she would make him eat something unpalatable for that bold statement.
Veilhem sighed, already bracing himself for her antics, feeling exhausted for no reason.
"Why do I even tolerate you?" He muttered to himself.
"Because you'd be bored without me." Even though he had muttered that, Makima replied without hesitation, her voice lilting with playful confidence. It just proved how sensible her hearing is.
He didn't argue. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he returned to his work, the rhythmic clinking of metal filling the space. Despite the teasing and banter, there was a comforting rhythm to their dynamic.
Not long after, Makima emerged from the kitchen, carrying a steaming plate in her hands. The faint aroma wafted through the air, though Veilhem couldn't quite identify what it was, an ominous sign, if his eyes were not fooling him.
Veilhem glanced up from his armor and, without missing a beat, held out his arms in an exaggerated gesture, arms to the heavens as if awaiting divine favor.
He announced dramatically, his deep voice dripping with mock reverence. "Behold! My savior has returned, bearing sustenance for her loyal servant! The grace of the gods shall descend upon me in the form of… what is that?"
Makima arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She stepped forward, mirroring his dramatic energy.
"My loyal agent and faithful knight." she declared, her voice lilting with playful grandeur. "I bestow thee with this dish, crafted with unparalleled skill."
"...and a pinch of a secret ingredient called 'love'." She winked, sticking out her tongue playfully.
Veilhem squinted suspiciously at the plate as she set it down on the coffee table in front of him.
The contents were… colorful, to say the least. He poked at it with a cautious finger.
"What… is this?" He asked slowly, his tone caught between curiosity and dread. His look yelled betrayal.
Makima crossed her arms, feigning offense. "It's lunch. A masterpiece of culinary creation by none other than this lovely lady. You're welcome, by the way."
"It looks like this 'biohazard' is your masterpiece." Veilhem muttered, leaning closer to inspect the dish like it might come alive.
Makima gasped, clutching her chest in mock pain. "How dare you insult the artistry of this meal! Do you know how long it took to make divine creation?!"
"Long enough for me to fear for my life." He deadpanned, grabbing a spoon. With a determined expression as if going into the hardest war, he said his last will. "If this kills me, promise me you'll at least finish polishing my armor."
"This is blasphemy toward the god itself… But I'll think about it." She quipped, settling onto the chair on the opposite side and watching him expectantly.
Veilhem sighed, his shoulders sagging with exaggerated resignation. He scooped up a spoonful of the mystery dish, eyeing it like a warrior about to face his greatest foe. "If this is poisoned, I'm haunting you."
"Please." Makima replied, resting her chin on her hand. "You couldn't haunt me even if you tried. Now hurry up and try it."
With a final look of defiance, Veilhem shoved the spoon into his mouth. He froze midway through, his expression unreadable. Makima leaned forward, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Well?" she asked, barely hiding her amusement.
He swallowed, his face twitching as though trying to process the flavors assaulting his senses. "It's… edible. Barely."
Makima clapped her hands together, grinning. "See? I told you it would be unforgettable!"
Veilhem set the fork down, pushing the plate slightly away as if distancing himself from further danger. "Unforgettable is one word for it."
She laughed, reaching over to slide the plate back toward him. "Oh, come on. You've survived worse. Now finish it. I worked hard on that."
"You worked hard to annoy me, got it." He muttered under his breath, reluctantly taking another bite.
Their communication was laden with equal parts mischief and resignation that spoke volumes of how close their relationship was.
After the gruesome trial disguised as lunch, Veilhem resumed his work on his armor, muttering under his breath about needing to cleanse his palate with something edible later.
This time, however, Makima lingered nearby, lounging on the floor with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Alright, my assistant." Veilhem said after a while, his tone deadpan but with a hint of dry humor.
"Pass me the bolt beside you." He stretched out his hand toward her without so much as a glance, his focus still fixed on the piece of armor in front of him.
For a moment, there was silence, and then he felt something in his palm.
It wasn't the solid, metallic feel of a bolt he had expected. Rather, it was soft… squishy, even. His brow furrowed in confusion as he turned his head to investigate.
What he found made him freeze.
Makima had leaned over, placing her cheek in his outstretched palm with a haughty, almost regal expression.
Her eyes half-lidded, her smirk wider than before, she looked utterly absurd… and yet, somehow, she still managed to exude an air of infuriating elegance.
Veilhem blinked, trying to process the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.
"Really?" he said, his voice flat.
"What?" Makima replied innocently, though the playful glint in her eyes betrayed her. "You said to pass you something. I decided to pass me to you. Got any problem with that?"
He stared at her, unamused. "That's not how this works."
"It's exactly how this works." she countered, her smirk deepening as she nestled her cheek more firmly into his hand.
Veilhem sighed, shaking his head, but a mischievous thought crossed his mind. If she wanted to play games, he could oblige.
Slowly and deliberately, his fingers closed around her cheek, squeezing it gently at first, then with just enough pressure to make her face squish comically.
Makima let out a surprised sound somewhere between a muffled laugh and a soft moan, her expression caught between indignation and amusement.
"What—?!" she tried to speak, but her words came out slurred as her cheeks were held hostage.
"This is what you get." Veilhem said, his tone calm but laced with satisfaction. "Actions have consequences, my dear assistant."
Makima swatted his arm with mock outrage, though she was laughing now, her voice muffled by his grip. "Let me– Go! You brute!"
"Hmm, no. I think I'll keep this up for a while." he replied, his lips twitching into a rare smile. "You look less smug like this. I could get used to it."
She pouted and glared at him, her attempt to look intimidating utterly ruined by the ridiculous situation. This made him want to squeeze her cheek even more.
Still, she didn't resist too much, clearly enjoying the playful exchange.
After a moment, Veilhem released her, letting her cheeks bounce back into place. Makima immediately sat up, rubbing her face with a feigned pout. "You'll pay for that."
"Oh, sure thing." Veilhem replied dryly, already returning to his work. "But until then, how about you actually hand me the bolt this time?"
Makima picked up the bolt with an exaggerated flourish and placed it in his hand, her smirk returning as she leaned closer. "I'm always happy to assist."
Veilhem gave her a sidelong glance, his expression deadpan. "I'm beginning to regret asking."
Before he could return to his work, Makima made her next move.
With all the grace and confidence of someone who knew she could get away with anything, she turned and plopped herself right into his lap, folding her arms under her ample chest and settling in as though the spot was rightfully hers to begin with.
Veilhem froze mid-motion, his brain failing to process this ridiculous situation.
"Makima if I may ask…" He said slowly, a distinct edge to his voice.
"What are you doing?" His voice reeked with annoyance but he held back the thought of hitting her.
"Making myself comfortable, obviously." she replied nonchalantly, wriggling her way to sit comfortably.
She tilted her head to the side, feigning thoughtfulness. "Your lap made the best seat in the apartment."
"Don't you want to get off now?" He really needed to set the hierarchy with this Devil.
Makima leaned against his chest with a satisfied sigh. "Hmm, yes. This is nice."
Look at her! That smug was out of the world!
Veilhem gave her a flat look. "Nice for you, maybe. But someone here is trying to get work done."
"Oh, don't mind me." she said with a playful wave of her hand. "Just pretend I'm not here."
"That's hard to do when you're literally sitting on me."
Makima ignored his protests, shifting slightly to make herself more comfortable. The movement caused him to flinch, and she smirked, clearly enjoying his discomfort.
Veilhem didn't respond immediately, his brow furrowing as if weighing his options. Then, with a calmness that startled her, he shifted his arms, locking them firmly around her waist.
Makima's smirk faltered. "What are you—"
Before she could finish her sentence, he leaned forward, placing his chin on top of her head in an almost casual gesture of dominance.
His hold was unyielding, his strength far exceeding hers, and within seconds, Makima realized the tables had turned.
"Comfortable?" Veilhem asked, his voice low and smug.
Makima's eyes narrowed. She squirmed in his grip, attempting to free herself, but his hold didn't budge. Instead, it only seemed to tighten slightly, as if to emphasize the futility of her efforts.
"Let me go!" She demanded, though her voice lacked its usual authority and more like a child whining to him.
"Nope." Veilhem replied, his tone infuriatingly nonchalant. "You wanted to sit here, so you're staying. I'd call it… mutual revenge."
Makima glared up at him, her amber eyes flashing with indignation. "This is childish."
"Says the person who climbed into my lap to annoy me." he shot back, his chin still resting comfortably on her head.
She groaned, flailing her arms in an exaggerated display of resistance.
Makima, who was always poised and composed, now found herself reduced to helplessly wriggling in Veilhem's unyielding embrace. Her cheeks puffed slightly in irritation, though her amber eyes glinted with a hint of reluctant amusement. "You're enjoying this far too much."
Veilhem smirked, the corner of his lips curling upward as he looked down at her. "I know you are too. If you weren't, you'd be protesting more fiercely. But here you are, putting up a half-hearted fight at best."
Makima stopped her futile attempts for a moment and raised an eyebrow. "Ehe."
His expression shifted to one of utter confusion. "The fuck is that 'ehe' even mean?"
Her lips curved into a mischievous smile, and she stuck out her tongue as if to taunt him. "Ehe."
Veilhem groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. "...Whatever. I can't deal with you." he muttered, shaking his head as though trying to clear her antics from his mind.
He released his grip on her waist and adjusted his posture, fully expecting her to slide off and let him return to his work. But Makima, true to form, had no intention of giving him an easy out.
Instead, she clung tighter, shifting her position so she now had her arms looped securely around his neck and her legs loosely wrapped around his waist like an overgrown child, or more accurately, a particularly clingy cat.
He groaned, his hands returning to his tools as he began tightening bolts on one of his greaves. "I don't know how you turned into a cat, but I'm seriously considering tossing you outside."
Makima leaned her cheek against his shoulder, humming contentedly. "But I'm cute!!"
"...You're lucky that you're cute." Veilhem rolled his eyes, but a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
As he worked, she remained firmly latched onto his back, her occasional hums and soft comments filling the room with an odd sense of warmth. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, neither of them seemed particularly eager to break the moment.
A normal morning for this eccentric couple.
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(A/N: You're smiling while reading this chap, ain't you. Anyways, see you next month.)