Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You counted the recyclable plastic cups on the counter for the twelfth time this morning, but the number never changed. The sigh you felt in your bones didn’t leave your mouth, not when there were a few customers seated, enjoying their coffee and pastries. This cafe wasn’t part of a big chain, but that didn’t mean it offered anything of value.

The cheapest coffee imaginable. Dispensed at the press of a button, no fancy machines around here. None of the pastries were handmade, really. Factory produced and frozen dough products, all you did was put them in the oven, set a timer, take them out.

You didn’t care, though; you never did.

It wasn’t like you had grand ambitions of owning your own cafe, or working in one at all. This job was available when you were looking, the pay was decent, and it didn’t seem like too much of a pain. A good enough deal.

Some of the regulars you recognized by now, and the small talk came over your lips easily. You knew they cared as little about your day as you did about the junk you fed them.

They hoped for a discount or a free cookie if they were nice to you. You waited until they were satisfied and left you alone.

The bell at the door chimed, and you expected another elderly woman to come in for her breakfast — but instead, the woman you saw was about your age. Maybe a bit younger, maybe a bit older. It was hard to tell.

She had this youthful look to her — no wrinkles, no bags under her eyes, no tiredness of having left your 20s and realized this was all life was going to be anymore.

At the same time, she seemed perfectly professional and capable in a way that was natural for someone who’d been at their job for at the very least a decade.

She radiated a natural confidence that left no room for doubt in herself — that’s the impression you had.

‘She’s perfect,’ you thought to yourself.

You knew you wouldn’t see her again, though. She wasn’t a regular; she had never come into this cafe before. You wouldn’t forget this woman with pale auburn hair if you’d seen her before. Odds were, she wasn’t going to return.

“Good morning,” she greeted you with a smile as she studied the selection that offered less than 20 options.

Her voice was as smooth as that smile, and neither carried any genuine emotion. Her golden eyes were striking, with crimson rings in her irises almost hypnotizing.

No way you saw her before in your life, you definitely would remember.

“Good morning,” you returned the greeting in your perfect customer service voice.

Your smile mirrored hers — not genuine at all, but friendly enough that it was easy to brush that aside. Nobody cared, after all. Everyone just wanted to see a smile to be at ease.

“One medium coffee. Black, no sugar.”

‘Yeah, that checks out.’

“Of course, just a moment.”

You turned to the machine, but just when you were about to reach for a plastic cup, you faced the customer once more. That smile never left her face.

“I’ll drink it here,” she said before you could ask.

“My bad,” you apologized with the most sheepish smile you could muster to hide your indifference; smoothening over the almost-blunder of assuming she wanted it to go. “I figured you’re probably on your way to work, or on a short break. People in suits are normally in a rush.”

“I’m not.”

She sounded friendly, but the small talk ended before it could start. Normally, you didn’t mind silence. Quiet customers were the best. Normally.

But something about her made you nervous. Maybe it was those eyes, you could swear you felt them burn holes into your back. Or it was this smile that faked a kindness that wasn’t truly there.

No, none of that really mattered to you. Those were simply the most obvious reasons to feel discomfort around this woman, welcome excuses.

In truth, you just wanted her to talk to you more. She drew you in, it was simple as that.

Not because she was pretty. That was a plus, but that wasn’t it.

You realized it the moment she entered the cafe — perfect. This air around her, one of undoubting flawless confidence, unrivaled dominance, and a smooth talker to beat. This was the type of woman you wanted in your life.

This was the type of woman you wanted to give your life to.

You placed the cup of coffee on the counter, black as she asked for.

“Can I get you anything else?” You asked, perfectly routine. “It’s on the house.”

This was bold. You never added any pastry for free, no matter how much customers sucked up to you. But you wanted this woman to know. To have an inkling of how you didn’t want your interaction to be over after today, just yet.

“I’ll have the cheesecake, then.”

She took the coffee and moved to a table in the room’s corner. You didn’t need to be told, she expected you to bring the cheesecake to her.

It was as if this woman understood what you wanted and gave it to you so casually, as though this was the most natural thing. Your heart started beating just a little faster, you got your hopes up.

Even though you knew, this was nothing.

Once she left, you would be back to a life that’s nothing but exhaustion. You were tired of living life; tired of every single choice you made. Picking clothes for the day, deciding on a meal, doing chores… It never stopped. You wanted a break.

Someone who would take care of everything for you. Someone who told you what to do, leaving your only responsibility to follow. Head empty. No pressure. Obey and please. That was the life you wanted; not the life you had.

If that woman knew, she’d be disgusted.

Not that you’d tell her. You enjoyed the taste of this life you couldn’t have while you could, eternally grateful this woman gave it to you at all.

You brought the cheesecake to her table, setting it in front of her. You didn’t usually bring orders to tables, that wasn’t your job. You called out to customers. But for her? You wanted to make the extra effort. To show her — even if she wouldn’t understand — that you wanted to do as she wished.

“Thanks.”

“If you need anything else, I’ll be here.”

Her eyes followed you as you returned behind the counter. You spared the mysterious woman a glance every few moments, careful not to meet her gaze directly. Although you felt watched — you could swear her eyes were on you as soon as you turned your back on her, and it made the hair on your nape stand up, which felt nice — you never caught her looking at you.

You tried your best to keep yourself busy. Cleaned mugs, wiped the counter. In that woman’s presence, doing nothing felt like an offence. Not that the other customers felt the same; besides some minor gossip, the woman garnered little attention. But she had all of yours.

Especially when you went around to collect the empty mugs and plates from the abandoned tables; when it felt like leaving your safe haven behind the counter and entering that woman’s domain. That feeling couldn’t be explained, it was like a primal instinct.

You worked on auto-pilot, conscious of the woman to the point that you zoned out everything else. Up until you heard a loud clatter from right in front of your feet, and realized a mug had slipped out of your hands.

“Shit,” you swore under your breath, immediately kneeling down to pick up the shards to collect them on a tray.

Your boss wouldn’t care, but this blunder happening in front of her made your heart drop. You messed up. Now she thought you’re a klutz. Useless.

“Careful, the edges are sharp.”

In front of you, the woman crouched low. Her eyes were focused on you, and she took your hand into hers. You noticed then you were bleeding.

“It’s fine,” you said. “It’s not that deep. It doesn’t even hurt.”

“Is that so?”

You nodded, and gently pulled your hand out of hers. You wouldn’t forget how soft her hands felt; but you weren’t going to sully her with your blood.

“I’ll just clean this up.” You took the tray with the collected shards, and brought it into the backroom, before returning with a broom.

The woman stood next to the remaining shards, too small to be picked up. She still watched you as you swept up the rest with that broom.

“Show me your hand,” she demanded just as you were done.

Smile and soft voice, yet you felt as though you had no choice. You didn’t want a choice. You appreciated the excuse to believe you didn’t have one.

You reached out your hand, the small cut still bled a little. The woman pulled a bandaid out of her pocket — plain, standard. She peeled the wrapper casually, then pressed the bandaid against your skin. Gentle, but enough to make it stick to your skin.

Her fingers lingered on your skin just long enough to make your breath catch, though you knew this wasn’t any special. She administered the bandaid like anyone else would. And yet…

The gesture — insignificant as it was — got your heart beating faster.

Your blunder was forgiven, that’s how it felt. You would do anything for her forgiveness. You would do anything for her. You wished she would take you as hers; you knew she’d be just the woman you wanted to dedicate yourself to.

But she didn’t.

“I like the coffee here,” she said as she picked up her coat, not breaking eye contact.

It was a message — she was planning to return. And you couldn’t wait.

Chapter Text

As you sat on your couch — cheap, secondhand — you didn’t even listen to the sounds coming from the TV, as you stared at the bandaid on your hand. Nervously, you ran your fingertips over the plastic strip. It felt warm to the touch, even though it was the same as your normal body temperature.

It wasn’t the bandaid. It was the knowledge that it was her bandaid, that you touched what her touch lingered on. A piece of her was in your possession, a reminder of your meeting.

If only you knew her name. But you didn’t ask; you had no opportunity to ask.

The unspoken promise of another meeting felt too good to be true, you were sure you misunderstood. There was no way someone would like the cheap coffee, there was nothing special about it.

In your heart, the idea that rather than the coffee, what she wanted to return for was you bubbled up. But before it could put a smile on your face, that was as genuine as your anticipation, you reminded yourself that you were just like the cheap coffee:

One of many. Standard. Not the worst, merely reliable in meeting expectations if they were for what’s average and unremarkable. It could be anyone, it didn’t have to be you.

Eventually, you remembered your cup ramen. They got soggy and cooled down to a lukewarm temperature by the time you were done reminiscing about the day, but it didn’t matter much.

Cup ramen wasn’t a tasty meal to begin with. A bland taste didn’t get ruined by being more bland.

The good thing about cup ramen was that they were simple. Little effort, no thinking required. Anyone could boil and pour water. A reliable meal that did its job — filling your stomach — needing nothing in return.

You wanted to be like cup ramen. You wanted to be her cup ramen.

After throwing away the cup, you went to your bathroom. Your eyes wandered to the bandaid on your hand once more. You couldn’t help but touch it again, as if to reconfirm that it really was there. The evidence of your meeting with her; the woman who didn’t leave your mind.

It looked to be waterproof, and you hoped that would prove true — it did whenever you washed your hands throughout the day at least — as you stepped into the shower.

The alarm in the morning pierced your ears. Another day started, another repeat of all the days before.

Until you remembered yesterday.

“I like the coffee here.”

She was going to come back— At the very least, there was a chance.

At that mere thought, you experienced a feeling you previously didn’t know: Looking forward to work.

In your apartment, the chance of seeing her again was zero. At the cafe? It could happen.

That fact alone made you speed through your morning route, as any moment you were not at the cafe held the possibility you missed her. That wasn’t a risk you had wanted to take.

If you couldn’t have the life in which you could give up your autonomy to someone else — someone like her, who you were sure would manage your life much better than you would, anyway — you at least wanted to enjoy the presence of someone who reminded you of what you couldn’t have.

As long as you could feel as though you already belonged to her, maybe the occasional pleasantries in the cafe were enough. Maybe you could see the bandaid as a mark she put on you to remind you of that fact.

If only that were the truth.

The cafe is still closed when you arrive — it’s your job to open up in the morning, after all. Your boss trusted you, you proved yourself reliable enough. Not that it was difficult. She was happy she could rake in the money this cafe made without exerting any effort herself.

You never asked for a raise, or for more staff. She lucked out when she hired you, and so did you. Once a week you saw her, only to go over the most basic organizational matters. She had to know what orders to place to fill up the stock, and you knew the numbers. You counted items to pass time, after all.

The preparation only took half an hour. You chewed on some leftover pastries from yesterday as you baked the ones for today. The job didn’t come with many benefits, but all the unsold pastries from the previous day were yours to do with whatever you liked.

A convenient breakfast. You simply grabbed the first thing without any thought. They all tasted the same, anyway. Whatever didn’t become your breakfast or ‘lunch break’ snack — you didn’t get an actual break, but it was never so busy that you couldn’t take it easy for a moment to have a snack — you handed to the homeless on your way home.

Those poor saps, but part of you envied them. They didn’t have to make all the decisions you did every single day. Others made the choices for them — they ate what they were handed, they wore what they had on. So simple.

You just didn’t have the courage to choose that life yourself. You didn’t want to cut your life short, after all.

Life passed by with you as a passive observer, and yet, you clung to it. A break from life — letting someone else take charge instead of you — sounded divine; the end of your life did not.

Once the pastries were done and the coffee machine prepared, you flipped the sign and unlocked the front door. You put up the sign outside, not that you thought it ever lured any new customers in.

But maybe it did lure her in yesterday.

It didn’t take too long until the occasional customer came in — most of them regulars, some of them office workers for whom this cafe was just convenient enough.

With every single time you heard the door’s chime and didn’t spot those unique, captivating eyes — gold with crimson rings, irises you never thought could exist — the hope inside of you took another blow.

Every minute felt like an eternity. An hour passed, and one more.

Pessimistic realism set in once the clock hands moved past the time she had arrived yesterday. Only defeated pessimism was left once they passed the time she had left the day before.

She wouldn’t come.

That was the reality you had to accept. Your dream was short-lived; of course it was. Life wasn’t going to change. Every day is like the one before; this was how it worked for any adult. Childish hopes and dreams didn’t last long. The real world crushed them to bits.

In the early afternoon, when the cafe was empty, you went to the backroom. You had to document the sales, after all. Going through the receipts the register printed, and transferring the basics to the form. How many customers came in which hour, how many of which pastry were sold, how many coffees were sold.

Like most store owners, the boss loved statistics. She never controlled the numbers, though. The free cheesecake from yesterday wouldn’t show up in the documents. There were two slices left at the end of the day anyway, so it didn’t matter whether you ate it, offered it, or handed it to someone on the street.

You heard the door chime.

With a sigh that wouldn’t be heard in the cafe, you put the pen down and went back to the front.

“Excuse me, I was just—”

You started the perfectly rehearsed apology no customer cared about, working on autopilot as usual — but when your eyes met crimson-ringed gold, your mouth stopped working.

She came after all.

You felt your heart thump at that realization, and her smile made you feel stupid for ever doubting her. It wasn’t genuine, you knew that. A fake smile to please. And yet, it reassured you.

Maybe that was because you knew it was false. Easy to understand.

“Welcome back,” you said. You wanted her to know you remembered her. To know you waited for her.

You didn’t complain she was late. You were happy she came at all.

“I like the coffee,” she said, as though it was the most natural thing.

There was no way this woman genuinely enjoyed this cheap coffee. But you weren’t going to question her.

“The same as yesterday?”

You didn’t remember anyone else’s order. Never even bothered to remember their faces beyond basic recognition. But she was different; you wanted to prove yourself to her. Make her return, so you could see her again, talk to her again.

“You remember,” she noticed. Her gaze wandered to the bandaid on your hand, though she gave no reaction. “Interesting.”

She didn’t give you an answer, but the way she looked at you was clear: She was waiting.

It was your turn.

So, you did the most natural thing. You took a cup and prepared her coffee — black, no sugar. You added a cheesecake — on the house, just like yesterday — and set the two things down on a tray.

She paid, and while you were still working the register, she walked over to that one table in the corner — the same as yesterday. This was her seat now.

Without being asked to, you carried the tray to her table and set it down. She expected you to do that, and you followed. You didn’t need to be told.

You turned around to get back behind the counter — keeping yourself busy with work that didn’t need to be done, the documentation in the backroom could wait. Being in the same room as her was more important.

“How is your hand?”

Her question made you stop dead in your tracks; your heart swooned.

She cared.

No, she didn’t. When you turned back around, there was no concern on her face. There was no emotion on it at all; there never was.

But asking that question let you believe she cared even when she didn’t, and that was more than enough. You preferred being allowed to read what you liked between lines where only empty space was found over real implications.

You didn’t want to have to decipher subtleties; you wanted to be free of that burden, too.

“It’s fine,” you said. It didn’t hurt to begin with. At the very least, you didn’t notice any pain.

“Let me see.”

Without scanning the cafe — whether any customer entered was the least of your concern right now — you took the seat opposite her. You held out your hand towards her, the bandaid looking a little worn.

Waterproof as it may be, the adhesive didn’t last against multiple times of washing your hands or the sweating of your hands. And they sure were sweating right now; which you hoped she didn’t notice.

Holding your hand in hers, she gently plucked the bandaid off. It stung, but you appreciated this sweet pain. If this were a dream, the pain would’ve woken you up — the fact that you felt it meant this was real.

She brushed her thumb over the minor cut. No pain, no blood. You held your breath, not daring to do anything, not wanting to ruin this moment.

“It is fine,” she realized. “That’s good.”

The woman seemed pleased.

But you couldn’t truly feel happy about this; not when the bandaid was taken from you. The one thing that you could tell yourself marked you as hers — gone.

“Thanks,” you said, though you didn’t feel it.

You didn’t leave your seat, not unless you had to. If you could spend time in her vicinity, you would. You hoped to talk to her more.

As she enjoyed her coffee — not in a rush, just as she told you yesterday — you grew more nervous by the minute. You preferred silence to forced small talk, but this was uncomfortably tense.

She was calm, unlike you. Unbothered by this atmosphere of anticipation for something, anything. She knew she could break the silence any time she wanted, and she saw that you wanted it broken.

You considered options — asking about the weather, asking for her name. Maybe you should put on your customer voice and ask her if she’s enjoying her coffee and cheesecake.

You never asked anyone else that; you couldn’t care less. But you wanted her to be satisfied.

In the end, you said nothing. You felt as though you had no right to disturb her peace; the fact that she allowed your company was enough. You weren’t the type to get greedy.

“Do you enjoy working here?”

She rested her chin on her palm as she asked you that. For some reason, you had the feeling she already knew the answer.

“Not really.”

Even if she didn’t know, you didn’t want to lie to her.

“Hmm,” she hummed. Not surprised; she didn’t seem to be.

“But there’s nothing I want to do,” you added. “And this job is fine. So, I don’t mind it.”

You had no career aspirations. Once, years ago — so long it felt like an eternity — you, too, had a dream career. Everyone did at some point. Hardly anyone made it, though. Most had to settle for a compromise.

It didn’t take long for you to find you weren’t an exception to that rule. And as time passed, it mattered less and less. You couldn’t even truly recall your original dream job anymore.

“Nothing you want to do,” she repeated.

“Nothing at all,” you said. But that didn’t feel complete. “If it’s up to me, at least.”

‘If you told me to do anything, I’d want to do that, though,’ you thought. ‘No matter what.’

You didn’t say that, though. She wouldn’t understand.

If there were someone in this world who would take your life in her hands, alleviating you from all the pressure and worries, it wouldn’t be this woman. As much as you felt that she could do it — and you wanted her to prove you right — you knew she wouldn’t.

Any sane person would be disgusted.

Although it felt as though this woman was able to look at the core of your soul, you could tell she never truly looked at you to begin with. She didn’t care about you, and that only drew you in more.

You heard the chime signaling customers would need your attention now.

“Go ahead,” she told you with a smile.

This conversation was done; you were permitted to leave.

You greeted the customers, apologizing for the delay. They excused you easily, and you noticed then that they were regulars. An older couple who came in once a week or so. You reminded them of their daughter; that was the sole reason they were nice to you.

But that wasn’t any of your business. They were easy to deal with, that was good enough.

The woman was gone once the customers were served. She had to have left while you had your back turned to her. Gone once more, leaving you unknowing of when you’ll see her again. Or if at all.

At least she came today. You cherished this alone.

When you went to clean up her table, you noticed something stuck under the cup — a bandaid. Your bandaid. Her bandaid.

After removing it earlier, she didn’t throw it away; she left it there. Did she forget? No, she didn’t seem like the careless type. That was intentional — she wanted you to keep it.

So you told yourself, at least.

Chapter Text

The next day at the cafe, she didn’t come.

She didn’t come the day after either.

Nor did she the rest of the week, nor the one after.

Days went by, and your life returned to the normal you’d known. The bandaid you kept safely at home was the sole reminder of her.

When at the start every little chime made your heart skip a beat, expecting to see her again — it never was her, never — it became ignored background noise again. Customers came and went, one day like the other.

The first day without her visit was enough to crush your hopes, because you knew from the start that she hadn’t come for you. The coffee wasn’t good either. This cafe was convenient enough for two days, that was all. It wasn’t anymore.

You couldn’t help the bile you tasted whenever you saw anyone sitting at the table in the corner. That was her seat, after all. But she was gone, so it didn’t matter.

Behind the counter, you were counting the empty cups. The number didn’t change from the last time you counted them. Or the seven times before that.

In the back room, you transferred the receipts’ numbers over to the papers, but none of them stuck in your mind. Mechanically, you went about your day. And the next one, and the one after.

You didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

It was Thursday, so half an hour before closing time, your boss came in.

“Quiet day today, huh?”

She was friendly because she didn’t want to lose her best employee. Who else would be so reliably undemanding? You were underpaid, and didn’t mind. The lack of a lunch break didn’t bother you. You didn’t loathe your boss; you were easy.

“Yeah. It was busier this morning, though.”

A lie. You didn’t even remember how many customers you had in the last hour, much less earlier that day. Just casual small talk, it wasn’t about any information anyway.

“You can call it a day, if you want,” your boss offered. She felt kind doing so. “Don’t worry, you’ll get paid for the full hour.”

You didn’t mind staying; the cafe wasn’t a worse place to be than your home. Neither felt warm, and neither felt filling.

“Thanks,” you said. It was easier than to argue against that kind offer.

“Oh, it’s no problem. You’re always here so early, too.”

That was just your job, though.

After saying your goodbyes to the boss, who oh-so-kindly volunteered to watch her own cafe for a couple minutes before closing time that wouldn’t see any customers at all, you walked down the street.

Not the usual way home, you had plans.

Two days ago, your friend back from high school gave you a call, asking if you’re free to hang out and catch up. You never picked up the phone, the landline could ring for as long as it did. But, against all rationality, you had hoped it was her who called.

It wasn’t, of course.

The disappointment had to have slipped into your voice when you answered, as your friend asked if you’d expected someone else’s call. You lied smoothly.

You were early at the meeting place — she wanted to meet you here in front of this flower shop, as it was easy to find — but that couldn’t be helped. Looking at the flowers, of which you couldn’t name many, you wondered if she liked flowers.

You knew nothing about her. You didn’t mind that as long as she was around, but now this lack of understanding felt empty.

“Sorry! Have you been waiting long?”

Your friend — Rina, her name was, if you remembered correctly — pulled you out of your void mind.

“No, don’t worry,” you told her. “My boss let me leave a bit early, that’s all.”

You gave her a smile you didn’t mean, she seemed genuinely happy to see you.

“I didn’t know you like flowers,” she said. “What are your favorites?”

She saw you look at them and misunderstood. Used it for pointless small talk. No point in correcting her, it wasn’t like she actually cared about your favorite flowers.

“Those,” you said, pointing at tulips. “I like their color. And they’re pretty.”

Some of them were a desaturated orange, reminding of light auburn — like her hair.

Others were yellow, almost gold, edged in red — the colors of her eyes.

You could see her in those flowers. The simple tulips, pretty and neat. You wondered if she liked tulips, plain flowers that didn’t stand out. Same as cheap, black coffee.

“Huh…” Rina scratched her chin. “I thought you’d pick something more special.”

She didn’t know, but you never cared about special. Special was bothersome, difficult to deal with. Required more effort and time — ran the chance of making the wrong decision, and destroying it.

“Oh well, let’s head off!”

Rina announced, and you followed. She was a university student — not that you knew what she was studying. You asked once, long ago, but didn’t really listen when she told you.

Others your age would have such a catching up in a restaurant, having drinks, but neither of you had the financial means to afford such luxuries. Rina promised the next time she’d treat you, but you were sure there was no next time.

You weren’t going to pick up the phone the next time, after all.

As you turned the corner, holding a conversation of empty platitudes you didn’t bother to register, the breath caught in your throat.

On the other side of the street, you saw someone. Light auburn hair in a loose braid, black coat over a business suit. You felt hot and cold at the sight.

It was her. You saw her again.

“Something wrong?” Rina asked, diverting your attention. “Saw someone you know?”

When you looked back to the other side of the street, she was gone. Maybe she was never there to begin with, merely your imagination. A trick of your tired mind.

You saw what you wanted, what you hoped to see. What you had hoped to see for weeks, every single day. What disappeared from your life.

“No,” you said. “That place looks interesting, though.”

You pointed at a restaurant’s sign near the spot where you saw who you thought to be her — ramen. Better than the cup ramen you lived on, but too much of a bother to get. Not worth it, you were perfectly fine with the cheap cup ramen you mostly bought on sale.

Now, the restaurant made for a good excuse, though.

“Yeah, a friend told me about that place. They have pretty good ramen,” Rina said. “We should go there next time.”

“Sure. I’m up,” you lied.

It was only a short walk until you arrived at her apartment. Cheap like yours, used furniture like yours, but decorated with various trinkets, photos, and other small things that made it feel lived in, unlike your apartment.

Rina had a home, unlike you — she made herself a home.

You couldn’t be bothered.

“Just make yourself at home,” Rina called to you after she hurried to the kitchen, which was a barely separated space from the small living room. “What do you want to drink?”

When you glanced her way as you took off your shoes, you saw a cheap coffee machine. Same brand as the one in the cafe, just a smaller, household model. Normally, you drank tap water, but your mind went elsewhere.

“Coffee would be nice,” you said. “Black, no sugar.”

“I didn’t know you like coffee,” Rina muttered. “You must’ve picked that up working at the cafe. I get it! I’d drink coffee all day at such a job.”

“It became a habit before I knew it,” you admitted.

Not for you, though. Not drinking black coffee at least. Serving it, though you lost the one to serve it to.

“How are your studies going?” You asked as Rina brought two cups of coffee, though she added creamer to hers by the look of it.

You didn’t actually care. At the cafe, some customers brought books and notes to study, so you figured it was about exam time. Rina would talk and complain about all this work, and you only had to pretend to be listening and agree with what you didn’t even know yourself.

The cafe job was a blessing. Simple, effortless.

“Ugh, don’t remind me…” Rina started, and her expression turned bitter. But she rambled on anyway.

This professor was strict, that one didn’t give them nearly enough material to study, another one barely held their classes. This fellow student here, that fellow student there. You nodded along, added a “Really?” here, and a “Wow, that’s awful…” there.

You took a sip of the black coffee. It tasted cheap and awful, as you knew it would. It met your expectations, no surprises. Maybe that’s why she liked the cheap, black coffee.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be fine,” you told Rina, whose venting you hardly paid attention to. “You’ve always been smart.”

Had she? You didn’t actually remember.

But Rina cheered up at your words, and you finished the terrible coffee.

It only took another hour until you could excuse yourself with the flimsy reason of having to start work early tomorrow. You were relieved when you finally got home, able to end this day in peace.

The next day, she didn’t come again.

Chapter Text

“Good morning.”

When you returned from the backroom after hearing the door chime, there she was. It had been almost a month, yet she stood there as natural as though she’d been coming in every single day since her initial visit.

She was unfazed by the long time in between visits, but for you, something clicked back into place.

“Morning,” you greeted back. “It’s been a while. Black coffee, no sugar?”

You didn’t mean to call her out for having stayed away for so long; you asked if her preferences had changed in the meantime. A way to show that you remembered without a reminder.

“You still remember,” she noted. It didn’t strike her as unexpected, but worthy of pointing out.

“Of course,” you said. No matter how much time passed between her visits, you were sure you would remember.

Without missing a beat, you took a cup and got her the coffee — black, no sugar. The same cheap, awful coffee she said she liked. After putting the coffee on a tray and adding a slice of cheesecake, you saw her reach for her wallet.

You shook your head.

“It’s on the house,” you said. You were going to pay for it out of your own pocket later. The one way you could signal that her presence was welcomed by you. That you didn’t mind her absence. You told yourself she understood.

“Is that fine?”

Even though she asked, she didn’t wait for an answer. She walked towards that table in the corner — her table — like it belonged to her. In your mind, it already did.

You followed her with the tray, bringing her order, just as you had the two times a month ago.

She expected this of you, you knew. Instinctively, you understood. You needed not to be told; you never did. The expectation alone gave you comfort, it took the need to consider your actions from you. You could act out her wishes without having to make any decisions yourself.

It was minor. You knew you over-interpreted these interactions.

And yet, it was more relief than you could ever hope to feel in your life.

“You have some time, right?” She knew the question was a mere formality.

“Of course,” you said.

You took the chair across from her and sat down. If you had any luck, it would be a while until any other customer came, allowing you to focus on this woman wholly.

She stared at you for a moment, looked through your soul — so it felt. With a calm that was unnerving, and yet, it put you at ease. Because you knew she didn’t actually see you. She didn’t bother looking at you the way people normally looked at another.

“You’re handing out orders for free very lightly,” she said. “I don’t think the owner appreciates that.”

“She doesn’t know,” you told her. You weren’t going to tell your boss, and she would never find out. “And I’m not doing that for anyone else.”

You never did in the past. You wouldn’t in the future. This was for her; and you wanted her to know.

“Really?”

Her eyes met yours, as though she wanted to pull the truth right out of you.

“Really,” you insisted. “Although customers frequently try to butter me up for freebies.”

“And you turn them down.”

“… I pretend not to notice,” you clarified; you didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. “If I turn them down, I have to explain, or argue. But if I don’t notice…”

You paused, but she only waited. She wanted you to continue, to finish your thought. So, you did.

“If I don’t notice, they’ll leave me alone sooner.”

The first real change in expression you saw in her surprised you: Amusement.

Something about the fact that you feigned unawareness in your usual customer interactions only to get out of them early and with little hassle delighted her. Or possibly it was that you openly admitted that, with no hint of regret.

Or that she compared it to how you treated her — the opposite.

For her, you were perceptive. You wanted to meet her expectations — simple expectations, that asked for no more than a single action, for no more than to follow. You wanted nothing in exchange.

This was what you wanted, what took the burden off of your shoulders.

“Hmmm,” she hummed, and rubbed her chin. “You’re quite peculiar.”

“I suppose,” you agreed.

“I like that,” she said, resting her cheek in her hand as she looked at you.

This made your heart thump. Suddenly, your throat felt dry. Impossibly dry. You tried to swallow instinctively, but found your mouth to be just as dry.

You knew she didn’t like you; she couldn’t. She didn’t even see you.

What jolted your heart was not the romantic belief of mutual attraction as cheesy novels described it — it was the realization that what seemed impossible to attain was almost within reach. Enough that you felt as though the tip of your finger might just be able to make contact.

A life without the burdens of decision, consideration, or thought.

This woman’s mere presence promised she would be able to provide that. You believed she was the image of someone perfectly capable of managing another’s life effortlessly.

You knew this was only your own wishful thinking, though.

You weren’t even willing to take care of your own life; how could someone exist who would take over someone else’s on top of their own?

It was nothing but a fantasy.

But you relished in this momentary feeling of it being more than that. That it could be your life. You were so much closer to what you longed for than you ever believed you could be.

You were grateful for every taste of this ideal life this woman gave you, even when she didn’t even know how much meaning these small things carried for you.

There was no way you would demand more than that. You wouldn’t even demand her to continue visiting this cafe regularly, or at all.

You were simply going to appreciate every bit of her you could have in your life, and do your best to express this gratitude in ways that would not be a bother.

“It’s time to return to your work,” she said, before taking a sip of her coffee.

“Yeah,” you agreed, although the cafe was empty besides the two of you. “Enjoy your coffee.”

You returned behind the counter, and started to wipe the counters. After which you counted the cups again, and next the lids. You cleaned the cups and dishes, enjoying the quiet atmosphere of the cafe for once.

The whole time, you felt her gaze on your back, but this time, you never turned. You knew you wouldn’t catch her looking. She probably wasn’t looking your way to begin with.

And that was perfectly fine.

The next day, she didn’t show up again.

Once closing time came around, you finally had to accept this truth. You weren’t sad; you didn’t feel all that strongly about her absence. It was simply as though something was missing.

You locked the cafe’s front door, then took to wiping the tables clean, like every late afternoon. You were thorough in your work, you always were.

You saved her table for last.

Today, too, other customers used this table. You wondered how she would react to her table being occupied. Probably unbothered, as always.

You wiped this table with the utmost care. You never knew whether she’d return the following day or not, the last few weeks taught you this. But that was irrelevant.

Whenever she did come, she should find her table in perfect condition. This, you made sure of.

On her next visit, as usual, you found yourself keeping her company at the corner table.

The coffee and cheesecake were, yet again, paid by you. Maybe today you weren’t paying them at all. Your boss didn’t mind you drinking a coffee or two, and any leftovers were yours the next day. You didn’t feel bad about this either way.

“You’re here every day. Don’t you have any coworkers taking shifts?”

She brought the fork to her mouth after asking this question, tasting the cheesecake you knew tasted almost like cardboard. Only the texture was a lot more pleasant than cardboard, and there was a faintly sweet taste to it.

“I’m the only employee,” you told her. “When I take a day off, the owner takes over.”

“That seems a little short-sighted. Relying on a single person like that, I mean.”

“It’s cheaper, though. I don’t take all my paid days off anyway. I hardly take any of them at all. Hiring someone else to keep them on standby the whole time?” You shook your head at the thought. “That’s not really worth it.”

The owner was a cheapskate, you knew that. Your pay showed as much. You didn’t mind, though. You were pretty sure that every owner of any type of store was like that. At least your boss left you alone for the most part, and this cafe wasn’t busy.

So, overall, this arrangement worked for you just fine.

“Open your mouth,” the woman said, fork with some cheesecake on it in her hand.

Without missing a beat, you closed your eyes and opened your mouth.

You closed it when the cheesecake touched the tongue, and you tasted the faintly sweet, cardboard-like taste you remembered. She pulled the fork back, saying nothing as she watched you.

The cheesecake melted in your mouth, but it still tasted awful. When you swallowed, you hoped the taste wasn’t going to linger for too long.

“Really peculiar,” she said, repeating her observation from the day before yesterday with the same amusement.

You had nothing to say about that. Maybe it was strange to follow this type of command without even questioning it. You were sure you wouldn’t have if it were anyone else. But with her, you wanted to shut off your brain and follow.

Maybe you really were weird.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

It didn’t feel like a question; the same way it never did when she asked a closed question. Questions were like her own version of small talk: Pointless, but a way to smoothen the edges of conversation.

“Yeah. I don’t have plans after work,” you told her. “I almost never do.”

“Give me your address,” she said.

“Sure,” you agreed. “Wait, I’ll write it down.”

You walked to the counter and grabbed the nearest receipt and a pen, then returned to her table to write your address on the back of the receipt. You slid over the receipt to her afterwards, keeping the pen in your other hand.

She neatly folded the receipt and put it into her pocket. After finishing the last bit of her cheesecake and drinking the last sip of her coffee, she got up and put her coat on; ready to leave.

But this time, you knew when you’d see her again: Tomorrow, after work, at your place.

Without saying any goodbyes, as usual, she walked towards the door, only to stop before reaching for it. She turned to face you once more, tilting her head to the side a bit.

“You never asked me for my name,” she, who knew your address before you even knew her name, pointed out.

“Yeah, I didn’t.”

“It’s Makima.”

Chapter Text

Once you locked the door behind you, you looked over your apartment.

There was nothing you had to fix or clean, because there was nothing besides the basic minimum in furniture to begin with. No decorations that showed your tastes or hobbies — because, truth be told, you couldn’t say you cared for either of those things. No photos, no paintings.

Nothing that wasn’t plain, functional, and necessary.

Nothing that wasn’t like what you wished to be.

If one said that one’s home is a reflection of their truest self, you would disagree. If anything, one’s home was a reflection of one’s ideal; their hopes, dreams, and longings.

You took off your shoes and went to your kitchen, starting to boil water. You couldn’t offer coffee — you didn’t own a coffee machine — but maybe tea would suffice. Your boss gave you a small set of tea leaves for your last birthday.

That was a repurposed gift for sure. Something she received from a relative or friend, had no use for, and gave to you instead. But now, it came in handy.

There was no doubt in your mind that she would come, even though she never outright said so. Makima — having a name attached to the woman was something you weren’t yet used to — didn’t seem like the type who was very direct, but her intentions were often clear.

As long as you assumed that she didn’t ask any pointless questions and said no unnecessary things, even if her thoughts and feelings — if she had any, which she never gave away — stayed an enigma, motives could be inferred. Not the reasons for them, only what she was planning to do.

That was enough.

After all, you didn’t need more than that to know what she expected from you. It was enough to follow her whims.

A few moments later, your breath caught when you heard your doorbell ring. The sound was almost foreign, you almost never heard it. You doubted anyone knew where you lived, and you didn’t exchange more than forgettable pleasantries with your neighbors.

You opened the door without hesitation.

Makima looked perfectly neat as always, even without the business suit attire. The high-waisted dark-gray jeans and the plain white long-sleeved top gave about the same image; if anything differed from the usual, it was seeing her somewhere that wasn’t the cafe.

“Welcome,” you greeted her, as you stepped aside to allow her entry. You didn’t need to tell her to come in; she did as though she owned the place regardless.

You closed and locked the door after her as she took off her shoes, before wandering around your living room, taking note of every detail — or lack thereof — with what seemed to be polite interest.

“Sit down,” she told you as she gestured at your own secondhand couch.

Naturally, that’s what you did, and she followed suit. Makima’s gaze wandered to the kitchen that was merely a corner of this room.

“You made tea,” she stated.

“I don’t have a coffee machine,” you explained.

“You don’t have a lot of things,” Makima pointed out. “It’s curious.”

You understood that she wanted to know why, she didn’t have to ask.

If it were Rina asking, you would brush her off and blame it on your low pay. But that wasn’t the true reason; you weren’t that poor. You had decent savings, because you hardly spent any money.

“I don’t want to bother getting stuff that isn’t necessary. I don’t— I don’t want to bother picking things in the first place.”

Makima turned to look at you, as if to study you for anything giving away whether you’re telling the truth. You weren’t afraid of this gaze; you wouldn’t lie to her.

There was no point in lying to the one you wished took over your life, after all.

“What about things you receive from someone else?”

“… I’d keep what’s useful,” you said nonchalantly, but that didn’t feel right. “No, I’d probably keep it either way. Having to throw it away would be… bothersome.”

Throwing trash away was one thing. But deciding with each object anew whether to keep it, that was annoying. You were glad nobody bothered gifting you any decorations; it kept your apartment uncluttered.

Makima’s gaze wandered to the TV in front of the two of you.

“Do you have any movies?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I don’t really watch anything. It’s for background noise, I don’t really pay attention.”

“Hmmm.”

“It’s not that I don’t like movies, though. It’s just— I don’t really bother going out of my way to watch one.”

You could tell she was disappointed; at least, it felt like that. If she told you to watch any movie, you would comply without a second thought. You would buy a VCR and a VHS tape of any movies she told you about, if this was what she wanted from you.

“If you have any recommendations, then—”

“Give me your hand,” Makima interrupted you.

Without missing a beat, you reached out your left hand, and Makima took it in hers. Her hand was soft, if a little bit cold. A month ago, her mere presence made your hands sweaty, but by now you felt too right in her vicinity for such a reaction.

“You avoid decisions,” Makima pointed out as she brought up your hand to her lips.

“Yeah,” you admitted as her lips brushed over the back of your hand. “I don’t want to make them at all.”

“Maybe you’d be happier if someone told you what to do, and all that’s left for you is to follow.”

She knew. Makima had seen through you, and voiced what you would never put into words yourself as though it was the most normal thing.

Before you could answer, Makima opened her mouth again, biting the back of your hand between your index finger and thumb. It took no time for at least one of her teeth to break skin.

You didn’t pull your hand away. You didn’t even flinch.

“Yeah, I’d prefer that,” you agreed.

The minor wound felt hot; you knew you were bleeding. And yet, you stayed. The pain was sharp, but endurable.

With one final, slow lick, Makima let go of your hand, and returned it to you.

Although the bleeding was minor, it still stung. Almost instinctively, your other fingers were about to brush over the small wound, but Makima’s voice stopped you.

“Don’t touch it,” she said. “You wouldn’t want it to get infected.”

Almost like a month ago, she pulled a bandaid out of her pocket. She casually unwrapped it, the same way she did when you cut yourself on the shard weeks ago, and applied the bandaid to your hand.

Her touch lingered, and she used a little more pressure than necessary to make the adhesive stick.

It was clear that she was indifferent to your pain; so you didn’t take note of it either. If your pain was irrelevant to Makima, then there was no point in caring about it yourself.

And if it was Makima who took care to treat the wound, then there was no need for you to worry about it yourself either.

This was what you wanted.

Makima proved what you felt instinctively: She was perfect. Perfect to manage you, and your life, in your stead.

“Thanks,” you said, and a smile formed on your lips.

You could hardly remember the last time you had smiled this genuinely.

For a long moment, Makima simply stared at you as you ran your fingertips over the freshly administered bandaid. A new mark of ownership from Makima on top of a deeper mark of ownership.

That was how you saw the bite mark hidden beneath the bandaid; that was how you wanted to see it. Regardless of what it truly was.

“You really are an odd one,” Makima said with a smile.

Whether she seemed amused or confused, you weren’t entirely sure. But it didn’t matter: She didn’t dislike this about you, that was clear.

Maybe she would eventually take care of your life the way she took care of your hand twice now.

But that day didn’t come yet.

“I’ll be on my way now,” Makima announced as she got up from the couch. “I enjoyed my visit.”

Your heart thumped; hopeful for another visit in the future.

You escorted Makima to the door. If she asked you to walk her home, you were ready to do so. She didn’t.

She didn’t tell you goodbye either; Makima simply left.

After closing the door, you locked it, and walked back into your apartment. Now that Makima was gone, it somehow felt empty and heavy at the same time.

Nobody to rely on, to lead you. You were on your own again, and had to end the day by yourself.

You drank the cold tea that went untouched throughout the visit. After cleaning the teapot, you decided it was time to go to bed. As you walked through the living room, headed to the bedroom, something lying on the TV caught your eye: The bandaid.

Something you had left there about a month ago, after Makima had returned it to you in a way that seemed as though it was discarded.

There was no way she hadn’t noticed it.

Chapter Text

Once more, the number of cups didn’t change, no matter how often you counted them. A few customers sat in the cafe, no more than what you could count on a single hand. You didn’t care to recall how many came to just grab a coffee, maybe a pastry, and went on their way with their order.

Makima wasn’t here.

But that was fine, because when you looked at your left hand, or felt the sting of an unfortunate movement or touch, you remembered her. Even if not physically, but in the shape of the bandaid-covered bite mark on your hand, Makima was with you.

She was going to be with you in this way for a few more days; though her presence would wane. Her teeth broke skin, but the wound wasn’t deep. It wasn’t going to take all that long to heal, and even less time to stop being noticeable.

Your fingers brushed over the bandaid, running over smooth plastic. Plain, functional — necessary. It suited you.

It reminded you of yesterday.

“Maybe you’d be happier if someone told you what to do, and all that’s left for you is to follow.”

When she said that, it felt as though she spoke the words your heart would cry out if it could. She knew what you wanted — needed — even though you never said so.

It reinforced your impression: Makima was perfect to manage another person, another’s life, fully.

She knew what you needed. Understood what you required. Saw what you lacked.

And, if it was Makima, there was no doubt she was capable of acting on that with no issue. She wouldn’t shy away from making decisions, difficult or insignificant. She wouldn’t overly concern herself with worries.

Makima was not someone to question herself.

There was no reason for you to doubt her either.

You cleaned the cups and dishes, keeping your hands busy while your mind wandered elsewhere and nowhere at the same time, when a woman with a dog on the street outside of the cafe caught your eye.

The woman held the leash, but it was never pulled taut as they walked by the cafe. The dog stayed close to its owner all by itself, matching its walking speed to the woman’s. This didn’t stand out at all; it was just a dog and its owner.

In the dog, you saw what you could be, with Makima holding the leash. What you already started to become.

Whenever Makima wasn’t around, you drifted along as you normally did. Avoided all decisions you could avoid. Passing time, though you didn’t know what you were waiting for.

Then, when Makima was around, she became the center of your attention: You wanted to please her, and wanted her to take responsibility for your existence.

Maybe the dog and you weren’t all that different at the core; maybe you wanted to be even more like it.

It didn’t have to be a dog’s life, though. In the end, the species hardly mattered.

What all pets had in common was that their lives revolved around their owners.

A pet was alive because its owner wanted it to be around. A pet was abandoned or put down when it became too much of an inconvenience to its owner.

All a pet had to do was live in a way that didn’t bother its owner, in a way that provided what the owner expected of the pet. Be it companionship, or plain obedience. In exchange, all of its needs were taken care of by the owner.

The realization made you swallow.

‘Isn’t that… what I’m asking for?’

You bit your lip, the sensation grounded you. Before now, when it was a far-away fantasy, you never thought it through. Never realized that by giving up your life to another, you might as well give up your humanity.

That was a big step.

What was even the difference to giving up your life by choosing death?

You didn’t want to die. But was what you wished for truly life anymore? Was it at least something in-between? You didn’t know.

You didn’t want to have to make that decision.

In the evening, you laid on your couch. As you faced the ceiling, your thoughts couldn’t stop circling back to that dog you saw.

You envied it.

The dog never had to make the decision of whether it was born as a dog, or whether it was taken up by an owner. It was thrown into its situation and had to accept it.

If only the same were the case for you.

Not that you had to make that decision. Makima didn’t ask you to make it, and she didn’t expect this of you either. You could proceed as became an unreliable habit now.

Whenever Makima showed up, you would do as she asked of you — explicitly or implicitly. You’d read into her to assure you would please her. All so you could keep her content, and prove yourself as…

As wanting to be managed.

That was why you were so fixated on her, wasn’t it? You wanted to show that you were worthy of your own fantasy, never expecting it could be real.

How was it that now that it became just a bit more real, you were suddenly unsure?

Did you not want this anymore?

What else did you want, if not to take a break from life?

Who else but Makima was even capable and potentially willing to give you that?

Your fantasy turned into the thing you hated the most: a decision that felt like it ran on a timer. One that you couldn’t take back once you made it, and with consequences you had to live with.

If you took the chance, you couldn’t go back to the normal life you’ve grown numb to. If you came to regret it, you were still going to be stuck in your new role.

If you didn’t take the chance, another one might never show itself. If you came to regret it, you weren’t going to find another person who could give you the unburdened, managed life.

You couldn’t know in advance whether or not you’d make the right choice that didn’t lead to regret. Whether there was a right choice to begin with.

It gave you a headache. You pulled a cushion towards yourself to cover your face; a desperate attempt to zone out the world you didn’t want to see for just a moment. You took a deep breath, but this didn’t solve the problem at hand.

Makima wouldn’t struggle like this.

You wanted her to tell you what to do.

Chapter Text

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you said without meaning it. “I’ll get it fixed right away.”

This was the first time you had messed up an order. You added milk, when the customer asked for sugar. Normally, even without paying any attention, you didn’t make such mistakes.

The customer — an old lady — was very forgiving. You would forget her once her face disappeared from sight, though. At least she didn’t give you any trouble, even though you deserved it.

Inwardly, you sighed. Told yourself to pull yourself together, to focus. It couldn’t be this hard.

You blamed the lack of concentration on the last night. You hardly slept, if at all. Tossed around in bed until your alarm went off and you had to start this day, without ever having ended the previous one properly.

Whenever you closed your eyes, the big question popped into your mind:

Were you willing to give up your humanity just to lessen your burden?

You could become like a dog on its owner’s leash. Like one of those homeless people to whom you always gave the leftover pastries, who took what they were given, free of decision.

They all lived. Little to no agency, little to no choice, little to no freedom. But, they lived; they weren’t dead. Was humanity worth that much? Worth all the struggles?

That was something you had no answer for. You couldn’t find one. You didn’t want to look for it, but your mind couldn’t stop searching.

It was Thursday, but you weren’t really aware of that until you saw your boss step into the cafe. Her brows furrowed in concern; something you rarely saw of her. Maybe she’d seen your earlier fumble.

“Oh dear, are you all right?” She asked you, as she walked towards the counter, a little faster than usual.

“… huh? Yeah— Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied. You hardly slept, but it wasn’t like you were sick.

You didn’t feel much different from usual, even when your mind wandered, or zoned out. The latter was preferable, but a moment you didn’t get the pleasure of enjoying.

After scanning the cafe, which was as empty as it usually was on a Thursday afternoon, your boss went behind the counter and put the back of her hand against your forehead. You didn’t react at all. You knew she’d find nothing wrong, anyway.

“At least you don’t have a fever,” she mumbled. “If you’re not feeling well, you should have told me.”

“I’m really fine,” you lied. She didn’t seem like she’d believe you, or cared what you said. “I haven’t been sick in years.”

“Maybe so, but…” The owner sighed; you felt as though you’d disappointed her. “Look. I think it would be better if you take tomorrow off and rest properly, no?”

You messed up.

Your simple autopilot job, and your boss didn’t trust you to be able to do it anymore. You probably were a liability now. Someone who tarnished the image of this cafe; she couldn’t risk customers shying away because the one employee this place had became useless.

“Don’t worry about the cafe, I’ll handle it,” she assured you, as her hand rubbed your arm in what felt like false polite reassurement. “It won’t help anyone if you do get sick after all. A day of rest won’t hurt. What do you say?”

‘No, I’m good,’ was what you thought. But were you willing to argue?

“Yeah, you’re— you’re probably right,” you agreed against your wishes. “Thank you for understanding.”

You felt awful. Now, you felt sick. You immediately pondered if you should’ve insisted you’re fine more. Your boss asked, after all. It was up to you.

This was the worst.

“Don’t hesitate to give me a call when you don’t feel well the next time. Okay?”

Her smile was gentle, almost like an aunt’s who knew your mother was too harsh on you but couldn’t actually help it; an unnecessary gesture. You knew people liked to make themselves feel better by pretending to care. You wouldn’t read into this more.

“I will,” you lied, as you left the cafe.

Once you arrived at home, you let yourself fall face-first onto your bed. You hadn’t bothered making it this morning, and you felt about ready to continue rolling back and forth in a futile attempt to get any sleep.

Occasionally, you drifted in and out of sleep. Dozing off for short moments, only to wake back up and see that the time had hardly passed. It was a long night, and you actively lived through almost every single minute of it.

As the sun rose, you finally gave up on sleep that wouldn’t come.

When you moved to get out of bed, propping yourself up on your hand, a sharp pain in your hand made you hiss at the unexpectedness of it. It didn’t take long to remember the cause of pain: the bite wound.

The mark Makima left on you.

As you sat on your bed, you took your left hand into your right one, your thumb carefully brushing over the bandaid. The adhesive had started to loosen already, but you wouldn’t pull it off. You wanted it to stay for as long as possible.

You thought of what’d happen if Makima came to the cafe today, expecting to see you?

She wouldn’t care; she’d still get her coffee. It didn’t have to be you pressing the cheap coffee machine’s button. Your boss could do it just as well.

But you missed out on her, if she came in today. Maybe she would give up on bothering with you now. This would solve your dilemma, and the choice of whether you were willing to give up your life, your humanity.

If there was no more taker, there was no choice.

That possibility felt sad and empty. You brushed your thumb over the bandaid with a little more pressure, and the pain made Makima feel more real to you immediately.

‘Had it been Makima…’ you thought to yourself as you replayed yesterday’s events.

Makima wouldn’t give you this false smile for reassurance. She wouldn’t touch your arm as though that would soothe you. And, most importantly, she would’ve told you one thing only: “Rest.”

Makima didn’t ask or suggest. Her words were final and carried an authority that put you at rest; they let you feel as though you didn’t have to consider options.

You could follow whatever she said, just as Makima expected of you, and not worry.

Maybe if it had been Makima, you would actually be able to rest.

In the kitchen, you realized that you weren’t all that hungry. You didn’t even know what to eat when you didn’t have the leftover pastries you could simply grab the first one to shove into your mouth.

You decided to deal with food later, and instead went to take a shower. Maybe that would clear your head; if nothing else, it would pass some time. You had to get this day over with one way or another.

As you undressed for the shower, you noticed you hadn’t gotten changed after work. Not that it mattered now. The hot shower felt nice enough, and the water’s heat made the healing bite wound beneath the bandaid sting again.

It didn’t compare to the moment Makima bit you. You wondered how long you’d even feel the bite linger. It wasn’t for much longer, you figured.

After the shower, you put on a loose gray sweatshirt and dark green sweatpants. It didn’t matter how you presented yourself when nobody would see you, and a part of you hoped that maybe you could catch some sleep if you dressed comfortably enough.

Not that you cared for the rest, but sleep was the best way to pass time.

You wanted this day to be over, so you could return to your numb routine. You needed the structure, and something you had to do, as senseless as it could be. Even counting cups gave you a peace of mind; although effectively useless, it felt like you did something, and that felt like you had a purpose.

This wasn’t something you ever felt at home. Not when you sat on your cheap secondhand couch that you only bought because you happened to see the listing, and buying it meant not having to choose a couch out of a bigger selection at a store.

You stared at the TV you didn’t even bother to turn on yet.

Maybe you should’ve bought a VCR and some VHS tapes already. You knew this wouldn’t bring Makima here, but it felt like you missed a crucial part of Makima you could’ve obtained already.

When the doorbell rang, you were confused. It pulled your empty mind back into the present, and you first checked the time, as though this would answer the unasked question.

It was noon, but that didn’t tell you who this was.

You considered ignoring the door. But then thought, what if it were someone important? But then — what if it wasn’t?

When you remembered that there weren’t many who knew your address — nobody ever asked — you immediately leaped up from the couch and sprinted towards the door.

You knew this assumption was too good, too convenient to be true, but you found yourself believing in it anyway; even though it was unlikely. Near impossible. Why would she bother?

But when you opened the door, there she was: Makima, in her usual formal suit, a konbini’s plastic bag in her hand.

Just seeing her, it felt as though weight dropped off your shoulders; as though her mere presence provided you the structure you needed.

“You don’t appear to be sick,” Makima noted.

You stepped aside to let her in; you knew you didn’t have to explicitly invite her in. She would come in either way. It wasn’t up to you, and that was a blessing.

“Yeah, I’m not sick,” you told her. “Just… tired.”

“The cafe’s owner said you weren’t feeling well,” Makima said as she placed the plastic bag on the small table as she sat down on your couch.

She patted the space next to her, and you understood the gesture. You closed the door, followed, and sat down next to Makima.

“I thought you didn’t take days off.”

“I don’t,” you agreed. “She told me it’d be better if I’d stay home to rest. It wasn’t… wasn’t really up to me.”

From the bag, Makima retrieved a prepacked cutlet sandwich. You saw them at the konbini, but never bought them. It wasn’t that you didn’t like this type of food, you hardly had strong food preferences. This simply wasn’t a food you were used to, and your mindless autopilot didn’t make experiments.

“Eat,” Makima said as she handed you the sandwich.

You accepted the sandwich, and took a bite. It tasted good, beating the cup ramen you would’ve made later easily. Not a grand gesture, nor special food — but that let you enjoy it. It was the simple and functional type of thing you idealized; the idea you wanted to match yourself.

But you had failed.

Failed to the point that you were sent home.

“I’ve been thinking,” you started, ignoring the lump in your throat — a sign that you didn’t want to ask for anything, not even imply any demand. “About what you said the other day.”

Makima said nothing, waiting for you to continue. You were sure that she knew what you were referring to, but wanted to hear it from you. There was no turning back anymore. Not now when you continuing became Makima’s expectation rather than your own selfishness.

The lump in your throat disappeared, freeing your conscience.

“You said that I might be happier if someone else told me what to do.”

You finished the cutlet sandwich as you tried to find the best words to express yourself, as you fought the lingering remains of doubt.

Humanity was overrated after all.

Losing it was scary, and it still worried you. The possibility of regret worried you.

But you couldn’t deny to yourself that whenever you were drifting, you wished for Makima to tell you what to do. It was what you wanted. You wanted her to tell you what to do, so you didn’t have to worry and ponder anymore.

“I would be happier if I only had to do as someone else says,” you finally said. You didn’t look at Makima, but you knew she was watching your expression, and your fiddling fingers. “If that someone is you, that is.”

You felt your heart beat in your chest; not faster, only stronger. It wasn’t excitement, or anticipation.

It was anxiety.

You finally made your choice; a choice you knew you didn’t have to make. A choice that, for all you knew, didn’t even exist. It could’ve been a mere hypothetical, not an offer.

When you finally looked at Makima, you saw that amusement again; but it seemed different. More surprised, in a good way. You felt as though what you just said handed the greatest gift never even expected to exist to Makima; though you knew that was only what you wanted to see.

She didn’t care as much about this — about you — and this was why she was so perfect to give your life to.

No attachment made for more rationality. For better decisions.

It couldn’t be anyone but Makima.

“Do you want to become my pet?” Makima asked, and your heart thumped, eyes widened, at this choice of words. “I expect a pet to be on perfect behavior at all times, though. Full obedience.”

Pet.

The image of that leashed dog flashed through your mind again. You realized at that exact sight two days ago that what you longed for was the life of a pet — and Makima understood that immediately.

She understood you.

Better than even yourself, Makima understood what exactly you wanted and needed, and you had no doubt she was able to provide that. You never had such doubts.

You wouldn’t come to regret this.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’ll be your pet.”

Makima’s hand quickly snuck around your back to grab your shoulder and pulled you towards her; you fell towards her, and your head landed in her lap. Her hand now ran through your hair, as if you were a cat in her lap she was patting.

“Now — rest,” Makima said.

She didn’t leave you a choice. She didn’t give you room to argue. She decided you rest, and it was on you to follow. It wasn’t your decision; you weren’t responsible for not being useful today. For not working.

It was peaceful. You relaxed at the realization that this was your life now.

No more pondering, no more decisions.

You closed your eyes, and almost immediately dozed off.

ACT 1 “Detachment” — END

Chapter Text

When you slowly came to, rousing as your body tried to wake up, you were surprised by the softness covered by a stiff fabric your cheek rested against.

This wasn’t your pillow; that you knew for sure. How long were you even asleep?

You blinked your eyes open against the warm daylight, less straining against tired eyes than the artificial light of a lamp. You realized soon that you were in your living room.

You realized immediately that you were using Makima’s lap as a pillow. Makima, who mindlessly ran her fingers through your hair with careful tenderness. Calculated and precise, not warm.

For only a moment, you were confused — how did this happen again?

But you remembered the conversation before you drifted off.

“Yeah. I’ll be your pet.”

That was what you said; you made your decision. You were Makima’s pet now, and she treated you accordingly.

Like a cat in its owner’s lap, you were to rest here for Makima to pet you for her own peace of mind.

This was heaven.

You didn’t question this rest, and it didn’t feel useless. It wasn’t to pass time — it was to give Makima what she wanted. What she expected of you. This was easy; this was comfort.

“Did you sleep well?” Makima asked, with a smile as fake as ever.

“Mmnh… yeah,” you mumbled.

You fell into your role naturally, and nuzzled your cheek against Makima’s thighs. If a pet was what she wanted — expected — you to be, then a pet you would be for her.

“Good,” Makima said, and pulled her hand away. Your head felt cold where it had lingered. “Now, get up.”

Against the comfort your body still asked for — this wasn’t nearly enough rest to make up for two nights with barely any sleep — you pushed yourself up and sat straight next to Makima. She watched as you ignored your body’s calling in favor of following her order.

You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand, glancing at the clock to figure out how long you were asleep as you waited for what Makima wanted from you next. It was afternoon, you found. But this nap of almost three hours did a lot for your rest, more than the last two nights.

“Very good,” Makima praised. Her hand found its way to your cheek, caressing it. Gentle yet cold, even if her skin was smooth and warm. “I like good dogs that listen.”

Makima was pleased. Her expression was mere polite mask, but you could tell her words were genuine. You knew you met her expectations, and she appreciated that. It put you at rest, proved to yourself that you could do it.

You could fulfill this role, and it was the right decision.

Like the dog she saw you as, you leaned into her touch. This was your life now, and it put your mind at rest to be able to just follow. Finally, you got a break.

“It’s a shame, but I won’t always be around to feed you, though.” Makima’s hand didn’t pause, her fingers brushed over your cheek.

Your chest felt heavy. Even like this, Makima wasn’t going to be a constant presence in your life. You were going to be by yourself for long periods still. But before doubt could creep into your mind, Makima continued — as though she sensed the seeds of regret inside of your soul.

“I’ll give you a schedule. I can trust you to follow it, right?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “Of course.”

The doubts couldn’t even take a proper form until they dissipated again. Makima didn’t leave you to your own devices — presence or not, she made the calls. You felt stupid for ever having expected any different.

This was why Makima was the one to have expectations, and you were the one to obey.

“You will eat three meals per day. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. As for what you eat…” Makima tapped her chin in thought. “I’ll write it down. Get me some paper and a pen.”

You got up from the couch and opened a drawer from which you grabbed an almost unused notebook, along with one of the pens from the same drawer. Nothing but leftovers from your high school days that you couldn’t decide whether you were still finding use for it, so you kept them.

“You’ll sleep eight hours per night. I want you to be well rested,” Makima continued as you handed her the notebook and pen.

You watched the movement of her hand as she wrote a meal plan just for you, pen scratching against the surface of the paper. You couldn’t see what she was writing, but that was fine.

Feeding you was Makima’s responsibility now, so you weren’t going to question her choices either way.

She didn’t ask about your preferences. Didn’t ask about allergies. Your financial means didn’t concern her either. You decided that Makima knew what she felt she needed to know, and that was all. What she didn’t ask for was irrelevant. Simple as that.

When she was done, she handed you the meal plan — it was for a whole week. It took into account that you had breakfast and lunch at the cafe, and planned balanced meals around that habit.

The days of cup ramen were over.

“That’s what you will eat every single week from now on. You should put it in your kitchen,” Makima said casually. “Other than that…”

She hummed, considering what else she needed to structure for you. You waited; it wasn’t your turn to speak.

“Be healthy,” Makima finally said, to your surprise. “Avoid things that would risk your health, and when faced with a decision, simply go for what’s the better option for your health. Can you do that?”

The decision was left to you.

Obviously, Makima couldn’t be around you to micro-manage your life every second. She had a life of her own. Some things — in some situations — would come up without Makima there to make the call for you.

But she trusted you to do what would be in her best interest. Gave you a guideline.

“Yeah, I think so,” you agreed. “It’s clear enough, so it’s not like I have to really decide it by myself.”

Makima decided for you: prioritize the better option for your health. This was simple. You could do this; Makima expected you to be able to do it.

“That’s my good girl,” Makima said as she moved her hand from your cheek to pat your head. You closed your eyes, enjoying the peaceful passivity finally granted to you. “I want to see you whenever I go to the cafe. That’s why you need to stay in good condition.”

‘I see,’ you thought, and the curves of your mouth moved upwards into a subtle smile.

Your health didn’t matter; your availability did. Makima wanted you to be where you belong — the cafe where she first met you.

That was the intention here.

This made the decisions that still fell on yourself a lot easier.

“Ah, before I forget.” Makima removed her hand from your head as she realized something, then took up the pen again.

She wrote another list; you waited patiently.

Once Makima was done, she handed you the notebook. You looked over the list and raised an eyebrow; you recognized some of these. It was a list of movie titles.

“You should buy them,” Makima said. “You were asking for recommendations the other day, weren’t you?”

Makima remembered. The next time she would visit you, you wouldn’t disappoint her again. The next time, you would have this movie collection available. Another piece of Makima in your life.

“I will. Thank you.”

Afterwards, Makima excused herself — she wasn’t off the clock yet, only meant to check in on you.

Normally, you would feel bad for stealing so much of her time when she was busy. But now… this wasn’t one of your worries anymore. You weren’t to concern yourself with anything; Makima would do that for you.

Makima would decide how much time she would spend with you; you had no say.

Finally, finally you had no more say.

Once Makima left, you put up the weekly meal plan in your kitchen. You had no doubt that it wasn’t going to take you much time to remember it by heart, but seeing Makima’s handwriting calmed you down.

You didn’t have to trust in your memories, you had the clear instructions right there in front of you. It meant more to you than Makima possibly could’ve known — but she was Makima, so she had to understand.

This was why you handed your life to her, after all.

All that was left to do for today before dinner and the obligatory eight hours of sleep was to head out and finally buy a VCR and a bunch of VHS tapes.

Chapter Text

Your boss had been surprised when you came to open the cafe this morning; she had expected you to need more rest. You had assured her you were in perfect shape again. Had you looked more exhausted, it would’ve taken more to convince your boss.

Luckily, the rest you had gotten last night did the trick. The fact that your life had suddenly — finally — lost about all its burdens when Makima had taken it in her hands was what really allowed you to recuperate.

Not that this was something you had to tell your boss.

The same went for the truth that you had to be at the cafe because that was where Makima expected to find you.

When you reached for a pastry for your breakfast, you internally checked off the breakfast from your meal plan. You didn’t need Makima present to know it pleased her.

You knew she was satisfied simply because you followed her instructions, regardless of whether she was there to see, or knew at all.

Makima didn’t come in the morning; this was fine.

Around noon, you took from the leftover pastries again — lunch. You still didn’t mind which you picked; they all tasted the same, anyway. But you made sure to leave the cheesecake untouched.

Cheesecake was meant for Makima; eating it by yourself felt wrong.

Throughout the afternoon, Makima didn’t come either.

You found you weren’t saddened — you waited with no guarantee. Even if Makima didn’t come personally, her presence was with you in the form of her general structure.

Once you arrived home and washed your hands, you noticed how loose the bandaid on your left hand had gotten. You pulled it off, and saw a mild mark of where Makima’s teeth had broken your skin.

It didn’t hurt anymore. The mark was to disappear in a few days; it was hardly visible at this point.

This was fine. You didn’t need it anymore.

There was no more need to cling to traces Makima left on you, no matter how insignificant — not when you knew you belonged to her. When you felt throughout your day, whenever you crossed off one of her general directives, that Makima was undeniably present.

Before you could get started with dinner, your doorbell rang.

You weren’t surprised to find it was Makima, with a konbini bento in her hands.

“I was about to make dinner,” you told her; you wanted her to know how seriously you took the structure she provided. How grateful you were.

“I expected no less. Do you have any spare keys?” Makima asked as she took off her shoes and hung up her coat.

“Uh, yeah,” you said.

You knew better than to treat Makima like a guest; she owned your place at least as much as you did. There was never a need to tell her to make herself at home; Makima would do so either way.

From your bedroom, you returned with a spare key, which you handed to Makima, who was sitting on your cheap, secondhand couch. She looked out of place. You wondered what Makima’s home looked like; you didn’t know, but you were sure she didn’t own any cheap furniture.

She put the key you handed over into her pocket — now, there was nothing of your life left that she didn’t have access to.

“Sit,” Makima told you as she patted the space on the couch next to her, unbothered by how unfitting you felt this cheap piece of furniture was.

You followed suit and sat down, noticing the konbini bento Makima had put on the table while you were in the bedroom. When Makima removed the lid, some steam rose from the bento.

She split the wooden chopsticks and took the bento onto her lap. Before you could wonder if you were to watch Makima eat, she picked up a piece of fried chicken from the bento and held it in front of your mouth.

You didn’t need to be told. You opened up, and let Makima feed you the fried chicken. The savory taste filled your mouth as you chewed; you didn’t even remember when you last ate fried meat.

It was too much work to make, and too extravagant to buy — at that point, why karaage over any other junk food? No, it always felt better to stick to your standards.

Now, things were different.

If Makima decided you deserved a treat like this, all you had to do was accept it.

“Good girl. I don’t even need to say anything,” Makima noted as she picked another piece for you.

Once more, you took it from her chopsticks. It reminded you of that time she fed you a bite of her cheesecake a while ago; maybe you had always been a pet in her eyes. Maybe you were compatible from the start.

“Is there any food you dislike?” Makima asked, putting the chopsticks onto the bento for a moment.

“Hmmm…” You pondered over that for a while, but nothing came to mind. “I can’t think of anything. But… I guess I’m not fond of bitter stuff?”

Medicine didn’t taste good or even neutral, no matter what. Other than that, everything was more or less all right.

“No preferences.” Makima hummed, then fed you another piece of fried chicken. “And you don’t mind being fed either.”

You chewed the juicy meat, then swallowed. “Is that… bad?”

Makima placed the chopsticks down once more and simply looked at you for a moment. She didn’t seem displeased, but intrigued.

“Not bad. Only a little strange,” Makima said. “Most would be embarrassed, or ashamed.”

“Hmmm. I guess.”

That made sense; you’d seen such a thing before. The fed person usually seemed uncomfortable, but accepted the gesture anyway. Maybe it was weird you didn’t mind. But a pet didn’t mind being fed, so it was probably a good thing.

“And you’re a little careless, too,” Makima added. She lifted your chin a little and leaned in to inspect you a little more closely.

You wondered what she saw, until her thumb brushed over your lower lip, and you felt the rough surface of a crumb rubbing against your lip where the pad of Makima’s thumb didn’t touch.

She retracted her hand once she’d caught the crumb, and licked it off her own thumb with a smile that carried a slight degree of amusement that her usual polite smile didn’t.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “… and thanks. For getting that.”

No one before had reached out to remove a small trace of food from your face, but Makima doing so felt perfectly natural. You were her pet after all; and an owner had to clean up after their pet.

Fewer worries for you. Makima taking care of you was a blessing, even in the small gestures you never even thought of before.

The phone rang, breaking the silence. You didn’t move; you didn’t care.

“Aren’t you planning to take the call?” Makima asked.

“No. It’s probably just Rina,” you told her.

Makima put the bento on the table and crossed her legs. “A friend?”

“… I guess? Something like that.” The phone kept ringing, but Makima’s interest took priority. “I’ve known her since high school. Last time she called, she asked to meet up, and when we did, she wanted to meet up again.”

Makima rested her chin in her hand, her elbow on her leg. She said nothing; waited for you to continue. You saw that.

“It’s such a pain to feign interest, meeting up is exhausting. If I take the call, I’ll have to turn her down and argue to avoid it. Ignoring the call is easier,” you explained. “She’ll give up eventually. This is easier.”

“Take the call,” Makima said. “Ask her to meet you at the cafe before closing time.”

You really didn’t want to pick up. You didn’t want to deal with such tiring matters; you’d rather continue being fed your dinner like a pet. If only Rina didn’t call.

Yet, you got up from the couch and walked the two steps to the phone. You hoped that you were just a second too late and the chance would pass; you had no such luck. You picked up — it was Rina.

“Sorry, I was busy in the kitchen,” you lied to explain your hesitation in taking the phone. You saw Makima watching you navigate this call from the corner of your eye.

“Don’t worry, I would’ve tried again another time,” Rina said — and you felt dread at the knowledge that she really would have tried again. “Your moral support did wonders last time — the last exam went pretty well!”

“Oh? That’s great,” you said, as your mind wandered elsewhere. You didn’t even know what exam it was. You definitely didn’t provide any support whatsoever.

“I’ve got another one next week. Are you free anytime soon? I don’t want to risk going in without your support.”

You held back a sigh; better Rina didn’t know how tiring this seemed. How little of your support she had regardless of whether you met up.

“Sure, no problem,” you said, meeting Makima’s eyes. You did this because she told you to; you needed to remind yourself of that. “How about you come to the cafe I work at about half an hour before closing time?”

“Oh, sure! That sounds great,” Rina agreed immediately. Your last hope that this wouldn’t work out was gone. “How about tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow works.” At least it was going to be over soon.

“Does that mean I’ll get a free coffee?”

“No can do.” You immediately shot her down. “I can’t hand out things for free, you know?”

“Figured. Well then, see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you,” you said before you hung up.

You weren’t happy. This wasn’t taxing, but it was going to be. Socializing wasn’t a matter in which Makima’s directive of picking the healthier option worked; you still had to consider words and questions.

Back at the couch, you plopped yourself down, leaning against the backrest.

“You ‘can’t hand out things for free’ even to a longtime friend, hm?” Makima’s voice would seem mocking if it wasn’t as smoothly neutral as always. Soft, but no warmth.

“Of course not,” you said. “You’re the only exception I make.”

Makima’s hand petted your head — a reward for a good pet. You leaned into the touch, assuming that was what Makima expected from you.

“Good girl,” she said. “You did well on the call, too.”

“Mhmm.”

Soon after, Makima picked up the bento and chopsticks again. You weren’t done with dinner yet, after all.

Finally, you could turn your mind off again; only opening your mouth to let Makima feed you. If only life could always be this simple.

Chapter Text

In the afternoon, just as you were cleaning dishes, you heard the doorbell. Makima, in her formal suit and black coat, entered the cafe.

You hadn’t expected her today, but you took a cup and pressed the button on the coffee machine before she even reached the counter.

“I didn’t think you’d come today,” you said, as you put the coffee onto a tray and added a slice of cheesecake.

“Because you’ll meet your friend today?”

Makima, as usual, went ahead to her table, and you followed with the tray. You set it down on the table as she took off her coat and put it over her chair before she sat down.

“Do you mind?” Makima took a sip of her coffee, then searched to meet your gaze.

“… not really? I’m just… surprised, I guess.”

Makima hummed in response, and you found your own surprise strange. Your life was hers; it was only normal that she would be interested in the people in your life. It was on Makima to judge them, and whether you were to associate with them.

“No, it makes sense. Nevermind,” you said, shaking your head. “I was thinking too much.”

If you hadn’t pondered at all, you wouldn’t have found it strange. It was on you; you, who gave up management of your life to Makima.

“You weren’t done with the dishes,” Makima said. “Continue.”

She didn’t need your company this time. Makima wasn’t here for you.

You returned to your place behind the counter, and continued cleaning the dishes, just as Makima had told you to. The cafe was empty besides Makima and three students with their books, who seemed to be studying for exams; it was quiet.

A while later, the doorbell sounded again, and Rina entered the cafe. She enthusiastically made her way over to the counter to greet you.

“Sorry, I ran a little late,” she apologized. “I missed the bus.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, pretending to reassure her about something that needed no reassurance. “I still have about 20 minutes before I can close, though.”

“I’ll just have a hot chocolate then,” Rina said.

“Sure, just a moment.” You picked a cup and let the coffee machine fill it with hot chocolate. You knew it didn’t taste much like chocolate at all, but that wasn’t your problem.

Rina paid for her drink, and you handed her the cup. Your eyes wandered to Makima — she was watching you. When Rina took the cup and turned around to find a seat, Makima waved at her and called out.

“Why don’t you sit with me for a bit?”

Rina paused, but you couldn’t see her face with her back turned towards you.

“Uh, sure! If it’s no bother,” Rina said as she joined Makima’s table.

It felt wrong.

You could explain why, but seeing those two worlds meet at all — Rina, the ‘friend’ from your high school days, and Makima, the owner of your life — felt like something that broke physical laws.

It didn’t anger you. It didn’t sadden you. You weren’t bothered in particular; simply felt as though this didn’t make sense.

From behind the counter — you wouldn’t go over unless Makima called you to her table — you could listen in on their conversation. You weren’t sure if you should. But you stopped worrying. It wasn’t on you to decide what you should overhear, that was Makima’s call.

Makima, with her voice sweet as honey, soft as silk — none of it genuine — asked Rina if she were your high school friend whom you were planning to meet today. Rina agreed, and asked who Makima was, and how she knew you.

Unlike you, Rina asked. Makima was unfazed; it wasn’t an offence to be asked basic questions after all.

“I’m Makima,” you heard her introduce herself. “I’m a friend of hers, much like you.”

Wrong. You weren’t friends. Makima wasn’t someone who could be seen as a friend in the first place.

“Really? I didn’t think she’d have friends working in public safety.” Rina sounded genuinely amazed. “That must be a busy job, right?”

You had heard of public safety before, but they weren’t relevant to you. Knowing this didn’t change Makima in your eyes.

“It is. I’m happy about the free time I can get,” Makima told Rina. You couldn’t tell whether she was lying or not. “I started coming here for breaks a while ago. I like the coffee.”

Makima’s smile was now for Rina, and she returned a genuine smile. You preferred Makima’s; falsities brought comfort that honesty didn’t.

To your surprise, Makima asked Rina what you used to be like in high school. You didn’t think she cared for that; did owners look into their pet’s past? Maybe they did. The history of an animal probably mattered to explain its behavior.

So, this made sense.

“Hmm… Pretty much the same, I think?” Rina tapped her chin with her index finger.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Only doing the bare minimum, but she was always fine like that. Never aimed for top grades or anything like that. Didn’t join any club either,” Rina recounted, entirely correct.

Rina’s finger traced the edge of her cup as she thought back to your shared high school days years ago.

“She didn’t bother making friends or socializing. I don’t think I ever saw her turn down an invitation from someone, but she never really seemed into it either. Most eventually stopped asking her. She only seemed bored after all.”

“You didn’t, though,” Makima pointed out, taking the last bite of her cheesecake.

“Yeah, I can be pretty stubborn.” Rina laughed. “She seems pretty cold and disinterested— Or, well, she really is that disinterested when it comes to people. At first I was worried she’d be lonely if everyone ignored her, but she was fine like that.”

Your breath caught for just a moment when you heard that. Rina had known the whole time that you didn’t actually care; that it was all pretense. She never once told you.

“I grew to appreciate her company, though. So, I don’t really mind that.”

“She’s really a unique woman,” Makima agreed with a smile. More pleased than usual; it seemed that she got what she wanted out of this interaction. Whatever that was.

The students had left in the meantime, and you turned around the sign to signify the cafe was closed.

“You can stay until I’m done,” you told Rina and Makima as you collected her dishes for the clean-up.

Rina followed you to the counter, leaving Makima watching the two of you as she rested her cheek in her hand.

“I didn’t know you knew someone from public safety,” Rina tried to whisper, but you were sure Makima heard.

You cleaned the coffee machine, not sure what to say to that.

“Is it that special?” That was the best response to avoid having to explain how you didn’t know that, or how you knew but never brought it up.

“Kind of,” Rina said. “But maybe not that much. I heard they’re hiring a lot.”

Rina reached behind the counter and stole a washcloth. She walked around the cafe and cleaned the tables, helping your closing routine without offering or asking.

She didn’t have to do that. You preferred she didn’t; this was your job after all. You didn’t want to owe her.

Once the cleanup was done, you closed up the cafe and escorted Rina and Makima outside. Makima put her coat on in front of the cafe, and you could tell she was leaving. She never told you goodbye; she didn’t have to.

“Why don’t you join us?” Rina offered to Makima.

Wrong. It felt off; you couldn’t imagine it.

“I can’t, I have other plans. But maybe next time,” Makima excused herself. You didn’t know if this was the truth, but that wasn’t your business anyway. She met your gaze. “Don’t be out too late. You wouldn’t want to be tired tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, relieved at the preemptive excuse to cut the outing short. “I won’t.”

Makima took her leave, and you followed along with Rina until the two of you, after a bus ride, reached the building in which her apartment was. As you approached the building’s door, you saw a rat rush by, disappearing behind the house.

“Lately there’s been a few of them occasionally,” Rina told you. “The management said it’s not an infestation, so they don’t care. ‘Seeing a rat or two is to be expected in a big city,’ they said.”

Rina shrugged. There was nothing she herself could have done about the pests anyway. You couldn’t remember ever seeing one yourself; your own home seemed to not have this city issue.

“I see.”

Once you reached Rina’s place, she seemed more interested in Makima than any of the ‘support’ for her exams that she said she wanted. Maybe that was merely an excuse. You had little to tell her about Makima. You didn’t know a lot about her. You didn’t need to.

“She came to the cafe a few weeks ago for the first time,” you recounted to Rina.

“We talked a bit, and then she became a regular,” you continued when she asked what happened afterwards.

Rina called Makima stunning and beautiful, you mindlessly agreed. You never paid any mind to that. Still didn’t.

You remembered from high school how long-winded discussions could get if one disagreed with the notion of another being attractive. It didn’t matter whether you saw Makima in the same light; and what Rina thought was even less relevant.

“I don’t really know anything about her job,” you said truthfully when Rina asked. Although you would’ve said the same even if you knew anything; you never liked to elaborate.

When Rina asked what you think about Makima, you paused. She was your structure, the owner of your life. But you couldn’t say that without having to explain that to someone who didn’t understand.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, surprised by your own honesty. “I enjoy her company, but… That’s all.”

Even this conversation was already tiring.

You were exhausted when, after a look at Rina’s clock, you excused yourself and made your way home. You wanted to tell yourself that the next time you wouldn’t pick up the phone, but you knew that this wasn’t up to you anyway.

Even the freedom to avoid tiring things was no longer yours.

That price was worth the peace of mind Makima’s structure gave you, though. You accepted it as part of the deal.

When you entered your own apartment, ready to call it a day after the dinner you still had to eat, you were surprised to find Makima on your couch. She was watching one of the movies you bought. The VCR and VHS tapes already came in handy.

You took off your shoes and closed the door behind you; you weren’t truly surprised to see Makima. She came and went as she pleased, and by now this included your home.

“Did you have fun?” Makima asked and paused the movie.

She wanted to hear what Rina and you had been talking about this evening.

Chapter Text

“I wouldn’t call it ‘fun,’ I think,” you told Makima. “But it wasn’t that bad either. Just… tiring.”

You weren’t happy about the outing. You weren’t unhappy either. But if it had been your choice, you wouldn’t have gone.

It wasn’t your choice, though. So there was no point in thinking about this.

“Rina said she wanted my ‘support’ for her studies, but in the end, she only talked about you.”

Makima rose from the couch and took two steps towards you, the same moment you took two steps into your apartment. She met your eyes; you could tell Makima was curious.

“Is that so? What did she say?”

You had a feeling that Makima was more interested in what you said, but she knew Rina was the driving force in the conversation.

“She asked how we met… though you already told her. I said the same thing. You came to the cafe, then became a regular… That’s what it was, anyway.” You rubbed your chin in thought, recounting the rest of the conversation you had only paid half your mind to. “Rina also said you’re beautiful and stunning, or something like that.”

“Beautiful and stunning,” Makima repeated, amused. She was used to hearing such things.

Despite seeming curious, Makima showed no surprise at what you told her. Almost as though she already knew.

That didn’t seem strange; if anyone knew what they possibly couldn’t, it had to be Makima.

“I agreed so she’d drop it,” you continued. You missed the faint twitch at the corners of Makima’s lips, too focused on the still screen on the still running TV to recollect the conversation. “I never thought about that. I don’t really care.”

“Hmm.” Makima hummed, her smile faltered. Was she offended that you didn’t whole-heartedly agree? “Anything else?”

“She asked about your job, but I know nothing and told her so.” After a pause, you added one more thing you remembered. “She also asked what I think about you.”

Makima’s interest was piqued now. Naturally, an owner would care about how their pet represents them.

“I enjoy your company — that’s what I told her.”

This finished your report. There wasn’t more that you talked about, merely nothings that you nodded to.

Makima seemed surprised, and at the same time not.

Like she knew what you were going to say from the start, but didn’t expect you to actually say it. Maybe she had simply expected more. But she didn’t seem disappointed either.

You couldn’t make much sense of her; you didn’t have to make sense of her.

“Is that all?” Makima asked.

You pondered for a moment, you didn’t want to disappoint Makima further. But truly, when you thought of Makima, you thought of how much you enjoyed her presence in your life.

Only thanks to Makima your burdens were lessened, and your responsibilities reduced to a minimum. You could feel at peace because Makima was there.

“Yeah,” you finally admitted. “I don’t know what else to think. I mean— in my head, you’re not even a person. You just… exist.”

For a short moment, Makima was taken aback. You realized immediately that your words had come across in a way you didn’t mean them.

For you, it wasn’t the insult it would be for anyone else.

“Not in a bad way,” you added before Makima could say anything. She regained her composure and listened, interested in what you had to say. “People are… exhausting. You’ll have to make them like you. And keep them liking you. If you don’t, that’s just… problems.”

Makima listened; at least you had a chance to explain the thoughts you never fully formed in your head before. These things were a natural default you never had to put into words before.

“Any small thing can make someone dislike you, right? Said the wrong thing. Liked the wrong thing. Did the wrong thing. Dealing with people is… always being so mindful of everything. It’s exhausting, and difficult,” you explained. “But you’re not like that.”

What was Makima to you? You tried to tell her, even if you found it hard to make sense of.

“You don’t even like me, you own me. So… There’s no ‘messing up’ by saying something you don’t like. I don’t have to think or be considerate. All I have to do is… well, whatever you tell me to. As long as I do that, you’ll stay, right? And… as long as you stay, you’ll make the decisions for me.”

Makima hummed, though she didn’t seem entirely pleased.

“I prefer that. I’d rather have you than a person. You’re more like… I don’t know.” You scrambled for the right word to describe what Makima was to you. “Structure…? A solution? Or… I don’t know, control itself.”

That seemed the best word. You settled on that.

“I see,” Makima finally said. Her voice seemed a little colder than usual, but the silky softness didn’t disappear. It never would. “That’s how you see me.”

“Yeah.” You nodded.

Makima didn’t seem hurt. Nor offended. But something, for some reason — was off.

If Makima didn’t mention it, it wasn’t your business to wonder, though. So, you wiped that from your mind.

“You did well.” Makima crossed the distance with a few small steps and patted your head, gentle and calculated. “You were honest. That’s a good girl.”

You relaxed, and only now noticed how tense you had been throughout this conversation. But now it seemed fine. You did well. Makima was pleased with your honesty; anything else wasn’t for you to worry about.

“I’ll be off now,” Makima said. Wasn’t this the first time she had ever said something like this, rather than just disappearing? “And you… don’t eat anything until the next time I personally feed you.”

“Got it.”

Makima left your apartment.

You felt a little hungry, but dinner wasn’t on your plan for today anymore. Not without Makima feeding it to you. With nothing left to do, you turned off the TV and went to bed early.

Not that sleep came easy.

Your stomach felt heavy. It wasn’t painful, but impossible to ignore. When you focused on this empty, weighty sensation, you felt a little nauseous. You tried to ignore it. That hardly helped.

Maybe if you’d eaten more for breakfast or lunch, more of the cardboard-tasting pastries at the cafe… But it was too late for regrets like that.

You followed Makima’s meal plan; you had nothing to regret.

When you turned to lie on your left side, the feeling got worse. You turned to lie on your right side a moment later; that changed nothing.

In the end, you lay on your back and stared up at the ceiling you couldn’t make out well in the dark. You didn’t know how long you’d been turning and tossing.

Were you going to be able to sleep the full eight hours Makima expected you to?

You had to. It wasn’t a matter of choice. You went to bed early enough, so it had to work out. Your stomach didn’t agree.

Were you willing to starve for Makima? That thought crossed your mind. You didn’t know the answer. Maybe it was simply too early to know.

Eventually, your mind finally drifted into dreamless slumber, ending this day.

Chapter Text

Work went by a lot slower than usual. Occasionally, your stomach felt painfully heavy and void at the same time. It was impossible to focus on anything else during that period.

You filled a cup with water multiple times throughout the day once you learned that drinking water keeps the sensation at bay. Somewhat.

Out of nowhere, the feeling disappeared for longer periods as well.

Being near pastries didn’t help. The faintly sweet scent reminded you of the fact that you hadn’t eaten in over 12 hours at this point, and you weren’t going to eat anything any time soon.

How long did people survive without food again? Wasn’t that roughly a week?

So, you had a week. This was endurable for a week? Maybe you were to find out.

You tried coffee. It didn’t help much. It had more calories than water, but that didn’t make a difference to your stomach, which clearly craved food.

Eventually, it became time to close the cafe. You were more tired than usual; you needed a break.

Once you were done cleaning, you had to sit down for a moment. Your vision was a little fuzzy; blinking only made it worse. You sat and tried to take deep breaths. Your stomach hurt again.

This was only one day. A little over 24 hours now; the last time you ate something was yesterday at lunch.

You packed up the leftovers and went home, handing them out to the homeless people on your way, like you usually did.

Did they feel this hungry on a daily basis? Not because they were told not to eat, but because they had no options?

You would regret your earlier envy of their decision-free existence if the rocks you felt in your stomach — if only it was actually filled — didn’t make coherent thought impossible.

One of the pitiful people with no luck, who have nothing, heard your stomach grumble. He told you that you seem to need this sweet roll more than he does. You declined his offer, told him you’d be able to have dinner once you’re home.

A lie. But you couldn’t take what you weren’t allowed to have anyway.

Once you arrived at home, you dropped yourself back onto the couch. The way home was tiring. Your stomach felt like it was cramping. It growled at you. You had no response.

Makima hadn’t come to the cafe today. No food today, you concluded. You had to make it through another night. Another day of work. You didn’t even want to get up anymore, but you knew you had to. Unless you decided to sleep on the couch.

You heard the door unlock. You didn’t need to look to know who it was, but you turned to the side anyway.

There stood Makima, once more with a konbini bag in her hand. She casually took off her coat and hung it up, took off her shoes and placed them down neatly.

“Are you hungry?” Makima asked, standing next to the couch.

She watched you with the same expression she always wore: the polite but fake smile, the eyes studying you. Golden irises with crimson rings. If only they were hypnotic enough to distract you from your belly.

“Yeah,” you said. Even talking felt like it was trying to drag something out of the nothing that your stomach became.

“You didn’t eat anything? Nothing at all?”

“I didn’t,” you agreed. “Nothing at all. Not since… lunch yesterday.”

You tried to remember the exact time, but gave up when that was too draining. Lunch had to suffice. You hoped Makima would accept this.

Makima held up the konbini bag in her hand and shook it once, drawing your attention to it. This wasn’t unfamiliar.

“Do you want to eat dinner?”

You almost felt your mouth salivating at the thought. Whatever Makima brought would fill your stomach.

“I’m starving,” you said.

“Hmm.” Makima’s smile disappeared, making way for a neutral expression.

She sat down on the couch next to you and reached into the bag, pulling out an onigiri. Salt onigiri — plain salted rice. No filling, no nori. Enough to be filling, but not a treat. Almost like cup ramen.

Makima casually unwrapped the rice triangle, and you couldn’t help but watch her fingers. She gave no sign that this was for you. You weren’t going to assume.

Yet, you waited patiently.

Makima put the wrapping on the table. She kept the onigiri in her right hand, and broke a part of it off. In her left hand, she crumbled the broken-off, bite-sized bit of onigiri into plain salted rice sticking to her hand.

You watched her do this, not knowing what Makima was doing. Not questioning her. Your mind wouldn’t cooperate anyway.

Then, Makima held her left hand towards you, the sticky rice clumps in her palm.

“Eat,” Makima told you. When your arms twitched into movement, Makima added, “Not with your hands. What dog uses its hands to eat?”

You understood. Losing no more time, you leaned forward and started picking the clumps of rice from Makima’s palm. First the biggest ones, which you could pluck off with your lips.

Makima’s hand felt a little cold against your lips. Had to be because the onigiri was cold.

The smaller clumps were more difficult. You picked them up with your teeth, carefully. You weren’t going to bite Makima. Soon, only single grains of rice were left, sticking to Makima’s hand.

You weren’t going to ignore them. Not with how hungry you were. Not when Makima told you to eat.

Your tongue darted out, an attempt to make the rice stick to it rather than Makima’s hand. At least loosen the sticky grain from her skin so that you could suck it into your mouth. Some grains you had to scrape off with your teeth — grazing Makima’s palm lightly. You hoped she didn’t mind.

“Good. Very good,” Makima cooed. “Shameless still, I see.”

Once Makima’s hand was cleaned, you pulled away. You felt even hungrier than before, now that you had a taste of food. You licked over your lips mindlessly, hoping to catch just one more grain.

Makima broke off another part of the salted rice triangle, crumbled it once more, and held it in front of you.

You didn’t need another command.

You leaned forward and ate the second portion offered to you. This time, you were more used to eating from Makima’s hand. You knew how to take the rice efficiently; you weren’t wasting time.

When you pulled away once more, you expected Makima to crumble the last bit of the onigiri as well. A light dinner. It didn’t make up for all this time of starving, but it was better than nothing. You were grateful.

“Remember — dogs don’t use their hands,” Makima reminded you of this obvious fact, to your confusion.

She brought the last bite-sized bit of onigiri to her mouth, and took it between her teeth. Makima didn’t take it fully into her mouth. She didn’t close her lips. Like this, she couldn’t give you another command.

But you understood anyway.

You weren’t going to use your hands. Dogs ate with their mouths.

Not a moment was spared; you leaned forward. You tilted your head and closed your eyes as you opened your mouth, aiming for Makima’s. Carefully, you moved forward until you felt your lips brush against Makima’s. Soft and warm, unlike the onigiri.

This gave you an idea of where the last bit of your dinner was. You slowly closed your teeth and took the onigiri bite from Makima, who let go of it just as you got it.

You chewed on the salted rice when Makima’s hand found its way to your head. She petted you, like a dog that obeyed its owner properly. This was what you were, after all.

But when you looked at Makima, she didn’t seem as pleased as you thought she would be. As you thought she should be.

You did what she asked of you. You made no mistakes. Makima didn’t reprimand you; so, clearly, you did well. Yet, she seemed bothered.

“Good,” Makima praised you anyway.

She said no more. It wasn’t your place to pry. Not your business to worry. Makima was the one to decide for you, after all.

“Starting tomorrow, you follow the meal plan again.”

Your stomach had to last one more night. This was fine.

Chapter Text

After the full day of starvation on Makima’s order, your life had been back on Makima’s schedule for eight days. Up until yesterday, when Makima had come to the cafe — not to get coffee, but to give you a new order with her usual cold smile.

“Don’t sleep until I allow it.”

Her face had seemed as though she had found a solution to a problem you hadn’t even known existed. Still didn’t know. But Makima had; and she seemed confident in fixing it. Had looked forward to it.

You had agreed. Not that it had been a choice.

To your luck, the unfocused mind had made the day go by faster rather than slower. Lack of sleep was easier to endure than lack of food.

Not that it had been easy.

You had zoned out for a moment here and there, only noticed when you’d already snapped back out of it. You had bumped your elbow on the counter a few times, your toes against a chair on your walks through the cafe.

One time, you had forgotten the order of a customer. Or rather, you hadn’t committed it to mind to begin with.

Sometimes you had disappeared into the back room to slap your own cheeks. Only enough to sting; you hadn’t wanted to leave any visible trace. It had woken your mind up and allowed you to be in full concentration for a few minutes, maybe half an hour.

You had gotten through the workday, had pushed the logging of receipts to the next day. Even in your foggy mind, you had known that you would only end up having to correct them the next day otherwise.

Sitting on your couch, you yawned. You had trouble staying awake doing nothing.

In this regard, not sleeping was more difficult than not eating. Food was a conscious choice. But were you fully able to evade sleep? You knew that eventually, you would probably doze off.

You hoped you wouldn’t. You tried your hardest to stay awake. Once more, you raised both of your hands, and slapped your own cheeks. Harder this time. It woke you up immediately, and you felt like you could do this.

As you stared at the wall, you zoned out once more. What brought you back was a click. And another one. The door was unlocked.

You shook your head — as if that could shake off the fatigue — before you turned to look. Makima was already on her way into the apartment. You didn’t notice until she walked past the couch, into your bedroom.

She had never been in your bedroom before, not as far as you knew. With the spare key, she could’ve been without you knowing. That was a given.

Without being asked, you got up and followed her. Just like you always did when it was clear she expected this.

“Am I the first guest to visit your bedroom?” Makima asked, turning to you.

“… uh, yeah,” you answered. It took a moment to collect your thoughts; normally you wouldn’t have to think about something this simple. “You were the first besides me in my apartment at all.”

Makima’s smile turned satisfied for just a moment at that. She sat down on your bed, then ran her hand over the sheets.

“Your bed is unmade,” Makima pointed out, her smile didn’t falter. “You should fix this habit. Add making your bed to your daily schedule from now on.”

“…got it.”

You suppressed a yawn. Makima watched as you rubbed your eye; the aborted yawn made your eyes water a little. At least Makima didn’t mind.

She patted her thighs.

“Sit down,” Makima said.

You blinked the remainder of forming tears away, then took the remaining small steps towards Makima, before you sat down on her lap. Straddled her. Your legs were bent, resting on each side of Makima’s hips.

Being this close to Makima was a first. For lack of better options, you put your hands on her shoulders. It helped to feel balanced. You didn’t trust your own body’s stability anymore.

Makima’s hands rested on your hips. She leaned in, and you felt strands of her hair tickle your cheek. You heard her breath clearly, right next to your ear. Goosebumps formed on your nape.

“Did you know,” Makima started in a low whisper. Her voice dripped a faint excitement. Anticipation? You couldn’t tell. “… that sleep deprivation has a similar effect on inhibition as intoxication does?”

Your shoulders tensed as Makima’s lips brushed your ear. You assumed by accident. Maybe you moved. You swallowed.

“… I didn’t,” you confessed. “I don’t drink.” You had no way to compare.

Makima slipped one hand under your shirt, her fingertips brushing over your skin directly. Your back arched slightly as you jerked, your body’s reflexive attempt to avoid the touch. But that only closed your distance with Makima momentarily, before you settled back.

“S— Sorry,” you mumbled.

Makima’s other hand squeezed your hip, breaking your muttered apology. Her fingers dug into you, just enough to not be uncomfortable or painful, while her thumb drew lazy circles over the waistline of your pants.

Your legs shifted; you put your fatigued mind on stilling yourself once you noticed.

“Sensitive,” Makima breathed into your ear, and your breath caught in your throat.

Her hand under your shirt trailed up your spine halfway, drew a shape that you couldn’t make out, then she ran her fingertips back down. Makima repeated this motion. Sometimes slower, sometimes faster.

The pace was irregular, each little change caught you off-guard. A shiver ran down your spine at every sudden variation. You felt her nails lightly graze your skin in some movements. Your torso jerked against your intention to stay still.

You tried to relax your shoulders, but each time Makima’s hand brushed a certain spot, they tensed again. Breathing became more difficult. You tried to still it, but you couldn’t.

Your fatigued mind had little say over your body’s reflexes. It couldn’t even catch up anymore.

The hand on your hip, whose movements you had gotten used to by now, suddenly left its place. Gentle fingernails ran from your hips down your thighs, drawing loops on their way.

Without noticing, your hands left Makima’s shoulders, and you wrapped your arms around her. You rested your face on her shoulder, closing your eyes in hopes that this could calm your nerves.

It didn’t. You smelled Makima’s faint perfume and noticed that your weariness had disappeared. You wished it back, the ability to zone out for a moment.

Your skin prickled, almost itched, wherever Makima’s touch lingered for a second too long. A light pressure in your lower stomach built. You inhaled deeper than you needed to, only to release the breath in a stutter into Makima’s shoulder.

As Makima’s hand found a particular spot between your shoulder blades that made you jump, you were glad for the way you held onto her. You needed this balance; this support. It was grounding in a way that nothing else was.

You gripped Makima’s shirt tightly; you were glad that her suit’s shirt was too big for her. It gave you fabric to hold on to.

From your thigh, Makima’s fingernails trailed back towards your hip, then upwards your side. Your breath hitched as it passed your waist. Your heart was thumping in your chest, you felt it.

Makima’s hand on your side wandered back to your hip, index finger drawing small, gentle shapes. You were glad this fingertip wasn’t touching skin.

Her other hand ran its nails over that one spot between your shoulder blades one last time, drawing a surprised noise out of your throat that you had never heard from yourself before. You bit your lower lip.

Makima’s flat hand rested on your lower back, only occasionally tapping your skin with a finger. A reminder to your nerves, not a break.

“Is there anything you want?” She asked, and once more, her lips brushed your ear. Lingered for a moment. They felt colder than before. But maybe it was your ear that grew hotter.

Your face surely felt like it was overheating, you now noticed.

Despite the goosebumps on your skin and the fuzzy fog in your mind, you calmed your stuttering breath. You had no capacity to think about the question, none.

“… I… not— not really…?” Your voice broke, surprising you. You were panting. “I can’t… think of anything.”

Talking was hard. Thinking was impossible.

You needed— something. Something you couldn’t name.

You couldn’t say whether you wanted this to be over or not. Both sounded fine. Neither sounded good. You didn’t know. You couldn’t make sense. But one thing you knew.

If Makima wanted to continue, you would be fine enduring it some more.

This was easier than hunger. And at least the fatigue seemed to be gone entirely.

You didn’t even remember that just a moment ago — or how long had it been? — you wished the tiredness back.

“Is that so,” Makima said after a pause that seemed too long.

You let go of the embrace that stabilized you, hoping this would get you fresh air. You hoped it would cool you down. This room felt unbearably hot for some reason. Your breath came out of your open mouth heavily, your eyes were half-lidded.

Makima cupped your chin and lifted it up to study your face. Whatever she was looking for, she didn’t find it. You could tell, even when your brain refused to cooperate.

“I see,” Makima said. She looked annoyed. “Nothing you want.”

You shuddered when she lightly scratched your chin with her nails as she pulled her hand away. Your skin prickled; it took as little as this gesture.

With both hands on your arms, she supported you in getting up. Your legs felt wobbly; you were thankful for the support. The lack of sleep was really getting to you. You sat down on your bed, Makima stood next to it.

As you held your hand over your chest, as though that would let your heartbeat slow down sooner, Makima rubbed her chin in thought. Whatever solution she felt she had figured out, it wasn’t that.

Something disappointed her — you concluded as much when the fog in your mind finally lifted.

Did you disappoint her? She didn’t say you did.

You pushed that thought aside; as a pet, this wasn’t for you to concern yourself over. You followed. You did as you were told. You fulfilled your role. Anything else wasn’t your business.

“I’ll be away for work for a few days, regrettably.” Makima broke the silence once she deemed you rational enough to follow her words. The last word was muttered under her breath. Something that frustrated her but couldn’t be helped. “Be a good pet and follow the schedule. Sleep early today.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I will.”

“Good,” Makima praised. She didn’t pet you this time. “You will wait for me, won’t you?”

She put on the false, polite smile she usually wore for this question. It wasn’t a question. It was an expectation. This was the Makima you knew, whom you gave your life to.

“Of course,” you assured her. Not that you had to.

Chapter Text

It’d been three days since you’d last seen Makima. She had said she would be out of town for work for a few days, but never specified how many.

You didn’t know when she’d return, and you had no idea whether she would even seek you out immediately.

But, as you lived by the schedule Makima gave you, you felt as though she was still there. Makima didn’t have to be present personally for her presence to be unmistakably a part of your daily life.

You were waiting for her, obedient as always, knowing Makima would be pleased with you when she returned. That was all you needed.

Sometimes you wondered — what if Makima never returned?

You found that you would simply continue waiting for the return that would never come. You would stick to her schedule. As long as you could believe Makima would return eventually — and you would never doubt that — that was enough.

That alone was your structure. The structure that Makima provided.

And yet, it didn’t feel right.

The idea that Makima may never come back felt off. You didn’t mind waiting, no matter how long, but if Makima really never returned to your life… That wasn’t fine.

You ceased that thought; it was closing time. All that was left today was dinner and going to bed on time. A peaceful, structured life. All thanks to Makima.

Once you finished cleaning and closed the cafe, you started your walk back home. Surprisingly, about halfway home, you ran into Rina, who recognized and immediately approached to greet you.

“Right, you finish work about this time,” Rina remembered when she checked her watch for the time.

“Yeah,” you agreed. You didn’t have to say you were on your way home.

“I’m free, too,” Rina said. “How about you? Do you have some time?”

You did. Rina didn’t know that, though. Makima wasn’t here to give you any order.

“I shouldn’t be home too late, but other than that… Yeah, I have no plans.”

Rina clapped her hands together, happy you took the invitation.

“We could try the ramen place today! You haven’t had dinner yet, right?”

Makima’s meal plan came to mind. Ramen wasn’t on the schedule for dinner today. That didn’t mean you couldn’t eat ramen, but you’d still have to eat dinner on top of ramen.

“Sorry,” you started. “I don’t really feel like ramen today.”

Rina seemed surprised, but her mood didn’t sour. She was too bright a person for that.

“Well, that can’t be helped. Maybe another time.” Rina pondered for a bit, considering alternative options. “How about we just walk a bit? A little window-shopping won’t hurt.”

It killed time, and there was nothing speaking against it.

“Sure, sounds good,” you agreed.

You let Rina lead the way; she knew better which street was most suitable for such a thing. You never really bothered roaming the city, you only ever went to specific places when it was necessary.

The storefronts, cafes, and restaurants you passed didn’t look all that interesting. The number of people going about their business felt crowded; this was pretty annoying. Yet, not as exhausting as it should be.

“Oh, there’s a new one coming out,” Rina said as she stopped to look at a movie poster. You remembered this title from the list of VHS tapes Makima had you buy.

“Is that a sequel or something?” you asked. You hadn’t even watched the tape yet; Makima had never told you to.

“… I think so,” Rina said. “Did you watch the first one?”

You shook your head. “Not yet. I have the VHS, though.”

“Hmmm.” Rina started walking again. You took one last look at the poster and then caught up to Rina. “I didn’t know you liked such movies.”

Did you? You were neutral, and you hadn’t watched it yet anyway.

“Can’t say I like it,” you concluded. “I haven’t watched it yet after all.”

Rina stayed silent for a moment, and the two of you simply walked down the street together. You remembered that there was a bus stop two streets away, which you could take home later.

“You’re different,” Rina finally said.

“Huh? How so?”

“Normally you just— I don’t know, go with the flow? You know, all those non-committal responses, always just agreeing, never properly listening,” Rina recounted, and you were reminded of the fact that she had always known. “Today’s different, though.”

“… I’m the same as always,” you said. You didn’t see any change. Maybe being less exhausted by the conversation, but it wasn’t like you enjoyed it either. Neutral, as always.

“No, you definitely have,” Rina disagreed. “But I’m glad. It’s nice to see you actually present for once.”

You surely hadn’t changed. You couldn’t have. How would you? But you decided to let it slide; a small part of you wasn’t sure if Rina didn’t maybe have a point.

Two days later, Makima still hadn’t returned to your life.

You were wiping the counter at the cafe when the doorbell rang and you saw your boss come in; it was Thursday.

“Busy day?” This question came every single time, so it didn’t surprise you.

“It was pretty quiet,” you told her. “There was a small rush a bit before noon, but that’s all.”

She joined you behind the counter and looked into the drawer under the register.

“You already logged the receipts?”

“Yeah. I had some time earlier,” you said as you finished cleaning the counter.

In a few minutes, the cafe would close. It was pretty unlikely anyone else would still be coming in. Makima hadn’t come.

Your boss went into the back room to go over the paperwork, you followed after her once you closed the cafe. She was looking over the documentation and signed some papers that required her approval.

“You seem well,” your boss said after a while. She adjusted her glasses as she looked at you. “That day off a while ago has done wonders.”

You were confused. Work hadn’t changed at all. You weren’t more or less efficient — not counting the two days you were debilitated by either starvation or fatigue on Makima’s order.

“Maybe,” you found yourself agreeing to the possibility. “I don’t really feel any different, though.”

“You aren’t that different,” your boss said, her attention back on the paperwork. “But a bit livelier, I think? You seem more happy. Just a little.”

“Hmmm.” You hummed. You didn’t feel happier, or livelier.

Your boss saw something in you that you didn’t. It lined up with what Rina saw, too. That made it harder to brush off entirely. But you weren’t convinced.

“You should take more days off,” your boss said. “I don’t mind paying you for them. It just seems good for you.”

“… I’ll think about it,” you said. You weren’t sure whether you meant it.

With nothing else to discuss this Thursday, you reached for your jacket. It was time to go home.

“Ah, before I forget it,” your boss started. “I finally found someone for the planned renovation.”

She had mentioned it a few weeks ago, and the idea had originally come up months ago. The cafe had a bit of an old charm, but your boss wanted to modernize a little. She figured that could help to get more customers.

But finding a company willing and capable of doing this reliably on an acceptable budget in a reasonable time proved difficult — so your boss had been lamenting for weeks now. You ended up figuring that it’d never happen.

“That’s great,” you said. “When will it be?”

“Saturday next week they’ll start. They said five days would be enough, but I think that’s a little optimistic,” she told you. “So, you’ll be off starting next Saturday for a week. If it takes longer, I’ll let you know.”

A whole week of free time, when only five days were slotted for work that rendered the cafe closed. You wondered what you were going to do with all that time if Makima didn’t return by then.

Even if she did, that wouldn’t change anything. Makima wasn’t going to spend all that time on you anyway, even if you were free. Did you even want her to? It seemed unnecessary.

“Don’t worry,” your boss cut into your silence. “You’ll be paid for that week.”

“… thanks.” You did your best to muster a smile through your confusion.

It wasn’t entirely false just meant to please, and that didn’t come easy to you.

On your way home, you couldn’t help but think back on what both Rina and your boss had noticed and brought up. Had you changed?

Did Makima change you?

Chapter Text

It was Monday; nine days since you’d last seen Makima. But today, when you left your bathroom after a shower — there she was, crouched. Running her finger over the backs of the VHS tapes you stacked neatly into a sideboard.

“You’re back.” You spoke your mind before you realized.

Makima got up and turned around, hands behind her back as she looked at you with a smile. It was a tad more genuine than the fake smile she wore most of the time.

“Did you miss me?”

You swallowed. Did you? Missing Makima would mean not wanting her to be gone for longer; something you hadn’t seen any issue with.

“… I don’t think so,” you told her.

“Hmmm,” Makima hummed.

She made a few steps, then turned on her heels and walked back again. As if she was thinking. Though you had no idea what was going through her head.

“Maybe another greeting would be more appropriate,” Makima finally said.

The look she gave you was unreadable. Neutral, and it gave nothing away.

You didn’t dare to move; you simply watched as Makima sat down on your cheap, secondhand couch. With her formal suit and the braided hair, Makima looked as out of place as usual on that thing. Unbothered by that fact, she put one leg over the other.

“Sit. Or rather… Kneel,” Makima said, pointing at the floor right in front of her, next to the table.

This was a first.

You left the towel you had around your shoulder in the bathroom, and walked to where Makima wanted you to be. You got down on your knees in front of her. Your face was at about the same level as Makima’s knees.

“Good,” Makima cooed. “You’re my good dog.”

She leaned forward and ran her fingers through your damp hair. She caressed your locks; a reward for a good pet. You leaned into her touch, like a dog would.

“Now, kiss my foot.”

Your mind paused for a moment. Did you hear that right? When you met Makima’s eyes, you knew. That expectant look; it really was an order.

If this was what Makima wanted, it was what you would do.

You scooted a little further away, then leaned down and let your lips touch the top of Makima’s right foot.

“That wasn’t my foot,” Makima said. You were confused, until she elaborated. “That is my sock, isn’t it?”

“… right,” you agreed.

She didn’t need to tell you. You reached for the sock’s cuff, and pulled it off. After placing the removed sock on the floor, you leaned down to kiss the top of Makima’s foot again. This time, your lips met her skin.

Your left hand still held her foot, your right hand was on the floor to keep your balance.

“Now lick it,” Makima said. “You’re my dog after all, aren’t you?”

You didn’t need that reminder. Your lips parted, and your tongue darted out to give the top of Makima’s foot a tentative lick. Her skin had a faintly salty taste; you knew it was the taste of sweat.

Makima hadn’t told you to stop, so you ran the tip of your tongue over the salty skin, which slowly got covered with your saliva. You closed your eyes; they weren’t needed.

“Still so shameless.” Makima pulled her foot away, and uncrossed her legs.

You leaned back and sat on your heels. Makima stood up. When her hands moved to her waistband, you didn’t know what to think. Before you knew, Makima had taken off her pants and placed them on the empty space of your couch after folding them neatly.

Makima sat back down, and her hand found its way back to your hair. She petted you, maybe as a reward for following her order. Until you felt her gripping your strands and pulling you in.

You lost your balance for a second at the surprise, but caught yourself. Right in front of you was Makima’s underwear. Black, some lace. Plain and classy at the same time.

“Lick,” Makima repeated.

You didn’t think. You didn’t question.

If Makima told you to lick, that was what you would do.

You felt your heartbeat quicken once you leaned forward to close the last bit of distance; your hands were on the couch just under your chest to keep your balance. After you ran your tongue over the silky smooth fabric once, you closed your eyes.

Maybe that would calm your heart so it wouldn’t distract you from your job.

It didn’t.

Makima’s hand on your scalp was gentle — for show, to not imply urgency — but her grip left no choice. This is where she wanted you. You weren’t to stop.

You didn’t stop.

Her legs spread further; Makima pushed herself against your mouth. The thin cloth soaked in your saliva, getting wetter as it dried your tongue. But with your mouth almost watering, and the underwear drowned, this was no issue.

A foreign taste seeped through. You couldn’t place it. It didn’t matter.

One of your hands moved; you rested it on Makima’s thigh. You felt her legs shudder as your tongue dragged its flat up the ruined fabric. Makima’s breath came barely quicker.

You opened your eyes and searched her gaze. You needed to know if you met Makima’s expectations. Her eyes were trained on you, as they always were. You caught sight of pinkish cheeks, and a strange pressure coiled in your stomach.

“You’re doing well,” Makima breathed, her voice the slightest bit strained. Her thumb caressed your scalp, without her grip lessening. You weren’t done yet.

This was all you needed to hear.

Reassured, you closed your eyes again and focused on the task at hand. The more you did this, the more natural it came to you. Maybe you truly were a dog, and licking was in your nature.

If Makima wanted you to be a dog, you would be one. No questions asked. No thoughts required.

You felt a sharp pain in your scalp when Makima pulled at your hair, removing your mouth from her. The fresh air felt empty; a scent you had gotten used to was missing. Faintly there, yet missing.

As your eyes blinked open, you met Makima’s gaze. You didn’t notice you were breathing heavily; you hadn’t noticed how your body temperature had risen.

But you noticed Makima’s flushed cheeks, and a glint of curiosity in her gaze. She had expectations she was sure would be met. You always did your best.

“You want more, right?” Makima stilled her breath almost immediately, and a knowing smile replaced the parted lips.

Your head felt foggy. Comfortably hazy, and incoherent in thought.

“… not really,” you breathed. You didn’t mind. You didn’t care. “But if you want me to continue, then I will.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Makima was at a loss. But that wasn’t possible, not for Makima.

With her free hand, she pulled the soaked fabric of her underwear aside as she dragged your head back where it belonged. Makima wasn’t gentle this time; she didn’t even bother pretending.

“Continue then.” Her voice was low. She wasn’t satisfied with you.

You didn’t have to be told twice.

You closed your eyes once more, and let your tongue run over slick skin directly. Just as you had a moment before, until Makima had stopped you. Your jaw felt sore, but it was easy to ignore.

Makima rolled her hips into you. You weren’t sure if you were doing well enough. But pausing to seek reassurance didn’t feel like an option. Not when Makima already was displeased.

You couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her. You would obey to the best of your abilities and beyond, no matter what she asked of you. That was all that mattered.

That was what you wanted to lose yourself in.

When Makima left a while later, she paused at the door for a moment. But she said nothing, and a few seconds later, she was gone.

Your back leaned against the couch while you were still sitting on the floor. Right where Makima had placed you. Your hand cupped your chin, rubbing to soothe the soreness. You noticed that the earlier taste still lingered in your mouth.

You found you didn’t mind.

It reminded you of Makima. Of her flushed face, which should feel unfitting, but for some reason didn’t. Of the way her eyebrow twitched faintly at your response. How her knowing smile faltered.

This wasn’t Makima, but it was Makima.

It didn’t make sense. Luckily, making sense wasn’t your responsibility anymore.

Chapter Text

It had only been two days since you last saw Makima when your apartment’s door opened behind you, right as you were in the kitchen.

Makima joined you. Close enough to watch over what you were doing, but at the right distance to not get in your way. She watched curiously, and you remembered that she had never watched you cook before.

“You’re making dinner?” Makima asked. Nothing but a rhetorical question; she knew your schedule. She made it.

“Yeah.” You put a frying pan on the burner.

“Fried rice,” Makima noted. You hadn’t even started yet. “Just like I wrote on the plan.”

“Yeah,” you confirmed.

“Make it two servings,” Makima said.

“Of course.” You nodded. This was obvious, but you wouldn’t have done it without being told. Decisions weren’t your job anymore.

You let the pan heat up dry; oil was to be added in a moment. It would take a bit for the pan to get hot enough.

“You would do anything I tell you to,” Makima said after a while. “Regardless of what it does to you.”

Her tone was soft, and you heard the usual fake politeness in it. But underneath that was a hidden edge of frustration. You brushed that thought aside; this wasn’t your responsibility. You followed. That was all.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“Put your flat hand into the frying pan,” Makima said, like any other simple order. The same way she’d ordered a coffee before, or told you to sit down on your own couch.

You didn’t think.

You raised your left hand, and aimed for the hot, metallic surface.

The pain was sharp as a sizzle sounded once your fingertips made contact. But only for a fraction of a second until Makima’s hand on your wrist pulled your hand away before you could fully complete the task.

When you met Makima’s eyes, they were widened. She was just as surprised as you were by her own action, if not shocked.

It made no sense.

The pads of your fingers still felt unbearably hot and hurt when Makima silently pulled your hand into the sink and let cold water run over your fingers. It was soothing, and momentarily calmed the raw nerves that still felt the heat that no longer brushed against them.

Makima turned off the faucet to inspect your injuries. The skin of your pads was reddened, but there were no blisters.

“First-degree burns,” Makima concluded. You couldn’t read into her at all right now. “I’ll finish dinner. You go pick a movie.”

You took a few steps away from the kitchen, where Makima went through your cupboards to collect the ingredients.

“… I’m fine just watching what you want,” you said.

You stopped, and hoped Makima would choose for you. This choice wasn’t one you should make. You didn’t want to make it. There were plenty of options; the selection by itself was paralyzing.

You’d mess up.

Makima paused, though she didn’t turn to face you.

“I want to watch what you choose,” she finally said. She tried to sound soft, but that didn’t land. She was annoyed. “There are no bad options in your sideboard.”

This was final. It somewhat alleviated your worries, if nothing else. You left Makima in the kitchen, and took survey of the VHS movies in your sideboard that you bought following Makima’s list.

Before now, you hardly paid attention to more than the titles. Now, you read the synopsis and tried to choose one that Makima would like.

But as they were from her list, she probably liked all of them. She wanted to watch what you picked. Genuinely, this would be no movie at all. But that wasn’t an option here.

Eventually you found one with a synopsis that seemed like maybe it could be interesting. You worried about what Makima would think about your choice.

You worried you’d disappoint her. Again.

Once you put the VHS tape into the VCR, you sat down on the couch. You looked over to the kitchen area as more of the mildly savory scent filled the room’s air. Makima was calm as she cooked in your kitchen, but that was no surprise.

No matter what Makima did, she appeared perfectly confident and capable. She could probably do anything.

With nothing better to do as you waited patiently, you fidgeted with your hands to pass the time. You winced when the fingers of your right hand brushed over the burned skin of the pads of your left fingers.

They felt hot to the touch, as though the skin remembered the burn and refused to let go of that memory. Touch hurt, pressure hurt even more.

Makima came with two plates. Her fried rice looked better than yours, even though she worked faster. That was simply the difference in skill between the two of you.

“Why did you stop me?” you asked before thinking.

You didn’t ask Makima things. But the scorched skin’s warmth wouldn’t leave your mind, and with it came the memory of Makima yanking your hand away before you could carry out her order.

Makima sat down next to you and put her tie over her shoulder to not have it disturb her at dinner. She looked at the VHS tape box you left on the table, assessing your choice in her mind.

“I don’t want my pet to be damaged,” Makima said in a soothingly soft tone. “Now, eat.”

“Ah. Makes sense.” You almost felt stupid for asking.

It didn’t make sense. If she didn’t want you hurt, she wouldn’t have told you to put your hand into a frying pan to begin with. Makima lied to you, when you never lied to her.

But that was fine.

If you were a proper pet and would not think about these matters, you wouldn’t have noticed anyway. What you needed to know and understand was for Makima to decide, not you. You shook your head.

You took the plate meant for you and started eating your dinner — your first taste of Makima’s cooking — as Makima started the movie.

It didn’t take long until both of you finished the food, leaving the empty plates on the table. You could fully focus on the movie that you chose, and a glance at Makima revealed that she was absorbed in the film.

You picked well; that’s what you felt at the moment.

The movie was depressing, though.

You watched a young girl lose nearly everyone she cared about as she fled. Her younger brother, whom she took care of in their parents’ absence, to a car accident. She was dragged away with no chance to even say goodbye by a nearby family that pulled her along.

They carried her younger brother’s lifeless body into a rapeseed field. The bright yellow felt nauseating; a mocking contrast of happiness against the bleak situation.

She grew deathly sick and lost the one friend she made in the makeshift hospital. From her aunt, whom she wasn’t fond of, she learned that her parents had died long ago.

With nobody else left, she at least reconnected with an old classmate from her hometown — but even he had changed, and saw no hope anymore. He took his own life.

You wondered what Makima saw in such a movie, but you found it genuinely moving. All the loss you couldn’t possibly relate to, and yet the protagonist somehow moved on. She wasn’t fine; she couldn’t have been. But she kept going.

Near the end of the movie, your heart felt choked by a deep sadness you wouldn’t ever feel in your life.

The girl left her new makeshift home with relatives she’d reconnected with after everything to return to a certain location from much earlier in the movie: the rapeseed field.

With the shovel she brought, she looked for her brother months after she had lost him. The girl, all by herself, dug a hole for the one member of her family she watched die. Even after death, she couldn’t let go of the attachment.

Once before in the movie, she had expressed her regrets — that it felt as though her baby brother was freezing out in the cold, like he’d wear thin pajamas and sleep in the winter with no blanket covering him.

When you glanced at Makima, your heart was choked once more and your breath stopped — a tear was slowly running down her cheek. You instinctively reached for the handkerchief in your pocket, but stopped yourself.

Makima hadn’t told you to. This wasn’t what she wanted you to do.

It felt wrong, and difficult. But you turned your focus back to the movie. You simply shouldn’t have seen this at all.

The movie ended soon after that scene. The girl found her grandparents, who were oblivious to everything that had happened. Once the protagonist started to recount all the events, the movie faded to black, and the credits started rolling.

You hadn’t realized how flat your breath had gotten throughout the movie until now, when you finally relaxed again.

Perhaps movies were much more meaningful than you ever gave them credit for. They could make you feel things you never would, and experience events that were not in your future.

“This is a good movie,” Makima said.

You didn’t dare to look, but you figured there was no more trace that she had been crying. Hopefully, your memory would abandon this image soon.

“Yeah,” you agreed. It really made you think. What would you do in that situation? “… I’m not sure I would do the same, though.”

“You have a younger brother?” Makima asked. You didn’t think much of the fact that she specified it as brother; you figured it was because the movie’s protagonist had a brother.

“He’s still with my parents. We don’t talk, though,” you told Makima. “Haven’t spoken ever since I moved out years ago.”

You wondered about Makima’s family. Did she have loving parents? Maybe siblings whom she occasionally quarreled with, but ultimately had her back?

“I’m not in touch with my sisters either,” Makima told you. “We don’t get along.”

“Hmm,” you hummed.

Somehow, that didn’t surprise you. Parents went unmentioned, but you didn’t ask.

Makima’s hand on your knee distracted you from this thought anyway. Almost immediately, you felt the hair on your nape stand up, in a surprisingly pleasant way.

“Do you want me to stay the night?” Makima asked.

You considered this. Did you want her to? Where would she even sleep? You would take the couch, and she would get your bed. That seemed the right option.

But you didn’t truly care; this shouldn’t be for you to decide, anyway.

“If you want to stay, you’re always welcome,” you said.

“That’s what I thought.”

Makima’s smile turned faintly bitter, but she caught herself back to the false politeness almost immediately. She bid you farewell; not without telling you she enjoyed this evening.

It seemed genuine, though it didn’t add up — not with the annoyance she showed, and how you clearly disappointed her. Despite following every command of hers perfectly.

You couldn’t make sense of Makima anymore. This wasn’t the woman you met weeks ago in the cafe; this wasn’t the flawlessly unbothered, confident perfection in the shape of a woman.

The next day at the cafe, she brought you a cream that would soothe the first-degree burns on your left hand.

Chapter Text

The cream Makima had brought you yesterday helped soothe the painful heat that coursed through the fingertips of your left hand whenever you touched anything warm. Or applied pressure.

She had you join her at the table as she enjoyed her coffee. When Makima had offered you a sip — in a rhetorical question that had been nothing but a politely masked order — you had accepted.

It had still tasted awful. But it had somehow made you feel warmer.

Makima had been more talkative than usual that day. She had asked you how much you knew about public safety, about devil hunters — to which you had admitted your ignorance.

Almost absentmindedly, while running her fingertip along the curve of the cup’s rim, Makima had explained the basics to you. Her job of killing devils, of managing other devil hunters working under her.

It had sounded like a completely different world from your life. A pang of concern had sat in your stomach — unlike yours, Makima’s job was dangerous. You hadn’t known.

You hadn’t been sure why she’d decided to tell you. A pet didn’t need to care like that.

In turn, you had told her about the renovation works that were starting this Saturday — and that this added free time for you. Makima had been pleased to hear this.

After work, Makima was waiting in front of the cafe. You never saw her outside of the cafe or your apartment. This was a change of pace.

“Follow me,” Makima said.

You would’ve done so anyway. You stayed a little behind her as you tagged along, unsure where Makima was escorting you to. Or what her plan was. But that wasn’t for you to bother with, anyway.

After a walk through various streets that you hadn’t walked down before, you ended up at a small river. A few people were walking around, but it wasn’t crowded. It was quiet, and a few ducks paddled along the river.

Makima led you to the footbridge. When she leaned on the railing and looked down the river, you knew this was the destination. You rested your left hand on the railing. It was cold; it felt nice against the burned skin.

“It’s nice here,” you said to break the silence.

“I like the quiet,” Makima agreed.

Ducks quacked in the distance, as if to mock Makima. But they soon disappeared. The people on their walks were gone within minutes as well, until you were alone with Makima.

The only sounds left were the quiet trickling of water and the leaves of nearby trees rustling in the faint breeze. It was almost eerie.

“You don’t ask things,” Makima noted. “Very rarely, you do. But normally, you don’t.”

“… yeah.”

“You never asked for my name.”

You remembered that day, weeks ago. Makima had asked you for your address, and you wrote it down without a second thought. That was the day you gave her access to your private life.

And you hadn’t asked for a single thing in return.

“I didn’t need to,” you said. “You told me. And… it wasn’t all that important.”

“Hmm,” Makima hummed. “So you don’t ask when it’s not important.”

“I guess…” You bit your lip. That didn’t feel accurate to you. It wasn’t that specific. “But that’s not it. Even important things… I usually don’t. Unless I have to.”

“You didn’t ask why I bit you. But you asked why I stopped you,” Makima pointed out. “You had to ask?”

That first time Makima had visited your apartment. You mindlessly brought your right thumb to your left hand. You brushed it over the back of your hand, this place between your thumb and index finger.

This was where Makima had bitten you. The bite had healed by now, no mark remained. But you remembered the sensation of Makima sinking her teeth into you clearly.

You hadn’t wondered.

You’d let it happen like an inevitability. It had simply happened, and you hadn’t thought more of it.

The day before yesterday had been different.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I didn’t think about it back then. I shouldn’t have thought about it this time either.”

Pets didn’t ask; pets didn’t question.

This pesky new habit of yours wasn’t appreciated, and you hoped you would be able to get rid of it.

“You wonder why I stop you, but you never inquire about me.”

“… that’s true.” Makima sounded perfectly neutral, but you still felt as though you had disappointed her. “It… doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change whether I know or don’t. I wouldn’t even know what to ask.”

You knew nearly nothing about Makima. There was no way of knowing where to start. You wouldn’t be able to decide on a question to ask first, so you asked none at all. If Makima wanted you to know something, she would tell you.

“Your friend didn’t have that problem.”

Of course, Rina didn’t. She wasn’t the type to hold back. Rina asked without inhibition, as though it were the most normal thing. But you weren’t like her. Unlike you, Rina wasn’t a pet.

Makima glanced at you to search for a reaction, but saw that you had nothing to say.

“Do you care who I am?”

Did you? She was Makima; Makima was the one who owned your life. Makima was your owner, and you were her pet. Nothing else mattered. But…

That didn’t feel right. Somehow, that conclusion didn’t fully satisfy you.

“… I think I do,” you said. “It’s not that I don’t care — at least, when it comes to you.”

You felt like you didn’t make sense. You hoped that it came across to Makima anyway. Whatever Makima was to tell you, you would appreciate learning something about her.

Makima was supposed to choose what she let you know; not you by asking.

“I’m a devil,” Makima said after a pause.

“A devil,” you repeated.

Makima looked surprisingly normal for a devil — not that you’d ever seen one before. You simply figured they didn’t look perfectly human. But this explained her eyes: Gold with crimson rings. Otherworldly, and captivating.

“I’m the Control Devil,” Makima announced to you casually to clarify, as though it were the most obvious truth.

“Huh,” you said.

Devils’ powers scaled with humanity’s fear of the concept they embodied; you remembered Makima explaining that to you yesterday. Control, being about synonymous with domination and even conquest — for most people, this struck an instinctive fear in their hearts.

But for you, control — the lack thereof, being under someone’s authority — never felt scary; it was something you longed for. Something you now found comfort in.

Makima was not the personification of a fear deeply rooted in your soul. She was the personification of your salvation.

Calling someone like that a ‘devil’ felt absurd.

“That means,” Makima started, unbothered to meet your eyes as though she talked about the weather, or something of similar insignificance. “I can control anyone I see as lower than myself. Such as clearing an area of noise pollution.”

“… makes sense,” you said.

For a Control Devil, that was only a logical power to have. As the embodiment of authority and domination, it was a given that there was no way to refuse Makima if she meant it.

The eerie solitude you found yourself in with her at this riverbank only proved this. What normally would be strange was merely Makima’s convenience. Makima seemed so perfectly capable, you would be surprised if there was anyone she didn’t consider beneath her.

No one was outside her reach, it seemed.

You never questioned how drawn you felt to her from the very beginning. It never seemed odd, although it should have. Maybe you should’ve wondered.

Now, it made sense.

“I never used my power on you, though,” Makima admitted with her usual distanced smile that was unreadable. She now met your gaze, as though she took pleasure in thoughts racing through your mind faster than you could comprehend any of them.

“… what?”

Chapter Text

Makima was the Control Devil. Control — the fear thereof — personified; opposing her was no option for anyone she considered beneath her. She didn’t need to ask. Forcing compliance was her nature.

But why did Makima tell you this?

You turned to look down the river again. It was peaceful, calm and quiet. Your thoughts were much more disorganized. Surprisingly, you felt calm despite it.

Makima claimed she never controlled you. She could have, you had no doubt. But she didn’t. You had been free.

Even obeying was a choice, wasn’t it?

The idea that everything had been up to you tasted a little bitter on your tongue. The lump in your throat didn’t disappear when you swallowed. Maybe Makima would’ve actually used her powers had you disobeyed.

You never did, though. You chose to follow.

“You’re surprisingly calm,” Makima noted. She tilted her head as she barely leaned over the railing to look at your face. “Do you believe me?”

“I do,” you said.

“Both?”

“Yeah,” you agreed.

Soon after you had met Makima, you already realized one crucial thing: Makima did nothing without intent.

If Makima said something, it was information she wanted you to know, or your reaction was information she wanted to see.

If Makima asked something, she wanted you to agree. Maybe she also wanted to see if you would.

You were certain this applied to all her orders, and all her actions. But you never tried to find the reasons; as a pet, that was never your business. You simply trusted in Makima, in the fact that she did nothing without a purpose.

That’s why, even now — you had no doubt in your mind: Makima was telling the truth.

There was no way for you to know why, but there was no need for you to know either.

“What makes you think so?” Makima asked.

“There’s no point in making it up at all,” you answered. “You’d gain nothing out of claiming to be a devil when you aren’t.”

“Mhmm.”

“And if you’re the Control Devil… why would you lie about not using your powers? You wouldn’t have to tell me about them at all. You could’ve just done— well, what it is you can, and never explain a single thing. I wouldn’t know unless you tell me.”

It would be foolish to lie about not having used her powers on you when she in fact did. No point in drawing attention to yourself if you have something to hide. Makima was clearly intelligent; she wouldn’t take a risk like that.

If she used her powers on you, you would never learn they existed. Or she would tell you when you considered disobeying, as a simple reminder that this wasn’t up to you.

“So that’s what you think,” Makima concluded. “You’re smart.”

She rested both of her arms on the railing and watched the river, much like you did. Maybe she found the quiet murmur of the stream as calming as you did. The peaceful calm that felt almost eerie, and yet simply seemed right.

“You’re the Control Devil’s pet,” Makima said with a chuckle. “Are you scared?”

That was the truth, but you hadn’t thought of it like that yet. It hadn’t crossed your mind to put your relationship — your situation — like this. In your mind, you weren’t the Control Devil’s pet.

You were Makima’s pet.

“I’m not,” you told her. “I don’t see a reason to be scared.”

“Really? How so?”

Makima seemed surprised when you met her eyes. She had never asked you as many questions as she did today, you noticed. But for some reason, this didn’t bother you.

Maybe it was because you didn’t have to consider your words before you said them, as there was no point in lying to Makima… and you wouldn’t lie to her, even if there was a reason.

“Because you’re still Makima,” you finally said. Nothing changed. Makima was still Makima.

“And you never saw me as a person to begin with,” Makima added.

There was a faint bitterness in her voice, one that carried a note of defeat that seemed out of place for Makima. It was well hidden beneath the coldly soothing softness of her tone, but you noticed.

You remembered that evening, days ago, when you told Makima that she wasn’t a person for you.

With that in mind, it couldn’t surprise you to learn she isn’t human. A devil — the Control Devil in particular — was much closer to how you saw Makima. A structure, a solution. Control itself.

At the time when you said that, you hadn’t known how close to the truth you were.

But something just didn’t feel right.

“… I’m not sure about that anymore.”

Makima paused. It was rare for her to be speechless, but this did the trick. If only for a short moment, before she caught herself into a neutral expression. You could read importance in her eyes; Makima was serious.

“Since when? When did that start to change?”

You bit your tongue. This was a difficult question; you knew you couldn’t do it justice. Not when you didn’t understand this yourself. All you knew was that Makima not being a person felt wrong, like a mismatch in perception.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I didn’t really realize it until now.”

Had Makima never said this, maybe you would’ve stayed blissfully unaware.

That would’ve been easier.

“What changed?” Makima asked now.

You changed, if others were to be believed. But was that what changed your perception? That couldn’t be the reason.

If it were, then your impression of Rina or your boss would’ve shifted as well. But that didn’t happen. Your boss was still the self-serving, somewhat neglecting owner of a cafe. And Rina was an almost annoyingly cheerful… friend? You weren’t sure if you would call her that.

“Sometimes you didn’t seem like you,” you started, which only confused Makima. “Like… when your brows furrowed after I told you there’s nothing I want in the bedroom. Or that look on your face when you pulled my hand away from the pan.”

Instinctively, you brushed over the burns on the pads of your fingers. It hurt. It felt hot. The sensations brought the memory back vividly, even though it had only been the day before yesterday anyway.

“Or when…” you continued, but paused.

You meant to wipe that from your memory, pretend you hadn’t seen. That was the plan, but that hadn’t worked out. Maybe you couldn’t forget, even if you tried.

“When?” Makima probed.

“… when you cried at the movie,” you finally said. “I was kind of… I don’t know how to describe that feeling. Because you didn’t tell me to, I didn’t dare to— to do anything. But I didn’t wan— like to see you cry.”

Makima looked back down the river, pondering over your words. You hoped they made sense, even though they came out disorganized. It wasn’t like you could phrase it in a more logical manner even if you tried once more.

“I see,” Makima said.

You saw a duck paddle up the river. Over time, life seemed to return to the area — people, animals. Makima and you were no longer alone, and this marked the end of your conversation.

“It’s time to head home,” Makima announced.

She walked you part of the way until she excused herself. Today, she wouldn’t come with you. Makima claimed she had to go home herself; she didn’t extend an invitation to you. Her home was still a mystery to you.

“Don’t make dinner tomorrow,” Makima said before she left you alone for the rest of your way. “I’ll take you to a place I like.”

“Got it.” You nodded, as Makima turned around with a smile.

‘Be safe,’ you added mentally.

There was no point in saying so to the Control Devil, and you wondered why that suddenly came to mind anyway. You never cared to think like this before.

Once you arrived at your apartment, you felt as though the news finally sank in. After you closed the door, you were home, and with that came the vulnerability of being more unguarded.

Normally, this made no difference.

What bothered you most was the fact that you were unbothered. You understood that you should have reacted more strongly to Makima’s reveal. It should shock you; it should scare you.

Makima wasn’t human, she was a devil.

But to you? That was a detail that didn’t matter.

As you picked up that old bandaid from weeks ago, brushing the pad of your thumb over the plastic fabric, you felt the irrelevance of Makima’s essence as the Control Devil.

Human or devil, she was the beautiful, confident woman in a formal suit with a shirt that was a little too big for her, who pretty much always wore her hair in a braid. Neat and pretty, just like herself.

Chapter Text

It was the first day of the renovation that gave you a week of free time. Your hands paused as you made your bed when you realized something you had forgotten.

You couldn’t follow Makima’s meal plan.

For breakfast and lunch, according to schedule, you were to have leftover pastries, which didn’t exist this week. Makima’s plan hadn’t accounted for this, and now you were stuck not knowing what to do.

You didn’t know where to find Makima, so you couldn’t ask. Though even if you knew, you wouldn’t impose on her like that. Makima was to decide when your paths crossed and when they didn’t; it wasn’t up to you.

It felt strange that Makima hadn’t prepared an alternative meal plan when you told her of the renovation and your free time. Makima would know this was the consequence, and yet she didn’t prepare you for it.

You remembered something Makima had told you the day you became her pet.

“When faced with a decision, simply go for what’s the better option for your health. Can you do that?”

This was a decision for you to make, and you couldn’t avoid it. Makima wanted you to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner every single day; skipping wasn’t an option.

You finished making your bed and then went to your kitchen. Getting pastries from another cafe would’ve worked, but this wasn’t the healthier option. How long had it been since you last made breakfast?

Rather than lingering on that question, you got started to feed yourself.

In the late afternoon, you heard the door’s lock click. The door was opened, and you saw Makima enter your apartment, as natural as she always did.

Today, for a change, her hair wasn’t in one braid; she wore it half-up with two side braids pinned together. She wasn’t in her usual suit either, though the white blouse and dark gray straight-leg trousers weren’t too different. The open black coat was the same she always wore.

Unlike Makima, you didn’t put as much thought into how you dressed.

Makima took off her white flats and hung up her coat before she entered your bedroom and took inventory of your closet. You followed and watched as Makima picked out pieces of clothing.

It was something Makima was deliberate about, comparing options, ruminating over how limited they were. You never bothered much with clothes shopping; you’d always hated it.

“Wear this,” Makima said as she handed you a navy blue dress you didn’t even remember you owned, along with a black cardigan.

“Okay,” you said.

You accepted your own clothes from Makima and got changed. With her arms loosely folded in front of her chest, Makima watched as you took off your sweater and removed your pants, and as you put on the dress you didn’t think you wore before.

Finally, Makima inspected you once more to finalize this choice of clothing.

“Good. That’s better,” Makima concluded. You followed her back to your living room, where you pointed at the couch. “Sit down.”

You sat and waited while Makima disappeared into your bathroom for a moment. She returned with your hairbrush and hair ties.

“Did you eat well?” Makima asked as she brushed your hair. She was gentle in the calculated, deliberate manner that was perfectly Makima.

Maybe this was natural for the Control Devil. You wouldn’t know, and it wasn’t relevant.

“I tried,” you admitted, and recounted what you made for breakfast and lunch. “I can’t get leftovers from the cafe while it’s closed for renovation, so… I had to improvise.”

“Hmmm,” Makima’s hum sounded a little too pleased. “You can decide for yourself when you have to. That’s my good girl.”

Hearing that almost curved your mouth into a smile; but you kept neutral. You hoped Makima would give you an alternative meal plan, but it was clear she wouldn’t. She wanted you to decide.

Makima tied your hair into a low ponytail and placed it over your left shoulder.

“We can leave now,” Makima stated before she returned the hairbrush to your bathroom.

When you arrived at the ramen restaurant, there was a line of people waiting in front of it. This wasn’t too surprising; Rina had said even she had heard how good that place was.

You felt a little out of place; you had never stood in line for anything. If there was a line, you were the type to not bother.

Makima reached for your hand and casually walked up to the start of the line. She didn’t need to say anything for the couple at the front to offer her — and you — to go ahead before them.

Once you entered the ramen restaurant, two men left their small table in the corner despite only just having sat down. A man behind the counter raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it further.

Instead, he escorted Makima and you to the table that just cleared and set two glasses of water down.

“I’ll have the shoyu ramen,” Makima said, to which the server nodded, before looking at you.

Makima’s eyes were on you as well.

You scanned the menu board on the wall, and your eyes landed on the first option that seemed familiar. You remembered vaguely having made this order years ago. That was good enough.

“Shio ramen for me,” you said.

The server nodded once more and disappeared behind the counter, leaving Makima and you alone. Makima took a sip of her water, you turned to the side and looked at the line still waiting in front of the restaurant. Where you should’ve been waiting, too.

You knew you didn’t belong; you felt it.

“Would you have preferred to wait?” Makima asked as she set her glass down.

You didn’t need to ask. It was too convenient; there was no doubt that Makima had forced the line into compliance to let you skip ahead, and the two men to leave without having the dinner they came for.

This was how the Control Devil handled matters. Makima didn’t even bother hiding any implication, not anymore.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you told her.

Makima rested her chin on her folded hands as she smiled at you.

“You aren’t bothered by the ‘injustice’? You don’t see any issue in this,” Makima said.

You considered this for a moment, but you found that you really weren’t concerned about these things.

“I guess it is unfair,” you admitted. You lowered your voice, given there were other people around. “But you’re the Control Devil, so it just… it feels like this kind of thing should be normal.”

Makima hummed in response; you couldn’t read her expression.

“Besides,” you added. “It’s not like the world is a fair place to begin with.”

“That’s true,” Makima agreed. “Have you ever been here before?”

“I haven’t,” you said. “Well, I came by this place a while ago with Rina… shortly after I met you. But I didn’t enter.”

“Ah, that day.” Makima smiled a little too fondly. “I remember. I saw you go down the street with your friend.”

The breath caught in your throat for a moment. Makima had seen you. You remembered that moment too vividly, though you had assumed it was merely a trick of your mind.

“I saw you, too— Well, I wasn’t sure, since it was just a glimpse,” you said.

“Sounds like fate, doesn’t it?”

You knew Makima didn’t mean that.

“Maybe,” you agreed regardless.

Makima paid for both of you once you finished your food. The line made sense; this place really had good ramen. You had Makima to thank for getting this taste.

The sun had started to set while the two of you were in the restaurant, painting the sky a vibrant orange that only seemed to illuminate Makima’s red hair and golden eyes more. It felt right, yet uncannily divine in a way that fit too well.

“I had fun,” Makima said, walking next to you with her hands in her open coat’s pockets. She looked straight ahead with a smile that seemed half polite and false, half genuine.

“Me too,” you agreed. “I wouldn’t have come here if not for you.”

“You don’t indulge.” Makima chuckled. “So it’s up to me to spoil you once in a while. As long as you’re a good dog.”

This brought a smile to your face. No situation ever felt as easy and comfortable; only Makima could engulf you in such gentle care. You would be a good dog for her, if that’s what she wanted.

As long as you could get another glimpse at her genuine smile, as long as you could hear the chime-like sound of her delighted chuckle once more.

Suddenly, Makima’s left arm was stretched out in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. Her expression hardened into neutrality almost immediately.

You didn’t know what’s going on, but the hair on your nape stood up as fear crept over you. It was simply instinctual, nothing you could make sense of. An anxiety that was deeply rooted in human nature.

Out of an alleyway, a creature crawled. It was an amalgamation of limbs that didn’t belong; a creature that logically shouldn’t exist. It had to be a devil; you had never seen one before. But you didn’t have much time to take in that sight.

Makima raised her right hand, formed a gun with her hand and pointed her index finger at the devil.

“Bang,” she said calmly, and a considerable majority of the devil’s body was gone.

Your eyes widened as the remains dropped to the ground, spilling blood. Your heart sank. Your throat felt dry. And yet, your heartbeat remained calm. You weren’t truly shocked.

You couldn’t be; not when Makima was unbothered, when she clearly had things under her control.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to walk you home after all.” Makima sighed. “I’ll make up for this next week.”

You simply nodded.

“Be safe,” you muttered, as you walked past the devil’s corpse. Makima pulled a cell phone out of her coat’s pocket and made a call. Public safety had to get involved for this, you figured.

On your way home, as you replayed the event in your mind — it had gone by too fast, merely lasting seconds — you felt as though you realized the gravity of it all. A detail that had slipped your mind previously.

Makima was the Control Devil. She not only could bend other’s minds to her will, she was naturally lethal. It took her no effort, nothing but a simple gesture, to snuff out the life of an otherworldly being.

And yet, this changed nothing — Makima was still Makima.

Chapter Text

Three days after the ramen outing, Makima visited you once more. You assumed she had been busy. Not that you knew a lot about government jobs, but it was no secret that they involved a lot of paperwork and inefficient structures.

You often overheard people complaining about these things at the cafe. Whether they were government employees or normal people fed up with how long official matters took, you didn’t know.

Makima placed the plastic bag she brought with her onto your kitchen counter, and you joined her in the kitchen.

“We’ll have a picnic,” Makima said.

She took the ingredients she brought out of the bag — milk bread, ham, cheese, lettuce, mayonnaise, heavy cream, cream cheese, and strawberries.

“You’ll make the fruit sandwiches,” Makima told you as she separated the ingredients.

“Sure,” you agreed, and immediately placed a bowl, a whisk, and the heavy cream into the fridge before you got started.

Next, you cleaned the strawberries, after which you cut them into halves. You didn’t pay much attention to what Makima did; you knew your task needed your focus to not mess up.

Once the strawberries were cut, you patted them dry. You weren’t in a rush, you were more careful to do things neatly. You knew Makima would do a perfect job herself, and you couldn’t allow yourself to fall behind.

You took out the now cold bowl, whisk, and cream. After adding some cream cheese — enough to stabilize, not too much to change the taste — you added sugar, then started whipping the cream.

“Open your mouth.”

Makima’s voice came from next to you, and you mindlessly did as she said without taking your eyes off of the whipped cream that wasn’t stiff enough yet.

Half a strawberry grazed your lips as Makima fed it to you, and when you closed your mouth to take the fresh treat, you noticed Makima hadn’t pulled her thumb back yet. It lingered between your lips for a moment, brushing your lower lip slowly as Makima removed it.

“You should taste-test ingredients before use,” Makima said.

You chewed, and the sweetness of fresh strawberries with a tarty layer underneath filled your mouth. You swallowed the strawberry. Your hand never paused, and the whipped cream was finally finished.

“It’s good,” you told Makima.

“I’m not convinced.”

You turned to face Makima and saw the expectant, curious look she occasionally showed. The order was clear; you grabbed a strawberry half to carry it out, but Makima stayed still.

“… open your mouth,” you copied Makima’s earlier order.

It felt awkward, but Makima opened her mouth and closed her eyes as though it was the most normal thing. Reluctantly, you reached out to put the strawberry into Makima’s mouth.

Makima lightly bit down to catch your thumb and index finger in her mouth. Her teeth held you in place, but didn’t break skin. It was a déjà-vu, although this time there was no pain involved.

She opened her eyes to meet your gaze before she let go, allowing you to pull your hand back. As you looked back at her, you noticed that you could clearly feel your own heartbeat.

“I shouldn’t let the whipped cream alone for too long,” you said.

You went to the sink to clean your hands before handling the food directly. From the corner of your eye, you saw Makima reach into the bowl with her pinky to take some of the whipped cream.

Like a cat, she licked it off.

“You’re doing well,” Makima commended. “With the strawberry cuts and the cream.”

“Thanks.”

You went back to preparing the fruit sandwiches, while Makima worked on her own. After you placed your fruit sandwiches into the fridge to cool down so you could cut them properly, Makima suggested you got changed.

Unlike last time, she didn’t pick your clothes. This was on you.

In your bedroom, in front of the closet, you considered your options and found you had too many.

You chose a pair of light blue jeans and a dark green long-sleeved shirt. It felt not enough, so you added a thin black jacket. It looked better than what you’d usually wear, but casual enough to not draw attention.

Good enough. … was it?

When you left your bedroom, Makima was already looking your way with her arms folded in front of her chest. She was evaluating your choice of clothes; you felt a lump form in your throat.

“That’s what you feel comfortable in? It’s a little plain, but cute.” Makima said. “It suits you.”

“… thanks,” you muttered. Suddenly, you felt warm; your face felt a little hot.

You decided to ignore that and return to the kitchen, took out the cooled fruit sandwiches, trimmed the crust, then wrapped them in plastic wrap neatly. With this, your job was done; and the fridge’s cool air had helped you feel less warm, too.

“We’re done then.” Makima took the fruit sandwiches you made and put them into the plastic bag she brought, where she’d already placed the sandwiches she made. “Let’s go.”

Through a longer commute with train, then bus, then another train, Makima took you to a serene, green park. There weren’t many people around because it was a weekday and most were either at work or in school, but a few animals were enjoying their day.

You spotted cute squirrels and a few chirping birds, some of which you couldn’t name. You never really paid much attention to these things; at least you knew what a bird was.

Makima picked a bank in a spot she liked — in the shade of a tree, through whose leaves sunlight still made its way to earth in some spots. You sat down with her and took in the area’s calm.

“Ham and cheese, or fruit?” Makima asked you.

You paused. She asked you first; you couldn’t copy her choice. Ever since she made you pick a movie, you hadn’t tried to deflect a choice she ordered you to make again. You tried not to think about this; tried to go with whatever you felt.

“Ham and cheese,” you said, and Makima handed you one of the sandwiches she prepared.

Makima took a fruit sandwich for herself.

You unwrapped the sandwich in your hands and found you were looking forward to tasting it. It wasn’t anything special, but it was made by Makima herself. That alone made you interested.

“You did really well,” Makima said after taking a bite of the fruit sandwich you prepared. “It’s sweet, but not annoyingly so.”

It filled you with happiness to be told that your sandwiches were good. Makima approved of them; of you. You tried her sandwich — there was nothing outstanding about it, and yet, it was the best sandwich you ever tasted.

“This one is really good, too,” you said.

Once you finished eating the sandwiches, the two of you simply enjoyed the atmosphere. The light breeze let the leaves of the tree branches above you rustle. It felt peaceful.

“Is there anything you want? Anything at all?” Makima’s question broke the silence.

You didn’t need to think about this; you didn’t consider this question.

“Not anymore. I have what I always wanted,” you said. “I’m content like this. Being your pet.”

Did Makima have something she wanted? Was there anything she couldn’t obtain and longed for?

You opened your mouth, but closed it again before any words formed. It wasn’t your place to ask. Deep inside, your stomach churned at the thought of having that questioned answered. It was better not to ask.

“You aren’t scared,” Makima stated. It wasn’t even a rhetorical question, not a question at all. “Not even after what you’ve seen.”

The image of how easily Makima disposed of the devil flashed before your eyes once more. You felt an instinctual fear at the devil’s presence, but you weren’t truly scared. Not with Makima by your side.

None of the blood, violence, or gore shocked you. Although you hadn’t thought about this before, it didn’t seem out of place.

“Not of you, no,” you said. “I’d be scared of another devil, or other things, but… you’re safe.”

“I’m safe,” Makima repeated, then looked up at the sky.

It was light blue, with a few fluffy clouds slowly moving past. A beautiful day, perfect for a picnic. You wouldn’t put it past Makima to control even the weather, but that seemed silly.

Without saying another word, Makima stood up from the bank and stood in front of you.

“Get up,” she said. Her voice was polite, with an authoritative edge you didn’t know of her.

You obeyed without a second thought. Like you always did.

Makima formed a gun with her hand, index finger pointed at you.

Your heart dropped. Your breath flattened. And yet, you didn’t feel the panic that should accompany. You were calm; strangely enough, you were relaxed.

You had seen her do this before. Just three days ago.

This simple gesture, and a “Bang” coming over her lips, and that was it. That was how casually she was able to take out anyone who was as little as a nuisance to her — devils and humans alike. She didn’t lose a single second of sleep over this.

The Control Devil wasn’t human.

Human morals were of no concern to devils. There was no reason for them to regard human life the way humans do; no sense in them pondering over ethical questions.

You knew that. From the moment Makima told you, you understood what this meant.

When she unabashedly used her powers in front of you, asking you if the injustice bothered you — you clearly understood that Makima wasn’t human, and morality wasn’t something she cared about.

You hadn’t minded then. You didn’t mind now.

Even when she took a step closer, and her fingertip touched your forehead, you didn’t flinch. You weren’t afraid, even though you held your breath.

Makima’s hand was perfectly still. She was unbothered; she wasn’t struggling with a difficult choice. This was easy for her. No harder than crushing a fly.

You didn’t want to die. But, if Makima decided your life was to end now, you would accept that.

When you gave your life into her hands, you meant it. She decided what you ate, when you slept, and what you did. Naturally, she also decided when you died and how.

This was what the life of a pet entailed. A pet was only alive because its owner wanted it to be around. Once that changed, the pet had no right to live anymore. A pet can be put down for being a minor inconvenience.

You realized that, but became her pet anyway.

You had no say; you wanted no say. You simply closed your eyes.

This was it, and you accepted Makima’s decision. As you had every single time since you met her.

The little hint of a doubt in your heart was pushed aside.

It didn’t matter.