A/N:

Hi y'all. It's been a while. I wanted to write some, y'know, cutesy relationship stuff because most of the prior stories—aren't.

Anyway, I've been busy lately but I think the drabbles are gonna come to a real slow now; I want to focus on my otome game (more info in a link on my profile), and I have a couple of multichap lilypad stories that I'm interested in working on as well. So I haven't actually abandoned da lilypad; just don't expect to see a lot of updates to this collection.

Summary: Fun fact: life is shitty. But at least she makes it a little less shitty.

He didn't hear the sound of somebody entering his home. He was much too engrossed with the mountain-load of work he needed to finish by the end of the day to notice.

And, fuck, was he even going to be able to complete it on time?

Hunched over the dinner table, pen in hand and gaze focused, he felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck and a weight shifting onto his back. Blonde hair spilled over his shoulders and onto his paperwork, obscuring his view.

A bright voice chirped into his ear, "Hey, boytoy! What'cha making me for dinner—oh, you're working?"

"Fuck off," he grumbled.

She immediately let go of him and he sensed her take a step back. "Whoa, who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?"

"My boss," he answered simply.

"Oh. Of course. What happened?" He could hear the concern in her voice as she asked. She pulled up a chair and seated herself next to him. Taking a breath, Dell finally directed his attention away from the documents.

Yes, she was a much better view. Clear eyes, fair skin, sleek hair, and the way she was gently chewing on her lower lip—God.

"Shit ton of work is what happened. I don't mind working, nor the work, really," he explained. "No, that's wrong. I do mind the work. Because my boss is a fucktard that decided to dump all this shit on me right when I was heading out of the office—and it's not even hard work, but it's a lot and he wants it all finished in the most inefficient method. Mr. Shit-stain won't listen to any goddamn suggestion I throw at him."

She frowned. "You—really work a lot."

"One of us has to. Deadline is midnight tonight. What kind of deadline is that? I thought I wasn't in school anymore," he continued with a frustrated sigh. "Now I'm just someone's professional bitch."

She snorted. "Oh, Dell, you make it sound like news. You've always been—and will be—my bitch, y'know?"

"As much as it pains me to say, I don't think I mind that much," he remarked, a grin tugging at the edge of his lips.

"C'mon, we both know you love it," she teased, batting her eyelashes oh so innocently. "Hey, you should take a break, but—ugh, right, no dinner? Y'know, when we make dinner plans, I usually expect them to go through. But, well, it's not like you expected this either."

Her voice was light, but the undertone of disappointment was still present.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and she smiled because she knew it was genuine.

"Mm, well, you have leftovers, don't you? I could heat something up. Want me to?" she asked, standing up from the table and striding across the kitchen towards his refrigerator.

He replied with a simple, "Go ahead."

While she rummaged through his refrigerator, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lighter from his pocket. It wasn't long until he had a lit stick in his mouth—he really needed this. It was his own home, so he didn't care about the eventual smell that would fill the room. Still, he was mindful enough about Lily (the stench attacked her senses, she'd said); hell, he kept air fresheners now.

Sometimes it scared him, how much she could influence him.

But then there'd be moments like now, where he'd think that maybe he didn't really mind that much. He liked the way she moved around his kitchen, like she was supposed to be there. (He wouldn't say, but she definitely was.)

"Smoking again, huh." She glanced at the cigarette in his mouth as she returned to the table. "Food's cooling. Microwaved leftovers, isn't that romantic?"

"We've never needed romance, anyway," he replied, setting the cigarette down briefly. He exhaled.

"Yeah, you can say that again," she concurred, watching him intently with a neutral look on her face. "'Cause I don't like kissing you when you smoke. Leaves a funny taste in my mouth."

"I know." He'd known from the beginning. He'd tried to smoke less.

She pursed her lips like she was thinking. She paused, mind seemingly decided, then gave him a simple kiss on the cheek.

It was a nice feeling, for sure.

It was a definitely a nice feeling compared to the frustration that had kept him so occupied only a few minutes ago.

She winked at him, then picked up the distinguishing cigarette on the tabletop. She brought the stick to her mouth and inhaled once. Lily wasn't a smoker, no, but she could smoke. No gagging, coughing fits nor a sick feeling in her stomach—she just didn't like the taste much.

She opened her hands and laughed, the stick falling back down to the table.

She laughed and she was beautiful and everything he needed right now and he kissed her (it was a completely natural train of thought and action, really).

It took a second for her to comprehend the motion, but she gladly reciprocated.

A few seconds later, she pulled away and scrunched up her nose in mock disgust. "Ew. Don't tell me you think what I did's sexy?"

"Smoking the same cig as me? Kind of is." He shrugged. "That last kiss on the cheek was a ripoff, anyway."

"We'll talk when you freshen up." Regardless, she still leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

She smiled again and he felt himself relaxing. In retrospect, he probably didn't need that smoke break.

"Hey," he spoke up. "I'll come to your place this weekend. And cook something."

It was the least he could do.

Her eyes lit up and it was stupidly cute, he noted. "Bake me a cake, too?"

"Hell no."

"Lame." She stuck her tongue out at him childishly, to which he responded by pinching her nose.

"If I'm the one that cooks, then you should learn to do something domestic too. Bake your own cakes." Her tongue retreated into her mouth and she fumbled with his hand, pulling it away from the bridge of her nose. "Shit, I do everything—I can barely trust you with a mop."

"Well, y'know what'd happen." She frowned.

"I do. I do know." He sighed. "In any case, if you really wanted cake, at least wait a couple more weeks. When there's actually a special occasion."

She blinked. "Oh yeah?"

He flicked her forehead and a soft cry escaped her lips. "You're funny."

She let out a laugh.

He paused, brow knit.

"You forgot, didn't you?" he inquired, and somehow his tone was a little harsher than he intended it to be. "What the fuck—I can't believe you actually forgot."

"Well, my bad!" she huffed. "Like, uh, what'd I forget?"

"Anniversary. That ring any bells? Shit, I thought that was what girls usually remembered."

She watched him, wide-eyed, as realization dawned on her. She had definitely forgotten. To be honest, he wasn't particularly upset about it; just surprised. After all, he couldn't say he cared too much about anniversaries or special occasions himself.

Still, he remembered. But it wasn't like he actively tried to remember the day they got together or anything (he was hardly the sentimental type); it just became a date he couldn't forget.

And when he looked at the girl in front of him, cursing incessantly at her own carelessness, it wasn't hard for him to understand why he didn't forget. Moreover, he knew it didn't mean she didn't care.

This was just Lily, doing a very Lily thing.

"—Oh fuck, fuck, fuck me. Shit, I forgot! I totally fucking forgot; oh fuck. And hell, you remembered!" she exclaimed, evidently distressed by the entire situation.

"It's not really—"

"—Shit! I shoulda known! Like drawn a big ass circle around the day we started dating but, like, not even I knew we'd reach a year. I really didn't think we'd reach a year—"

"Lily."

"—I'm so fucking inconsiderate, holy hell—"

"Lily," her name rolled off of his tongue so naturally and, damn, this wasn't really the time to be thinking that.

"—Fuck! I gotta get, like, a kickass present?"

He blinked. "No, not really. No presents."

She stopped at this. "No presents?"

"We've never needed romance, anyway."

"Really?"

"No presents," he reaffirmed, then paused. He took a breath and his eyes darted to the side. "I just want—need—you."

She stared at him.

He visibly shifted under her gaze.

"Oh my God, that was so fucking cheesy," she wheezed, doubling over the table in laughter.

He rolled his eyes in response. "Thanks."

It took a moment for her to calm down, but when she did, she murmured a soft, "I'm sorry, y'know."

"I'm not going to hold you accountable this time, but I was serious, just so you know," he stated, his mouth quirked up in a half-smile.

"I was, too! Sorry," she repeated with a pout, "for forgetting."

"It's only one year," he muttered in reassurance. "There'll be more years."

She immediately grinned at this. "Damn right there will."

And it was only after she left, a couple of hours before midnight, that he remembered how royally fucked he was.

A/N:

tbh I don't like writing the act of these two getting together, because it's so much easier (and fun!) to write them when they already have an established relationship (whether it's friendship or more).

Anyway, wow, 10 drabbles! Thanks for sticking with me for so long!