"Go away."

The scratching at the door continues. Despite lying in bed for over ten hours, my head still throbs. I stare blankly at the wall for a full minute. My eyes ache and my stomach hurts. I want to go back to bed. "Alright, alright. Dammit."

"Hawk knows the password, just open the door yourselves when you guys get back." I don't give my dogs time to reply before the door shuts in their face. They should be able to handle by themselves. Last time I checked, there aren't any snakes here like back in Amity. No way they could run into trouble this early in the morning. In the event they did, I couldn't care less.

10:03 am. I blink a few times, not comprehending what I'm seeing. It's ten in the morning; on a Monday. My brows knit together. I should be at work. At that thought, I turn over in my bed. I don't want to go to work.

Ever since what happened, I can't bring myself to confront Eric. My true intentions of why I transferred are resurfacing. Everything is going so fast that I don't know what to do. Eric would find out eventually, it's just a matter of time. I don't know how he would react. With how things are moving, my betrayal will destroy everything between us. Even at the thought of it, my limbs go weak. I don't want him to leave.

However, the icy tendril around my neck isn't the from the trifling, inevitable fear of abandonment. It is from knowing that my actions will undoubtedly break him. Four has countlessly reminded me that I'm the only one he treats differently. Since I came, the trainer has expressed his confusion on the merciless leader's actions. Skylar too has been unnecessarily vocal on how Eric has changed for the better – despite not particularly having a good relationship with him.

I am afraid of what will become of him. Despite having heard of Eric's previous questionable actions, I still can't picture any of that on him. Everything I've heard seems so foreign, almost like two different people but with the same name. The Eric I've grown to know is almost the complete opposite. Sure, there are times where he can be brash, but that's often because the situation calls for it. His actions are understandable, and in many ways, relatable. It doesn't seem he's making a conscious effort to switch between alter-egos either. He feels genuine. And I don't want him to change.

A part of me wants to tell him now, face the issue head-on with courage. This is what Dauntless has prepared me for, to dive headfirst into the problem, solve it, and move on. Especially when it comes to those you care for. Yet, this problem can't be solved. At least, not any time soon. How does anyone tell their partner that they are going behind their back and everything they've worked for?

Taking a deep breath, I push all my thoughts to the back of my mind. The dull ache in my chest remains as it did since War Games. It about time I exit my bubble of misery and embarrassment. I had already wasted a whole of yesterday doing nothing but moping and eating a horrible attempt of ice-cream. The ice-cream Riley taught me came nothing close to what I had in Candor. I'm never making it again.

Eric entering my home uninvited doesn't faze me.

10:21 am. The time displayed on my phone flashes disapprovingly. My dogs were supposed to have breakfast over two hours ago. I yank the bedroom door open, shirt over my shoulder in haste to feed my pups. "I'm so sorry. Why didn't you guys wake…" my voice dies.

The only dog present is Sabre. He turns at the sound of my voice, bounding over to greet me. I stare at the between the running television and the outrageously elated animal, confused. "You don't know how to turn the tv on, right?" Sabre is smart, but not to this extent. Even if he tried, I'm sure he's non-flexible paw would've made it impossible. No way he could've done it himself.

It takes a while before I notice.

Water droplets are glistening on the dog bowls. Someone was here. I hastily pull my shirt through my head and walk towards the fridge. Flushing slightly at the possibility of being caught topless. Inside I find a missing tube of meat that was their breakfast. For a moment I thought that perhaps I unconsciously fed them and had forgotten, but the untouched chicken feet and liver tells me otherwise. I wouldn't have left them out. Placing their dinner into the fridge to defrost, I travel to the drying rack and examine the bowls.

There's only one person I could think of that could've been here – Eric. I highly doubt anyone else would've gone as far as to feed my dogs, especially since no one else knows of my routine. The only reason he knows is because I ramble to him more than I'd like to admit.

A note's on the counter, as well as a bottle of pills. Drawing in a breath, I edge towards it and lift the torn piece of paper. It's written in neat black ink, an ink I recognize whenever Eric and I are brainstorming. He always carries the pen in his vest front pocket.

Anna,

You're not alright. I left some paracetamol, not sure if it would help.

Found the dogs outside your apartment. They were having trouble opening the door.

I've fed them already (probably got the portions wrong). I decided having all three remain with you would be too much to handle, so I brought the other two to their respective places. Left Sabre here, figured you'd enjoy the company.

I've informed Skylar and Liam that you're not feeling well. If you want the dogs back, just give them a call.

Someone else is covering for you, take the day off.

Sorry I couldn't stay, have an urgent meeting at Abnegation.

I'm worried about you.

Text me.

- Coulter

I read it a few times, my thumb unconsciously moving across the words. The aching in my heart intensifies, to the point I have to shut my eyes, hold my breath, and count to ten.

"No, it's fine," Veronica waves me off, returning to the documents at hand. "I owe Eric a few favors. This is nothing."

I stand at the door of her office, Sabre by my side. Though I did toy with Eric's suggestion of taking the day off, I knew I need to make it up to him. "Really, I'm well now. I can take it from here."

"You sure don't look well," she says pointedly. Her pen is aimed at me. "You look like you haven't been sleeping and eating."

That is true - not that it matters. "I had eight hours of sleep and I took some pills earlier," I approach differently, stifling the growing irritation of her not wanting to work less. "Don't want to stay home, I'm getting sick of it."

The leader is unwavering, her gaze remaining skeptical. "Look, I-"

"Please."

The female leader pauses, placing her pen down and leaning back on her chair. She regards me carefully, scanning me head-to-toe and then doing the same to my canine. I do my best to smile. She repeats the process a few more times. After the third, my arms wrap themselves around my body self-consciously. Unlike me, Veronica's hair is pulled back neatly. Her raven black hair gleams under the white lights, reflecting the time and effort she spent combing tucking in her stray hairs. Her clothes too, are sleek and creaseless. Standing before her now, I regret not appearing more presentable. My hair is down and messy at the ends, an attempt to cover the mark Eric left on my neck. My standard shirt and hoodie screams casual, but there's no way I'm getting one of those horrid Dauntless jackets. "Is something wrong?"

"I-" My voice dies, the words stuck on my throat. Breaking down and pouring out my struggles is the last thing I want to do to someone I barely know.

"Eric said you were down with a fever. Doesn't look like it." I stare blankly. She sighs heavily.

I'm worried about you. Four simple words straight to my heart. It doesn't take a genius to know that he's putting it lightly. I had seen the way he reacted when the girl at the fields – I - disappeared, the absolute anguish and wrath had reflected upon his harsh actions. Yet despite my knowledge, I did it again. Foolishly I shut him out and left him in the dark. My replies to all his recent texts were choppy and distant – tainted with the sour feeling of guilt – to the point he stopped striking conversation entirely. In retrospect, I can see how my actions were wrong. To him, it must've looked like me chucking our new milestone to the bin.

Yet through it all, he still wrote this note. Through it all, he took over the dogs and provided me medication. Through it all, he's not demanding answers. He's giving me space despite his suffering.

My throat tightens.

"Alright, alright," Veronica concedes. She riffles through a stack of documents and pulls out a large chunk. Placing it on the desk, she rests a hand on top. "This is what he left me. If you're not feeling well, feel free to bring it over, or text me if I'm not around."

I bundle the reports into my arms, thankful she dropped the subject. "Thanks." For once, I'm happy with the weight of work. It's about time I make it up to him.

Veronica stops me as I'm about to escape through the door. "Hey Anna?"

My hand hovers above the knob, the desire to bolt tensing my muscles. I don't turn to face her. "Yeah?"

Her tone is soft, almost motherly. It causes me to recoil further. "Whatever happened, I just want you to know that everything will be alright." I tighten my hold around the reports, tears welling in my eyes. She doesn't know what she's talking about.

Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I force out a 'thanks' and leave the room. Sabre is as eager to escape as I am.

Four pisses me off.

"You look like you rose from the dead." Straight to the point. Brutally honest. Annoying.

My eye twitches. I drop the duffle bag with a 'thump' and shoot Four an exasperated glare. "Duly noted." Crouching down to unzip the bag, I pull out a plastic gun. Hawk is first to want a good sniff. He nudges the gun with his snout, loudly blowing air from his nostrils when he's done with a section. "I want to try something different today," I say, voice clipped. Sabre squeezes between Hawk and me, pushing his brother away with his bulky form.

"You want to shoot your dogs," Four states disapprovingly. "They may go blind if it hits them in the eye." He crosses his arms and glances between the curious dogs and black gun. A scowl makes its way to my face, once again, I push the feelings down. I'm beginning to realize that the only person where I don't actively tolerate is the man I've been avoiding. To a certain degree, everyone here grates on my nerves. And I've yet to identify the exact reason why.

I toy with the idea of mockingly waving the foam balls, but ultimately decided against. Credits go to Skylar and Four for incessantly testing my temper. I'd like to believe that I'm getting better at controlling it. "That's why we'll be using foam balls," as I speak tensely, I slip goggles onto Hawk. "I'm not sure whether it will work as well, since the weight will affect the ball's travel, but it's all I got for now." The lack of gunshot noise will also be an issue, but I'll figure out a compromise eventually.

Four accepts the black bag I civilly held out. "Huh." His brows are knitted together as he flips the bag over. The balls are slightly bigger than a grape, originally used for 'kid-friendly' wars – as Skylar puts it.

"The current challenge is to make sure that the dogs equate the flying balls as danger, not as playtime." I begin methodically loading the balls into the toy gun. This whole thing feels stupid, considering how vicious my dogs are. "We can begin with the same training as the knife, Hawk should be quick to pick up on that. Once that happens, the other two will follow."

"I've just thought of something," the grown man wheezes, his breaths coming as grunts. Gunner is hanging off Four's arm. John's improved bite-suit is as good as he described. Four would've outright disagreed to help the dogs if he saw the previous one. There's not a single tear or scratch on the one he's wearing, the soft but firm material absorbing all of the impact. The toy gun is on the ground, dropped once again from another successful attempt.

"What?" The dog whips his head side to side, bringing Four stumbling along with his lurches. Watching Four being chewed up does wonders on cleansing my occasional hostility towards him. Four, understandably, doesn't share the same enthusiasm, gesturing furiously at the dog with his eyes. I take an extra second before calling my boy off. "Break."

He lets out a sigh of relief and rotates he's battered arm. "I want to know…" He pats a wagging Gunner on the head and reaches for the gun. "Does Eric know about this?"

Peeling off his goggles, I hand Gunner a piece of jerky. "About?" I ask guardedly. Sabre rises from his place uncalled, excited for his turn. I often suspect that given the opportunity, he would gladly leave bite marks on everyone, whether they're in the bite-suit or not.

"About you training your dogs to become killing machines," he states simply. "Isn't he suspicious about the fact that you disappear almost every evening for two hours?"

I frown. "Why does it matter? I'm sure Eric is aware." If Eric has researched the breeds' history, there's no doubt that he knows what the dogs are capable of. Even if he didn't, he has probably seen how rough my dogs can get back in the fields. "He doesn't ask about my whereabouts." Unless it's for lunch or dinner.

"And if he did the same? Disappear for a few hours with a girl every day?" Four questions suddenly.

I squint, unsure of what he's going at. Eric and Taya have already told me of how they had cut ties sexually, and Taya's aura is anything but conniving. "He doesn't." At least, I believe he doesn't. "But if he did, I understand why."

"So you wouldn't mind if he's meeting someone else?" Four asks, surprised.

I shake my head and stretch my arms to the ceiling. "Of course I would mind. Though, I rather he hurt me than I him."

Eric didn't appear at the office the whole day.

"Hey, sorry. I'm pretty sure I don't have enough credits for this, but could you help me check?" I gesture towards the basket of groceries. It's barely been a month since I started, I doubt points are out already.

The cashier's lip twists down to a scowl. She's chewing a piece of gum, the action matching the obnoxious vibe radiating off her. She has a septum ring. The jewelry is plain, thick and ugly, circling all the way. It reminds me of the ones on ill-tempered bulls. To some extent, I'm beginning to see the resemblance. I focus my energy on my maintaining fake smile.

I dwindle my thumbs as I wait, not wanting to be infuriated by the sight of her. I'm in a better mood now that I've yanked out my pessimistic self by the distraction of work and training. As long as I can continue ignoring the black hole that's sucking me in, I should be able to return to normal.

I flip the packet of macadamia nuts on my palm. Mom always made desserts whenever I'm in a low, so I figured I could start making up to Eric by baking cookies. I've yet to figure out his food preference, so these should be a safe option.

Bull Nose's sudden outburst makes me wince. "Do you think you're funny?" the cashier snarls viciously. She slams the mouse harshly on the table. My ears sting. "What? You think that just because you're dating a leader that you're higher than everyone else?"

My brain goes slack. I blink.

"Well listen here you bitch," the pink-haired woman leans forward, her voice dipping dangerously low. "He'll dispose of you once he's done. And once that happens, you'll be no one." I am still unable to process the situation, my thoughts muddled with recalling measurements for cookies. "Then everything will come biting your disgusting ass." For once, I'm glad my dogs aren't with me. Because if they were, this woman may no longer see the light of day, unintentionally. She's lucky, for Hawk was very adamant about coming along.

I have no idea how to respond to the sudden outburst and threat. My head wants me to walk away, but I need her to ring up the food. The cashier fumes in front of me. Her face is red and her muscles are tense. She resembles the bulls when their peace serum dosage is overdue, solidifying her name as Bull Nose.

Lucky for me, the commotion had attracted her colleague. I recognize the girl as the cashier during the run-in with Mark. She registers my confused face, and then non-existent steam coming from her co-worker. It takes her a while to assess the situation. I give her all the time in the world, thrumming my fingers on the counter idly. There's nothing else to do anyway.

Belatedly, her eyes widen in horror, the situation clicking in place. She rushes to us, a can of baked beans in hand. "Polly, could you help with the baked beans refill? I'll take over." Polly sneers at the younger girl for treating her like the kid she is. Nonetheless, she ultimately snatches the can and stomps off like the children at daycare when Hawk has to leave.

"Entitled whore," she mutters, deliberately ramming into me.

The girl's voice rushes to distract me. "I'm so sorry. Can I help you with something?" Her clasped hands tremble in fear. I'm unsure of her emotions, but I can tell she's expecting me to whip out a gun and threaten them. I only have a knife though, she's safe.

It would be a different story if Eric were around.

"I just wanted to check if I had enough points to purchase these."

Her first reaction is to frown in confusion. To her credit, she recovers quickly, her sight following the basket I'm point at. "Sure sure! Let me just…" she turns to the screen and leans forward. A second later, her face sour.

As her reaction is negative like Bull Nose's, I speak up. "Is something wrong?"

Her head lifts to me, eyes far dimmer than I've seen from her. "No. You have more than enough. Is there anything else?" Her voice has dropped all its politeness, bordering dangerously to downright rude.

"What do you mean there's more than enough?" Surely I don't have much. I did spend a hefty sum on clothing, hair, tattoos, and apple ciders during initiation, not to mention my recent shopping spree for household items.

"You can go to Human Resources if you have a problem. We only do consumables here." Her voice borders close to hostility. I refrain from saying anything else as she starts to robotically scan the week's worth of food. "And by the way, you can check your points on your phone."

Now it's my turn to frown. I don't recall seeing anything about points on my phone. "Oh. Is it an app?" I ask, genuinely confused. My phone greets me with no reply from Eric. I swipe up, crushing the disappointment to focus on the task at hand. It's not a big deal, perhaps he's been busy.

Unlikely.

Eric's never not responded.

She grits her teeth. Her grip on the packaged meat is too tight. No doubt marks will be left. "Yes. It's on the first page."

It's not on the first page, nor anywhere for the matter.

"I'm afraid we can't disclose the origins of the large sum," the woman says kindly, extending my phone back to me. She's amused by my flustered expression.

I took the cashiers advice and headed to Human Resources. It's a surprise there's still people here. Office hours ended four hours ago. Dauntless must have way more issues than I thought.

The Dauntless lady re-downloaded the app, informing me earlier that I must've accidentally deleted it. "But this directly affects me. Why not?" I push. There's no way I came here for nothing. "Is it from coming out first in initiation or something?" The number of digits that greets me is large. I blink a few times and rub my eyes in incredulity. With what's in my account now, I could probably afford the entire supermarket and more.

The woman smiles and continues clicking on her mouse, completely unbothered by how worked up I'm getting. "I'm sorry, but in this case, we aren't allowed to disclose any information."

"What do you mean 'in this case'?" I air quote agitatedly. How is it possible that I, the owner of my points, isn't allowed to know anything about a transaction?

To her credit, the mature woman continues to remain calm and cheerful. She wears a loose black tee and a hoodless jacket, far more casual than those from patrol and leadership. Her gleeful attitude is putting me off, reminds me too much of Amity. "I'm sorry dear, but the leadership have the power to withhold information. If this is a serious issue, you may bring it up to them."

At the word 'leadership', my face falls flat. Right. Eric. "May I know the date of the transaction, at least?"

The lady glances at the screen – probably reading the date itself – and returns her sickeningly delightful gaze to me. "Nope."

"Gah! It's so typical of him!" The ball of cookie dough splats onto the baking tray, joining its comrades. "I mean… just… argh!" I squash the new piece of dough in my hand. The abused buttery mixture seeps between my fingers. I grimace.

"It is nice of him… but but…" Gunner sits on the barstool pulled next to me, listening. He tilts his furry head when I struggle to find the words. "Stop looking at me like that!" I snap childishly, cookie dough rolling aggressively between my palms. "Go watch Spiderman for goodness sake. It's not like you like him anyway." My dog remains by my side, judging my baking skills and the superficialness of my rant. I ignore him for the rest of my cookie-rolling, mumbling incoherently so the dog wouldn't give me his signature 'you're stupid' look.

Gunner often resembles those therapists in school, minus all the unhelpful stuff they say after you've vented your emotions. The therapists in school made me a more toxic person than I once was. Perhaps that was why my parents decided to have our first dog. They must've noticed the dark clouds and aura of negativity that surrounded me as an early teen.

'Thump!'

I close the oven door shut, satisfied the results despite winging the measurements from my horrid memory. Loud ruffles from the couch pulls me from my mental celebration. Gunner abruptly hops off the stool, his ears perked and tail up. I look over my shoulder from the sink to find my three dogs at the door. Hawk has his nose to the floor gap. A few audible sniffs later, his tail flies up and wags slowly, as if unsure. "What is it?"

The door handle starts jiggling. Now Hawk is furiously wagging, his tail hitting his sides as it whips back and forth. He turns to me excitedly, as if there wasn't a stranger trying to aggressively break-in. Sabre wags too, though less enthusiastically. Poor Pinky is between his jaws. The toy's eyes are bulging from its sockets, it's mouth in between Sabre's jaws. The door beeps as the outsider keys in the code. I reach for the pocket knife on the counter in apprehension. No one told me they'd be visiting today.

Gunner heads towards the couch when the noise for incorrect password beeps. He could care less for the person behind the door. This is what two years of training has led to. I am thoroughly disappointed. Gunner ignores me when I tell him off.

"Shit. How couve I fogo…" The man's voice slurs out as he presumably – from the next 'thump' that sounded – banged his head on the door. I wouldn't have caught were not my ear be pressed against the wood.

I toss the folded knife to the couch and sigh. The dogs make way for me as I slowly edge the door open. It takes him a few long seconds to realize the door is moving. When he does, I'm grateful I no longer have to use my body weight to support the heavy door and his large head. He lifts his head off and I pull the door wider.

My man stands confused at me. His cheeks are tinted pink and his eyes could pass off as a line for how small they are. "Emma? What yu doin in my…" he doesn't finish his sentence, choosing instead to throw his entire body weight on me. Air rushes out of my lungs and my heels dig into the ground upon impact. One hand wrap around his waist while the other struggles to hold the stupid door open. He reeks of alcohol, the smell stinging my nose. "You adorablez," he half giggles.

Taking a few steps back with him still draped on me, I let the door swing close and grunt. My face is mushed to his chest. The horrendous Dauntless jacket grates my skin. It doesn't help that it stinks of smoke too. "Hi Eric," I wheeze into the fabric, coming off as muffled groans. "Did you get here by yourself?" There was no way he survived stumbling through the broken-railed chasm. He doesn't strike me as a smart drunk.

I don't think he heard me. "Hm? Mm." His arms wrap around my body, squeezing me too hard like he's a child and I'm a teddy bear. "I miuz yu." As adorable as this gesture is, he's smothering me. This must've been me when I was slightly tipsy. I can see why he would've found me adorable, except unlike me, he could carry me if he wanted to, and no matter my state, he wouldn't suffocate to death.

"I can't breathe," I puff, thumping his back to get it through his thick foggy head. He doesn't react. My lungs are tight and my nose is stuck. "Eric!"

I thought it had worked, for he finally stood straight. But to my dismay, the fresh air is only temporary. The next thing I know, he's slumping on me again. The only difference is the boots laying messily on the ground. "I punch XL on the face," he mumbles. My palms push his chest to lift him off momentarily. I quickly adjust myself to keep my head over his shoulder, ensuring my survival. He rubs his cheek against my hair in an attempt to snuggle, resembling the cats in Amity.

"Axel?" I clarify.

He grunts. "He want do threesum with Emma. So I punch his face." His arms are around my waist again, as well as their crushing force.

"Threesum?" I ask curiously, wincing when the arms tighten further.

"No," the drunk says. "Mine."

"I meant-"

He shushes into my hair. "No. Yu-" he perks up so fast my teeth clash together. I rub my jaw in pain. Eric doesn't take notice, his voice increasing an octave distractedly, "iz zat cookiez?"

I shall ask again him tomorrow - when he's sober.

He audibly sniffs my hair. "Yu smells like cookiez," he speaks, staggeringly childlike. "I like cookiez, else last time make many cookiez." He comically detaches from me, turning on his heel in search of his apology gift.

For a drunk, he sure is fast when it comes to cookies. My eyes widen as Eric clambers to the cooling first batch of white chocolate and macadamia. "Whoa, whoa! Those are hot!" I push his hand away just as he's about to grab one. "You'll burn your hand!"

He plops onto the barstool disgruntedly and slouches, an adorable scowl appearing. "I don't care. I want now."

"Yes, yes you do care. And you'll be getting a box of this tomorrow anyways." Despite my words, I still grab a spoon from the utensil rack, not trusting that he'll wait till tomorrow. Intoxicated or not, Eric is still strong as hell. I wouldn't be able to fight him if hunger overrides him.

He stares blurrily at the rack – at least, I think he is, it's hard to tell from the size of his eyes. "Izit all cookiez?"

"No." I cut a small portion and scope it up. "But you can try a bit now," I say, testing the temperature of the semi-crunchy cookie with the back of my finger. He doesn't say anything, opting to open his mouth like a child waiting to be fed. "And you'll go to bed after this."

He nods, grabbing my hand to pull the spoon of goodness into his mouth. Once it's in, he chews quickly and furiously, like on some kind of timed mission. "I want all of its," he babbles, grabbing ahold of the utensil to scoop more of the cookie. Mentally, I sigh in relief. I had my reservations on the final outcome. "And I want yu, and ze dogs, and, and yu." He extends the spoon to me. For a moment I thought he wanted me to try my hard work... until he opens his mouth again. I feed him the rest of the cookie.

"But I want more!" he whines. "Yu has so many!"

Eric is somewhat cooperative by not shoving me to the ground."No, you made a promise," I wheeze. His arm is over my shoulder as I half-drag him to my room. All the times I piggybacked my dogs did not prepare me enough for the sack of cement that is Eric. My feet cross each other as I struggle to not bump into the wall down the short corridor. "You have work tomorrow too."

Eric bounces on the bed once when I drop him. The exertion I've just experienced was more strenuous than initiation itself. Thankfully, Eric is too distracted to mock my lack of strength. He doesn't move from his faceplant. "No. I mum cokgy and mu oni," he grumbles from the pillow. I bend down and hoist the rest of his lower body onto the bed. I'll need to change the sheets tomorrow, and I just did that yesterday.

My back aches while I catch my breath. I considered leaving him like this, but he sounded like he was smothering to death.

"You sleep alright?" I say breathlessly, patting his arm. It had taken me a while to flip him onto his back and remove his jacket. Eric wasn't the least bit cooperative on saving himself, pretending to be a rock. Took me even longer to locate and extract his pistol and phone.

"But I miss you," the intoxicated man whines. "You never text me."

I frown and dig for the mobile. "I did. I thought you didn't want to reply." His lack of reply nagged at the back of my mind the whole day. I didn't dwell, for I would've relapsed into my zombie-like state.

"No, you never. I miss you," he continues drowsily. "You make me happy."

There's a sharp prick on my heart. I smile at him woefully. "I'm sorry," I say, "I'm just conflicted."

"No conflict. Conflict stupid," he grumbles. His hand latches onto my wrist. "Don't leave," he mutters groggily, eyes closing.

"I need to clean up and shower first. Then I'll be back."

He regards me minutely, his hold tightening before loosening and slipping away. "Pawmise?" A limp pinky finger is held up, one that resembles a cooked string of spaghetti.

I hook mine with his. "Promise."

Just like that, he drops his arm to snatch a pillow. Hugging the covered cotton tight, he speaks into it, "replace zis with mu when mu done."

I hum, attention focused on our digital conversation. My text glares back mockingly on the bottom, the arrow icon right next to it.

I didn't hit send.

A/N

Exams are on Monday, I couldn't care less :D

This chapter was funny to write. I should be able to post the next one in a week. :)