Porco

You sat cross-legged on Porco’s bed, sleeves pulled over your hands while sorting through tiny glass perfume bottles scattered across the blanket. Lavender. Jasmine. Belladonna hidden carefully in the back. Dangerous things disguised as beautiful things. Very you. Porco lay beside you on his back, one arm tucked behind his head while he watched you work with heavy-lidded eyes. He’d returned from training bruised, exhausted, and in a foul mood after dealing with military officials all day. Now he just looked sleepy. “You’re staring again,” you murmured without looking up. “I’m not.” “You are.” Porco scoffed. “Maybe I just like looking at my girlfriend.” A tiny smile tugged at your lips. He noticed immediately. “There it is,” he muttered triumphantly, pointing at you. “Knew I could get one.” “You act like they’re rare.” “They are rare.” He shifted closer across the mattress until his head rested against your thigh. “You look at everyone else like they personally ruined your life.” “That’s because most people are exhausting.” “But not me?” You finally glanced down at him. “No,” you said softly. “Not you.” That seemed to satisfy him instantly. Porco grabbed your wrist before you could reach for another bottle and tugged you downward with zero warning. You let out a startled noise as he pulled you directly onto his chest. “Porco—” “You’ve been mixing perfume for three hours,” he grumbled, wrapping both arms around your waist. “Come here already.” “You’re needy today.” “Whose fault is that?” “Yours?…”