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“Kaeya,” you groan, rubbing your temples. “Why are you here?”
He carries a tray to your bed with a bowl of soup and some meds on it. He picks up the stuffed animal he gave you from the night table and throws it over to you to make room for the tray.
“A little birdie told me you were sick. Can’t have that now, can we?”
He touches the side of the bowl to check if it’s warm and picks up the spoon beside it.
“Is that even edible?” you ask.
“Why, of course,” he replies. “I have plenty of cooking experience under my belt.”
You roll your eyes, familiar with his half truths. “Having experience doesn’t mean you’re good.”
He smiles but there’s a crack in his facade. “Questioning my skills now, are we?” He’s annoyed you aren’t taking care of yourself.
You cross your arms and tell him to leave once again and he scoffs at your stubborn behavior. Yet, there’s a glint in his eye.
“Here comes the airplane,” he says, holding the spoon in front of your face.
“I can feed myself,” you retort, clicking your tongue.
He snickers as you turn on your bed to face the wall. “Too bad,” he says, placing the spoon down. “I was hoping to catch the great Y/n with her guard down. I guess you’re not sick after all.”
He leaves the food at your bedside and gets up to leave your apartment. “I’m off,” he tells you, but you don’t give an answer. “Love you,” he says, casually flirting with you. He often tells you but you never believe him.
“Love you too.”
Your eyes shoot open and you whip your head back at Kaeya only to see him trip over his boot and knock over your shoe rack. He quickly puts everything back in place.
You pull your covers over your head, screaming over what occurred over the past five seconds. He’s not going to let this one down.
Kaeya clears his throat and you hear him tying up his laces. “Wow, Y/n. Seems like I finally got you to admit it.”
“No!” You whip off your covers. “I did not mean that.”
“Oh really?” he gives you a cheeky shrug. “Are you sure you haven’t been imagining us together? During your little spare time perhaps?”
“Kaeya, I–”
“I have,” he tells you. “I imagine it.”
You blink a few times as your brain attempts to process his words. You watch as he picks up his bag before he turns the knob.
“Get some rest, alright?” he says, flashing you a smile. “We can talk again tomorrow.”
“Uh– Okay,” you say, and the door clicks shut. You lie back down but now your heart is pounding like crazy.
How are you supposed to rest now?