Okay.
Reality check:
I called her a washing machine.
And now she was sitting there like a rejected Pixar character, hugging a pillow tighter than inflation hugs my hopes.
---
I panicked.
Whipped out my phone like it was a holy artifact.
Opened browser.
Leaned close like it was a secret mission.
> "Hey... Chat GPA... how to make a girl instantly forgive you?"
Loading...
Still loading...
And then the wisdom of the heavens appeared:
> "I aren't a philosopher ??????."
I yeeted my phone so hard it entered orbit.
Phone: gone.
---
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Time for Plan B: RAW RIZZ.
I strolled toward her.
All casual.
Hands in pockets.
Head tilted slightly like I just walked out of an anime OP.
Leaning on the sofa behind her, I dropped my first move:
> "Y'know... It's impressive. I've seen volcanoes with less explosive eruptions than you."
She stiffened.
Slow turn.
Death glare activated.
---
Strike Two.
I smirked and kept going like the idiot I was:
> "Honestly, you're the first girl who made me consider taking self-defense classes."
Another glare.
Pillow raised halfway.
Abort??
No.
FULL SEND.
---
I dropped to the sofa next to her, lowered my voice, softened my tone:
> "But also... you're the first girl who makes being yelled at feel kinda worth it."
She blinked.
Pillow halfway mid-air.
Blush: unlocked.
---
I smiled — not cocky now — soft.
Real.
Gently poked her forehead.
> "You're not scary. You're just... someone who deserves to be treated right. Even if you throw verbal grenades."
Her eyes widened.
For a moment, she forgot to be mad.
Forgot to act tough.
---
She mumbled into the pillow,
> "...Dummy."
There it was.
That tiny, hidden, real smile.
The kind you don’t fake.
The kind that accidentally says, "Maybe... just maybe... I'm glad you're here."
---
Operation "Save My Life (And Her Heart)"?
Mission success.
