Good Girlfriend: Episode 13: A Smallara Side Story

The ground trembled with every footfall, deep, rhythmic booms that sent ripples through the sweatshirt beneath Gavin’s feet. He steadied himself, the soft fabric rumbling beneath him like a fault line ready to split. Even knowing it was just Mallory running laps, his body still reacted with a primal jolt at each approaching thud. At a few inches tall, your instincts didn’t ask questions, they just screamed. 

“Time!” Mallory called out as she sped past, her sneakers pounding the track like a drumline. 

Gavin looked down at her phone, well, his phone, managed by Mallory and stopped the timer. “Twelve-point-five-six,” he called up to her, his voice barely cutting through the open air. 

Mallory jogged back, face flushed, breaths coming heavy. She bent forward, hands on her knees, looming over him like a monument catching its breath. Her shadow passed over him, cooling the patch of grass he stood on. A second later, she dropped to the ground beside him, the impact jostling his balance and sending a puff of dust across the sweatshirt. 

“Ughhhh,” she groaned, unscrewing her water bottle and taking several long swigs. Then, carefully, she poured a splash into the bottle’s cap and set it down in front of Gavin like an offering. 

“Here you go, babe. It’s warm out, you should hydrate,” she said, still clearly annoyed at her time but softening for him. 

Gavin stepped up to the cap, the rim coming up to his chest. He dipped both hands in, the cool water biting at his skin. “It’s a good time,” he said. “I’d need a backpack and a survival guide to make it a hundred meters. You’re fast.” 

He took a sip, then immediately shuddered. “Cold.” 

“Sorry,” Mallory chuckled, flopping backward into the grass and kicking her legs lazily. “I like my water ice cold when I run. Forgot how sensitive your tiny little body gets to temperature.” 

The truth was, water didn’t just feel cold to him, it invaded. Every droplet seemed to cling to his skin, chilling him to the core. But he didn’t complain. She meant well. And right now, lying in the shadow of her legs, the spring breeze whispering through the grass stalks that towered like trees around him, he was just grateful to be near her. 

Mallory sat back up and reached for him, two fingers curling gently around his torso. He felt the familiar press of her thumb against his chest and her index finger behind his back, enough pressure to pin him still, but not to hurt. Her grip was practiced. Secure. 

“I appreciate you timing me, babe,” she said, lifting him to her face. “This is what I mean. I hate that you’re… you know, like this, but it’s brought us closer. You getting sick, it’s made things more real. Like, we’re a team now.” 

She kissed him. Her lips, soft and warm, engulfed his entire upper body for a moment. The scent of cherry gloss filled his nostrils, sweet and almost sugary. When she pulled away, he was sticky with her kiss. 

“If only your parents thought so,” he muttered. “They didn’t like me before. Now they hate me.” 

Mallory reached for her water again, stretching her legs, doing a slow seated twist to cool down. Her movements were fluid, practiced, almost feline. 

“Babe,” she said, voice firm. “It doesn’t matter what they think. I love that you’re learning Korean for me. That’s huge for us. I’m your guardian and your girlfriend. Period. We don’t need their approval.” 

Gavin was about to respond when a voice rang out across the field. 

“MAL! MAL!” 

Mallory’s face twisted before the girl even arrived. “Oh god. It’s Reena. She thinks she runs shit.” 

Gavin stiffened. Even from this distance, the name hit like a bucket of cold water. 

Mallory stood up, brushing the grass from her shorts. Gavin instinctively moved toward her foot, pressing against the sole of her sneaker like a barnacle seeking safety. 

The scale shift still threw him, her legs stretching upward like pillars, her body towering above like a sentient skyscraper. He tilted his head back, catching the long silhouette of his girlfriend standing protectively over him. 

“Heey girl! What you doing here still? Normally you bolt when school’s done,” Mallory called out, her tone a mix of faux-cheer and warning. 

Reena was approaching fast. Gavin peeked around the edge of Mallory’s ankle, watching her stroll across the track without a care. The world didn’t tremble with her steps like it did with Mallory’s, but to Gavin, she still looked massive, every swaying strand of her blonde hair, every purposeful stride like a looming threat. 

“I was leaving and saw you running,” Reena said. Her eyes flicked down, scanning too carefully. 

Gavin pressed his back harder into Mallory’s shoe. It smelled like sweat, rubber, and detergent, clean but lived in. Comforting, in a weird way. But even as the Generitech perimeter device near him thrummed softly, promising protection from bugs, birds, and hungry rodents, it did nothing against the threat Reena posed. 

Mallory cut in, voice flat. “Can I help you with anything, Reena?” 

Reena smiled. Too sweet. “Just saying hi.” 

She was scanning again. 

“Oh, well, mission accomplished,” Mallory replied. “I need to get back to running.” 

“Oh, don’t let me stop you,” Reena said, not budging. 

Gavin stared up from the ground, barely daring to breathe. From his position behind Mallory’s foot, Reena was a shifting wall of pink lips, manicured nails, and hungry eyes. Her gaze finally caught him, zeroed in, and a slow smile curved across her face. 

The last time she looked at him like that, he’d been captain of the football team. Now he was a pocket sized possession hiding behind a girl’s heel. 

“Go, Reena,” Mallory said. Not a suggestion. A command. 

She took a step forward, and that was all it took. Reena backed off with a tight smile and disappeared down the path. 

From down here, the sky stretched wide and merciless, sun blazing like a stage light turned up too high. The track’s red surface loomed like cracked asphalt under my bare feet, rough enough to make me think twice about wandering from Mallory’s sweatshirt. The warmth it retained from her body heat was a comfort, like basking on a sunbaked boulder. 

Mallory didn’t turn until Reena was gone. Not just out of sight, gone gone. No shadows twitching behind the bleachers. No flick of hair tossed over a shoulder. No final glance back. 

Only then did she face him. 

Her arms stayed crossed, one hip cocked, weight shifted in that deliberate way she used when things weren’t finished, when she was just getting started. Gavin stood near her foot, the thick rubber of her sneaker radiating heat against his back. He opened his mouth. 

“Thanks, Mal,” he said, inching closer. “The idea of ending up in Reena’s grubby paws—” 

“was disgusting,” she cut in before he could finish. She squatted fast, the world tilting with the motion, and scooped him up in one smooth, practiced movement. Her fingers curled around him, thumb to chest, index behind his back, warm and firm and totally in control. 

“I know,” she said. “The thought makes me sick. Just imagine her nails on you.” Her nose scrunched. “She bites them, Gavin. She bites them.” 

He opened his mouth again, instinctively, hoping to explain or ease the edges. But there wasn’t space. There never was, not when she hit this gear. 

“And don’t even try to pull the ‘she didn’t mean anything by it’ card,” she said, her voice sharp, her grip shifting to bring him closer to her face. “Let me guess: she flirted with you. Because you were captain. Because it’s what she does.” 

She lifted her free hand into exaggerated air quotes. “She ‘flirts with everyone,’ right?” 

“…yeah,” he muttered. 

Didn’t matter. She was already rolling. 

“She flirts with everyone,” Mallory said again, venom curling around every syllable. “Like that’s some kind of excuse? Like she’s not just a cheap little mosquito buzzing around anything with a jawline and decent arms?” 

“I didn’t say it was okay, I just—” 

“didn’t think it mattered,” she snapped, her voice low now. Controlled. Dangerous. “Because you were big then. You could laugh it off. Walk away. Pretend it wasn’t anything.” 

Her grip shifted again. She held him higher, level with her eyes, and the sheer intensity in them made his breath hitch. 

“But now?” she said softly. “Now you don’t get to walk away. You don’t get to decide what matters.” 

Her fingers tightened, not painfully, but enough to remind him how small he was. How much she could do. How little he could. 

“I do.” 

Gavin swallowed. He could feel the press of her thumb over his sternum, the way her breath ghosted across his face with every word. 

“She looked at you like you were candy,” Mallory continued. “Like she could just snatch you up, drop you in her purse, and have herself a little treat later.” 

Her jaw clenched. 

“And I don’t share.” 

She let the words hang in the air, final and hard. 

“I’m not trying to defend her,” Gavin said, careful now. Measured. “I just—” 

“don’t want me to be mad,” she finished again, this time softer. Her thumb shifted, stroking lightly along his back, drawing slow, soothing lines between his shoulders. “You think I’m overreacting.” 

Her tone turned almost sympathetic. But it never lost that edge. 

“I’m not. I’m reacting exactly right.” 

She pulled him in closer. The scent of cherry lip gloss and cut grass wrapped around him like a blanket that could smother if it wanted to. 

“You’re mine, Gavin. You’re not public property. You’re not some vending machine toy Reena can window shop when she’s bored.” 

She pressed a kiss to his chest, plush and warm, her lips covering most of his upper body in one go. When she pulled back, the skin she’d kissed tingled with leftover gloss and her breath’s humidity. 

“You’re mine to protect. Mine to look after. And mine to kiss whenever I feel like it. Mine to love.” 

He said nothing. He didn’t trust his voice to come out steady. Her thumb continued to rub gentle circles on his back. 

“So no,” she said. “Reena doesn’t get to look at you. She doesn’t get to wave. She doesn’t even get to be in the same zip code unless I say it’s okay.” 

She paused. 

“And I don’t.” 

Gavin opened his mouth again, reflex more than intention, but nothing made it out. Mallory had already shifted back into softness, her fingers careful now, her gaze almost affectionate. 

“That’s why you’re lucky,” she said, as if the previous ten seconds hadn’t happened. “Some Littles get dropped off with strangers. They end up with people who don’t care. Who just… babysit.” 

She smiled, bright and sharp. Possessive. 

“But you got me.” 

She brought him down to her chest, pressing him against her bare skin, close enough to hear her heartbeat thudding fast and strong beneath it. 

“Which means no one else ever gets you. She’s not harmless.” 

Mallory’s voice was quiet, but it landed like a stone dropped in a still pond. She was sitting cross-legged now, knees tucked in, forearms resting on them like she was just relaxing, but Gavin could tell by the tension in her jaw, the flick of her eyes, that this wasn’t casual. Not even close. 

Gavin stood on the flattened patch of grass beside her thigh, though to him, it was more like standing next to a wall of golden bronze, slicked with sweat that caught the sun in a shimmer. The heat coming off her body was overwhelming. Even the light breeze barely dented it, carrying with it the mingled scent of her sunscreen, citrus body spray, and the unmistakable sharp tang of fresh sweat after practice. It was dizzying. Claustrophobic. Comforting. All at once. 

“I mean…” he started, voice small. Everything he said now felt small. “I don’t think she sees me like that anymore.” 

“She does,” Mallory said immediately, turning to him now, fully. Her tone was final, like a door slamming shut. “She sees exactly who you were and exactly what you are now. That combo? Is catnip to a girl like Reena.” 

He opened his mouth again, maybe to argue, maybe to explain, but it didn’t matter. Her hand was already moving. 

Before Gavin could even step back, her fingers swooped in like five pale columns and wrapped around him again. His whole body compressed gently into her palm, chest, waist, arms pinned just enough to remind him who had the grip. He let out a startled breath as she pulled him upward, the sudden lift making his stomach twist. A moment later, he was nestled against her chest, warm from both the sun and her skin beneath. 

“You’re not just my boyfriend,” she murmured, breath warm and humid against his hair. “You’re my Little.” 

She said it like a title. Like a possession. Not just a fact. 

Her grip didn’t tighten, it didn’t need to. Gavin felt it, not just the pressure, but the intent behind it. He wasn’t being held. He was being kept. 

“I don’t like people thinking they can touch what’s mine,” she added, barely louder than the soft swish of wind through the trees around the soccer field. 

He tried to shift in her grasp, twist around to see her face, but it was no use. Her fingers adjusted, gently, yes, but unyielding. He could feel the pads of her fingers against his sides, the faint tack of sweat clinging between them like the humidity had turned everything into glue.  

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gavin said, his voice muffled against her shirt. 

Mallory chuckled, low and rumbling, the vibration traveling from her chest through her ribs and into his bones. “I know,” she said sweetly. “Because you’re my boyfriend. I love you, you love me, that means you’re mine.” 

And it wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t even a warning. 

It was a promise. 

“Mal…” he tried again, unsure if he was asking for space or just reminding her he could still speak. 

She tilted him back slightly in her hand, forcing him to look up at her. Her face loomed like a monument, sunlight laced through her hair, cheeks still pink from the run, and her lips curled in that gentle but sharp smile that always left him a little breathless. She was too much. Always possessive. She always had been. But now, there was no filter. No buffer. 

“I know you want to make it seem like it’s no big deal,” she said, brushing her thumb along the side of his ribs. “Like you’re being fair. But I don’t need you to be fair right now.” 

He swallowed. “What do you need?” 

“I need you to agree with me,” she said simply, smile never wavering. “Reena’s thirsty. Reena doesn’t get to look at you. Reena needs to back. The hell. Off. Say it.” 

Gavin hesitated. Not because he disagreed, honestly, it was kind of creepy, but because saying it out loud felt like letting her rewrite his thoughts. 

Mallory raised an eyebrow. “You’re not disagreeing with me, are you?” 

“No,” he said quickly. “Reena… Reena needs to back off.” 

Her smile brightened, like a sunbeam breaking through storm clouds. “Thank you.” Then she leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of his face. Her lips were plush, warm, slightly sticky with lip gloss. To Gavin, they felt like a pillow crashing against him, and when she pulled away, his whole body tingled from the pressure. 

“Good boy,” she whispered. 

He hated how it made his heart stutter. 

She lowered him into her lap, settling him between the V of her legs. Her shorts were rumpled from sitting cross legged, and Gavin landed on the slightly damp fabric above her waistband. Her inner thighs curved around him like a canyon wall, soft and powerful and inescapable. The scent of her skin surrounded him completely now, earthy, citrus-sweet, undeniably Mallory. 

She absentmindedly traced a fingertip down his back, each pass light but purposeful. It was like being petted by a giant. 

“We’re gonna go home,” she said, swiping her thumb across his arm. “I want to do a face mask. You can help me with the peel off part.” 

“Sure,” Gavin said, dazed. The world outside of Mallory’s body, her legs, her arms, her voice, felt like a distant planet. 

“And we’ll practice Korean while it sets.” 

“Of course.” 

She yawned, stretching, arms lifting, spine arching, and Gavin felt like he was sitting on the deck of a ship shifting in open water. Even her breathing was vast, the gentle expansion of her lungs a tidal rhythm beneath him. 

“You’re the best, babe,” she murmured, looking down at him like he was her favorite thing in the world. “You really are.” 

Gavin didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Her fingers returned to stroking his back. Her scent thickened in the heat. Her presence folded over him like a weighted blanket. 

And somehow, in the middle of all that overwhelming her, he didn’t feel trapped. 

He felt chosen. 

Loved. 

The drive home was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Mallory hummed along to a playlist that was, by all accounts, hers. Gavin’s old music, his carefully curated library of gym bangers and early 2000s throwbacks, had long since vanished from the Bluetooth. Now the car pulsed softly with lo-fi K-pop remixes and pastel-washed melodies. It was sweet, airy, and unmistakably hers, like bubble tea you couldn’t put down. 

Gavin sat in the passenger cupholder, still damp from sweat and sun, swaddled in half a Kleenex Mallory had lovingly torn just for him. It smelled faintly of her hand lotion, coconut and aloe, and clung to his skin like fabric, though it weighed almost nothing. The cupholder was smooth beneath him, wide as a hot tub at his scale, but Mallory’s car always smelled like her: strawberry gum, citrus shampoo, and a hint of plastic from whatever new accessory she’d impulse bought at Target. 

“I’m thinking lavender tonight,” she said, not glancing down. “Lavender’s good for calming. And you were all riled up earlier, weren’t you?” 

Gavin didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Her tone made it clear that wasn’t a question. 

By the time they reached Mallory’s house, the sun was melting behind the hills like a creamsicle, casting bruised streaks of pink and tangerine across the sky. Her house, always large, felt like a palace from Gavin’s scale. The kind of place that could swallow you whole and still leave room for more. Every light inside glowed golden. The front door was a monolith. The entryway air, air-conditioned and lemon-scented, hit Gavin like a wall. 

Mallory carried him upstairs cupped in her hand like something precious. A gemstone. A sugar cube. A secret. 

She set him gently on her vanity tray, nestled between her makeup brushes and rose quartz rollers. The glass surface was cold under his feet. He watched as she disappeared into the bathroom, the thump of her footsteps echoing like distant thunder. 

From his perch, Gavin had a front-row seat to her transformation. Mallory twisted her hair into a high, perfect bun and scrubbed her face with rose-scented foam, the suds bright white against her tan skin. When she rinsed and patted dry with a towel monogrammed simply M, the effect was startling. She looked like she belonged in a skincare ad: fresh, luminous, untouchably real. 

“You ready?” she asked, stepping back into the room. Her tone was light, but her eyes scanned him like a hawk. 

“Yeah,” he said. There was no other answer. 

She popped open a sleek black and gold tube and squeezed out a dollop of pale lavender mask onto her fingertips. The scent hit Gavin like an avalanche. Thick. Herbal. Sweet. It overwhelmed his nose and coated the air in something too rich to be entirely pleasant. 

Mallory smeared it across her face with slow precision. Forehead, cheeks, chin, nose. Her expression was clinical, calm, but the motion was reverent, almost ritualistic. The mask shimmered faintly in the mirror light as it dried, like her face had been carved from amethyst. 

“I love how it tightens,” she said, stretching her lips into a tight little grimace. “You can really feel it working.” 

She looked over at him and gave a little nod. “Fifteen minutes. Let it cure. Then you do your thing.” 

Gavin sat on the vanity tray and waited. Mallory sprawled onto her bed, her phone in one hand, the other draped nearby, palm open, fingers curled ever so slightly like she was still holding him in the echo of her touch. Instagram reels whispered into the air, punctuated by occasional giggles or audio clips. The lavender in the air mingled with the subtler scent of her pillow, sleep warm cotton, faint shampoo, and her skin. 

Time passed. The room dimmed. Finally, she sat up. 

“Time,” she said softly. “Come peel me.” 

She lifted him from the tray and carried him to the bed, placing him on the vast expanse of her pillow, just inches from her enormous face. Her eyes blinked slowly. The mask had stiffened to a glassy sheen across her features, catching the light like foil. 

Gavin climbed the gentle slope of her chest and crossed the pillowy fabric to reach her forehead. From his scale, her face was a soft, curved terrain, each pore and freckle larger than life, each breath she exhaled rustling his balance like wind through leaves. 

He found an edge of the dried mask near her hairline. It had curled slightly at the corner. Carefully, Gavin hooked his fingers under it and pulled. 

The lavender film gave with a soft crackle, peeling away in delicate ribbons. Underneath, her bare skin was luminous and smooth, still warm from within. The contrast of chilled mask and body heat created little puffs of scent that washed over him with every peel, floral, earthy, unmistakably her. 

“Nice,” she whispered. 

He continued down, tracing the slope of her brow, the curve of her cheek. Each stretch and release came with its own sound: a gentle tug, a peel, the whisper of paper thin mask separating from flushed skin. Her scent grew stronger the deeper he worked, not perfume, not product. Her. The real Mallory, underneath it all. 

She closed her eyes, relaxed. 

Down toward her nose he moved, easing the strip away. It resisted a little more there, tighter skin, more texture. She scrunched her face unconsciously, and Gavin flinched, almost losing his balance on the silk of her cheek. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

“You’re doing great,” she murmured. And it wasn’t praise, it was confirmation. Like a queen telling a servant he’d done exactly as expected. 

He peeled the bridge of her nose in one long strip. Each new inch of exposed skin sent out pulses of warmth, scent, and the whisper of moisture. 

When he reached her lips, he paused. 

“Skip the lips,” she murmured, her mouth curling into a smile. “They’re not covered. Unless you wanna kiss me.” 

He didn’t respond. But his heart jumped. 

He finished at her chin, fingers tugging at smaller flakes now, delicate as flower petals. He peeled slowly, reverently, until the whole mask came free in his arms, thin, translucent, ghostlike. 

Mallory opened her eyes. 

“All done?” she asked. 

Gavin nodded. 

She reached out and plucked the lavender film from his hands, holding it up between two fingers. It caught the light like a shroud, the faint impression of her face molded into it. 

“See?” she said, her voice velvet. “We do everything together.” 

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Her lips were warm and bare from the mask, raw in a way that made him shiver. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a brand. A belonging. 

“I’ll rinse,” she said, standing. “You wait here.” 

Gavin sat frozen on the pillow as she vanished into the bathroom. Her scent still clung to his skin, her breath still warm in his hair. He was surrounded by her, steeped in her world. Even when she was gone, she wasn’t. 

And maybe that was what love was supposed to feel like. 

Or maybe that was just what it felt like when you were this small. 

When everything in your life, every scent, every breath, every task, ran through someone else’s hands. 

When the hand that carried you also defined you. 

Mallory came back with the Korean workbook which was bigger than Gavin. Literally. Its glossy pink cover stretched wider than his arm span, the spiral binding rising like metal fencing above his head where he sat cross-legged in Mallory’s lap. She’d folded a corner of a makeup cloth into a soft mat for him, a throne, she’d called it, giggling like the idea of royalty fit him. It didn’t. But she acted like it did, and that was all that mattered. 

Mallory perched in her desk chair, legs drawn up slightly, hoodie sleeves bunched around her wrists. It was his old varsity hoodie, navy blue, cracked lettering on the chest, too worn to be anyone’s favorite until she decided it was hers. It swallowed her frame, the hem nearly touching her thighs. Her hair was damp from her rinse off, twisted into a high bun that swayed like a crown when she leaned forward. 

She smelled like lavender and micellar water. And him. 

“Okay, babe,” she said, scooting in with a squeak. Her fingers adjusted the workbook with surgical precision, pink gel pen already uncapped. “We’re starting with simple phrases tonight. You ready?” 

Gavin nodded, though the word didn’t quite make it out. His voice often got swallowed by the scale of everything around him, furniture, voices, expectations. He sat still, the pressure of her thighs warm beneath the thin cloth, her body heat rising up like a low-grade fever. 

“I love this for us,” she said, tapping the workbook’s corner. “It’s gonna help so much when we go see my family next summer. And if you ever want to make my mom cry—in a good way, just learn how to say ‘hello’ politely. Boom. Golden child.” 

He didn’t remind her that he hadn’t agreed to that trip. That he hadn’t agreed to a lot of things lately. Mallory had a way of saying the future like it had already happened, like there was no reason to ask when she’d already decided. And the truth was—he didn’t really have the room to say no. 

Not anymore. 

“Let’s start easy. Repeat after me.” She lifted her chin. “Annyeong.” 

He mimicked her. “Ann yeong.” 

Her head tilted, smiling. “Softer. It’s not a dog bark. It’s a smile. Annyeong.” 

“Annyeong,” he tried again. 

“Better,” she said, making a mark in the margin. “It means hi. Very useful. Especially when people meet you and say things like ‘Oh my God, he’s so small!’ and you want to be polite and not bite their ankles.” 

He gave a faint laugh. But it faded quickly. 

The scale of the workbook in front of him wasn’t just intimidating, it was humiliating. A spiral-bound reminder that this wasn’t just language practice. It was identity reshaping. She wasn’t teaching him Korean for college credit or kicks. She was preparing him to exist in her world, to be introduced, shown off, translated. 

“Okay. Next one. Gwaenchanayo.” 

He hesitated. “Gwen…chanayo?” 

She gave him a look. Not annoyed. Amused. “Gwaen. Cha. Na. Yo,” she repeated slowly, tapping each syllable like a metronome. “It means ‘I’m okay.’ Try again.” 

“Gwaenchanayo.” 

“See?” she smiled, leaning down. “You’re okay. That’s good. Because earlier? You were not okay. You were hiding behind my foot.” 

“I wasn’t…” 

“You were,” she cut in, gently, but firmly. “Like a little nervous chipmunk. Which is fine. I’m just saying. This phrase is going to be very helpful for us.” 

He sighed. “Gwaenchanayo.” 

She clapped once, sharp and delighted. “Perfect! You’re so cute when you’re obedient. And honestly? You’re picking this up fast. You must really love me.” 

He didn’t answer. 

She didn’t wait for one. 

Her fingers reached down and brushed a lock of his hair flat with the same instinct she’d use to straighten a collar. She wasn’t even looking at him. It was just part of how she interacted with things that belonged to her. 

“Okay. Next: Jebal.” 

“Jebal,” he repeated. 

“Please. Good boy.” A smile curled at the edge of her lips. “Say it like you mean it. Like… I don’t know. ‘Please don’t put me in the sports bra drawer again.’” 

Gavin flushed. She was teasing. But only mostly. 

They kept going: gamsahamnida, mianhae, and finally, of course… 

“Saranghae,” she said softly, not looking up. “That one you should know. I say it like… constantly.” 

He knew what it meant. More than the others. 

“Saranghae,” he said, a little more quietly. 

She reached down and cupped her hand around his tiny frame, pinkie curling behind his back like a wall. 

“Saranghae, Gavin.” 

Her breath brushed his face. Her skin smelled like floral toner and leftover steam. Her fingers were warm. Heavy in a way that didn’t hurt, but reminded him how delicate he’d become. How easy he was to scoop, hold, keep. 

The workbook was still open, but her attention wasn’t on it anymore. 

“You’re doing amazing,” she murmured, voice low, hoarse. “I know I can be… a bit much. I have a thing about people touching what’s mine. Or looking at it too long. Or thinking they could do better with it.” 

Her thumb rubbed a gentle circle against his shoulder. 

“But you get it. You’re mine, and you’re learning how to be mine better every day. That’s not scary. That’s lucky.” 

He opened his mouth. Then closed it. 

She didn’t notice. 

Or she did, and just didn’t need to hear anything from him right now. 

“You don’t have to say it back,” she said, smiling again, brushing his side with the flat of her thumb. “You already did.” 

And she picked him up like she was putting a ring back in its velvet box. 

The scent of her hoodie, the cotton-wrapped rhythm of her heart, the faint friction of fabric against his cheeks as she pressed him gently to her chest, none of it felt unfamiliar anymore. He was Mallory’s. Not just emotionally. Not just legally. But rhythmically. Tactilely. Systemically. 

She carried him to bed, humming as she went, low and sweet and sure of herself. 

And when she whispered “Saranghae” again, he answered. 

Because it was expected. 

Because it was easier. 

Because if he said it first, she might not need to remind him. 

She placed him on the pillow first, gently, like she was setting down something alive and made of glass. Gavin sank into the fabric’s give, the threads thick and knotted under his back like a woven field. The pillowcase smelled like her conditioner and heat, the residual warmth from where her head had rested not long before. It wasn’t his pillow. It was hers. He slept in her bed, on her pillow, under her watch. Even when he dreamed, she was there. 

Mallory slid beneath the covers next to him, the mattress shifting in a tidal roll of cotton and body weight. A long shadow cast over him as she turned on her side, one arm tucking under her head, the other curling close to Gavin, forming a loose wall behind him. 

“You were really good tonight,” she whispered. Her voice was softer now, like fabric smoothed over something sharp. 

Gavin nodded, sinking a little deeper into the plush terrain beneath him. Her breath was so close he could feel the rhythm of it sweep over his skin. 

“I like nights like this,” she went on, her eyes tracing the shape of him. “When you’re good and quiet and full of new words. It makes me feel like we’re growing together.” 

He turned his head just enough to meet her gaze, which felt enormous from his scale, eyes like moons hovering over his world. She smiled, but it wasn’t wide. It was smaller. Intimate. Possessive. 

“I used to think love was… I don’t know. Big stuff. Jealousy. Fights. Fireworks. But it’s not. It’s this.” Her pinkie brushed his knee. “It’s watching you learn my language. It’s tucking you in.” 

She didn’t wait for him to agree. 

Her hand rose, slow and deliberate, then came down to cup him like a weighted blanket. Her fingers molded to the curve of his body, one of them sliding behind his back, another supporting his legs. He didn’t resist when she lifted him from the pillow and tucked him against the crook of her neck. 

The world turned sideways, his body resting on the flat of her collarbone, the rise and fall of her breathing becoming his bedframe. Skin pressed against cloth. Skin pressed against skin. The pulse under her jaw ticked softly against his shoulder. 

It should’ve felt claustrophobic, but it didn’t. It felt inevitable. 

Her hoodie was pulled up just enough to let his bare back rest against her warm skin. The smell of lavender hadn’t faded; it had just settled. Like her. Like him. 

Her voice was nearly sleep slurred now, each syllable exhaled into his hair. 

“You’ll remember the phrases tomorrow, right?” 

He nodded, brushing his cheek against her. 

“Say it,” she murmured. “One of them. Just one.” 

Gavin swallowed, throat dry. “Saranghae.” 

She smiled. He could hear it in her breath. 

“That one’s easy for you.” 

A pause. Then her voice, lower: 

“Say another.” 

“…Gwaenchanayo.” 

“Even if you’re not?” she teased, half asleep. 

Gavin didn’t answer. 

He didn’t have to. 

Her arms shifted slightly, pulling him in closer until his head was nestled beneath her chin, surrounded on all sides by the thrum of her heartbeat and the warmth of her. The fabric of her hoodie formed a soft horizon. The world beyond her neck and chest and limbs felt distant, like somewhere he used to live but hadn’t visited in a long time. 

Her whisper was the last thing he heard before sleep pulled him under. 

“You’re doing so good, baby. Mine.” 

And he was. 

Whether he said it aloud or not. 

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