When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

"Trying to manipulate the manipulator?"

Like an idiot.

I wanted... I don't even know what I wanted anymore. A smile that wasn't calculated? A question about me, not what I could do? Some kind of affection that didn't feel transactional?

Was I pathetic?

Probably.

But I couldn't seem to stop. He gave me these crumbs sometimes—protectiveness, gestures dressed up as generosity. Trying everything to keep me out of jail. Paying for my bail. Making sure Lillie was okay. My Mom is okay. Letting us stay. Things no one else would have done.

But none of it felt real.

I poured the milk into the cup slowly, watching it swirl.

There was no love here. No affection. Just... survival. Wrapped up in small tasks. Like this coffee.

I set the mug down on the tray, added a spoon—even though he never used it—and exhaled slowly. My hands were steady now. Everything else wasn't.

Behind me, I heard a soft noise and turned. Dan stood in the doorway, shirt rumpled.

"Ash left?." I asked as we were walking together, his room is also on the same floor. Good she left I thought, else she would make a rukkus if she finds out I am bringing his coffee.

"Yeah. Just" he said his gaze drifted to the tray, then back to me. "He could get his own coffee."

I didn't reply. What was the point?

"Its okay Dan, I don't mind" I said with a smile

"You okay?" he asked gently.

I forced a small smile. "Yeah."

He didn't believe me. I saw it in his eyes.

But he didn't push.

"Do you want help with anything?"

"No, it's fine." I lifted the tray carefully. "I've got it."

"Cool see you then" he said moving inside his room. But as I moved by, he murmured, "You don't have to keep proving yourself, you know."

I froze. Just for a second. Then kept walking.

Because yes, I did.

At least... that's what I'd convinced myself.

I knocked lightly before pushing the door open.

He didn't say come in, but I knew better than to wait.

I stepped inside, careful with the tray, and walked over to his desk.

"Your coffee," I said quietly, setting the mug down where I knew he liked it—just to the right of his laptop, handle turned toward his dominant hand.

He didn't look up.

Didn't say thank you.

Didn't even move.

I glanced at him—brows drawn, eyes on his screen, jaw tight. Since he didn't say anything more, I turned to leave

Then—without taking his eyes off the screen—he asked, "Did you talk to Dan just now?"

My chest tightened. "I—I saw him in the hallway. Ash just left. He was just asking if I was okay."

That made him pause.

He looked up, his expression unreadable, but something flickered under the surface.

"And what did you say?"

"I said I was fine," I replied, trying to keep my voice neutral.

He stared at me for a long beat, then leaned back slowly in his chair.

"Do you tell everyone that?" he asked. "That you're fine?"

"I mean... yeah. It's easier."

"Is it?" His voice was calm, but sharp. "Or is it just convenient? To lie."

I flinched, just a little.

"I'm not lying."

"Then you really are fine?" he asked, tilting his head. "Even when you're walking around like a ghost in your own skin?"

That hit too close.

I didn't answer.

He reached for the coffee. Took a sip. Then set it down again—deliberately.

"I saw you hesitate when I said Jess is throwing the party here," he said. "You don't like her."

"I don't," I admitted, carefully. "But it doesn't matter. You said you wanted me to arrange it. So I will arrange it."

"I did." He nodded slowly. "And I trust you'll handle it. But here's the thing, Red—if you hate someone, I'd rather you say it. If you're breaking, I'd rather you show it."

I swallowed. Hard.

He stood, moving toward me slowly—measured steps, like he was circling something fragile.

"You walk around this house trying to be invisible," he said. "Always polite. Always helpful. Always smiling like it doesn't cost you something."

I didn't respond. I didn't know how to.

He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel the pull in the air between us.

"I don't need your good behavior," he said. "I need your honesty."

Then, softer: "Because if you keep lying to everyone, one day you'll start believing it yourself. And then no one—including me—will know who the hell you are."

I looked up at him then. And for a moment, I saw it—something behind the hardness in his eyes. Not softness exactly, but... clarity. Like he was looking at me, not through me.

He cupped my cheek and brushed a strand of my hair, his eyes were so tender, for the first time in this house "How are you Red?" he asked. 

For the first time he asked how am I? And as sad, as painfully pathetic as it sounds... my chest warmed at the words. I felt happy that he asked. 

"I am fine" I said with a smile "Really, you need not to worry about it. I'm just tired," I said quietly. 

He studied me for a second longer. Then nodded.

"I'll make sure no one bothers you tonight."

That was it. No questions. No comfort. Just a quiet, final gesture—his version of care.

I turned to leave.

But just before I reached the door, his voice came again—lower this time, almost reluctant.

"You did a good job with the notes."

I froze.

Not because of the words—but because of the tone. Unfamiliar. Almost... human.

I turned my head just enough to whisper, "Thank you." something that he should have said

Then I stepped out, closing the door behind me.

My hands were cold.

And I couldn't tell if I was relieved... or just bracing for whatever came next.