❛ 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ❜ ៸៸ paris x reader

O2. kindliness

❏ 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱·𝗹𝗶·𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀
(𝘯.) 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦; 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

────────────────────────

Once Paris and I made it to my apartment complex, it was a struggle to get up the stairs. It was also a struggle to unlock the door with one hand that was bad and being a clumsy person I am, I dropped my keys. I leaned over and picked them up, which was also quite a challenge. Since I was supporting a puppet- I mean Paris. I forgot he had a name and a gender apparently. I went for a second try, but was stopped by the pale male next to me. "Do you mind if I try? I can tell you're having a hard time opening the door with your injured hand." His hand was placed out in front of me.

I gladly placed the keys in his hands as I muttered out a small thanks. He gives me a smile and puts the key in the lock, then turns the doorknob carefully with a slight push. We made our way inside. It wasn't anything big and grande, but it also didn't look like a hell hole. I carefully place him on the fern green sofa. "I'll be right back." He gives me a slight nod before I headed to the supplies cabinet. I grab a sewing kit and wood glue. Almost forgetting a first-aid kit in the process.

I walk back in the lounge area, but to find Paris sliding sideways off the couch slowly. He tried to not fall by grabbing onto the arm of the sofa. I place the items on the coffee table carefully and quickly before making my way to Paris. I pull him back up gently with my good hand placed on his shoulder. I look at his face, but it was filled with sorrow. I couldn't help but to feel sad as well. "Paris," he looks up at me, which startled me a little. "Are...are you okay?" I ask calmly.

He looks back down at, well, nothing really. "I'm fine." He still seemed upset, but he was masking it well. Could toys have emotions? No, that's impossible. I look up at him again to find him staring at me.

"Eh?" Why is he staring?! Do I look ugly to him or something?! He's probably trying to figure out a way to kill me.

"My leg." He smiles a little. What does he mean by leg? "You were going to fix my leg remember? Unless you changed your mind." Oh. I'm an idiot.

"Oh yeah sorry. I just lost track of what I was doing. My bad." I grabbed the wood glue from behind me. I turn around to see Paris taking off his jacket revealing his white button-up shirt. It showed off more of his figure. I look back down at his leg. How am I going to do this? I fixed many things in my past, from ripped blankets to broken phones. Fixing a simple toy wouldn't be any different, would it?

I sit down on the coffee table before pulling it up a little closer to the couch. I prop his leg up on my knees and fold his pant leg up to reveal a broken wooden white leg. His leg was almost split in two. If I didn't find him, he would probably be hopping on one leg. Like a pirate. I let out a small giggle from the thought. "What's so funny?"

"Uh, nothing." Real smooth there Y/N. I uncap the glue and steady myself before applying the glue. I try to get it between all the cracks the best I can. I'm no toy expert, but I think I did a pretty good job.

Once I finished, I look up to see Paris staring, again. Why? Why must he look the way he is? It makes it even creepier. "How long would it take to fully dry?"

"Oh, well, it takes about thirty minutes to an hour, but I usually wait for about twenty-four hours to make sure the glue is nice and solid." His face dropped a little before looking off to the side. Something was up? Was he planning on running away? Or perhaps he's a murderer and he couldn't do anything on just one leg? Or I could be way off and being too paranoid for my own good, but who knows. I didn't want to ask straightforward about what was on his mind, so I thought of something around that question. "Why do you ask?" Simple, but not really what I'm looking for.