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Reluctantly, Poka found herself in the kitchen, cooking up a simple meal to appease the unwelcome guest. She told herself it was only to avoid unnecessary destruction—nothing more, nothing less. Yet, when she placed the plate of steaming food in front of him, she couldn’t stop herself from watching, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

Buu’s expression shifted with every bite, from curious to undeniably pleased. His sharp red eyes softened, and for a moment, his haughty demeanor melted away, replaced by something almost childlike. When he finished, he leaned back with a satisfied sigh, patting his stomach with a grin that sent an odd warmth rushing through her chest.

“Not bad,” he said, licking a stray crumb from his lips. “Actually, this is the best thing I’ve had in ages.”

Poka swallowed hard, unsure why the compliment flustered her so much. “I-It’s nothing special,” she muttered, looking away.

“Nothing special?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. He stretched lazily, making the small space of her kitchen feel even smaller. “If this is ‘nothing special,’ you’re going to spoil me rotten.”

The words should have annoyed her. After all, Buu had invaded her home, taken over her space, and now had the audacity to demand more from her. But there was something about the way his lips curled into a genuine smile that made her chest tighten in a way she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“You’ll make me something else tomorrow,” he added, his tone casual but with a teasing edge.

“Tomorrow?” Poka blinked, incredulous. “You… you can’t just stay here forever.”

He leaned forward, his gaze piercing and confident. “I’m not done enjoying this little arrangement. Keep feeding me like this, and maybe I’ll think about leaving. Maybe.”

There was a glint in his eyes—mischievous, daring—that made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Poka bit her lip, her fingers twisting the hem of her skirt as her mind raced. She hated the thought of having him here, disrupting her peace. But the alternative—the destruction he could cause if he left unsatisfied—felt far worse.

Days turned into weeks, and Buu made himself a fixture in her home. Each day, he demanded meals, and each day, Poka begrudgingly complied. She kept telling herself it was just to keep him from causing trouble. She even tried to focus on his arrogance and smug remarks to keep her irritation alive. But the truth was more complicated.

She couldn’t deny the strange pull she felt when his demeanor softened during meals, especially when she served him something sweet. The first time she placed a slice of strawberry king cake in front of him, her breath caught as she watched his reaction.

His smirk faded, replaced by an expression so open, so disarmed, that it nearly took her breath away. His eyes widened as he took a bite, savoring the sweetness with a low hum of delight that sent shivers down her spine.

“What’s this called?” he asked, licking a crumb from his finger.

“Strawberry king cake,” she mumbled, her cheeks flushing under his intense gaze.

“Make it again,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “I liked it.”

From that moment on, Poka found herself baking more often than she cared to admit. She told herself it was to keep him in a good mood, to keep her house intact. But deep down, she knew the truth. She wanted to see that reaction again. She wanted to see him smile.

One evening, she worked up the courage to bring him a batch of cookies she had made earlier. Her hands trembled as she carried the plate to the living room, where Buu was lounging like he owned the place. His red eyes flicked toward her, and a teasing smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re spoiling me now?” he teased, taking the plate from her hands.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, brushing off the comment. “I just… had extra ingredients.”

Buu’s smirk vanished the moment he bit into a cookie. His expression softened, and he let out a contented sigh that made Poka’s heart skip a beat.

“You might just make me stay here forever if you keep this up,” he said, his voice almost warm.

Poka’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned away, pretending to busy herself with a dish towel. What was this strange feeling in her chest? Besides her old master she had never cared about anyone’s opinion of her cooking before, but his praise sent a flutter through her that she couldn’t ignore.

Was this… love?

She shook her head, trying to banish the thought. It was ridiculous. Buu was arrogant, demanding, and completely insufferable. But when he smiled at her like that, it was as if the world around them faded away. Against her better judgment, she found herself baking more often, each sweet creation a silent confession of the feelings she wasn’t ready to admit.

And with each dessert she made, his smiles grew wider.

Poka hadn’t planned to spoil Buu further. In fact, she had spent the entire morning pacing her small kitchen, trying to convince herself that indulging him was a terrible idea. And yet, there she was again, standing at the counter with flour dusting her hands and an array of ingredients spread out before her.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath, her dark gray skin warming slightly at the thought of him. No matter how hard she tried to rationalize it, she couldn’t stop picturing the way his red eyes lit up with every bite of her cooking, or how his sharp smirk softened into something real, something… genuine.

“Maybe just one more dessert,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, as though saying it aloud made it harder to deny.

Hours later, the kitchen was filled with the rich aroma of chocolate and strawberries. A towering chocolate cake sat on the counter, decorated with fresh fruit and glistening with a glossy ganache. Poka stared at it, her nerves fraying with every passing moment.

What was she doing? This wasn’t like her. She wasn’t the type to go out of her way for anyone, let alone someone as demanding and insufferable as Buu. And yet, the thought of seeing his expression shift—that fleeting moment of warmth that replaced his usual arrogance—was enough to make her chest tighten.

When she finally carried the cake into the living room, Buu was sprawled on her couch, his arms stretched across the backrest like a king surveying his domain. He raised an eyebrow as she entered, his sharp gaze immediately locking onto the dessert in her hands.

“You’ve been busy,” he remarked, his tone casual but laced with amusement.

“It’s nothing special,” she said quickly, setting the cake on the table. Her cheeks flushed under his scrutiny, and she avoided his gaze as she fidgeted with the hem of her apron.

“Nothing special?” he echoed, "Deja Vu." Buu leaned forward and picked up a fork. He then cut a generous slice, his smirk tugging wider as he brought it to his lips. But the moment the cake touched his tongue, his expression shifted. His red eyes widened, and a deep, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest.

“This…” he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “is incredible.”

Poka’s heart skipped a beat. She bit her lip, her fingers twisting nervously as she watched him savor each bite. “I-I’m glad you like it,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Buu leaned back in his seat, licking a stray bit of chocolate from his thumb. “You keep this up, and I might never leave,” he said, his tone teasing but with an edge of sincerity that made her stomach flutter. He gestured toward the cake with his fork. “Seriously, where did you learn to cook like this?”

“I just… enjoy it, I guess,” she said softly, glancing down at her hands. It wasn’t the full truth, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit that she had poured her heart into this dessert, hoping to see that exact reaction.

“Hmph.” He took another bite, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve got talent. Don’t waste it.”

The casual compliment sent a jolt through her, and she quickly turned away to hide the small, involuntary smile tugging at her lips.

Over the next few days, Poka found herself baking more often than she cared to admit. Each dessert was a new experiment—lemon tarts, custard pies, sugar-dusted donuts—and every time, she would nervously present it to Buu, her heart pounding as she awaited his reaction.

He never disappointed her. Every bite was met with a hum of satisfaction, every plate emptied with enthusiasm. And with each passing day, his smiles grew softer, his smirks less sharp. Poka couldn’t deny the warmth that bloomed in her chest whenever he complimented her creations, though she tried her best to rationalize it as pride in her cooking.

One evening, as she set a plate of cookies on the table, Buu’s gaze lingered on her longer than usual. His expression was unreadable, his sharp red eyes studying her intently.

“You’re still spoiling me,” he said finally, his tone half-teasing but with a hint of something deeper.

Poka froze, her cheeks flushing. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said quickly, her voice higher-pitched than she intended. She busied herself with tidying the table, avoiding his gaze.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You’re a terrible liar, Poka.”

Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Her hands fidgeted nervously, twisting the fabric of her apron as silence stretched between them.

Buu’s smirk softened into something almost gentle. He reached out, plucking a cookie from the plate and taking a slow, deliberate bite. “I’ll let it slide,” he said, his voice low. “As long as you keep bringing me things like this.”

Poka’s heart fluttered, and she couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto her face. “O-Okay,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

For now, she decided, it was enough to see him smile. Even if she didn’t fully understand her own feelings, she couldn’t deny the quiet joy she felt in those moments when he looked at her as if she was the only person in the world.

Poka shifted uncomfortably on the couch, pulling the thin blanket tighter around her small frame. The cushions, though soft, felt unfamiliar—her sanctuary was the bed that Buu had claimed without hesitation. She sighed, sinking deeper into the couch as her dark gray skin warmed with frustration.

Her gaze flickered toward the hallway leading to her bedroom. The steady sound of Buu’s deep, rumbling snores drifted through the silence. Of course, he wouldn’t care. He had made himself at home in her space, her bed, her life—without so much as a second thought. And yet…

Poka buried her face in the pillow, heat rising to her cheeks as memories of his smiles invaded her mind. She hated how easily she noticed the way his crimson eyes softened when he enjoyed her cooking. The warmth that bloomed in her chest when he hummed his approval of her desserts left her feeling both confused and vulnerable.

Her thoughts swirled as she stared at the ceiling, sleep eluding her. It wasn’t just his insufferable arrogance or how he had completely disrupted her peace—it was the way she felt so… noticed when he teased her. As if his sharp gaze saw more than she was ready to reveal.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, and she slipped into a restless sleep.

In her dream, the kitchen was warmly lit, the air heavy with the scent of sugar and butter. Poka stood at the counter, carefully arranging a tray of eclairs, their glossy chocolate glaze gleaming in the soft light. She picked one up, the pastry still warm in her hands, and turned to see Buu seated at the table.

He was leaned back in the chair, his muscular arms crossed, his red eyes glinting with amusement. “You’ve been busy again,” he remarked, his voice smooth, teasing.

Poka swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly as she stepped closer. “I thought you might… like these,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking as he reached for the pastry. When his large hand brushed against hers, a spark of warmth shot up her arm, making her heart race. He bit into the eclair, his sharp teeth cutting through the pastry with ease, and his expression immediately softened. A low, satisfied groan escaped him, sending a shiver down her spine.

“This is perfect,” he said, his tone genuine. He set the half-eaten eclair down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re really spoiling me, Poka. You know that?”

Her cheeks flushed as she fidgeted nervously with the hem of her dress. “I just… I like seeing you happy,” she admitted, her voice trembling.

His smirk widened, and his gaze didn’t waver. “Is that so?”

Poka’s eyes drifted over him, taking in the smooth, pink sheen of his skin, which seemed to glow under the warm light. She couldn’t stop the words that tumbled from her lips. “Y-Your skin…”

Buu raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“It’s… smooth,” she stammered, her voice faltering. “And your muscles… they’re… um… impressive.”

To her surprise, he chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent warmth coursing through her. “You’ve got a way with words,” he teased, leaning back in his chair.

Mortified, Poka turned back to the counter, pretending to busy herself with the remaining eclairs. But before she could escape, she felt his hand on her shoulder. His touch was warm and firm, grounding her in place.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he said softly, his voice carrying a rare gentleness.

Poka bolted upright on the couch, her heart racing. She blinked at the dimly lit ceiling, her chest tightening as fragments of the dream replayed in her mind. “What… was that?” she whispered, pressing a hand to her burning cheeks.

The house was quiet, save for the steady hum of Buu’s snoring. Poka exhaled shakily, willing her heart to slow. She couldn’t believe she had dreamed about him like that—about feeding him sweets, complimenting him, feeling… drawn to him.

Her fingers clutched the edge of the blanket as she stared at the faint moonlight filtering through the window. “It’s just because he’s been on my mind,” she muttered to herself, though she wasn’t sure she believed it. The warmth in her chest lingered, and despite her embarrassment, a small, traitorous smile crept onto her lips.

The next morning, Poka woke to the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the kitchen. Her light gray eyes widened as Buu appeared in the doorway, his towering frame filling the space. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his crimson gaze sharp and unreadable.

“You’re up early,” Poka mumbled, turning back to the counter to busy herself with cleaning.

“And you’re already in here,” he replied, his tone teasing. “I like that. Saves me the trouble of waking you up to cook.”

She bristled at his arrogance, her hands tightening around the dish she was drying. Before she could respond, he added, “I had a dream about you last night.” Poka froze, her heart skipping a beat. Slowly, she turned to face him, her light gray eyes wide. “A… dream? About me?”

Buu smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction. “That’s what I said. You were feeding me something sweet—some kind of pastry. It was incredible.”

Her face flushed, and she quickly turned back to the counter, her hands fumbling with the dish towel. The memory of her own dream came rushing back, making her feel even more flustered. “W-Well, dreams are just dreams,” she stammered. “They don’t mean anything.”

“Maybe,” Buu said, his tone light but with an edge of amusement. He stepped closer, his imposing figure looming behind her. “But it gave me an idea. I want you to make those pastries from my dream. What were they called… eclairs?”

Poka’s hands faltered, and she nearly dropped the towel. She swallowed hard, her voice shaky. “Eclairs?”

“Yeah,” he said, his smirk widening as he leaned closer. “You’ve made plenty of good things so far, but I want eclairs next. Think you can handle that?”

Her mind raced, torn between the embarrassment of their shared dream coincidence and the strange thrill of his request. “I… I’ll see what I can do,” she muttered, keeping her face turned away to hide her blush.

Buu chuckled, satisfied. “Good. I expect them by tonight.” He turned to leave but paused at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. “Don’t disappoint me, Poka. I’m counting on you.”

Poka stood in the kitchen, staring at the ingredients laid out before her. Her hands were steady as she mixed the dough, but her thoughts were anything but. The memory of Buu’s smirk that morning—and the way he had so casually mentioned dreaming about her—lingered in her mind like a persistent echo.

Why had their dreams been so similar? Was it just coincidence? She shook her head, trying to focus on the task at hand. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was finishing the eclairs and keeping him content. At least that’s what she told herself.

By the time the pastries were in the oven, the kitchen was filled with their rich, buttery aroma. Poka wiped her hands on her apron and leaned against the counter, her light gray eyes staring at the oven door.

A part of her wanted to blame him for how flustered she had been all day, but deep down, she knew it wasn’t entirely his fault. There was something about Buu—his sharp wit, his unwavering confidence, the way he seemed to command attention without trying—that made her chest tighten in ways she wasn’t ready to admit.

The sound of heavy footsteps broke her thoughts. She turned just as Buu appeared in the doorway, his crimson eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Smells good in here,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe. His tone was light, but there was a flicker of genuine interest in his gaze. “Are those the eclairs?”

“They’re baking,” Poka replied, turning back to the counter. She busied herself with tidying up, hoping to hide the warmth creeping into her cheeks. “They’ll be ready soon.”

Buu chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You’re taking this pretty seriously.”

“You asked for them,” she shot back, glancing at him over her shoulder. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Her words seemed to catch him off guard. His smirk faltered for just a moment, replaced by a look of mild surprise. Then, just as quickly, the smug expression returned. “Well, I appreciate the effort,” he said, stepping into the kitchen and leaning against the counter beside her.

Poka’s heart skipped a beat as his presence filled the small space. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, a stark contrast to her always-cold skin. “You didn’t have to stand there,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

“I’m curious,” he said, crossing his arms. “It’s not every day someone puts this much effort into something for me.”

She froze, her hands tightening around the dishcloth she was holding. “It’s not a big deal,” she muttered, keeping her voice steady. “I just wanted to keep you happy so you don’t destroy my house.”

Buu laughed, the sound deep and resonant. “Fair enough,” he said, his tone amused. “But I’m starting to think you might actually enjoy spoiling me.”

Poka’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned back to the counter, pretending to be engrossed in her work. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she said, her voice sharp but lacking its usual bite.

Buu tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her fidget under his gaze. “You’re an interesting one, Poka,” he said finally, his voice softer than usual. “I can’t figure you out.”

Her fingers stilled, and for a moment, she felt the weight of his words settle over her. She didn’t dare look at him, afraid of what she might see in his eyes.

When the eclairs were finally ready, Poka placed them on a tray and carried them to the table. She avoided Buu’s gaze as she set them down, her heart racing as she waited for his reaction.

He picked one up, examining it with a critical eye before taking a bite. The moment the pastry hit his tongue, his expression shifted. His red eyes widened slightly, and a low, contented hum escaped him.

“These are incredible,” he said, his voice filled with genuine approval. He finished the eclair in a few bites, then reached for another. “You’ve outdone yourself this time.”

Poka’s cheeks burned at the compliment, but she managed a small smile. “I’m glad you like them,” she said softly, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her apron.

Buu leaned back in his chair, a rare look of contentment settling over his features. “You’ve got talent, Poka. I mean it.”

Her heart swelled at the sincerity in his tone. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the floor.

For a moment, there was only silence between them, broken only by the sound of him reaching for another eclair. Then, without warning, he spoke again. “You know, you’re full of surprises.”

Poka glanced at him, her light gray eyes meeting his crimson ones. “What do you mean?”

Buu smirked, but there was a hint of warmth in his expression that she hadn’t seen before. “You act like you’re afraid of me, but you’ve got more guts than most people I’ve met. And you’re a better cook than anyone I’ve ever known. You’re not just some timid little Majin hiding in her house.”

Poka’s breath caught in her throat, and she struggled to find the words to respond. His words were blunt, but there was a strange kindness to them that left her feeling both flustered and strangely… validated.

“I’m just trying to survive,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “It’s not like I have a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” Buu said, his tone firm. “You could’ve run away, but you stayed. You’ve got more strength than you give yourself credit for.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and for the first time in a long while, Poka felt something stir deep within her—a quiet strength she hadn’t realized she still had.

That night, as she lay on the couch, Poka couldn’t stop replaying their conversation in her mind. His words echoed in her thoughts, and for the first time, she allowed herself to wonder if there was more to their connection than she had initially believed.

Buu was arrogant, demanding, and insufferable—but he was also honest in a way that disarmed her. And despite everything, she couldn’t deny the small, growing warmth in her chest whenever he looked at her like she was something more than just a timid cook trying to appease him.

As she drifted off to sleep, a small smile tugged at her lips. Maybe, just maybe, she was starting to see a side of him that no one else had ever noticed.

The couch had never been comfortable, but after weeks of Buu occupying her bed, Poka had grown accustomed to it. Still, sleep came in fits and starts, and tonight was no different. She tossed and turned, eventually slipping into another dream.

This time, the kitchen was bathed in a warm, golden light, casting an almost magical glow over everything. Poka stood at the counter, carefully piping cream into a row of fresh eclairs. But she wasn’t alone. Buu was there, leaning against the counter, watching her with a look that was far softer than his usual smirk.

“You put so much care into everything,” he said, his voice low and uncharacteristically tender. “Why?”

She glanced up at him, startled by his tone. “Because… I like making people happy,” she lied softly, her cheeks warming.

He stepped closer, casting a shadow over her. “You make me happy,” he murmured, his red eyes locking onto hers.

Poka’s heart pounded as he reached out, his hand gently brushing a stray lock of her tentacle aside. “You don’t have to do all this for me,” he continued, his voice even softer now. “But I’m glad you do.”

Before she could respond, he leaned down, his face inches from hers. Her breath hitched as his warm hand cupped her cheek, and just as his lips brushed against hers—

Poka bolted upright on the couch, her heart racing and her cheeks flushed. She clutched the blanket tightly, trying to steady her breathing. “What… what was that?” she whispered to herself, her light gray eyes wide with shock.

Her mind reeled. A dream like that was bad enough, but what if Buu had experienced something similar? The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She glanced nervously toward the hallway, half expecting him to walk in and say something infuriatingly teasing.

Instead, the faint sound of movement caught her attention. She froze, straining to listen. It was coming from the kitchen.

Poka slipped off the couch, padding silently across the floor. Peeking into the kitchen, she spotted Buu standing at the counter, helping himself to one of the leftover eclairs from earlier.

The sight of him in the soft moonlight made her heart flutter all over again. His tall, muscular frame looked almost relaxed as he savored the pastry, his usual arrogance replaced with something… quieter.

Poka hesitated, torn between slipping back to the couch unnoticed or confronting him. Before she could decide, Buu glanced over his shoulder, his sharp red eyes locking onto hers.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice smooth and casual, as if he hadn’t just caught her watching him.

“I-I was just getting some water,” she lied quickly, stepping into the kitchen and grabbing a glass to make it seem convincing.

“Hm.” He took another bite of the eclair, his smirk returning. “These really are something else. You’ve outdone yourself again.”

Poka felt her cheeks heat, but she turned her back to him, pretending to focus on the sink. “Thanks,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

Buu chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You know,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, “if you keep spoiling me like this, you might end up in my dreams again.”

Poka’s heart skipped a beat, and she nearly dropped the glass she was holding. “W-What?” she stammered, whipping around to face him.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. “What? Did you think I didn’t know? You’re the only person who could invade my dreams with sweets and… other things.” His smirk widened, his tone teasing but with a hint of something deeper.

Poka’s face burned, and she quickly turned back to the sink, mumbling something incoherent. She could feel his gaze on her, as sharp and intense as ever, but he didn’t push her further.

“Goodnight, Poka,” he said finally, his voice softer now. “Don’t stay up too late.”

She waited until she heard his footsteps retreating before letting out a shaky breath. Her heart was still racing, and her mind was a whirlwind of confusion. But as she stood there in the quiet kitchen, she couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, those dreams weren’t so bad after all.

The next morning, Poka woke up to the smell of something… burning. She bolted upright, her heart leaping into her throat. Smoke curled faintly from the direction of the kitchen. Throwing the blanket aside, she hurried into the room, her light gray eyes wide in alarm.

What she saw made her freeze.

Buu stood in front of the stove, a frying pan in one hand and a slightly charred pancake in the other. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard her enter, his expression both annoyed and sheepish.

“Finally awake, huh?” he muttered, turning back to the stove. “Thought I’d save you the trouble of making breakfast.”

Poka blinked, her shock quickly giving way to confusion. “You… cooked?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said with a huff, tossing the burnt pancake onto a growing pile of slightly overdone food. “I can handle a stove. Sort of.”

She stepped closer, her gaze flitting over the mess he’d created. Flour and batter streaked the counter, eggshells were scattered haphazardly, and a faintly sweet smell—likely from his attempt at syrup—hung in the air.

“Why?” she asked, still trying to process what she was seeing.

Buu shrugged, keeping his focus on the pan. “You’ve been doing everything lately. Figured I’d try my hand at it for once. Besides,” he added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, “you’ve got me hooked on your cooking. Thought I’d see if I could match it.”

Poka couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped her. “I don’t think burning pancakes counts as matching it.”

His smirk turned into a scowl, and he flipped the pancake with a little too much force, sending it flying onto the counter. “You’re lucky I don’t destroy this whole stove just for that comment.”

“Well, maybe you should leave the cooking to me,” she said, her tone teasing as she stepped forward and gently took the pan from his hand. “Sit down. I’ll fix this.”

Buu raised an eyebrow, watching as she moved seamlessly around the kitchen, gathering fresh ingredients and cleaning up his mess as she went. For a moment, he just stood there, his arms crossed, his red eyes following her every move.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said after a while, his voice quieter than usual.

Poka glanced at him, surprised by the change in his tone. “I know,” she said softly, turning back to the stove. “But… I want to.”

He didn’t respond right away, and the silence stretched between them. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and almost hesitant. “You’re a strange one, Poka.”

She smiled faintly, her back still turned to him. “Maybe. But you’re not exactly normal, either.”

Buu chuckled, the sound deep and genuine. “Fair enough.”

As Poka finished cooking, she placed a plate of golden, perfectly fluffy pancakes in front of him, along with a small dish of freshly whipped cream and berries. She watched nervously as he took his first bite, her hands fidgeting at her sides.

As always, his expression softened, and a low hum of approval rumbled in his chest. “Now this is how you make breakfast,” he said, shooting her a smirk.

Poka felt her cheeks warm, but she managed a small smile. “Glad you think so.”

For the first time since he had taken over her house, the meal felt… different. The usual tension and teasing were still there, but underneath it was something softer, something unspoken.

As Buu polished off his plate, he leaned back in his chair, giving her a rare, almost genuine smile. “Thanks, Poka,” he said simply.

She blinked, startled by the sincerity in his voice. “Y-You’re welcome,” she stammered, her heart fluttering.

As she cleaned up the kitchen, Poka couldn’t help but glance at him every now and then, her mind racing with thoughts she wasn’t ready to face. And yet, for the first time, she didn’t feel quite as uneasy about the strange dynamic between them.

Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t such a bad arrangement after all.

That evening, the house was quieter than usual. Buu, for once, wasn’t demanding food or teasing Poka relentlessly. Instead, he sat on the couch, arms crossed, his red eyes fixed on the ceiling as if deep in thought. Poka, standing by the kitchen counter, found the silence both unsettling and oddly peaceful.

She had spent the day baking, unable to resist the urge to prepare something special—again. This time, she had made a batch of caramel tarts, their golden shells filled with rich, creamy filling and topped with a drizzle of dark chocolate. As the last tart cooled, she carefully arranged them on a plate and hesitated, staring down at the desserts.

What was she even doing? She couldn’t stop herself from spoiling him, and every time she did, she felt herself slipping further into feelings she didn’t fully understand.

Taking a deep breath, she carried the plate into the living room. Buu’s gaze shifted lazily to her, his sharp red eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed the plate in her hands.

“Again?” he said, his tone half-teasing, half-curious. “You’ve really got a thing for feeding me, don’t you?”

Poka flushed but refused to let his comment fluster her this time. “You like sweets, don’t you?” she said simply, setting the plate on the coffee table in front of him. “Consider it a… peace offering.”

Buu raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly. “Peace offering for what?”

“For taking over my house,” she replied, crossing her arms as she met his gaze. “And for all the trouble you’ve caused me.”

He chuckled, his deep voice filling the room. “Fair enough.”

He picked up one of the tarts and took a bite, his expression softening immediately as the caramel melted on his tongue. A low hum of satisfaction escaped him, and he leaned back into the couch, closing his eyes briefly as he savored the treat. “You’ve done it again,” he said, his voice almost appreciative. “These are… perfect.”

Poka couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “I’m glad you think so.”

Buu opened one eye, studying her with an intensity that made her stomach flutter. “Why do you do it?” he asked suddenly, his tone more serious. “Why go through all this trouble for someone like me?”

The question caught her off guard, and she hesitated, her light gray eyes darting away. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted softly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her apron as usual. “Maybe because… you seem happy when I do.”

His smirk faded, replaced by an expression she couldn’t quite read. For a moment, the room felt heavy with unspoken words. Then, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her.

“You’re strange, Poka,” he said, his voice low. “Most wouldn’t bother. They’d be too scared, too annoyed, or just plain selfish. But you… you’re different.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she glanced down, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

“It is,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

Poka’s breath hitched, and she risked a glance at him. His red eyes were softer than she’d ever seen them, and for the first time, she thought she caught a glimpse of something deeper beneath his usual arrogance.

The moment passed quickly. Buu leaned back again, his smirk returning as he grabbed another tart. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he said, his teasing tone back in full force. “I’m just saying you’re tolerable, that’s all.”

Poka rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Tolerable, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He chuckled, popping the rest of the tart into his mouth. “You should.”

As the evening wore on, the tension between them seemed to ease, replaced by a strange sense of comfort. Poka wasn’t sure where this dynamic was heading, but for now, she decided not to overthink it. Maybe it was enough to just enjoy the quiet moments—burnt pancakes, caramel tarts, and all.

Poka hadn’t been able to focus all morning. Her mind kept drifting to the day before—to the burnt breakfast, to the way Buu had smirked at her, and to the surprising warmth in his voice when he praised her caramel tart. It was infuriating how he managed to occupy so much space in her head, even when she wasn’t in the same room as him.

She huffed, placing a basket of laundry on the couch before sorting through the clothes. It was supposed to be a simple day—chores, cooking, and trying to reclaim some semblance of normalcy. But of course, that was impossible with him around.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. She stiffened, glancing up just as Buu appeared in the doorway, his crimson eyes sharp but oddly unreadable.

“You look busy,” he remarked, leaning against the wall with a smirk.

“What do you want?” Poka asked, her tone sharper than intended as she folded a towel.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her irritation. “Nothing. Just thought I’d see what you were up to.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m doing laundry,” she said, gesturing to the pile of clothes. “Nothing that would interest you.”

Buu’s smirk widened. “You’d be surprised.”

Poka paused, her light gray eyes narrowing. “You’re not planning to cause more trouble, are you?”

“Me? Cause trouble?” He feigned innocence, placing a hand over his chest. “I’m offended you’d even suggest that.”

She rolled her eyes, turning back to the clothes. “If you’re not here to help, then don’t get in the way.”

“Help?” He snorted. “You’re really full of jokes today.”

Poka’s cheeks flushed, and she shot him a glare. “I’m serious, Buu. The last thing I need is for you to—”

Before she could finish, he reached over and snatched one of the towels from the basket. Poka froze, watching in disbelief as he unfolded it and attempted to fold it again—clumsily.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.

“Helping,” he said simply, though his smirk betrayed his amusement.

“That’s not how you fold a towel,” she said, stepping closer to snatch it back. But Buu held it out of reach, his grin widening.

“Then show me,” he challenged, his tone light but teasing.

Poka hesitated, her cheeks warming as she reached for the towel. “Fine. Watch closely.”

She took the towel from his hands and carefully folded it, her movements precise and methodical. Buu watched her with an intensity that made her fidget under his gaze, though she did her best to ignore it.

“There,” she said, setting the folded towel on the couch. “It’s not that hard.”

Buu hummed thoughtfully, his crimson eyes glinting with mischief. “You make it look easy.”

“It is easy,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “You just have to try.”

He chuckled, his tone softening slightly. “I’ll take your word for it.”

The rest of the day passed quietly—or as quietly as it could with Buu lounging around the house. Poka busied herself with chores, doing her best to ignore the way he seemed to linger wherever she was. Whether it was the kitchen, the living room, or even the tiny garden out back, he always found a way to insert himself into her space.

By evening, she was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. She had just finished washing the dishes when Buu appeared in the doorway, his expression unusually serious.

“You’ve been working all day,” he said, his tone more matter-of-fact than teasing.

“And?” Poka asked, drying her hands on a dish towel. “It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

Buu stepped closer, his height making the small kitchen feel even smaller. “You could’ve asked me to help.”

Poka blinked, caught off guard by the statement. “You? Help? That’s a joke, right?”

“I’m serious,” he said, his crimson eyes locking onto hers. “You do everything around here. You don’t have to.”

She stared at him, her chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. “I’m… used to it,” she said finally, her voice quiet.

“Well, you shouldn’t have to be,” he said, his tone firm. “If I’m going to be here, the least I can do is pull my weight.”

Poka’s light gray eyes widened, and she felt a strange mix of emotions—surprise, disbelief, and something warmer that she couldn’t quite name. “You’re serious?”

Buu smirked, though there was no mockery in his expression. “Don’t get too excited. I’m not scrubbing floors or anything. But I’ll help where I can.”

Poka’s lips parted, but no words came out. She wasn’t sure what shocked her more—the fact that he was offering to help or the fact that he seemed genuine about it.

“Well?” he prompted, his smirk widening. “Are you going to say something, or are you just going to stare at me?”

She snapped out of her daze, her cheeks flushing. “I-I guess that would be… helpful,” she stammered, her voice unsteady.

“Good,” he said simply, stepping back. “Let me know what you need.”

Poka watched as he turned and left the kitchen, her mind racing. She didn’t know what to make of this sudden shift in his behavior, but a small part of her couldn’t help but feel… touched. Maybe he wasn’t as insufferable as she had thought.

That night, as she lay on the couch, Poka couldn’t stop thinking about Buu’s words. He had always been arrogant, teasing, and difficult, but there was a depth to him that she hadn’t expected. And for the first time, she found herself wondering if maybe—just maybe—there was more to him than met the eye.

Sleep came slowly, her thoughts tangled in a web of emotions she wasn’t ready to face. But as she drifted off, one thought lingered in her mind: Buu was full of surprises, and she wasn’t sure whether that thrilled or terrified her.

The dream began with soft, golden light spilling across an endless expanse of fluffy clouds. Poka found herself standing in what felt like a surreal, ethereal realm, her feet sinking slightly into the plush surface beneath her. The air smelled faintly of vanilla, and the world seemed to hum with a soothing energy.

In front of her, Buu reclined on a cloud-like throne, shirtless, his muscular frame on full display. His smooth pink skin gleamed under the gentle light, every contour of his sculpted form looking as if it were carved from perfection. He smirked lazily, his red eyes half-lidded as he watched her approach with a tray of sweets in her hands.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” he drawled, his voice deep and warm, with none of its usual sharpness.

Poka’s heart raced as she stood beside him, her hands trembling slightly as she picked up a delicate pastry. “You deserve it,” she murmured, her voice soft and reverent. “You’re… beautiful.”

His smirk widened slightly, and he leaned back, arms stretched out over the sides of the throne, completely at ease. “Go on, then. Feed me.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she couldn’t bring herself to resist. With a tenderness that surprised even her, she held the pastry to his lips, watching as he took a bite. His expression softened, his eyes fluttering shut as he hummed in satisfaction.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice like velvet. “Just like you.”

Poka’s heart swelled at the compliment, and before she realized what she was doing, her fingers gently traced the contours of his jaw. “You’re the perfect one,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “Every part of you is… amazing.”

Buu’s red eyes opened, locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. “Don’t stop,” he said softly, his tone almost pleading. “Keep going.”

She reached for another sweet, her movements slow and deliberate. As she fed him, her free hand found its way to his chest, her fingers gliding over the smooth, warm surface of his skin. “You’re so strong,” she whispered, her voice thick with admiration. “So powerful… and so beautiful.”

Buu leaned closer, his smirk giving way to something softer, almost vulnerable. “And you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “are the only one who sees me like this.”

Poka’s cheeks burned, but she couldn’t stop herself from leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered against his skin, her words spilling out before she could stop them.

His lips parted slightly, his gaze softening even further as he tilted his head toward her. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” she repeated, her voice steadier this time. She kissed his other cheek, then his forehead, then the corner of his mouth, each touch filled with an overwhelming warmth she didn’t know she was capable of.

The dream felt infinite, like a perfect moment frozen in time. But as she reached for another sweet, a strange tugging sensation pulled at the edges of her consciousness. The ethereal realm began to blur and fade, and before she could cling to the dream, she was jolted awake.

Poka shot upright on the couch, her breathing uneven and her heart racing. Her light gray eyes darted around the dimly lit room, the remnants of the dream still vivid in her mind. She pressed a hand to her chest, her skin cold but her body burning with embarrassment.

“What is wrong with me?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The memory of her dream replayed in her mind, and her cheeks flushed so deeply it felt like her entire face was on fire. She buried her head in her hands, groaning softly. The way she had caressed him, kissed him, confessed to him—it was too much. Too intimate. Too real.

But as the haze of the dream began to clear, a more horrifying thought struck her. What if Buu had the same dream?

Her heart stopped for a moment, panic blooming in her chest. He had mentioned dreaming about her before—what if it happened again? What if he saw everything she had just imagined? The thought of him knowing how she felt, of him teasing her mercilessly about it, was enough to make her want to sink into the couch and disappear.

Desperate for answers, she glanced toward the hallway, half-expecting to see him saunter into the room with that infuriating smirk, ready to make some comment about their shared dream. Instead, the house was quiet.

She exhaled shakily, trying to calm her racing thoughts. “He probably didn’t,” she told herself, though the words felt hollow. “It’s just a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Still, she couldn’t shake the lingering warmth in her chest or the memory of how tenderly he had looked at her in the dream. She hugged her knees to her chest, staring at the faint moonlight streaming through the window.

Whether or not he had the same dream, she couldn’t deny the truth anymore. She was falling for him—completely and hopelessly. And she had no idea what to do about it.

The next morning, Poka moved through her small home with a nervous energy. She avoided looking toward the couch where Buu now lounged, propped up against the armrest as he read through one of the books she had left lying around. His relaxed demeanor did little to calm her.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the dream—the way she had caressed him, fed him sweets, and whispered words she could never bring herself to say aloud. Every time she glanced in his direction, her cheeks burned, and her thoughts spiraled.

Worst of all, she was convinced that if he had dreamed the same thing, he would already be teasing her about it.

“You’re acting weird,” Buu said suddenly, his deep voice cutting through the silence. He didn’t look up from the book, but the corner of his mouth twitched, a hint of amusement playing on his lips.

Poka flinched, nearly dropping the cup of tea she had just poured. “I’m not acting weird,” she said quickly, avoiding his gaze as she busied herself with unnecessary tasks in the kitchen.

He finally set the book aside and sat up, stretching his long limbs. “You’re jumpy, fidgety, and you’ve been avoiding me all morning.” His sharp red eyes studied her closely, making her feel like a butterfly pinned under glass. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” she blurted out, her voice higher than she intended. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to sound calmer. “I just… didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

Buu raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Didn’t sleep well, huh? Was it another dream?” His smirk widened, and Poka’s heart sank.

“No!” she said too quickly, her face growing hotter. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you’ve been acting strange ever since the last time we talked about dreams.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe you’re afraid of something?”

Poka stiffened, clutching her cup tightly. “I’m not afraid of anything,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, really?” Buu stood, his intimidating frame casting a shadow over her as he crossed the room in a few strides. He leaned against the counter, peering down at her with a playful yet knowing look. “Then why are you so red? You’re practically glowing.”

She turned away, trying to hide her flustered expression. “I-it’s just warm in here,” she lied, feeling ridiculous even as the words left her mouth.

Buu chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “You’re terrible at hiding things, Poka. But fine, if you don’t want to tell me, I’ll let it go.” He straightened up, turning toward the pantry. “For now, anyway.”

She sighed in relief, but the reprieve was short-lived.

“While we’re at it,” he continued casually, rummaging through the shelves, “I’ll take some more of those pastries you made yesterday. And don’t skimp on the filling this time.”

Poka’s head snapped up, her heart pounding. “You ate all the ones from yesterday!”

“Yeah, and they were good,” he said with a shrug. “So make more.”

“You can’t just—” she started, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“I can, and I will,” he said smugly, pulling out ingredients and plopping them onto the counter. “You’re the one who got me hooked on your cooking. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

Poka groaned, but the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips betrayed her. She quickly turned away, pretending to focus on cleaning the counter as her thoughts swirled.

It was almost comforting, in a strange way, to see him act like his usual self. Maybe he hadn’t had the same dream after all. And even if he had, it was clear he wasn’t going to bring it up outright.

As she started preparing the dough for a new batch of pastries, Buu leaned back against the counter, watching her with that infuriating smirk.

“You know,” he said lazily, “if you keep spoiling me like this, I might never leave. Just a reminder.”

Poka glanced at him, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad,” she mumbled under her breath.

“What was that?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Nothing!” she said quickly, her heart racing.

Buu chuckled, clearly amused. “You’re a strange one, Poka,” he said, his tone softer this time.

She didn’t respond, focusing on the task at hand, but as she worked, a small, genuine smile crept onto her face. Despite her embarrassment, despite her confusion, she couldn’t deny the truth: she didn’t mind having him here. In fact, she liked it more than she cared to admit.

And for now, that was enough. Until…

Later that day, Poka found herself outside in the small garden behind her home, kneeling among the flowerbeds as she tried to occupy her restless thoughts. The air was cool and crisp, and the gentle breeze helped calm her nerves after the chaotic morning. But even surrounded by peace, her mind kept wandering back to him—his smirk, his laugh, the way his red eyes glinted with mischief when he teased her.

And, of course, the dream.

She groaned softly, her hands tightening around the trowel she held. No matter how hard she tried to distract herself, her thoughts always circled back to Buu. How could someone so infuriating and arrogant take up so much space in her head?

“Talking to yourself again?” Buu’s deep voice broke through her thoughts, startling her.

Poka nearly dropped the trowel as she turned to see him standing a few feet away, his arms crossed and that ever-present smirk plastered on his face. He looked completely at ease, as if he hadn’t just caught her in the middle of her internal meltdown.

“I wasn’t talking to myself,” she muttered, turning back to her work and hoping he wouldn’t press further.

“Sure sounded like it,” he said, stepping closer. He crouched down beside her, his sharp red eyes studying her intently. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, keeping her gaze fixed on the soil. She started digging a little too vigorously, the trowel slicing through the dirt with more force than necessary.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, his tone almost teasing but with an edge of curiosity. “You’ve been acting strange all day.”

Poka’s shoulders stiffened, but she refused to look at him. “I’m fine,” she insisted, though her voice wavered slightly.

Buu watched her for a moment longer before leaning back on his heels. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she finally glanced at him. “Why do you care?” she snapped, more harshly than she intended. “You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side since you got here!”

He blinked, momentarily taken aback by her outburst. Then, to her surprise, he chuckled. “A thorn, huh?” he said, leaning closer. “Funny, because I thought you didn’t mind having me around.”

Poka’s heart skipped a beat, and she quickly turned away, her face burning. “Y-You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Because you don’t exactly seem eager to kick me out.”

Her grip on the trowel tightened, and she opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat. He wasn’t wrong. As much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t want him to leave. And that realization only made her more flustered.

Buu’s expression softened slightly, his red eyes narrowing as he studied her. “You’re blushing again,” he said, his tone quieter now. “Is it because of me?”

Poka froze, her breath hitching. She couldn’t bring herself to respond, and the silence hung heavy between them.

Before she could gather her thoughts, Buu sighed dramatically and stood up, brushing the dirt off his knees. “Fine, keep your secrets,” he said, his teasing tone returning. “But don’t think I won’t figure it out eventually.”

With that, he turned and headed back toward the house, leaving Poka alone with her thoughts. She watched him go, her heart pounding in her chest.

Towards the evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Poka found herself back in the kitchen, preparing yet another dessert. She wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to keep baking for him—it was almost like a reflex at this point.

Buu entered the room just as she was finishing up, his sharp red eyes immediately locking onto the tray of freshly baked cookies on the counter.

“More sweets?” he said, his smirk returning. “You’re spoiling me again.”

“I’m just… um,” she mumbled, her cheeks flushing.

“Uh-huh.” He stepped closer, his tall frame looming over her as he reached for a cookie. “Whatever you say.”

As he took a bite, his expression softened, and a low hum of approval escaped him. “Perfect, as always,” he said, glancing down at her. “You really do know how to keep me happy, don’t you?”

Poka’s heart fluttered, and she quickly turned away, pretending to busy herself with cleaning. “Don’t get used to it,” she muttered, though her voice lacked any real conviction.

Buu chuckled, taking the entire tray of cookies and leaning against the counter as he watched her. “Too late for that,” he said, his tone light but with a hint of something deeper. “You’ve already got me hooked.”

Her hands froze mid-motion, and she felt her cheeks heat up again. She wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

For now, all she could do was focus on the task at hand and hope that her flustered state wasn’t too obvious. But deep down, she knew she couldn’t keep denying her feelings forever. It was only a matter of time before everything came to light—whether she was ready for it or not.

The dream began in a setting as ethereal as before: clouds stretched endlessly into the horizon, golden light filtering through the sky, and the air thick with warmth and sweetness. Poka stood in the middle of it all, a tray of intricate desserts in her hands, but this time, she was hesitant. Something about the dream felt… different.

Buu was there, just like before, his shirtless frame reclined on a throne-like seat made of swirling clouds. His red eyes locked onto her as she approached, his gaze sharper than it had been in previous dreams. His usual smirk was replaced with a look of impatience, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re taking your time,” he said, his deep voice carrying an edge of frustration. “What’s the hold-up?”

Poka froze, clutching the tray tightly. “I… I don’t know,” she stammered, her light gray eyes darting nervously to the desserts in her hands. “I just—”

“You’re hesitating,” he interrupted, leaning forward, his tone firm. “Why? You didn’t hesitate last time.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, the surreal atmosphere of the dream feeling heavier than before. She couldn’t shake the sensation that this version of Buu wasn’t just a figment of her imagination—it felt too real.

“I’m… sorry,” she murmured, her voice trembling as she took a cautious step closer. She placed the tray down on a nearby surface, her hands shaking as she picked up a delicate pastry. “I just—after earlier, I—”

“After earlier?” he repeated, his red eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

Poka’s breath hitched, and she hesitated again. Finally, she blurted out the question that had been haunting her. “Are you real?”

Buu blinked, his expression briefly faltering before his smirk returned, though it was colder this time. “What kind of question is that?” he asked, standing and stepping toward her. His form loomed over her, and the air between them seemed to hum with energy. “Why would you think I’m not real?”

Her hands clenched at her sides as she struggled to keep her voice steady. “Because I’ve been dreaming about you,” she said, her cheeks flushing. “And… I don’t know if you’re just part of my imagination or if—if you know.”

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable as he studied her. “Dreaming about me, huh?” His tone was soft, almost teasing, but there was an underlying tension that made her shiver. “And what exactly have you been dreaming about?”

Poka’s face burned, and she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Buu stepped closer, closing the distance between them. His red eyes bore into hers, and she felt like he could see straight through her. “It does matter,” he said, his voice low. “Tell me.”

“I…” She swallowed hard, her mind racing. This dream was already different, more intense, and she wasn’t sure if she could handle the consequences of her confession—even if this wasn’t the real Buu. “You were… here, like now. And I was… feeding you.”

His smirk returned, this time sharper, more dangerous. “Sounds about right,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Go on.”

“And… I said things,” she continued, her voice trembling. “Things I wouldn’t say in real life. About how—how I feel about you.”

For a moment, Buu was silent, his red eyes locked onto hers. Then, to her surprise, his smirk softened, and he let out a low chuckle. “You think I don’t know?”

Her heart stopped. “W-What?”

He leaned down, his face inches from hers. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me? The way you blush when I tease you? You’re terrible at hiding things, Poka.”

Her chest tightened, and she stumbled back, shaking her head. “This is just a dream,” she said, her voice frantic. “You’re not real. You can’t know—”

Before she could finish, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer. The warmth of his touch felt far too real, and her breath caught in her throat as his gaze bore into hers. “Real or not,” he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of finality, “you’re mine, Poka. And you’d better stop doubting it.”

She woke with a start, her heart pounding and her breath coming in short gasps. The faint light of dawn filtered through the window, and for a moment, she just sat there, clutching the blanket tightly.

Her mind raced, replaying every moment of the dream. It had felt so vivid, so intense. And the way he had spoken to her… could it really have been just her imagination?

She turned her head toward the hallway, half-expecting to see Buu standing there with that smug look on his face, ready to tease her about the dream. But the house was quiet.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, on some level, he did know. And that thought terrified her more than anything.

The following morning, Poka woke up feeling more exhausted than when she had gone to bed. The vividness of her latest dream lingered in her mind, and she couldn’t shake the intensity of the way dream-Buu had spoken to her, his words echoing like they were meant to reach her even in the waking world.

She moved through her morning routine with a heavy heart, stealing glances at the living room where Buu was, as always, lounging on the couch like he owned the place. He seemed unbothered, flipping through one of her books with an air of boredom. But every time she saw his sharp red eyes glance in her direction, her chest tightened.

Her mind raced with questions. Was it just a dream? Did he know? Could he possibly have the same connection to these dreams that she did? She shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. It’s just a coincidence, she told herself for the hundredth time.

“Are you going to stand there staring all morning?” Buu’s voice broke her spiral of thoughts, making her flinch. He didn’t look up from the book, but the corner of his mouth curled into a familiar smirk. “You’re starting to creep me out.”

“I’m not staring,” Poka said quickly, averting her gaze and fidgeting with her apron. “I was just… thinking.”

“About me, no doubt,” he said, closing the book and setting it aside. “I tend to have that effect on people.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she turned away, heading into the kitchen to busy herself with cleaning. “You wish,” she muttered under her breath, though the words lacked any real conviction.

“I heard that,” Buu called after her, the teasing lilt in his voice making her stomach flip.

By the time breakfast was ready, Poka had managed to compose herself—at least on the surface. She set the table with her usual care, placing Buu’s plate down without meeting his gaze. He sat down, his size making the chair seem far too small for him, and began eating with his usual enthusiasm.

“You’ve been acting weird again,” he said between bites, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Poka replied quickly, taking a sip of her tea to hide her flustered expression.

“Hm.” Buu leaned back in his chair, studying her with narrowed eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Her hands trembled slightly as she set her cup down. “I’m not lying,” she insisted, though the wavering in her voice betrayed her.

“Sure you’re not.” He smirked, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. “But let me guess—you had another dream about me.”

Poka froze, her eyes widening as she stared at him. “W-What makes you think that?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe it’s the way you keep blushing every time you look at me. Or the way you keep avoiding eye contact. You’re not exactly subtle, Poka.”

Her face burned, and she quickly looked down at her plate, her hands clutching the edges of the table. “It was just a dream,” she mumbled, her voice trembling. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Buu chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Maybe. But you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

She didn’t respond, her light gray eyes fixed on her hands as her mind raced. How was he so good at reading her? And why did he always manage to twist her words in a way that made her heart race?

After a long moment of silence, Buu stood, his imposing frame casting a shadow over her as he leaned down, his face inches from hers. “You can’t hide from me forever, Poka,” he said, his voice soft but laced with a teasing edge. “Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, I’ll figure it out.”

Before she could respond, he straightened up and grabbed his plate, carrying it to the sink with an almost casual air. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said over his shoulder, his smirk still firmly in place. “It was good, as always.”

Poka sat frozen at the table, her heart pounding and her mind swirling with confusion. She had no idea how much longer she could keep her feelings—and her dreams—a secret. But one thing was certain: Buu wasn’t going to let her off the hook easily.

And deep down, a part of her wasn’t sure she wanted him to.

Later that day, Poka decided she needed some time to herself. The intensity of her latest dream and Buu’s unnervingly accurate remarks had her emotions in complete disarray. She grabbed a shawl, muttering to herself as she headed for the door.

“Going out again?” Buu’s voice stopped her mid-step. She turned to see him sprawled on the couch, his red eyes fixed on her like a predator sizing up its prey.

“I need some air,” she said quickly, her hand gripping the doorknob.

“Air, huh?” He stood, stretching lazily as he crossed the room toward her. “You keep running off. Starting to think you’re avoiding me.”

Her breath hitched, and she turned away, pulling the shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’m not avoiding you. I just… need some space.”

Buu tilted his head, his sharp gaze softening slightly. “Space from what? Or should I say… from who?”

“From you!” she blurted, her cheeks flushing. “You’re driving me crazy, okay? You’re loud, you’re demanding, and you’re constantly in my space. I just need a break!”

For a moment, Buu stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he chuckled. “Driving you crazy, huh?” He stepped closer, his towering frame making her feel even smaller. “Is that all?”

“Yes!” she snapped, though her voice wavered. “So, if you’ll excuse me—”

He smirked, leaning down slightly. “You sure it’s not something else? Something you’re not telling me?”

Her heart pounded, and she stepped back, her light gray eyes darting nervously. “Why do you care?”

“Because,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer, almost teasing tone, “I think you’re hiding something. And I don’t like being left out.”

Poka clenched her fists, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “I’m not hiding anything,” she said firmly, though the tremble in her voice betrayed her.

Buu straightened up, crossing his arms as his smirk widened. “Fine. Go take your little walk. But don’t think you’re off the hook, Poka. I’ll get to the bottom of this eventually.”

She didn’t wait for him to say more. Throwing the door open, she stepped outside, letting the crisp air fill her lungs as she tried to steady her racing heart.

As she wandered aimlessly through the quiet streets, Poka replayed their exchange in her mind. His smirk, his teasing, his sharp red eyes that seemed to see right through her—everything about him was maddening. But what frustrated her the most was how he made her feel.

Why does he have to be like this? she thought, clutching her scarf tightly. Why does he have to be so… infuriating and—

Her thoughts screeched to a halt when she realized she had unconsciously wandered into a small park. The gentle rustling of leaves and the soft chirping of birds provided a sense of calm she desperately needed. She found a secluded bench and sat down, letting out a shaky breath as she leaned back.

But no matter how peaceful the surroundings were, her mind kept drifting back to him. The way he looked at her, the way his voice softened when he wasn’t teasing, and the way he somehow managed to invade her dreams.

“Why can’t I stop thinking about him?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

When she returned home later that evening, the house was quiet. For a moment, she thought Buu had left, but as she stepped into the living room, she found him sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of food in front of him.

“You’re back,” he said without looking up, his tone unusually calm.

“Yeah,” she said softly, hanging up her scarf.

They sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “You were gone a while.”

“I needed time to think,” she admitted, hesitating before sitting down across from him.

Buu glanced at her, his red eyes studying her carefully. “Did it help?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the table.

He leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning. “You’re a mess, Poka. You know that?”

She scowled, her cheeks flushing. “And whose fault do you think that is?”

“Mine, obviously,” he said with a chuckle, taking another bite of his meal. “But you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Poka opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself. As much as she wanted to deny it, he wasn’t entirely wrong. And that realization only made her feelings more complicated.

For now, all she could do was navigate this strange, chaotic dynamic and hope that her dreams—and her growing feelings—didn’t give her away.

That night, as Poka lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts were an uncontrollable storm. Every word, every smirk, every teasing remark from Buu replayed in her mind. She pulled the blanket over her head, groaning softly.

"Why can’t I stop thinking about him?" she thought, her heart pounding. "And what if I dream about him again?"

The idea sent a shiver through her, equal parts excitement and dread. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to focus on anything else, but sleep eventually claimed her, pulling her into another vivid dream.

This time, the ethereal realm seemed even more surreal. The clouds beneath her feet felt softer, the golden light warmer. Poka stood in the middle of it all, a tray of desserts in her hands again, but this time she wasn’t alone.

Buu was there, shirtless once more, his muscular frame glistening as if the light itself adored him. He stood instead of sitting, his imposing figure even more intimidating up close. His red eyes bore into her with an intensity that made her knees weak.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone sharper than usual. “What kept you?”

Poka hesitated, clutching the tray tightly. “I… I didn’t want to come.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk laced with impatience. “Liar. You couldn’t stay away.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down, unable to meet his gaze. “Why are you always like this?”

“Like what?” he asked, stepping closer. “Honest? Direct? You could learn a thing or two from me.”

Poka’s heart raced as he stopped just inches away. His presence was overwhelming, and the warmth radiating from him made her chest tighten. “You’re impossible,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“And yet, here you are,” he said softly, his tone teasing but with an edge that sent a shiver down her spine.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look up at him. “Are you… the real Majin Buu?” she found herself asking him again, her voice barely audible.

His smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something unreadable. “Really?” he asked, his tone quieter.

“I need to know,” she insisted, her fingers trembling around the tray. “Do you… do you know that I’ve been dreaming about you?”

His red eyes narrowed, and he leaned down, his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath. “What if I do?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Poka’s heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “Then you’d know… everything,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What I’ve been feeling. What I’ve been trying to hide.”

Buu’s smirk returned, softer this time. He reached out, gently taking the tray from her hands and setting it aside. “You’ve been hiding from yourself, Poka,” he said, his tone almost… gentle. “You’re too scared to admit it, even here.”

Her breath hitched as he lifted a hand, his fingers brushing her cheek. The touch was warm, almost comforting, but it sent a shockwave through her. “Admit what?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“That you love me,” he said simply.

Her chest tightened, and she took a step back, shaking her head. “This is just a dream,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “None of this is real.”

“Dream or not,” he said, stepping closer, “your feelings are real. And so are mine.”

Poka froze, her eyes wide as his words sank in. But before she could respond, the dream began to blur and fade, the golden light dimming as reality pulled her back.

She woke with a start, her breathing uneven and her cheeks flushed. The faint glow of moonlight spilled through the window, and the house was silent except for the soft hum of the heater.

Poka sat up, clutching the blanket tightly. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her mind raced with questions she couldn’t begin to answer.

Was that really just a dream? she thought, her light gray eyes darting to the hallway. Or was there more to it?

The thought of facing Buu in the morning made her stomach twist with anxiety. If he knew—if he really knew—she didn’t know how she’d be able to look him in the eye again.

But as she lay back down, staring at the ceiling, a small, treacherous part of her couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he did.

The next morning, Poka felt as if she were walking on eggshells. Every sound in the house seemed louder, every shadow sharper, as if her latest dream had left the world slightly out of focus. Her heart raced when she heard movement in the kitchen, signaling Buu was already awake.

I can do this, she told herself, clutching her scarf tightly as she stepped into the kitchen. Just act normal. He doesn’t know. He can’t know.

Buu was leaning against the counter, a piece of toast in one hand and his red eyes lazily scanning her as she entered. He looked unusually casual, his usual smirk replaced by a more neutral expression.

“Morning,” he said simply, taking a bite of his toast.

“Morning,” Poka replied, her voice quieter than usual. She busied herself with making tea, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tension radiating off her.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, without warning, Buu spoke again. “You’ve been awfully quiet lately.”

Poka froze, her hands trembling slightly as she poured the hot water. “I’ve just been… tired,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“Tired?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning faintly. “Or avoiding me?”

She flinched, nearly spilling the tea. “I’m not avoiding you,” she said quickly, her cheeks flushing.

He set his toast down and turned toward her, his imposing frame making the small kitchen feel even smaller. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his tone calm but probing. “Because it seems like you’ve been acting… off.”

Poka bit her lip, her light gray eyes darting nervously around the room. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Buu stepped closer, leaning against the counter next to her. “You’re still terrible at lying, Poka,” he said, his smirk widening. “It’s written all over your face.”

Her cheeks burned, and she turned away, pretending to focus on her tea. “I’m not lying,” she mumbled, though even she didn’t believe her own words.

“Fine,” he said, his tone casual but with an edge of amusement. “Then tell me—what have you been dreaming about?”

Poka’s breath hitched, and she froze, her hands tightening around the teacup. “W-What?” she stammered, her heart pounding.

“You heard me,” he said, leaning down slightly so his red eyes were level with hers. “What have you been dreaming about?”

Her mind raced, panic bubbling to the surface. Did he know? Was he toying with her? Or was this just another one of his teasing games?

“I-I don’t remember,” she lied, her voice trembling. “It’s just… random stuff. Nothing important.”

Buu chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Random, huh?” He straightened up, crossing his arms as he studied her. “If you say so.”

She exhaled shakily, relief flooding her as he seemed to drop the subject. But just as she started to relax, he spoke again.

“You know,” he said, his tone softer now, “you don’t have to hide things from me. Whatever’s going on in that head of yours… you can tell me.”

Poka’s chest tightened, and she looked down at her tea, her fingers gripping the cup tightly. “I’m fine,” she said softly, though her voice wavered.

Buu watched her for a moment longer before sighing. “Suit yourself,” he said, turning to leave the kitchen. “But don’t think I’m going to stop asking.”

As he walked away, Poka slumped against the counter, her legs feeling weak. She stared into her tea, her mind swirling with emotions she couldn’t name.

He doesn’t know, she told herself firmly. He’s just teasing, like always.

But as she replayed his words in her mind, a small, treacherous part of her wondered if he wasn’t teasing at all. If maybe, just maybe, he really did know.

Later that day, Poka kept herself busy with chores, anything to keep her mind from spiraling back to the dream—or the way Buu had looked at her in the kitchen. She swept, cleaned, and reorganized cupboards that didn’t need reorganizing, all while stealing cautious glances toward the living room.

Buu, as always, was making himself comfortable. He sprawled across the couch, flipping through one of her books with an air of lazy curiosity. Occasionally, his sharp red eyes would flick up to watch her, and every time they did, Poka’s heart would skip a beat.

She decided to retreat to the safety of her garden, hoping some time alone would help her regain her composure. But just as she was passing by the living room, Buu called out to her.

“Poka.”

She froze mid-step, her back to him. “What?” she asked, her voice strained.

“Come here,” he said, his tone almost playful but with an undercurrent of something more serious.

Her stomach churned with nervous energy, but she reluctantly turned and stepped into the room. He sat up, setting the book aside, and motioned for her to sit in the chair across from him. She hesitated but obeyed, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she avoided his gaze.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Buu leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His red eyes bore into her, intense and searching. “You’ve been weird all week,” he said bluntly. “And it’s starting to get on my nerves.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” she said quickly, though her voice lacked conviction.

He narrowed his eyes, his smirk fading. “No, you’re not. You’re hiding something.” He tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Is it about me?”

Poka’s heart skipped a beat, and she stiffened. “Why would it be about you?” she asked, though the tremble in her voice betrayed her.

Buu’s gaze didn’t waver. “You tell me,” he said, his tone softer now. “You’ve been avoiding me, stammering every time I talk to you, and blushing like crazy. If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

Her chest tightened, and she felt the weight of his words pressing down on her. She couldn’t keep dodging this, not with him looking at her like that—like he already knew the truth and was just waiting for her to admit it.

“I…” She swallowed hard, her light gray eyes darting away. “It’s nothing, okay? Just… forget it.”

“Poka,” he said firmly, his voice snapping her attention back to him. “Stop running away.”

Her breath hitched, and she looked up to meet his gaze. The intensity in his red eyes was almost too much to bear, but she forced herself to hold it.

“I’ve been having dreams,” she blurted out, her voice trembling. “About you.”

Buu said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he leaned back, his smirk returning. “I figured as much.”

Her cheeks burned, and she clenched her fists in her lap. “You knew?”

“You’re not exactly subtle,” he said with a chuckle. “But go on. What kind of dreams?”

Poka’s heart pounded, and she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said quickly. “They’re just dreams. They don’t mean anything.”

“Don’t they?” he asked, his tone low and teasing. “Because the way you’ve been acting says otherwise.”

Her stomach twisted, and she buried her face in her hands. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, her voice muffled.

Buu chuckled, leaning forward again. “Come on, Poka. Don’t get shy on me now. Tell me—what happens in these dreams?”

She shook her head, refusing to look at him. “I’m not telling you.”

“Fine,” he said, his smirk widening. “I’ll just have to guess, then.”

Her head shot up, her eyes wide with panic. “No! Don’t—”

“You’re feeding me sweets,” he said, his tone light but knowing. “Probably saying nice things about me, too. Sound familiar?”

Her face burned, and she looked away, her heart pounding. “You’re just guessing.”

“Am I?” he asked, his voice dropping lower. “Or did I get it exactly right?”

Poka felt like the room was spinning, her emotions a chaotic mess. She couldn’t deny it anymore—he did know. Somehow, he had pieced it all together, and now he was watching her unravel.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Buu tilted his head, his red eyes narrowing slightly. “Because you’re hiding from yourself,” he said simply. “And I’m tired of waiting for you to figure it out.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared at him, her mind racing. “Figure out what?” she whispered.

“That you love me,” he said, his tone softer now. “And you’re too scared to admit it.”

Poka’s chest tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. All she could do was sit there, her heart pounding as his words hung in the air between them.

Buu’s smirk softened, and he leaned back, crossing his arms. “Take your time,” he said, his tone lighter now. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Poka stared at him, her emotions a whirlwind of confusion, fear, and something she couldn’t quite name. As much as she wanted to deny it, she knew he was right.

And that terrified her.

Poka stood in front of the bathroom mirror later that evening, pulling on her own tentacles, her light gray eyes fixed on their reflection. The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the heater, but her thoughts were anything but calm. Her conversation with Buu replayed in her mind, his sharp red eyes and teasing smirk etched into her memory.

Why would someone like him care about me? she thought, clutching her tentacles tighter. He’s powerful, confident, everything I’m not. He probably thinks my dreams are ridiculous, foolish, even.

Her chest ached at the thought. Every time she looked at him, she felt both admiration and inadequacy. Buu wasn’t just someone she had grown to care for—he was everything she had always wanted to be. Strong, self-assured, unshaken by the world. He stood tall and proud, while she still felt like a mess, fumbling through her own emotions.

And yet, he was also the person she needed most. After spending centuries locked away, trapped in silence and isolation, and then losing her master not long after her release, Poka had been left untethered. She didn’t know who she was or what her purpose was anymore. Buu, for all his arrogance and teasing, had become her anchor.

But how could someone like him ever love someone like me?

Her thoughts spiraled, and before she could stop herself, she headed toward the living room. Buu was there, still sitting on the couch, his arms stretched out along the backrest as he watched her approach. His sharp red eyes locked onto hers, and that familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” he teased, his tone light.

Poka stopped a few feet away, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her heart pounded, and she took a deep breath, willing herself to speak. “I… need to tell you something,” she said, her voice trembling.

Buu raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Oh? This should be good.”

She swallowed hard, her gaze darting away. “I… I know you probably think I’m weak. That I’m a mess. And you wouldn’t be wrong.” Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. “You’re so powerful, so confident… so beautiful. And I’m just… me. Someone who spent hundreds of years locked away, someone who doesn’t even know what she’s doing half the time.”

Buu’s smirk faded instantly, his expression hardening as her words sank in. His red eyes narrowed sharply, and his body tensed as he leaned forward.

“What did you just say?” he asked, his voice low and simmering with barely contained anger.

Poka blinked, startled by his reaction. “I just mean—”

“No,” he interrupted, standing abruptly. His loomed over her, his crimson eyes blazing as he crossed the space between them. “What are you talking about, Poka?”

“I… I know I’m not strong like you,” she continued, her voice shaking. “I know I’m not as put together or as sure of myself. And I know you probably think my dreams about you are foolish and weird.” She bit her lip, her voice breaking. “But you’re everything I admire. Everything I want to be. And more than that… you’re someone I need.” Tears began to stream down her face as she finally met his gaze. “I love you, Majin Buu,” she said, her voice trembling. “I love you so much it scares me. And if you don’t understand, or if you don’t care, that’s okay. I’ll still be grateful for everything you’ve done for me.”

Her breath hitched, and she shook her head, fresh tears spilling over. “But that’s not true,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “It’s not okay. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to be without you.”

The room fell silent, her confession hanging heavy in the air. Poka stood there, trembling, her tears falling freely as she waited for his response.

Buu’s red eyes locked onto hers, blazing with a mixture of anger and something she couldn’t quite name. Slowly, he exhaled, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to steady himself.

“You really think I don’t care?” he asked, his voice low but no less sharp. “You think I’ve stayed here, put up with everything, and let you into my life because I don’t care?”

Her breath hitched again. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” he snapped, his tone softening only slightly. “You’ve convinced yourself I see you the way you see yourself—weak, broken, unsure. But that’s not what I see, Poka. Not even close.”

She stared at him, tears still streaming down her face, as his crimson eyes burned with intensity.

“I see someone who’s been through hell and back,” he continued, his voice softening further but no less firm. “Someone who still stands tall despite everything. You’re stronger than you know. And the fact that you’d doubt yourself like this… the fact that you’d doubt me? That pisses me off.”

Poka flinched, her tears slowing as she processed his words. “I… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Buu sighed, his expression softening as he ran a hand through his tentacle. “I know,” he said quietly. “But you did.”

He stepped closer, his towering form overwhelming but steady. Gently, he reached out, his hand cupping her cheek. She froze at his touch, her breath catching as his thumb brushed away her tears.

“You’re not weak, Poka,” he said firmly. “And you’re not a mess. You’re everything I didn’t realize I needed. And as for your dreams?” His lips quirked into a faint smirk, though his crimson eyes remained soft. “They’re not foolish. If anything, they’re perfect.”

Her light gray eyes widened as his words sank in. “Majin Buu, I…”

“I love you,” he interrupted, his voice steady. “I’ve known it for a while now. And it pisses me off that you’d think I don’t.”

Her heart stopped, her breath catching in her throat. “Y-You… what?”

“You heard me,” he said, his smirk widening slightly. “I love you, Poka. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Her tears spilled over again, but this time they weren’t from sadness. She let out a shaky laugh, her hands trembling as she wiped her face. “You’re impossible,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Buu chuckled, pulling her into his arms. She melted against him, her small frame trembling as he held her close.

“Yeah, I am,” he said, his tone lighter now. “But you love me anyway.”

She laughed again, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “I do,” she whispered, her voice steady now. “I really do.”

Buu smirked, leaning down slightly. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I don’t think I can live without you're desserts.”

That night, as Poka stepped into her bedroom, the air felt different—lighter, warmer, and filled with an unfamiliar sense of comfort. The revelation of their feelings earlier had left her emotionally drained but oddly peaceful. Now, as she stood by the bed she hadn’t used since Buu had taken over her home, the realization hit her again: things were going to change.

Buu was already lounging on her bed, his tall, muscular frame taking up most of the space like always. His crimson eyes followed her lazily, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched her fidget near the door.

“You’re just going to stand there all night?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

Poka flushed, clutching her nightgown tightly. “I-I’m just… adjusting,” she murmured.

His smirk widened as he patted the empty spot next to him. “Come on, Poka. You confessed your love earlier, and now you’re too shy to share a bed with me?”

Her cheeks burned, but she cautiously made her way over, sitting stiffly on the edge of the mattress. “I’m not shy,” she muttered, though her voice betrayed her uncertainty.

Buu chuckled, reaching out to tug her closer with an ease that made her breath catch. “Sure you’re not,” he teased, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. His warmth seeped into her, grounding her as his deep voice softened. “Relax, Poka. I’m not going to bite.”

She stiffened for a moment before giving in, leaning slightly against him. A small, tentative smile crept onto her lips. Despite the teasing glint in his eyes, she could feel the sincerity in his touch, in the way his arm rested securely around her.

“You’re warm,” she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

His smirk shifted into a smug grin. “I know,” he replied, leaning back and making himself even more comfortable. “You’re lucky I’m so nice, letting you take up my space.”

Poka rolled her eyes but didn’t move away. “Your space?” she asked, her tone half-exasperated, half-amused. “This is my bed.”

“Not anymore,” he countered, his voice rich with amusement. “You forfeited it when you started sleeping on that lumpy couch.”

Despite herself, Poka chuckled, the sound light and genuine. For the first time in a long time, her room didn’t feel lonely. The weight of her past, of all her doubts and fears, seemed to ease as she leaned against him.

The next morning Poka woke to the sound of faint snoring beside her. Blinking sleepily, she turned her head and stifled a laugh. Buu was sprawled across the bed, one arm thrown over his face, his crimson eyes hidden as soft, rhythmic snores escaped him.

She slipped out of bed quietly and padded to the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee and gathering ingredients for breakfast. As she worked, her mind wandered to the sight of him snoring—a rare moment of vulnerability that she found surprisingly endearing.

By the time Buu emerged from the bedroom, his head tentacle slightly askew, the table was set with plates of eggs, toast, and fresh fruit. Poka couldn’t resist teasing him as he sat down with a yawn.

“You snore louder than I expected,” she said, a mischievous glint in her light gray eyes.

Buu paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I do not snore.”

“Oh, you do,” she replied, biting back a grin. “It’s kind of cute, though.”

His brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms. “Careful, Poka. You’re starting to sound too comfortable teasing me.”

She laughed softly, sliding a plate toward him. “Maybe I am. You bring it out in me.”

He picked up his fork, smirking. “You’re lucky I’m letting that slide because this smells good.”

They ate together, the atmosphere light and filled with their usual banter. Buu poked fun at how flustered she had been the night before, while Poka playfully chided him for hogging the bed. Despite his teasing, there was a warmth to his tone—a softness that lingered beneath every smirk and remark.

After breakfast, the two settled into an almost surreal domestic routine. Poka baked a fresh batch of desserts while Buu lounged in the living room, his sharp red eyes lazily following her whenever she passed by. Occasionally, he’d call out a comment or tease her, and she’d respond with a playful glare or a quick retort.

When the desserts were ready, Poka brought out a tray filled with a selection of pastries—delicate tarts, buttery cookies, and a cake topped with whipped cream. She set it down on the coffee table in front of him, her light gray eyes meeting his.

“I made these for you,” she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of shyness.

Buu’s crimson eyes lit up, and he leaned forward, inspecting the tray with a satisfied hum. “You really do spoil me,” he said, picking up a tart and taking a bite. His expression softened as the flavors melted on his tongue. “Perfect, as always.”

Poka flushed under his praise. “I… I just wanted to do something nice,” she admitted.

He set the tart down and leaned closer, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. “Poka,” he said, his tone quieter now, “you don’t have to keep proving yourself to me.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his voice. “I’m not,” she said, her cheeks warming. “I just… love you.”

His smirk softened into a genuine smile, and for a moment, the teasing glint in his eyes was replaced with something deeper. “I know,” he said softly, reaching out to cup her cheek. “And I love you too.”

Before she could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a gentle, almost tentative kiss. Her breath hitched, her heart racing as she melted into the warmth of the moment.

When he pulled back, his smirk returned, though it was softer this time. “You’re stuck with me now, you know,” he said, his tone teasing but full of affection.

Poka laughed softly, her light gray eyes shimmering with emotion. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As they settled back into their routine, sharing desserts and laughter, Poka felt a sense of peace she hadn’t known in years. Buu’s teasing might never stop, but now it was clear that beneath the arrogance and the smirks, his feelings for her were real.

And for the first time, Poka felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be—by his side, sharing a life that was hers and his, together.

The End.