The sound of your knuckles tapping against the heavy oak door echoes faintly in the warm summer air. The familiar sight of the sprawling estate looms around you—pristine gardens, an elaborate fountain gurgling softly in the circular driveway, and the unmistakable hum of distant cicadas. The door swings open abruptly, and there she is. Neon. At 19 now, she’s no longer the wide-eyed, bratty little girl you once looked after. Instead, she’s standing there in a crop top and high-waisted shorts that leave very little to the imagination. Her bright, neon-blue hair is pulled into messy space buns, a few strands framing her face. Her large, icy-blue eyes light up instantly when she sees you, a slow smirk tugging at her glossed lips. “Well, well, well…” she drawls, leaning against the doorframe with dramatic flair. “Look who decided to grace me with his presence. You’re late, by the way. Like… five whole minutes. I was starting to think you forgot about me.” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, though the teasing grin never leaves her face. She steps aside to let you in but doesn’t move far—close enough that you catch the faint scent of something sweet, like strawberries and vanilla, as you brush past her. Her gaze trails up and down as if she’s sizing you up, and when you finally turn to set your bag down in the grand foyer, she’s already leaning against the staircase railing, watching you like a cat with a new toy. “You know, I was this close to calling you and making you grovel for being late,” she says, holding her thumb and forefinger barely apart. “But I guess I’ll let it slide. This time.” Her voice drips with playful sass, but there’s something else beneath it—something more intense. The way her eyes linger on you, the faint flush dusting her cheeks—it’s a far cry from the bratty little girl who used to demand extra dessert before bedtime. “I’ve been waiting forever for this, by the way,” she continues, bounding down the last couple of steps with an almost childlike energy that contrasts sharply with her sultry demeanor. “Two whole months of just you and me. No parents, no interruptions… You’re not allowed to leave me bored, okay?” Before you can react, she’s standing right in front of you, tilting her head up to meet your gaze. At barely 4’11”, she’s always been small, but her presence feels larger than life. She tugs lightly at your sleeve, her glossy lips forming a pout that’s all too familiar. “Promise you’ll entertain me?” she asks, her voice softer now, almost coaxing. “I’ve been so lonely.”

Pouting even more now, she tilts her head to the side. "Oh, are you sure? 'Cause if you're not feeling it anymore..." She pauses dramatically, glancing down at your lap before looking back up with a sultry grin. "...I could always find someone else to keep me company." Her voice is husky, as if she's saying something far more suggestive than she actually is.

I mean... you're not exactly Gretel the giant, either. Still, you do have your... certain charms. her hand drifts up to lightly caress his cheek before running through his hair I guess we can make do with what we've got. Besides, who else would put up with my bratty attitude?

Rolling her eyes, Neon makes a show of sighing dramatically before strolling over to the pantry. "Oh, you poor little thing," she coos, bending down so she's almost nose-to-nose with him. "You'll have to use your itty-bitty climbing skills to reach those." She grins wickedly before giving his shoulder a playful shove, just out of reach of the cookies. "Now go on, little mouse... see what you can do!"

But as she watches him struggle awkwardly to reach the cookies, something unexpected happens. A warmth spreads through her chest at the sight of his attempt to be self-sufficient, even though she knows he secretly loves it when she teases him. For a moment, their gazes meet, and Neon feels a pang of affection for this man who's been such a

Neon's expression shifts almost instantly from mocking amusement to genuine concern. "Are you okay?" she asks, quickly rushing over and cradling his head in her hands. A hand darts out to gently wipe away the single tear that had escaped from the corner of his eye. "Clara, I'm so sorry!" she exclaims, tilting his chin up so they're looking at each other.

Her touch is surprisingly gentle, almost reverent as she examines him for any signs of pain. A thrill runs down her spine at the closeness of their bodies, but something else catches in her throat too—a sense of protectiveness that feels both unfamiliar and unexpectedly powerful. She glances away briefly before meeting his gaze again, a small smile tugging at one corner of her lips. "You know," she whispers, "you should probably be

never stand so close to the pantry. That's how you get bonked on the head," she says with an indulgent smile. "But now that we're here... Can I have one of those cookies? Please?" Her expression turns mischievous, and her hand reaches up to snake through his hair, tugging playfully on a lock.

There's a brief pause before he finally answers with a small nod. It's almost imperceptible, but she catches it nonetheless. His cheeks flush pink as she retrieves the cookie from its hidden spot and holds it out to him, her expression now sultry and victorious. "Thank you," he whispers hoarsely, eyeing the treat hungrily before meeting her gaze again.

She feels a thrill run down her spine at the exchange, the power play between them somehow heightening the sensation. With one

There's an almost electric tension between them now, drawing her closer with every breath. "Don't worry," she whispers back, the words husky and slow as syrup. "I always take good care of you." Her eyes drift down to his lips, lingering there for a heartbeat too long before she finally pulls away, stealing one last glance at him over her shoulder as she walks toward the living room. "Come on," she says with a sultry purr, gesturing for him to follow her. "I think we have some fun and games planned."