#And apparently there are also other animals that can eat eucalyptus but it's still toxic to most animals so give MC a break

[password-door-lock]

“Do you ever play match three games?” 

Saeran tears his gaze away from the wall he’s been staring at for the better part of five minutes. What kind of a question is that? “No.” 

“Oh,” you slump against the stiff chair you’ve claimed for yourself since the two of you arrived in the waiting room. This is the first trip the two of you have taken out of the bunker without Saeyoung present, and although you're trying your best, it's still a bit awkward. “Can you help me anyway? I’m stuck on this level.” 

Saeran rolls his eyes, but holds out his hand for your phone anyway. What else is he going to do? You insisted on showing up a full twenty minutes before the start of his appointment “in case there’s any paperwork” (there was none), and the magazines littering the coffee table in front of him interest him about as much as the drama rerun playing on the blocky old TV behind him— which is to say, not at all. “Whatever.” 

You beam at him like it matters that he’s agreed to “help” you with your mobile game. Maybe it does matter to you— maybe in your head, this is an indicator that Saeran is healing, or maybe you’re just irrationally invested in the game. “It’s just match three,” you reiterate, as if that would mean anything to Saeran. Once, several months ago, he looked at the games section of the app store. It couldn’t have been two minutes before he became overwhelmed and frustrated with the sheer number of seemingly identical options available and decided that until further notice, his phone would be for accessing the RFA messenger app and playing with search engines only. 

Your phone, however, is apparently for all kinds of nonsense outside of those basic functions. When Saeran accepts the device, he is greeted by a screen full of colorful orbs, dispersed in a seemingly random alignment against a pastoral backdrop. He stares at them, transfixed, trying to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to be doing with them. This is fun for you? Really? After a few moments, a strange grey cartoon character pops up in the corner of the screen to scold him for his inactivity. Its ears are large and round; its elliptical nose takes up half its face. Try this move, it urges, and two of the orbs begin to glow. Is he supposed to swap them? That would make a row of three green orbs. “What’s with this mouse?” Saeran asks. 

He follows the creature’s instructions, and indeed, the green row disappears in a burst, though it is quickly replaced by new orbs which cascade from the rows above. “That’s a koala,” you explain, “Not a mouse. They’re marsupials, I think, so they live in Australia. They eat, um… leaves, from… I think it’s a eucalyptus tree? And either only koalas can eat eucalyptus or eucalyptus is the only thing koalas can eat, I don’t remember.” 

Saeran shakes his head. This is not the first time you’ve presented him with contradictory and confusing “facts,” about which you seem decidedly unsure. Once you’d answered his questions about common house pets and local fauna, Saeran’s inquiries had apparently exhausted your animal knowledge, which proved to be severely limited from the start. “I’ll just look it up later.” Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. That depends on a lot of things, like how he’s feeling after his confrontation with the dentist and whether he’s still bothered by his ignorance about koalas when the two of you return to the bunker.

You watch over his shoulder as Saeran tries to play the game— tries being the operative verb. He switches orbs at random, more to see what will happen than because he has any strategy in mind. He isn’t even sure about the intended objective of the game, let alone the goal for this level— is he just supposed to get rid of as many orbs as possible? Instead of offering gameplay advice— which would, doubtlessly, vex Saeran to no end— you merely observe, occasionally cheering him on when he swaps some particularly important orbs or beats the koala to the punch with choosing a move. Normally, having someone hovering there would bother him, but… with you, it’s different. This is your phone, after all, and anyway, even if Saeran doesn’t trust you with his deepest, darkest secrets (he’ll probably never trust anybody with those) he has grown comfortable with your presence in his space. Maybe that’s a mundane thing for other people, but it’s monumental for him, and he knows that you don’t take it for granted. 

He loses, of course. You probably play this stupid game all the time, and if you couldn’t pass the level, Saeran doesn’t see how you could expect him to do any better. “Sorry,” you grin at him, “I couldn’t set the difficulty level any lower for you. I’m pretty much a pro at this game— did you know I’m internationally ranked?” 

You’re joking around with him now, treating him like a normal person despite the things you know he’s done and whatever you can guess. Though it doesn’t make much sense to him, Saeran can’t say he minds. “You play it, then.” He puts the phone back in your hand. He watches you lose six times before the dentist calls him, at which point, he rises, leaning in to mutter to you on his way out, “Maybe you should set the difficulty level lower for yourself.” Your laughter, loud and abrupt, draws a few stares from the other patrons of the waiting room— but in the scheme of things, Saeran is grateful to have made you laugh.