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mizho-babe · 2 months ago

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Meet the Parents

Summary: Mizho’s parents want to meet Paresse. Mizho is mortified. Paresse has more fun than he thought he would.

Pairing: Mizho / Paresse

Word Count - 3,930

Notes: Takes place right before the evil doji meeting in volume 6.

A notification sound - a bubbly ringtone, obnoxiously set to the beat of some overly cheerful teen show – broke the blissful silence, waking Paresse up.

He had leaned his phone against a half-empty bottle of strawberry Calpis, screen positioned just so. His master had insisted that he use her burner phone so she had someone to play her silly phone games with from time to time. Usually it remained on 5% battery.

The cracked screen bathed his face in an unwanted artificial glow. He squinted, lazily cracking one eye open.

New Text Notification

M I Z H O: My parents want to meet you.

Paresse shifted his arm out from underneath his side. Slowly reached out to swipe the notification away. The screen obediently went dark again.

Perfect. Problem solved.

A second later, his phone vibrated again with two more pings.

New Text Notifications (2)

M I Z H O: Tonight.

M I Z H O: 19:00

“......” Paresse reached up again, this time swiping to unlock his phone, opening the chat he had with his master. He activated his shortcuts – keyboard presets he had laboriously programmed to save precious energy: essential phrases like "napping," "tired," "hungry," and "not now." It was a lot of work for the doji of Sloth to set these up. It took all of 5 minutes. A true gift to himself so that his nap times went as undisturbed as possible.

He swiped to the right before swiping down to lock his phone.

Paresse: sleeping

He closed his eyes. That should do it.

Ping - pong - ping

New Text Notification

M I Z H O: You are coming.

He groaned now, too aware of the weight of her stare. With a reluctant glance upward, he caught sight of Mizho herself sprawled on her bed, not even five feet away, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“Leave me alone.” Paresse mumbled, rolling onto his back and covering his eyes with his arm.

“Don’t think so.” Mizho said, her fingers flying over her phone’s keyboard with alarming vigor for someone as lazy as him.

New Text Notification

M I Z H O: Or we’re going to Vice and that man’s place early tonight.

Paresse’s face twitched, a sense of dread clawing through his usually relaxed exterior. Just earlier that afternoon, K—the wild-haired, overly enthusiastic master of Vice - had texted the Evil Doji Masters groupchat with an invitation for what he called a "super critical, ultra-hands-on, team-building powwow," scheduled for 22:00.

Of the eight people in the chat, only one had responded: a singular thumbs-up emoji.

He tried to suppress a shiver. Sure, Mizho seemed to find K’s buck-toothed smile and spindly glasses gross, but Paresse felt a much deeper fear. Vice was the problem. The ultimate personification of evil glaring him down, calling him a lazy piece of shit, probably finding ways to tear him apart for fun. He already got enough of that from Mizho; two-on-one seemed excessive.

Summoning the last of his energy, Paresse turned his head to the side and reluctantly swiped up on his phone screen once more.

Paresse: You wouldn’t dare.

Paresse: You hate K.

A beat later, he heard Mizho mutter, “Ew, don’t say his name,” followed by the soft ding of a notification. She had deleted his last message from their chat.

M I Z H O: I would dare.

M I Z H O: Lazy

M I Z H O: USelsse doji

M I Z H O: Useless*

M I Z H O: I think Vice almost ate your arm last time.

Paresse sighed, his finger hovering over the keyboard shortcuts. Clearly, this was going to be one of those nights. He swiped to type his response, knowing exactly how to get under her skin.

Paresse: Remember when that man called you a cutie patootie?

A deadly silence filled the room, punctuated only by Mizho’s fingernails tapping at her phone screen in a fury.

M I Z H O: Stfu.

M I Z H O: disgusting

M I Z H O: anyways. It’s happening. 19:00. Get ready.

Paresse frowned, side-eyeing her from his place on the floor. “Do I…. have to get ready? Can’t I just…..come like this?”

Mizho didn’t look up from her phone. The phone screen’s glow illuminated her face, casting shadows from her long eyelashes on her cupid’s bow. “Nope. You’re not going to show up looking like you just crawled out of a coffin.”

“But you like that aesthetic,” Paresse mumbled, mostly to himself. He knew it was no good. He had to do as she wished.

He looked at his phone’s clock. It was 18:49. Sighing, he sat up, a zombie rising from his comfy coffin that was the plush carpet in Mizho’s room.

Before he could fully settle into the idea of being awake, his face was smacked by something. He looked down at what fell in his lap. A pink hair brush.

“Comb that mop into something presentable,” Mizho commanded, hopping off her bed and sliding on her boots, wrapping them swiftly with bandages to complete her look.

“….Any particular reason why your parents want to meet me?” he asked, reluctantly starting to brush his disheveled hair, before stuffing it under his school uniform hat.

“Nope.” Mizho replied in her usual deadpan, though he could sense something evasive in her tone. She crossed the room, pushing the window open with a practiced ease that hinted this wasn’t her first stealthy exit.

He glanced down at his phone one more time. 18:56. For someone who was supposed to be the embodiment of sloth and apathy, his master had an annoyingly strong sense of punctuality.

Without another word, Mizho gave him a nudge toward the window frame. He barely had time to brace himself before she unceremoniously shoved him out, sending him tumbling onto the side street behind her house. He landed with a rough thud, dusting himself off just as she swung a leg over the window sill.

“Help me down,” she whispered.

Paresse sighed, holding his hands out. She hopped down, landing in his arms with a graceful ease. It was a routine they’d perfected since they found each other in this century.

Usually Mizho would stay in his arms & make him carry her to the park where they would practice her french martial arts. This time, she immediately jumped to the ground with an odd urgency.

“Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t respond with any snark. Don’t mention that we see each other anywhere but school.” Mizho barked directives in quick succession as they walked up the street and turned right, now facing the front of her house.

Paresse slouched along, two steps behind her. She seemed weirdly…. nervous. He found it hard to believe she thought he’d let slip the truth—that they were bound across timelines as master and dôji, tethered together for an ancient, larger-than-life battle of good versus evil.

“If this goes as planned, we’ll be out of here within five minutes.” Mizho said, moreso to herself than her doji.

They reached the front steps. It occurred to Paresse that maybe she was giving him warnings, preparing him for what was to come. After all, even before they met, Mizho was still a goth teen. What kind of parents let their daughter decorate her room in all black with skulls, candles, and chains all around? She was much sassier in this lifetime as well - no doubt nurtured by parents who were just as, if not more, aggressive and mean-spirited.

“....One more thing.” Mizho said. Paresse could hear slow footsteps nearing the front door.

“What?” Paresse said, half-distracted by a growing sense of impending doom.

“I told them you were my boyfriend.” Mizho blurted out, so quickly he almost missed it. “To explain why we hang out every day.”

It all snapped into place for Paresse - he whipped his gaze down at the girl, who was now stubbornly staring straight forward, a light pink tint coloring her cheeks.

Before he could say anything in response, the door opened.

“Mizho my darling!!” Her parents cooed in unison, practically lunging forward to envelop her in a hug. They embraced her as if it had been years instead of just a few hours since they’d last seen her. Mizho’s face, barely visible between her parents’ shoulders, had turned an even deeper shade of red. With a stiff arm, she managed to awkwardly pat each of their backs.

“Mother. Father.” Mizho said once they stepped back, in an uncharacteristically shaky & formal tone. “This is Paresse.”

“How do you do, young man!!” Her dad’s handshake was vigorous, his enthusiasm rocking Paresse’s entire lanky frame up and down. Out of the corner of his eye, Paresse saw Mizho’s mom nudge her daughter and whisper, “He’s cute,” a comment that made Mizho’s gaze sink even further.

“Well, come in, come in!” They let the two teenagers step inside. “Paresse, we have a pair of Mizho’s slippers that you can use.”

He looked down. Mizho had already slipped into her black fuzzy slippers adorned with hot pink skulls, leaving him the only option: a pair of pastel slippers with oversized bunny ears. With a silent sigh, he slid his feet into them, the floppy ears bouncing with every step.

He had never seen Mizho’s house, at least not in the light. He recognized a few surfaces where he’d napped - a couch here, a rug there -, but seeing everything brightly lit felt surreal. Mizho’s parents practically sparkled with pride as they led him on a cheerful house tour, pausing every few steps to point out details.

“Over here’s our family wall,” her mom said, gesturing at a collection of framed photos. One caught Paresse’s eye: a 5-year-old Mizho dressed as an angel for Halloween years ago, complete with feathered wings and a halo.

Mizho rolled her eye. “I preferred the reaper costume. Less... hope.” Her parents laugh. “Our little goth girl! Always such a character!”

“Wasn’t she just adorable?” her mom beamed. Paresse gazed at the photo. The girl looked like a cherub with her fluffy cheeks and long eyelashes.

“…Very.” Paresse answered honestly. He felt Mizho shooting daggers behind him.

“And here’s her kindergarten graduation photo,” her mom continued, pointing to another picture of Mizho in a miniature cap and gown, frowning as if the whole ordeal had inconvenienced her.

“Aw, remember that day, Mizho? You refused to go on stage until we bribed you with an extra scoop of chocolate ice cream!” her dad laughed.

“Father, enough,” Mizho muttered, her voice barely audible.

Paresse couldn’t help himself. “She still needs chocolate to do anything.”

“Some things never change!” Both her parents laughed, charmed. At that moment, Paresse felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

New Text Notification

M I Z H O: I am going to chop your head off and feed it to that man’s birds, slice by slice

Paresse maintained his blank, unbothered expression as he looked back up and followed her parents down the hallway.

“We’ve cooked a large dinner for you two!” her mom announced, pulling them toward the dining room. Paresse felt Mizho tense beside him, and he couldn’t help but stifle a yawn, feeling the sudden urge to sleep through whatever was coming next.

Her parents moved to the other side of the table to sit down. He turned to his left and saw that Mizho had pulled out a chair for him, her gaze still fixed firmly on the floor. The sight of his master actually being a courteous host for once was too much. Paresse remembered that he was an advanced robot with unmatched photographic memory capabilities, and immediately logged the scene for his later enjoyment.

“Thanks, girlfriend,” he said nonchalantly, slipping into the chair. He was still a head taller than Mizho even while seated. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she pushed his chair in with a force that wasn’t entirely necessary.

“You’re. Welcome.” She hissed through gritted teeth. He knew he was pushing it, but he let a lopsided grin spread across his face.

“We’re so excited to finally meet you.” Mizho’s mom, not picking up on her daughter’s murderous aura, smiled at Paresse. Her mom’s smile reminded Paresse of the rare, genuine smiles Mizho sometimes flashed—those fleeting moments when her guard was down. If only he could see those without the usual glare & bloodlust that followed.

“After all these months of knowing Mizho had a boyfriend, we told her last week that we had to meet the lucky man tonight!”

Paresse suppressed a guffaw. Under the table, he felt a small foot connect with his shin in a brutal kick that would’ve snapped a normal person’s ankle.

“So!” Her dad said as they began to pass around appetizers. “How did you two meet?”

“Father,” Mizho responded with a half-strained plea. “I’ve already told you and Mother—”

“Mizho-bunny! So cute, being all mature and calling us ‘Mother’ and ‘Father,’” her mom interrupted with a doting smile, oblivious to Mizho’s discomfort.

Mizho’s cheeks flushed, and she looked like she was about to sink through the floor.

“Well?” her dad continued, now focusing his attention on Paresse.

Paresse glanced at Mizho, who shot him a look so sharp it could’ve cut steel, clearly communicating, Do not mess this up.

Got it. So leave out the part where they had met a century before when she was a he.

“…School,” Paresse replied, feigning thoughtfulness. In truth he was being careful to omit details about the accompanying bloodbath that had surrounded their first encounter in the 21st century. “She, uh… ‘noticed’ me in class. Said I was hard to miss.”

Before Mizho could kick him again, he pinned her foot under his with a firm pressure, using a strength he typically reserved for more intense activities—like beheading foes or lying across her to stop her from bonking him in her sleep during their shared naps.

Her dad chuckled, oblivious. “Sounds about right! Mizho always was observant.”

“Yes.” Paresse agreed, taking a sip of his water.

“I love high school sweethearts.” Her mom said. “Tell me, who made the first move?”

Paresse saw Mizho about to interject, but he beat her to it. “Mizho, of course.” He responded. This was not as boring as he’d thought it would be. It was fun. “She was….direct. Hard to say no to.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mizho furiously typing on her phone under the table, fingertaps sounding like mini gunshots.

New Text Notification

M I Z H O: You have a death wish.

Paresse leaned back in his chair, feeling thoroughly pleased with himself.

Her mom turned to him, eyes wide with curiosity. “So, Paresse, what’s a typical day like for you two? Mizho said you participate in a lot of extracurricular activities together!”

Actually, most mornings they usually skipped school and hung out in Mizho’s dimly-lit room all day, napping together. Then came her brutal “training” sessions, where she used him as a life-sized punching bag to practice her Savate techniques, leaving him bruised and sore but too lazy to complain.

“Well, let’s see…” Paresse began slowly. “We usually meet after class and…..read together.” Reading in this case being Mizho showing Paresse an explicit video playlist of executions she had curated while he was sleeping.

Her mom clasped her hands, clearly pleased. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I always knew Mizho was a reader.”

“Yes, and then we, uh……. go to…….. basketball practice,” Paresse added, thinking of the first sport that popped into his mind. Wasn’t that the sport Orgullo’s master was a champion in? Or maybe it was tennis? Something with a ball.

“Basketball! How nice!” her dad said. “It’s good to see Mizho getting out there and trying new things.”

“Yes, she’s… enthusiastic,” Paresse replied, recalling how she’d once kicked him squarely in the chest during “practice.”

As the conversation moved on, her mom’s eyes sparkled as she remembered something. “Oh! I have to show you the baby photos!”

She stood up and hurried to a nearby bookshelf, pulling down a thick album and placing it on the table in front of Paresse. She flipped through the pages, showcasing an array of photos of baby Mizho. She is not smiling in any of them, and even when she was below the age of 3 her arms were already crossed as though deeply unimpressed with the world.

“And here’s my little girl in her favorite outfit,” her mom cooed, pointing to a picture of Mizho dressed as a tiny plague doctor, complete with black cloak and a plastic scythe. “Even back then, she had such a unique personality!”

Mizho groaned softly, slumping in her chair as Paresse leaned forward, admiring the photos with a lazy grin. “These are… priceless,” he said, savoring every second of her discomfort.

“Isn’t she just precious?” her mom sighed, beaming at Mizho, who was now hiding her face in her hands.

“Yes,” Paresse replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “She’s… adorable.”

Mizho grumbled under her breath, but before she could protest, her dad turned to her with a warm smile. “Mizho,” her dad asked, directing the next question to her for the first time, “What do you like most about Paresse? What made you wanna make the first move?”

“He shares my worship of death.” Mizho deadpanned. “We enjoy watching our enemies fall and rot.”

Instead of being horrified, her parents chortled. Paresse decided that they were just as weird as their daughter.

“Oh honey,” her dad said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Now seriously, what brought this on? We know you’re usually such a shy girl. We definitely weren’t expecting you to have a boyfriend so soon! What made you reach out?”

Mizho’s hands stilled, and she visibly tensed, caught off guard. She shot a panicked look at Paresse, who raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying her discomfort. After a moment, she looked down, her fingers fiddling with her skeleton phone charms.

“Well…” she began, and for once, there was no sharpness in her voice. “I guess… he’s just always there. I mean, like… he puts up with me.” She said the last part in a mumble, her cheeks turning pinker. “And, um, I know I’m not exactly… easy. But he doesn’t care. He’s just… there.”

Paresse was silent. After a moment, he felt his phone vibrate again with new text messages, but this time he ignored them.

“So, Paresse, you’ll have to tell us more about yourself!” Mizho’s mom chimed in, refilling Mizho and Paresse’s glasses. Paresse realized that, unconsciously, they had each downed at least five glasses of water in the past ten minutes. “Mizho hasn’t told us much, but we know she wouldn’t date just anyone.”

Paresse paused, glancing at Mizho for guidance, but she was still looking away from him.

“....Not much to tell,” he replied. “I enjoy… quiet activities. Long naps, watching the world go by…” He trailed off, realizing he sounded exactly like the dôji of Sloth. “And I don’t like to rush things.”

“Oh, a slow and steady sort of person!” Mizho’s dad chuckled. "AllI gotta say buddy is that I hope you take things slow! Took us months to even meet ya!"

Paresse didn’t mention that he’d spent the majority of the last few months in Mizho’s bed. He guessed that wouldn’t fit her parents’ definition of “taking it slow.”

“That’s nice to hear. Mizho can be a bit intense sometimes. A good balance is important in any relationship, don’t you think?”

Mizho’s mom nodded. “And it sounds like you’re both comfortable being together even in silence. Not many young people can do that these days!”

“Yes,” Paresse replied. “I’d say silence is one of our strongest connections.”

Mizho shot him a withering look.

“So, Paresse, besides basketball, how athletic are you? Mizho is a sickly one, as you know,” for the first time they nodded towards the bandages that covered their daughter’s entire body, along with the heart-shaped eyepatch.

“Hm…. I’d say I get a fair amount of physical activity,” Paresse said carefully. Physical activity to him counted as rolling over in his sleep. “Mostly… resistance training.”

“Great, just great!” her dad said. “Y’know, I’m proud you two are participating in sports together. Mizho could use someone who can teach her how to be stronger despite her, let’s say, fragile disposition.”

“Funny you should say that....” Paresse murmured, glancing at Mizho with a smirk. “She’s been giving me a real run for my money lately.”

Mizho’s mom chuckled. “Oh, that’s our Mizho! Always so tough. But she’s got a soft side too, you know.”

Mizho groaned again, visibly mortified.

“Oh, yes,” her dad agreed, turning to Paresse. “I remember she had this little stuffed raven she used to carry around everywhere. She’d cry if it wasn’t nearby!”

“Father,” Mizho interrupted, her voice strained. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

“Why not? I’m sure he’d like to know that his ‘death-worshipping’ girlfriend has a sentimental side,” her mom teased, winking at Paresse.

Paresse gazed at Mizho, who had gone an even more impressive shade of pink. “I already suspected that,” he said, voice dripping with feigned innocence.

Her mom leaned forward, eyes shining. “And, Paresse, if I may ask… what do you like about Mizho?”

The question caught him off guard, and he paused, feeling a sudden shift in the air. He thought he heard his master stop breathing.

“Uh….Well… she’s fierce,” he said. “She….stands up for what she believes in, even if it’s… unpopular. She’ll do anything for the people she cares about, no matter how hard it gets. And… that’s rare. I’d be pretty lost without her.”

Her parents beamed, clearly touched by his response. Her mom reached across the table to pat Mizho’s hand, which laid on the table with dead weight. “That’s beautiful, Paresse. You two really do bring out the best in each other.”

The rest of the dinner passed with lighthearted conversation. Her parents told Paresse many stories of Mizho as a young girl. Mizho herself was silent for the rest of it, before half-mumbling that she and Paresse were going out that night to meet some friends.

As they slipped out of the house slippers and into their actual shoes, Paresse finally remembered his phone and took a peek at it.

New Text Notifications (50+)

M I Z H O: i will staple your eyelids back. you will never sleep again.

M I Z H O: get your stinking foot off mine

M I Z H O: srsly P my foot is falling asleep

M I Z H O: ??????? basketball????

M I Z H O: stop SMIRKING.

M I Z H O: remember where you’ll be sleeping tonight.

M I Z H O: SHE’S GETTING THE BABY PICTURES HELP

M I Z H O: it’s not “adorable.” stop saying that word.

M I Z H O: ignore what i just said

M I Z H O: ignore

They stepped out of the house into the cool night. The crisp air was a welcome relief after the close warmth of the dinner table.

They walked silently, side by side.

Paresse’s phone vibrated in his hand once more.

M I Z H O: Stop smiling.

Paresse let out a small chuckle before he tucked his phone into his pocket. Neither said anything as they continued walking in comfortable silence. He decided this was the perfect ASMR to fall asleep to later, and logged it. Glancing over at Mizho, he noticed her eye focused ahead, a soft expression on her face that he made a mental note to remember—another rare glimpse he decided was worth storing.

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