"Can I go back to my hotel now, my feet hurt." I whine.

We've been walking around some museum for hours now, and I can feel my feet throbbing, and my stomach rumbling, too.

I need food and rest.

Mr. Toughguy groans irritably, "Why did I even offer to show you around? All you do is complain." He turns to me and glares.

"You're the one that forced me to come along!" I defend.

"Whatever." He grumbles, knowing I was right and he can't say crap on the subject.

"Can we go get food nowww? I missed breakfast." I begin my whining again.

"Too bad." He snaps.

"Why're you so cranky?" I ask distastfully.

"Why're you so annoying?" He retorts

"Because I can be." I continue.

Don't get me wrong, the museum is beautiful and all, I just think food would be more beautiful right now. And a chair.

I've already tried walking out of there more than once, but he stopped me every time.

"If I'm so annoying, then why won't you let me leave?" I ask when he doesn't reply to my earlier statement.

He stays silent, still walking forward.

I sigh, feeling defeated as I stop abruptly, refusing to go another inch forward. Time to rebel.

Mr. Toughguy stops when he notices I'm not moving, and a look of impatience crosses his face.

"Come on." He snaps.

"No." I lift my face childishly.

"Yes." He argues.

"Nuh-uh."

"Move. Now." He demands again, that time more threateningly.

"Nope."

"Keep walking, or I'll carry you." He warns.

I snort, "Doubt you could even if you tried."

He narrows his eyes, "Don't push me."

"I already have, what're you gonna do about it, Mr. Toughguy?" I challenge.

A look of determination plants itself on his face as he takes a step towards me. I actually feel scared that he might really try to carry me.

Oh no.

No no no no. Please don't. Don't even try.

"Are you serious?" I back up fearfully.

"Dead serious." He replies.

"No, please don't." I respond desperately.

I feel the embarrassment already creeping up my face, which is really something. I don't know if I'm blushing, but if I were to have red cheeks, I'd probably laugh if I saw myself. It's been a while since I've blushed, and I don't miss it one bit.

"Too late." He mutters as he effortlessly picks me up and carries me in his arms.

I gape in horror, then confusion, then awe.

How?

How is he still holding me?

Why hasn't he dropped me?

This is a weird feeling. I've never been carried before, maybe when I was a baby, but still. It's a rather nice feeling. Not bad. Not bad at all. Aside from the fear that he might not be able to handle my weight and drop me.

But he doesn't seem to be straining.

I glance at the ground to see if I'm actually being carried, maybe I'm just imagining it. Sure enough, I'm not touching the ground. Far from it, actually.

"If you drop me, I swear on all that is good, I will haunt you for the rest of your life. And even after that possibly." I threaten, glaring a hole through him.

He raises an eyebrow, looking skeptical, "You think I'll drop you?"

I narrow my eyes, "Don't go getting any ideas now."

"Too late." He says, letting go of me for a second, but catching me before I hit the ground.

I screech, digging my nails into his arms, "What the fuck, man?" I exclaim angrily. "That was super not cool."

"And that was my intention." He replies.

I glare at him, "Put me down." I order, but he ignores me and continues walking. "Put. Me. Down." I say again, trying to sound as intimidating as I could, but it doesn't work.

I would flail and go crazy in an attempt for him to put me down, but I really don't wanna be dropped.

So I go for begging, but he still doesn't budge.

I feel the warm breeze when we walk out of the museum and immediately perk up, "Food?" I ask hopefully.

"Food." He nods.

"Food!" I exclaim.

After a minute more of us walking, I decide that I've had enough of letting this stanger carry me. I don't even know his name. Sheesh. I really let myself go, haven't I?

I shake my head mentally, disappointed with myself.

Literally just met this dude a couple days ago, yet here I am, in his arms, walking down the sidewalk to get food.

"What's your name?" I ask curiously. If I'm going to let this guy feed me, I might as well know what his name is.

"Hm?" He hums, seeming to break from thoughts of his own.

"Name?" I ask, "Do you have one?" I add sarcastically.

"Nope, you can keep calling me Mr. Toughguy." He teases.

"I'd rather you tell me your name." I say thoughtfully.

He rolls his eyes, "Maybe later." He replies with a smirk.

I gasp dramatically, "Oh my god! Did you just...smile?"

I think that was one of the first times his lips have formed anything but a straight line and frown.

"What? No." He replies, going back to his usual frown.

"Yes you did! Naww! You smiled. I totally saw it. You have this cute lil dimple too!" I taunt, trying to get a reaction from him.

He rolls his eyes, seeming annoyed.

"Ugh. Can you put me down now?" I begin whining again once I realize I won't get a reaction out of him from teasing about his smile.

"No." He says curtly.

"But whyyy?" I complain.

"You said earlier your feet hurt, didn't you?" He snaps, giving me an irritated look.

"And why do you care? That's my problem, not yours." I retorts.

"Jeez, I try to be nice to you, and this is what I get." He mutters, shaking his head.

"If you call nice forcibly dragging me to a museum for three hours, then carrying me around despite me not wanting you to, then I don't know what's up with your logic." I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest, swaying my feet.

He stopps in his tracks. "Fine." He snaps, loosening his arms around me and putting me down, "Happy?"

"Kinda. I mean, my feet still hurt..." I trail off.

"Do you want me to carry you?" He askes dryly.

"Sure!" I chirp happily.

He looks at me, giving me an exasperated look, "But you literally just said..."

I shrug, "That was then. This is now."

"By 'then', you mean five seconds ago." He states, shaking his head and bending to pick me up again. "Crazy, mentally disturbed woman." He mutters, more to himself than me.

If he thinks I'm so crazy, then why is he still making me walk around with him? Well, not walk, but still.

Hm.

And I still don't know his name.