We were sitting in front of your computer. I had forced you to take some sort of personality test which had a hundred questions, and you were grumbling. Yet, you answered as I read the questions out to you.

"Are you confident, or patient?" I asked.

"Patient," you replied, without missing a beat. "Definitely patient. I do all the waiting for you."

I just grinned at that—because it is true—and clicked the answer.

"Oh, by the way," you suddenly interjected. "I have a present for you."

"Really?" I questioned. It isn't like you to buy something for me if you don't know whether I would absolutely love it. And lately, everything I want is extremely expensive.

You reached over me to pull the drawer out. Taking something out of a small plastic bag, you handed it to me nonchalantly.

It was a sheet of Mamegoma stickers.

And I fell in love with you all over again.