well, its nice to see you

The entire thing starts because you catch Senku experimenting with something suspiciously sweet in the lab. The smell of cocoa and vanilla is basically impossible to ignore, and when you walk in, you find him surrounded by trays of homemade chocolate-dipped biscuit sticks like he’s just invented the next revolutionary piece of technology.

Naturally, Senku acts like it’s a completely scientific breakthrough. “We’re restoring civilization one sugary chemical process at a time,” he says, going into an unnecessary lecture about cacao processing, tempering temperatures, and how ridiculously difficult it was to recreate something as simple as a pre-petrification snack.

You’re less interested in the chemistry and more interested in the fact that they’re actually adorable. Slightly uneven chocolate coating, imperfect shapes, different flavors—he clearly put effort into making them, even if he refuses to admit that part.

When you call them cute, Senku immediately short-circuits for half a second. Not because he’s embarrassed about the snacks, but because hearing you say something he made was cute somehow feels more dangerous than any chemical reaction.

Of course, you ask if they’re edible.

“I wouldn’t waste my precious cacao reserves on something that isn’t,” he says confidently, handing one over like he isn’t secretly waiting to see your reaction.

The second you taste it, your expression changes.

And Senku notices.

Instead of acknowledging it, he’ll keep rambling about the science behind the snack, explaining how he managed to recreate the texture and flavor with limited resources, but he’s absolutely paying more attention to your reaction than his own explanation.

When you finish one and immediately reach for another, there’s a tiny, smug smile on his face.

“So? Ten billion percent edible, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Let me eat in peace.”

“Please, nothing in this stone word is for free. Then, because Senku cannot simply let something fun exist without turning it into an experiment, he casually brings up the Pocky Game. “Apparently people used to use these for flirting.”

You blink. “Flirting?”

And that’s when you realize Senku absolutely knows what he’s saying.

He explains the rules with his usual scientific confidence: one person bites one end, the other bites the other, and whoever pulls away first loses.

“So basically,” you say, “it’s a competition to see who gets embarrassed first.”

“Incorrect. It’s a test of psychological endurance, reaction time, and proximity tolerance.” Senku tries to correct you.

“That’s the same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

It absolutely is, you conclude internally.

The first attempt is a disaster because Senku assumes he can calculate everything perfectly.

He’s analyzing angles. Distance. Timing. Bite speed… Meanwhile, you just bite down and move forward.

“Wait—hold on, you’re supposed to—”

Crunch.

Suddenly, the stick snaps.

And your lips collide.

Senku immediately jumps back like he just got hit by a lightning bolt.

“OW—!”

You stare at him. “Does that count as winning?”

“No, you assaulted me.”

“You said the goal was not to back away.”

“That does not mean you’re allowed to attack me like a starved animal.”

He spends the next five minutes complaining about your lack of strategy while very obviously trying not to acknowledge that his face is completely red.

The second attempt goes better.

Kind of.

Senku insists on demonstrating “proper technique” this time, making a whole speech about controlled movement and gradual escalation.

You let him finish, leaning in once his lips stop flapping

“You’re doing that on purpose,” He mutters.

“Doing what?”

“Ignoring the dramatic explanation I spent time preparing.”

You snicker, “Maybe, maybe not.”

He seems offended.

Deeply.

But he also can’t stop smiling.

Eventually, the joking fades into something quieter.

The third attempt isn’t about pretending to win anymore.

There’s no teasing, no arguing, no ridiculous commentary from Senku about the optimal angle of approach. The two of you are simply sitting across from each other, sharing a snack stick and realizing the distance between you is getting smaller.

Senku, for once, stops calculating, or berating you, because now the problem isn’t that he doesn’t know the probability of what happens next—The problem is that he does.

He knows exactly how close you are.

Exactly how your expression changes.

Exactly how his own heartbeat is becoming a variable he cannot account for.

And for someone who can solve impossible problems, that’s the one thing he can’t quite process.

So naturally…

He cheats.

Just slightly.

Just enough to close the distance before the stick breaks.

The kiss is brief. Soft. Completely intentional.

And the moment he pulls away, Senku immediately tries to recover his dignity.

“That,” he says, clearing his throat, “was not within the established rules.”

You stare at him, “You totally cheated.”

“Kukuku, correct!”

“You admit it?”

“Yep.”

You sigh, “Was it worth it?”

Senku looks away, pretending to think.

“Scientifically speaking? Data is insufficient.”

You raise a brow.

He sighs.

“Further testing may be required.”

And that’s when you realize Senku Ishigami—man who can calculate the composition of the atmosphere and rebuild civilization from scratch—Made a snack stick just so he could kiss you.

“You know,” you tease, “this is probably the least scientific thing you’ve ever done.”

“Yeah. Weird, right?” Senku just smirks, picking up another Pocky stick, “Turns out not everything needs a data table.”

And honestly?

You’ll let it slide.