nayaa.

It wasn't an uncommon sight for people to see you like this—you attached to him one way or another. Whenever you would wade through a crowd, you'd have a fistful of his jacket in your hand as he guided you forward. If there was a party and the environment was rowdy, eagle-eyed residents would spot you in a corner sharing earphones, listening to your own music.

"'Shiya, are they firing me?" You scooped up some of the pudding, bringing it close to his lips. He hummed in deep thought, letting you feed him.

"They wouldn't try," he finally responded. "They know what would happen if they did."

Your heart fluttered a little, making you bite the inside of your cheek to prevent a smile. After getting to know him for a while now, you've come to realize that only one word could fully describe your relationship: subtle.

He wasn't as big on PDA as you were, but he wasn't averse to physical touch as well. He wouldn't let you sit on his lap in public, but you'd feel his touch on your lower back whenever you were wandering around. He wasn't overtly jealous, but he didn't not care either. He was protective in the sense that he wouldn't make a scene. And it's in instances like this where his love for you really shows.

"Oooh, you're so hot when you're scary like this," you teased him, offering him another spoonful. He rolled his eyes, though a small smile played at his lips. He was silent after that for a few more minutes. You frowned a bit at this. Something was off.

"You gonna tell me what's on your mind?" you asked softly, placing your chin on his shoulder. Subconsciously, he leaned his head towards you.

"We're playing tonight, right?"

"Uh-huh. What about it?"

"They're putting us into separate groups this time." His eyes shifted towards you, trying to read your reaction.

Your eyes widened just a bit, surprised but not fully. In the past, you and Chishiya have come to expect that they'll use your relationship as a target. It was impossible for the militants or Hatter to have gotten a whiff of your plan to steal the cards, but a storm was about to come if they were trying to get rid of you first—and then presumably Chishiya.

You hummed, taking the last bite of pudding. Chishiya was still studying your expression. Truthfully, he wasn't worried about sending you off alone. He knew what you were capable of—your intellect and quick thinking were among the biggest reasons why he fell for you in the first place. It was who you were going to be grouped with that he was worried about.

"Well... I guess we had it coming," you stated plainly. You heard him scoff next to you. You quirked an eyebrow. "Is the great Shuntaro worried about little, old me?"

"Yes."

He moved so that he was facing you. Honey brown eyes bore into your own, his lips pinched in a thin line. The sarcasm died on your tongue, and you noticed how his knee was restlessly bouncing.

"I want you to come back here alive and well." It was a demand more than a request.

You took his hands gently into yours. "Of course I will. I'll always find my way back to bother you."

────୨ৎ────

"Where's your jacket?" Kuina gestured towards him with the lollipop. "Don't tell me you forgot it."

"It's with ___," he replied cooly.

Kuina tensed a little at your name. She knew about the separation ploy. Even further than that, she knew you were getting sent to a hearts game. She shifted from one foot to another, eyeing Chishiya carefully.

Upon first glance, he seemed aloof enough. His face was perfectly blank, eyes sharp. It was his hands that gave him away. He was repeatedly digging his nails into the tip of his thumb.

"I'm sure they'll be okay," Kuina murmured, nudging his shoulder. "They're tougher than everyone else thinks."

On the other side of the city, you were cozying yourself up in Chishiya's jacket as you leaned against the wall. The car had brought you to a mall, which had already unnerved you since it may mean you'd have to be quick on your feet. Large game zones always meant more physicality. The usual table filled with phones was also scattered with various weapons. Knives of various sizes, an axe, a baseball bat, dumbbells. All melee.

You've already armed yourself with the switchblade Chishiya made for you. You didn't want to risk carrying anything heavy around, especially not in a hearts game. You never knew if you'd need to run.

You eyed your "teammates," five militants you recognized to be under Niragi's posse. They couldn't have made it any more obvious that they were sending you to the wolves.

You rolled your eyes as they leered at you. It was one more minute before the game started, and your attention was drawn to a burly man accompanying an elderly woman. He was wearing a tank top reminiscent of Aguni's. He donned two full sleeves of tattoos and a row of piercings on his left ear.

Would've fit right in Aguni's faction if it weren't for the way he gently spoke to the woman.

Her crow's feet deepened when your eyes met. You gave her a small smile and a polite nod. She bowed lightly to you, mirroring your smile. You knew that part of Chishiya's protocol was to never look out for others, but god, you could already feel the guilt gnaw at you.

Just then, the familiar chime sounded, followed by the game announcer's voice.

"Registration has closed. There is a total of eight participants. The game will now commence.

Difficulty, 8 of Hearts. Game, Virus.

Clear condition: Find the antidote before the timer runs out.

Rules:

All players are Infected. Being Infected when the timer runs out will result in elimination. To be cured, players will need to find the antidote hidden in the shopping center. There is only one.

To administer the antidote, please place it in front of your phone camera.

Players are not allowed to exit the venue.

Players are allowed to use weapons.

Players will have 30 minutes before game over."

Almost immediately, the phones lit up with a timer counting down. There was palpable tension in the room, like all eight of you simultaneously held your breaths. Eight of you and only one antidote.

You could already see the gears turning in the militants' heads. Less people meant a larger chance to be cured. The one who went for the axe—Akira, you've come to remember his name—had a wolfish grin. Slowly, you inched yourself closer to the pair of newcomers.

The man already looked distressed, saying something inaudible into the old woman's ear. He froze when you came into view, his eyes narrowing at you. Before he could speak, you cut him off with a harsh whisper.

"Stay clear of them."

"Hey Kenji, aren't you Number 78?" You heard Akira speak behind you.

You subtlely nodded to the doors on the far left, an entrance to the grocery. Lots of shelves meant lots of places to hide. Lots of places to search. The tattooed man nodded in understanding, clutching the elderly woman's arm. Slowly, you led them farther and farther away from the armed men.

The militants were all focused on each other now. Akira was eyeing Kenji with a smirk. He was shorter, newer to the Beach. He took a cautious step back when Akira inched closer to him.

"I'm just double-checking, because if you aren't worth shit then that means I can do this."

You walked faster, breaking into a sprint when you heard the thick "thwack" of metal colliding with flesh. The body fell to the floor with a muted thump, followed by jeers and yells from the four remaining men.

"Don't look back!" You shouted at the pair. You led them into the supermarket area, winding around shelves and freezers. You finally stopped in your tracks when it was silent once more.

"How did you know they were going to..." The man trailed off, rubbing the elderly woman's back as she panted.

"I came here with them. Not really friends, more like begrudging workmates," you explained, catching your own breath. You stuck a hand out at them, introducing yourself.

"I'm Minato. This is my mother, Chiyo." Minato shook your hand firmly. Chiyo smiled at you once more, bringing her hand to her mouth before slowly turning it down.

"She's saying 'thank you,'" Minato said. You shrugged, moving to look around you.

"I think we should look around for now. We'll cross the bridge when we get there," you huffed, vaguely referring to the elephant in the room. Minato looked only half convinced, though nodded nonetheless.

The three of you moved together in silence, wary of the other men who may still be alive. At worst, it will still be the four of them. If, by some miracle, they were smart enough to work together, you'd have to face all of them if they decided they wanted to play the violent way. At best, it would be just Akira, or whoever would overpower him. After that, it would boil down to you, Minato, and Chiyo—something you did not want to think about for now.

"How are we even supposed to know what it looks like?" he asked you as you took off items from the shelves, digging around for anything that may be useful.

"Maybe our phones will light up when we come in contact with it?" you answered non-commitally.

You scanned your surroundings, seeing only half-off banners and posters offering discounts. "Under 40% off!" one of them read.

"What if it's not here?"

You turned around to look at them before peering around the shelves to glance at the entrance of the grocery. "Then we'd have to go out. You wouldn't happen to have anything you can defend yourselves with, would you?"

Minato gulped, shaking his head. He placed a hand on Chiyo's shoulder. "I'll be back, mama. I'll just look for things we can use. Take care of her while I'm away, okay?"

You assured him with a nod, carefully leading Chiyo to stand behind you. At least Minato was willing to trust you enough to leave you with his mother. The worry over betrayal was erased, for now.

You looked on as the seconds flew by on your phone. You've spent about 15 minutes in the shopping center, and you still have two whole floors left to investigate. You racked your brain, trying to think of the most efficient way to solve this.

You can't split up. Chiyo would be vulnerable, and Akira wouldn't hesitate to attack an old woman. Survival always came first in the Borderlands, sometimes more than humanity. If you went as a group, you'd risk having the timer run out. And even if you did find the antidote, what then?

That was when you heard the sliding doors part open. A small ding ran through the supermarket. You stuck close to the shelves, craning your head to see enough of the entrance. Chiyo followed suit.

Akira stood in the middle, face splattered with blood, a trail of crimson coming from the blade of his axe. He gripped it tightly, boots heavy on the tiled floor.

"___!" he called out. "I know you and your little friends are here!"

You looked around, still not seeing Minato. Akira walked aimlessly in your direction. You put a finger against your lips before gesturing to Chiyo. You'd have to go around and hope you'd meet Minato outside. Shakily, she hobbled towards the back aisle, silently making your way to door.

"I just want to talk!" Akira bellowed, hitting a display in one big swoop. Cans fell to the ground in echoing clatters. If Minato didn't know Akira was here, he sure would now. "You left so fucking fast a while ago!"

Akira swiped at the shelves, sending products toppling to the floor. From the corner of your eye, you saw Minato across the cash registers. He was kneeling down, pressed against one of the ledges. The end of a fire extinguisher poked out of his arms. He frantically pointed to the exit. You shook your head stubbornly.

"No, you'll break your mama's heart."

He shuffled on bent knees until he was a good distance behind a rampaging Akira. He stood up, bringing the fire extinguisher above his head. In front of him, Akira brought his eyes up, just in time to see their reflection in one of the freezer doors.

He spun around, bringing the axe across Minato's chest. Minato jumped back, shielding himself with the fire extinguisher. The axe blade broke through the metal, sending a steady puff of smoke out with a high-pitched wheeze.

"Stay close to the wall!" You lightly pushed Chiyo back before running towards Akira. You had gotten your blade out, swinging it at his neck. He jerked his head back, the blade cutting through his cheek instead. Minato got hold of the fire extinguisher again, smacking Akira in the side with it.

The militant stumbled back, but his grip on the axe was tight. He caught himself on one of the shelves and swung back at you. Minato shoved you out of the way, making you collide with one of the cashier stands. You smacked your head on the conveyor belt ledge, room spinning as you held yourself up.

"Under maintenance," the sign stuck on it read.

Unsteadily, you straightened up once more, seeing Minato on the ground as he clutched the side of his thigh. The fabric of his pants was torn, blood gushing out of the deep cut. Akira towered above him, extending his arms high above his head for the killing blow.

You swiftly grabbed one of the cans from the ground, chucking it at him. Bullseye, square in the face. He staggered backward, letting out a pained cry. You dragged Minato away from him, adrenaline pumping in your ears. Your vision wasn't fully clear yet, but you dove for the axe.

You had managed to grab the handle closest to the blade, but Akira's hand shot out to clutch the other end. The two of you fought, trying to wrench it out of each other's grip. He had you pinned against one of the cash registers, struggling to press the bladed end into you.

"You think lover boy would cry if I brought back your corpse?" he sneered at you through a toothy grin.

Just then, a blast of smoke hit him. With your remaining strength, you pushed off the axe handle, sending Akira flying back. Chiyo held onto the fire extinguisher, emptying it on a coughing Akira. You brought your arm around your face, burying your nose in the jacket's cotton. With your free arm, you dug around, blindly feeling the floor. Finally, your fingers came into contact with your switchblade.

Just as the smoke ran out, you lunged at Akira, plunging the blade into his sternum, just a little to the left. Exactly where the heart was, as Chishiya taught you. You retracted the blade, pushing it back in deeper. Akira limply struggled beneath you, mouth gaping in a wordless taunt. Eventually, he stopped moving.

You got up, wiping the blood off your blade using your shorts. You turned to Chiyo, who found her way to Minato. She was trembling as she pressed her hands against his wound. Below her, he gritted his teeth in pain. Panicked, you glanced at your phone. Seven minutes.

You swore, briskly walking up to them.

"Give me your phones. I'll find the antidote and—"you made eye contact with Minato. "I'll scan it using Chiyo's."

"How will we know you won't use yours?"

"Then I'll take her with me."

He chuckled humorlessly. "And leave me here?"

"Would you rather have all of us die?" you retorted, furrowing your brow. You could faintly hear the seconds tick down on your phone. For a moment, it was just you and Minato holding eye contact, challenging one another. It didn't look like either of you was budging soon.

"If I would scan using my phone, I would have left you by now." His brow furrowed deeper, mouth open with an argument that died on his tongue. Chiyo pressed Minato's cracked phone into your hands.

She smiled tearfully at you, repeating her gesture of thanks. You tilted your head towards her. With one last glance at Minato, you stood up.

"No! Mom! Give her yours! Mama!"

Minato's voice faded behind you as you made your way back to the center of the mall. You frantically looked around. Kenji's body was sprawled near the table. Another body was near one of the potted plants, at the landing of the escalator.

You forced your breathing to slow down. Chancing at one more look at your phone, you figured you had 5 minutes. You slowly spun around, taking in your surroundings.

Your eyes scanned the shopfronts, the banners, the posters tacked on the columns.

"Under 1,000 yen!"

"See us under the food court!"

"Selected items under 5, 000 yen!"

You brought your gaze back to one of the escalators, a piece of paper taped on its side.

"Under renovation."

Under.

It hit you.

You scrambled back to the phone table. Trying your best to avoid the pool of blood, you knelt down and peeked underneath. Sure enough, a 2x2 QR code was taped underneath. Below it was a red cross.

You positioned Minato's phone underneath it, angling the camera to line up with the code.

"Come on, come on," you pleaded.

Finally, the phone buzzed. Yours did as well. Confused, you brought both phones out, placing them on the ground.

"Antidote administered. You won!"

────୨ৎ────

Back at the Beach, Chishiya stood next to Kuina. They were on the balcony overlooking the entrance, waiting for time to trickle slowly as group after group came back. Everyone except yours.

Niragi and his group of "friends" perched around the couches, revelling as the night stretched on and you still haven't arrived. He tilted his head in Chishiya's direction, a mocking smirk on his face.

He tapped his fingers repeatedly on the balcony, letting out a long sigh. "Why aren't they back yet?"

"I don't know, Chishiya."

"They should be back by now. The games never take this long."

"Maybe they're driving back right now? Maybe it's an endurance game?"

Chishiya scoffed. "It's a hearts game. You don't need endurance for that."

"Well, I don't know, Chishiya, okay? I'm worried too," Kuina glanced at him, grimacing in irritation.

As if on cue, you walked breezily through the large doors. Chishiya's eyes widened at the sight of you. Dark red seeped into his jacket, your sleeves, especially, soaked with them. A large bloodstain was spattered over your t-shirt, flecks of scarlet stuck on your chin and cheeks. You glanced around, face blank. When your eyes met, your mouth broke into the biggest grin.

You sprinted towards him, Chishiya walking briskly to meet you halfway down the steps. Before he could get a word out, you wrapped him up in a tight hug. His arms snaked around your frame, pressing you against him.

"What took you so long, you idiot?" he mumbled against your neck. To your surprise, he gently cradled your face in his hands, pressing his lips softly against yours. You hummed, beaming as he pulled away.

Kuina folded her arms, proudly watching you both. She sneaked a glance at Niragi, a deep scowl on his face. This made her laugh under her breath.

"I told you I'd be back," you knotted your fingers in between his. You smoothed down the worried crease between his brows. You giggled, accidentally transferring some of the blood onto his skin.

"Sorry about that. I guess we'll both need to shower." Chishiya rolled his eyes as you winked teasingly at him.

Kuina moved towards you, embracing you as well. "Jesus, that worried the fuck out of me. What happened to you?"

"Don't worry, it's not mine," you referred to the blood. "I had to drop some friends off on the way."

The three of you started to make your way back to your room, Chishiya's hand gripping your waist firmly.

"Oi!" Niragi called after you. You groaned, turning halfway to him. You cocked a brow.

"What the fuck did you do to my boys, huh?"

For a moment, you contemplated what you would answer. You could tell the truth, tell him his "boys" mindlessly went after each other for a cure that needed to be activated only by one person—logic they missed out on. You could lie and act tough, bluff that you killed them yourselves. You glanced at Chishiya, his mouth formed in a content grin.

"I didn't do anything. They were too dumb, that's all. Just like you."

── 🂺 bonds with you by playing mind stimulating games like shōgi. he sets up makeshift pieces with bottlecaps, anything he can find.

── 🂺 something that's also out of character for him is… handholding. something so ordinary, so human, that it kind of embarrasses him how much he enjoys it.

── 🂺 he is not physically affectionate. half the time you wonder if he even considers “this” as a real relationship. still, he allows certain things: your head against his shoulder. your hand sliding into his, without him pulling away. a light pat on your back as if congratulating a teammate. once, after surviving a brutal game that nearly killed everyone, he even wraps an arm around you briefly.

── 🂺 kissing is always on your side. chishiya does not initiate. not once. you’re often unsure, in fear of coming off as too pushy. when you finally lean in, he accepts it without hesitation, his lips stay completely still at first, letting you take the lead, until he finally presses back lightly, and over too quickly.

── 🂺 his idea of reassurance is deadpan and unintentionally cruel. "statistically, you are not a bad bet."

── 🂺 arguments don’t exist. or rather, you argue, he makes observations. chishiya enjoys teaching you through provocation. he makes a claim he knows you will argue with, just to see you fight for your perspective.

── 🂺 he often teaches through questions—never a direct answer or easy handout. if you struggle, he prods you with hints that force you to think. when you finally reach the conclusion yourself, he leans back, satisfied, "there it is."

── 🂺 you talk about the future sometimes. he never says "we." but rather, "when you leave this place, what will you do?" never if. always when.

── 🂺 chishiya never expected it to last. he thought you’d get tired of his evasions and tendency to deflect.

── 🂺 your relationship is his favourite paradox: it doesn’t make sense for someone like him to want it, and yet it’s the one thing he doesn’t plan an exit strategy for.

you ignore shoko & her bitter response. you’d rather die than argue with a bitch & her bad bob. you lean to rest your head on suguru’s shoulder, who’s much more empathetic & strokes your hair lovingly.

“isn’t he tutoring right now?”

and he is. somewhere across campus, in a cramped corner of the scott library, gojo satoru is bleary-eyed & suffering.

he’s supposed to be explaining calculus to confused first year yuuji itadori. but his phone, face-up & gleam-screened on the mahogany table, hums and vibrates with desperation.

1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗

satoru’s jaw is tight. there’s crescent shaped crevices in his palms & his knuckles rouse rash red. his focus flickers. he catches a glimpse of your latest message: the preview of a selfie, that low adorable angle where you’re peering at your phone from under your lashes & your lips jut out in a ‘where are youuu’ pout.

fuck.

“uhh, gojo?” yuuji’s biting his pencil again before he points it at the vibrating device. “aren’t you gonna answer that..? i dunno, it looks important.”

it is important. it’s you. but if satoru answers now, poor yuuji’s paid tutoring session would immediately be over.

“it’s fine, yuuji. let’s focus on finding the derivative.”

and it is fine. because gojo satoru is a man of logic. a man of discipline. a man of pa—

princess 🧸💗: i always knew you’d get tired of me one day

princess 🧸💗: it’s okay. thank you for everything toru 👍

gojo satoru grabs the phone faster than you can say go pandas! his thumbs fly over the screen, ever precise, ever trembling.

toruu: Baby, please don’t say that.

toruu: I’m almost done. I’ll be with you in ten minutes. I’ll buy you that Drake meal you wanted.

toruu: I love you. Please wait for me?

back at the mall you’re reading his text. and god, your heart bubbles up like soda pop. “he’s coming,” you murmur into suguru’s shoulder, scrolling past his text without a reply.

“great!” shoko cheers with fake enthusiasm, taking a puff of her vape (suguru’s complaining that the pineapple & kiwi she blows make his poutine taste sour-ish, & she shouldn’t be vaping anyway, but guess what? shoko doesn’t care!)

“now can we stop acting like it’s the summer hikaru died?”

“no.”

instagram’s algorithm is always on your side. you’ve opened the reels tab to find a video of a rainy window, a quote captioned over it: ‘if he wanted to, he would. silence is a choice.’ simple. short. effective.

you add it to your story. suguru catches a glimpse of your screen & chuckles.

“y/n,” he sings your name, tutting. “you’re gonna give the boy a heart attack before he even hits the common area.”

“he deserves it.”

satoru gojo has already viewed your story. he shows up within the next five minutes.

III. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #167: BABY, I’M BORED.

time : 3:58 pm. location: science & engineering building

there’s solution bubbling pink in a flask. in lab four, the air’s sticky with the sweat of too many boys with glasses & a half-drunk energy drink rotting in the corner.

gojo satoru is huddled over a circuit board with two other boys who look like they haven’t seen sunlight in days.

nerd #1 points at the monitor : “if we adjust the frequency here,” he’s muttering, “the entire wave function collapses. it’s an impossible solve, gojo.”

“it’s not impossible. you’re just missing the constant.”

gojo satoru is the god of lab four; formulas on his fingers & equations on his tongue. he’s leaning over now, fingers on the screen when the heavy steel door swings open,

“hi, toru!”

you’re all soft perfume & clicky heels & smile as sweet as sugar. satoru’s head snaps up instantly—his glasses slip down his nose, & he flicks them back upward, eyes glimmering in the fluorescent light.

“hi sweetheart,” he breathes, “you’re here early.”

the other nerds are staring now, and for good reason. how did gojo satoru—who’s paperbacks & friday nights spent bent over research papers—pull a pretty thing like you ?

“are you doing science ?” you’re already across the room, arms around his neck as his palms press you flush against him from the side. your perfume’s sticky in his lungs. “why’s that line so squiggly? you guys should make it straight. it’d be much prettier.”

nerd #4 winces. “actually, that’s a representation of—“

“you’re right, baby. it would look prettier. have a seat, okay?”

you hum an okay! & plop yourself down on his lap. nerd number 3 & 2 exchange glances. nerd #1 asks, god, me when ?

the group discussion starts up again. satoru is half-science half-yours—his thumb traces circles on your thigh as your feet kick in his lap, & you’re asking one too many questions while satoru tries—tries to pay attention.

“toru, what does this button do?”

“that’s the power supply, baby. please don’t touch it.”

“but it’s glowing. can you make it glow pink ? i think it should glow pink.”

“noted. you’re squirming, princess.”

and you are. nerd #4 wonders how you’re still balanced. the discussion continues but you’re a constant background noise of ‘toru, look at this tiktok’, and ‘baby, i think the lighting’s washing me out.’ you try to touch a wire. gojo catches your hand mid-air & cups it with a kiss.

you flop against his chest. “satoru, i’m bored.”

& satoru is tired. exhausted, really. he’s fighting the rash creeping up his neck as nerds one to four watch you pout in his lap like a spoiled child. “i want matcha. can we go get some?”

you can’t. because this is a project due in twelve hours. because satoru has only so much time to lock in—

“alright, let’s go.”

nerd #3 is distraught: “huh—?! gojo, you can’t leave now, we’re in the middle of a breakthrough!”

satoru doesn’t even look around. he’s smoothing your skirt after you hop off his lap, your bag already slung over his shoulder. he’s leading you out by the hand; “sorry guys. i’ll send my solution to the group chat. brief me on the updates later?”

the door swings shut. nerds one to four are in awe.

“holy hades. what just happened?”

“may God protect them from my jealousy.”

“wallahi i need a bad bitch on my lap.”

“you can’t say that, man. it’s ramadan.”

# UNIKAISEN

princess meltdowns , end.

© HEARTKAJI. do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload

waving at you as soon as he saw you. who would've predicted the joy. you immediately planned evacuation when he started running towards you, but there was no escape.

"miss president y/l/n!!" yuuji screamed teasingly while grinning like you hung the sun this morning.

"no yuuji, i'm not giving you private lessons the first of fucking september, don't even think about it" you backed of placing a finger between you two.

"oh come on-ah!" he groaned "you say that every time no matter the day. i failed history by two points." he showed her two fingers up vigorously, like she was the one giving him back the paper today "two! that means i'm practically a genius."

"no no no no no no, that means you're a dummy" you crossed your arms, eyes narrowing behind your glasses. "been a dummy and still are." you hit the spot between his eyebrows with the soft rubber on your pencil.

"ow! okay okay i'm a big dummy." he chuckled rubbing the spot but you are pretty sure he just wanted to savour the contact because that shit did not hurt "but that's why i need you." he flashed a charming smile.

you’re used to maintaining that banter that's true, but like always — you fold. "ughh fine" a small smirk lingered on your face.

"get married already" nobara mumbled with a chewed through lollipop between her lips as she checked her eyebrows in the pocket mirror.

"you know what i think kugisaki? there is a person who maybe finished this school but is still very much in tokyo." you said to her with playful bite to it "and i bump into maki a lot in the matcha shop, so you better watch your mouth, coward."

"hey!!" nobara immediately frowned angrily "you know i was sending her a lot of signals!"

but yuuji was already walking away from the conversation trying not to grin like an idiot.

and that's why now his bedroom was turned into a pastry shop. there were croissants full of cream and strawberry cheesecake, chocolate chip cookies and mini cupcakes. all for you. but halfway through the studying...he relatively ate more.

"workers didn't have beds, yuuji" you shook your head continuing your rant after he tried dirty mattresses „professor will call you silly. picture this...you have one coin left in hand because you just worked for 15 hours and fed your child. you trying to sleep some?"

yuuji nodded, he loved his sleep and he also loved your nerdy rants —his two favourite things ever. your nose was scrunching up from time to time in a tic, it was cute. it was also one of those moments you didn’t tease that you barely tolerate him. which was not true at all.

„right. with that one coin you can afford to sleep on a string." you gestured „something like a rope, a cable, you just hang your arms over it to rest. and then at 6am sharp BAM! the guards cut the string and you and all the workers wake up with your face in concrete, ready to work again." you said watching his sad reaction unfold like he just lived it „maybe next time you work harder accumulate more coins and they let you sleep in a church bench" she shrugged „you get how bad it was now?"

"people payed money to get woken up like that?" he gasped "that's awful, y/n!"

"you need sleep somewhere" you said but then couldn't help but chuckle lightly. you went over the victorian era a lot of times already but yuuji was always so easy to affect with history’s dark sides "and don't look at me like i did it to them, girl shit"

"right..." he still seemed upset thinking about it as he scratched his head. sometimes you told stories too good. "so like queen victoria. big hat? big deal?" he tried to engage still chewing sweets as you both sat by the desk. "that's my key."

you groaned. „well..." that word sounded like an air escaping untied balloon „not really...i'll just go again" you rolled your eyes with no malice.

you and yuuji have a dynamic that was always more than friends less than lovers. you spent like 6 years of school together already, a few 7 minutes in heaven during spin the bottle, so many private lessons, so many of his games attended, there even were couple secret situations where you made out and you weren't...exactly forced to to say the least. especially since it often didn’t end at that.

cause you don't want to date yuuji. you don't want to date in highschool at all matter of fact, it's just not your thing. you two just...are. friends. not even best ones. completely different friend groups and two different worlds but you know each other the longest and keep a high status in school on opposite ends. a situationship? that would require a bit more effort, mixed signals and less of a friendly familiarity. your signals aren't mixed — yuuji was never bothered by your rejection. not sure why, maybe he just enjoys your company too much.

"...and dickens wrote about the conditions of the poor..." yuuji nodded talking slowly like he could read the script in your glasses.

"sure." you sighed and then looked at the clock briefly "it's 7pm?! i thought you'd—..." you hit his arm lightly interrupting yourself "tell me when an hour passes at least, i have things to do! i have a project."

"yeah, i know you since middle school, y/n. it's probably due in december." yuuji chuckled softly rubbing his perfectly fine arm once again "i wanted to tell you like 20 minutes ago, professor. but you just talk and talk." he teased "and we still have some pastries, you need to stay."

"that's what i came here to do—...you're not listening, itadori gosh" you sighed rubbing your temples.

his face fell into an upset frown. "hey, don't call me that, you know i hate it."

"don't test me." you put a finger in his face.

a grin came right back as he grabbed it in the air, making it disappear in his hand. "you're cute when you're mad, i have to keep you going."

"i didn't come here so you look at me, hello" you released your hand from his loose grasp and pushed your glasses up.

yuuji reached to your chair and pulled you closer hooking just two fingers under your seat. damn it was attractive. "i know" he smiled leaning towards you "you came here to teach me about stuffy old history, i appreciate that really." he touched his chest sincerely. "tell me more about uhh...whatever this is." he pointed in a random spot on the page "looks important"

this was genuinely not for your nerves to prepare him for exams while he was looking at you like a puppy waiting for treats. you groaned extending your legs on his lap, giving up. and he was more than eager to massage your feet in those knee socks without saying.

"just tell me what you’ve learned" you threw the pen on the desk and rested your chin your palm looking at him.

yuuji blinked, caught off guard. you could tell he wasn't dreaming of being asked that, that's for sure. he quickly tried to recall anything from your rant. his hands stilled on your feet, thumbs pressing gently into the arches as he thought. "uh...there was a queen? victoria? and she wore a big hat?" he offered weakly, repeating himself from earlier "oh! and people were poor. really poor." he perked up slightly at that memory of her explaining heinous things "like, starving poor. that's kinda messed up, right?"

"yes yuuji it is but that won't be a question on the test i can assure you" you scoffed taking your legs to yourself and folding them on your chair

"it would be great though, wouldn't it?" he smiled raising an eyebrow, scooting closer "i would just answer, yes that is fucked up and i would never."

you laughed softly despite yourself and shook your head above the book. "stupid."

yuuji grinned at that.

because in truth everyone at school knew already that you just keep passively friendzoning yuuji and he keeps hanging around not minding it at all, just enjoying your presence and friendship, since he's never held any grudge or resentment in his entire life. people from school don’t know about other stuff that happen between you…but that’s supposed to stay this way. keeping the lighthearted frenemies stigma around it is great for you.

but most people believed your rejection is there because he's 'too stupid' for you and that you're not into that. but it wasn't true at all. you loved silly boys, especially those cute ones who wouldn't hurt a fly despite being absolutely jacked and hot. yuuji was exactly that but holding him at arms length was just fun. and cute. cute to watch him try. didn’t harm anybody. you told yourself that maybe if your future plans could be somehow executed alongside each other and he still keeps hanging around...you may give him a chance.

"okay okay what's next? some absolutely depressing vile stuff?" he took a deep breath "i think i'm ready even for the boring, surprise me with something." he smiled with courage.

you just rolled your eyes and turned to him for a second. one polished nail lifting his chin to meet your very short kiss on his lips. a peck if you will. but it was enough. “was that a good surprise? will do for the next two chapters?" you asked smirking softly.

yuuji's entire face lit up at that, eyes widening before fluttering shut for the kiss that already passed. he made a soft pleased noise against your lips, completely caught off guard. when you pulled back, he was grinning stupid, cheeks pink.

"holy shit, yes. absolutely yes." he leaned forward, voice dropping to a murmur. "i'll learn the entire fucking textbook. two chapters? i'll ace the whole semester for one of those."

you scoffed a laugh again, unable to keep your facade straight as he kept going, life on the line seemingly.

„yuuji." you gave him a look from above your glasses „you're not going to learn are you?"

yuuji immediately tried to look serious, but his eyes were twinkling with mischief and his grin refused to be suppressed. "i will! i swear i will! i'm just uh...highly motivated by positive reward systems." he leaned in, trying to sound convincing as his finger kept grazing her knee innocently. "and you giving me kisses is like...the best studying reward system ever invented. it's science." he said almost like you were lacking knowledge in the field of affection.

„science, huh?" you raised your eyebrows, giving up on that text book „yesterday i've heard you were yapping around that you can lift me with one arm, i hope you didn't tell them under which circumstances though." you gave him a sharp look „was that to suggest i'm heavy and lifting me is an achievement to your career or you just want everybody to know how much i tolerate you, hm?"

you knew which is it.

yuuji face's on the other hand went through several expressions at once: shock, horror, then pure panic.

"NO! fuck no, y/n that's not—...i wasn't saying you're heavy! god, you're like a feather for me. i swear." he leaned forward urgently. "i was just...bragging. like an idiot." he said like that particular sentence was her mother tongue and it can get to her. "because i can carry you around like you weigh nothing and...i just hope you maybe think it's somewhat hot...?"

you smirked seeing his distress "well i don't know, do i?"

"it is hot. you know it is." his thumb brushed her knee gently. "i can carry you anywhere. hold you up high so you can reach stuff. or...or act like a chair, i work my legs too." he said like that was his personal genius invention "i did that once for you, on last year's graduation." he pointed out proudly.

„or? what else?" you pulled your glasses a bit down your nose turning to him fully.

"or...pick you up and kiss you against a wall. or throw you on my bed y/n, here you go but i didn't tell them that! i didn't i swear! and..." his face flushed a bit, but his eyes were earnest. "i just...i like it, it's intimate. like i can keep you safe and close all at once, it feels good." he cleared his throat averting his gaze for a moment. "so i was bragging but not like that."

"you're losing me chances in guys from the team." you crossed your arms smirking.

"hey, you don't want guys from the team!" yuuji got upset again but tried to suppress it this time "you don't want like anybody, so it wasn't sabotage, it was just...'i'm friends with the school president, look at me! i'm so cool!'" yuuji explained “type thing. i’m in sports i’m a bragger.”

you laughed at that. "nobody thinks i'm 'cool' yuuji and hanging out with me also doesn't give you that. you're the cool one." you pointed at his chest.

"yeah so i decide!" he pouted "you're the coolest."

you just shook your head with a smile before crawling into his lap. he immediately woke up and changed demeanour. huge smile spreading on his face while his big hands settled on your waist. if he had a tail it'd fall of by this point. you placed a soft kiss on his lips first trying to get him to drop the grin and actually make out with you which was a quite necessary procedure.

"i am waiting to be carried around." you said into his lips with teasing impatience "do your thing."

"yes ma'am" he said immediately standing up with you in his arms and then threw you up in the air a couple inches twice on the way to his bed.

"yuuji!!" you chuckled gripping the back of his neck to steady "this wasn't what i asked for!"

he lied you down gently under himself, still over the moon excited and happy. reached to take your glasses off and placed them aside. you saw him perfectly though since he was nose to nose. "ends now i promise." he said kissing you deeply and then pulling back "i do exactly what president says."

“…Well?” Your grin tilts into something knowingly sweet, all coy challenge and quiet hope. You watch the way his eyes betray him—how they brighten despite himself, how his fingers pause mid-air against the wrapper like they’ve been caught in the act. It’s a small thing, that hesitation, but you see it. You always do.

Red Hood exhales through his nose, a rough little huff meant to pass for indifference. His helmet is half on, and he and you both know you won't tilt your head down to look at the face below it. 

It wasn't ever anything you needed to do.

Your smile only widens, cheeks aching with the effort of holding it back. “Admit it,” you sing softly, sing-song enough to be annoying, gentle enough to be affectionate.

He chews in stubborn silence, jaw working like he’s negotiating terms with his pride. Then, finally—reluctantly—he swallows.

“…It’s,” he starts, pauses, scowls at the burger like it’s betrayed him. “Better than the Bat Burger,” he mutters, the words dragged out like a confession extracted under duress.

Before you can react, he takes another bite, quick and deliberate, eyes suddenly very focused on anything but you. It’s meant to hide the smile threatening at the corner of his mouth.

It doesn’t work.

You light up anyway—bright and unguarded and devastatingly pleased—and Red Hood, for all his practiced resistance, eats faster just to avoid looking at you like that.

“I told you,” you say, already moving, fingers curling around his glass to top it off beneath the soft hiss of the soda machine. Ice clinks gently as the cola rises. “That place is all grease.”

“Hey—well,” Red Hood counters around a mouthful, words muffled but indignant, “your burger doesn’t come with a mini Nightwing figure, does it?”

You snort, setting the glass down beside his plate with a soft thud. “Yeah, and our Coca-Cola doesn’t come with diabetes.”

He shoots you a look over the rim of the glass, something halfway between offense and amusement, before taking another long sip.

It’s late—late enough that the street outside has gone quiet, Gotham settling into that uneasy hush it only ever pretends is sleep. And somehow, impossibly, your diner is still open. The neon sign hums softly in the window, tired but persistent, like it knows better than to give up just because the hour suggests it should.

You only bought the place a few months ago. The few old staff stayed. The old regulars too. You never touched the menu names—just the recipes themselves, quietly fixing what had always been almost good. Making it better. Making it worth something. Worth staying open for.

Three months was all it took to sand down the sharp edges of the place. The tacky ’80s diner aesthetic softened into something warmer, more classic—vinyl booths polished instead of cracked, chrome wiped clean, lights dimmed just enough to feel intentional. People noticed. Families started coming. 

Kids, especially. Which was notable, considering this stretch of Gotham used to belong to grouchy old men who treated your parking lot like their personal smoking lounge. 

You’d heard the whispers, eventually. The way kids talked about the place. Cheap food. Good food. Safe food. And if kids were plotting something on this side of Gotham—really plotting—Red Hood would’ve heard about it long before you did.

You still remember the night you met him.

The crash of shouting. The sound of something metal hitting pavement. You’d stormed out back gripping a frying pan like a weapon, heart in your throat, only to find Red Hood in the middle of it—hauling three wheezing old men toward your trash cans with the casual efficiency of someone cleaning up a mess he didn’t make.

He’d looked at you then, startled, a little wild, like he hadn’t expected backup.

That had been the beginning.

Not quite a partnership.

Definitely not trouble.

Something messier. Something quieter. Something that looked a lot like friendship, even if neither of you ever said that outloud.

If you need to throw out a thug, he made sure you knew who to call.

If he needed somewhere to get actual food and a safe place to rest that asked no questions, he knew where to go.

“Do you think it needs anything?” you ask, already drifting toward the small, dog-eared journal tucked beneath the counter. You flip it open on instinct, pen poised, brows knitting as you scan notes written in different inks, different moods. “Maybe the meat needs more spice,” you murmur. “Or the bread—maybe more salt?”

Red Hood hums thoughtfully, dragging his thumb across his mouth to wipe away a smear of sauce before he answers. “I think it’s perfect,” he says simply. Then, after a beat, softer but no less certain, “Really.”

You still. Just for a moment. Pen hovering mid-air. Considering. Then you sigh—long and put-upon—and Jason has to clamp down hard on the laugh that nearly bursts out of him when you speak again.

“You’d eat slop if I served it to you,” you say flatly. “I don’t even know why I ask.”

He grins, unrepentant. “You’d make good slop.”

You huff, shaking your head as you reach down to adjust your apron, the fabric worn thin and soft with age. It’s part of the uniform—old, faded, clearly meant for someone else entirely. You’ve always assumed the woman it was bought for is long gone now, her shifts and habits stitched into the seams like a quiet ghost.

Still, it fits you well enough.

And Jason watches you tug it straight with an expression that suggests he means every word he said.

“Those guys still bothering you?” he asks after a moment, gaze flicking past you to the clock mounted high on the far wall. Midnight clicks into place with a dull, final little sound. You should be home by now. Instead, you’re here—hovering, unsettled in a way that doesn’t quite match your usual calm.

Your hair has come loose in places, soft strands escaping whatever effort you made to tame it earlier. Your makeup is still neat, but your hands give you away—picking at your nails, worrying at the edges of yourself. Every so often, your eyes dart toward the door like you half-expect the worst of Gotham to stroll in wearing a grin.

His voice pulls you back.

You huff softly, reaching for the rag and giving the counter a swipe that doesn’t really need it. Then another. Anything to keep your hands busy. “Am I not allowed to ask for company?” you say, tone light, almost teasing—carefully casual in the way people are when they’re hoping not to be questioned further.

Jason watches the motion of your hands, the repetitive back-and-forth, before answering. “Didn’t think I’d be the one you’d call for that,” he says. There’s a beat, and then he adds it—quieter, rough around the edges, like he’s bracing for rejection. “Not… that I’m complaining.”

“Better not be.” You chuckle softly.

Red Hood takes another bite of his food, waiting for you to get the courage to answer.

“…Do you think you could walk me home?” you ask after a moment, the words coming a little softer than you mean them to. “Some—some thug came into the parking lot and started cursing and stuff. He was drunk, but, uh—”

“Yeah. I got you.” Red Hood cuts in easily, like the answer was never in doubt. He reaches for the little sauce container, adds more with reckless confidence, and takes another bite. “Is that why you’re bribing me with food?”

You smile, tilting your head as a loose strand of hair slips free and brushes your cheek. “Yeah. Fattening you up so if we get chased, I can run away faster.”

Red Hood snorts around a mouthful. “I could be four hundred pounds and still run faster than you.”

“Well, if I die, you’d probably lose a hundred,” you shoot back, faux-serious. “Who else would let you eat for free?”

Alfred, Jason thinks automatically—but he keeps that to himself. Instead, he swallows, takes a long sip of soda, and says, “Well, we won’t have to worry about that. As long as I’m here, you don’t need to worry about Gotham.” He pauses, glancing down at the burger with sudden scrutiny. “Just worry about the fact that this bread’s a little salty.”

You freeze.

Then you slam your fist into your open palm, eyes lighting up like you’ve struck gold. “I knew it, you liar!”

Red Hood laughs, full and unguarded, and for a moment the night outside the diner feels a little less dangerous.

It’s a few moments later when you hum thoughtfully, gathering his empty plate and glass before he can protest. “Would you like dessert?”

Red Hood huffs, leaning back in the booth. “You really are trying to fatten me up.”

You lift a brow over your shoulder as you push through the door to the back, flicking on the lights and setting the dishes into the sink. Water runs, warm and familiar. “Is that a no?”

“No—ah—” Red Hood pauses, glancing at the clock on the wall. Twenty past one. Too late by any reasonable standard. He raises his voice so it carries. “We should probably get going, no? It’s Saturday tomorrow, and you open early, right?”

“Red,” you call back easily, “do you want vanilla ice cream or chocolate?”

There it is. Complete disregard. Utter dismissal.

It does something to him he doesn't want to admit.

“Cookies and cream,” he answers anyway, resigned, a little breathless. “I know you have some.”

“For me,” you say as you step back out front, drying your hands on your apron.

“For two?” he asks hopefully, batting his lashes with exaggerated flair under the helmet even if you can't see it, clearly joking—until he isn’t. He stops halfway through the bit, like he’s caught himself lowering his guard into a joke without meaning to.

You don’t comment. Even though your stomach flips. Even though you notice. Instead, you keep your tone soft and familiar. “Always,” you murmur. “Even though your portion alone should be for three.”

He laughs, relieved, grateful. Still a bit stiff from the newness of it.

You shake your head fondly, the soft scrape of the scoop against the frozen ice cream loud in the quiet diner, the chill spilling out like a ghost of winter into the dim, yellow glow of the overhead lights. The smell of sugar and cocoa drifts up, a small warmth against the damp bite of Gotham outside.

A bowl of ice cream is made for the both of you, simple, but enough. You hesitate, fingers hovering over the spoons, a hint of nervousness creeping into your chest—would he scoff if you shared one bowl? The thought of having to wash an extra dish wins out, and you set the spoons on either side of one bowl.

Red Hood watches, silent and still, his presence folding the rest of the diner away. All that exists is him, leaning just enough over the counter, eyes catching the lamplight in a way that makes every detail sharper: the worn edges of his gloves, the oil smudges on his jacket, the way his jaw tenses like it’s holding back half the city’s weight.

He waits, quiet, letting you take your seat first. Then he finally reaches for a spoon, the motion deliberate, slow, a ritual that keeps the moment suspended.

You take a small bite, letting the cold sweet coat your tongue before speaking. “I gotta ask…how do you get around? That motorcycle…really yours?”

Jason pauses mid-chew, eyes narrowing like he’s calculating how much to reveal. “Yeah…? What? You don’t like my girl?”

“Nah,” you answer lightly, letting the corners of your lips lift in a small smile, “just thought you were a broke ass like me. God, she doesn’t deserve to be ridden in Gotham.”

He smirks, leaning closer just enough for the overhead light to catch the sharp line of his cheekbone. “Hey. I’m a very high-class man,” he says, letting the words hang, watching the way your gaze runs over the dirt and oil-streaked leather, the fraying edges of his gloves, the faint scar on the sliver of skin that is his wrist. Mhm. Very high class. “And she loves it over here.”

You sigh, another bite of ice cream melting slowly in your mouth. The fluorescent lights flicker slightly overhead, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor and bouncing off the chrome edges of the counter. “She’d be the first. You should get locks. Some kid might try to snatch off the tires.”

Jason’s hand freezes mid-spoon, eyes flicking to yours. For a second, disbelief and something sharper—shock, maybe, or a hint of incredulity—crosses his form, quickly masked by that careful, practiced smirk. “…They still do that here?”

“Mhm…” You lift your spoon, letting a bit of cookie crumble fall into the bowl with a soft plop. “…Caught a kid last week trying to get the wheels off my car.” Your voice softens, fondness creeping into it without meaning to.

Jason is quiet for a beat, and you can almost feel the weight of the pause in the space between you. “…What…what did you do?”

You look up at him, eyes a little surprised, but then soften into a small smile, warm and patient. “Come on, Red. It’s me,” you murmur, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I gave him ice cream and some money from the tip jar. Told him if he started taking out the trash for me every day, I’d give him five bucks each time.”

A low noise escapes Jason, something between disbelief and amusement, and you can’t tell if it’s admiration or something else. “I think…you’re overpaying him. The trash can is like twenty feet away from the back of the building.”

“He bought a new jacket last week,” you say, soft, savoring the memory like a small victory. “A new jacket and a set of pencils for school. He did his homework in the employees’ changing room. I think I’m paying him just fine.”

Jason leans back slightly, chair legs scraping faintly against the diner’s linoleum floor, his spoon hovering mid-air. “If I ever caught a kid flicking my tires, I’d just teach them how to do it faster and give him a lollipop if they finished in under two minutes. If your not quick enough the bats come bite your toes you know? Tell the bedtime store to every little thief I find."

You groan, rolling your eyes so hard you almost see the reflection in the laminated counter, before scooping another bite of ice cream. “This is why you’re single.”

Red Hood freezes, the spoon halfway to his mouth, his posture stiffening like he’s just been called out in front of the entire city. “What does that—where did that—how did you get to that conclusion?”

It’s times like these you remember just how much he’s able to calm you down, how he’s able to soak the tiredness of the day off your skin like a sponge.

How much you crave him for it.

You stare at him blankly, deliberately slow, watching the fluorescent light catch the edges of the helmet and throw shadows over his sharp angles. “Did you hear anything you just said?”

He exhales, a small puff of frustration escaping, voice low and clipped. “Whatever…I’m married to work. People there think my stories are funny.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head, the soft diner light reflecting in your eyes, batting your lashes in that way you know makes him shift uncomfortably, “And pray tell, Red…what work do you exactly do?”

Jason hesitates, hand still frozen over the ice cream spoon. “…Gotham Child Services?”

You nod solemnly, taking the last bite, the cool sweetness lingering on your tongue. “That explains the guns.”

Red Hood sighs, the sound muffled and rough through the helmet as he tucks it back down over his chin. “Never win with you, do I? Fine. Drug lord. Nice one though. I got lollipops.”

You hum, the quiet warmth of the diner lights catching your hair as you coo, “Hmm…let’s see how much you tip me for my service and I’ll think about letting your ego win the ride home.” You rise, swiftly walking to the kitchen to let the bowl soak in the sink.

“Ride home? Thought we were walking,” Jason chuckles, the sound low, careful, as he watches you move back toward him. He stays still, gloved hands resting on his knees, tracking the sway of your hips, the way your fingers brush the countertop.

He’s quiet as you slip past him to grab your coat from the wall, the soft rustle of fabric punctuating the silence between you. The faint click of the buttons makes his chest tighten, and he doesn’t even try to hide the way his helmet tilts just slightly, betraying how intently he’s watching.

You tug your coat over your shoulders, the fur brushing your neck and falling across your arms.

You walk back to him, never leaving him for too long.

When your hands press to each pocket of his jacket, your fingers pressing into the leather over his chest. He lets out a small, embarrassed noise, more instinct than intention. Red Hood freezes for just a moment, the weight of your touch lingering longer than it should. “What pocket has the lollipops?” you hum softly, watching his helmet tilt with the subtlest of hesitations. You can’t see his eyes, but you feel them on you anyway, the tension pulling tight across the space between you.

“…Took five from home and gave five out. You’re a few hours late…” Red Hood mumbles, voice raspy as always, but now just slightly warmer, more human under the helmet.

“…So you have more at home?” You tilt your head, letting a strand of hair fall over your shoulder as your fingers press lightly into the leather of his chest again.

“Uh…” His gloved hand moves, brushing yours for just a moment, the frayed edge of leather tickling your wrist. The contact is electric, and he doesn’t pull away, just holds it, letting the tension thrum in the small space between you.

“Red.” You mumble, voice soft, low, something more intimate than teasing.

“Yeah?” He rasps back, shifting slightly as if the small movement might let him breathe without panic.

“You suck at flirting.”

“…Cute girl wants a lollipop from me.” His voice cracks slightly, awkward under the helmet, and the way he says it makes the space feel smaller, warmer, more charged.

You chuckle softly, the sound small but deliberate, filling the quiet air around you. “Red. I don’t want a lollipop.”

“Nah?” He mumbles gently, and you catch the faint tilt of his head, the shift of weight in his shoulders. “But they are the expensive kind Ma’am, I didn’t cheap out.”

“Oh?” You hum, letting your gaze soften, your fingers brushing just over the patch of exposed neck under his helmet. “So you do like sweets.”

Jason grins, faint and almost imperceptible, hoping you can sense it even under the mask. “Hey, you are what you eat.”

Your hand slides up from his chest to that sliver of exposed skin on his neck, the warmth so close you can feel it through the thin fabric. Your fingers trace carefully, teasingly, across the soft curve there.

He shifts slightly, leaning toward your touch even as his mind protests.

“Bet you’d taste sweet, then.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He whispers back, voice low, soft, close enough that you can feel it in your chest.

His hand twitches, almost involuntarily, brushing against your wrist.

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