with love,

"You've been staring at me for the last three blocks."

"Have not."

"Mhm," a brilliant smile kissed Suo Hayato's lips, "I'd almost be offended if I wasn't so entertained by how quickly you denied it."

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, slipping down the back of your neck, and something unfurled between the branches of your rib cage: light, fluttering, impossible.

"You always say things like that just to get a reaction."

"You are giving them so well."

"Involuntarily."

"Liar."

"Says you."

He walked beside you with his usual ease, hands folded behind his back—until his knuckles brushed yours; barely there, just a passing touch. When you shifted away—just a step, enough to claim deniability and accidents—it happened again; once more, twice more, again. Until finally, by the fourth time, irritation curled around your embarrassment sharp enough to act and your fingers caught his.

Suo's eye held a hint of mild surprise, amusement, and a slight pink flush decorated the tips of his ears—watercolour bleeding into paper, "… How forward."

"You were doing it on purpose."

"Was I?"

And there it was: the smile threatening the corner of his mouth, small and private, like he had been waiting for you to lose this little game first all along and his fingers found the space between yours easily.