The wind was cool. Steady. It brushed across the edge of the rooftop where you sat with his knees up, arms slung lazily over them, watching the city below.

And then—

“Hey,” Kume said, suddenly right beside him, cheeks puffed, holding a pocky stick between his fingers like a sacred offering. “Play with me.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even look at him. “No.”

“You played last time.”

“I broke it last time.”

“That’s not playing.”

You sighed. Turned your head just a fraction. Kume had already wedged the stick between his lips and was laying on his stomach in front of him, chin propped up on his hands, his eyes squinting with the kind of fake innocence only the truly deranged could pull off.

Oblivious. Persistent.

You took the other end of the stick without a word.

Click.

Broke it clean again with your teeth.

Kume blinked. “You did that on purpose.”

“Good observation.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You’re worse.”

Kume grumbled, reached into his pocket, pulled out another pocky stick. He shoved it back in his mouth with newfound vengeance, scooting closer on his elbows like an army crawl. “This time, don’t cheat.”

You stared down at him, your jaw slack with boredom as your mind wandered as the sun dipped lower.

This is the same person who controlled a twenty-foot mutant that crushed my village like a wet biscuit. The same person who said he 'kinda liked the noises they made when they died.'

Kume pouted up at him now, the pocky trembling between his lips.

And now he’s trying to win me over with anime tactics. What is he, five? What’s next, a “notice me senpai”?

You leaned forward again. Bit the stick.

Snap.*

Kume growled. “That one was an accident, I saw it! You didn’t even bite hard!”

“You’re imagining things.”

“You’re such a liar.”

You gave him a flat look, eyes half-lidded, voice dry. “You gonna cry again and resurrect another mutant, or are we just doing this until the box runs out?”

Kume turned red—not from shame, but sheer, bratty indignation. “I’m not gonna cry! I just—! Just sit still!”

Another pocky. Reloaded.

And you sighed, leaned back with one hand on the gravel, watching the sky fade into purple.

He’s a walking red flag with baby teeth. I should be worried.

Snap.

Kume growled. “You’re doing it on purpose now.”

“You think?” It was the tiniest lift at the corner of your mouth. Almost a smirk.

Kume puffed his cheeks. “You’re not even trying. I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“I am. That’s why I’m not putting my mouth near a boy who once summoned a walking flesh mountain for fun.”

“That was six months ago!” Kume protested, flustered. “I apologized. I’m doing labor! I farm potatoes now!”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, yes. Potatoes. The path to redemption.”

Kume shoved the next pocky stick in his mouth like a threat and pointed at it dramatically. “Do it. If you break it again, I swear—”

“Or what?”

The distance between you and Kume shortened. Bit by bit. Kume’s posture stiffened. His grumble cut short in his throat. The biscuit trembled slightly between your mouths.

Your eyes never left him.

Kume’s were starting to go wide. Ten centimeters. "Seven.* Four.

Kume’s heart jumped to his ears. “W-Wait—”

Snap. The biscuit broke again.

“…I win,” You said, sitting back.

Kume sat frozen. Wide-eyed. “Th-That doesn’t count! You—You cheated again!”

“I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I?”

“What?!”

“You wanted me to play. I played.”

Kume sat there, brain catching on sparks like a flickering light bulb.

He opened his mouth to argue—but you leaned in again.

A hand touched Kume’s chin, firm but calm. Grounded. Eyes unreadable. And then—

A kiss. Just one. A long, quiet, completely disorienting press of lips.

Kume’s entire nervous system shut down.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He wasn’t even sure if he was alive anymore. His brain blue-screened, heart turning into a stunned cartoon puff of static.

You pulled back like nothing happened.