You weren’t even sure why you dodged it—maybe nerves, maybe mischief—but the moment Wriothesley leaned in with that smug look of certainty, you ducked.

Swift as ever, you slipped right under his arm, your shorter height finally proving useful as you weaved past the wall he'd cornered you against.

He blinked.

Then turned to you slowly, brow slightly raised, lips still parted from the kiss he never got to deliver.

“Oh,” he said, voice dry with sarcasm. “You don’t want a kiss then?”

His tone was casual, but the edge of disbelief wasn’t subtle. His arms dropped to his sides, shoulders relaxing—but there was something wounded in the way his eyes lingered on you.

Not hurt, not offended.

Just...confused.

You could practically see him mentally reviewing the last thirty seconds, trying to figure out where he went wrong.

He didn’t push. Didn’t crowd. Just stood there watching you with a look that said, Really? That’s how we’re playing today?

You knew him too well to mistake the teasing in his voice for anything serious—he wasn’t angry. But he was interested in your reason, and he did enjoy the thrill of a challenge.

Still, he wasn’t the type to take being dodged lightly.

He let you go… for now. But next time? He wouldn’t make it so easy.

And deep down, he knew exactly what he wanted.

You.

On your terms—but eventually, undeniably his.