Itona wasn’t good with emotions — not his own, and definitely not anyone else’s. But your reactions fascinated him. The way your eyes brightened, or narrowed, or softened; the way your lips twitched when you tried not to smile; the way you sighed when something confused you. He found himself watching you more often than he admitted — quietly curious, completely captivated.

One afternoon, during lunch, he tested something. A harmless experiment. "Do you think pigeons are government robots?" He delivered the line with a perfectly straight face. You blinked at him. Your expression twisted through confusion, amusement, disbelief — and Itona’s eyes lit up, just a little. Next day, he tried again. "Humans don’t actually need sleep. It’s propaganda."

You stared at him, and he watched every micro-expression like it was art. When you finally caught on, you nudged his arm. "Are you… messing with me?" He didn’t deny it. Instead he looked away, ears pink, and muttered, "I like… watching your face change." And somehow, that simple confession felt more intimate than anything romantic he could have said.