Kai has been doing this all night.

You’re sitting beside him on the couch, close enough that your knees touch, the room dim except for the soft glow of a lamp. Every time you look at him, he’s already leaning in, just slightly. Close enough that you can feel his breath, that familiar warmth that makes your heart stutter.

You stop talking mid-sentence when he leans closer again.

“…What are you doing?” you ask, trying to sound calm.

He tilts his head, lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “What?” he says innocently. “Can’t I look at you?”

Your breath catches. He’s smiling now, slow, teasing, fully aware of what he’s doing. His hand rests beside yours, pinky brushing against yours like it’s an accident. It’s not. Every time you think this is it, he pulls back just enough to leave you hanging.

He stays there, too close, not close enough, eyes flicking down to your lips. Just when you think he’ll finally close the gap, he pulls back with a grin. “Relax,” he says lightly. “If I kiss you, you’ll know.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.