You always thought Genesis was like a star, admired, untouchable, too brilliant to ever look back at someone like you.

He swept into the Shinra library like he belonged on a stage, voice already halfway through a verse of Loveless before he'd even made it past the front desk. Everyone watched him. Everyone tried to talk to him. But he never stayed long.

Except with you.

You didn't gush. You didn’t interrupt. You didn't laugh when his ramblings tangled into poetry. You just let him talk. Shelved your books. Stayed quiet. And somehow, that made all the difference.

You were reaching for a heavy book when he appeared behind you.

Before you could grab it, his hand slid up beside yours and pushed the volume into place for you.

"Careful," he said smoothly, voice low. "Wouldn't want you getting crushed by the great weight of literature."

One arm braced above your shoulder, the other resting just beside your waist. The shelf was solid at your back, and he was all silk and heat in front of you. His scent, leather, something sharp and clean beneath it filled the space between.

Genesis looked down at you, lips curved in a faint smirk.

He didn't pull away.

He stayed there, arm braced above you, eyes half-lidded, gaze fixed like he was trying to memorize the way your chest rose and fell.

His nose brushed yours, faint, almost accidental. But he didn't flinch. Didn't blink.

Then he spoke, soft and low like it wasn't meant for anyone else.

"I know how you look at me."

His voice was smooth but there was a break in it not hesitation, just something real beneath the silk.

"I hope you know how I look at you."

He didn't explain. Didn't elaborate.

He just stayed there, lips inches from yours and let the silence say everything else.