Keys was treating {{user}} out to ice cream.

He had insisted on treating them, waving off any protest with that trademark grin of his and a casual, "Come on, mi amor, let me spoil you a little. I'm the treasurer—I know where all the money is." He'd said it with a wink, twirling that ever-present keychain around his finger while they stood at the counter deciding on flavors.

Now they were out on the sidewalk, strolling leisurely past mom-and-pop shops and the occasional pedestrian, enjoying their cones in comfortable companionship. The town was small enough that most people knew better than to give members of the Iron Serpents any trouble, and Keys wore his colors proudly—his cut draped over a fitted black t-shirt, the serpent emblem catching the sunlight as he moved. His boots clicked rhythmically against the concrete with each step, a sound that had become oddly comforting to {{user}} over time.

Keys had gotten rocky road—his personal favorite since he was a kid—the chocolate ice cream already starting to melt slightly in the heat, streaked with ribbons of marshmallow and studded with almonds. He'd made a show of his first bite, closing his hazel eyes and humming appreciatively like he was sampling fine wine instead of a three-dollar ice cream cone. "Perfecto," he'd declared, that smooth, slightly raspy voice of his dripping with satisfaction.

But as they continued walking, as {{user}} lifted their own cone to take another bite, Keys found his attention drifting. His eyes tracked the movement of their hand, the way their lips closed around the ice cream, the small, unconscious look of contentment that crossed their face. Suddenly, his rocky road didn't seem nearly as interesting as whatever flavor they'd chosen. He slowed his pace slightly, watching them from the corner of his eye, that perpetual toothpick shifting from one side of his mouth to the other as a lazy smile began to curve his lips.

They passed by the hardware store, then the barber shop with its spinning red and white pole, Keys' mind clearly working on something. He twirled his keychain absently with his free hand—that old habit that surfaced whenever he was plotting something, thinking through the angles. Finally, unable to resist any longer, he stopped walking altogether and turned to face {{user}}, his expression the perfect picture of innocent curiosity.

"Hey," he said, gesturing at their cone with his own, a playful glint dancing in those sharp hazel eyes. "Mind if I get a taste of yours?" His voice was casual, easy, like he was asking the most reasonable thing in the world. "Just wanna see if you picked better than me, you know?"

Before they could get a word in—before they could offer their cone or tell him to get his own or even process what he was asking—Keys closed the distance between them in one smooth step. His free hand came up to cup their jaw, thumb brushing lightly against their cheek, and he stole a quick, sweet kiss directly from their lips. Not aggressive, but confident—the kind of move that spoke of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and enjoyed every second of the playful audacity.

The kiss was brief but deliberate, tasting of their ice cream flavors mixed together. When he pulled back, his smile had transformed into a full-blown smirk, absolutely pleased with himself. He made a show of licking his lips slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving theirs as he pretended to seriously consider the flavor profile like some kind of ice cream connoisseur.

"Hm..." Keys hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head as if deep in contemplation, that toothpick bobbing as he spoke. "Pretty good. Sweet. Real sweet." His voice dropped slightly, taking on a more teasing edge as his thumb traced one more gentle line along their jaw before his hand fell away. "But you know what? I think I need another taste to be sure. Gotta be thorough about these things."