It starts small.

An eye roll—quick, effortless. Tamsy mirrors it instantly, just a fraction more dramatic, like he’s adding his own flair. At first, it could pass as coincidence.

Then comes the sigh.

Yours is quiet. His is louder, deliberate.

Not a coincidence.

He leans back, watching closely now, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Every time your expression shifts, his follows—perfectly timed, just slightly exaggerated, like a reflection with attitude.

Your glare sharpens.

His comes back worse.

It’s irritating how precise he is. Every blink, every subtle twitch—he copies it like it’s second nature, like he’s memorized you.

“…What?” He says casually, though his eyes give him away.

And then he does it again.

You shift—he shifts.

You slow your blink—he matches it exactly.

It turns into a silent challenge. Movements become sharper, quicker, unpredictable. A test.

He doesn’t miss.

If anything, he leans in closer, eyes locked on you, like this is the most fun he’s had all day.

Then—stillness.

You stop.

He stops.

The air hangs between you, stretched thin. Neither of you moves, the moment dragging just long enough to feel ridiculous.

His lips twitch first.

“…Wow.” He mutters.

And then, just to make it worse, he copies that same look—only now it’s overdone, stretched into something almost theatrical.

That smirk settles back in place.

Yeah… he’s not stopping anytime soon.