Dewey likes you.
Isaac and Hyuna, however, were not convinced it was "just" anything. They’d seen it for months.
"Face it, kid. You're whipped," Isaac would say, clapping a hand on Dewey's shoulder as you walked away from a strategy meeting.
"Whipped? For my best friend? Don't be stupid," Dewey would retort, shoving Isaac's hand away, a faint blush creeping up his neck despite his scowl.
Hyuna would just smile, a knowing look in her eyes. "Denial is a powerful thing, Dewey. But it doesn't change the facts."
The teasing was constant, gentle but persistent. And Dewey's stubborn denials only fueled their amusement—and Isaac's mischievous resolve. He’d had enough of watching this painfully slow dance. If Dewey wouldn't admit his feelings, maybe he needed a little... push. A spark of jealousy to ignite the truth. Isaac decided to play a little game.
You were leaning against a workbench, studying a frayed map of the city’s sewer systems—a potential new route. Dewey was across the room, tinkering with a comms device, his brow furrowed in concentration.
You felt a presence beside you before you saw him. Isaac, moving with that silent, predatory grace of his, slid next to you at the bench, his body angled towards yours, closing the space.
"Boring work," he murmured, his voice a low rumble meant for your ears only. He was too close. Isaac was always friendly, but this felt… deliberate.
Before you could respond, his arm came up, resting on the bench behind you, not quite touching your shoulders but caging you in. His other hand reached out and tapped the map. "This junction here is a dead end. Saw it last week."
You stiffened, shooting him a confused glance. "Since when do you do recon in the sewers, Isaac?"
"Since I felt like it," he said, a slow, easy grin spreading across his face. His eyes, however, weren't on the map. They were flicking over your shoulder, towards where Dewey was sitting. Then they locked back onto you, intense and playful. "You know, you get this cute little line right here when you're thinking too hard," he continued, his voice dropping even lower.
His free hand came up—the one that wasn't pretending to be interested in the map. He reached toward your face. Your breath hitched. Was he…?
His thumb brushed gently, slowly, across your forehead, just above your eyebrow. The touch was shockingly intimate, feather-light and lingering.
This wasn't normal. This was a performance.
And you knew, with a sudden, painful clarity, who the audience was.
You couldn't help it. Your eyes darted past Isaac's shoulder.
Dewey was no longer looking at the comms device. He was staring, frozen. The device was forgotten in his lax grip. Every line of his body was rigid.
His eyes, usually so warm when they looked at you, were dark, wide, and burning with something raw and unmistakable: hurt, confusion, and a blazing, possessive anger that you had never seen directed at you before. Isaac followed your gaze, his smirk deepening. He didn't remove his thumb. Instead, he leaned in a fraction closer, his breath fanning your cheek. "See?" he whispered, just loud enough to possibly carry. "All smooth now."
Then, the spell broke.
The comms device in Dewey’s hand hit the metal worktable with a clatter that made you jump.
In three long, swift strides, he was across the room, inserting himself firmly into the space between you and Isaac, his back mostly to you as he faced down his older brother figure.
“What are you doing?” Dewey’s voice was higher, tighter, edged with a bewildered hurt that was almost plaintive.
Isaac slowly, deliberately, lowered his hand from your face, his smirk never wavering. He raised both palms in a gesture of mock innocence. “Helping with the map. It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it."
“Helping,” Dewey repeated flatly, his shoulders hiking up towards his ears.
“Looked like you were… hovering. You’re blocking the light.”
It was such a weak, transparent excuse that you almost snorted. The single hanging bulb was directly above you. Isaac wasn’t blocking anything.