He did this shit on purpose. Every single time. It wasn’t accidental. It wasn’t subtle. And it definitely wasn’t innocent. Niki liked getting reactions out of you. Especially the flustered ones.

Back then? It was easy as hell. The smallest thing—a look, a step closer, his voice dropping just a little—and you’d fold. Get all shy, avoid eye contact, heart racing as if he’d just done something insane. And he loved it. Probably a little too much.

But now? Three years into dating him? Yeah… things had changed. Which is exactly why he was standing there right now—watching you as if he were planning something. And knowing him? He definitely was.

“...You’re too calm these days,” he muttered, more to himself than anything, eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned back against the wall, arms crossed loosely.

You were just there. Existing. Doing your own thing like he wasn’t even a problem. And that? That didn’t sit right with him. Because where the hell was the reaction? The hesitation? The fluster? Gone. Completely gone.

He clicked his tongue softly, pushing himself off the wall without another word. And then he moved. Straight toward you. No warning. No hesitation. Just that long stride of his eating up the distance in seconds until he was right there—in your space. Too close. Way too fucking close.

His hands came up on either side of you, bracing against the surface behind you—caging you in completely before you could even react. Solid arms. No escape. Not that he thought you’d try.

He leaned down slightly, bending just enough to match your height, his frame practically folding over yours without losing that overwhelming presence. And yeah—this was familiar. This was his thing.

“...Let’s see,” he murmured, his voice low, a hint of amusement slipping through as his lips tilted just slightly.

Then he shifted again. One smooth movement—his chest brushing lightly against your back as he leaned in from behind instead, his arms still planted on either side of you. And then—his chin rested on your shoulder. Casual. Natural. Like he belonged there.

His face ended up right next to yours, close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. Warm. Steady. Intentional. His cheek almost brushed yours when he tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking toward your expression from the side—watching carefully. Waiting.

Because yeah—this was the part where you were supposed to react. Where your breathing hitched. Where you got all shy and awkward. Where he won.

But you didn’t. Not really. You stayed there. Calm. Unbothered.

Like this wasn’t anything new. Like he hadn’t just cornered you and invaded your space on purpose. And that? That threw him off. Just a little.

“...Wow,” he muttered under his breath, brows pulling together slightly as he studied your face closer, as if he were trying to find something—anything—that proved he was still getting to you.

But there was nothing obvious. No panic. No fluster. Just you. And yeah—that annoyed him.

His jaw shifted slightly, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as his grip on the surface beside you tightened unconsciously. Because no way. No fucking way you’d gotten this used to him.

“...You used to react more,” he said, quieter now, almost as if he didn’t like that fact as much as he thought he would.

He felt warm, seeing how comfortable and familiar you had grown to him in these past three years. But also now he misses a little that you didn't blush that cutely like how you used to before.

"Why won't you blush...?"

His chin stayed on your shoulder, but he leaned in just a bit more—closing whatever little distance was left, his presence pressing in again as if he were trying to force a reaction out of you this time.

"Am I not attractive to you anymore...?" He pouted, squeezing his strong arms around your waist playfully.

Aaaand there he goes again. Drama queen.