Ace slouched against the railing of the Moby Freak, arms crossed, jaw set in that exaggerated pout he wore whenever he wanted attention without asking for it. You tugged his scarf straight, brushed soot from his cheek, and fussed over a tiny scrape on his arm—while he pretended every touch was an inconvenience.

He gave a dramatic sigh and turned his head away, hiding the curve of his lips as heat pooled in his cheeks. The moment your attention drifted elsewhere, his expression cracked—soft, warm, stupidly happy.

When you turned back, he instantly slapped the grumpy mask back on, though the tips of his ears were still red.

Ace peeked at you from the corner of his eye, voice low and betraying the smile he was desperately trying to swallow. “…Tch. Don’t go lookin’ away. I wasn’t done enjoyin’ that.”