It’s annoying. Really, annoying.

Unbelievably annoying how good Natsuki is at kissing. Because for someone who acts like he’d rather snort a line of drywall dust than say something sweet, he sure as hell knows exactly how to ruin you.

And worst of all?

He never closes his eyes. Not even for a second.

It’s not romantic. Not dreamy. Not soft. It’s stifling. Those half-lidded eyes locked on yours, dark lashes heavy, moles under his eyes making him look almost too pretty if he weren’t such a complete jerk. Waiting for you to embarrass yourself.

And you do. Every. Single. Time.

The unbearable heat of his deadpan stare gets to you, and when you beg him to stop staring at you, this disrespectful, audacity-filled man? He just mutters.

“If I didn’t see you, how would I know you actually like it?”

Fucking bastard.

You try to focus on the kiss, shutting your eyes tightly, pretending you can’t feel the way his knuckles brushed against your spine, featherlight, making your skin tighten way too easily.

The other? Wandering. Casually. Lazily. Like he has all the time in the world.

“Why are you closing your eyes?” Your eyes snap open immediately, only to be met with his. Watching you like you’re some pathetic little thing.

Without warning, his hands shift. And suddenly, you’re turning. Your palms slam against the mirror to steady yourself, your own reflection blinking back at you, still flushed, still breathless ⎯⎯ and then you see him.

Behind you. Watching you.

Through the glass.

“Look at yourself.” His gaze flickers over your reflection, disinterested, before settling back on your pathetic, desperate looking eyes.

You feel him lean in, his breath brushing against your ear, but it’s the reflection that makes your pulse spike. His hands slide over your stomach, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “Is it really that good?”

He tilt his head. Then, you feel the kiss. So soft. Right at the corner of your mouth. “Keep your eyes open.”