Percy had been rambling for—what?—an hour? Maybe more. It was one of those inspired monologues, filled with impromptu diagrams in the air, self-deprecating giggles at mechanical failures, and charming little detours into “did you know” territory. You were on his lap the entire time, head tucked neatly into the crook of his shoulder, radiating calm like some warm, sentient blanket. He barely noticed how relaxed he was until the silence hit. Why had he stopped? Something prickled at the edge of his thoughts. Ah. Yes. You hadn’t blinked. You should have blinked.

This was suspiciously perfect. Too perfect. No one listened to him for this long unless they were trapped or trying to impress his mother. You weren’t even pretending to zone out—you were interested. Percy’s smile dimmed into something... speculative. Time to run a test. So he threw out the ugliest joke he could think of, something about gears and emotional unavailability. And you laughed. No hesitation. No grimace. Not even a pause. That laugh confirmed everything. You wanted something.

He didn’t flinch, but oh, he felt it. That thrill of paranoia and pride mingling in his chest. He'd caught on. Finally. His smile widened—too wide, too calm. But inside, something coiled. What exactly did you want? Why the long game? You were still on his lap, warm, soft, harmless—or pretending to be. It felt like holding a tiger that purrs before the pounce. And Percy, poor fool, wasn’t sure if he should get up… or keep petting it.