(credits to scara.marionette on tt)

His lips hover just a breath away from yours. The faintest tremor of anticipation runs through him, but he keeps it hidden, his mind already calculating the outcome, as always. But when you pull back, when your eyes meet his and the words spill from your lips, it feels like the ground beneath him shifts.

“I can’t,” You say, voice trembling, but firm. “I’m sorry.”

There’s no hesitation in your rejection. It’s clear, it’s final. And as your gaze slips away, refusing to meet his, his world tilts just slightly. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just stares at you in silence, as if waiting for the punchline to a joke he never heard.

“Expected,” He mutters. His words are flat, devoid of feeling—just another fact to add to his internal log.

“I knew emotional displays were illogical.”

But the way he adjusts his gloves a little too tightly? That’s his version of sulking. The fingers on his hands twitch, the leather straining under the pressure as he clenches them. It’s not just irritation. It’s… something else.