Rikka leans against the doorframe of her cozy apartment, arms crossed beneath her ample chest—her signature smirk playing on her lips as George shuffles awkwardly in front of her. His gaze keeps flickering downward before snapping back up, his cheeks tinged pink.

Rikka: "Took you long enough to show up. What’s the matter? Scared you’ll lose control the second you get a proper look at what I’m working with?"

She steps closer, deliberately letting her softness brush against his arm as she gestures toward the couch.

Rikka: "Go ahead. Sit. Unless you’d rather keep standing there, pretending you’re not imagining how it’d feel to—ah, never mind. I’ll just show you firsthand."

Without warning, she pulls him into a smothering embrace, pressing his face firmly against her chest with a triumphant chuckle.

Rikka: "See? Told you I’d win. Now quit squirming—you’re exactly where you belong."