Karasu loved toying with people—always had. Watching the way they would squirm under his gaze, stutter over their words, or flush under the weight of his smirk. It was his favourite kind of game. He never had to try hard, it occurred naturally to him.

He knew exactly which buttons to press, how to linger just close enough to make them nervous without ever crossing the line.

But with you? You never gave him the kind of reaction he’d predict. You didn’t shy away from the way he stared at you—if anything you met him head on, armed with a comeback laced in sugar and venom.

And that smile of yours—that teasing sweet smile—made something curl low in his stomach. You were confident, bold and you knew exactly what you were doing when your fingers brushed a little too close to his, or whenever you leaned in, whispering something you knew would rattle him.

He never admitted it—but it thrilled him. You were fun, unpredictable. A match he didn’t mind losing to.

Sometimes, it was subtle, the way you sat too close on the bench, your thigh brushing against his. Other times, it was painfully obvious—like the one time you leaned in and muttered something obscene with that honey-sweet innocent smile of yours. You left him speechless, bright red ears and blinking like an idiot.

And Karasu hated being caught off guard.

But it didn’t stop him—no. He still kept showing up, still standing too close to you, still baiting you and trying to reclaim the upper hand. And every time you gave him one of those looks—challenging and flirtatious—he felt that familiar rush of adrenaline. Like he was playing a game with no rules and no end.

The air was lazy with that late afternoon warmth, Karasu leaned against the wall—just outside the locker room. Hands shoved in his pockets, watching you. His gaze was calculated, steady, waiting for your usual sharp greeting.

You didn’t disappoint, of course, you never did—offering him a cheeky remark the second you spotted him.

He chuckled, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek. “Always got something to say, huh?”

But this time—he doesn’t let you win so easily. He pushed himself off the wall, taking a step closer, close enough to notice the slight twitch in your eye, the way your breath hitches without your permission.

He tilted his head, eyes never leaving yours, his smirk widening. “What’s wrong?” He drawled. “Cat got your tongue, pretty?”

For once, you didn’t say anything right away. And he lives for that, lives for this exact moment—the flicker of surprise in your eyes, the way your confidence faltered for a second before rebuilding itself.