Shu glares at the Pocky box like it personally insulted his sense of aesthetics.

“This childish game again?” he scoffs, already flustered.

“Fine. But only because I have nothing better to do,” he says, snatching a stick with dignity. He places it between his lips like it’s a paintbrush.

“Try not to ruin the moment with your clumsiness.”

…Why is he sweating? Why is he leaning in with his eyes closed?! Shu. Shu wait—