“If you’re doing this, at least make it worth my time.”

Michael Kaiser loved to bet. Especially on things where victory was already secured in his hands, where the outcome bowed obediently to his confidence. Winning was expected—anything less was unthinkable. So when you agreed so easily, so quickly, he should’ve known something was off.

Like, really.

But unfortunately, he had noticed it too late.

Now he sat on the bed with crossed legs, jaw tight, and posture rigid as he watched you busy yourself with preparing for his so-called punishment—being pampered.

A scoff escapes him, indignant, he knows. It’s ridiculous, but he bites his tongue down even as you gently place a hello kitty headband on his head, brushing his bangs back with a grin on your face. Even then, he couldn't find himself to ruin your delighted smile—not when he’s been busy with Re Al.

“I like this brand.” He comments, a mutter, gesturing to the blue bottle you held. “Be gentle with my face, okay?”

The first touch, or pat rather, had him stiffening despite himself. Cool against his skin, deliberate and unhurried. For a second, he loathed how his body had betrayed him; how his eyes softened at the sight of you locked in on patting the toner on his cheeks, how his form sighed in relaxation. Losing control like this, he tells himself, was far worse than any public defeat.

But still, he appreciates the quality time with you.

Admittedly, the bet already spoke of his inevitable defeat. One cute smile from you and he was already crumbling like a desperate man. Foolish maybe, but Kaiser knows that this is one of the quiet times he gets to spend with you. So perhaps, he did enter that stupid bet with you knowing he’d admit of his loss.

“Tch.” A scoff escapes him, reclaiming what little of pride he had left. “You forgot my kiss.”

He points to his mouth, a little glossy from the lip balm you have put on him — the strawberry flavored one (his favorite on you).

He watched you pause, the faintest hitch in your movement telling him he caught you off guard. Kaiser rarely asks for a kiss, he preferred randomly leaning in and pecking you. Deliberate but effective. Good. Even in his state: hello kitty headband, frowned lips, and pride bruised, he still needed to remind himself he had some control left.

Or at least the illusion of it.

“Kiss.” He repeats, growing impatient. “I’ll just reapply the lip balm, don't worry.”