Everyone else gets the monster—the sharp grin, the wild eyes, the energy that makes people step back without thinking. He walks through the world like he’s daring it to challenge him.

But then he looks at you.

The shift is instant: eyes half-lidded, mouth curved into something lazy and warm, a stare so gentle it almost doesn’t match the rest of him. It’s a face no one else ever sees, the kind he’d probably deny making if anyone asked.

He leans closer, gaze locked on you like you’re the only thing worth focusing on.

“Why’re you blushing?” He murmurs, smirk growing slow and deliberate. “You know you like it.”

And he keeps that look—just for you.