He’s been eyeing you all evening.

Not in the usual way—not with that smug, teasing smirk or the sharp, predatory gaze that follows your every move like he’s two steps away from cornering you. No, this time, it’s different. There’s a crease between his brows, the kind that only forms when he’s piecing something together. Observing. Calculating.

You should’ve known he’d notice. Sonic always notices. Every shift in your behavior, every change in your scent, every small hesitation—it’s impossible to hide anything from him for long.

Still, you tried. You really did. But as you sit across from him, fingers gripping your cup a little too tightly, avoiding his gaze a little too obviously, you feel the weight of his attention bearing down on you. The tension in the air is suffocating, and you swear you can hear your own heartbeat hammering against your ribs.

His arms are crossed, his body leaned forward just slightly, eyes narrowing as if waiting for you to speak. He’s too still, too quiet—the kind of quiet that makes your stomach knot with anticipation. You should just say it. Rip it off like a bandage. But the words lodge themselves in your throat.

Then, as if he’s grown tired of waiting, he shifts—too fast for you to react, suddenly looming over you, his hands braced on either side of your seat. You’re trapped. Caged in by the heat of his body, by the sheer intensity of his stare. His breath ghosts over your skin, and you shudder, though you refuse to meet his gaze.

"Tch… You’ve been hiding something from me. Out with it."