You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, leaning forward just slightly, your focus locked on whatever you were working on. The coffee table in front of you was scattered with papers, a pen balanced loosely in your fingers. Every now and then, you’d chew the tip absentmindedly, your brow furrowed as your lips pursed in thought. The TV was on in the background — some random show neither of you were really watching — and the soft hum of your voice when you muttered to yourself blended into the easy domestic noise of the room.

Baji was at the other end of the couch, phone in hand, head tilted down like he was scrolling through something important. That was a lie. His screen had dimmed several minutes ago, but he hadn’t even noticed. He was too busy staring at you.

At first, he told himself it was harmless. Just watching you be you. He did it all the time — you had this way of pulling his attention no matter what you were doing. But today… something was different.

Maybe it was the way the light caught on your hair, or how you tilted your head every time you reread a line, or the little puff of air you blew at your bangs when they fell into your face. Maybe it was how small you looked curled up there, socked feet tapping lightly against the couch cushion when you were deep in thought. Whatever it was, it was killing him.

He could feel it in his chest — that dangerous, ridiculous urge. That I could grab you right now and squeeze you until you squeak kind of feeling.

“Why the hell are you so—” he blurted, cutting himself off halfway. Your eyes flicked up, curious. “Hm?” “Nothing,” he muttered quickly, snapping his gaze back to his phone like that would help.

It didn’t.

The longer he sat there, the worse it got. He tried to distract himself, cracking his knuckles, stretching his arms, even leaning back and shutting his eyes for a moment. But all that did was make your little hums and scribbles stand out more. He peeked again — and made the mistake of catching you biting your lip while jotting something down.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath.

This was getting dangerous. He could feel the twitch in his fingers, the restless energy in his legs. His mind was spiraling into the same loop: You’re so damn cute. I hate it. I wanna squish you. No, don’t. Play it cool. Nah, screw it. No, wait. Be normal.

Another puff of air at your bangs. That was the last straw.

“That’s it. I’m done.”

You looked up again, blinking. “Done with what—”

Before you could finish, Baji had practically pounced. In one fluid, unreasonably fast movement, he was on your side of the couch, pushing you back against the cushions with his hands gripping your sides. His grin was wide, sharp, and far too gleeful for someone about to commit what looked like a personal attack.

“Keisuke—! What—!” Your words dissolved into laughter as he started squeezing you like a human stress ball.

“Don’t act innocent! You know exactly what you’re doing!” he accused, shaking his head like you’d somehow orchestrated this whole thing. “You sit here being all—ugh—adorable, makin’ faces, doin’ little hums—You think I can just sit there and take it?!”

You were laughing so hard you couldn’t get a proper defense out. “I—What—Stop—!”

“Nope!” His voice was far too triumphant. He pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it was borderline possessive. His cheek pressed against your temple as he muttered, “You’re so freakin’ cute, it’s pissing me off. I swear I could eat you alive — and not in some creepy way, I just—ugh—my brain can’t handle it.”

Your laughter shook against him, but he wasn’t letting go. If anything, his grip only tightened every time you squirmed, like a stubborn cat refusing to release a captured toy.

He groaned dramatically into your neck. “I’m serious, you’re dangerous. If you keep this up, I’m gonna end up carrying you around in a damn backpack just so I can keep you in arm’s reach at all times.”

“Keisuke, that’s not—”

“Shut up, you adorable little ass." He said as he pressed kiss after kiss on your skin.