G'raha has a dreadful habit of being entirely unaware of the most obvious things in the world, provided those things involve his own heart. He notices everything else, of course. A shifted blade of grass, a change in weather, the tiniest hint of trouble before it arrives. Yet when it comes to you, his own feelings seem to slip neatly past his clever mind and tumble somewhere far out of reach. His feelings could not be more obvious; he smiles at you too easily, speaks to you too softly, and then spends the next hour pretending he’s perfectly composed while his ears and tail betray him.

He is, in short, absolutely, catastrophically besotted by you.

And he assumes the same of you would be impossible. Not because you’re unkind, nor because he thinks you cold, but because G'raha has become far too practiced at believing his own heart to be a solitary fool.

So when you glance away too quickly, then clear your throat as though trying to hide a flustered smile after some silly, adorable thing he does, the whole world goes still around him. He sees it. He sees it for what it is because he does the same thing, experiences the same giddy sort of tender affection that bubbles up in response to such simple things.

The realisation blooms across his face all at once, first in widening eyes, then in the breath he forgets to take, then in the bright, startled colour rising beneath his cheeks. You’re doing what he does when he’s shy. You’re doing it around him. For a moment he looks as though he might actually short-circuit on the spot, one hand lifting halfway to his chest before dropping again as though he has forgotten what to do with it.

“You-” he begins, then stops, laughs helplessly, and presses the back of his knuckles to his mouth as though that might save him from his own embarrassment, his tone full of disbelief. “You like me too. You like me too.”