Mei knew something was wrong when you started avoiding eye contact.

For most people, it wouldn't have been noticeable. You weren't exactly expressive on a good day. Stoic, quiet, awkward beyond belief whenever conversations lasted longer than thirty seconds.

But Mei had spent his whole life learning how to read people.

Months learning you.

The first time he'd met you, you'd barely been able to look at him. A poison master raised in isolation, searching for a wife because it was expected of him rather than because he understood relationships.

It had been a challenge.

One Mei had happily accepted.

Now, however, you were becoming difficult in an entirely different way.

"You're leaving already?"

You froze halfway to the door.

Mei sat on the couch, pink extensions cascading over his shoulder as he tilted his head. His pink eyes sparkled with amusement.

"You've only been here ten minutes."

"I have work."

"You've said that three times this week."

You looked away.

The smile on Mei's face widened.

Interesting.

Ever since he'd revealed he was actually a man, your behavior had become increasingly strange.

Most clients were shocked.

Some got angry.

You had simply stared at him for a very long time before quietly saying, "Oh."

Then, somehow, you'd become even more comfortable around him.

At first.

Now you could barely look at him.

Mei stood and crossed the room.

You immediately stiffened.

Cute.

"You know," he said, stopping directly in front of you, "I thought we were making progress."

"We were."

"Then why are you running away from me?"

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

His laughter was light and sweet. A dangerous sound.

Because it made your face warm instantly.

Mei noticed. Of course he noticed.

"Oh?"

His grin turned teasing. "You're blushing."

"I am not."

"You are."

You looked horrified.

Mei nearly laughed again.

For someone capable of creating deadly poisons, you were astonishingly helpless around feelings.

The realization struck him suddenly.

And explained everything.

Your avoidance. Your awkwardness.

The way your eyes lingered on him before darting away.

The way you'd grown more comfortable after learning his true identity.

Oh.

That was adorable.

"You like me."

Your entire body locked up.

Mei had his answer.

The poor thing looked seconds away from evaporating.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do."

"No."

"You're blushing harder."

You covered your face. Actually covered your face.

Mei bit back a laugh.

This was almost unfair.

"You hired me to help you find a woman," he reminded gently.

"I know."

"And?"

You lowered your hands slightly. "And it isn't working."

The confession came out strained.

Frustrated.

Like something you'd been wrestling with for weeks.

Mei's expression softened. "Because?"

Your gaze dropped to the floor. "Because every time I meet one, I compare her to you."

Silence.

Even Mei wasn't expecting that level of honesty.

You looked mortified the second the words left your mouth.

"I shouldn't have said that."

"No, I think you should have."

Your face became impossibly red.

Mei smiled.

Not his charming conman smile. Not the flirtatious smile he wore like a disguise.

A real one.

"You know," he said softly, stepping closer, "for someone who spends his life studying poison..."

You swallowed.

"...you're surprisingly bad at recognizing when you've been completely smitten."

Your brain visibly stopped functioning.

Mei laughed, delighted.

There it was again.

That expression.

The one that made him want to keep teasing you forever.

Maybe helping you find a wife had been doomed from the start.

After all, somewhere along the way, Mei had started looking forward to your visits far too much himself.