You were supposed to be eating dinner.

That was the whole point of coming over. You hadn’t seen him in a week—patrols, missions, missed calls and tired apologies. But he opened the door like he’d been waiting at it all day. And now here you were, sitting on his kitchen counter, his hoodie half-zipped over your hero uniform, dinner forgotten on the stove.

Touya stood between your legs, arms loosely around your waist, head tilted in that lazy, unreadable way. But his thumb brushed back and forth against your lower back like he couldn’t help it. He looked up at you like he always did—like you were something he’d never stop choosing. You’d known him since you were five. You knew exactly what that look in his eyes meant, even if it made your chest tighten every time.

“You should eat,” you whispered, voice soft from the quiet stretch between you.

“You’re sitting on the counter.”

“You can move me.”

He smirked. “You want me to move you—” His voice dipped slightly, low and amused, “—or eat you?”

You blinked. Hard.

“Excuse me?” you choked, half a laugh and half a stunned wheeze escaping your mouth. You could feel your ears heating up.

He just grinned, completely unbothered, like he hadn’t just said the most derailing thing known to mankind.

“I’m trying,” he murmured, voice a little rougher now.

“Trying what?” you managed, still recovering.

His fingers tightened just a little on your waist. “Trying to keep this PG.”

Your breath caught.

“Because of the food?” you asked weakly.

“Because you’re sitting there looking at me like that, and we’ve only been dating two weeks, and if I kiss you like I want to right now—” His voice dropped lower. “You’re never getting off this counter.”

You blinked. “That sounds like a you problem.”

That got a soft laugh from him—real, breathy, a little wrecked.

And then he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not rough. Just steady and warm, like the way he’d always held your hand when you were little, like how he used to sit with you on rooftops just to watch the city lights. He kissed you like he knew your heartbeat, like he wasn’t surprised by the way you kissed him back—hands sliding up to cup his jaw, breath tangled in his.

His tongue brushed against yours for just a second. Gentle. Testing. The kind of first that still made your stomach flip.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath a whisper.

“I’m not even hungry anymore.”

You smiled, nose brushing his. “You should eat anyway.”

He groaned quietly and buried his face in your neck. “Why are you like this?”