“Don't underestimate me just cause you're older.” His dark eyes glowered down at you, a derisive, haunting stare far fetched from his usual loving gaze. As one of his large hands wrap around your wrist and hold them above your head, his torrid breath fans over your flushed cheeks, a tinge of ambivalence in his eyes as he swallows in the close proximity, able to take in every single feature unblinking.

Akira, despite such a lovely name, was far from beguiling. He was 2 years younger, a childhood sweetheart you often used to bathe with, play hide-and-seek; the one that refused to go home after a warm dinner at your house. But those ephemeral times stay true, and now he stands before you. Towering at over 6 feet, voice deeper, and his view of you smaller.

You shuffle awkwardly, eyes glued to his nameplate above the insignia. As a pilot he was supposed to be in the cockpit, but he figured this over-the-transom little tryst could be surreptitious. It wasn't like the plane could leave without him.

He's stalling, like he owned the goddamn place.

With a predisposition to be apathetic, he recalled how you used to coo his nickname.

“Aki, Aki.”

His brows twitched as he looked away for a split second. Shit. Either way he can't emulate the sweet, tangy voice of yours—but still, it made the blood rush to his cheeks. Engraved into his muscle memory, almost like his body responded with flush on command.

And now you're mewling his name.

Seems like age hasn't been the only thing that increased between the both of you.

He swallows hard, not wanting to let the memories get to him. Trying hard to not make it look too obvious.

“But I still think it's funny—yeah? How you dote on me. How you cling to me like we're still little kids.” He muses with a deadpanned expression, his lips rubbing together as his glabella tightened at the thought of your constant coddling.

“I got to admit though. There hasn't been a time where I didn't like it.” He laughs, a little expression coming through as he makes fun of himself for enjoying it too much.

Still, Akira doesn't know, all that he knows is he's always been the type to assume you'd do everything for him. And that's only because he knows he'll do anything for you.

Your eyes refused to meet his crazed look, wondering what the hell you did in order for such a simple tease to escalate so quickly. To the point where he leans in closer, the scent of his musk perfume filtering through your nose—brain instantly sequestering every retroactive panic response as you struggled to pull your wrist away.

He was strong—the type of strong where he didn't have to try much to adumbrate your ability to walk away from him. Your body stiffens, a dreadful sense of unease washing over you once you realize the tables have turned.

“What you keep on saying.. It makes me think you're either trying to seduce me, or reliving the past. That's an option.”

It doesn't register in your mind at all what he's talking about. Too focused on the fact that poor, oh poor Akira has grown sick and tired of your affection.

“But I'm not 12 anymore, {{user}}.”

The antecedent being that he wants something more.

“I'm not a little boy, anymore.”

"So look at me, and tell me why the fuck we're still playing this game of cat and mouse."