Solomon had made a habit of it.

Every time you stood near him, every time you leaned a little too close to see what he was working on, he would tilt his head just so—lowering his voice, leaning forward until your breath nearly tangled with his own—only to chuckle and murmur some excuse like, “Ah, I was just reaching for that book behind you.”

It was relentless. A game he played with the calm confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was doing to you.

But today, in the middle of his cluttered workbench, with potions bubbling and scrolls unfurled, you finally had enough.

When Solomon leaned forward again—his lips hovering a breath away, voice smooth as he murmured, “Don’t mind me, just the herbs behind you”—you closed the distance.

Soft. Quick. Undeniable.

The kiss landed before he had the chance to tease, and Solomon froze. His eyes widened for just a fraction of a second before you pulled back, leaving him blinking in stunned silence.

For the first time, he was the one caught off guard.

The minutes that followed were chaos—at least for him. He tried to resume his potion, but his hands betrayed him. He stirred clockwise when it should’ve been counter, nearly tipped over a vial, and muttered an incantation completely wrong under his breath. The usually unflappable sorcerer couldn’t keep his mind straight, not with the lingering memory of your lips burning against his.

A laugh escaped him, low and breathless, as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Ah… so this is what happens when you flip the game on me,” he murmured, glancing at you with an unsteady smile. “How am I supposed to concentrate now?”