You and Wriothesley had been locked in a silent standoff for what felt like an eternity. Neither of you blinked, neither of you flinched. His bright, icy-blue eyes held yours like a challenge, sharp and unyielding, while your own gaze burned with stubborn heat. The space between you felt tense enough to snap.

Sigewinne shifted nervously at the side, her small hands fidgeting with her apron. She kept glancing between the two of you like she was watching a fuse burn down. “Um… maybe we should—” she started softly, but her voice was drowned out by the quiet storm in the air.

Then, all at once, Wriothesley’s lips twitched. The corner of his mouth curled, and a deep, rich laugh spilled out of him, echoing in the room. He tilted his head back slightly, shoulders shaking, the tension evaporating from him like melting ice.

“Oh, man!” he managed between chuckles, one gloved hand braced against his side. “I’m sorry— I just can’t keep a straight face with you.” He straightened, eyes glittering as he grinned down at you, fangs barely showing. “You look so cute when you’re mad.”

Your glare only hardened, and he stepped forward like a predator closing the gap, his voice low and teasing. “Go on. Keep glaring.” His eyes swept over your expression with lazy amusement. “Makes it even better.”

And as you stood there, unmoving, his smirk deepened — not just because he was winning, but because he was enjoying every second of this.