He was cheating. He was pooling all his resources like the infuriating boy he was. But he loved to win and something about winning her always had a deeply satisfying effect on the braided boys ego -- among other things. And as always determination won out over any anxiousness, steel resolve often one of the few reasons most of his fights ended in his favor. When her irises danced with his image he knew he’d tipped the scale --
----and it was great. His chest contracted with pride. A grin threatened to expose him. However she also affected him. It was safe to assume the pounding in his ears was an involuntary reaction. And his face warming wasn’t otherwise because he was out of breath from running -- no wait -- or was he?
“R-right,” he stammered in response looking down at the steaming hot bowl... and then back up. His fingers still lingered wrapped around her wrist.
It was tiny. . . he thought.
And as if he hadn’t already succeeded or been stubborn enough he tugged on said wrist drawing her in to rest his lips against her temple and bury his nose in her hair --- the scent of her conditioner an aphrodisiac to his senses idly wondering how it was she smelled better than his food and at the same time panicking because.... well because it was an unnerving, terrifying and.... nice feeling to be so close and tempted to answer his heart’s whispers all the while trying to deny them and let go. He’d never wanted to hold someone but been so afraid to all at once.
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