they're leaning in closer and he can smell spearmint toothpaste on their breath – his toothpaste that they love to steal ("it tastes better," they tell him, breathless when they pull away, "when it's yours.") – and he's struck with the hope that they'll kiss him. it builds in his chest as they smile down at him, all boyish with their lopsided dimples and chipped front tooth, all dove, all full of sugar sweet affection just for him (he's the one who's breathless now because they look at him like this, because they look at him and see someone deserving of everything they have to give).