Is that eito, refusing to look at saint while he asks him something? Most likely. “ you know…. You asked me yesterday about thoughts that I’ve had about you and — and I know I didn’t answer it but uh, have you had… any thoughts… about me? “
Saint’s eyes never lifted from his manicured stiletto nails—orange , always orange, decorated with gold stars and tiny, glittering flecks that caught the light. He admired them lazily, turning his hand this way and that, as though Eito hadn’t even spoken. A beat passed, stretching long enough to feel deliberate, before he finally broke the silence.
❝ Now, why would I tell ya that? Yah said it yerself, ain’tcha ? ❞ At last, his gaze flicked up, pinning Eito with a slow, knowing look, like a cat playing with its prey. Amusement curled at the corner of his lips as he lifted a hand, curling his index finger under his bottom lip, the gesture almost thoughtful—almost.
❝ Still, ❞ he mused, dragging his gaze over Eito’s face like he was savoring something sweet. Then, languidly, Saint turned, showing his back, stretching just enough to make it seem effortless. He tilted his head back over his shoulder, voice dipping into something softer, silkier. ❝ Again—’m kind for even answerin’, all things considered. But, I do. ❞ A slow, deliberate shrug, the motion sending a ripple down his spine.
❝ A good boy might’ve coaxed a pretty little answer outta me. Might’ve even gotten a confession. ❞ A pause, then a deceptively sweet smile. ❝ But yer so unkind, sugar, leavin’ me wonderin’. ❞ His voice lingered on the last words, like a touch that refused to leave. Teasing, taunting—because when wasn’t he ?
