sewing, to the adorable expressions stitched onto their faces. These puppets depict Izanagi and Izanami incredibly well—for handmade dolls.

    Too distracted by the dolls in his hands, Takemichi fails to notice Mitsuya inching closer and closer. By the time Takemichi looks up, words of gratitude on the tip of his tongue, their faces are merely inches apart.

    Takemichi nearly chokes in surprise at their close proximity—when did he get so close?—and he can feel his ears turning red in...embarrassment? Yes, that has to be why they're heating up!

    Mitsuya doesn't make any indication towards Takemichi's flustered face (thank goodness, Takemichi can only handle so much embarrassment for one day). Rather than stating the obvious, Mitsuya brushes a stray black curl away from his forehead.

    "I think I deserve an award for my hard work, don't you agree princess?" Mitsuya's tone of voice sends shivers up the boy's spine—pleasant and chilly in all the best ways. His tone wasn't exactly mocking...if anything, it sounds rather playful. Well, whatever Mitsuya did to his voice is causing the boy's face to heat up and erupt like an overflowing volcano.

    "P-Princess?" Takemichi repeats, testing the word out for himself, and blushes even more at the teasing sparkle in Mitsuya's irises.

    He knows he should feel offended by the word; protest and bite his head off Keisuke's taught him to do when someone is teasing him too much, but all he can do is splutter and quake.

    Did Mitsuya cast some kind of spell on him?

    "I-I'm not a girl!" He manages to say under Mitsuya's watchful gaze. The boy hums, probably amused, and his smirk widens.

    "Prince then."

    Oh lord, someone please save his poor miserable beating heart—

    "What kind of r-reward?" Why does such a simple word cause beads of sweat to trail down the name of his neck? There's nothing wrong with the word—nothing dirty or absurd about it either!

    So why does 'reward' sound so...cynical?

    Mitsuya's eyes narrow and sparkle. He leans in, drawing nearer and nearer till Takemichi can count each individual eyelash framing his beautiful lavender colored eyes.

    "...What about a kiss on the cheek?" He suggests with the slyness of a mischievous fox.

    Takemichi freezes up, jaw unhinged in shock, nearly drops the dolls on the floor of Mitsuya's apartment, ears ringing—mimicking the sound of a tiny bell.

    "W-Wha—"

    Before Takemichi can even finish the word, an arm is wrapping itself around his shoulders and pulling him away from Mitsuya.

    "THANK YOU FOR THE PUPPETS MITSUYA!!! BYE BYE!!! HAVE A GREAT DAY AND DON'T TOUCH MICHI LIKE THAT AGAIN!!!" Hakkai hollers as he drags Takemichi's limp body put the door.

    Takemichi doesn't remember the journey back to his apartment.

    The small snippets he does manage to recall are the strange looks passersbys gave Hakkai and Takemichi on the street, the high pitched screeching of Hakkai's voice...

    ...and the rapid beating of his own heart.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Takemichi can hardly recount their presentation.

    He thinks it went well (their classmates gave them a standing ovation).

    He thinks they got a passing grade (an A plus).

    And he thinks a student or two asked for the puppets (which he outright refused, of course).

    It wasn't until later that evening, in the comfort of his room while gazing down at the two handmade puppets, that his mind finally clicks back in place.

    He sighs, so terribly confused.

    Why would Mitsuya ask for such a thing? Why did Takemichi light up like a stoplight?

    And, most importantly, why can't Takemichi stop thinking about him?

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

•

•

•