noun: "Lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder."
He thinks he's jealous of her when they first meet—maybe, if only a little bit—because she's calm and composed, with curves bending in just the right places, just the right angles, and he's... Well not. He's straight and narrow, awkward lines in awkward places, tripping over things that weren't there. Some days, he wishes he could disappear (it's so easy to get lost into his music; it's so much better than being here). And she probably had it all figured out. Had her life planned out to the smallest detail.
The only time they get along is when they're discussing the case, which was a good thing because they melded so perfectly together (finished each other's thoughts, knew where to go when others didn't). Orange and blue. Hot and cold. He almost mentions this once to her, but he had a way of stumbling over his words; she'd take it the wrong way, anyway, think this was his way of hitting on her.
And maybe he was. Or at least, he wanted to.
She was definitely attractive, that he couldn't deny—cream colored skin, rosy lips, long eyelashes, something delicate, something you needed to protect. To hold close to your chest. He catches himself staring more than once. But only because she made it so easy to. She was a challenge. Nothing like Risette (who made herself known when she came into the room, hid nothing to no one) or any of the girls around here, really. Who knew what lingered behind that guarded exterior.
Sometimes he said the things he did just to get a reaction from her, because there was nothing he enjoyed more than seeing some emotion flicker in those grey eyes of hers, see her mask slip and peel and crack, if only for the briefest moment.
He wanted to solve the puzzle that was Naoto Shirogane.
She finally meet his eyes from across the table, an eyebrow arched high enough to disappear under the brim of her hat. It's a look he's seen before—mirrored over many faces over the years—but for whatever reason it still gives him chills. Like she was looking right through him, past his skin and bones. He hates how open he was around her. Hates even more that he's slowly letting her in closer. It was only a matter of time until she found what she was looking for (found out what he was thinking), and he was completely exposed.
For the love-struck fool he was.
"Yosuke-senpai," She begins, and even his name sounds prettier on her lips, "Is something bothering you?" (What are you staring at?) She shouldn't care. They weren't friends, not even close, but that's just how she was. She'd never say it, but she did care, did feel, was capable of laughter, capable of love.
He swallows too thickly, replies with a quick, "Huh? Oh-uh, nope! Course not," and she accepts it with a nod, returns her attention to Rise beside her (who's talking animatedly over nothing in particular).
They both know he's lying (he turns a light pink after that, coughs into his hand to clear his throat), but neither decide to point it out.
