Lips tingling, Setagawa unceremoniously flopped down onto the chair, nearly sending himself toppling backward as he did so. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists, furiously blushing from head to toe. He mentally sputtered, searching for something to say or even a way to escape. Oh god! Why did he do it?
Before he had a chance to will himself to melt on the spot—or die, if he were lucky—Masahiro shyly peeked across the table. His cheeks reignited at the sight of Kousuke-san staring at him with his chin cradled in his palm, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He wondered if the heat rising from his face was singeing his hair when the man flashed him a lopsided smile.
Sizzling with mortification, Setagawa glanced down at his lap, praying that a bolt of lightning would put him out of his misery. Suddenly, he felt a hand settle on top of his head; the touch nearly sent him skyrocketing from the chair.
Masahiro looked at Kousuke, who began ruffling his blond tresses with an airy laugh; a part of him hoped his skin was burning the man for teasing him so.
"See? That wasn't so bad," chuckled Kousuke.
