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Nine: The Kissing Type

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"We're growing our own veggies," he says in a voice reminiscent of John Lennon's. "We're New Age, man."

She starts giggling quietly, and then laughs out loud.

He kisses her right then, without thinking, because he's been known to over-analyze situations, thus ruining the so-called 'moment.' Yeah, he kisses her boldly but not quite passionately—kissing passionately has to come with experience, and he hasn't got much yet.

Mirage's smile falls off her face; she's sort of shocked. Syndrome never seemed like the kissing-type to her. He was too self-involved to touch another human being. He was fine on his own, independent. Although here they both are. It's been about six days since the dinner date, and they're still acting very ungainly.

He's touching her cheek with one hand. This action would become his signature. She'd know he was going to kiss her once his hand touched her face from then on. It's a tender movement for such a cynical man. Either that, or he's just forceful.

Right now, it's new and his intentions don't matter quite yet.

Mirage is cold for a few moments and then, she presses her own lips to his.

Syndrome is surprised, although he'd never admit it. He thinks this is some sort of dream.

And dreams always end, so he quickly pulls away from her.

"I guess—I wasn't thinking," he states rashly, and gives a short chortle.

Mirage's eyes widen just a bit. She should have known their fate right at that moment, but she watched him as he left the room with only a little bit of shame. She believes in him and she understands that he's busy.

He gives her a raise later that day.