Midousuji answers Ishigaki's clumsy, graceless reaction with a naughty smile—his mischievous nature is the only thing that saves him from exhibiting true, fond delight, equal parts entertained and endeared.

Until, that is, Ishigaki suddenly sort of collapses on him. A little. That definitely wipes Midousuji's smug expression clean off his face, and his heartbeat stutters awkwardly. No color arises to his face, but all the same, he feels the same effect. Close. Ishigaki's cologne. Warm. Midousuji's fingers twitch, and his mouth waters.

Wordlessly, though he'd normally shriek a long-winded sonnet of his aggravation (maybe), Midousuji's frozen, his jaw uselessly falling open, closing, then opening again after a hard swallow. He almost gets the reflex back to grasp the side of Ishigaki's face, and to shove his head back hard, to force his body backwards for the sake of saving himself injury—but Ishigaki steps back himself. Midousuji's the one left knotting his hand against his shirt in a tight, desperate fistful, his eyes wide.

"...No," Midousuji answers hollowly, gaze still unfocused. But he blinks, his eyes shyly finding Ishigaki. He'd approached with such confidence, and somehow, Ishigaki had winded that out of him completely.

Midousuji doesn't like it.

But it makes him curious, too.

How dangerous.

"You're on time... I was two minutes early."

How is it that he wants Ishigaki to come back in that same way just as badly as Midousuji wants to run from him?