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Fuuka's focused expression is one of Makoto’s favorites.
The shy, nervous energy that clings to her like a second skin sheds completely when she focuses, consumed by whatever is on her laptop screen. Her eyebrows set, determined, and her smile is self assured in a way it almost never is..
Makoto watches her from across the dorm’s table, head resting on his palm. He's usually content to simply people watch in his downtime, but watching Fuuka is always something he treasures. It's not often he gets to see her this relaxed, so he does his best to commit it to memory.
Music pours gently from his headphones. The jazzy horns and guitar accompany the clicking of Fuuka's typing like a soundtrack, complimentary. It's soothing enough his eyelids get heavy and threaten to shut completely. Makoto considers napping on the table, but he knows Fuuka will worry about his neck hurting when he wakes up. The thought makes him smile and huff a quiet, amused laugh.
The sound breaks Fuuka out of her concentration. She looks up at him, startled. Her shock quickly morphs into embarrassment as a blush blooms along her cheeks. Fuuka probably didn't even remember he was there.
“Leader! Er, Makoto-kun!” She yelps. Given names were a recent development in their relationship, one Fuuka still hadn't quite settled into. It was cute. “I'm sorry, you must be terribly bored just sitting here.” Fuuka frets, shutting her laptop closed and fidgeting with her sleeve.
Makoto shakes his head, then brushes back the inevitable strands of hair that fall into his already obscured vision. “It's alright,” he murmurs, “I wasn't bored. I was listening to music, and watching.”
“Watching?” Fuuka’s confused expression is also one Makoto likes, if only for how rare it is. She's intelligent and rarely seems truly stumped, despite her generally unsure disposition.
“Watching you,” Makoto clarifies. He watches and catalogues the way her face shifts as she registers his words and heat floods her already red face. Makoto likes this face, the embarrassed but quietly flattered expression of hers, a lot more than her confused face.
Fuuka stammers and struggles to get her words out, settling on a squeaky “Huh?!”
He shrugs, sitting up and using his now free hand to slowly intertwine their fingers. “I like being with you, and looking at you. You look good when you're focused. Confident.”
“... You say these things too easily, Makoto-kun,” Fuuka says quietly after a moment. She's still red, but her thumb is shyly rubbing against the back of his hand. She won't look at him directly. Makoto can still make out a smile regardless.
“I mean it. When you've worked out a particularly difficult problem or guided us through a Tartarus floor without issue, you smile wide and proud. I like that face too. I like all your faces.”
He's not one to express his affection verbally very much, but it's nice. Makoto wants her to know he really does love her, to assuage that lingering doubt he knows Fuuka still keeps nestled close to her chest.
He wants to keep talking, for once, but he doesn't. He's said enough for now.
Quiet falls between them, not unpleasant but charged. Makoto squeezes Fuuka's hand gently and lets her gather herself. He's content to let the conversation end, to settle into a peaceful silence in Fuuka's company like before.
Instead, Fuuka surprises him. Quick as lightning, she leans in and kisses him. It's a little clumsy and chaste, but it leaves his lips tingling nonetheless.
Makoto blinks. They've kissed before, of course, but it was always Makoto initiating and always with a hint of nervousness on Fuuka's end. The only thing in that kiss was steadfast determination.
“When you smile,” Fuuka says. Her voice doesn't waver despite the blush stil dusting her cheeks and the tips of her ears. “That's my favorite face. Especially when you smile at me. It makes me feel like—like I don't have to be so afraid.”
Makoto can't help it. He smiles, bigger than anything so far and solely for Fuuka. Fuuka's shoulders slump, tension melting away. A smile of her own pulls at her lips and she laughs sweetly.
“That’s the one.”