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It with a look.
That was all.
Just a look.
But Agatha had known Rio long enough by now to understand that nothing she did was ever just one thing. Everything had layers. Everything was a choice.
Which was why this look—this specific look—was doing something truly unspeakable to Agatha’s heart rate.
Rio had been watching her all evening. Quietly, consistently, like she was studying a new data set. Not with judgment. Not even curiosity.
Just… observation. Interest.
Focus.
It wasn’t out of character. Rio was observant by nature—hyper-focused on detail, locked into patterns, always filing things away for later.
But something about the way she was watching Agatha now—
It was different.
Slower.
Heavier.
More deliberate.
Agatha’s coffee cup paused midway to her mouth.
“…You okay?”
Rio blinked. “Yes.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m observing.”
“Semantics.”
Rio tilted her head slightly, unbothered. “I enjoy looking at you.”
Agatha choked on air.
She coughed once. Cleared her throat. Set her coffee cup down a little too hard.
“That’s—Jesus, Rio—”
“Is that uncomfortable?”
“No! I mean—” Agatha waved a hand, vaguely, wildly. “It’s just—you can’t say things like that.”
Rio frowned. “Why not?”
“Because it’s loaded.”
Rio blinked. “It is true.”
Agatha stared at her.
The worst part was that Rio hadn’t even said it flirtatiously. She’d said it the same way she might say ‘I like graphs’ or ‘That’s an isosceles triangle.’ Just a fact. Just a neutral observation casually set on fire and handed to Agatha.
She could feel the weight of Rio’s gaze on her again—calm, steady, and maybe just a little too quiet now.
Agatha fidgeted in her seat.
It wasn’t that she was scared of Rio.
She wasn’t.
It was just—
She didn’t know what Rio wanted.
Because when someone looked at you like that, it usually meant something.
And when someone like Rio looked at you like that—
It meant everything.
Agatha reached for her coffee cup again. Missed slightly. Pretended not to notice.
She tried to focus on something else—on the way Rio’s shirt was slightly rumpled from when she’d taken off her jacket earlier, on anything that didn’t involve the warm, slow burn of being absolutely, entirely perceived.
But the look didn’t stop.
And what was worse—
It wasn’t just Rio watching her anymore.
She was watching Rio.
The way her brow furrowed slightly when she was deep in thought. The way her eyes flicked back and forth, even when nothing was moving, like she was tracking invisible patterns in the air.
The way she was so composed. So collected. And yet—
There was something under the surface.
Something Agatha didn’t have words for.
Something she wanted to know.
It was terrifying, how much she wanted to know it.
Because wanting something from someone like Rio—someone who said what she meant and meant what she said, someone who could give you a comment like it was a perfectly constructed theorem and still make your knees weak—was dangerous.
Rio didn’t play games.
And if Agatha let herself want—
She wouldn’t be able to hide it.
Not from Rio.
Not from herself.
And as Rio leaned forward just slightly, resting her chin in her hand, still watching her—
Agatha felt the slow, sinking certainty settle in her chest like gravity itself had just shifted.
This was real.
Whatever this was.
And the worst part?
She wasn’t sure she could stop it now even if she tried.
Agatha could feel it building.
A slow, inevitable momentum pulling them forward—like the moment before a freefall, when gravity hasn’t quite won yet, but it will. She knew this feeling. She knew what came next. But this time, it wasn’t fear pooling in her stomach.
It was anticipation.
Confusing, crushing, and impossibly loud.
Rio hadn’t moved yet.
Not really.
She was still sitting across from her at the little kitchen table, still perfectly calm, still wearing that unreadable look that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t neutral either.
Agatha hated that she couldn’t interpret it.
She hated that she wanted to.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Rio said softly.
And just like that—any remaining oxygen in the room ceased to exist.
Agatha’s heart jumped in her chest.
She opened her mouth—she didn’t know if she was going to say yes or no or please or wait—but no sound came out. Nothing intelligible, anyway.
Rio didn’t move right away. She gave her space. A breath. A beat. A choice.
That was the difference, Agatha realized.
The first kiss—sweet, chaotic, unplanned—had been a flinch. A moment that surprised them both.
But this—
This was intentional.
This was Rio looking her dead in the eye and saying, I know what I want.
It was calm. It was precise. It was measured.
And it was killing her.
Agatha gave the tiniest nod she could manage—barely there, like her body was afraid of what permission meant.
And Rio stood.
Crossed the short distance between them.
Knelt down next to her chair.
And looked up at her like she was trying to memorize her expression.
Agatha felt her pulse everywhere—her throat, her fingertips, the tips of her ears. Everything was too much and not enough all at once.
And then Rio leaned in.
Slowly. Carefully. Giving her every chance to change her mind.
And Agatha didn’t.
She leaned forward, too.
Met her halfway.
And this time—
This time—
The kiss wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t frantic either, not rushed, not clumsy.
But it was real.
Firm. Intentional. Certain.
Rio kissed her like she was making a point.
Like she had thought this through and made a decision.
Like she meant it.
Agatha inhaled sharply through her nose—tried to keep her balance, tried to remember how to stay upright.
But the sensation of Rio’s lips moving against hers—gentle but unyielding—sent something through her like a current.
Her fingers curled reflexively into Rio’s collar.
She wasn’t sure if it was to keep her there, or to keep herself from floating away.
And Rio?
Rio kissed like it was simple.
Like she knew what she was doing.
Like this was just another pattern she had analyzed and perfected.
It should’ve been annoying, really.
It should’ve felt practiced.
But it didn’t.
It felt earned.
Like Rio had spent weeks understanding her, learning her rhythms, her pauses, her tells—and this was the result.
Agatha tilted her head slightly, parting her lips just a bit, and Rio followed with that same calm certainty.
Just a breath deeper.
Just enough to ruin her.
When they broke apart, it wasn’t sudden.
It was natural.
A slow, inevitable pause.
Like punctuation.
Agatha stared at her.
Heart hammering. Mind blank. Mouth tingling.
Rio sat back on her heels, gaze steady. “Was that acceptable?”
Agatha let out a stunned, breathless laugh. “Acceptable? What—Rio—”
“I can improve,” Rio added earnestly.
Agatha covered her face with both hands.
“Oh my God.”
Rio tilted her head. “Is that a yes?”
Agatha lowered her hands, face flushed. “That’s a yes, you ridiculous human calculator.”
Rio didn’t smile.
But her eyes softened.
And Agatha realized, in that moment, that she would let Rio kiss her a thousand more times just to see that expression again.
Agatha wasn’t sure how long she sat there, trying to reassemble her brain.
Everything felt… scrambled.
Like someone had taken all her coherent thoughts and dumped them on the floor in a tangled, overheated mess. She still hadn’t let go of Rio’s collar. Her fingers were curled around the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her anchored to the moment.
Because that kiss?
That kiss had absolutely leveled her.
And worse—it had been on purpose.
She didn’t know what to do with that.
Rio had kissed her with total awareness. With certainty. With intent. There was nothing impulsive about it, nothing accidental, no sudden heat-of-the-moment excuse to hide behind.
She’d said, I’m going to kiss you now, and then done it—like it was a math equation with only one correct answer.
Agatha blinked at her.
Rio had returned to her seat, completely composed, sipping her water like she hadn’t just dismantled Agatha’s entire worldview and rewritten the laws of physics in the process.
And now she was…checking her calendar?
“What are you doing?” Agatha asked, voice hoarse.
Rio didn’t look up. “Determining the best time for our next date.”
Agatha’s brain stalled again.
“You—what?”
“Our first date was dinner,” Rio said, like she was reciting notes from a field journal. “You cooked. It was successful. This,” she gestured vaguely to the space between them, “was clearly a turning point.”
Agatha narrowed her eyes. “What happened to waiting to talk about things? Or—God, I don’t know—feelings?”
Rio looked up at her. “We both have them.”
“Well—yeah—” Agatha sputtered. “But we haven’t exactly defined—”
“I assumed this was an ongoing romantic trajectory,” Rio said. “Was that incorrect?”
Agatha opened her mouth. Closed it again.
Her heart was pounding, but this time not from flustered chaos.
From… something softer.
Something steadier.
Because Rio wasn’t just trying to make her short-circuit.
She was sure about this.
About them.
And it showed in everything—her calmness, her logic, the fact that she already had a mental chart documenting their emotional milestones and probably three color-coded contingency plans depending on Agatha’s answers.
Agatha let out a slow breath.
“You know,” she said, leaning her elbow on the table, “you’re kind of terrifying.”
Rio blinked. “How so?”
“You act like this is the most natural thing in the world.”
“It is.”
Agatha shook her head. “But most people—most people take time. They hesitate. They get scared.”
Rio tilted her head slightly. “Are you scared?”
Agatha paused.
Thought about it.
And then, slowly—“Not of you.”
“I don’t do things unless I mean them,” she said quietly. “You know that.”
Agatha smiled—just barely.
She did know.
That was the problem.
That was the beautiful, overwhelming problem.
She stood up then—not abruptly, but with purpose—and crossed around the table. Rio turned slightly in her seat, watching her.
Agatha bent, resting one hand gently on Rio’s cheek, and kissed her again.
Softer this time.
Slower.
Not like the first one, with its stunning intensity, or even the second, with its tangled aftermath.
This kiss was… confirmation.
A yes.
A keep going.
When she pulled back, she didn’t go far. Just enough to whisper against Rio’s lips—
“You’re not the only one who means it.”
Rio blinked, and for just a second, Agatha saw it—
A flicker of something in her expression.
Something fragile.
Something warm.
It made Agatha want to kiss her again.
So she did.
And this time, when they broke apart, Rio smiled—small, but real.
And said, “Friday. I’ll bring dessert.”