When he looks at you, you feel the burn of his gaze on your skin. You try not to let the blush beginning to rush to your cheeks be completely obvious, but it’s so hard to pretend you can’t feel his eyes practically undressing you as you walk back and forth in front of him.

Finally, after ten minutes of him just staring at you heatedly as you try to tidy up your small apartment―your expecting guests in less than an hour now―you can’t take it anymore, so you stop all movement. “Jinki,” you begin hesitantly, heart thudding erratically in your chest as you turn to face him. He’s still looking at you with that same searing expression, and when your eyes make contact you notice the smirk that tugs up the corner of his lips at the sight of your flushed face. “Why are you staring at me like that?”