Kisa stares at him and Seokga clamps his mouth shut, feeling embarrassed in a way that a god most certainly should not feel. Seokga, the great trickster, the prince of Okhwang, feels awkward. It is a terrible emotion and he wishes immediately to pull it out of his skin, then set it on fire.

But then something peculiar happens. Kisa’s eyes scrunch in the corners and a strained, quiet laugh escapes her. Seokga freezes. Her hand flies to her mouth, but it’s too late. Triumph has welled inside of him, and Seokga can’t help but smirk as Kisa covers her face in her hands.

“That’s horrible,” she whispers, sounding mortified, “and I should not be laughing. I don’t know why I am, really.”

—I can tell—he means it—too—a panther—

Seokga settles back in his chair, his smirk transforming into a slow grin spreading across his face. “Aside from being very nice, I’m also terribly funny. Perhaps you’d like to take that into account,” he says with an indolent wave toward the Red Thread of Fate. “I’m told I have many other pleasing traits, too. I can gather and organize them into a list, if you’d like.” It seems to be the sort of thing that Yoo Kisa might appreciate.

“Humility clearly isn’t one of them,” Kisa replies before her eyes widen and she hastily raises her mug to her lips, cleverly hiding her face, which Seokga has seen is burning blue.

—cannot believe—I said that—it’s like I—know him already—shouldn’t feel comfortable—

A startled burst of laughter erupts from Seokga’s lips. The weary barista behind the counter practically gapes at the trickster god as he laughs, one hand on his stomach. That statement was so Hani.

“Please don’t smite me,” Kisa murmurs into her cup, but she’s smiling again.

“Smiting people takes too much energy.”

—“smiting”—that reminds me—need to ask—can’t not ask—

“Speaking of smiting,” she begins, and he’s coming to recognize that thread of eager curiosity in her voice as an insatiable thirst for knowledge, “do you recall the exact number of Unrulies you killed during your penance on Iseung? There’s so much speculation—”

“I lost count around thirty thousand.” Seokga folds his arms and tries his best to look Very Cool and extremely worthy of the red thread currently shaking (like it’s laughing at him) around their pinky fingers.

Her brows furrow. “I thought your penance was only twenty thousand?”

Shit.

Seokga now finds himself desiring a speedy exit where he can suffer through humiliation properly in peace. He shrugs, a bit awkwardly, and finishes off his coffee. Kisa is quiet, face thoughtful as she traces words in the table’s wood. There’s still a hint of a smile on her face, a wry one this time.