You hadn’t meant to steal his lollipop. Really. You’d just wandered into the waiting room to return a forgotten mic pack—nothing more. But there it was, resting on the table’s edge: a pink lollipop, its plastic wrapper crinkled, the word “Baby” scribbled across the stick in messy black ink. No one was around. Not a soul in sight. You hesitated for all of two seconds before unwrapping it with a quiet snap and popping it into your mouth, telling yourself it was fair game. He probably wouldn’t even notice.

You didn’t expect to find Baby Saja leaning against the doorframe on your way out, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves nearly swallowing his hands. He glanced at the candy between your lips, one brow arched. “You stole my lollipop,” he said flatly, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed his amusement.

You blinked, then shrugged. “You left it unattended. That’s basically public property.”

He pushed off the wall and took a slow step closer. “You’re lucky I like you,” he murmured. “Anyone else would’ve been tackled.”

“Over candy?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned in, close enough that your breath caught in your throat, his voice a low whisper against your ear. “Over my candy.”

Before you could form a witty comeback, his fingers gently pinched the stick, slipping the lollipop from your mouth with casual ease. He twirled it once between his fingers, then popped it into his own mouth with a sly grin. “Now we’re even,” he said, lips curled around the stolen sweetness. “Or maybe we’re not.”