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Summary
Nam-gyu blinks, his eyes travelling from Thanos’ open arms to his lax posture. Confusion frames his face perfectly, suits him just as well as those dumb glasses. “Are you fucking with me?”
Thanos considers it for a moment. “Do you want me to be?”
Or: Nam-gyu recently swapped his contacts for glasses and Thanos can’t stop staring at him. Those two things are totally not related.
