noun: "The art of judging human character from facial features."

She prided herself in being able to read facial expressions, pick up subtle body movements, little quirks, and habitual patterns. She became so good at it, in fact, that it became a second nature (ideal for any profession, but especially hers). The way she saw it, everything had a reason. Every sigh, every smile, an ulterior motive yet to be discovered. Human beings were such flawed creatures in their own right, and she had no trouble seeing someone for who they really were. The world in her eyes was black and white; there was no gray area in between. Things could never be both safe and dangerous, good and bad (female and male).

The same theory (at least, up until recently) applied to one Yosuke Hanamura, her senior by one year, and another boy she eventually became acquainted with when she joined the Investigation Team. There wasn't much to say about him; on the outside, he wasn't particularly remarkable—russet colored locks, slightly tanned skin, an infuriating (infectious) smirk ever present on his face. In another dimension, he would have never even flown under her radar, for he blended in so well that he was easy enough for her to miss.

But what she did notice was that he was... Changing, right before her eyes. No longer was he that brash, artless young man that had put up his life to save hers, but he was mature, and genuine, and, dare she say, slightly attractive. He had always worn his heart on his sleeve, but now he wore it proudly. He was unafraid, and seemed to know exactly who he was, and what he needed to do. He had grown, matured greatly over the past few months. It amazed her, this almost abrupt distortion, and she truly believed now that yes, people could change, and expressions lie, and we are not all that we appear to be (his smile was a mask that she had failed to consider). There are layers, and colors, and mixtures in all of us, all around us.

Who was she to judge him from appearance alone? She who knew what it was like to be kicked down, and rejected simply for the tone of your voice, what you wore under pressed cotton shirts with buttons. All this time, she thought nothing of him. She underestimated him. Chalked him up as an annoyance, a classmate that time after time got under her skin, knew what to say to get her heart racing (see herself differently).

She had been wrong about him. So very, very wrong.