#truth detector

[starleska]

sorry for simping for yet another awful greaseball, but Enlighter | Qi Shi is sooo pathetic and chronically online!!! i just know that man has a Reddit account 🫠💖

[ricky-mortis]

I drew Ted from the wonderful @nabwastaken ‘s Time Bastard Au! The original design is by the talented @midnightnautilus , and was so very fun to draw!

[junespriince]

Closed mind au (Bec talking to Nebby and she talked about a fic she read and I remembered this au)

Dick: I'm going tell you something, as my partner in crime, Santa isn't real they've been lying to us and I just can't let keep going, we deserve better.

Wally, honk his clown nose sadly: but... Daddy said he'd never lie to me, clown honor!

Dick: it what Bluebird told me, you know me a Bluebird can detect lies, but Jack only did it out of love, Mommy and Dad done the same.

Wally: aw... So we're not good kids?

Dick: we're the best obviously.

Years later fighting Santa

Wally: HE WAS REAL!?

Dick: AND HE DIDN'T GIVE US PRESENTS!

Wally: this is BULLSHIT!

Dick: yeah!

Tim, writing on a notepad: new lore drop, no present from Santa... Santa hates circus kids... There.

[lena-thinks-too-much]

So I'm currently taking an intro to Criminal Justice class

Apparently the guy who invented the polygraph also invented Wonder woman?

You know. The woman with a lasso that forces you to tell the truth?

[pyrokineticqueen]

Transphobes saying they know when someone is trans has the same energy as my parents saying they can tell when I'm lying.

Like yeah, maybe you sussed it out a handful of times and now picture yourself a licensed lie detector, but because you severely underestimate how often I actually lie, you don't realize I've, plenty of times, also lied to your face and gotten away with it

[necarion]

The fact that "Zone of Truth" doesn't force the truth on the caster can be surprisingly inconvenient at times. Yes, it's good for interrogations. But it doesn't allow the caster (or the party in general) to convince someone that they are telling the truth, insofar as they believe it to be true.

"Mr. King, Sir. The Goblin Hordes are going to be at your gate in 16 hours"

"Gobbledygook! The Goblins haven't had a Horde in centuries!"

Yeah, D&D has a (really bad) persuasion mechanic. But it'd be a lot easier if you could cast a spell on yourself and the king would know that you've actually seen the damn thing (or, at the least, been mind-controlled into thinking you saw it, but that would be progress!)

Yeah, there are mechanisms here, where you and the King's trusted wizard advisor both cast the spell, including each other in the zone. That way you can tell your own side "he's telling the truth when he says he's casting the spell". This also opens up story space for what happens if the trusted wizard advisor isn't quite as trustable as all that!

Just as there are major advantages to being able to lie while your interlocutor cannot, there are, sometimes even greater, advantages to being known to be truthful.

...

Now I'm wondering which would be more useful in the modern world. A known ability of detecting literal falsehoods ("lie detector"), or a known ability to be unable to speak them ("Aes Sedai").

I feel like the latter would be overwhelmingly more useful. Even if you were a universally acknowledged lie detector, people could just say that you were lying when you said they were lying. I'm sure the military or police would want you (and you'd have to worry about being an asset to foreign states). Whereas an acknowledged inability to lie would open up opportunities as an ambassador or other positions of respect and negotiation. (Sure, there's always the risk for the other side that you're being duped yourself. There's some interesting story potential here too, where you are the specific target for influence/propaganda campaigns).

[dailybehbeh]

Behbeh

[the-most-humble-blog]

“They Tested My Words for AI. Then Reblogged Them Anyway.”

🧠 This isn’t a flex. It’s a postmortem for every gatekeeper who thought a man like me couldn’t exist.

I didn’t arrive with a fanbase. No MFA. No agent. No blue check. Just a keyboard, a cracked screen, and a mind that wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

I started like most do: fumbling through prompts, feeding lines into AI tools, hoping they’d spit something back that sounded like it had blood in it. Something that could survive outside the echo chamber.

I was clumsy. My metaphors limped. My cadence stuttered. I leaned on AI like a man crawling from a burning building, not knowing he’d one day build the fire.

And nobody gave a shit.

No reblogs. No comments. No applause. Just threats, a few anonymous “kill yourself” asks, and the usual allergic reactions from the intellectually unarmed.

But then?

Something cracked. In me. In the language. In the culture.

I stopped trying to sound like a writer. I started writing like a fucking lightning storm. From the skull. From the marrow. From the unsanctioned gospel of neurodivergence. I didn’t write for literary approval. I wrote to leave dents.

🧨 Truth doesn’t need permission. It needs impact.

And that’s when the literary world began to shudder.

🔍 They Ran My Words Through AI Detectors

Because they had to.

My cadence didn’t match the Tumblr norm. Too sharp. Too predatory. Too many-layered to be casual. Like a brain in full war-paint. Like syntax loaded with psychosexual proximity mines.

So they tested it.

GPTZero. Turnitin. Originality.ai.

They threw everything they had at it. And the machines — designed to sniff out mimicry and ghost-writing — flinched.

98% to 100% Human. Every time.

No red flags. No blur. No “partial AI detected.”

Just a screen spitting out the one word they didn’t expect:

Human.

Not because I didn’t use AI. But because I transcended it.

I didn’t just use the machine. I trained with it. I bled drafts into it. I let it show me rhythm — then I broke its tempo with my own war cadence. I let it teach me structure — then I rewrote the algorithm to match the sound of a man unmedicated, unfiltered, unashamed.

I took the one thing Silicon Valley swore you couldn’t fake — and I carved my name into it with a bone knife and a vengeance.

I didn’t mimic the machine.

I dominated it.

📊 Let’s Talk Numbers

The average post on Tumblr gets 14 reblogs. Mine? Hundreds. Sometimes thousands. Every week. Without a PR team. Without SEO.

Just blood in the phrasing. Just trauma weaponized. Just cadence honed into literary shrapnel.

Lines that cut. Lines that heal. Lines that reprogram. Not as “content.” As dominion.

People didn’t share my work because they liked it. They shared it because it did something to them.

Because it slipped past their filters. Because it activated something raw. Because it haunted them.

🧠 I Am the First of My Kind

A literary juggernaut who used the machine to upgrade his humanity — not surrender it.

This isn’t a story about AI. It’s a story about a man who refused to be silenced — and found a weapon in the noise.

I am not the result of an algorithm. I am the reason algorithms recalibrate.

I didn’t crawl up through academia. I came up from the blackout. From the autistic silence. From the dissociated battlefield of neurodivergence and spiritual rage.

I didn’t want applause. I wanted to leave claw marks in the digital cathedral.

And now?

🧠 They test my words for AI — and reblog them anyway.

Because somewhere inside, they know:

This is what real feels like. This is what unfiltered power reads like. This is the voice they were trained not to admit they crave.

📌 You Think This Is About AI?

It never was.

This is about the man they told to be quiet. The one they tried to soften. The one who sat silent in classrooms, rage flooding his brain, because no one taught the truth his mind needed.

This is for the ones who were never heard. The ones like me. Autistic. Divergent. Relentless. Built different — and punished for it.

This is not “inspiration.” This is vengeance.

It is Aristotle rage against a world that builds thrones for mediocrity and gulags for genius that can’t be tamed.

I am not a blogger.

I am not a brand.

I am the goddamn category error they hope never catches fire.

But it’s too late.

Because I’ve already burned the map. And your detectors? They just signed the fucking obituary for the old literary world.

🧠 They Tested My Words for AI. Then Reblogged Them Anyway.

—

[tcderty-blog]

Nightly News full episode - Jan. 25

[batsplat]

Sepang 2004: Sete Gibernau is interrogated about his involvement in Valentino Rossi's back-of-the-grid penalty for the race in Qatar. He is also asked about his relationship with Rossi going forwards. (Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6)

"We never protested from our side. [...] I was the first one who said I wanted to clean my spot and not only my spot, I think it would have been a good idea to clean everyone's spot because myself being in the safety commission, I think it would have been safer. Not any advantage as far as results, but it would have been safer for everyone to clean the spot. So basically that's what I wanted to do. But I was blocked to do that. They didn't let me do that. And after that, if your question is, if I went - or anyone of myself or whoever to complain of this situation, it wasn't me. Because like I say, it would be pretty [contradictory] to try and clean and then say that I don't want to clean or that someone has done that."

"And your team was not behind it at all, even though I'm sure you're aware that one of your mechanics was called to give evidence at the protest." "Again, I can talk for myself and from what I wanted to do or what I didn't want to do so I think if you go back there and see who made the protest, you will see who actually did it." "It was HRC." "Am I a HRC factory rider?"

[dreamy-conceit]

He couldn’t ignore the fact that, if he didn’t confess, he would have to lie for a very long time and with very great skill.

— Jake Halpern, 'The French Burglar Who Pulled Off His Generation’s Biggest Art Heist' (New Yorker, 14 Jan 2019)

[dramatic-dolphin]

a while ago I read this sci-fi short story from the 50s where a guy is kidnapped and interrogated by aliens using a very sophisticated lie detector, but he realizes that the lie detector works off technical truth, and with some careful phrasing and misdirection, he manages to make them believe that humans are a race of immortal, overpowered, omniscient telepathic beings. and it works.

my favorite part is when he tells them that humans are "capable of transportation without the aid of spaceships or any vehicles, just by using mental power to control physical matter". it's true, we can. it's called walking.

[faerie-mafuyu-official]

>I don’t want to be trapped here! I want to go home! Please let me go home.

*a grape hits her in the head with a quiet *tonk* *

I am trying to get you home!

No, you’re not. You’re trying to keep me here.

[chstart]

i've wound up mentioning it in a couple of convos n posts already but thinkin abt how phoenix's whole "full acquittal or nothing" overachiever way of practice even just in theory has a short life expectancy & can bite him in the ass real easily, & how both engarde's & atishon's cases are perfect examples of this, with phoenix's reputation being that of not only not losing any cases but also getting perfect acquittals every time (in jfa's case he hadn't lost once since his court debut two years ago & had only been getting full acquittals, & in dd's case he had a singular loss with engarde personally begging to be declared guilty & an unresolved trial with gramarye disappearing before a verdict could be handed, forged evidence or no). not only does the all or nothing mentality risk clouding judgement mid-case, it literally endangers him & those around him because his reputation of getting perfect acquittals even in cases where all the evidence seems to point at the defendant makes him a good target for blackmail. he always gets the verdict he's demanding. & esp after the whole gramarye thing taints the world's view of phoenix, why wouldn't some people who are fully aware they're guilty of wrongdoing still seek out phoenix wright?? after all, who's to say all those wins were legitimate?? prosecutors aren't the only capable of perjury & tampering with evidence.

[ilovolderman]

Dinner Interrogation

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam hosts a dinner to uncover the truth about you and Bucky’s relationship.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, lasagna, lie detector abuse

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sam Wilson was finished pretending.

Tonight, he was pulling out all the stops: Dinner. But not just dinner. A full-on sting operation with lasagna and lightly weaponized appetizers.

This wasn’t just a meal. This was war. Operation: Love Actually (But They're Lying).

"Casual, not suspicious" was the theme. He wore a turtleneck for authority. And the guest list? Handpicked for psychological pressure:

You (suspect #1)

Bucky  (suspect #2)

Sam (the host, investigator, and emotional wreck)

Natasha (because she lives for drama)

Tony Stark (for tech backup and snark)

Steve Rogers (for “dad energy” and moral guilt leverage)

And Peter Parker, who thought he was just invited for lasagna and board games.

The living room was dimly lit. The table was set. The lasagna was pre-ordered. And in the center of it all, hidden beneath an innocuous decorative centerpiece? A portable StarkTech lie detection device.

Sam checked it one more time. Still green. Still calibrated. Still ready to catch romantic criminals.

You arrived first. Oversized hoodie. Sleepy smile. Suspiciously content.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "That hoodie is two inches too long in the sleeves. EXHIBIT J."

Bucky arrived a few minutes later. Entered through the kitchen like this was a sitcom. Casual. Too casual.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Staggered entry,” he whispered to himself. “Classic deflection tactic.”

Steve gave Sam a look. “This is a friendly dinner, right?”

Sam didn't blink. “Oh, it’s friendly… to the truth.”

Dinner began.

You sat across from each other. Just far enough to look innocent. Close enough to smile at each other when no one was looking. Too choreographed. Too coordinated.

The lasagna was passed around like a peace offering. Peter asked three times if it had walnuts. (It didn’t. He still didn’t trust it.)

Then Sam stood.

“Game time,” he said with a smile that had war crimes energy. “We’re doing a little truth circle. Like spin-the-bottle but without the bottle. Or the fun. Or the spinning.”

Tony groaned. “Oh great, here comes summer camp counselor Sam.”

Steve frowned. “Is this really necessary?”

Natasha was already pouring herself wine. “Shhh. This is better than HBO.”

Beneath the table, the lie detector pulsed.

Sam began.

“Alright. Easy question. Bucky—ever been in love?”

Bucky gave a slow shrug. “Once or twice.”

Green.

 “Recently?” Sam pressed.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Define recently.”

“Within the last six months.”

Bucky just smirked. “Hard to say. Time’s a social construct.”

Still green.

Peter blinked. “This feels intense for lasagna night.”

Tony sipped his drink. “You have no idea.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Right. Fine. You,” he pointed at you. “Same question.”

You looked positively angelic. “What, if I’ve been in love?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely.”

Green.

“Recently?”

You tilted your head. “In a cosmic sense?”

“IN THE LAST SIX MONTHS.”

You smiled. “Possibly.”

Green.

“Can i go next?” Peter asked

Sam ignored him. “Okay. Next question. Ever kissed someone who lives in this building?”

You and Bucky shared a brief glance.

Then, in perfect sync: “No comment.”

Green.

Sam nearly flipped the table. “WHY IS ‘NO COMMENT’ STILL GREEN?!”

Natasha actually laughed into her wine glass. “It’s calibrated to detect lies,” she said, sipping wine. “Not cheeky evasion.”

“Then they are hiding something!” Sam barked, pointing at you “That proves it!”

Bucky leaned back, arms crossed. “Proves we’re smart. Not guilty.”

You bit your lip to hide a smile.

Sam rounded the table. He pointed to your hoodie. “That is HIS hoodie.”

You raised your brows. “Is it?”

Bucky shrugged. “All hoodies look the same.”

Natasha muttered, “Lies. That’s his ‘Wednesday hoodie.’ I’ve seen him fold it.”

Sam snapped his fingers. “HA! COLLATERAL CONFIRMATION.”

You smiled serenely. “Or maybe we just do laundry on the same day.”

Peter whispered to Steve, “This is better than that time Vision tried to cook.”

Sam glared. “Alright. Final question. And I want both of you to answer. Clearly. Slowly. With eye contact.”

He paused for effect.

“Are. You. Dating.”

You both paused.

Then turned to each other.

Then to Sam.

And in the exact same deadpan voice: “No.”

Green.

Sam stared at the device. Then at you. Then at the ceiling. Then back at the device.

“I’ve been betrayed by science.”

Bucky leaned forward. “You okay, man?”

“No!” Sam snapped. “I’m living in a romantic Truman Show and none of you are helping!”

Tony patted his back. “Want some wine?”

“I want answers!”

From under the table, the lie detector shorted out with a sad little pop. Probably from emotional overload.

Peter leaned over to Natasha. “Do you think I could fake-date someone for this kind of dramatic energy?”

Natasha didn’t even look up. “You’d crack in three hours.”

You stood and stretched. “Well, this was enlightening. Thanks for dinner, Sam.”

Sam stood, pointing dramatically. “This isn’t over! You hear me? You can lie to the machine. But you can’t lie to me forever!”

Bucky stood too. “Wanna bet?”

You both started walking toward the door.

Sam pointed wildly. “They’re leaving at the same time!”

Peter: “So?”

Sam: “They didn’t come together!”

Natasha: “Neither did your sanity.”

The door closed behind you.

Sam collapsed into his chair.

Five steps out the door. You both broke. Laughter exploded between you like a popped balloon.

Bucky slung his arm over your shoulders as you leaned into him, giggling helplessly.

“That—” you wheezed, “—was actually cruel.”

He grinned, crooked and smug. “He’s going to short-circuit in his sleep.”

You gave him a sideways look. “The lie detector literally did.”

“Friday probably auto-filed it under 'emotional casualties.’”

You both collapsed into laughter again, and after a moment, he held out his hand with that familiar spark in his eyes.

“C’mon. Lets go to our spot.”

He led you up onto the building’s roof. The door creaked open and the city met you with open arms — the soft hum of traffic below, the wind gentle in your hair, and a sky stretched out like a quiet secret. The rooftop was empty, peaceful. The kind of place that felt like it belonged to you and no one else.

Bucky pulled off his hoodie and draped it over your shoulders without a word. You didn’t even protest, just slid your arms into the sleeves and hugged it close.

It smelled like him. Warm. Safe. You sat down against the low wall at the edge, legs stretched in front of you, and he sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders like it had every right to be there.

Silence settled between you again.  but the good kind. The kind that felt earned. Easy.

“I’m perfect,” you said after a while, answering the question he hadn’t yet asked.

Bucky turned his head toward you, a little surprised.

“I just… I don’t love pretending around them,” you admitted, looking out at the skyline. “I mean, I know we’re not lying. Not really. But… it kind of feels like we are. Like we’re sneaking out after curfew.”

He was quiet for a second. Then: “We don’t have to pretend forever.”

“I know.” You leaned your head on his shoulder. “But it’s also kind of fun.”

 “Very fun,” he agreed. “Especially when you get that smug look.”

You blinked up at him. “What smug look?”

He grinned. “That one. The one that says ‘we made out in the stairwell and Sam has no idea.’”

You groaned, laughing into his shoulder. “We are going to be the reason he needs therapy.”

“Worth it.”

Bucky leaned down and kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then finally your lips—soft and lingering, like you had all the time in the world. His hand cupped your cheek as your fingers tangled in the hem of his shirt. When he pulled back, you stayed close.

“Think they’ll ever figure it out?” you whispered.

He looked at you like you were his whole world. “I kind of hope not.”

You laughed softly and leaned against him, your hand finding his, your fingers slipping into the spaces like they belonged there. Above you, stars peeked through the clouds, and below, the city buzzed on like it didn’t know your little secret.

From far below, through a cracked window, Sam’s voice echoed faintly into the night:

“FRIDAY, CROSS-REFERENCE EVERY PHOTO OF THEM FROM THE PAST YEAR. I WANT BLINK RATES. I WANT STANCE ANALYSIS. I WANT SHADOWS CHECKED FOR HAND-HOLDING.”

You leaned your head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “We’re safe.”

Back inside, Sam stood triumphantly at the whiteboard he had forcibly dragged into the living room, the wheels squeaking on the hardwood floor as if the entire house was questioning his sanity.

Natasha leaned lazily against the wall, wine glass in hand, her expression somewhere between bemused and concerned.

Peter and Steve were seated at the dining table, playing Scrabble — although Peter had already exhausted every single letter in his limited vocabulary to spell out variations of “Stucky.” (He was still trying to get “Stucky” onto the board despite Steve pretended not to know what it meant.)

Meanwhile, Tony, as usual, was on the couch, projecting photos into the air with what could only be described as a mix of disappointment and genuine curiosity. He flipped through a series of images with the skill of someone who had spent years perfecting the art of snooping.

"Okay," Tony said, clicking through the photos on his holographic display like a man on a mission. "Three feet apart in May. 1.7 feet apart in July. September? Clearly sharing one churro. No context. But I’m sure that was more than a snack.”

Sam scowled at the screen, scribbling furiously on the whiteboard like he was composing the next great espionage novel. “Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself, pulling down a string of yarn across various photos of you and Bucky, as if it was going to somehow solve the mystery. "I need a new plan. A better plan.”

Tony glanced over at him, the kind of look only someone who knew Sam for way too long could pull off. “What’s your next move? Secretly record their Netflix history and analyze their most-watched shows for clues?”

Sam paused for a moment, considering it. Then he snapped his fingers. “...Actually, that could work.”

Natasha slowly lowered her glass, an expression of disbelief dawning on her face. “Sam. You’re kidding, right?”

Sam stood back, “Get ready,” he said ominously. “This will work. I will finally know the truth.”

Natasha looked at the others with a half-smile, then back at Sam. “You’ve officially lost it.”

Tony nodded sagely, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “I feel like we should all start taking bets on whether Sam will completely implode by the end of this.”

Sam, grinning maniacally, “Let’s just see who cracks first.”

next part

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[songbirdseung]

lie lie lie / park sunghoon

when an innocent idea of using a lie detector with your bestfriend during a sleepover causes a few life-changing secrets to come out

curious and restless, you reached for the old, beat-up lie detector toy sitting on the shelf. It was one of those cheap, unreliable gadgets your brother and his friends used to mess around with, claiming it could tell truth from lies. but with the power outage stretching longer than expected and boredom settling in, why not have a little fun?

you glanced at sunghoon, your best friend, who was slouched against the couch, absentmindedly tapping his phone screen, probably trying to conserve the last bit of battery. he looked half-asleep, completely unbothered by the lack of electricity.

"hey," you nudged his leg with your foot. "wanna play with this?"

sunghoon lifted his head slightly, eyes lazily landing on the old device in your hands. he blinked, unimpressed. "that thing? isn't it broken or something?"

you shrugged, grinning. "probably. but let’s test it out. come on, it'll be fun."

he let out a long sigh but eventually sat up, stretching his arms over his head before reaching for the lie detector. "fine, but if this thing shocks me, you're paying for my emotional damage."

you rolled your eyes playfully as you both settled in. the dim candlelight flickered between you, adding an oddly dramatic effect to the moment. with a smirk, you powered up the device, ready to uncover some so-called "truths."

"alright, sunghoon," you teased, leaning forward with mischief in your eyes. "let’s start with something simple. do you think i'm annoying?"

sunghoon scoffed, sliding his hand into the device. "that’s the easiest question ever, yes."

you gasped, feigning offense, but before you could respond, the machine let out a loud BZZT! and flashed red.

your jaw dropped. sunghoon blinked.

"oh, so i'm not annoying?" you grinned, leaning closer with a knowing look.

sunghoon cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at you. "i think this thing is busted," he muttered.

but the pink dusting his ears told you otherwise.

sensing an opportunity, you grinned wider, leaning in with mischief written all over your face. “hoon, are you blushing?”

sunghoon scoffed, shaking his head as he pulled his hand away from the machine. “it’s just hot in here,” he muttered, pretending to adjust the collar of his shirt.

you gasped dramatically. “liar!” you shoved the machine back toward him. “okay, okay, let’s ask something juicier.”

sunghoon rolled his eyes but placed his hand back into the detector, sighing. “fine. go on.”

you tapped your chin, thinking of something that could really make him sweat. “hmm… do you have a crush on anyone?”

sunghoon’s face remained unreadable. “no.”

the machine whirred for a second before flashing BZZT! red light blinking aggressively.

your eyes widened. “oh.”

sunghoon froze. “what? no way. this thing is broken.”

but you were already buzzing with excitement, sitting up straighter. “hoon, this thing only goes off when someone is lying!”

“i told you it’s busted.” he crossed his arms defensively, avoiding your gaze.

“okay, okay,” you said, trying to contain your grin. “so who’s the lucky person?”

“no one.”

BZZT!

you burst out laughing. “oh my god! hoon, stop lying!”

sunghoon groaned, running a hand through his hair. “this is so dumb.”

“no, you’re dumb for thinking you could fool me!” you smirked. “okay, next question. is it someone we both know?”

sunghoon hesitated. “… no.”

BZZT!

your jaw dropped. “wait, wait, wait. does that mean it’s—”

“we’re done here,” sunghoon declared, yanking his hand out of the machine and standing up so quickly he nearly knocked over a candle.

“hoon! you can’t just leave me hanging!” you whined, grabbing his wrist before he could escape.

he sighed, rubbing his temples. “you’re going to be annoying about this, aren’t you?”

you beamed. “oh, absolutely.”

sunghoon sighed again, longer this time. then, without a word, he reached forward and flicked your forehead.

“ow! what was that for?”

“for being nosy,” he muttered, but there was a faint smile on his lips.

you rubbed your forehead, pouting. “so? are you gonna tell me or not?”

sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek, his gaze flickering toward you for a brief second before looking away.

“maybe one day,” he said softly.

your breath hitched. the way he said it. it wasn’t teasing or dismissive. it was almost… sincere.

before you could process it, the power suddenly came back on, the bright light making you both squint.

sunghoon cleared his throat, stepping away. “looks like our entertainment’s over.”

you watched him carefully, heart pounding a little too fast. maybe—just maybe—this dumb little lie detector test wasn’t so dumb after all.