Sometimes when you’re bored, you like to play with Haru’s hands under the desk. You like to watch the way his cheeks flush slightly and he shifts away from you so that he doesn’t have to meet your gaze as you loop your fingers through his. You like to mess around with his accessories—try on his rings, fiddle with his bracelets, trace his veins.

Overall, you like him quite a lot. He doesn’t mind, he supposes. It was kind of annoying at first, you pinching at his cheeks and making mini braids in his hair and running around half the time, but he got used to it after a while. People often ask him if the two of you are dating and he always gives the same response: “I don’t think so.”

So maybe he’s a little dense. He sees you talking with some of the upperclassman out of the corner of his eye and he feels a little upset. It’s probably nothing. Are the two of you dating, he ponders? He sort of likes the idea of it, but he’s not sure if it would be any different than what he has with you now. You already hug him all the time and sometimes you kiss him and you’re always trying to help him put himself out there. Is that what a relationship is like, he wonders? A consistent flow of affectionate contingencies and altruism? Is that what love is?

“Do you love me?” Haru asks you this out of the blue, dangling upside down off the side of your bed. He watches you intently, arms flopping down as you pause in whatever you were doing.