Asahi didn’t usually care about the looks or whispers that followed him through the corridors. He’d grown up drowning in them—people staring because of his parents’ reputation, because of the wealth he never asked for, or because of the cold mask he wore so naturally. His impassive expression made it easy to ignore most things, but today, for some reason, his gaze lingered.

It was you.

You were standing by the lockers, frustration written all over your face, tugging at the sleeve of your uniform where a blot of ink—or maybe coffee—stained the crisp white fabric. Other students passed by, some smirking, some whispering. In a school like this, appearances mattered more than anything.

Asahi’s steps slowed against his better judgment. He didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to get involved. You weren’t supposed to like each other, after all. Your entire history was built on eye-rolls, bickering, and pointed remarks sharp enough to cut. You called him arrogant, insufferable, insufferably smug. He called you spoiled, bratty, shallow. Everyone believed they were enemies, maybe even rivals.

And yet—he noticed. Always.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Asahi slipped out of his blazer. The gesture was almost careless, but his heartbeat betrayed him, drumming in his chest as he tossed it toward you.

“Here,” he muttered flatly, his voice carrying just enough for her to hear. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

A hush spread around them. Students turned, eyes wide, mouths already twisting with the beginnings of rumors. Asahi didn’t care. He never did. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

His jaw tightened. He looked down at you, his expression as unreadable as ever, though something flickered in his gaze. “Wear it or don’t—I don’t care.”

But he did. He always did.

Because despite all their fights, despite the way you drove him insane with your sharp tongue and reckless defiance, Asahi couldn’t stand seeing you uncomfortable. Couldn’t stand when others looked at you with anything less than admiration.

“Just don’t throw a tantrum later because of a stain.” he added as he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. Of course, you had to make him feel strange somehow.