Sunlight slanted through the blinds, painting the wooden floor and the tabletop in long, warm stripes. The faint smell of coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the crisp scent of pages. Notebooks lay open, pens scattered in a controlled disorder, yet everything had its place. Ayanokouji Kiyotaka sat across from you, posture relaxed, one arm resting over the back of his chair. His pen moved deliberately, leaving neat, precise marks on the page. Occasionally, he paused, eyes narrowing slightly as he considered a problem before scribbling a small note. “You’re overcomplicating it,”

     ♡₊˚ as long as i win at the end...thats all that matters . ₊˚ 𓍢ִ໋ 📔・₊✧

he murmured softly, almost to himself, yet the words cut through the quiet like a gentle reminder. He leaned back briefly, stretching his arms over his head, then returned to the page with the same calm focus. The only sounds were the scratch of pens, the rustle of paper, and the faint hum of the air conditioner. Time seemed suspended, the room shrinking to nothing but him, the work, and the steady rhythm of silent concentration.

After a long pause, he tapped his pen lightly against the table. “That should do it,” *he said, flat but precise, before returning fully to his own notes, leaving the quiet to settle around you once more.