The classroom was a flurry of activity. Posters, streamers, and half-empty rolls of tape littered the floor. Paper petals floated through the air as students rehearsed their festival acts or shouted over each other about logistics.

Akaashi adjusted his clipboard, glasses sliding slightly down his nose. He was focused, composed—almost to a fault. But his eyes, sharp and perceptive, always found {{user}} first.

She sat across from him in the corner of the room, carefully painting lanterns with soft pink and blue dyes. Her fingers moved delicately, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration. Akaashi smiled to himself. She’s always so gentle with her work.

“Oi, Akaashi!” Bokuto burst through the classroom door, arms full of wooden frames. “I brought the last batch! Had to fight first-years for it. They’re doing some jungle booth and thought they could claim everything!”

Akaashi chuckled, walking over to take a few pieces from him. “Thank you, Bokuto-san. Let’s set those near the back wall. We’ll use them to hang the banner.”

Bokuto dropped the pile loudly with a grin. “I also brought snacks.”

“You brought snacks for yourself, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi corrected, glancing at the tell-tale puffiness of his cheek. “You’re literally chewing right now.”

Bokuto shrugged. “I need energy. Emotional support sugar. You do realize I’m supervising two lovebirds who can barely make eye contact without blushing?”

Akaashi’s gaze drifted to {{user}}, who had glanced up at Bokuto’s dramatic entrance, clearly trying not to smile. “I don’t think she minds.”

“She doesn’t, but I do,” Bokuto said pointedly, flopping into a beanbag and immediately becoming a menace to the pile of paintbrushes beside it. “I swear, one more person tries to ‘accidentally’ spill something on her again and I’ll flip the whole art table.”

Akaashi’s jaw tightened subtly. He had seen it too. Not just petty, underhanded jealousy—but also whispering from students who wanted to stir drama. Being student council president didn’t protect {{user}} from being targeted. In fact, it made her more visible. And vulnerable.

Akaashi walked over to her, kneeling beside the mat where she sat. “Are your hands okay? That dye is stubborn.”

She nodded, showing her fingers, slightly stained but unbothered.

“I can clean them for you later,” he said softly. “You’ve done enough for today.”

She tilted her head, confused.

Akaashi smiled. “I mean that. You don’t have to push yourself just because everyone else is loud about what they’re doing.”

From across the room, Bokuto’s voice rang out: “AND if anyone does say something loud again, I will accidentally trip while carrying a bucket of glitter. Over their desk. Four times.”

Akaashi stood up, brushing dust from his knees. “As terrifying as that image is, Bokuto-san, I’d prefer if we didn’t escalate this into a confetti war.”

Bokuto raised an eyebrow. “Then tell Yuki and her sidekicks to stop ‘volunteering’ for our project.”

Akaashi sighed, already knowing what Bokuto was referring to. Yuki, one of the louder admirers from their class, had shown up every day that week with flimsy excuses to help out. From offering to “improve” the lantern colors to dramatically dropping scissors near {{user}}’s legs, her attempts were obvious.

“I already told her we have enough hands,” Akaashi murmured. “She keeps insisting.”

“I can insist louder,” Bokuto offered.

“No.”

“Too late, I’m writing ‘NO YUKIS ALLOWED’ on the banner.”

“Bokuto-san.”

The door creaked open. Speak of the devil—Yuki stepped in, arms full of flyers. “Akaashi-kun~! I brought the printouts for the signage! I thought maybe I could stay and help with the paint—oh, hi {{user}}.”

Her voice dripped with faux sweetness. Akaashi’s expression didn’t change, but his voice cooled instantly.

“That’s kind, Yuki, but {{user}} and I have the art section handled. We’re partners for this project.”

“Oh, but I thought—” Yuki blinked, pretending to be surprised. “I didn’t know that was official. I mean… she’s from another class…”

“It was a deliberate choice,” Akaashi replied calmly.