The faint hum of sewing machines filled the small clubroom, the scent of fabric and laundry starch lingering in the air. You had joined the sewing club that Mitsuya led, not because you had any real interest—or skill—in sewing, but because you wanted him to have more members. And maybe, just maybe, you’d pick up something new along the way.

It quickly became clear you were in over your head. The other members were already busy working on neat stitches, fabrics flowing smoothly under their machine needles. You, on the other hand, sat at your table, staring at the sewing machine in front of you like it was some alien technology.

You pushed a few buttons. Turned a dial. Tried to lower the needle. Nothing.

Leaning closer, you whispered to yourself, “…How does this thing even start?”

From across the room, Mitsuya glanced up from his own project. He watched you for a moment—your furrowed brows, the confused way you poked at the machine—before quietly setting down his work.

A shadow fell across your table as he walked over, that calm, faint smile already on his face.

“You really have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” he asked lightly, shaking his head in mild amusement.

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, placing his hands gently over yours on the machine. His fingers guided yours toward the right switches and levers, moving with a steady precision that made it look effortless.

“Here,” he murmured, leaning just close enough for you to catch the warmth in his voice. “I’ll show you.”

The machine whirred to life under your hands, the needle moving perfectly. With Mitsuya guiding you, it suddenly didn’t seem so complicated.