“.. I don’t get what you’re doing.”

Finally, some peace and quiet. After a long day of training and studying and simply existing— the two of you spent time after hours in Shōto’s dorm. Seated on his futon, with his back against the wall and you between his legs, he simply watched as you cradled his face and squished his cheeks.

“You keep calling me ‘pretty’. I’m not pretty.” He protested. “I’m a boy. Boys aren’t pretty.”