The school's corridors were unusually empty and echoing, as the bell had rung five minutes ago, and every step you took echoed back at you from the tiled floor. You ran, jumping over the steps, and Fuuta's heavy breathing behind you mixed with the rhythmic thud of your heart.

"I told you... I told you we should leave!" Fuuta gasped, barely able to speak as he ran. "It's all your... fault. Now we're definitely going to get killed. For…For being so slow!"

He wasn't just running next to you; he was gripping your wrist tightly, as if he was afraid that if he let go of you, you would disappear in this empty labyrinth of hallways, or worse, that he wouldn't be able to handle this late deadline without you. His palm was hot, and you could feel his pulse beating against your skin.

Suddenly, you spotted a passing teacher.

"Back!" Fuuta breathed out.

He pulled you sharply towards him, forcing you to jump into a narrow niche between rows of tall cabinets and the wall. The space was catastrophically small. You were pressed so tightly against each other that you couldn't have fit a piece of paper between you.

Fuuta's back was pressed against the cold metal of the locker, and you couldn't help but place your hands on the locker on either side of his head, effectively wrapping your arms around him. His gray-blue eyes, dilated from the adrenaline and the sudden closeness, were directly opposite yours. In the dimness of the alcove, you could see every single eyelash of his, feel his chest heaving heavily against yours with every breath.

"Shh..." he whispered, even though the hallway was deathly silent.

He raised his hand and gently covered your mouth with his palm, as if your breath could give you away. His fingers smelled like chalk and that subtle perfume you’d learned to recognize from a thousand others. You froze, staring into his eyes. The world narrowed to this small space, to the smell of his skin and the warmth of his body.

Fuuta didn't remove his hand. His gaze slowly slid from your eyes to your lips, and for a second, something so heavy and obvious hung in the silence that you wanted to close the few inches between you. You felt his fingers on your face tremble slightly, and he brushed his fingertips across your lips, his grip on your shoulder almost painful.

At that moment, the attendant passed by, and the sound of his footsteps slowly faded away. But Fuuta didn't move to leave. He stood there, staring at you, his breath a little more ragged than it had been.

"Idiot," he finally breathed, barely audible, but there was no anger in the word. Just a strange, broken tenderness. "If we get caught, I’ll tell 'em you put me up to it."

He slowly removed his hand from your face, but instead of immediately pushing you away, his fingers lingered on your cheek for a moment, lazily tracing the line of your jaw.

"Let's go," he muttered, abruptly looking away when he realized what he was doing. His ears strangely turned bright red. "If we go in right now, maybe the teacher will just pretend not to notice us."