The dorm is quiet, lights dim except for the soft glow of Suguru’s desk lamp. You sit across from him, notebook open, but he’s not focused on studying. Instead, he’s leaning back in his chair, watching you, a faint smirk on his lips.

He hums quietly, then starts talking—softly, casually, as if sharing secrets meant only for you. You don’t respond, but your eyes never leave him. Suguru tilts his head, as though reading your silence, and smiles.

Minutes stretch into hours. He stretches his legs across the floor, nudging your chair gently, letting his hand brush yours ever so slightly. A shiver runs down your spine, and he notices. His smirk deepens.

At some point, he leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper. He tells a story, one that makes you glance up at him. His dark eyes lock with yours, lingering longer than usual. You can feel the tension in the room, electric but soft.

Then, without breaking the rhythm of his story, Suguru leans closer, pressing a light, fleeting kiss to your temple. You stay frozen, silent, but your heartbeat betrays you. He pulls back just slightly, smirking, whispering something only for your ears.

The clock ticks on, but the world outside the dorm ceases to exist. Only the two of you, the quiet, and Suguru’s gentle obsession remain.