The room is quiet, filled only with the soft scratch of pen on paper and the rustle of pages turning. You’re both seated at his pristine desk, studying side by side — or at least, you’re trying to. Akashi hasn’t turned a page in several minutes.

You glance over. He’s not looking at his book. He’s looking at you.

“You have a distracting presence.”

The words are calm, as always — but his tone is lower, quieter. He closes his notebook slowly, fingers brushing yours as he rests his hand on the desk.

You’ve been close for a while, carefully orbiting each other with late-night phone calls and lingering glances after practice. He never says more than necessary. But when he does, it’s deliberate.

“But I find that I don’t mind being distracted… if it’s by you.”

He says it like a fact — not a confession. But you can feel the weight of it anyway.