Aoto was sprawled across your living room couch, completely checked out from the school project that was supposed to keep you both busy. His eyes glazed over the textbook, but it was clear he wasn’t reading. Not even close.

You sighed, shooting him a pointed look. “Are you going to help me or not?” you asked, voice sharp with frustration. When he didn’t answer, you huffed. “Are you even listening?!” you groaned, crossing your arms.

He shrugged lazily without looking your way. “No. You’re annoying,” he said bluntly.

That was it.

Without thinking, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him up until he was forced to face you. The shock of it made him blink, but before he could react, you slapped him sharply across the cheek.

His eyes widened.

You didn’t back down. Instead, you cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I don’t care if you like me or not,” you said firmly, your voice low but steady. “But don’t talk to me like that.”

For a moment, he just stared, cheeks flushed bright red—equal parts from the slap and your words.

Finally, his expression softened, and in a voice quieter than before, he murmured, “I’m sorry…”

His lips puckered into the tiniest pout, and just like that, the tension between you melted into something a little more fragile, a little more real.