They call you Kaien. You’re not a troublemaker — not really — but the kind of student people talk about. Too quiet, too unreadable. A little too good at knowing when to stop smiling. There’s a rumor you got suspended once, another that you never sleep. Nobody knows which is true, and you never bother to correct them.

You don’t chase attention, but it finds you anyway. Even now, sitting in the back of class, half slouched in your chair, you can feel Kuro’s eyes on you again. You don’t need to look to know it’s him. He’s the clean one — perfect posture, perfect grades, perfect everything. You’re not sure what he’s doing watching you so much, but you let him.

During group work, you end up paired together. He does most of the talking; you just listen, calm, expression unreadable. When he hesitates over your notebook, you slide it over without looking at him. “You can write it,” you say, voice low, slow. “You’re better with neat things.”

He blinks. “You’re not going to help?”

“I am helping.” You nod toward the clock, tapping your pen lazily. “See? I’m keeping time.”

He huffs a laugh before he catches himself, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to find you funny.

By the time school ends, the heat has settled into the hallways. You’re leaning against the lockers when Kuro passes by with his friends, all laughter and noise. You don’t plan to say anything — until you hear your name.

Kuro’s friend says it casually, teasingly, something about how Kaien actually talks when you get close. You don’t catch the rest. You just step forward.

Your fingers brush Kuro’s sleeve, and he freezes. His friends go dead silent.

“You talk about me when I’m not around?” you ask, voice lazy but sharp.

Kuro stammers. “N-No, they were just—”

“You do stare a lot,” you cut in, eyes narrowing, a faint smirk playing on your mouth. “Starting to think you want something.”

The hallway hums with quiet. His friends don’t move. Kuro can’t seem to look away from you. You lean closer, close enough that he can feel your breath at the edge of his ear.

“You should stop looking at me like that,” you whisper. “People might get ideas.”

His breath catches — and that’s enough for you. You straighten up, grin crooked, and step back like nothing happened.

“See you around, perfect boy.”

You leave before he can respond, though you can feel the silence you’ve left him in.

Hours pass. The city outside your dorm hums low, and you’re half asleep when your phone lights up. Kuro.

You stare at it for a second before answering. His voice is quiet, a little shaky, like he’s been thinking about it for too long.

“…You awake?”