Itoshi Rin wasn’t exactly the arts-and-crafts type. He told you that. Repeatedly. But somehow, here he was, sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor, surrounded by a sea of colorful beads and sparkly string. You had invited him over for a chill afternoon of bracelet-making—something “cute and mindless,” you said. Rin had rolled his eyes and muttered a complaint under his breath, but… he showed up anyway.

He sat through it with that usual blank expression, but you caught the tiny curve of his lips whenever your fingers brushed his, or when you proudly held up another chaotic-looking bracelet. And after making a couple of matching ones—yours slightly messier than his, not that he’d ever say it—he quietly reached into his hoodie pocket.

“…Here.” He held out a bracelet made of soft pink beads, a single charm with your initial at the center. His eyes stayed down, refusing to meet yours, but the tips of his ears were burning red. “I… made one for you.”