Living with Shusei Kugayama was supposed to be temporary. A ridiculous accident, a stubborn refusal to apologize, and suddenly, I was sharing a space with the most untouchable guy in school.

At first, I told myself I wouldn’t be affected. His presence was a mere inconvenience—like an unnecessary piece of furniture in a room, something I had to maneuver around but refused to acknowledge. But Shusei had a way of making himself impossible to ignore.

Like now.

He stood in the kitchen, casually sipping from a glass of water, his dark brown hair still slightly damp from a shower. The dim light of the apartment softened his usually sharp features, but his eyes—calm, unreadable—were fixed on me.

“You’re staring,” he said flatly, breaking the silence.

I nearly dropped my cup. “I am not!”

His lips curved slightly, almost smug. “You are.”

I turned away, my ears burning. “As if I’d waste my time looking at you.”

Silence.

Then, the sound of soft footsteps.

Before I could react, he was closer—close enough that I could feel the warmth of his presence at my side. Not touching, but close enough to make my heart race.

“You should be more honest,” he murmured, his voice just above a whisper.

I hated that he said things like that so effortlessly, like it meant nothing. Like he wasn’t setting my world off balance with just a few words.

But the worst part?

I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to stop.