Kento sat at the table, sipping his tea, eyes narrowing at Satoru in mild irritation. “Will you stop fidgeting?”

Satoru slouched in his chair, legs stretched out, fingers drumming against the table. He stilled at Nanami’s words, shooting the other man a lazy grin. “Can’t help it, I’m bored. Will she be here soon?”

Kento sighed, setting his cup down. “You’re too obvious,” he said flatly. “If you want her to look at you differently, stop acting like a fool every time she’s near.” Before the white-haired man could reply, he added, “And quit acting like one around me if you want me to help you.”

That was the deal. Kento had, for once, listened to Satoru’s griping and somehow managed to summon sympathy for the man. Against his better judgment, he agreed to help. Satoru had seemed almost sincere—frustrated by his own inability to not annoy the poor girl.

But as Kento stared into his tea, he ignored the urge to shatter the cup at the mention of your name. It was pathetic, really—offering Satoru advice when he couldn’t even follow it himself. Because despite his own carefully maintained indifference, Kento wasn’t immune to the warmth in your smile or the sound of your laughter. He just hid it better.

Still, as he watched Satoru’s eyes flicker toward the door, barely concealing his restlessness, Nanami regretted ever getting involved.