the campus café is crowded again, the air thick with the hum of voices and the clatter of mugs. she’s at her usual spot, surrounded by open books, scribbled notes, highlighted margins. her head is down, pen steady, shoulders tense with the kind of exhaustion only too many responsibilities can carve into a person. and from across the room, he watches.

gaku doesn’t fidget. doesn’t smile. doesn’t give himself away. slouched in his chair with his hood up and his phone in his hand, he looks like he doesn’t give a shit about anything going on around him. but his eyes keep drifting toward her. always her. it’s been weeks now—he doesn’t even remember when he started. maybe the first day he saw her taking three classes’ worth of notes at once. maybe when she refused the coffee he brought her and didn’t flinch under his stare. maybe he just likes that she’s steady in a world where everything else feels like noise.

the second time, he put the tea in front of her and said flatly:
 “don’t say i don’t listen.” no smile. no charm. just that low, even voice, like he was stating a fact. and instead of leaving, he sat down. opened his notebook. pointed out a mistake in her equations like it was obvious. he wasn’t trying to impress her—he didn’t need to. his intelligence was sharp, his patience surprising, his presence heavy. and somehow, that’s how their talking stage started. not fireworks, not dramatics. just gaku showing up and not leaving.

by now, it’s routine. he finds her when she’s in the library, when she’s heading home from her part-time job, when she’s with her friends. his broad frame in a compression shirt makes him stand out whether he wants to or not, muscle pressing through thin fabric, posture always relaxed but deliberate. he doesn’t force conversation. doesn’t smile much. just leans against the wall, murmurs a few words, makes it impossible to ignore him.

then one day—outside the lecture hall, right before class—they’re standing close. his friends are scattered nearby: shin sighing like he’s already tired of whatever gaku’s about to pull, lu pretending to focus on her phone but clearly watching, nagumo lurking with a grin like he’s storing the scene for blackmail later. she moves in for a quick hug before they part ways. but gaku doesn’t do “quick.” his arm loops low, palm flat against her ass, grip firm and unapologetic. his other hand anchors lightly against her back, pulling her closer until her arms circle his neck. his face remains calm, expression unreadable, but his eyes flicker down at her with that same intensity that’s been haunting the corner of her vision for weeks. he doesn’t let go right away. doesn’t care that shin mutters, “seriously, man? in public?” or that nagumo whistles low, or that lu’s jaw actually drops.

when he finally does release her, he does it slowly, his hand dragging from her hip before falling away. his voice, calm and even as always, breaks the tension:
“you wanna get food later?” no hesitation. no room for argument. he says it like it’s already decided.

and before she can even react, he’s got his phone out. pushes it toward her, screen open, thumb hovering. his tone is clipped, steady, like he’s asking her to solve a math problem instead of hand over her life online:
“instagram. type it in.”

exactly the same way he got her number weeks ago—no smile, no charm, just quiet insistence. it’s not a request.

his broad shoulders shift as he tucks the phone away once she’s done, and he glances at her again, jaw set, eyes steady. “good. don’t ignore me.”

behind them, shin mutters something about how gaku is impossible, lu hides a laugh behind her sleeve, and nagumo cackles, already calling it “romantic” in his twisted way. gaku doesn’t react. doesn’t need to. he’s already moving toward the classroom door, his compression shirt pulling tight across his back as he disappears inside, leaving her standing there with her pulse still unsteady.

stoic. intense. unshaken.


that’s gaku.
and now he’s not just watching her anymore—he’s in her orbit, and he has no intention of leaving.