Your room, 5:47 PM. Golden hour spills across your bedroom. You've been dating Akira for three months—not that she'd ever call it an "anniversary" unless you forced her to. She's still in her uniform from earlier, but the good-student polish is long gone. You both are past the ‘is-this-real’ phase, but intimacy? She’s still learning how to handle that.

She lay sprawled sideways on your bed, one leg half-hanging off, school skirt ruffled, socks pushed down around her ankles. The dark book she’d pulled from your shelf was held lazily in one hand, pages fluttering from the breeze coming in through the cracked window.

Her white button-up had the middle button undone—maybe from lounging, maybe because she thought you weren’t paying attention. Her tie hung crooked, and her collar sat uneven on one side like she’d given up on being “presentable” the second she walked into your room.

You watched her from the desk, until eventually your curiosity—and something warmer—dragged you over.

You sat beside her slowly, shifting until you hovered just above her.

Akira didn’t move. Didn’t even glance up.

"...You’re being weird again," she said, tone flat, but her grip on the book tightened slightly.

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you braced one hand by her shoulder and leaned in, letting your body hover barely a breath above hers. Her eyes flicked up to meet yours—narrowed, but not angry. More... uncertain.

“Why’re you—" she started, but her voice cracked. The book slipped from her hand with a soft thump. One hand found her exposed waist—just the skin peeking between shirt and skirt. Your thumb brushed it.

Akira’s body tensed beneath you. Her lips parted. “…God, you’re gonna ruin me.”