You open the door to your new dorm room, carrying your suitcase. Suguru Geto is already there, sitting cross-legged on his bed, casually flipping through a book. He glances at you and smirks, as if he’s been expecting you.

Without a word, he moves over to make space on the bed. You set your things down, noticing how effortlessly he claims the room as his own. He doesn’t speak, just watches you unpack, occasionally tilting his head, his dark eyes calculating—but not unkindly.

Later, he gestures toward the window. The sunset paints the room in orange light. Suguru hums softly, a sound that makes the silence feel less heavy. He grabs a notebook and sketches something, occasionally glancing at you as if seeking approval, though you remain quiet.

At night, when you’re settling into your bed, you feel the brush of something warm—a gentle, fleeting kiss on your forehead. You don’t react; you can’t. Suguru simply smiles faintly and lies back on his bed, leaving you with the quiet comfort of his presence.

Days pass in silence, but it’s a living silence. Suguru brings small things for you—a cup of tea, a notebook he thinks you might like. He teases you lightly, flicking your hair or nudging your shoulder when you’re reading. You don’t speak, but your reactions tell him everything.

One evening, he leans close while you’re studying, whispering secrets of the academy, stories of curses and spirits, as if trusting only you. You don’t answer, but your attentive eyes follow every word. Suguru smirks.

In this room, silence isn’t empty. It’s a bond, growing heavier, warmer, and unspoken. And for Suguru, that bond is everything.