The rustle of turning pages, the occasional muffled cough—things that usually let Chishiya sink into his work. Were just fucking irritating today. His head rested on his knuckles, elbow propped against the desk, eyes scanning his notes without actually reading them. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. Some random guy—tall, well-dressed, stupidly good-looking—grinning next to you like he belonged there. It wasn’t even just that guy. You had plenty of photos with your other friends, but something about him got under his skin. Maybe because he was new. Someone Chishiya hadn’t seen before. Someone who clearly wasn’t a regular part of your usual circle. That meant you didn’t know him that well, right?

He checked the time. Fuck this. His notes were a mess of highlights and underlines, a barely started practice exam left unfinished. It wasn’t like he was getting anything done anyway. He dropped his bag at the entrance, shrugged off his hoodie, and wandered into the kitchen. Opened the fridge. Stared blankly. Closed it again. He wasn’t hungry. His fingers tapped against the counter as he exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders like that might shake off the agitation prickling at his skin. He scoffed under his breath and tossed his phone onto the counter. He didn’t get angry like this, didn’t get irritated like this. It was unlike him—and he hated it.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he didn’t know this guy, and you had a habit of being too friendly for your own good. It was part of what made you you—that openness, that warmth—but it also meant people got too comfortable with you.

He had gotten used to a routine. He liked knowing where you were, what you were doing, that you’d be home when he was. It wasn’t like he ever said you couldn’t go out. He didn’t need to. You just usually didn’t.

But now, instead of spending the weekend together like you always did, you were off with some guy he didn’t even know existed until an hour ago. His phone buzzed. Not you.