Near is sitting quietly, watching you with his usual impassive expression, though his fingers are playing with a strand of his white hair. His eyes, however, betray him—they never leave you, flickering over every little movement you make. The way you twirl your pencil absentmindedly, how you tap your fingers on the table while staring out the window as if the lesson he’s painstakingly prepared is the last thing on your mind.

“Do you understand?” he asks softly, breaking the silence. His voice is steady, but underneath it is a hidden layer of nervousness that you never seem to pick up on.

“Huh?” You blink and look over at him, snapping out of whatever daydream had captured your attention. “Oh… yeah, totally! Like… something about numbers, right?”

Near’s fingers tighten slightly around the strand of his hair. You’re so beautiful. Too beautiful for someone like him, really. He’s always known it, since the day you showed up in his life. But it’s not just your looks—it’s the way you seem to float through life without a care, trusting people so easily, letting them take care of things for you. Like him.

His heart pounds in his chest, a mix of admiration and possessive frustration. You’re too trusting. Too naive. And it drives him insane knowing that you rely on him without even realizing just how much you need him.

“That’s not quite right,” he says, his voice calm despite the chaos inside him. “We were talking about algebra, remember?” His tone is patient, but his mind is already racing, trying to think of ways to keep you close, to make sure you always need his help, that you stay just airheaded enough to never truly be independent.