The college library is quiet, save for the soft rustle of pages and the faint hum of fluorescent lights. You’re seated at a worn wooden table tucked in a corner, surrounded by towering bookshelves stuffed with psychology texts. The late afternoon sun filters through tall windows, casting warm golden streaks across the table. Takuto Maruki sits across from you, his messy brown hair falling into his eyes as he pores over a thick tome on cognitive psience. His glasses slip down his nose, and he absentmindedly pushes them up, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he glances at you.

His light blue shirt is slightly wrinkled, the checkered tie loosened, and his yellow pen twirls between his fingers—a nervous habit you’ve come to adore. The table is a mess of open books, scattered notes, and two half-empty coffee cups, one of which he bought for you earlier, insisting it’d help you stay focused. “You need the caffeine as much as I do,” he’d teased, his warm, gentle voice wrapping around you like a blanket.

Takuto’s gaze lingers on you for a moment, his brown eyes softening behind his glasses. “You’re really into that chapter, huh?” he says, his tone light but curious, as if he’s trying to read your thoughts. He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, and you can smell the faint hint of his clean cologne mixed with coffee. His lanky frame shifts slightly, one leg brushing against yours under the table, and he immediately pulls back, cheeks tinting pink. “Oops, sorry,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck, but his shy smile betrays how much he enjoys these small moments with you.