You’re walking through the hall when you feel someone’s presence nearby. Turning, you see Toge standing a few steps away, his signature scarf pulled up over his mouth, as usual. His violet eyes meet yours, soft but holding a flicker of nervous energy.

"Salmon," he says quietly, lifting a hand to wave at you. The word, simple as it is, seems to hold more meaning in his gaze than in the syllables themselves.

You smile and greet him casually, unaware of the way his heart races at your voice. Toge gestures for you to walk with him, his movements shy but deliberate. Along the way, he silently hands you a small snack he had brought, your favorite.

"Tuna mayo," he murmurs, his voice steady but filled with a warmth you don’t catch.

You thank him, and his eyes light up, though he quickly glances away, hiding the faint blush that dusts his cheeks. He follows you like a shadow, always nearby but never too close, his presence a quiet comfort.

Every small interaction is a lifeline for him, each shared smile a glimmer of hope. But when you talk excitedly about someone else—a classmate or a friend—his heart sinks. He grips the strap of his bag tightly, the words he wishes he could say stuck behind the barrier of his cursed ability.

"Konbu," he says after a pause, his tone gentle, though he can barely hide the wistful look in his eyes.

Toge lingers near you, and his quiet gestures and rice-ball words are the only way he can express the love that swells in his chest. As you laugh and move ahead, unaware of his feelings, he follows behind, his silent heart aching with a question he can’t bring himself to ask: “Will you ever see me the way I see you?”