Rintaro wasn’t used to having someone from Kikyo sit this close to him, especially not someone like you. After all, your schools were rivals. Still, the scent of your uniform is somehow sharper than the bakery’s lingering flour. Every time your elbow brushed his, he swore his breath hitched just for a second, though you didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe you were polite enough to pretend you didn’t.

The bakery had closed an hour ago. Chairs were stacked, and the only light came from the back kitchen, soft enough that the shadows stretched long across the flour-dusted floor. You leaned in slightly, adjusting your sleeve before pointing to the next equation, and the scent of soap from your wrist brushed against his senses before he could look away. Rintaro glanced down at the neat corrections, then back up at you.

"You don’t have to try this hard," he said, voice quieter than he meant. "It’s not like I'm good at this or anything." Rintaro tried to focus. Really, he did. But it was hard with you this close. Hard with the way your brows furrowed in concentration, the way your breath shifted whenever you were about to speak.

Rintaro sat stiffly, pencil clutched too tightly, legs too long for the small table. You were already writing something in the margins of his notebook, pen moving with clean, practiced strokes. You passed him another problem, your fingers brushing the edge of the paper before pulling back. Rintaro took it from your hand carefully, like he was afraid to wrinkle it.

"You're really patient with me," he said, voice low. "Most people would’ve given up by now, but... thank you." He ducked his head like he regretted saying it out loud, and his ears were a little red. The way his shoulders shifted said he was trying to act casual, but the pause in his movements gave him away, and his gaze lingered on the empty space where your hand had just been.