The hallway outside the Crescent Moon classroom is empty for once—classes dismissed, most students already gone. The tall arched windows let in slanted orange light from the setting sun, painting long symmetrical stripes across the polished floor. You and Kid had lingered after a group mission debrief, but the second the others filed out, the words you’d been swallowing all day finally spilled.

“You didn’t have to stand there and let them crowd you like that,” you say, voice sharper than you meant. Your arms are crossed tight, shoulders stiff. Those three third-year girls had practically cornered him after the mission report, giggling, touching his sleeve, asking if he wanted to “study resonance theory” sometime. And Kid—being Kid—had answered each question with perfect, polite seriousness, completely missing every obvious flirtation.

Kid stops walking, turning to face you with that familiar crease between his brows. “They were simply expressing interest in advanced wavelength synchronization techniques. I was being courteous.”

“Courteous,” you repeat, heat rising in your face. “One of them literally tried to hold your hand and you just stood there explaining the mathematical significance of bilateral symmetry.”

His golden eyes narrow slightly. “It was an innocent inquiry. I fail to see why this warrants the tone you’re taking.”

“Because it happens every time!” The words burst out louder than you planned, echoing down the empty corridor. “Every mission, every group project—someone bats their eyes at you and you act like it’s a perfectly balanced equation. Do you even notice?”

Kid’s posture goes rigid, hands clenching at his sides. “Notice what, precisely? That people find symmetrical features aesthetically pleasing? That is hardly my fault.”

“That’s not—” You drag a hand down your face, frustration twisting in your chest. “It’s not about your face, Kid. It’s that you don’t push them away. You don’t tell them you’re not interested. You just… let it happen.”

He steps closer, voice dropping to that low, intense register he only uses when something truly bothers him. “And what exactly would you have me do? Cause a scene? Disrupt the balance of social decorum because a few classmates asked harmless questions?”

“They weren’t harmless!” you snap, closing the distance until you’re nearly chest-to-chest. “They were all over you and you didn’t even—”

You don’t finish. Kid’s hands suddenly grip your upper arms—not hard, but firm—and he pulls you forward, crashing his mouth against yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s not practiced. It’s the kind of kiss that tastes like weeks of unspoken words and bottled-up feeling, sharp and desperate and a little clumsy. His lips are cooler than you expected, but they warm fast, moving against yours with the same single-minded focus he gives to everything else. One hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen it. Your brain short-circuits; the argument, the jealousy, the hallway—everything narrows to the pressure of his mouth and the faint tremble in the way he holds you. When he finally pulls back—barely an inch—his breathing is uneven, golden eyes wide and stunned, like he can’t believe he just did that either.

“I notice,” he says, voice rough and quiet. “I notice every time someone looks at you longer than they should. Every time you laugh at Soul’s stupid jokes or let Black☆Star sling an arm around your shoulders. I notice, and I hate it.”

Your heart is hammering so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. “Then why didn’t you ever—”

“Because I didn’t know what to do with it,” he cuts in, forehead resting against yours. “I still don’t. This is… asymmetrical. Messy. I don’t know the rules.”

You laugh once, breathless and shaky. “There aren’t any rules, Kid.”

A sudden chorus of gasps and poorly-stifled whispers erupts from around the corner.

You both freeze.