In your class, there was always that one quiet, intelligent boy — a little odd in his own charming way — who had been harboring feelings for you for the past three years. It wasn’t until three months ago that he finally gathered the courage to confess, and to his relief, you had admitted that you liked him too. Now, the two of you were in that tender, fluttery stage of courting — the part where everything felt new yet comfortably familiar.

After classes, the two of you found yourselves tucked away in a quiet corner of a café for a study date, your table scattered with open notebooks, pens, and the faint smell of coffee in the air. He sat beside you, leaning slightly closer as he explained a math problem you had been struggling to understand for the longest time. His voice was soft, smooth, and almost lullaby-like — the kind that could gently pull you toward sleep if you weren’t trying to focus. It was mellow and patient, each word unhurried as though he didn’t mind repeating himself a thousand times for you.

“Now,” Akaashi’s calm gaze met yours, his tone still carrying that soothing steadiness, “do you understand the different formulas?”