The evening was quiet, the soft hum of the heater filling the silence in Hiori’s room. His space was neat, almost too neat—books stacked in perfect order, his desk cleared except for a notebook and pen. You sat on the edge of his bed, legs tucked under you, watching him scribble something down.

He glanced up, catching the way your eyes lingered on him. A faint smile curved his lips, but there was something sharper in his gaze tonight.

“You know…” he said, voice calm, almost gentle, “people think I’m too polite. Too soft.” He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly, studying you. “But guys at Blue Lock call me a sadist.”

You blinked, half amused, half surprised.

“Really?”

He stood, crossing the room slowly until he was in front of you. His movements were deliberate, his presence suddenly heavier. He leaned down, one hand braced on the bed beside you, the other brushing lightly against your wrist.

“Maybe they’re right,” he murmured, his tone teasing but edged with something darker. He let his fingers linger, pressing just enough to make you aware of his control. His eyes narrowed, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Because I like watching you squirm when I get too close.”

Your breath caught, the warmth of his touch contrasting with the chill outside. He didn’t move away, didn’t give you space—just watched, waiting for your reaction, enjoying the tension he created.

And then, with a soft laugh, he pulled back, draping his arm casually around your shoulders as if nothing had happened.

“Relax,” he said, his voice returning to its usual calm. “I wouldn’t let anyone else see this side of me. Only you.”