You liked the sewing club.

The quiet hum of machines, the soft rustle of fabric, the way creativity stitched itself into every corner of the room. But if you were honest, it wasn’t just the craft that kept you coming back.

It was him.

Takashi Mitsuya.

At first, you’d been surprised. A boy presiding over the sewing club? It felt unusual. But then you saw him work—hands steady, movements graceful, eyes focused with quiet intensity. He didn’t just sew. He created. Every stitch was deliberate, every design thoughtful. He made beauty look effortless.

Everyone admired him.

You did too.

And lately, that admiration had begun to feel like something more.

You were seated at your usual spot, needle in hand, fabric draped across your lap. But your fingers had stilled, your thoughts drifting far from the pattern in front of you. You were watching him again—how he leaned over a table, guiding another member with patience and care. How his smile never wavered. How he made everyone feel seen.

“Hey, {{user}}, are you okay?” Mitsuya’s voice broke through your reverie, soft and kind. You blinked, startled, and looked up to find him standing beside you, his calm smile warming the air between you. “I notice you’re distracted.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks.

Because yes, you were distracted.

By him.

By the way he made the room feel lighter. By the way your heart fluttered when he looked at you like that—gentle, curious, close.

You smiled back, a little shy, a little flustered.

“I’m fine,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Just… thinking.”

Mitsuya nodded, understanding without pressing. “Well, if you need help with your stitches, I’m right here.”

And he was.

Always.