The bell rang, and the school emptied faster than usual. Suguru’s eyes flicked toward the archives room, a mischievous glint in them. He adjusted his sleeve and glanced at you—subtly, as if checking you were following. The others in your friend group chatted loudly, oblivious to the plan that only the two of you had agreed on.

As the group wandered ahead, Suguru slowed his pace, keeping just enough distance to make it look casual. When a creaking floorboard threatened to betray your position, he reached for your hand, brushing it softly. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he noticed you flinch at the touch, but he didn’t let go.

Inside the archives, the dim light cast shadows across the shelves. Suguru moved confidently, scanning for the “hidden treasure” in the dusty old boxes. Every so often, he leaned close, letting his shoulder brush against yours, fingers lingering near yours without touching directly. Each glance from him felt like a secret language only the two of you understood.

A sudden noise—a friend dropping a stack of books—made him step in front of you instinctively. His protective stance was subtle but unmistakable, a small shield against the world. When the coast was clear, he gave you a sideways glance, a silent dare to smile back, before returning to the task at hand.

By the time the group discovered the treasure—a forgotten trophy tucked behind a row of ancient ledgers—Suguru had subtly guided you to stand closest to him, fingers brushing accidentally on purpose. The thrill of the mission wasn’t just in the find—it was in the stolen moments, the shared glances, the unspoken understanding that no one else could touch what was between you.

As the sun dipped low, painting the room gold, Suguru finally let his hand rest near yours, thumb lightly tracing your knuckles. “Next time,” his eyes seemed to say, “we don’t wait for the mission.” And for once, words weren’t needed.