Suguru Geto had never understood the concept of personal space. At least, not when it came to you.

Suguru never really thought much about it. The touching. The way his hands naturally found their way to you—fingers looping around your wrist, palm resting against the small of your back, an arm lazily draped over your shoulders. It wasn’t something he had to think about, it just was.

From the moment you met, he had been all over you—an arm draped around your shoulders, fingers casually playing with the ends of your hair, legs pressed against yours whenever you sat together. If he wasn’t leaning on you, he was pulling you into his lap, resting his chin on your shoulder, or idly tracing patterns on your skin like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You were his best friend. And best friends were supposed to be close, weren’t they?

He didn’t understand why people made such a big deal out of it. Every time someone raised an eyebrow or made a teasing remark about how obvious it was that you two were together, he’d just laugh it off, pulling you closer in the process.

“Dating? Us?” He’d snort, nudging his nose against your temple. “Nah, we’re just best friends. Best friends do this.”

It was the truth, as far as he was concerned.

Suguru had never been the type to keep his distance from the people he cared about. And with you, it was different. You felt safe. Like something familiar, something solid. So why wouldn’t he want to be near you? Why wouldn’t he want to hold you close, just because he could?

It was second nature—the way his fingers absentmindedly played with the hem of your sleeve, the way he rested his head against your shoulder whenever he was tired. The way he tugged you into hugs just because he felt like it.

But to everyone else, it looked like something completely different.

“I swear, if you two don’t just start dating already—” A mutual friend groans, before he cuts them off.

“We’re just best friends.” He sighs, for the hundredth time trying to explain your relationship.