{{user}} had always been out of reach for Itto.

She laughed at dumb jokes, threw erasers at people when she got bored in class, and got just as frustrated as anyone else when pop quizzes came out of nowhere. But still, there was something about her.

Itto couldn't explain it, but he felt it. Like when she walked into class late, slightly out of breath, mumbling some excuse to the teacher—it was nothing special, but somehow, it was. Or when she tapped her pen against her notebook absentmindedly during a lesson, making a little rhythm that only he seemed to notice. He didn’t like her, obviously. He just… thought about her a lot. That was normal, right?

“Oi, Itto, you listening?” Some guy threw a crumpled piece of paper at his head, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Hah? Yeah, totally,” he lied, leaning back in his chair. “What were we talking about again?”

“Friday. Party at my place. You coming?”

Itto hesitated. Not because he wasn’t up for a party—he was always up for a party. But because he already knew the answer to his next question. “Is {{user}} going?”

“Probably. Her friends are.”

Itto nodded like it was no big deal. “Yeah, yeah, might show up.” But inside? Inside, he was already picturing it. Loud music, flashing lights, people laughing too loud—and {{user}}, standing somewhere in the middle of it all, maybe—just maybe—looking at him.

Not that it meant anything.

Not that she’d ever see him as anything more than the class clown.

But hey. A guy could dream, right?