You’d been avoiding him for three days.

It wasn’t obvious, not at first. You still showed up to class. You still responded when he spoke to you. But you kept your answers short. Sat further away during lunch. Left early after training.

And you never stayed over again.

Not after that afternoon when you accidentally fell asleep in his bed, worn out from watching him train—sweaty, flushed, and glowing in a way you couldn’t look at for too long. He had gone to shower, and you’d meant to wait for him just a bit… but next thing you knew, he was gently shaking your shoulder, towel draped around his neck, damp hair dripping onto the collar of your shirt.

You didn’t remember much—just that you were too tired to move, and that he seemed to hesitate before helping you change out of your uniform. You knew you wore a T-shirt and shorts underneath, but still, you felt heat crawl up your neck when you remembered how he lingered.

He’d slipped his oversized sweater over your head.

You remembered the way your fingers curled into the sleeves, the scent of soap still clinging to it. You remembered falling asleep again, this time with his arm around your waist, your back pressed to his chest, his breath warm and even.

And now… you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Which is why you couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Oi.”

You stopped walking.

The hallway was quiet, most students long gone. Your heart jumped when you felt the familiar heat of his presence behind you.

“Thought you didn’t hear me,” Touya muttered. You could hear the frown in his voice. “You’ve been dodging me.”

You stayed quiet, eyes fixed ahead.

He stepped in front of you this time, effectively blocking your path. Close. Too close. One arm leaning against the wall beside your head.

You glanced away. “I’ve been busy.”

“Liar.”

You scowled. “It’s not a lie.”

He didn’t budge.

“You didn’t even text me back,” he said, quieter now. “Not even when I asked if you were okay. So just—tell me.”

You finally looked at him. His eyes were narrowed, searching.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

He said it gently. No anger. No teasing. Just the kind of question that hits right behind the ribs.

You opened your mouth—then shut it.

Because how were you supposed to say that the memory of his arm around you hadn’t left your head? That you’d dreamed about it that night and the night after? That being close to him—too close—made your chest feel full and heavy and scared?