Yesterday Chuuya gave you a love poem. A small paper with neatly written words and small drawings around the edges of paper. But you thought he wants you to beta read it. Of course it's like this, right? There's no chances this poem was made for you, because, like, it's Chuuya Nakahara. He can't loves you.

Even if he blushed and stumbled over his words while he gave you this poem, it doesn’t mean anything. Nothing.

All last night you carefully corrected all his mistakes. Now you are standing in front of him and handing him this piece of paper. He awkwardly takes it with slightly trembling hands and unfolds it.