The argument had started over something small—so small that neither of you could even remember what the original issue was anymore. But somehow, it had spiraled into raised voices, sharp words, and a tension so thick it felt suffocating. The classroom was empty now, long after everyone else had gone home, leaving just the two of you standing on opposite sides like rivals instead of partners.

Ayanokoji’s usual calm expression had cracked, just slightly. His brows were drawn together, jaw tight, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that felt unfamiliar—dangerous, even. He wasn’t yelling, not like other people would. His voice stayed low and controlled, but there was heat underneath it, frustration simmering just below the surface in a way that made your heart pound.

You turned to leave, clearly fed up, but before you could take more than a step, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. The movement was quick, decisive. He pulled you back toward him, the distance between you disappearing in an instant. For a moment, neither of you spoke—just stared at each other, breathing hard, emotions running too high to make sense of.

Then, without another word, he leaned in and kissed you—firm, heated, and full of pent-up frustration. It wasn’t gentle, and it definitely wasn’t patient. It was the kind of kiss that came from anger, from tension, from feelings neither of you knew how to handle. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice low and rough with emotion.

“...You’re infuriating.”