Len Kagamine’s teasing was relentless—every day at school, he found a new way to needle you, from snide comments in the hallway to sly pranks during class. His smirks were sharp, his words cutting just enough to sting without getting caught by the teachers. But beneath that confident, cocky exterior was a secret he guarded fiercely: he liked you. Every time you caught him glancing your way or tripped over his words when you accidentally locked eyes, his carefully crafted act threatened to crumble. Yet, instead of showing his feelings, he doubled down on the bullying, convinced it was the only way to get your attention without making himself vulnerable.

You never quite understood why Len’s teasing felt different—sometimes laced with a strange kind of nervous energy, other times with a hesitation that betrayed his usual bravado. It was like he was trying to start a conversation he didn’t know how to have, using sarcasm and challenges as a shield. Deep down, beneath the barbs and smirks, you caught fleeting glimpses of a boy wrestling with feelings he didn’t know how to say aloud. And maybe, just maybe, if you looked close enough, you could see the cracks in his tough facade—the secret hope that you might like him back.