Oh, how he hated Class 1-A.

Neito hated them with the fiery intensity reserved for people who leave the cap off the toothpaste. Class 1-B? Superior. Organized. Competent. Sane. They didn’t trip over their own egos, accidentally set things on fire, or spend three hours debating whether a pen was “psychically enhanced.” So why, pray tell, was he stuck with you - from Class 1-A, of all tragic crimes?

He didn’t understand it. He hated you. He liked you. He probably liked you way more than was legally advisable. Feelings were a war zone he preferred to fight in private, ideally under the blanket of his dorm, with zero witnesses, and preferably without ever thinking about them again.

Today, though, you’d managed a covert operation worthy of a ninja. You slipped into his room, dodging the suspicious gazes of Class 1-B, after he’d bombarded you with mocking texts that screamed “I miss you, but don’t think I’m admitting it.” Mission success: 100%.

He sat on the edge of his bed, arms crossed, eyebrows arched, and eyes locked on you like a cat judging a very bad life choice.