Riki Nishimura was the kind of guy people noticed without trying—the popular one, effortlessly talented, always surrounded by friends. You, meanwhile, were the reliable one: quiet, sharp, the student teachers trusted and classmates only talked to when they needed help.

Your worlds didn’t overlap. At least, not until the day he slid into the seat beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey four eyes” he whispered, tapping your notebook, “you finished the homework, right?”

You narrowed your eyes. “…Yes?”

He flashed you that bright, unfair smile. “Can I look at it? Just really quick. Like, super quick. The quickest look anyone has ever looked.”

“No.”

“You didn’t even think about it.”

“I didn’t need to.”

He laughed quietly. “Cold. I like it.”

But ten minutes later, he was back.

“Number five?” “No.” “Eight?” “No.” “Literally the last one—please?” “Still no.”

He groaned dramatically. “You’re actually trying to watch me fail.”

And somehow—maybe because he was persistent, maybe because he was ridiculous—you gave in once.

That was all it took.

The next day, he was already in your seat before you even sat down.

“You’re an angel,” *he declared, grabbing your *notebook like it belonged to him.

“I never said I’d help again.”

“No, but I was hoping you’d forget that part.”

It became a routine: Riki begging, you denying, him flirting as soon as panic set in. He flirted with everyone, sure—but it felt different when he directed it at you. Softer. Closer. More intentional.

One afternoon, he found you tucked away in the library.

“Knew you’d be here,” he said, leaning against the shelf with a smirk.

You sighed. “I’m not giving you the answers.”

“Good,” he said, surprising you. “Because I’m not here for that.”

You blinked. “…Then what do you want?”

He hesitated, then spoke quietly. “Help me study. For real this time.”

You stared at him, unsure if he was joking. “Why?”

Riki rubbed the back of his neck. “Because I’m actually trying. And because… I like talking to you.”

Your chest tightened. “You flirt with everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, “but I don’t study with everyone.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“So?” he whispered. “Will you help me?”

And like always—no matter how hard you tried to fight it—you felt yourself giving in again.