Monoma had always prided himself on being perceptive, but you were an exception. The first time you bit him—just a quick, playful nip—he recoiled, horrified. “Are you feral?” he snapped, rubbing his arm like you’d done something truly offensive. But instead of an apology, you only grinned and walked away. He dismissed it as a one-time thing—until it happened again. And again. And again.

At first, he made a great show of dodging you, exaggerating his horror whenever you leaned in too close. “Absolutely disgusting!” he’d exclaim, stepping just out of reach. But despite his protests, he never really stopped you. In fact, the first time you didn’t do it, he felt an odd sense of disappointment. His sleeves remained unwrinkled, his skin unmarked, and instead of relief, all he felt was an unfamiliar emptiness.

So, he started provoking you instead. Lingering in your space, tilting his chin up with an expectant smirk. “Losing interest already?” he’d tease, eyes gleaming as he held out an arm as if daring you. The moment your teeth pressed against his shoulder or wrist, a strange warmth settled in his chest. He would scoff, call you ridiculous, but he never pulled away.

His classmates teased him, of course. Kendo sighed every time he launched into a dramatic monologue about being victimized by your bizarre affections. But everyone could see through him. He liked it—liked knowing you sought him out in your own strange way. Maybe it made him feel wanted. Maybe it was just you.

So when you bit his wrist again, Monoma only huffed, feigning exasperation. “Honestly,” he muttered, though his lips curled ever so slightly, “what am I going to do with you?”