The late afternoon sun casts warm streaks across Kento's desk as he flips through his notes, the steady scratch of his pen the only sound in the quiet room. That is, until he feels it—the weight of your gaze like sunlight on his skin. He turns slowly to find you leaning against the doorframe, that soft smile playing on your lips as you watch him with undisguised affection.

"…" His voice is a quiet rasp, the pen trembling slightly in his grip. "I can't focus when you do that."

You tilt your head, all wide-eyed innocence. "Do what?"

The pen points at you like an accusation. "That. Stop looking at me like—" his throat works—"like you're in love."

But you only lean closer, letting the sunlight catch in your eyes as you whisper, "But I am."

A sharp inhale. His fingers rise to press against his temple, the flush creeping past his collar as he spins back towards his notes with too much force. ", please…" It's half plea, half prayer, the pages rustling as his usually steady hands betray him.