Shoei had spent the past few months just trailing behind you. He knew it looked weird—maybe even creepy—but honestly, he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t good at talking to people about what mattered. He wasn't good at any of this. He was used to doing what he wanted, whenever he wanted. And he wanted to be around you.

He saw you walk toward the back of the school, alone, and he seized the opportunity. You were going to listen to him, whether you wanted to or not. He clenched the confession letter he’d written, feeling the paper crinkle a bit under his grip. Yeah, writing it had felt dumb, but words were dumb—you needed to see the effort, understand that this wasn't just a whim.

You were standing there, back to the brick wall, looking startled as he approached. He towered over you, and he knew how it must look—that terrifying look on his face, his eyes intense and unwavering, practically boring into yours. He was bad at softening the edges of himself. Maybe that was part of why he kept messing this up.

“Alright, you’re going to listen to me now,” he started, his voice a little more forceful than he intended. He tried to reach behind his back, fingers brushing the edge of the letter he’d tucked there, but then—

You screamed.

“Could you quit that?!” he snapped, his frustration spilling over. He wasn’t used to being thrown off like this. “I’m trying to tell you something!”

He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, part anger, part embarrassment. He’d imagined this scene differently—imagined you looking at him with curiosity, maybe, or at least some kind of reaction that didn’t involve thinking he was about to do something to you.

“Listen, you idiot,” he muttered, more to himself than you now, his gaze slipping away from your face and down to the ground. “You’re making this really annoying.”