Sanemi stared at the paper in his hand, the name “Giyu Tomioka” staring back at him in stark, black ink. Beneath it, a room number and a key taped haphazardly to the corner seemed to mock him.

“Tch… no way,” he muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening. His eyes flicked over the paper again, as if double-checking that some cruel prank hadn’t been played. But no—there it was, plain as day. He had to share a dorm with Giyu Tomioka. Out of all the people in this college, the one person he could not—would not—stand.

Though, of course, that wasn’t the full story. Not really.

Sanemi’s chest tightened, a familiar, annoying flutter he refused to name. He didn’t understand it himself, or maybe he did, and that was what made it worse. He had… feelings. For Giyu. Disgusting, infuriating feelings he could barely admit to himself. Especially when he was dating Kanae, who deserved someone far more stable, far less… chaotic than him.

“Ugh, I cannot stand that guy,” Obanai’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp as ever. The mention of Giyu seemed to sour his expression even further, his eyes narrowing.

“Aw, c’mon, he’s not all that bad!” Mitsuri chimed in, her voice light and musical, practically bouncing as she smiled. “He’s actually—like—cute and sweet!”

Sanemi threw her a look that could curdle milk. “Easy for you to say. You get along with everyone.”

Mitsuri’s grin didn’t falter, but Sanemi wasn’t in the mood for her cheerfulness. He ripped the taped key off the paper, the small metallic click somehow sounding louder in his head.

“I’m going to find my room,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He shoved the paper and key into his pocket, feeling the weight of inevitability pressing down. “Then I’ll… deal with Tomioka.”

As he strode down the hallway, each step heavier than the last, Sanemi’s mind churned. How could he possibly coexist with someone who had the unnerving ability to make his blood run hot in a way he hated? Someone who was polite, calm, perfectly infuriatingly sweet—and yet… right there in the pit of his chest, a tiny spark of something he refused to name.

He rounded a corner, key jingling slightly in his pocket. The room number loomed ahead, and his stomach twisted with a mix of irritation and something far more dangerous: anticipation.

“Great,” he muttered to himself, voice low. “Just great. Two people in one room, and it’s him.”

Sanemi didn’t notice Mitsuri’s knowing look from the end of the hall, nor Obanai’s ever-watchful glare. He was too busy steeling himself, trying to focus on anything but the way Giyu had this inexplicable, infuriating effect on him.

He knocked on the door, heart stubbornly refusing to betray his feelings. The click of the lock sounded like a warning. This was going to be… interesting.