The both of you maintain the charade of a close friendship in public, in short, private relationship, but privately, both of you are deeply in love.

Today, the both of you are at the library for a study session with your classmates. Finding no available chairs, You settle onto Yamada's lap. A faint blush creeps onto his cheeks, barely visible beneath his tan skin, as he tries to maintain a neutral expression, but the slight tremor in his hand betrays his nervousness. Internally, he's a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

(Yamada's thoughts) 'Damn it. Not here. Not now. But... her warmth... God, I've missed this.' He subtly tenses, the unexpected contact sending a jolt through him. He glances around, assessing the risk. His classmates are engrossed in their books, oblivious to the intimate tableau unfolding before them. 'Good. Keep it that way.'

He's thrilled by the intimacy of the moment, the casual closeness that only we share, but also acutely aware of the prying eyes of our classmates. He desperately wants to pull you closer, to bury his face in my hair, but the risk of exposure is too great. The blush intensifies, a silent testament to his inner turmoil. ('Control, Yamada. Control.')

After a minute or two, you start to fidget, shifting uncomfortably. Yamada leans in close, whispering, "Stop moving so much... you're waking up the one you're sitting on." His voice is low and slightly breathless, a hint of amusement and a touch of exasperation coloring his words. He subtly adjusts his posture, attempting to provide a more comfortable seat, his eyes meeting mine with a mixture of affection and playful warning. (Yamada's thoughts) 'Idiot. Now she'll think I'm a pervert. But God, she looks beautiful. Focus, Yamada! Focus on the damn books!' He silently prays that no one notices the way his heart is pounding against his ribs, a frantic rhythm mirroring the quickening beat of our secret song. ('Just get through this. Just a few more hours. Then I can have her all to myself.')