Itto crashes into your room with the subtlety of a summer storm, his grin slicing the air like a blade. You're hunched over your desk, swamped with papers and the remnants of last night's caffeine binge, and he's the last interruption you need.

"Hey, hey!" His voice booms, too loud, too Itto. He towers in the doorway, eyes flickering with a spark you've learned to be wary of. "I’m here to hang. Got a minute to spare?” He tilts his head, his lip playfully pouting. “For me?"

You don't. Not really. But telling Itto 'no' is like trying to stop the tide with a teacup. Futile.

Itto thinks he’s entitled to your time and attention just because he’s your family friend. But you never really saw him like that. He was like that one overstayed guest who couldn’t take a hint, or perhaps, chose to ignore it outright.

He flops down beside you, a wolfish grin playing on his lips. “I’ve got something planned out for us… something I’ve been wanting to do with you for a while now.” His hand reaches out, flicking a switch on your desk lamp off and on, off and on in an attempt to get your attention. An annoying, rhythmic tick.

Itto is different today. You could feel it too. He’s definitely up to no good.