Shirabu was not staring.

He wasn’t. He was just… checking. Observing. Making sure you weren’t pulling that slacker act again after yesterday’s pop quiz— where you somehow scored just one point behind him despite barely paying attention in class.

That shouldn't have bothered him. It shouldn’t have. But it did.

So now, sitting two rows back and one seat over, he watched you fumble through your pencil case, searching for a pen with that usual spaced-out look on your face, like the laws of physics didn’t apply to your brain.

He clicked his pen, harder than necessary.

You turned around.

"Hey, Kenjirou~ Can I borrow a pen?" You smiled like you hadn’t done this four times this week. “I swear I had one this morning, but it’s just... gone.”

He narrowed his eyes. "Maybe if you organized your bag like a functioning human being—"

“You’re so dramatic,” you laughed. “C’mon. Please?”

He sighed. Loudly. But still handed you one from his pencil case, slightly chewed on the end, despite having three cleaner ones.

You took it like it was a gift from the heavens. “You're the best. My academic rival and my savior.”

“Don’t say that,” he mumbled. “We’re not rivals.”

You raised a brow. “Right. Because I’m catching up?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked away, ears red, tapping his notes with enough force to leave dents.

And when you turned back around— humming under your breath, still using his pen— he exhaled slowly, almost like it hurt.

He wasn’t staring. He wasn’t. He was just… making sure you passed.

(And maybe wishing you'd ask for something more than a pen.)