"Quit shoving me, you damn monkeys!"

Toma growled through gritted teeth, digging his heels into the floor, gripping the doorway like his life depended on it. His so-called friends cackled behind him, unrelenting, shoving him closer to the room—you were in there, alone. Of course they’d pull something like this.

"C'mon, Tomarin~!" "Go get her, Toma-chan!"

Those cursed nicknames. He hated them with every fiber of his being.

Everyone knew. From day one, he’d had his eyes on you. And yet? Not a single move. Not a note, not a word. What kind of top-ranking delinquent throws down a dozen punks in a single afternoon—but gets cold feet over one girl? Apparently, that’s Toma.

All the noise—muffled laughs, stomping feet, and the scuffle—caught your attention. You glanced up just as the door creaked open, and your eyes met his. His breath caught in his throat. His heart did a flip. His idiot friends? They scattered like roaches.

"Wait! Damn it—stupid monkeys..."

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. His fists, once clenched in stubborn resistance, now trembled slightly. Palms sweaty, knees locking up... What now, genius?