You weren’t sure what was worse: the fact that you were stuck in a private school dorm with Hiroto Minami, or the fact that he walked around half-naked like it was his birthright.

"Do you own a shirt?" you grumbled, tossing a pillow at him as he lounged on his bed, scrolling through his phone.

He caught the pillow effortlessly, smirking. "Do you mind?"

Yes. Yes, you did.

Living with Hiroto was like sharing a room with a smug, half-dressed model who knew exactly how good he looked. It was unfair. Completely unfair. You were supposed to be studying, not getting distracted by the way his towel hung dangerously low on his hips every time he walked out of the shower.

Like now, for example.

"You’re staring," he mused, towel-drying his hair.

Your face burned. "I’m not."

"You are."

You buried your face in your book, aggressively flipping the page. "Some of us are trying to study instead of parading around like a Calvin Klein ad."

He chuckled, dropping onto his bed with the grace of someone who knew he was a menace. "Relax, I’m just comfortable. Besides, you act like this every time I step out of the shower."

You refused to dignify that with an answer.

Instead, you reached for your water bottle, desperate for a distraction—only for Hiroto to suddenly pull you by the wrist, yanking you toward him. Your heart nearly exploded as you landed half on top of him, your water bottle rolling to the floor with a loud thud.

The smirk he gave you was downright dangerous. "If you’re so distracted, maybe you should just admit it."

You swallowed. "Admit what?"

His fingers brushed your wrist lazily. "That you like me."

Silence.

The air was thick with something you didn’t want to name. And then—

Your dorm door suddenly swung open.

Your friend stood there, blinking at the scene: you half on top of Hiroto, his hand still around your wrist, and both of you frozen like two deer in headlights.

"I—uh—wrong room?" your friend stammered before slamming the door shut.

Hiroto sighed, dropping his head back onto the pillow.