The third time you shoved the math notebook back to Kōtarō Bokuto, it became clear that the biggest problem that afternoon wasn't the equations.

It was him.

Sprawled on the floor of his room, face down on the rug, Bokuto held the pencil between his fingers as if it were a ball about to serve. His brow was furrowed in almost convincing concentration, but you only had to look away to consult the book for two seconds to feel the silence change texture.

When you looked back at him, he was already looking at you.

Not at the paper.

At you.

"I'm studying."

The statement would be easier to believe if he weren't twirling the pencil between his fingers as if searching for any excuse not to face the calculation written on the page. Two minutes earlier, he had declared that math was "clearly an invention to humiliate attackers." A minute later, he tried to prove that if he could solve a problem looking only at your face, that should count as extra merit.

It didn't solve the problem.

He didn't seem particularly bothered by it either.

You took a deep breath and pulled the notebook closer, pointing again to the expression he needed to simplify. Bokuto followed the movement, resting his chin on his palm. His golden eyes, always so lively, followed you instead of the numbers.

It was curious.

On the court, he could analyze blocks in a fraction of a second, adjust his body in the air, and find angles that seemed impossible. But just put a division sign in front of him and all that confidence evaporated.

Still, giving up was never part of Bokuto's repertoire.

He just changed his objective.

While you patiently explained how to isolate the unknown, he leaned his body a little more toward you. Slowly. Disguising it so badly it was almost funny. His shoulder touched yours first. Then his knee.

Finally, his heavy, hot head.

You interrupted the explanation for a moment.

"Go on..." he murmured, without moving an inch. "I'm paying attention."

You weren't.

You could feel it from the little smile hidden against your shoulder.

You tried to ignore it and went back to the calculation.

Five seconds.

That's exactly how long Bokuto lasted before reaching out and stealing your eraser.

You looked at him.

He raised his eyebrows with the most innocent expression a nearly six-foot-three guy could produce.

"I needed it."

The eraser remained trapped between his fingers, dangling slowly in the air like an impossible prize to reach. When you tried to take it back, Bokuto moved his hand away just enough to stop you.

Not out of malice.

Just to prolong the moment.

His smile widened as you moved closer, inevitably decreasing the distance between you two.

"Did you know you look really cute when you try to scold me?" The sentence came out softly, accompanied by a suppressed laugh.

It was unfair.

Her eyes would curve first, then her cheeks, then her mouth, until it seemed as if all the afternoon light had chosen to dwell on that face.