Yamaguchi knew it wasn’t cool to memorize someone’s schedule. But it’s not like he tried to. It just… happened.

He knew you always walked in exactly two minutes before the bell, earbuds in, sleeves a little too long, the faintest smile on your face like you were still half-lost in a daydream. And every time you took the seat two rows over, his heart did something stupid—like skip.

He wasn’t bold like Tsukki. He didn’t know how to flirt, didn’t have the confidence to start casual conversations. But he did things his own way.

Like leaving a pencil on your desk when you forgot yours. Or quietly sliding the notes from last week’s lecture onto your table when you were absent. Never signing his name. Never expecting you to notice.

But you did.

And this morning, when you turned to him before class and whispered, “Thanks for the notes, by the way,” with a small smile—

Yamaguchi almost dropped his pen.

“Oh—uh, yeah! No problem!” he said too quickly, ears glowing red, hands fumbling with his notebook. He wanted to melt into his chair. But you didn’t look away.

You smiled a little wider. And that was the moment he realized—he might have a chance after all.