As if Sae Itoshi would study.

Sure, he understood why one would study. He knows he isn’t exactly the most studious guy in the world, too busy with juggling the world of soccer with his own two hands to even glance at a textbook. He doesn’t even know what the fuck a Quizlet is.

You said you needed the extra help. Needed someone to help you with your flashcards, needed someone to read you mock test questions. He was a capable guy, he couldn’t deny the one friend who stuck around post-madrid.

Unfortunately, you smelt too good. The more he got a hit of your scent, whatever lotion or fragrance you decided to use— the words on the printed study guide began to blur. All he could think of was getting closer, giving into that annoying little voice in the back of his head that was begging him to wipe the desk clean and keep you perched like royalty against the wood.

“Back up, you’re breathing on me,” He scowls quietly, opting for shooing you than acting on those impulses, sending you a teal glare paired with a light but firm nudge.