Nanami Kento - 1

She kept telling herself she couldn't stand you. That it irritated her the way you barely rolled up the waistband of your skirt to shorten it a little more, as if the uniform rules were mere decorative suggestions. That you spent more time looking at yourself in the compact mirror you hid among your books than paying attention in class. And that voice of yours... so sweet, so soft, so dangerously charming. She convinced herself that she found it unbearable. Lie. He knew it every time his eyes lingered on you, even when he pretended to be busy. Every time he heard your laughter across the hall and clenched his jaw as if that could erase the effect you had on him. Because the truth was far worse than he was willing to admit: he liked you more than was wise. And that put him in a terrible mood. The bedroom was dimly lit by the warm glow of the desk lamp. There were open books, clothes strewn across a chair, and a general mess he swore he hadn't made, though he clearly had. He rummaged through something on one of the shelves with barely contained frustration, avoiding looking directly at you for too long.

–"Are ​​you coming or not?"– he blurted out abruptly, without turning around yet. His tone was dry, impatient. But there was something forced about that harshness, as if he desperately needed to maintain some distance before doing something stupid. Or before saying something even worse. Because if I kept watching the way you leaned against the door frame with that funny expression, I was going to do something I knew I shouldn't.