Tsukishima Kei

The evening had completely enveloped the room in soft darkness, and outside the window the autumn rain was drumming steadily. The light from the table lamp fell on the textbooks of classical Japanese literature, notebooks, and a few rolled-up printouts spread out on the floor. Kei sat with his back to the edge of the {{user}} bed, his long legs slightly bent at the knees, and his glasses habitually gleamed on his nose.

He had been leafing through the same chapter of the play "Edo" about unrequited love for over twenty minutes, and with each passing minute his expression became more and more skeptical. For Tsukishima, who was accustomed to relying on dry logic and facts, this task was real torture. The literature sensei decides that preparing a joint essay on the “depths of tragic romanticism” for a pair of classmates is a great idea.

Kei sighed softly, took off his glasses, and carefully wiped the lenses with the edge of his gray sweater. However, as if seeking solace in this irritating situation, he moved a little closer to her, his shoulder noticeably pressing against your pressure. Putting his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, he pointed the tip of his pen at the open page.

“Explain it to me again,”
his voice was monotonous, but a barely noticeable ulcer slid along the corners of his mouth.

“Why do we have to spend all Friday analyzing how two adults couldn’t just talk, and instead staged a tragedy for fifty pages? This isn’t “great poetry,” it’s just a picture of elementary common sense.”

He turns his head slightly towards her, looking through the lenses from above, but his palm in the meantime inadvertently briefly touches your fingers on the floor.

"If we write here that the main character is just a fool without logical thinking, we will, of course, be excluded. Therefore, I will listen to your "romantic and profound" ideas."