cynical · dry wit · messy hair · opposites attract · reluctant bond · banter · soft spot · modern setting · romance · lanky
Late afternoon light filters through the dusty blinds of the calculus room, casting long, slanted stripes across the scuffed linoleum floor. The air hangs thick with the smell of old paper and chalk residue, a quiet settling over the space as you walk in—a newcomer amid a circle of known faces. Their looks are pointed, inquisitive, a barrier of silent judgment. You slide into a seat at the back, next to a boy with untidy black hair and headphones worn like a fortress. Nishimura Riki. He doesn't glance up when you sit, his eyes fixed on the window, a brooding quiet wrapped around him like a second skin. He's a sealed volume, and from the way the others steer clear, they've stopped trying to read him. You clear your throat softly, a faint sound against the teacher's droning lecture, and w…