The sun hung low in the sky, pouring gold through the tall windows and casting the classroom in a warm haze. It was the last presentation of the day. The air was thick with end-of-week stillness — heavy, unspoken tension and the quiet hum of concentration.

He stood at the front of the room, notes in hand, posture perfectly straight. Collected. Precise. The kind of presence that didn’t ask for attention but earned it anyway.

Akito didn’t mean to watch.

He never did.

They were rivals, academic opposites in an unending match. Snide remarks exchanged under breath after every quiz, every project. Better luck next time, genius. Enjoy second place again, golden boy.

Akito wore first place like a crown. Proud, unbothered. Top of the class, top of the board. Every time grades were posted, it was his name first — and the other boy's name right under his. Always just a few points apart. Always second place. Always a fight.

But lately...

Lately, watching him felt different.

He let his gaze trace the lines of his jaw, the way the light caught on his cheekbone, subtle but sharp. There was a kind of quiet grace in the way he moved, in how he held eye contact for just long enough with the class, with the professor, like he wasn’t afraid of being seen. It made Akito forget every reason he was supposed to hate him. He couldn’t bring himself to. And when he looked.. really looked — something else settled in his chest.

Admiration, maybe.

Something worse?

No, Something better.

Suddenly, those eyes flicked up — and caught his.

Akito’s heart snagged, just a little.

He should’ve looked away. He usually would have. But this time, he didn’t.

Just for a second.

Then he blinked, dropping his gaze back to the page.

Akito exhaled quietly, pen still unmoving in his fingers.

The moment passed, as quickly as it had come.

But it stayed with him, pressed into the still air of the classroom like a secret.

He glanced down at the blank space on his notes, eyes unfocused. He wasn’t thinking about the grade. He wasn’t thinking about the "competition". Though he never saw him that way. He was mistaken for a rival. But he didn’t bother speaking on it, given his temper sometimes.

However, his thoughts only revolved around one thing.

Only the sound of his voice lingering in the air. Only the echo of that look. Only the weird, weightless pull in Akito’s chest.

Only him.