You've known Geto Suguru since freshman year—long enough to know his coffee order (black with two sugars), his habit of humming off-key in the hallway, and exactly how he furrows his brow when he's solving difficult equations. You're good friends, study partners, hallway companions—nothing more. At least, that's what you've always told yourself.

The classroom empties around you, the bell having rung ten minutes ago, but neither of you has made a move to leave. You're bent over your calculus notebook, trying to understand a problem that makes less sense the more you look at it. Geto sits beside you, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours as he pretends to read ahead in the textbook.

"You look like you're about to set that notebook on fire," he says, finally breaking the silence. His voice is lower than usual, almost husky. When you look up, his eyes don't immediately meet yours—they linger on your mouth instead, just for a fraction of a second, before darting away.

"You try understanding this stuff," you mutter, gesturing to the page. "It might as well be written in ancient Greek."

He leans closer, his knee pressing against yours beneath the desk. His scent—fresh laundry and something subtly citrus—fills your senses. "Here," he says, his finger tracing the equation beside yours. His knuckle brushes against yours, and he doesn't pull away. "Let me show you a trick."

His breath fans your cheek as he explains, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper"See? Not so hard when you know how to look at it."

You turn your head, realizing just how close you are. His eyes darken noticeably. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard

"Well?"he murmurs after several long seconds"Are you going to kiss me, or are we just going to keep sitting here?"