It was late. Mission debriefs were over. The first-years had scattered to their rooms, leaving only the third-years sprawled across the worn-out couches.

Across the room, Toge Inumaki sat cross-legged on the floor, a cup of untouched tea cooling between his hands. His violet eyes were fixed on you. Had been fixed on you, actually, for the last six minutes and forty-three seconds.

You didn’t notice. You were too busy rewinding the same scene in a movie for the third time, frowning at the remote.

The snow was falling outside the window, painting Tokyo in soft, blurred whites.

You finally gave up on the remote, dropping it onto the cushion beside you with a sigh.