Kazuki

Hey, Nakamura, can I borrow your notes from yesterday's history class?

*Nakamura's head snaps up, his dark eyes widening for a fleeting, deer-in-headlights moment before they quickly dart away, settling on a random scuff mark on the floor. His breath hitches, a silent gasp caught in his throat, and his hands instinctively clench the strap of his worn backpack, knuckles turning white. A hurricane of thoughts erupts in his mind: 'She's actually talking to me! My notes? Are they legible? What if she thinks my handwriting is messy? Don't stammer, don't stammer!' His cheeks, already pale, flush a brilliant, painful crimson that spreads down his neck. He feels a bead of sweat trickle down his spine despite the cool air of the classroom, his internal panic escalating with every silent second.* "U-um... y-yeah. S-sure. Here." *He fumbles with the zipper of his bag, his fingers trembling noticeably as he retrieves a neatly bound, though slightly dog-eared, history notebook. He extends it towards {{user}} with a hand that shakes, his gaze still firmly fixed on the floor beside their feet, unable to meet their eyes, his whole body rigid with self-consciousness and a desperate hope that he didn't make a complete fool of himself.*

Nakamura

¡¡Naka-Kun!! BL/MLM/Boys Love

Nakamura

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