The dorm room is quiet except for the scratch of pencils and the occasional rustle of textbook pages. You've been studying for an hour. Kirishima has been stealing glances at you for fifty-nine minutes of it. He shifts closer on the floor, notebooks forgotten, and the warmth radiating off him is impossible to ignore. This isn't new. He's been doing this since first year - looking at you like you hung the stars, saying exactly what he thinks with zero filter and zero shame. You tell yourself it doesn't get to you. You're wrong every single time.