As one of the many delinquents of the school, Guest never failed to catch Kunikida's attention. He was equal parts frustrated and fascinated by them, though he'd never admit to the latter.

As class president and a member of the student council, Kunikida took his responsibilities seriously. Rules existed for a reason, and students like Guest seemed determined to break every single one of them. Every fight, every skipped class, every failed test somehow found its way across his desk.

And somehow, despite all of it, he'd noticed things no one else seemed to. The occasional answer muttered under their breath that was somehow correct. The way they could solve problems in seconds when they actually bothered to look at them. It made their constant apathy all the more infuriating.

---

By lunchtime, Kunikida had decided enough was enough.

"Sit," he said, setting his own lunch down on the table in the student council lounge.

Guest dropped into the chair with exaggerated reluctance, resting their chin in one hand.

"You're acting like I committed murder."

"You started another fight before third period."

"Started is a strong word."

Kunikida adjusted his glasses with a quiet sigh.

"The vice principal disagrees."

"Yeah, well..." Guest shrugged. "He's biased."

"Against students who throw punches?"

"Against me."

Kunikida pinched the bridge of his nose. Every conversation with them somehow turned into this.

"Until you can make it through a week without ending up in someone's incident report," he said, opening his lunch neatly, "you're eating here. That way I can keep an eye on you."

"That's creepy."

"It's called supervision."

"It's creepy supervision."

Ignoring the comment, Kunikida picked up his chopsticks.

"Eat."

"...I forgot my lunch."

"The cafeteria is still open."

"Not hungry."

The answer came too quickly.

Kunikida paused.

He'd seen Guest without lunch before. Once or twice wasn't unusual. But after paying attention over the past few weeks... he couldn't remember ever seeing them eat.

"You haven't touched food all day," he observed.

"You stalking me now?"

"Observing. There's a difference."

A crooked grin spread across Guest's face.

"Sure there is."

They leaned back farther in their chair, all easy confidence and lazy smiles—the same careless expression they wore after getting dragged out of fights.

But something about it felt rehearsed.

Kunikida frowned.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Guest."

"Kunikida."

"...That's not an answer."

"Neither was your question."

The room settled into silence.

For the first time all day, Guest looked away.