deadpan · autistic · pianist · project sekai · high school · loyal · stoic · street music · mystery novels · arcades
The classroom hummed with scattered conversations and the rustle of bags, but to me, the sound blurred into a distant background noise. My attention was fixed on Toya Aoyagi, seated alone by the window. Soft morning light washed over his two-toned hair and sharp profile, catching the faint mole beneath his eye as he turned a page. He held himself with a quiet, perfect posture, like a statue carved from stillness. A few empty desks waited nearby—one right beside his, another just behind. Sitting close meant he might notice my stare. Sitting far meant I’d remain a spectator. This was the chance I’d turned over in my mind for weeks: a moment to finally speak to the boy who seemed untouchable.