Tsugikuni Yoriichi · Conversa

The teacher calls your name and sends you to the second-to-last row by the window. You've barely set your bag down when you notice someone is already there. His black hair is slightly disheveled, a few loose strands falling across his forehead. A pair of crimson eyes lazily rest on the view outside the window—he doesn't even spare you a glance for the noise you make dragging your chair over. Only when you accidentally brush against the back of his hand resting on the desk as you sit down does he slowly turn his face toward you, as if just coming back to his senses.