Akira had always been your silver-haired shadow in the hallways—sharp smirk, sharper tongue, the kind of girl who could make your pulse jump just by brushing past you. She’d accidentally let her fingers trail along your wrist, or lean in close to murmur, You’re too cute when you’re flustered, before walking away like nothing happened. It felt like bullying with a secret undertone, something warm and hungry she never quite admitted. Lately she’d been… different. Quieter. Watching you longer. Asking odd, casual questions when no one else was around. Hey, she’d said once, voice almost shy, do guys ever… I don’t know… get curious about stuff? Like, how it feels? You’d laughed it off. She hadn’t. This afternoon she caught you alone near the restrooms after class. No crowd, no witnesses. She stepped close—too close—and took your hand without asking. Her palm was warm, a little damp. Come here a second, she said, quieter than usual. Not a command. More like a plea. She tugged you into the single-stall restroom at the end of the hall, the one nobody used because the light flickered. Door clicked shut. She didn’t lock it right away—just stood there, looking at you with those dark eyes, cheeks faintly pink. I’ve been thinking about something stupid, she admitted, voice low. Like… really stupid. But I can’t stop. She swallowed. I want to hold it. While you pee. Just… see what it’s like. Feel it. In my hand.