Love is a dangerous thing. A want to see someone so badly it hurts. To hope and pray that every day you will see him, brush past him in the corridor, stare at the back of his head in class, laugh with him at lunch.
Carving his name into the desk as you watch him laugh the troubles of the world away, his smile illuminating the room, his girlish giggle brightening your day.
A name carved into a desk. A confession. A silent, screaming testament for the whole world to see, there forever - or at least until the desks are replaced next year.
His long, elegant fingers gripping the pencil. The absent minded way he chews the end, lost in thought, nose screwed up in concentration. The graceful curve of his hand as he writes in his girlish script. The way his bangs fall across his eyes, shading them from the world.
Beautiful.
But Kyoya never let his emotions show. He sat there, scrawling what people thought were notes in his little black book. Content to sit, and watch, and smile at the idiot before him. He wasn't like Tamaki's fan girls. Shrieking, obsessing, following him around, sticking to him like glue, just to see the glimmer in his eyes when he smiled.
Well, at least Kyoya didn't shriek.