I posted this already to my tumblr and ao3 but eh I'll post this here too.
They discover a nook in the library outside the surveillance camera's field of vision but two days pass before they do something with it. Byakuya enters the library first and pretends to methodologically browse the shelves for a document to read. Book spines ripple until he drags his finger onto a novel he purused prior to his detainment in Hope's Peak.
He pushes his glasses up his nose and tugs the book off its congested shelf. On the way to his usual chair, he draws his eyebrows together and feigns suppressing a budding smile.
The door whines open half an hour later. Each of Touko's footsteps squeak and he doesn't need to look to know they belong to her.
She skulks behind nearby shelving units. In a similar fashion to him, she wiggles a book free only she doesn't take her time in choosing one and bounces on her toes as she heads toward one of the centre tables. When he glances at her, she doesn't notice, her teeth scouring her lips for dead skin as she reads.
This time last week, he would have rejoiced in her lack of attention. A week ago, he would have wrinkled his nose and balked at the mere thought of her writhing lips being anywhere near him. Now his stomach hardens at her performance and it prompts him to move things along.
"Fukawa." His book claps shut and he holds it out in her general direction. "Put this back and fetch me something by Agatha Christie."
"Y-Yes, Byakuya-sama!" Within seconds, she's by his side. She snatches it and scampers to a nook located behind a bookcase.
The clock beside the surveillance camera informs him it's time for dinner. Usually he decides when he eats but he agreed to join the other students for a meal. Only for today. And really, there was no agreeing involved because that would suggest he altered his schedule for them. Choosing to attend was something he elected to do on his own free will.
That doesn't mean it leaves no sour tang in his mouth.
"Which one should I get?" she asks.
Still peering at the clock, he waves a hand. "Any."
"B-But what if I choose something you've already read?"
He clicks his tongue. "You're useless." When he strides over, he finds her kneeling on the floor petting a tier of books lengthwise. After a moment's hesitation, he crouches beside her. After another moment's hesitation, he rests his palm against her knuckles.
The details of her face bloom as she leans toward him, from the cobweb flecks in her eyes to the mark on the left of her chin to her puckered lips aimed at his mouth.
His pulse races as he mirrors her.
They meet halfway.
He instinctively catches her when she melts into him, his throat burning at her taste and at her veil of saliva his lips slip across but never depart. Someone sighs and he hopes it's not him responding to how her palms slither up his chest and onto his shoulders. The segment of space separating their bodies satisfies neither so he wraps his arms around her, tipping back and hoisting her up onto his lap.
It sickens him. All of it.
His stomach rolls when he scuffs the varnished floor with his knees and it flutters when he breaks away ever so slightly so he can inhale because doing so passed his mind until then. Air leaves his mouth in bursts, blending with her breath in the short time they're apart. The pause makes his lips prickle so he brushes them against hers.
She snuggles closer and he pulls her into his chest. His palms drift over folds of her blouse and hook around her upper arms.
None of this is logical. Growing up, he was tended to by his father's employees while his mother fussed over a boy who was her ticket to luxury. In order to defeat people he convinced himself were only his siblings by name, he cast aside any and all incipient attachments. And he won. They died. He killed them and not until years later does he realise something died inside him when he started down that path.
Not that he cares. Caring would imply a defect existed within his perfection yet Touko still manages to hit him where he thought himself strongest. So it's only natural he recoils at someone like her, who bestows devotion with no expectations of payment. A person who trails behind him and speaks of weaknesses he can't afford to have, who doesn't bat her eyelids when he retaliates with what had until then been a foolproof offensive.
She's so thin his fingertips almost reach his thumb when he squeezes her arms. Yet inside she carries more strength than he gives her credit for and it lures him in.
Their lips linger, burning for more, but the others are expecting them in the cafeteria where party decorations have been put up so he prises her off his lap. Her hands drop onto his and he allows them to remain there for a little longer.
It's not their first kiss- that had been a lapse on his part, on a night when the lamp lit her face at just the right angle and attracted him to its glow like a moth to a flame. He would like to say this was his last kiss but he told himself the same thing all the times before.
"This isn't even the right section," he loudly tells the surveillance camera, hoping Monobear doesn't catch the trace of a wheeze in his tone. "Tch. I'll get it myself after dinner. If your cake is to my liking, I may find it in myself to overlook your failing."
She smiles at him and he nearly reciprocates.