A/N: What am I doing with my life. Why am I reading this manga. Why am I invested in this pairing.
"I'm a member of the aboveground student council now," Hana is saying.
Kiyoshi swallows, somehow, eyes flitting here and there. They don't pause on the corner of her mouth, where a few strands of blond hair are matted against. They also don't pause on the folds of her jersey pants, when she crosses her legs. And they definitely don't pause on her eyes, looking down at him like he's trash.
The new student council room is empty save for the two of them. The sunlight filters in boldly, illuminating her face and lips, peppering white sparkles on her glossed mouth. Hana has never worn make-up before, he thinks, but he's not sure, and he doesn't know if he'd like to be, anyway.
"Um," Kiyoshi replies, fidgeting. The carpeted floor is a safe target and his eyes shoot at it eagerly, straining to flee from hers. Fuck, he thinks, setting his hands on his knees, bringing his legs closer together; don't think of Hana-san's bare legs in the pale light, the end of her skirt swaying just above the swell of her—
Kiyoshi closes his eyes (his fists).
"Shitty Kiyoshi," she drones, kicking him in the shin with no real feeling to it. "Has no one taught you it's rude to ignore people when they're talking?"
She sounds so haughty. She didn't sound so haughty panting into his mouth, her legs twitching around his, her fingers clutching at his clothes. Her tongue had been soft, and it's been ages since then, but Kiyoshi remembers it well. He'll remember it forever.
When he opens his eyes again, Hana has her hands on either side of him, her fingers digging into the expensive couch the new student council has brought in. He can hear the fabric stretch under her fingernails. He swallows.
"Is this about that time I accidentally p—" Kiyoshi starts, unsure and a little frightened, but she cuts him off with a click of her tongue.
"Don't talk about that," she hisses, reddening, nails scratching down the sofa until they rest on his shoulders. She's warm. Her blond hair trails down her shoulder when she bends, resting one knee between his thighs.
Kiyoshi tenses, staring at the track pants, how unsexy they are, and thinking about how hard he's going to be in a few seconds if she doesn't move her knee away. He considers thinking about Gakuto's figurines or that one unmentionable day in computer class – but all he can remember is how Hana's hand had felt so gentle against his jaw.
"Ah, err, well, if that's all—" he begins, making to get up, and Hana smirks, those glossy lips widening. He spots her tongue behind her teeth and his stomach tightens.
"It's not," she says, leaning in, "you have a lot to make up for."
"Like what," Kiyoshi replies automatically, eyes flickering to her mouth before he realizes this is exactly the outcome he meant to avoid.
"Like using me," Hana whispers, withdrawing, leaving him empty and foolish. His hands are twitching. She smiles, a thin, sharp thing, and looks down at him. His cheek stings when she slaps him – hand taut enough to make his face turn and his nose spill.
"I deserved that, but please don't hit me again," he manages, wincing, prodding at his nose to make sure it's not broken.
"Well," she says airily, wiping her hand on her slacks. He looks at them intently, even when they drop to the floor. Her hands hook over her underwear, under the skirt; Kiyoshi swallows again, eyes wide and mouth dry. "Maybe if you ask nicely," Hana finally completes, and he sinks to his knees.
