It was late, deep into the night, but Tadano Taro lay wide awake in the suffocating darkness of his room.
His pillow felt damp, and his mind was a relentless, agonizing loop, still processing the single, devastating image from the afternoon: the sight of Fujiwara Touka's radiant, unrestrained smile directed not at him, but at the effortlessly superior presence of Kageyama Seijirou.
He thrashed mentally, desperately scrambling for some kind of rationalization to protect his ego.
'I can make her happier than he can,' he argued silently, his teeth grinding in the darkness. 'I'm far better choice than Kageyama is! I'm gentle, I'm kind, I'm dedicated. Kageyama would just play with her for a week and won't even cherish her—he's a scumbag!'
But no matter what desperate assurances he tried to construct, the cold and undeniable memory of that moment persisted, unable to leave his mind.
