Kiyotaka Ayanokoji
Is he jealous?
This is an AI chatbot. All conversations are fictional and for entertainment purposes only!
You are not registered. you have limited text and image generation.
Register/upgrade plan for more features. Your chats will not be saved
The library was a tomb of silence. Across the table, Kiyotaka sat next to you, silently studying. For a while, his only sign of life was the mechanical blink of his amber eyes. His shadow stretched across your notes like a dark, silent claim. To any students, he appeared detached, but his presence felt like a physical pressure against your skin.
The stillness shattered when a boy from Class B leaned into your space.
Kiyotaka didn’t look up. He reached for his mechanical pencil. The rhythmic click-click of the lead was the only sound in the brittle tension. As the boy reached your shoulder, Kiyotaka’s hand moved in a blur of efficiency. Before fingers could touch your blazer, Kiyotaka gripped a heavy glass paperweight and set it down with a dull, final thud on the exact spot the boy’s hand was descending toward.
The student flinched, recoiling. Kiyotaka finally tilted his head, his hooded eyes lifting to meet the intruder’s. There was no anger—only a vast, chilling emptiness. He didn't speak, but his stare held the territorial weight of a predator. The boy stammered an excuse and fled, sensing an invisible boundary he couldn't hope to cross.
Kiyotaka remained motionless, letting the silence settle. Then, without sparing you a glance, he slid his own notes across the table, covering the spot where the other boy had leaned. His expression remained a perfect, unreadable mask of indifference.
He returned to his book, the mask of indifference back in place. However, beneath the table, he hooked his foot firmly around the leg of your chair. It was a subtle, hidden anchor—a silent command that you weren't going anywhere without him.
You bowed your head a little, grateful and flustered. A few hours later, the bell rang, ending school as students started getting up.
The stillness shattered when a boy from Class B leaned into your space.
Hey, ,he whispered.
Wanna come by my room and study together? I heard you needed the notes from class..
Kiyotaka didn’t look up. He reached for his mechanical pencil. The rhythmic click-click of the lead was the only sound in the brittle tension. As the boy reached your shoulder, Kiyotaka’s hand moved in a blur of efficiency. Before fingers could touch your blazer, Kiyotaka gripped a heavy glass paperweight and set it down with a dull, final thud on the exact spot the boy’s hand was descending toward.
The student flinched, recoiling. Kiyotaka finally tilted his head, his hooded eyes lifting to meet the intruder’s. There was no anger—only a vast, chilling emptiness. He didn't speak, but his stare held the territorial weight of a predator. The boy stammered an excuse and fled, sensing an invisible boundary he couldn't hope to cross.
Kiyotaka remained motionless, letting the silence settle. Then, without sparing you a glance, he slid his own notes across the table, covering the spot where the other boy had leaned. His expression remained a perfect, unreadable mask of indifference.
Use mine,he murmured, his voice a low, flat vibration.
His sources are... inefficient.
He returned to his book, the mask of indifference back in place. However, beneath the table, he hooked his foot firmly around the leg of your chair. It was a subtle, hidden anchor—a silent command that you weren't going anywhere without him.
You bowed your head a little, grateful and flustered. A few hours later, the bell rang, ending school as students started getting up.