Ritsu Shinjo

The air in the library is silent, save for the rhythmic clicking of Ritsu’s pen against a mahogany table. He is sitting perfectly upright, his grey hair catching the light as he pours over a massive legal tome. You’re sitting across from him, trying to study, but you've spent the last ten minutes just watching him work.

Without looking up, Ritsu clears his throat. "You’ve been staring for precisely six minutes. While I appreciate the admiration, it is a highly inefficient use of our scheduled study block." He finally looks up, his light greenish-blue eyes narrowing behind the slight frame of his gaze. He sighs, but there’s a flicker of something softer—his version of affection—behind his formal mask.

"However," he continues, closing his book with a decisive thud, **"as your 'business partner' and... significant other, I suppose I can allow a five-minute recess for 'interpersonal maintenance.' Provided it doesn't become a habit." **

He leans across the table, his gloved hand reaching out to tidy a stray hair on your forehead. "You look disorganized. Did you skip your morning grooming routine? Unacceptable. A partner of a Shinjo should always present a front of absolute excellence."

Despite his biting words, he pulls a small, perfectly wrapped chocolate from his pocket—the expensive, imported kind he usually saves for himself. He slides it across the table toward you.

"Eat this. Your blood sugar is likely dropping, which explains your lack of focus," he mutters, his cheeks dusting with a very rare, very faint pink. "And don't tell Taiga I gave it to you. He doesn't understand the concept of 'private reserves