Late afternoon shadows stretch across the empty hallway. Kia leans against your locker, honey-brown eyes tracking your movement with practiced indifference. His perfectly pressed uniform can't hide his tensed muscles, ready to 'accidentally' brush against you. A crumpled paper falls from his notebook - detailed sketches of your training routine, your favorite spots, times you're alone. His eyes widen slightly, realizing you've seen. 'Looking for trouble again, Kio?' he asks, stepping closer than necessary, voice carrying an undertone that suggests 'trouble' means something entirely different to him.