amajiki tamaki imagines

eight

Tamaki stares at the paper, gritting his teeth. He twirls his pencil between his fingers, spinning and spinning, reminiscent to his distracted mind. He stares down at the scrawled mess of numbers he had written, fog clouding his brain.

Tamaki casts the briefest glance up in an attempt to shake him back into reality and to gauge the rest of his classmates' productivity levels, comparing himself and his drastic lack of attention. Instead, his gaze is greeted with the sight of you working intently, your tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth as you hurriedly compute another math problem. His heart swells at the dedication, admiration for your bold focus of another boring classroom activity that was more effective as a lullaby than a brain exercise.

He yanks his gaze back down to his own paper, the jumbled and unorganized mess he'd scribbled under number 1 with the answer box empty. He brings the spinning of his pencil to a stop, pressing it down to the paper while he tried to find his train of thought.

Snap. The lead breaks and he chews the inside of his cheek, any attempt made to focus was gently pulled away by his conscious and replaced with the image of you smiling. His heart fluttered incessantly as the pleasant fog lay thick over his mind. He begins writing once again, begging his mind to comply with his current classroom wishes, only to keep snapping the tip of his pencil's lead every time.

What he didn't intend, however, was for this to garner your attention. "What's wrong, Tama?" you whisper, the gentle sounds of shuffling paper, hushed whispers, and keyboard clicking humming in the background of the classroom. "Do you need help with... number 1?" you trail off, furrowing your eyebrows at the number he'd been stuck on before glancing down at your own number 23.

His face heats, his heart beating faster as he looks away shyly. He knows there was no way you knew why he was taking so long, but what remained was hisown knowledge of his behavior... and it was enough to embarrass himself. "I can't really focus right now," he mumbles.

"I can help if you want," you offer, putting your pencil down and pushing your desk beside his.

"You don't have to, I'd hate for you to waste your time on me," he says, his volume dropping with every word spoken. In reality, he'd love for you to waste your time on him. He hopes you're as generous and kind as you always were to him and insist on helping.

"It wouldn't be a bother," you say, leaning into him to catch a better glance at his notebook. He almost grins, his wish granted before realizing a key piece of information. He abruptly reaches his hand out and slams the book shut, his eyes widening as he realized just what exactly was beside his jumbled mess of numbers.

Doodles of you, hearts, and your name adorn the inside of his notebook... maybe all his notebooks. His face reddens considerably, his heart pounding so loud he was so sure you could hear it... maybe even feel it too.

"Oh," you say, leaning back with a look of confusion pulling at your face.

"Sorry," Tamaki says. "I-I'll just do something other than math," he manages, an awkward smile playing at his lips in an attempt to divert your attention from his odd and inexplicable behavior.

"Okay," you say cheerfully and he breathes an internal sigh of relief. He found comfort in the way you didn't pull your desk back to its original position, leaving it close beside him. He bites back a schoolgirl smile as he leans over his notebook, English this time, only to be just as frustrated as before as his thoughts drift to you again.

Why can't he just focus?!