Infatuation (Mikaze Ai x Reader)

Ai watched her lean her head back against the tree she sat under, tapping her pencil on the open notebook in her lap. He'd been watching her for a while, actually. He kept telling himself that she was the subject of a new experiment, but he couldn't help but question that; conducting research without recording any of the data? The thought seemed ridiculous.

He had noted some things, to be fair. Like the way she took really deep breaths when she was tired, how she would almost throw her pen down and stretch her fingers when they cramped from too much writing, the way she'd wet her lips so subtly before taking her bottom lip in between her teeth while thinking.

Oh God, those lips. Her entire face, in fact. Ai found it so pure; flawless, even. He liked looking at her eyes, they were big and beautiful and always seemed to be telling a tale of their own. Her skin was another attribute of hers that Ai could never get tired of admiring; the skin that looked so smooth to the touch, and he longed to touch it, just to prove himself right.

By this time, Ai would usually stop himself. Remind himself that he was an idol and he wasn't allowed to think about girls the way he thought about her. But it proved especially difficult this time, and the azure-haired teen found himself contemplating whether or not he should actually go talk to her.

No. That would make things worse, right? If he was lenient with himself once, he'd only crave her more. No. He'd have to forget, he decided. Forget how much he admired her, how beautiful she was, how much he wanted to protect her. No.

Why was he walking towards her? No.

This was wrong. He'd get fired. No.

What was he doing? She was looking up at him now. No!

"Hello. My name is Mikaze Ai." Shit.

Really, what in the hell was he doing?

All his self-reprimanding ceased and effectively disintegrated to be replaced by a strange but comforting warm feeling in his chest when she smiled at him. That same absolutely perfect smile he'd admired from afar for a long, long time.

"I'm (f/n)," she said to him, her voice like a melody to his ears, those eyes yet again entrancing him, "(l/n) (f/n)."

Forget the subject of his experiment.

(f/n) was the subject of his infatuation.

And that, in itself, was fascinating.