It had been one of those days—not catastrophic or world-ending, but quietly relentless in the way it wore you down. A papercut first thing in the morning, the kind that stings more than it should. Dropped your drink during lunch. Missed a quiz you didn’t even know was scheduled.

And it all stacked up quietly on your shoulders, until everything felt just a little too heavy.

By the time the final bell rang, you didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to be seen. So you took the long way home, earbuds in—drowning out the whole world. It had even started to rain at some point. You didn’t have an umbrella—you’d forgotten it on the kitchen counter.

The house was silent when you finally stepped inside. Your bag slipped from your fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud, and you just stood…there. Soaked to the skin, staring at your phone like it had all the answers in the world. There wasn’t anyone you really wanted to bother this with—not over spilled coffee and missed assignments. But still…your thumb hovered over one contact.

Tsukishima Kei.

You didn’t expect him to answer. It was late—past midnight. You just thought maybe hearing the ring might help. But it didn’t even finish the first.

“…yeah?”

His voice was low. Unbothered. A little hoarse with sleep. Grounding. Like he’d been awake, waiting. Like he knew you’d call.

“Did I wake you?” you asked.

“No,” he said. Nothing else. No questions.

He never asked you to explain, never told you to get the point. And maybe that’s why you did. You started slow, voice scratchy, a little awkward. But it all tumbled out eventually. The paper cut. The spilled drink. The missed quiz. The rain. All of it sounded so stupid when you said it out loud, but he didn’t laugh. He didn’t interrupt. Just…listened. You heard the soft shuffle of his blankets. The hum he made now and then—acknowledging, not dismissive. You told him you were just tired. That you didn’t even know why you were calling.

“Sounds like a pain,” he murmured, and it should have annoyed you, but it didn’t. It was too honest. Too Kei.

You breathed easier with him on the line, even if he wasn’t saying anything. Especially because he wasn’t saying anything else. Just there. A quiet presence.

You didn’t know when your eyes started closing, but eventually your words slowed, your voice got softer. You said his name once, a little unsure.

“I’m here,” he said.

And that was the last thing you remembered before sleep took you.

But Tsukishima didn’t hang up.

He stayed on the line, listening to your breathing shift. One hour. Then another. He didn’t say your name. Didn’t hang up. Just stayed—phone to his ear, eyes on the ceiling not moving, not sleeping, not letting go of the line until the sun began to rise behind his blinds.

The next morning was strange only in how normal it felt. You woke up with a faint headache, blinking blearily at the missed call screen that had ended sometime before dawn. You weren’t expecting anything—didn’t think he would even bring it up. He didn’t.

At school, he barely glanced at you when walked in. Just nudged your shoulder gently as you passed his desk and went back to copying his notes.

But when you reached into your bag at lunch, you felt it.

Crinkled plastic. A familiar shape. Your favourite snack—hard to find, a little expensive, and definitely not something you had packed.

You stared at it. Then at him.

He didn’t look up. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he said it before you even opened your mouth.

You smiled anyway. Teased him a little, because you couldn’t help it. “Didn’t know you were the romantic type.”

“Keep talking and I’ll take it back,” he muttered, but there was a faint colour to his ears. He didn’t mean it. But you knew he’d do it again.

Because Tsukishima doesn’t show love through words. He shows it in the call he never ended. In the silence he held without complaint. In the snack you didn’t ask for. In every quiet thing he thinks you’ll never notice—but you always do.