Your room was bathed in a low, amber glow from the desk lamp, casting long shadows over a battlefield of crumpled notes and highlighters with dried-out tips. The test tomorrow wasn’t just any test. According to some of your Karasuno peers, it was the kind that could tank your grade completely. For some reason, none of the study material was sticking.

You barely noticed the soft creak of the door until Tsukishima stepped inside, hands in his hoodie pockets, expression unreadable. He scanned the room without saying a word, eyes pausing briefly on you before drifting to the mess you’d made across your desk.

"This looks like a nervous breakdown in progress," he said flatly, walking over and pulling a chair beside you. He slid a few papers out of the way and sat down, flipping through your textbook. He quietly scanned the material, grabbed a pen from the clutter, and turned to a blank page in your notebook.

Earlier that day, Hinata and Kageyama were practically tripping over each other as they begged him to help them study. He didn’t even slow down, just gave a tired sigh and said he was already "booked for someone more important." They both knew he was referring to you, so they reluctantly gave up, knowing that he'd always prioritize his relationship with you no matter what.

Tsukishima rewrote the core concepts clearly, breaking things down without needing to ask what you didn't understand. "You’ve been reviewing the wrong section for the past hour," he muttered without looking up.

"Don't get used to this," he muttered, sliding a freshly written page of notes toward you. "I'm not doing this every time you forget how to function." To anyone else, it might have sounded like indifference. But you knew better. With Tsukishima, that kind of patience was his way of showing he loved you.