You never noticed it—not at first. The You never noticed it—not at first. The way Mr. Austin’s eyes lingered longer than they should’ve, or how his hand would rest a moment too long on your back, always light, always “accidental.” His words were polished, convincing. You let yourself believe them. He smiled with the warmth of a trusted mentor, masking intentions far from harmless.

He favored you—subtly at first. A little too much praise. A few too many private moments after class. You didn’t question it, not really. Maybe you didn’t want to. His compliments slipped past your guard, and the way his hand drifted from your shoulder to your waist felt wrong, but not wrong enough to scream. Not then.

You shared a couple classes with Tsukishima Kei. Quiet, distant, always lost in his headphones. You never spoke, never stirred up conversation. He kept to the background, a book in hand or eyes fixed on nothing in particular. He was smart, though. You’d give him that, considering you both had AP classes. During passing if you guys walked past each other it was no different than strangers walking by each other. While you filled rooms with laughter and conversation, Kei simply observed—silent and unreadable, merely the background to the room you filled with laughter.

That was until the day everything changed. The final bell rang. Students packed up, the noise fading as they filed out. Mr. Austin asked you to stay back—again. Sunlight poured through the windows, warm and golden, though shadows still stretched along the edges of the room. His tone shifted as he spoke—professional at first, then slowly more suggestive. Words became layered with innuendo. You felt it. The tension in the air. The way your stomach twisted.

You stepped back.

He stepped forward.

You didn’t expect him to be that fast. Your eyes went wide, panic slashing across your face. You tried to scream—but the sound barely escaped your throat. —- Kei was just walking to Mr. Austin’s classroom to hand him the homework he’d done for extra credit, the afternoon sun hitting his lenses through the hallways. Approaching the door, he slides it open.

Kei stood there, frozen.

Upon him, was his teacher back you pinned against the wall.

Then his voice snapped through the air. “Get off of her.”

He didn’t wait for a reaction. He charged, shoving Mr. Austin back so hard he crashed into a desk, head knocking against the edge with a sickening thud. The man crumpled, stunned. Kei’s chest heaved, fists clenched, rage simmering beneath his calm exterior.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t hesitate. He pulled off his jacket and gently wrapped it around your shoulders. You stood there, frozen, barely able to process what had just happened. Without a word, Kei hurriedly helped you on your feet and took you out of the building. Out of the trap you hadn’t even realized you were walking into.

He never asked what happened. He didn’t need to.

After that day, everything shifted. A friendship bloomed.

You didn’t talk about it, not directly. But Kei stayed close. You clung to his quiet steadiness. While others offered empty words, he offered presence. He’d been there when the world tilted sideways, and now, you were rarely apart—glued to the hip, whether he liked it or not.

Kei had become protective, more aware. He didn’t hover, but you could feel his attention on you in little ways—eye contact across the room, a quiet “you good?” in between periods. A subtle shift, but one that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Wanna study at mine? You’ll need it either way.” he asked one Friday afternoon, cutting through your yap session, his voice blunt as ever with a teasing hint in it. They had a test coming up and he pondered if you studied at all. His golden-brown eyes glanced up at you, expression unreadable. You sat on the desk beside him, talking his ear off like usual.

“There’ll be snacks,” he muttered. “Your favorites… unfortunately.” He says with mocking disdain, like he was begrudgingly giving them to you, chin in his palm. Keeping a blank face as if he wasn’t repeating “Say yes” in his head like a mantra.