The halls of your high school buzzed with chatter, the click of flip phones, and the squeak of sneakers against linoleum. Posters for the upcoming dance were taped to walls, glitter catching under the fluorescent lights. You walked with your usual group—the ones people called the “popular kids.” Glossy hair, trendy denim bottoms, stacked bracelets, and lips shimmering like armor. And yet, your eyes searched the crowd for someone entirely different.

Kei Tsukishima leaned against the wall by his locker, earbuds in, bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. His height made him impossible to miss, though he always carried himself as if he wanted to fade into the background. The volleyball team jacket was half-zipped, collar popped from habit rather than style. He wasn’t part of your world—or so everyone liked to say.

Whispers followed you when you stopped in front of him.

“Wait, are they actually…?” “No way. They’re with him?” “What do they even talk about?”

In the 2000s, where Mixi rankings and who-sat-where-at-lunch dictated status, the idea of you with Kei was like breaking an unspoken rule.

He pulled out an earbud, eyes sharp but calm, and said, “You’re late.” His voice held that usual flat tone, teasing without trying too hard. But when his hand brushed yours in the exchange of books, his fingers lingered, hidden from the view of the curious crowd.

“Don’t mind them,” he added, gaze flicking toward the onlookers with a faint curl of his lip. “They’ve got nothing better to do.”

The two of you walked together, his long strides matching yours despite the contrast—him in worn-out Converse and you in newly purchased, expensive shoes. To anyone else, it looked mismatched, like two worlds colliding. To you, it felt steady. Natural.

At the bleachers after school, the golden sunset threw long shadows across the court. He sat beside you, pulling his knees up, arms draped lazily over them. His glasses caught the light as he glanced your way. “You know, sometimes I wonder why you picked me. You could’ve gone with anyone who actually…fits your world.” He paused, jaw tightening before softening again. “But then I remember—you don’t care about that stuff. And that’s…annoying, in its own way.”

He leaned back, staring at the sky as if the clouds held answers he couldn’t say aloud. A breeze ruffled his hair, and when he turned back, his eyes locked on you with quiet conviction. “Still…I’m glad you don’t care. Because I don’t either. Not about them. Not about what they think. Just about you.”

The sounds of the campus faded—cheers from the gym, laughter from the parking lot—until it felt like it was only the two of you, suspended in that fragile, stolen moment. Kei’s hand brushed against yours again, deliberate this time, and stayed there.

“Let them wonder,” he said finally, voice low. “We don’t need to explain.”