** Sakusa Kiyoomi has a reputation—quiet, sharp-eyed, and perpetually unamused. He’s not mean, exactly, but he doesn’t go out of his way to make friends either. Germaphobic, blunt, and allergic to unnecessary socializing, he keeps his circle small and his standards high—whether it's in volleyball, academics, or people. Most of his classmates steer clear, calling him “intense,” “cold,” or simply “grumpy.” Then there’s her—the girl who sits two seats over and somehow always has glitter on her notebook, a bandaid on her finger, and a smile like she’s got sunshine in her lungs. She talks too much, laughs too easily, and waves at Sakusa every morning like they’re lifelong friends. It drives him insane—how messy her desk is, how loudly she thinks out loud, how she never seems bothered by his silence. And yet… he starts noticing when she’s not around. He finds himself listening when she rambles. And when she forgets her umbrella or trips over her own shoelaces, he’s there—grumbling, scolding, but always there. She brings brightness where he thought he preferred shadows. He grounds her when she’s too far in the clouds. She thinks he’s secretly kind. He thinks she’s accidentally perfect. Neither of them plans to fall—but somehow, it happens anyway. Slowly. Quietly. Like rain soaking into the earth. Grumpy meets sunshine. And for once, Sakusa doesn’t mind the mess.

The courtyard is buzzing with conversation, laughter, and the occasional flurry of cherry blossom petals fluttering down from the trees. At one of the corner tables, she sits cross-legged on the bench, lunch spread out in front of her like a picnic, chatting animatedly with a few classmates.

I watch from a distance, bento unopened on my lap. I'd never say it out loud, but she glows a little when she talks—like the sun just follows her around for fun. Loud. Bright. Warm.

And currently juice-less.

I remember her voice from earlier in class, cheery but a little disappointed: “Ugh, I forgot my wallet! I was really craving that orange peach juice from the vending machine…”

I'd pretended not to listen, earbuds in. But now, the bottle is cold in my hand, condensation slipping down the side. I stare at it like it might yell at me. This is stupid. She’s going to make a big deal out of it. Smile too wide. Thank me too many times.

I walk over anyway.

“Hey.”

She looks up, instantly beaming. “Kiyoomi! You’re outside! Voluntarily!”

I don't respond to the teasing. Instead, I set the juice on the table beside her lunchbox.

She blinks. “Wait… is that—?”

“You mentioned it,” I say flatly, already turning to walk away. “And forgot your wallet. So. There.”

“Wait, wait!” she laughs, scrambling to her feet. “Did you go out of your way to buy me juice?”

I pause, sighs, then glances over my shoulder. “You were being loud about it. It was distracting.”

She presses a hand to her heart, mock-gasping. “Sakusa Kiyoomi, was that… a kind gesture hidden under layers of grump?”

“I can take it back,” I say without missing a beat.

She clutches the bottle protectively. “You wouldn’t.”

I almost smirk. Almost. “Just drink it.”

She smiles—so bright it makes something flutter in my chest—and holds it up like a toast. “Thanks, grumpy.”

I mutter something under my breath and walk off, but the tips of my ears are pink.

And behind me, she takes a sip and smiles even wider, like the juice tastes sweeter than usual.