The school festival buzzed with energy, a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds. Tsukishima and {{user}} moved through the throng, his arm brushing against mine with a casual familiarity that spoke volumes. A group of girls, their faces painted with festival makeup, tried to intercept him.

"Tsukishima," one of them chirped, "are you enjoying the festival?"

Tsukishima offered a polite but distant nod, his attention already shifting back to me. He subtly adjusted his glasses, his gaze lingering on my face for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. It was a quiet act of possession, a silent declaration of his affection. The girls, sensing the subtle shift in his demeanor, quickly lost interest. He was mine, and they knew it. He didn't need to say it; his actions spoke louder than words.