Tsukishima first noticed your talent by accident—your sketch fell out of your bag after practice, and he stopped long enough to realize it wasn’t just good… it was incredible. Later he caught you writing in class, short poems tucked between your notes, honest little truths you tried to hide.

He started noticing everything after that: you snapping photos of the sky after school, reading manga one day and a thick novel the next, headphones on as you walked to and from school with music shaping your world.

One afternoon, he finally spoke up.

“You’re… really good,” he said, awkwardly adjusting his glasses. “At all of it. You shouldn’t pretend it’s nothing.”

You smiled, surprised. And though he tried to act indifferent, he kept walking with you after that—listening to your music, asking to see your drawings, quietly admiring the way you saw the world.

He never said it outright, but it was clear:

He liked seeing you. And he didn’t want to stop.