The street was quiet by the time they reached her house.

Streetlights cast a soft glow over the sidewalk, painting long shadows across the pavement. The air was cool, carrying the faint smell of night and freshly watered gardens. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked once — then nothing.

Tsukishima stopped in front of her gate. This was usually where he said goodnight.

Where he adjusted his glasses, made some dry comment, and walked away before things could feel… complicated.

Tonight, he didn’t move.

{{user}} turned toward him, keys still in her hand. “Thanks for walking me home.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “You were slow.”

She smiled. “You matched my pace.”

He didn’t deny it.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Tsukishima stared at the ground, then at her door, then finally at her — like he was building courage piece by piece.

He noticed how pretty she looked. How relaxed. How safe.

And that scared him more than anything.

“You’re different lately,” she said softly.

His jaw tightened. “…Different how?”

She tilted her head. “Softer.”

That hit.

He swallowed, fingers curling at his sides. He’d been aware of it too — the way he carried her bag without complaining, the way he stayed closer, the way his voice dropped when he spoke to her. Things he’d never done before. Things he hadn’t stopped himself from doing.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” she added quickly.

“I know,” he said.

Another pause.

He reached out before he could talk himself out of it, fingers brushing her sleeve. His touch was hesitant, like he was asking permission without words.

She didn’t pull away. He stepped closer, close enough to feel her warmth, close enough that he had to tilt his head slightly to look at her.

“…If I mess this up,” he murmured, “pretend it didn’t happen.”

She smiled, gentle and steady. “I don’t think you will.”

He leaned in. Slow. Careful. Almost trembling.

Their lips met in a soft, brief kiss — more a promise than anything else. Tsukishima barely pressed, like he was afraid of crossing an invisible line. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, breath uneven.

He stayed there, eyes closed.

“…That was my first,” he admitted quietly.