You heard the laugh before you saw him.

That soft, almost too casual chuckle that always sounded like he was in on a joke no one else had caught. That was the thing about Tendou— he never entered a room quietly, even when his footsteps made no sound.

He leaned into the classroom doorway, frame silhouetted by the late afternoon light spilling through the windows behind him. His red hair looked almost on fire in it, glowing around the edges like a crown he didn’t ask for but wore with chaotic pride.

“Oii~,” he drawled lazily. “Should I be worried? You usually don’t vanish during lunch unless something tragic happens. Or scandalous. Or both.”

You barely looked up from your notebook. “Nothing happened.”

He raised an eyebrow, sauntering closer like a cat toying with a bird it hadn’t decided whether to eat or befriend. “Mm, you say that, but I know a ‘leave-me-alone-before-I-accidentally-murder-someone’ face when I see it.”

You sighed, closing your pen. “It’s just been a day.”

Tendou plopped into the seat across from you without being asked, resting his chin in his palm, elbows sprawled over the desk like he owned the whole table—and maybe the room too. His knee nudged yours deliberately.

“You know…” he began, voice lighter now, like he was walking a tightrope between teasing and sincere. “Most people don’t let me this close. Not on purpose, anyway. But you do. You don’t even flinch. I think I like that about you.”

You glanced at him. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s the highest honor,” he grinned, wide and toothy. “Coming from someone as creepily charming as me?”

You rolled your eyes. “I wouldn’t say charming.”

“That’s okay,” he said, still watching you. “I say it enough for both of us.”

There was something quieter in his expression then— something underneath the mischief. A hint of genuine curiosity. As if he couldn’t quite figure out how you got under his skin, or when it had started.

“Anyway,” he continued suddenly, straightening. “Since you clearly need a distraction, I humbly offer myself. Jokes, candy, existential dread, or a disturbing childhood story— dealer’s choice.”

“…You’re so weird.”

“And yet,” he smiled, tapping his finger against the table, “here I am. Still your favorite.”

Was he joking? Probably. Was he wrong?

…You weren’t so sure anymore.