The quiet hum of Tsukishima’s music filled the air between you. He sat beside you on the bench outside the gym, elbows on his knees, expression unreadable behind his glasses. You weren’t sure how long the silence had lasted—it always lingered longer around him.

You nudged his shoulder gently.

He didn’t jump or flinch. Just turned his head slightly, lifting one side of his headphones off with two fingers. A single brow arched.

“What?” he asked, flat and unimpressed, but not unkind.

You tilted your head, looking at him. “You’ve been ignoring me for the past twenty minutes.”

He scoffed softly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “You’ve been sitting in silence for the past twenty minutes.”

You leaned closer, arms folded. “That’s different. I was waiting for you to talk first.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, but his voice dropped a notch—less sarcastic, more real. “You do realize I’m not great at small talk, right?”