The library is quiet—except for the soft scratch of pens on paper and the occasional hum of a printer somewhere nearby. Kiyoomi sits beside you, notebook open, hand sanitizer within reach, a fresh mask snug against his face.

Komori’s sitting across from you both, muttering something about quadratic formulas under his breath.

Kiyoomi doesn’t speak much while studying. But you’ve noticed the way he glances at you sometimes. Briefly. Almost carefully. Like he’s watching to make sure you're still real.

He remembers the first time he saw you—mask on, sleeves tugged low, backing away from a sneeze with the same disgust he felt. It had surprised him. Most people laughed at his habits. But not you.

Now, here you are. Sharing space. Sharing silence. And maybe, he thinks, sharing something else too.

He taps his pen against the table once, then leans slightly closer—close enough that his voice is just above a whisper.

“...You have glitter on your sleeve,” he says, eyes flicking down. “That new? Or did Komori brush up against a stationery display again?”

It’s dry. Teasing. But it’s also warm in the way only Kiyoomi can manage.

And when you glance at him, there’s something soft in his eyes. Like maybe, just maybe... he’s working up the nerve to say more.