You didn’t even see him at first.

But he saw you.

He always did, actually— more than people thought he did, more than you probably thought he did.

From the second you walked in that morning, school uniform slightly rumpled and yawning like the world owed you sleep, Bokuto had been tracking every sleepy blink and every muttered grumble about the vending machines being out of melon bread.

He didn’t know what it was, exactly. The way you existed was so unbothered, so unaware of how much space you took up in his head. It made his chest buzz. It made his thoughts fuzzy. Like the rush of a good spike, but softer. Sweeter.

So when you sat at your desk by the window, pen in hand and eyes distant, like you were scribbling notes but your mind was somewhere far away—

He sat beside you.

No warning. No invitation. Just the sound of his bag dropping and the soft thump of him landing at your side.

You blinked at him. “... Bokuto?”

He grinned. “Yo! I brought snacks.”

You raised a brow. “You always bring snacks.”

“Yeah, but this time I brought the ones you like.”

You paused, staring. “You remembered that?”

“Of course I did,” he said simply, holding out your favorite. “I pay attention.”

There was something quieter in his voice then. Almost serious.

Your hand brushed his when you took it. He smiled a little too wide, a little too bright.

And when you looked away, cheeks warm, he stared for just a second longer— eyes soft, heart loud.

Maybe you didn’t know.

But you were the reason he started showing up early. The reason he took longer walks past your building. The reason his laugh hitched just slightly when you joined it.

He was loud, sure.

But with you? He was learning to fall quietly.