Tsukishima sighed as he opened his locker, already expecting what he’d find. Sure enough, there it was—another love letter and a neatly wrapped chocolate. It had become a routine at this point, like clockwork. Every week, without fail. And the sender? Not exactly a mystery. You sat next to him in class, after all.

He chuckled under his breath as he unfolded the letter, scanning over your familiar handwriting. As much as he acted indifferent, he never threw them away. Every single one was tucked neatly between the pages of his books, kept in perfect condition—no creases, no smudges.

Tucking the letter away, he made his way back to class, slipping into his seat beside you like nothing happened.

“I’m tired of receiving chocolates,” he muttered, barely sparing you a glance as he leaned back in his chair. “Give me something else.”