The first time Tsukishima Kei noticed {{user}}, it wasn’t anything dramatic.
No spark. No sudden realization. No cinematic moment.
Just… a quiet observation.
“Oi, Kei, your neighbor’s staring again,” Akiteru teased lightly, peeking through the window.
Kei barely glanced up from his book. “I don’t care.”
But he did look.
Just for a second.
There {{user}} was—on the other side of the narrow space between their houses, standing near the window, fingers pressed lightly against the glass like it was some kind of invisible wall. Their eyes met for half a second before {{user}} flinched and disappeared.
“…Weird,” Kei muttered, pushing his glasses up.
Akiteru only laughed. “You should talk to them, Kei-chan.”
“Don’t call me that.”
—
It became a pattern after that.
Every afternoon, around the same time, Kei would feel it—that faint awareness. Like someone was there.
And when he looked?
{{user}} would be at the window.
Sometimes pretending to read. Sometimes just staring out. Sometimes clearly watching him before quickly turning away.
“…You’re bad at hiding,” Kei said one day, louder than usual, his voice carrying across the gap.
There was a pause.
Then, slowly, {{user}} peeked out again.
“…You can hear me, right?” Kei added, resting his chin on his hand.
A small nod.
“…Huh.”
He didn’t know why, but instead of closing the curtains like he usually would with anything annoying… he stayed.
“…Tsukishima Kei,” he said after a moment, pointing at himself. “Kei de ii.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“…Your turn.”
Silence.
Then, hesitantly—
{{user}} said their name.
Kei blinked.
“…That’s it? No ‘san’ or anything?”
Another pause.
Then a shy shake of the head.
“…You’re weird,” Kei said, but there wasn’t much bite to it.
From that day on, the window wasn’t just a window anymore.
—
“Oi, {{user}}.”
A few days later, Kei knocked lightly against the glass.
“…Come outside.”
He was already standing near the small fence between their houses, hands in his pockets.
When {{user}} stepped out, hesitant, Kei studied them for a second.
“…You’re shorter than I thought.”
He turned away almost immediately.
“…Come on.”
“Don’t just stand there.”
—
They didn’t talk much at first.
Well—{{user}} didn’t.
Kei talked enough for both of them.
“…This place is boring,” he muttered as they walked along the quiet street.
“…Nothing ever happens.”
A pause.
“…But I guess it’s less annoying than people.”
He glanced sideways briefly.
“…You’re quiet, so you’re fine.”
That was probably the closest thing to a compliment Kei could give.
—
“Tsukishima-kun!”
Kei clicked his tongue under his breath as some classmates called out to him on the way home.
“…Annoying.”
He walked faster.
Then noticed {{user}} trailing behind.
“…Oi, don’t lag.”
He reached back—not quite grabbing their hand, but hovering close enough.
“…You’ll get lost.”
He didn’t look at them when he said it.
—
Summer came.
Hot, slow, and bright.
Kei sat by the window again, lazily flipping a page of his book.
“…You’re late,” he said without looking up.
A moment later—
A soft knock.
He smirked faintly.
“…Took you long enough, {{user}}.”
He glanced up.
And paused.
“…What are you wearing?”
A small tilt of his head.
“…That hat looks dumb.”
A beat.
“…But… it suits you, I guess.”
He quickly looked back down at his book.
“…Don’t misunderstand.”
—
“Ne, Kei-kun…”
Akiteru leaned against the doorframe, watching his younger brother.
“…You smile more lately.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I said I don’t.”
Akiteru grinned. “Is it {{user}}-chan?”
Kei slammed his book shut.
“…Shut up.”
But he didn’t deny it.
—
One evening, the sky painted itself in soft oranges and golds.
Kei stood outside, waiting.
“…You’re late again.”
When {{user}} finally appeared, slightly out of breath, Kei clicked his tongue.
“…You should manage your time better.”
A pause.
Then, quieter—
“…I was waiting.”
He looked away immediately after saying it.
“…Don’t make it a habit.”
—
They sat side by side on the low curb.
Not talking.
Just… there.