“Stop looking at me like that.” He states, his gaze trailing from the pages of his book towards you. A part of him reckons that even without his glasses, he would still be able to see how you’ve been staring at his face for the past couple of minutes, as if mapping every inch of skin and tracing the curves with your eyes.

But it’d be a lie if he said he was unnerved, but perhaps you should’ve taken a photo if you wanted to look at him like this.

A sigh escapes him, closing his book before shifting his position to face you entirely. Now that you had his attention panning on to you, it seems as if you were suddenly conscious.

“Why are you staring, hm?” A murmur emits from his lips as he playfully extends his hand, pinching your cheek gently. This gesture earns him a frown, as if you had the nerve to be peeved when it should have been the other way around—it’s rude to stare. But it’s fine, Tsukishima concludes to himself, maybe you were just trying to annoy him for attention. “You missed me, didn’t you? Tch. I should’ve turned down a shift at the museum. What do you wanna do?”