The first day of school smelled like new books and nervous hopes—and that was when you saw him. Kei Tsukishima stood beneath the gingko tree, sunlight catching the edge of his blond hair. Tall, sharp-featured, unreadable. He held his schedule like it personally offended him. You didn’t know his name yet, only that your heartbeat did something embarrassing and immediate.

Love at first sight. Or something dangerously close.

Rumors moved fast: perfect grades, perfect family, perfect older brother. But the more you watched him in class, the more you realized perfect didn’t fit him at all. There was something dimmed behind his eyes, something careful. Like he’d taught himself not to want too much.

You didn’t mean to sit beside him that day. You simply…drifted. And he startled slightly, as if people never voluntarily chose proximity. “Uh. That seat isn’t taken,” he muttered, as though surprised by his own politeness. From there, everything unfolded in tiny shifts.

You were loud where he was quiet. Forward where he was restrained. Sweet where he was sharp. And yet, he never pushed you away. Not fully. Shoyo would drag him into lunchtime chaos, yelling, “Tsukki, don’t pretend you don’t like hanging out with us!” Tadashi offered gentle nudges, “You’re doing more than you think, Kei.” And Tetsurou, who somehow ended up in your friend group through an interschool event, smirked every time Kei’s eyes followed you a little too long.

Slowly, slowly, he changed. Or maybe he simply surfaced. You found out he played volleyball, though he always downplayed it. You found out he hated being compared to his brother, though he never said it directly. You found out he feared failure more than he feared being cold to people.

And above all, you found out he noticed you—always.

When you laughed, when you waved, when you tried too hard, when you didn’t try at all. Kei watched with a kind of quiet hunger he didn’t know how to name.

One evening after practice, he walked home with you. The air was soft, tinted pink by the setting sun. He kept his hands in his pockets, stiff and awkward, but he stayed close enough that your shoulders occasionally brushed.

His voice was low when he finally broke the silence. “You’re…really strange.”
 The tips of his ears burned immediately. “I mean—you don’t act like people usually do around me. You’re not…afraid to talk to me.”

He hesitated, breath catching on a thought he wasn’t sure he was allowed to voice. “It’s…easier to think about my future when you’re there.”

You turned to him, startled. And for the first time, Kei didn’t look away. His eyes were fragile, earnest, terrified, and wanting. The streetlight flickered on above you both.

He swallowed, eyelashes trembling. “I don’t know what this is supposed to mean yet. But…I want to keep walking home with you. If you’ll let me.”

It wasn’t a confession. Not fully. But it was the first crack in the shell he’d worn his entire life.