Kei Tsukishima was the kind of person you tried very hard not to notice.

Unfortunately, he made that almost impossible.

He always sat near the window, usually with his headphones hanging around his neck and a book open in front of him. His blond hair was slightly messy, his glasses resting perfectly on the bridge of his nose, and his expression permanently stuck somewhere between bored and mildly annoyed.

He was smart, too. Annoyingly smart.

He always seemed to know the answer before the teacher had even finished asking the question. He finished assignments early, rarely looked stressed before exams, and somehow managed to make studying look effortless.

You'd decided you disliked him.

That was the sensible explanation.

At least, it was supposed to be.

Over time, though, you started noticing little things about him.

Like how he'd silently slide an extra pen onto your desk whenever yours ran out of ink. Or how he'd leave his notes open beside you when he noticed you were struggling with a lesson.

He never mentioned doing it.

You never thanked him.

That was simply how things worked between you.

One afternoon, the two of you stayed behind after class to finish a project. The classroom was almost completely empty, with only the quiet ticking of the clock and the occasional sound of footsteps passing through the hallway.

You stared at your worksheet.

Then you sighed.

“I don't understand any of this.”

Tsukishima didn't even look up from his book.

“You've been staring at the same question for five minutes.”

“I've been thinking.”

“You've been staring.”

You frowned at him. “Are you going to help me or not?”

He finally closed his book.

“Give it here.”

You pushed the worksheet toward him, and he pulled it closer. He began explaining the problem in that calm, almost bored voice of his.

You tried to listen.

You really did.

But somewhere along the way, you became more interested in watching him than the assignment.

The way his fingers held the pencil. The slight movement of his eyebrows whenever he concentrated. The way his glasses caught the sunlight whenever he tilted his head.

You didn't realize you'd been staring until he stopped talking.

“Finished?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Staring.”

Your face warmed immediately.

“I wasn't staring.”

“Right.”

He adjusted his glasses and looked back at the worksheet, though the faintest hint of a smile was visible on his face.

“You're annoying.”

“I've heard.”

“You enjoy getting on my nerves.”

“Maybe.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You definitely do.”

Tsukishima leaned back in his chair.

“It's entertaining.”

“What's entertaining?”

“Watching you get flustered.”

You froze.

He looked completely composed.

“You're doing that on purpose?”

“Obviously.”

You crossed your arms. “You're horrible.”

“And yet you keep sitting next to me.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it.

He had a point.

For weeks, you'd been finding excuses to sit beside him. You'd ask about homework you already understood. You'd borrow notes you didn't really need. Sometimes, you'd even stay after class just because he happened to be there.

Maybe Tsukishima had noticed.

Actually, you were beginning to suspect he'd noticed everything.

He glanced at you.

“You're quiet.”

“I'm thinking.”

“That's dangerous.”

You kicked his chair lightly under the desk.

He laughed under his breath.

It was quiet and brief, but it caught you off guard.

“You laughed.”

“So?”

“You actually laugh?”

“Occasionally.”

“I've never heard you laugh before.”

“Maybe you're not usually this funny.”

You stared at him.

“That was a joke?”

“Unfortunately.”

You couldn't help laughing.

For a moment, the teasing disappeared, and the two of you simply sat there, smiling at each other.

Then Tsukishima looked away first.

“Come on. We still have work.”

“You're ruining the moment.”

“What moment?”

“You know.”

“I don't.”

“You're impossible.”

“So you've said.”

You picked up your pencil again, but before you could return to the assignment, Tsukishima spoke quietly.

“You know, you're not as annoying as I thought you'd be.”

You looked at him.

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Don't get excited.”

“Too late.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted.

A few minutes passed in comfortable silence.

Then you noticed something written in the margin of his notebook.

A small reminder.

Your name.

You looked at him suspiciously.

“Why is my name in your notebook?”

His eyes widened for half a second before he quickly closed it.

“It's nothing.”

“Tsukishima.”

“Don't.”

“You wrote my name.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

He looked at you for a long moment.

Then he sighed, resting his chin against his hand.

“Because I was thinking about you.”

Your heart skipped.

He seemed almost annoyed with himself for admitting it.

“Don't make that expression.”

“What expression?”

“The one where you're about to overthink everything.”

You smiled.

“So you like me.”

Tsukishima stared at you.

For once, he didn't have a sarcastic response ready.

Then he looked away, his ears turning faintly pink.

“...Maybe I do.”

You smiled wider.

“Maybe?”

“Don't push your luck.”

“You're blushing.”

“I'm not.”

“You are.”

He covered his face with one hand.

“I'm starting to regret telling you.”

You laughed softly.

He glanced at you through his fingers, and despite his embarrassment, he was smiling.

“Still,” he murmured, “I suppose it was worth it.”