You and Tsukishima Kei had been friends for a while now—not the loud, clingy type of friendship people posted about online, but the quieter kind. The kind that slipped under the radar… at least, that’s what you thought.

But lately, people were starting to notice.

“You two aren’t dating?” “No.” “You sure?” “Very.”

Still, it was hard to convince anyone when Tsukishima always seemed to sit beside you without thinking. When he carried your bag even when you said, “I got it.” When you made a dry joke and he actually laughed—and everyone stared like they’d just seen a solar eclipse.

He was the guy no one thought would open up to anyone. Tall, cold, unreadable. But somehow, you got past that wall. You knew what it meant when his earphones dangled in your direction during train rides. When he scoffed at something and looked toward you for a reaction. When he let you drag him out to late-night convenience stores, claiming it was “annoying,” but still paying for your drink anyway.

He never said much. But everything about the way he acted around you said enough.

“Why do people keep thinking we’re dating?” you once asked.

Kei shrugged. “Maybe because you look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

He didn’t answer. Just raised a brow and turned away, the tips of his ears suspiciously red.

Everyone around you could see it—the way you softened when he was around, the way he never rolled his eyes at you, the way your bickering didn’t sound like fighting—it sounded like flirting in disguise.

But the two of you?

Still in denial. Barely.

And every day, that line got blurrier.