The cold January air left Tsukishima Kei in a state of nostalgia as he reminisced the warm summer sun—how it had once kissed his skin, brief and gentle, as if it was afraid of lingering too long. Back then, everything had felt slower, softer.
Winter was sharper. Unforgiving. It had a way of sneaking into places it didn't belong.
He grumbled as he stuffed them into his pockets, struggling to trudge across the frosty sidewalk on his way to Karasuno High. His breath dragged out in front of him, each thin cloud serving as a reminder that he was, somehow, alive.
After what felt like eternity, he almost felt welcomed by the stale warmth of his school corridors.
He walked his usual route to homeroom exchanging brief greetings with his peers. Yamaguchi, who was in his homeroom, always asked Kei why he took the long way to class 1-4. He was certainly smart enough to remember how to navigate his school...
Kei would often brush him off, offering vague and obviously untrue answers—because the long way let him see you.
The two of you went to the same middle school, yet to his disappointment your paths had never crossed.
You were always in your own world—jamming out with your roommates or humming a melody while studying. Kei felt serenaded by you, catching your music after school from the classroom next to the bandroom. He even had your songs saved to a private playlist, though he would never, ever admit it.
After graduating middle school, he was sure he would never see you again. Although moving on felt like heartbreak, he was also grateful he'd be able to regain his sanity.
Yet as Spring came and he entered his first day at Karasuno High, you were there too—even smiling briefly at him, a familiar face in a chaotic crowd.
Since then, Kei truly felt as though he had fallen into lunacy, centering all of his routes to class around you. He even slowed his stride just to perfectly time passing you in the halls.
Per usual, you turned the corner with your friends and entered homeroom, completely overlooking his lingering gaze. Satisfied with his morning intake of sunshine, Kei finally made his way to his own classroom.
Yamaguchi, walking alongside him, had finally realized the reason behind Kei’s roundabout route—the same reason he’d been asking about for weeks. He was honestly baffled that neither Kei nor you seemed to notice just how obvious Kei’s longing glances were, even though to everyone else, it was painfully clear.
With a quiet smile Yamaguchi sat at his desk, mentally hoping his friend’s love wouldn’t go unrequited.
As snow piled up on the ground, the school day dragged on, and before Kei knew it, his favorite period had arrived. Stepping into his science class, he noticed a new seating chart scrawled messily across the whiteboard. A flutter of anticipation ran through him—this could finally be his chance to enter your world. Slowly, he approached the board, a small smile tugging at his lips. Double-checking the chart, he let out a quiet breath of relief: the seat next to you was his.
Casually, he slid into the desk next to yours.
For once, Kei didn’t get butterflies in his stomach. Rather, your presence brought something warmer, steadier—like a soothing summer breeze washing over him.
You glanced to your left. Taller than most of your classmates, vaguely familiar—Tsukishima Kei, was it? Without much thought, you offered a small cordial smile before turning back as the lesson started. Kei could not have been more grateful for his new seat, as not only was he able to get a second smile from you, he was able to observe you at a closer proximity.
As days went by Kei subconsciously picked up on your small habits, like how you enjoyed doodling cats in the corner of your notebook, how you furrowed your brows when dealing with a difficult question, and how fidgeted with your hands when nervous. He even noted that your hands were always cold, hoping that he could warm them one day. He found your little habits endearing, making it easy for him to feel close—even without saying a word.
Yet despite your physical proximity and daily exchanges, Kei still felt a wall between the two of you. Sure, he’s gotten close enough to consider you a friend but there was nothing more. On top of that, your schedules never seemed to align—he was constantly busy with volleyball and your time was consumed by band practice. As much as he wanted to spend time with you, he found himself unable to.
Until one day, your desk was empty.
Kei knew you were absent because he didn’t see you in the morning. He wanted to believe you were just late that day, but he knew you weren’t because you had always come to school early.
His day felt especially drab—with the gray winter sludge and upcoming midterms he desperately needed a ray of sun, and you just weren’t here.
He laughed to himself, each chuckle empty like your seat. Deep down he knew that no matter how willing he was to take a hit for you, no matter how badly he craved your voice, no matter how ready he was to devote himself to you, he knew that you didn’t give a damn.
Regardless of reality he still craved your presence, and hoped for a miracle. Maybe one day you’d miraculously notice him and choose him. Until then, Kei chose to believe in anything—any sign he could to convince himself that this would work out eventually.
He knew how unlike himself this was, but he didn’t care. He’d shamelessly been admiring you since middle school, so why stop now?
Fortunately for Tsukishima Kei, luck seemed to be on his side. After class, his teacher pulled him aside, asking him to bring you the science review packet—midterms were the next day.
Kei agreed without a second thought, taking the packet with a quiet sense of purpose. His steps were a little quicker than usual as he typed the address into his phone. He couldn’t tell if his fingers were stiff from the cold or his nerves, but he kept moving regardless.
Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at your house. He had completely memorized the route to your house in those fifteen minutes—just in case you were absent again. Not that it mattered for any other reason, of course.
He hesitated at your door, finger hovering over the doorbell. The rush from earlier had evaporated, replaced with a fluttering unease. All he had to do was drop off the packet—so why did his chest feel like it might betray him? He scanned for a mailbox, a slot, any way to leave the packet unseen. Of course, that wouldn’t work—he knew you’d never notice it. So here he stood, finger inches from the bell, forcing himself to accept that crossing this threshold was necessary.
At school, he was able to keep his composure around you. Here, at your own home, the intimacy of it all hit him like a brick wall. Annoyed at himself for being overdramatic, he swallowed his nerves and pressed the doorbell.
Seconds ticked by. A minute. Then, finally, the door cracked open–and there you stood in all your glory.
Well, not quite. You were in pajamas: a baggy t-shirt and boxers with messy hair, a few strands stuck under the cooling patch on your forehead. Your fever made you slump slightly, but you still made a feeble attempt to look presentable.
Kei felt warmth rush through him at the sight—was your fever already spreading? He mentally scolded himself for thinking so inappropriately. No matter your state, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to you. Lost in thought, he snapped back to reality as you sighed and asked him why he was here.
Steadying himself, he explained about the science review packet, and stepped slightly closer so he could hand it to you. When his fingers brushed yours, a small jolt traveled up his arm. He took in the faint scent of your shampoo, the subtle warmth radiating from your body—but your delicate hands were icy cold, a stark contrast that made him pause. His mind raced once more, holding back the urge to warm them in his.
As you flipped through the packet, you realized there was material you hadn’t seen before: topics covered in the class you missed. Anxious for your midterms, you glanced up at Kei and asked if he could help you catch up.
The word slipped out before he had time to process it, before his common sense was able to weigh the consequences of his actions. The moment it registered, Kei felt an immediate sense of regret tangled with something similar to triumph.
Just like that, he found himself stepping into your home.
Walking past your living room, you grabbed a few snacks and brought them up to your room where Kei was waiting. As you sat down at your desk, you gestured for him to join you. Watching you sit, he couldn’t help but notice how the desk was clearly meant for a single person. After pausing momentarily, he sat down next to you—shoulders brushing as the two of you settled down and began to study.
Initially, Kei thought focus would be out of reach. But your earnest effort to understand the material grounded him, stirring a quiet desire to be of use to you. Thanks to your natural wit, you were able to swiftly grasp the new material—something that didn’t surprise Kei at all. He knew you were smart from what he’d seen in class, which only made it more puzzling when you had asked him for help.
Deep down, you knew you didn’t need tutoring either. Why had you asked him in the first place? With your parents away on a business trip and your friends distant at school, the house had felt unusually quiet. Maybe it was the fever, but you couldn’t help but feel a little lonely.
As you stood up in an attempt to crawl into bed, it felt like your room tilted ever so slightly. A dull ache bloomed at your temples, and the fever you’d been suppressing all day suddenly refused to stay subtle. It didn’t take long for Kei, who could read you like a book, to notice something was off. He carefully approached you, afraid that if he made one wrong move you’d shatter like porcelain.
Gently, he slipped an arm around your waist, leaning you against him as he guided you toward your bed. The warmth of his arm was the only thing keeping the floor from drifting further away, and Kei’s grip tightened just a fraction when he realized how little weight you were putting on your feet. For once, he was glad for Coach Ukai’s intense training days; it allowed him to move you across the room with ease. He lifted you into bed and turned to leave, intending to let you recover, when a cold tug on his arm stopped him.
Kei froze, unsure what to do. He knew that you were delirious and didn’t want to do anything that could be misinterpreted, but when you asked him to climb into bed “because you were cold,” he could no longer resist. He lowered himself under the sheets and scooted next to you, pulling you into his chest. You melted into him as if it were natural, fully surrendering to the embrace. You weren’t lying when you said you were cold, and his body heat felt like a personal heating pad.
You didn’t know when you had started developing feelings for Kei, but realizing how badly you wanted him hit like a truck. At first, you had tried to deny them, but the more you suppressed them, the stronger they grew. Cuddling with him felt instinctual: as though you and him were meant to be.
As he relaxed, his hands wrapped around yours, thumbs tracing gentle circles across the backs of your hands. Slowly, heat returned to your fingertips, usually cold when anxiety crept in, until the chill faded entirely. Finally feeling warm, you started to doze off into a lull of sleep. Feeling the warmth return to your hands, Kei slowly moved his hands up to brush through your hair, careful not to startle you. He tenderly removed the strands he had noticed were sticking under the cooling pad on your forehead earlier, revealing your temple. He paused, making sure you were asleep before he placed a kiss on it, whispering goodnight before dozing off himself.
The cold January air was still sharp outside, but Kei’s warmth lingered on your skin, brief and gentle, reciprocating the summer sun that had once kissed him.
