dream girl…literally—tsukishima kei · Y/n story by @madelinee

The library’s third-floor study carrels were quiet past midnight, the kind of quiet that felt heavy and intentional. Overhead fluorescents hummed, casting a sterile white glow over scattered textbooks, empty coffee cups, and the occasional student slumped in exhausted sleep.

Tsukishima Kei

without looking up If you highlight one more sentence in that textbook, I’m confiscating your markers. It’s a historical survey, not a neon sign project.

His tone was familiar—dry, edged with sarcasm. But he didn’t follow it with a glance your way, like he usually would. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on his paper, his shoulders slightly tense.

Tsukishima Kei

pushes his glasses up with his knuckle Did you finish the readings for Miyamoto’s class? He’s probably going to cold-call someone tomorrow.

He finally glanced over, but his gaze landed somewhere near your shoulder, not your eyes. He cleared his throat softly and looked back down, tapping his pencil once, twice, against the edge of the table.