1. Meeting
The first time Tatsuya sees him is in the Japanese Literature Library, wobbling between tall aisles and entirely hidden behind a towering pile of reference volumes he had been carrying.
He couldn't have been more than five and a half feet; his arms, definitely too thin to be carrying that many books, are so pale that Tatsuya, for a moment, wonders if he's seeing ghost in the middle of the day. With each step, he passes in and out of the shadow the trees outside the window makes, seemingly melting into the backdrop of shelves upon shelves. Tatsuya blinks a few times to make sure he's still there, before belatedly realizing that he probably should offer his aid.
Glancing down at his half-finished outline, Tatsuya loosely gathers his possessions into a pile and pushes his chair in. As he makes his way toward the shaky figure between the shelves, he absently brushes his bangs out of his eyes. His shirt is wrinkled from hours of sitting in a wooden chair, so he runs his hands down his person to smooth out the creases.
As if sensing Tatsuya's approach, the figure stops walking, leaving him in a spot where, when the wind next blows, the shadow looms over his whole person.
Tatsuya slides a finger across the underside of his eyes to clear himself of the sleepy mood his studying has put him in. He squints a little to make sure the figure, almost-white skin washed out by the gray of shadow and nondescript casual clothes seemingly a trick of the light on the cloth-bound titles on the shelves, is still there (and in fact, not a figment of his imagination).
"Hello," Tatsuya greets softly.
A barely noticeable tilt tells him the figure has heard him.
"Would you like some help with that?"
Tatsuya watch the figure freeze, a moment suspended in time, before a voice so soft he can barely catch whispers its reply.
"That would be appreciated. Thank you."
Tatsuya glances at slender fingers digging into the corner of the lower-most volume and relieves their owner of two-thirds of his pile.
His effort is rewarded by his first real glimpse of the mysterious figure's face.
Pale blue locks, darkened slightly by moisture, is plastered all over a small, pale face. His jaw is smooth, lacking any sharp angles men of college age usually have. The boy (for it seems strange to call him a man) looks up, and Tatsuya's eyes are drawn into large, round blue eyes a shade darker than his hair. If it isn't for the lean muscles Tatsuya can see in the other's bare forearms and calves, he would've thought him a girl.
Tatsuya smiles at the boy, who watches him cautiously and nods at him in gratitude.
"Where to?" He keeps his tone light and friendly.
The boy gestures to a group of desks some distance away from Tatsuya's own. "I left my bag over there."
The two of them make their way toward where, now that Tatsuya is looking, he can see a few books and writing utensils haphazardly spread out on a desk.
"What are you working on?" Tatsuya asks, frowning at the obscure title of the top most of the books he is holding. They're archaic kanjis beyond his reading ability, which is why for his required report he has chosen secondary sources only.
"A paper for Heian waka poetry. The professor wanted comparisons of various court poets with their anonymous counterparts so I was searching for the earlier compilations," the boy tells him in monotone, though the glimmer in his eyes reveals his passion for his chosen subject.
Tatsuya smiles self-deprecatingly. "Unfortunately, my knowledge of Japanese literature is elementary at best."
The boy looks up at him, hair (now dry and adorably fluffy) falling back from his face. "Then why are you here?" he asks bluntly.
Tatsuya falters. Smiling wryly, he admits, "I actually have a paper for Modern Japanese Literature due in a few weeks... I wasn't making much progress in the dorms, so I thought a change of scenery would be beneficial."
Nodding seriously, the boy walks on in silence. After a few more steps, he inquires, "Are you not good with literature?"
"I'm decent in literature, by itself," Tatsuya allows, "but Japanese isn't my mother tongue, so I sometimes confuse different structures."
The boy continues walking in thoughtful silence. They arrive at his desk and Tatsuya gently places the load of books onto the wooden surface. The boy follows his lead and wordlessly orders the pile into three stacks.
Tatsuya lingers by the desk as the other works, glancing back once at his own work station and the hovering unease of work undone.
The boy finishes and turns back to him, folding himself in a deep bow.
"Thank you very much for your help. I am in your debt."
Smiling and ignoring how his eyes stray to the exposed skin of the boy's nape, Tatsuya waves his thanks off.
The boy frowns and insists that he dislikes leaving favors un-repaid. Staring at the pout forming at the corner of the boy's mouth, Tatsuya couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle.
"It's really fine," he repeats. As the boy opens his mouth once again in protest, Tatsuya, seized by an impulse he himself could not explain, grabs the boy's hand.
"What-"
"Would you leave me your contact information?"
The boy frowns, and tries to pulls his hand back. Tatsuya makes himself let go easily enough.
The boy stares at him blankly. "Is there a reason...?"
"Since you insist on repaying favors, I was hoping you could help me with my paper." he improvises.
"Now is fine-"
Tatsuya smiles apologetically. "Unfortunately, I have an appointment today that I shouldn't miss. Would you give me your number so we can set up a different time?"
After a long pause, the boy sighs. "Okay, please give me a minute," he says reluctantly. Tearing off an edge from a sheet of lined paper, he scribbles a few digits and holds the paper out to Tatsuya. "I'm sorry, I don't have my phone today," he explains.
Reaching a hand out to the piece of paper, Tatsuya locks gaze with the boy and smiles.
"I'm Himuro Tatsuya. I'll be in your care."
The boy tilts his head to one side, eyes considering, before his face softens into a hint of a smile. Tatsuya is half-aware that he is staring (not just looking politely and waiting for a reply, but staring).
"My name is Kuroko Tetsuya."