Tsukishima takes a seat against the tree near the bench I'd been sitting on. He would've looked like he was sleeping if he wasn't toying with the cord of his headphones while he he ate his own lunch. There was no noise besides the leaves rustling in the wind and the crumpling of a sandwich bag as I ate. I could also hear my chewing, but he probably couldn't so it doesn't count.
During that time I couldn't stop thinking about the bullies. Really, I should've been happy that they left. They didn't have to go. Tsukishima probably wasn't going to tell anyone. They'll be back before the week is over to tease me about my gross face.
"Thanks," I said anyways. I stuffed the crust of the sandwich into the bag. Mom must've been in a rush that morning because she usually takes it off.
Tsukishima didn't say anything, just nodded.
"Ah, do you like cheesecake?" I asked.
"What flavor?"
"Strawberry."
He made weird hand gesture. It was some mix between come here and toss it so I decided to just hand it to him.
As I turned to leave, he pulled me down (he giggled when I squeaked) into an awkward hug. It was surprisingly warm and cozy, sure, but he seemed to not be sure of what to do with his arms. He chose to pat one hand on my back near my shoulder blades and, after having permission, the other playing with my hair.
"You look sad. What's wrong?" he whispered after several seconds passed.
It was then I burst into tears for the second time that day. When I calmed down I told him everything I thought was wrong with me. Because he was the first person my age to ever ask me what was wrong.
We were practically cuddling by the time lunch was over.
I spent as much time with him as I could after that. When I realized we were neighbors (it took maybe three days to figure it out), I visited him as often as I could. Cuddling became so common that we no longer needed a reason to do it. When we were in public we'd stand or sit closer than usual and (unconsciously, I'll add) sync our breathing and footsteps.
Then we developed nicknames. The first time I called him Tsukki was in middle school. By then he had the reputation of caring for no one. There were rumors that he'd eventually toss me out into a garbage truck.
"Where's your lunch?" I asked as I set my bag on the table. I'd long since stopped using lunchboxes. The one from fourth grade left a pretty bad bruise.
Tsukishima shrugged. "I woke up late."
"Eh?! Tsukki!" I shouted, still standing. It seemed that everyone suddenly stopped to listen, but I kept on talking. "You could've at least brought something! I'll give you my sandwich and-"
"Shut up Yama, you're causing a scene." he said, glancing at the kids watching us.
"Sorry Tsukki!" I exclaimed, sitting down. "But my point still stands. Here's my sandwich and you're lucky I have a strawberry cheesecake."
Tsukki sighed but took the food with an smile unnoticeable to the untrained eye.
Behind me I heard a girl say, "At least he cares about people."
"You're wrong." another girl said. I imagine her shaking her head and the first girl frowning. "He cares about one person." I could almost feel her glancing at me.
It was that day when everyone knew Tsukki wouldn't toss me into the garbage.
