The library was quiet, the soft rustle of pages and the occasional scrape of a chair the only sounds. Pond sat across from Light, elbows resting on the table, a notebook open before him, pencil in hand—but his attention was nowhere near the equations sprawled across the page.
He kept stealing glances at Light, noticing the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the soft curve of his lips when he muttered a solution under his breath. Every so often, Light would glance up, catching Pond staring, and offer a small, amused smile.
-You're staring again, -Light said quietly, leaning a little closer, elbow brushing Pond's. -Do you even know what page we're on?
-Mhm… -Pond muttered, forcing his gaze back to his notebook, though his chest fluttered. -Yes… of course.
The truth was, he didn't care about the page. He cared about Light. Always about Light.
Ever since he was little, Pond had been this way-someone who retreated into his own little bubble but, once he trusted a person, became loyal, affectionate, and almost impossibly clingy. If he didn't get attention, he became sad, quiet, lost in his own thoughts. But when he did, he stayed close, offered warmth, and never let go easily. That was him now, leaning just slightly toward Light, shoulder brushing, hand occasionally lingering near the other's as they reached for a pencil or page.
-Are you even listening? -Light teased lightly, nudging his elbow again.
&I am… I just… -Pond hesitated, chest tightening. -I'm… distracted.
Light tilted his head, studying him like he usually studied notes, trying to figure out the problem. -Distracted by the textbook or me?
Pond froze, fingers tightening slightly around his pencil. He knew he'd been caught. He looked down, voice low. -You.
A small, quiet laugh escaped Light, and he nudged Pond's hand gently with his own. -Well, that's… flattering.
Pond's chest warmed. That simple touch, the soft brush of fingers, grounded him. He was nervous, yes, but with Light it didn't feel overwhelming. It felt… safe. Comforting. Like a puppy finally allowed to curl up near someone he trusted.
Hours passed like this-pages turned, pencils scratched, equations solved and mistakes quietly corrected-but the quiet gestures continued: leaning a little closer, hands brushing lightly, shared smiles when a problem clicked. Pond stayed near, attentive, careful not to crowd Light, but persistent in his closeness.
By the time the sun began to tilt toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the wooden floors of the library, Light finally spoke softly:
-Have you ever felt this before?
Pond blinked, caught off guard, chest tightening. For a moment, he just stared, then slowly shook his head. -I… I don't think I have. Not like this. Not with anyone.
The words hung between them, soft, fragile, and entirely honest. Light's hand twitched slightly, brushing closer to Pond's, tentative but deliberate. -Me too, -he admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips- more than I expected.
Pond let out a slow, steady breath, chest rising and falling, warmth spreading through him. This-being near Light, offering attention, staying close-was right. It was safe. It was new, yes, but it felt like exactly where he was supposed to be.
And as the afternoon sun shifted, painting the desks in muted gold, Pond realized something: he really liked light
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Pond hunched over his notebook, pencil moving steadily across the page. Numbers, equations, and diagrams sprawled before him in neat lines, the chaos of his thoughts channeled into focus. His shoulder brushed lightly against Light's as he leaned forward, but he didn't look up—his attention was entirely on the work.
Then, just as Light reached for a pencil, Pond leaned ever so slightly, pressing a quick muah! to his cheek. The contact was over in an instant. Pond didn't pause; his hand returned to the notebook, pencil moving as though nothing had happened.
Light blinked, surprised, but didn't react. Pond's eyes never left the page, brows furrowed, jaw tight with concentration. The warmth of the gesture lingered, but Pond didn't allow it to pull him from the rhythm of his work.
Pond leaned back slightly, pretending to focus. He grabbed his pencil, eyes narrowing at the notebook as if solving a complex equation. Light watched him for a moment, expecting the familiar precision he always brought to his work.
—but Pond's notebook was upside down.
He scribbled lines and numbers haphazardly, pretending to calculate, but the marks were random, a messy mimic of real math. Every so often, he'd pause, squint seriously at the page, as though deeply analyzing the results, before continuing the nonsense.
Light frowned, glancing at him. —Are you… sure you've got that right? —he asked quietly, leaning slightly over to check.
Pond's chest rose and fell, trying to suppress a small grin. —Mhm… yes… very complex… very… advanced.
Light leaned closer, eyebrows furrowed. Pond's shoulder brushed against his again, just barely, a quiet, familiar nudge. He didn't move away; instead, he let Pond "study" in peace, though suspicion flickered in his eyes.
The pencil scratched across the page, chaotic and upside down, but Pond's face remained perfectly serious. Every so often, he'd tilt his head, muttering a low —Hmm… yes… that makes sense…—as if the random scribbles were some profound solution.
—You're impossible, —Light muttered under his breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, realizing maybe Pond wasn't as focused as he pretended to be.
—Mhm… —Pond murmured, eyes on his notebook, still scribbling upside down, perfectly content with the little game he was playing.
Pond's pencil scratched across the page, scribbles twisting in every direction. He leaned forward just slightly, pretending to be absorbed in the numbers, shoulders brushing lightly against Light's.
—You're holding the book upside down, —Light said quietly, leaning closer, eyebrows raised.
Pond froze for a split second, then glanced at the notebook with mock seriousness. —Mhm… yes… very advanced technique, —he murmured, voice low, still faking concentration.
Light blinked, caught between amusement and exasperation. —Advanced technique? It looks like you're just scribbling random lines.
—Mhm… very complex… only experts can read it, —Pond replied, a small, almost imperceptible grin tugging at his lips. He continued scribbling, still upside down, careful not to break character.
(He was really trying to change his coldness and seriousness for light?)