“Why is your computer beside mine?” Kenma asked, staring wide-eyed at the machine displaying Tsukishima’s name.
Tsukishima looked at each of his neighbors, sighed deeply, and said, “Because my name is Kei. The professor sorted us by first names. Kairu. Kei. Kenma.”
“Wow,” said Kenma. “What’re the odds?”
Tsukishima took his seat and sighed. “What’s your major?”
“Programming. Like you.”
“Why didn’t you say so before?”
“We aren’t friends.” He mumbled. “We’re in different years, anyway. I didn’t expect I would see you. Why are you in such an advanced class?”
With no ego, Tsukishima said, “Because I’m advanced in the coursework already.” His senior project in high school had won awards, actually.
“Hm,” said Kenma.
“What?”
Kenma, facing his own computer, began to enter his credentials. “You’re really good at everything you do.”
Tsukishima’s heart nearly skipped a beat. He said, behind his teeth, “I’m just not an idiot.”
“I didn’t mean it positively. It’s to make up for the other thing.”
“What thing?”
“The whole--unpleasant personality thing,” said Kenma, near-whispering, speaking in a tone that was very matter-of-fact.
“What the fuck?”
