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His name would roll off the tongues of adolescent and teenage girls, accompanied by dreamy sighs. They’d all looked up to him as though he was Prince Charming or the handsome male lead of a shoujo manga. And, in all honesty, you couldn’t blame them, even back then when you hadn’t known him personally.

He was everything a prepubescent girl could ever want from a guy. From good looks to an approachable persona, he effortlessly sold the image his fans had crafted of him. He hardly turned down the attention and only fuelled their advances, easily dishing out winks and smiles for them to greedily eat up and feed into their romantic fantasies of him.

Hell, you’d even caught some guys who’d scoffed at him flush at his impeccable fan service.

He was a celebrity—untouchable for mere plebeians like you, belonging in a separate world for those who were bolder, brighter, and far away.

In hindsight, you wondered if you would have harboured an unrequited crush on him as your peers had. There was no denying the effortless draw he had over people. The only reason you probably didn’t was that you’d nursed a silly crush of your own. One that had annoyingly carried over into the beginning of high school but fizzled out as you simply grew out of it.

Ultimately, your path did eventually cross with Oikawa’s in Aoba Johsai.

By some mysterious twist of fate, you wound up becoming the manager of the boys’ volleyball team.

Takenouchi Hina, the third-year manager back when you were in your first year, had been on the lookout for a new manager. Later, she admitted to you that she’d wanted to snatch up a first year who hadn’t chosen or joined a club; it had been to her luck that you were one of the last students in your class who hadn’t joined a club by her timely hunt, torn between Home Economics and Photography.

During one lunch period, she’d approached you with a warm smile and invited you to watch their practice before you could completely rule out the volleyball club. Being the good kouhai you were, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny such an earnest plea. And so, after class that day, you awkwardly trailed behind Takenouchi and hesitatingly followed her into the gym, wondering how rude it would be to excuse yourself when you were already there.

Very rude, you’d decided and continued to obediently shadow your senior.

“Takenouchi-san! Hello!” A boy called out from the other side of the court as the two of you drew closer to where the coaches stood.

The greeting caught the attention of the other gym-dwellers, and you found dozens of curious eyes falling on your awkward form trying to hide in the shadow of their manager.

Oh, God. Help me.

The sheer number of people just staring at you intimidated the ever-loving shit out of you. Why were teenage boys so intimidating and imposing and—

A deep voice suddenly cut your thoughts short, and you instinctively turned to the call of your name, eagerly latching onto the familiarity in the voice. Relief immediately flooded your veins and soothed your nerves as you found solace at the sight of the familiar speaker.

Over on the other end of the court, your old classmate, Iwaizumi Hajime, stood with a dumbfounded look on his face—slack jaw, wide eyes, and all.

Is it really that surprising to see me in the gym? Momentarily, you couldn’t tell if you should have been offended by how surprised he appeared. Rather than dwell on that stray—and semi-depressing—thought, you pushed it aside to give him a jerky wave and strained smile.

Your eyes swept past him, intending to survey the rest of the gym before the inevitable and dreadful introductions. However, you unwittingly met the gaze of a certain Oikawa Tooru, who’d been watching you and Iwaizumi with what you could only describe as curiosity and cautious intrigue.

You studied him for a moment longer before tensing and glancing at Takenouchi as she introduced you to the rest of the team. On cue, you greeted them with a proper 90-degree bow and soft stutter of “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

After you straightened up and stiffly accepted the team’s loud greetings, you found yourself studiously avoiding Oikawa’s (still!) curious gaze on you. There was something piercing about his stare—something that made you, honestly, intimidated by the guy you’d heard so much about in junior high.

It felt weird being in the same space as him. You didn’t actually know the boy personally, but you’d heard so much about him from other people—even people close to him like Iwaizumi. It sort of felt like you knew him, but at that moment, you realized that you never really had proper face-to-face interactions with him in your three years at Kitagawa Daiichi.

And for some reason, that made you feel incredibly awkward and a bit like a creep.

In your first year as the volleyball team’s manager, you had slowly but surely gotten closer with the players—especially the ones your age.

Hanamaki Takahiro and Matsukawa Issei were both easygoing guys, so it didn’t take long before you shared inside jokes with them and sought them out for company during lunch. And you had probably felt most comfortable with Iwaizumi out of pure familiarity and an established sense of rapport.

The three of them had helped you comfortably ease into your new role, freely lending a hand as needed, much to your relief and appreciation. Within a couple of months, you even felt comfortable calling them your friends.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t get along with Oikawa—because you did. It did take him a bit longer to warm up to you, having approached you with guarded eyes in the first few months. You were fairly certain that he only started to truly respect you after you’d helped Iwaizumi treat a jammed finger from an Interhigh match against the reigning champions, Shiratorizawa.

Frankly, Oikawa had defied your expectations.

Perhaps it was because you weren’t his best friend like Iwaizumi or a pining fan, but you were surprised by just how cool and indifferent he could be to others. Sure, he was polite and all, but you had seen the calculating glint in his eyes as he watched you, seemingly evaluating you and your every action.

It was only after that jammed finger incident that the ice in his eyes had completely melted, and he started to approach you with genuine smiles. From there, forging a friendship with Oikawa had been surprisingly and pleasantly easy. You found his dramatics amusing, and he seemed to enjoy your reactions, sometimes amping up his antics, if Iwaizumi was to be believed (he had a tendency to exaggerate when it came to the matters of his best friend).

But your friendship with Oikawa did not just end there. In some respects, the setter had come to trust you the most in certain matters over the others.

“Oikawa,” you called out to the boy glaring across the net, his chest rising and falling with each breathless pant.

Staying back after practice and watching over him had been a recent development, starting from the beginning of your second year. The brunet had come up to you one day after club activities and asked if you could stay back with him for extra practice—apparently, the coaches had only permitted it on the condition that someone else stayed back to supervise.

You hadn’t understood why at first, but after having sat through multiple overtime sessions with him, the answer became abundantly clear.

Oikawa had a propensity of working himself to the bone.

You were genuinely concerned for his health and well-being. Sometimes, he looked downright exhausted as the two of you cleaned up. You’d always offer to clean up by yourself, afraid that the boy would topple over or collapse on his way home if he moved around anymore.

Naturally, he brushed aside your offer, insisting that you stayed back for him, so he needed to repay the favour. Any further protests and snatching of balls from his hands went ignored and snatched back. To avoid having the boy expend any more energy, you relented but made sure to take care of the more tedious and laborious tasks as discreetly as you could—though you had a sneaking suspicion that Oikawa picked up on that and played along to keep you happy.

At first, you’d stayed behind because he’d asked. After the first few times, you stayed behind to keep an eye on him to assuage your worries—not that seeing him push himself so much ever really did.

You became a constant presence in the court, worriedly watching Oikawa as he pushed himself with a hunger and drive you didn’t think you could ever understand. You admired him for it, nonetheless.

“Geniuses make me sick.”

The venom in his voice made you tense as you helped Oikawa gather up the balls scattered all over the court.

“What?”

He clutched the ball in his hands tighter, trembling in a way that accentuated his frustration and despair. “I can’t stand geniuses. They don’t need to put in as much effort as I do to pull off the same stunts. If geniuses and people like me put in the same effort, the geniuses will win as long as they have a team of equal skill with my team.”

You startled as he suddenly snapped his head up and gave you an intense look. Envy, anger, hatred, desperation, and sadness swirled in those chocolate orbs, leaving you feeling oddly winded as though he’d sucker-punched you with the unmitigated force of his emotions.

“It’s so unfair.”

Your heart broke at the unadulterated grief and anguish in the boy’s voice.

You could sort of understand where he was coming from, having witnessed those who were effortlessly smart and comfortably sitting at the top of the class while you had to put in the work and tirelessly study to keep up with them. It wasn’t fair, and sure, sometimes, you were bothered by it, but it wasn’t something that… ate you alive. Those were simply the cards you were dealt with. You were alright with being average—content with it, even.

Oikawa evidently wasn’t. In fact, he seemed to abhor the very idea with every fibre of his being.

Life wasn’t fair. And that was a plainly irrefutable truth—one painful in its simplicity yet exhausting in its web of complicated intricacies.

But you didn’t want to say the wrong thing, not knowing nearly enough about volleyball to provide a proper response to such a weighty and loaded statement. You honestly thought Oikawa was a brilliant player. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a natural-born “genius” or whatever.

He shone brightly on the court, positively beamed with a child-like joy you couldn’t comprehend for simply playing the sport he loved more than anything else in the entire world. You might have been more envious that he had such a life passion if you did not get a glimpse into the suffering it also caused.

“It is unfair,” you found yourself agreeing.

Oikawa blinked at you owlishly, clearly not having expected such a response. You absently wondered if all he’d heard until that point was disagreement or a challenge to his impassioned words.

“Don’t discredit the fruits of hard work, Oikawa,” you told him softly but with firm conviction. “Your dedication and effort will surely pay off.” It had to. You refused to believe that such a dedicated and talented individual like Oikawa would not reap the rewards of his passionate drive and effort.

Surely, the world wasn’t that cruel.

You’d expected more of a fight from the brunet, seeing how passionate he was earlier, but he curiously remained silent.

You watched as the high-strung tension in his shoulders loosened, and a thoughtful look chased away the dark looming cloud of hatred and frustration that’d previously taken over his usually clear eyes.

“I… see.”

You let your eyes linger on him for a few beats longer before giving him space. Just before you averted your gaze, you noticed the boy slowly mouth the words you’d said to him as he curled his hand into a tight fist over his chest.

Don’t discredit the fruits of hard work.

Something about your friendship with Oikawa changed after having bore witness to that moment of vulnerability. You couldn’t put your finger on exactly what it was, but it certainly felt like he had let all of his remaining walls down around you—walls you hadn’t even realized he still had up in the first place.

You had grown a lot closer to him—and quickly, too. He actively sought you out during practice to whine and cling to you the way he did to Iwaizumi. The first time he’d done that was the day immediately after that moment, so you had been taken aback at his sudden bout of silly affection. However, you were adaptable. And so, you and Oikawa developed your own brand of friendship. Unlike the ace, you entertained Oikawa’s clinginess but poked fun at him in your own way instead (one that refreshingly did not involve your fists and sharp looks).

When you were apart, he texted you frequently, striking up random conversations and asking the strangest but admittedly interesting questions about alien life. You found yourself glued to your phone more than usual, giggling quietly in your room as you read through his far-fetched albeit entertaining conspiracy theories about JAXA and life on Mars.

It surprised you just how easily and effortlessly you clicked with Oikawa. You could be both silly and serious without any judgement from the boy. Although he’d been the guy you were most distant with on the team in your first year, he was probably the member you were closest to by your second year.

And going into your third and last year of senior high, he was both one of your best friends and a great menace in your life.

“Oh, Manager-chaaaan,” he sang before clutching onto your arm with his two hands.

You merely grunted in response, letting him pull you away from your desk. You’d learned the hard way that some things weren’t worth fighting when your opponent was the Oikawa Tooru.

“Yudacchi insisted we join him for lunch today,” Oikawa heaved a dramatic sigh as though Yuda was causing him a great inconvenience—which you knew wasn’t the case as the boy cared for his teammates more than he liked to admit. “So it’s not going to be at Iwa-chan’s as usual.”

“What, why?” you furrowed your brows, wondering what Yuda wanted. As Seijoh’s volleyball team was rather large, not all those in the same year hung out with each other. Sure, you were all friendly and got along fine, but the club had broken off into smaller friend groups. You mostly stuck around the starting third years: Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa. While you all were somewhat friends with Yuda, Sawauchi, and Shido, they stuck to themselves outside practice.

“He said he wanted to talk to us all about something.”

“All of us?” you queried dubiously. “What could he possibly want from all of us?”

Oikawa shrugged and simply pulled you along.

There was no need for him to keep holding onto your wrist as you were following after him willingly. For a split second, you considered telling him to let go, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open your mouth and say the words.

Mystified by your own reaction, your eyes fell to his fingers, which were wrapped soundly around your wrist. He had long and almost elegant-looking fingers with pretty nail beds. You knew he took care of them obsessively, insisting that if a nail was even a millimetre too long, it threw off his tosses.

You didn’t know if you believed him (the millimetre part, that was) but entertained him, helping him pick out new nail files whenever his old ones grew dull.

Either way, his meticulous routine and care for his hands paid off. They were probably the most well-groomed hands you’d seen from an athlete. You’d have thought that volleyball players who built up calluses from constant contact with fastballs would have hands that were rough to the touch.

It was almost unfair just how much Oikawa had won the genetic lottery. From his princely looks to his athletic abilities, he was a bit too perfect. If he hadn’t opted for sports as his career path, he probably would have made it big in the entertainment industry.

The call of your name pulled you out of your strange thoughts.

Shit.

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you met Oikawa’s amused chocolate brown eyes. Flustered, you tried to sputter out an excuse for your blatant gawking but fell short of any coherent stream of thought when he suddenly leaned in.

He gazed deeply into your eyes, and a slight smirk graced his lips.

He’s too close, you shrieked in the safe confines of your mind.

You fidgeted in your spot, cursing Oikawa for the twitter-pated effect he had over you. His gaze appeared to melt with unbridled softness and another indescribable emotion. The look stole your breath away, and your fingertips tingled as a pleasant yet electrifying thrill coursed through you.

Unable to handle any more intense sensations, you directed your eyes to your feet.

To both your relief and disappointment, Oikawa pulled away the slightest bit, and you heard a quiet chuckle. Then, he gave the back of your hand a cheeky little tap with his finger before finally—mercifully—letting go of your wrist.

What the hell was that?

You stood there, still as a statue, while Oikawa blithely entered the classroom with a notable bounce in his steps.

You sucked in a deep and long breath for four seconds and held it for seven before letting it out slowly through your nose—eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

Those traitorous butterflies in your stomach settled a bit, and you felt… well, like yourself again.

Without another moment to waste, you strode inside and glanced around to see where the team was gathered in Yuda’s class.

“Oh, it’s our Manager-chan,” Hanamaki caught sight of you and waved you over to where your friends had pushed together a few desks by the window.

“Hey,” you greeted everyone as you took the empty seat between Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Looking up from your seat, your eyes met Oikawa’s amused ones.

Still embarrassed from whatever the hell happened by the door, you found that you couldn’t hold his gaze and immediately looked to Yuda.

“Is this everyone?” The aforementioned boy asked Sawauchi on his left.

“I think so?” Sawauchi gave the entire group a cursory scan.

“Yeah, it is,” Shido confirmed.

Without a moment to waste, Yuda slammed his hands down on his desk, “Listen.” Your clubmate’s antics embarrassingly captured the attention of the rest of the class. Mercifully, once they noticed who had caused the commotion, they all turned back to their own friends and ignored the boy.

You couldn’t help but wonder just how commonplace Yuda’s theatrics were for his classmates to turn away without so much as batting an eye. As much as you liked your fellow third year, you found yourself looking down at your lunch to avoid meeting the gaze of his classmates.

“We’re all the same age, right?” he continued, evidently oblivious to your discomfort.

You exchanged wary glances with the others at the table.

“Right…”

“We’re all friends, right?”

“Right…” This one was said with more hesitance, but luckily, Yuda didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s our final year! We need more team bonding moments!”

While the sentiment was nice, you didn’t think Yuda was going about it the right way, seeing as the rest of the team shared discreet cringes.

Matsukawa nudged you by the side and leaned in to whisper, “How long do you think this will take?”

You grimaced, “Maybe the whole lunch?” Yuda, though a kind and well-intending soul, was not the most… concise. He had a tendency to ramble and go off on tangents as he circled around the point he was trying to make out of pure passion.

“Damn,” the middle blocker chuckled and straightened up. “I think you’re probably right.”

Sorry, Yuda, you sent the fellow third year a silent apology.

You tuned out the rest of Yuda’s ramblings and leaned back into your chair, tilting your head to stare up at the ceiling. Your fellow clubmate could go on for ages if he wanted to, and you’d learned that it was best to let it out of his system.

With that thought, you fixed your posture, opened your bento, and pulled out the chopsticks you’d packed.

You gave an internal cheer as you realized that your mother had put in the leftover tonkotsu from dinner and happily shoved a big piece into your mouth.

Just before you could chew down on the tonkotsu, you heard someone call your name. Perking up, you instinctively turned your head in the direction the voice came from.

You promptly swallowed the tonkotsu and blinked in surprise. “Nakamura?”

“Hey,” the boy smiled. “Long time no see.”

Nakamura Seiichi was, by all means, an average high school boy. Though rather plain-looking with an average build and height, he was friendly and had an endearing charm about him. It was those very traits that had you carrying a crush on him throughout junior high.

“I see you’re with Iwaizumi, too,” he nodded before giving your friend a wave. “Long time no see.”

“Hey,” Iwaizumi gave him a friendly nod back.

“You guys on the volleyball club together, was it?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m just the manager, though.”

Nakamura’s lips curled into that boyish and friendly smile of his. “Yeah, I think I heard that from our old classmates. I’m on the student council as treasurer… though you probably already know that.”

You nodded and let out a quiet chuckle, “Most people know the third years on student council, yes.”

Nakamura gave a sheepish laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck. Then, he glanced up at the clock and grimaced. “I have to run—student council meeting, actually.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” you waved in understanding.

“Well, I’ll see you both around,” Nakamura waved back before leaving the room.

Your eyes trailed after Nakamura, shocked to realize that his presence didn’t fill you with the same jittery nerves and butterflies as it once did. It was a small thing but felt more monumental than it actually was. It felt like you’d shed that last bit of your junior high self and were seeing the changes within you.

You tapped your finger on your chin and shifted your gaze back to your friends. Amazingly, Yuda was still at it and hadn’t seemed to notice the exchange. You gave a cursory glance over at each of your friends to notice that Hanamaki and Matsukawa were actually listening but with a suspiciously mischievous glint in their eyes. Iwaizumi appeared to be half-listening as he chomped down on his yakisoba bread.

You stopped short at Oikawa, not having noticed that he had been watching you for who knows how long. There was something in his eyes that you couldn’t describe, but it was intense. A part of you wanted to desperately avert your gaze, but the more stubborn and traitorous part couldn’t bear to look away from him at that moment.

He’s beautiful, your mind supplied unhelpfully.

At that horrifying realization, you finally fixed your eyes on your bento box.

Senior high was very short. Each year passed by in a blur, but the sentiment rang particularly true in your last year at Aoba Johsai.

Volleyball had ended on a bittersweet note. While you could proudly declare that your team had relentlessly fought—tooth and nail—to the bitter end, it still hurt that their efforts fell short. Their blood, sweat, and tears weren’t enough to reach their longtime goal of making the Spring Nationals.

Hell, they didn’t even manage to make it to the finals against Shiratorizawa after facing an agonizing defeat to the rapidly evolving Karasuno.

Nevertheless, you were proud of them and yourself.

The plays they pulled against Karasuno were astonishing. Watching the match on the bench left you on the edge of your seat, waiting with bated breath for the ball to drop on the other side of the court.

You were grateful to have been part of a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Who would have thought you’d get involved with volleyball, or sports in general, as you had the opportunity to in high school? You didn’t think you would ever get involved with volleyball in the same capacity but had an inkling that you would follow the sport for a long time—it wasn’t like Oikawa would let you stay out of the loop with his declaration that his journey with volleyball was nowhere near ending after high school.

And it was finally the day of your graduation.

You were glad you had the opportunity to cry with the rest of the volleyball team at the crushing realization that you would not see each other in the same capacity next year. You didn’t want a repeat on graduation day and, mercifully, found yourself laughing with your friends as you all reminisced on past memories and talked about your plans.

The air was filled with a blend of bittersweet nostalgia and anticipation for the future. It truly felt like a chapter of your life was ending, but that only meant another chapter was starting.

You had been with the rest of your friends when Oikawa suddenly sauntered up and grabbed you by the upper arm.

Startled by the sudden contact, you whipped your head to see the boy not looking at you but at Iwaizumi. The latter merely shook his head and glanced between you and Oikawa with a strange smile toying at his lips.

“Wha—” you sputtered as Oikawa tugged at your arm.

You shot Iwaizumi a startled look as his best friend started to drag you away from the rest of them. He only gave you a knowing look and turned back to Hanamaki and Matsukawa, who hadn’t so much as blinked at the intrusion.

That traitor!

Enraged by your friend’s betrayal, you fiercely glared at the back of his head, fervently hoping that he would feel it and take pity on you—or save you out of fear over your wrath.

But Iwaizumi did not move or show any indication that he felt your glare as you only got further and further away from him until you lost sight of him among the sea of students.

Once you could no longer see your friends, you hesitantly shifted your attention to the boy in front of you. As much as you wanted to ask Oikawa where he was taking you, for some reason, it did not feel right to break the weird silence.

Tension lined Oikawa’s shoulders, contrasting the gentle yet firm grip on your wrist. He did not look back at you at all as he kept maneuvering you through the crowds.

Amazingly, no one approached him. You couldn’t help but wonder what his face looked like for it to ward off even the most persistent of his fans. A part of you wanted a glimpse, but another part of you didn’t. You were, frankly, scared of what you would see.

Inwardly, you were grateful that Oikawa didn’t hold onto your hand. Your palms were cold and clammy as your nerves got the better of you. That time before lunch with Yuda had already cued him into his effect on you—you didn’t want to give yourself away any more than that.

The silence and trek stretched on for what felt like hours when, in reality, it had only been a couple of minutes.

Eventually, Oikawa came to a stop as he wrenched open a door and ushered you inside. Instantly, you recognized that he was taking you to the roof.

Will it be empty? You wondered doubtfully. You imagined it was the perfect place for some graduating students to say their goodbyes or have private conversations away from peering eyes.

“We’re here,” Oikawa announced, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Oh, wow, there really isn’t anyone else,” you blurted out as you scanned the shockingly empty roof.

“I’ve been keeping my eye on it,” he admitted sheepishly. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You remained quiet for a few seconds, studying your friend’s form. “What is it?” you finally asked.

Oikawa shoved his hand into the pocket of his jacket and seemed to fiddle with something in it.

“I have a present for you.”

“A present…?” you eyed the hand in his pocket dubiously.

“Yep, will you accept it?”

“As long as it isn’t weird,” you nodded slowly.

“It isn’t weird! Promise!” Oikawa defended, looking mildly offended.

“Alright, then… What…?”

“Tada!” In typical Oikawa Tooru fashion, he’d brandished his gift with unnecessary flair, sticking his hand out to you as he winked and shot you his signature disarming grin.

Although it was not unlike him to put his flair to things, it felt a little out of place and forced. You could see the nerves and tension in his usually naturally charismatic and charming smile—the corners gave a nearly imperceptible twitch.

You glanced at his hand to see a little button smack in the middle of his palm. At the sight of the gift, you pursed your lips and arched a brow at him skeptically. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Oikawa?”

He beamed down at you unflinchingly, “Giving you my button, of course!”

You stared at his jacket and noted that his second button was indeed missing and likely the one he was offering you.

“Why are you giving this to me?” You queried cautiously. Did he know what giving the second button entailed? Knowing Oikawa and his popularity, he had no reason not to know.

But there’s no way he’s giving it to me of all people, right?

He must have noticed your doubts as he immediately adopted a grave face and called you by your given name. “Listen, carefully. I…I want to tell you something.”

A shiver went down your spine at the serious use of your name. Normally, Oikawa would say it playfully, though he didn’t use it too often either.

“Uh…” you tried to string together a coherent response but found that he’d rendered you speechless—a common occurrence as of late.

He gently grabbed your wrist and pressed the button down firmly into your palm. “I’m giving this to you for the same reasons other guys give away their second buttons.”

You gaped at him, opening and closing your mouth a few times in a fruitless effort to say something—anything in response to this earth-shattering…confession.

Wait, is this actually a confession? It can’t be. No way.

You needed to clear the air.

“Oikawa, I—”

“Tooru.”

“What?”

He averted his gaze.

“Call me Tooru… just for this moment. Please.”

Oh, maybe this is real.

“Tooru,” you acquiesced in a shaky tone.

The boy before you sucked in a sudden deep breath. He appeared oddly nervous—unlike his usual demeanour—and seemed to be trying to calm himself. Ironically, the sight only set your nerves to life as butterflies came to life and fluttered in your stomach as you put two and two together.

His nerves…the freaking button, graduation day. Is he actually…?

“Is this… are your, uh, feelings—”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

In all honesty, you didn’t know what to say. Oikawa was leaving for Argentina in a few days, tirelessly working and pushing to make his dreams come true. It was a little cruel of him to confess his feelings when he couldn’t even stay.

I like you, too. Those words lingered at the tip of your tongue, and suddenly, you were gripped with the need to let Oikawa know your feelings as well—that you reciprocated his feelings.

You looked up at him, set on telling him, but something in his face gave you pause.

You couldn’t completely place your finger on it. It was something soft. Something sad. Something so heartbreakingly tender.

You studied him for a few moments longer before it finally clicked.

Oikawa knew. He knew that his feelings weren’t one-sided. He knew that confessing now put you in a pickle.

He gently reached for your hand and laced your fingers together.

You both stared at your hands, marvelling at how well they fit together. Warmth emanated from his fingers and palm, and you realized just how cold yours had been. It was pleasant. Comforting. It was like Oikawa—the way you knew him. Not the way his fans knew him. Not the way Iwaizumi knew him. Just you.

He was your Oikawa in a weird way.

That thought ushered a flush to your cheeks, and you couldn’t help but look down at your shoes in embarrassment. Stop. He’s not my anything.

How horrifyingly embarrassing.

Before you could shrink into yourself, Oikawa gently tugged on your joined hands, drawing you into his warm atmosphere. You stumbled at first but quickly regained your balance as Oikawa let go of your hand and wrapped his arms around you instead, pulling you in even closer.

What.

You froze for a moment, totally caught unaware by the boy’s actions. But soon enough, you felt yourself melt into his warm embrace. You raised a hand to his back and felt him immediately hold you tighter in his arms before cradling the back of your head with one hand.

It was in that tender action that you realized that you both knew and understood.

He wasn’t even planning on staying in the country. Oikawa Tooru was meant for greater things in life, higher summits. Saying those sweet yet forbidden words would hurt more, given the circumstances. Knowing what those words sounded like from his lips, in his beautiful voice, saturated with heart-wrenching sincerity, would hurt all the more.

You would simply have to bury those words deep in your heart and lock them away.

Still, you closed your eyes and basked in your shared warmth. And as you held him in your arms, just as he held you, the beat of your heart danced steadily against your chest to the melody of your feelings singing from its locked cage.

[12:47 PM] Oikawa: I’m in Japan for a bit. Wanna hang out and catch up?

You stared down at the text as you bit down on your thumb nervously.

It had been a few years since you graduated from high school and a few months since you graduated from university. In the hustle and bustle of school, you hadn’t had the opportunity to see Oikawa the couple of times he’d visited Japan—specifically, Miyagi. Sure, you managed to keep up with him via video calls, messages, regular calls, and all that, but it just wasn’t the same. You could afford to delay your responses as needed—besides, with the time zones, it was a rarity for you to hear back from him right away, and vice versa.

But now… you were minutes away from interacting with Oikawa in real time with no delays, no mulling over your words, and no anxious waiting for replies.

[1:23 PM] Sure, do you wanna go anywhere in particular?

You read over your text again and scanned through your brief conversation. Ultimately, you and Oikawa had chosen to meet by Skytree to do some sightseeing—well, more like you playing the tour guide for Oikawa’s Tokyo trip.

You were, admittedly, nervous. It had been over four years since you’d seen Oikawa in person, so your scheduled reunion felt… monumental. It felt like you were breaking off from the familiar and comfortable rapport you’d built up over the years.

And so you stood outside Moomin House Cafe, which Oikawa had insisted on visiting before making your rounds around Skytree. You took another quick peek inside and had to admit that it was rather cute. It was a supposed “anti-loneliness” cafe, and the decor certainly created a warm atmosphere even as you looked in from the outside.

The warm spring breeze swept through you and let a stray hair loose from your scrunchie. You huffed in annoyance and reached up to undo it when someone else had beaten you to it.

Alarmed, you whipped your head back to see Oikawa smiling down mischievously at you, scrunchie in his hand. 

“Oikawa!?” you reeled back in surprise, watching as he pocketed your scrunchie with a cheeky grin. 

“That’s me!” The brunet winked and lifted his fingers into a peace sign. “Long time no see, Manager-chan.”

“Yeah,” your words came out in a breathless rush. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

After graduation, the distance between you and Oikawa had grown bigger—almost insurmountable. He lived across the globe, chasing after his dreams with that hunger you’d seen since high school.

And now, he was right in front of you, and the distance grew smaller. You hovered in his orbit, close enough to see and admire but never daring to touch.

He’s beautiful, you couldn’t help but think to yourself.

Like clockwork, a wave of horror crashed over you—a stupidly common occurrence every time you’d made that realization, even back in freaking high school.

You cleared your throat in an attempt to distract yourself from those warring feelings. “So, want to go in?”

After catching up on each other’s lives over a cup of coffee, you and Oikawa decided to make your trek to Skytree. Having already visited a couple of times in university, you led him to the Skytree Gallery, allowing him to “ooh” and “ah” at the models and historical photos.

Once he’d had his fill of learning about the history of the tower, you took him to enjoy the view from Tembo Galleria, the highest observation deck of Skytree.

“Have you ever been here at this time?” Oikawa asked.

You shook your head. “No, I visited when it was dark since that’s when I finished most classes.”

“The night view must be nice. You should take me here again when it’s dark next time.”

You couldn’t help but quirk a little smile at the prospect of a next time, liking the thought—the delicious promise—of seeing each other again. “Yeah, definitely.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you.

Oikawa turned back to the windows with a thoughtful look on his face. “Miyagi was all I knew,” he admitted as he took in the city view with shining eyes. “Adjusting to Argentina was hard.”

You nodded slowly. “I mean, you went alone and away from home. There must have been a lot of barriers you had to overcome in the process.”

“Yeah…” He got a distant look in his eyes as he seemed to reminisce about days past.

You let him be, wondering if he’d ever given himself a moment to really think and reflect—to be proud of his accomplishments as many others were—as you were.

Fixing your gaze on the breathtaking afternoon view of Tokyo, you felt a sense of peace. You understood why so many people took comfort in viewing the city from a far distance or great heights. Everything looked smaller and put things in a different perspective.

As it was still bright outside, you could see some office workers—the poor souls, working on a weekend—hurrying back into their office buildings with a coffee in hand. It was funny that while it had only been a few months since you started working at your plain old office job, you related to them more than the students who were seemingly on break and enjoying the nice weather, likely taking a break from their studies.

Life moves on. The sentimental thought struck you suddenly as one student in particular—if their Waseda hoodie was to be believed—tackled their friend waiting for them by a bench excitedly as though they hadn’t seen each other in a long time.

With that thought, you fell into a thoughtful silence, reminiscing on your high school years, which simultaneously felt like yesterday and eons ago.

Quietly, but comfortably, you followed Oikawa as he walked around the observation deck to admire the city view from all angles.

It had been a peaceful and quiet affair, and you felt so relaxed as you took comfort in simply being with Oikawa.

“Welp! I think I got my fill of Skytree. Have anywhere else to go, Tour Guide-san?” Oikawa asked playfully as he stretched his arms behind him.

You thought for a moment before taking a quick glimpse outside. “Up for a walk?”

“Sure,” he shrugged.

“We’re gonna have to cross Oshinari Bridge,” you explained as the two of you made your way out of the observation decks. “There’s a quaint little park—Oshinari Park—it’s quite nice but nothing special. We can kill some time before grabbing some dinner.”

“Sounds good. Lead the way!”

As you’d said, Oshinari Park was not anything special. In all honesty, it wasn’t even worth touring around, but it served its purpose. You wanted to kill some time before dinner and expend enough energy to feel hungry.

After you’d walked around and worked yourselves up to hunger, you and Oikawa entered a nearby izakaya.

Thankfully, there was an empty table when you’d arrived, so you were swiftly seated upon your arrival. After some contemplation, the two of you ordered karaage, agedashi tofu, and some beer.

You laughed through a mouthful of karaage, mindful to cover your mouth with a hand as the other reached for your beer cup.

He laughed along as well. “Man, nothing beats authentic Japanese food!”

“How is the Japanese food in Argentina?”

“It’s alright,” Oikawa shrugged. “Pretty standard for Japanese places outside of Japan. Buenos Aires has some pretty good restaurants.”

“Bu—Bue…no…?”

“Buenos Aires,” he repeated slowly with an amused grin.

“Buenos Aires,” you nodded resolutely as you repeated the name, albeit with a thick Japanese accent. “Your Spanish accent sounds pretty good to my non-native ears.”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice.” He shrugged nonchalantly before redirecting the conversation back to you, “Do you come to izakayas often?”

“Sort of?” you hummed. “After work, some coworkers invite me to grab drinks with them. Sometimes it’s at an izakaya, sometimes it’s not.”

You took another swig of your beer and gingerly plopped a piece of tofu in your mouth.

“It’s like those scenes in anime and dramas!” Oikawa giggled.

“Hardly,” you rolled your eyes. The slight delay in your movement keyed you into the fact that you were drunker than you’d expected.

The man giggled some more.

“Are you getting drunk, Oikawa?” You couldn’t help but laugh at how… giggly and gleeful he seemed.

“Hardly,” he threw your previous words back at you. “Just… happy, I guess.”

“O-Oh…” you looked down at your fingers and twiddled your thumbs. “That’s… good,” you finished lamely.

“Yeah.”

The slightly choked response made you look up in confusion and concern.

His gaze made your breath catch in your throat.

Even in your less-than-put-together state, flushed cheeks from the alcohol and all, he stared at you as though you’d placed the stars in the sky.

You couldn’t bear the weight of his gaze, so you looked down at your shoes and let your hair fall and curtain you from him.

“I… missed you,” Oikawa said in an uncharacteristically timid voice. “I meant to say this earlier, but… you—you look good.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you stared down at your food, unable to look at him. “I—I missed you, too.”

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Briefly, you wondered if others could feel it from their seats.

He called your name in a choked voice.

You sighed and let your hand inch closer to his. After a fleeting moment of hesitation, you hooked your pinky to his.

I’ll allow myself this much.

You heard Oikawa heave a shaky breath before he curled his pinky tightly around yours.

“We broke up.”

You paused in the midst of chewing on a piece of tempura and gazed across the table.

You had unexpectedly run into Matsumoto Ayaka, your high school classmate, after getting off work and making your way to the station.

She had looked excited to see you—likely excited to see a familiar face in a city far from home. But now, she looked wistful. Her brows slightly furrowed and lips pursed as she peered over your head, eyes not focusing on anything in particular but staying still.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry to hear that,” you floundered, taken aback by the suddenness of her confession. A brief moment of silence had overtaken you both as the waiter brought over your entrées to the table.

“No,” she shook her head, eyes focusing back onto you. “Sorry to spring it up on you. I just…”

“Haven’t had anyone to talk about it with?” you finished gently, watching as your former classmate seemed to struggle to verbalize her feelings.

“Yeah…” Matsumoto hung her head.

You waited for a few moments, but Matsumoto did not seem to know where to start, simply lost in the storm brewing inside her heart. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She hesitated before peering up at you impishly. “Can I? I know I kinda sprung it on you, but—”

“It’s alright,” you assured her. And you meant it. While you hadn’t been the closest with Matsumoto in high school, you had been close enough to have somewhat deep conversations—those that went beyond just the simple and trivial pleasantries.

“Did you know that Shin went pro?”

You nodded. “I heard. There aren’t many alumni that make it to the big leagues, especially for soccer.”

“It… was rough,” Matsumoto admitted in a soft voice. Her eyes glazed over, lost in a haze of beautiful memories, even as she continued speaking. “We had to be careful. He had some overzealous fans, so he wanted to keep me safe. We were careful… but… that can really mess with your head, you know? I felt like, I don’t know, a dirty little secret?”

You hummed and nodded so that Matsumoto knew you were listening. Frankly, you didn’t know what to say and felt it was more appropriate for you to listen and let her get things off her chest.

“I started to grow bitter,” Matsumoto sighed in a painful combination of resignation and self-blame. “I kept thinking things like ‘He’s not even an idol. Why do we have to go to such extents?’ and ‘Is he even that popular in Portugal?’ I started to resent him and picked fights with him. It was like… I wanted to get under his skin. I wanted him to feel a portion of what I felt.”

She paused and hung her head, voice coming out weak and defeated. “I hated the person I was becoming… and the person that I was.”

Your heart clenched for your high school friend. Matsumoto had always been a sweet and self-assured person. She never came off as overly confident nor arrogant; she had a quiet sort of confidence about her, a comfortability with herself and an understanding of her character.

It was odd to see her so downtrodden and uncertain. Although you hadn’t been the closest with her, it still hurt to see a friend in such spirits. 

“It made me question: can I really be happy like this? Is a relationship that’s so… so… closed off healthy? I wanted to be like any other happy young couple—holding hands in public without having to mask up and disguise ourselves. I’m just ordinary. Average Japanese office worker. Average in looks, average in my freaking salary, average in, like, everything!”

As the impassioned words left her mouth, the sympathy you felt for Matsumoto mutated into something deeply personal. Every syllable pricked at your chest, spreading a cold, suffocating haze of self-doubt from your heart straight to your fingertips—like a storm cloud violently overtaking a clear sky.

“He asked me to move to Portugal with him.”

A tense silence fell between the two of you. 

You stared at Matsumoto with wavering eyes, waiting with bated breath for her to continue. 

“I guess… I guess I couldn’t take it anymore,” Matsumoto sighed defeatedly. “Being with him clawed away at my insecurities—which isn’t his fault, don’t get me wrong! I know that perfectly well!”

You just nodded numbly in response.

“But…it made me think that I needed a break,” she admitted in a defeated voice. “I needed to take a good look at myself. I’ve grown and felt like we’ve grown apart, if that makes sense.”

You could feel the strain in your face as you fought to keep your cool, trying your best to not let her words put a fucking mirror up to you and see you in Matsumoto’s shoes. The pain, the resignation, the insecurities, the uncertainty—the beast born of those unspoken and repressed feelings clawing away at your chest one excruciating chunk at a time, manifesting into a physical hurt and suffering.

This will be your future! You can’t let it happen to you! Look at you right now; the mess you are right now! Do you think you can handle being like Matsumoto right now? The insidious voice inside you screamed.

Fighting hard to keep your cool, you reached for your cup and sipped on the tea, letting the familiar, slightly bitter taste ground you.

“I’m sorry you felt that way,” you said, realizing you had stayed silent throughout the entire conversation. 

“I’m doing better,” your former classmate managed a crooked smile. “I had to learn to pick myself up alone. I relied on Shin a lot, so it was hard at first, but I managed.”

She rested her chin on her palm and tapped her cheek with her index finger. “Shin was my first love. I thought we were gonna get married and have kids by now.”

You hesitated but decided to bite the bullet. “Do you… still want to be with him? I mean, would you take him back if he chased after you again?”

Matsumoto closed her eyes as she hummed in consideration. “I’d like to say no because of how hard it was, but a part of me still misses and loves him.”

It was both an answer and a non-answer. An oxymoron that spoke to the complexity of love—one that you knew very well.

You, and evidently Matsumoto, were a pendulum, swinging to and fro between wanting to recklessly chase after the thrill of a good romance and wanting to ground yourself in reality and live without any unnecessary risks.

Ultimately, that was what it was: a risk. Love was a risk, and it was up to you to decide whether it was worth the risk or not. 

Her hand fell from her face and gently folded over her other hand. Matsumoto opened her eyes and looked into yours intently. “So, if I were to give you one word of advice, it would be to stay clear from pro athletes. Especially if they have big dreams and ambitions. You might just end up getting caught in something bigger than you expected.”

Your pulse raced at her words, wondering if her intent gaze could see right into the depths of your heart.

“Right,” you nodded jerkily. “I won’t.”

The next time you see Oikawa again is a year later when you have enough vacation days stocked up to go abroad for once. He’d bugged you endlessly to visit Argentina. You had your reservations since it was an unknown country to someone who’d grown up and stayed in Japan for, basically, all their life.

Alas, you somehow found yourself walking down the jet bridge of your plane to Ministro Pistarini International Airport.

This is a dumb idea.

The thought repeated itself over and over and over again in your head like a mantra. Regret swelled up in your chest as you clutched tightly onto your carry-on bag. And it only continued to balloon as you claimed your luggage, went through immigration, and slowly dragged yourself to the arrivals terminal gate.

Each step was one step closer to him.

The sheer reality of it threw your mind into a frenzy.

With each step you took forward, your fingertips buzzed with anxious anticipation. Beyond the crowd of passengers ahead of you, the excited calls of names sounded along with the squeaking of shoes hurrying against the floors.

The sounds grew progressively louder until you could see the people waiting at the terminal gate. With a stuttering heart, you scanned the groups of people until your eyes settled on one familiar figure.

And there he stood, with his hands in his pocket as he scanned the terminal.

Your footsteps slowed as you got closer and closer to him. Your eyes greedily drank in the sight of him, cataloguing the changes in his appearance since you’d seen him last. He had filled out considerably, his shoulders broader and posture more commanding—the undeniable physical transformation of an Olympic athlete. He wore a pair of round glasses and donned a white t-shirt, well-fitted grey pants, and white shoes.

The changes weren’t major or drastic, but they were, nevertheless, there—there as a gentle yet harsh reminder of the lengthy time spent apart from him.

He spotted you and immediately lit up in that endearing way of his—eyes wide and brows drawn slightly up as the ends of his mouth curled up in that boyish grin of his.

“Hey,” he greeted with a wide smile as you stopped a good foot away from him. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, hi.” You returned with an equally big smile.

“Welcome to Argentina!” he stretched out his arms excitedly and suddenly pulled you into a tight hug, closing the distance between you two.

You froze for a brief moment but returned the embrace. “Thanks. Glad to be here.”

“You’re finally here.”

“Yeah… I’m… finally here.”

And you’re close to him, sitting across from him at some restaurant he had pulled you into. Your fingers curled around the napkin in front of you as your eyes wandered and scoured the place with a curious glint.

“Like it?”

You glanced back at him and felt your lips involuntarily rise at the sight of his eyes twinkling under the ambient lights.

“Of course. It’s beautiful.”

He gave you a soft smile in response. “It’s one of my favourite places.”

Unable to hold his stare, you fixed your eyes on the menu laying atop the table. “What do you recommend?”

Oikawa hummed thoughtfully as he swiftly scanned the menu. “How about I surprise you?”

“Uh…” you floundered, wondering if it was safe to trust the man across from you. After all, he had a penchant for teasing you at the most opportune moments.

“C’mon!” He pouted, seeming to have guessed where your thoughts had trailed to. “I wouldn’t do you dirty for your first taste of Argentina!”

“I… guess so,” you acquiesced albeit with the slightest hint of distrust colouring your voice. 

“Just trust me,” he shot you his signature disarming wink. Then, he waved down a waiter and ordered your dinner with practiced ease.

As you watched Oikawa confidently hold somewhat of a conversation in Spanish, you couldn’t help but admire his grit and drive.

The man had been crazy enough about his dreams that he left his friends and family at home, only to carve out a new home in a totally foreign country. It was so like Oikawa to fit right in with all sorts of people. You remembered how he would sometimes fill in as a setter for a university team during practice matches and harmonize perfectly with completely new teammates.

In some weird way, that familiarity comforted you. The man before was still Oikawa Tooru, your old senior high—and junior high—classmate.

After the waiter left, you and Oikawa took the time to catch up, filling each other in about things mentioned in passing over the phone or updates to texts. It was… nice to finally share the things you had wanted to share in full with him. There was only so much a phone or text could do—you had been robbed of seeing how his laughter seemed to brighten the atmosphere around him. Being in his presence raised your spirits, and you found yourself growing more animated as you shared the silly moments you had mentally bookmarked for him.

As the conversation fell into a comfortable lull, the food was ready and set on your table.

“These are empanadas,” he pointed to the dish that resembled gyoza to some extent. “And you have choripán in front of you.”

“Chouripan?” You echoed as you eyed the hot dog-looking dish dubiously. “That’s what they’re called?”

“Choripán,” Oikawa corrected in a damn near flawless Spanish accent. Sure, you weren’t a native speaker, but in the short time you’d already spent in Argentina, you had been surrounded by Spanish. Your keen ears had listened intently whenever Oikawa conversed with a local, and you were fairly sure that his accent and pronunciation were even better than you’d seen him last.

You listened intently as he carefully explained the difference between the Argentinian choripán and Japanese chouripan. More than the actual explanation itself, you found yourself captured by how passionate he seemed about describing anything related to the cultural differences between his national and ethnic identities.

Conversation flowed easily out of the two of you. With Oikawa’s exciting adventures as an Olympic athlete, he had a lot of interesting stories to tell. And you listened intently, finding it unbelievable yet so natural that Oikawa managed so many great feats already.

“I… missed you,” Oikawa confessed slowly, sliding his hand closer to yours on the table.

You stared down at his hand, waiting with bated breath as it inched closer and closer to yours.

He hesitated for a moment before gingerly linking his pinky with yours in a painful reminder of that cozy night in the izakaya. In fact, the dim and ambient lighting of the restaurant you were currently at seemed to overlap with the image of the izakaya in your mind’s eye.

It amazed you how warm it was having his pinky connected to yours. It wasn’t just a physical warmth but one that emanated from within. A hearth that drew you in and smoothed out the knots in your tense shoulders—knots that only accumulated in his absence.

For a tempting moment, you almost caved. Suddenly, the words buried deep in your heart that had remained there for years seemed to want to let loose.

You were so close to the edge. You were teetering on the edge of a line you both religiously did not cross for your sakes.

But you took a look at Oikawa again. And reality slapped you in the face.

You needed to pull back from the dangerous waters. It wasn’t like the waters were violent and crashing tides. No, if anything, they were calm and still—and that was what scared you from ever dipping your feet into them.

You didn’t know what your touch would do to these still and peaceful waters of your relationship. And so, you strayed from ever diving in.

Besides, you were just a regular office worker in Tokyo, and he was a professional volleyball player. Perhaps Ushijima had been onto something with that infuriating plant analogy. 

You were a single blade of grass in an ordinary field. Oikawa was a shooting star, burning brilliantly across the night sky for the entire world to admire. The distance between your worlds was simply too vast. There was no earthly way you could ever hold a candle to his exuberant brilliance.

At that thought, you gently pulled your hand away from him. His eyes tracked your every move, watching until you clasped your hands together tightly, fending off the desire to reach out to him and feel his warmth.

Finally, his eyes trailed up to your face, studying you with an inexplicable look. “Where did we go wrong?” His voice cracked towards the end.

A lump formed in your throat at his teary question, but you merely shook your head and bravely looked up at him with glassy eyes of your own. “I don’t know.”

Soon, your trip came to an end. You had seen Oikawa every day despite his busy schedule. Every time you expressed your concerns, he’d brush you off with a light yet meaningful laugh.

Nevertheless, you were grateful for his hospitality. Thanks to Oikawa, you got to know the more local spots in San Juan as opposed to solely tourist areas. Every single day of your stay had been amazing, and you fell for the charm of the country you truly hadn’t known anything about before your visit.

With your carry-on bag on your back and phone and passport in one hand, you scoured your terminal for a seat. Thankfully, you were early and had plenty of seats to choose from, so you decided to sit by the windows.

Oikawa hadn’t dropped you off at the airport or seen you off there. And you were grateful for that.

There was something about saying goodbye at airports that felt…too sentimental. Too significant for whatever you and Oikawa were.

As you sat at your terminal, awaiting your flight, your phone buzzed on your lap and the screen lit up to reveal a text that sent your heart racing.

[10:49 PM] Tooru: I miss you already.

A single dry chuckle escaped from the back of your throat, raw and gritty.

You sat at your cubicle in a daze for a few more moments, allowing yourself to feel the exhaustion of working overtime with yet another deadline looming over your head for the entire week. You were unable to formulate much coherent thought, having used up all your brain power throughout the long and hectic day. Your stomach was empty, but you didn’t feel particularly hungry, even though you had skipped lunch and dinner—you’d completely bypassed hunger by that point and were simply left feeling tired and drained.

But, it was a Friday, a merciful end to your long and arduous week. You had a couple of days of rest and reprieve—you could sleep in the next morning without a care in the world. You could laze around in your apartment without having to worry about deadlines and proposals for the next two days.

With that promising thought, you started to gather your things, turned off the computer, and slung your bag over your shoulder. You bowed to your poor colleagues left in the office and dragged yourself to the lobby to wait for the elevator to arrive on your floor.

After pressing the down button, you stood back and stared blankly at the shiny tiled floor.

Should I eat or just go to sleep?

You genuinely worried over whether you could muster up enough energy to cook some instant ramen or not. The last remnants of adrenaline had completely vanished into thin air at that point. The trek home would likely eat up the remaining bits of your energy as well.

Maybe I should just—

Suddenly, your purse vibrated against your waist, shocking you out of your reverie. The muffled sound of your ringtone went off in the quiet lobby, growing louder and clearer as you fished your phone out of your bag.

Without bothering to see who was calling, you swiped your finger across the screen to answer the call. “Hello?” Your voice came out more tired and lifeless than you’d intended.

“Why, hello to you too, sunshine,” came a familiar deep and sarcastic voice.

“Give me a break, Iwa,” you grumbled, relieved that it wasn’t someone you had to put a front with. “I’m dead tired.”

“Sure sounds like it. Where are you?”

Then, the elevator pinged, and the doors slid open to reveal an empty cab.

“At the office.” You stepped into the elevator and pressed G to lead you to the ground floor of the office building.

“Still?” Your friend queried in a notably concerned voice.

“Overtime.”

There was a pause.

“You down for yakiniku?”

Iwaizumi’s gaze always seemed to pierce through your façade, leaving you feeling as though you were stripped bare in front of him.

You squirmed in your seat as he studied you for a moment longer before finally letting out a sigh.

“What’s with you and Oikawa?”

You immediately averted your own gaze away from your friend and fiddled with the napkin by your cup of tea. “Nothing.”

“Sure,” he responded sarcastically.

“No, really,” you insisted, eyes turning back to look at him. “Nothing’s going on.”

Iwaizumi paused at that before he started tapping the table with his index finger. “And? What do you want?”

I want him.

Your breath caught in your throat. You couldn’t bear to speak the words into actuality.

But the desire burned you from the inside, crawling up your throat, desperate to get out.

You clenched your jaw tightly.

He waited. And waited. And waited.

But you stubbornly kept quiet.

“Why are you so scared?” Iwaizumi probed in a gentler tone. “I don’t get it. Oikawa doesn’t treat you the same as others.”

“He treats me as a friend.”

You internally winced at the uncertainty underlying your voice. Your mind traitorously thought of the stupid button you’d put into a cute ring box—it had a pretty little bow and all.

You were a goner and you knew it. Hell, maybe everyone who knew the two of you knew it.

Iwaizumi shook his head, “Bullshit.”

You heaved a long and heavy sigh.

Even if you were to pursue something with Oikawa, would it really last? He had a bright future ahead of him—one that he’d fought tooth and nail for. And he’d already made some impressive yet scary leaps to reach his dreams. To stand on the Olympic stage, he dropped his Japanese citizenship for an Argentinian one.

How the hell would a relationship with an Argentinian even work? You sure as hell weren’t going to up and leave your roots for a relationship. You didn’t have anything in Argentina other than Oikawa, and he would get so incredibly busy that—

Iwaizumi stood, chair scraping against the floor at his movements. “Look, I can’t convince you of anything, but…”

You watched curiously as he shoved a hand into his jean pocket and wrenched out a familiar scrunchie.

“What…?”

“I told Shittykawa to give this to you, but he wanted me to be the messenger.”

Your brows furrowed. “Messenger?”

“Oikawa said he’s going to be at ‘your spot’ by Skytree,” Iwaizumi continued. “You should probably go now if you want to catch him.”

“Wait, Iwa, what?”

He held your gaze, his expression entirely serious as he spoke your given name. It was stern, yet enveloped in a deep, protective warmth—an expression that was fundamentally, purely Iwaizumi. Your mouth snapped shut. Despite years of unbreakable friendship, he had never once addressed you by your first name.

“You deserve to be happy,” he said quietly. “Oikawa’s my friend, but so are you. I want you to be happy.”

A lump formed in your throat.

“I know that relationships are not needed for people to be happy, but…” he trailed off and shot you a meaningful look. “But Oikawa makes you happy.”

He grabbed hold of your limp hand and pressed the scrunchie—the silly little thing—down in your palm.

“Go.”

What in the shoujo manga am I doing? You couldn’t help but let loose an incredulous laugh as you ran to where he was supposedly waiting.

You felt so ridiculous. This wasn’t like you.

And frankly, you weren’t entirely sure where “your spot” was supposed to be, so you just followed your heart, as cliché as it was. The place that had the most… emotional memories was the izakaya.

Tipsy giggles spilling out of lips. Eyes glazing over with wistful adoration. Pinkies linking together in an unspoken and uncertain promise of something.

Yes, that was indeed your spot—at least, it was in Tokyo.

And wasn’t that quite the thought; you had multiple “spots” with Oikawa—you had one back in Miyagi and another in Argentina of all places. You wondered if Oikawa considered them his “spots” with you as well.

After all, you had gone to multiple places together, and all those places held special memories—some greater than others.

Your mind drifted back to the anticipation of meeting Oikawa for the first time since he had left Japan in front of Moomin House Cafe.

Yes, your ponytail had come loose from the breeze… and he had taken your scrunchie. 

You shoved your hand into your pocket and gave the scrunchie tucked away a squeeze.

You had completely forgotten about it, not having fully processed that Oikawa hadn’t given it back on that day, too caught up with… him to realize that it had been gone in the first place.

Your fingertips tingled as heat rushed up from your heart to face.

Lost in your thoughts and of days passed, you didn’t notice your surroundings until you nearly got shouldered by a pair of drunk university students near the izakaya.

“Ah,” the one who seemed more sober shot you a glazed over glance. “Shorry ‘bout that!”

Before you could come up with a response, you caught sight of him in your peripherals.

There he is. Your heart raced and your palms grew sweaty as you halted in your steps and just…admired him.

There he was, Oikawa Tooru, in the flesh, leaning against the front of the izakaya, paying no mind to the passersby.

He appeared deep in thought but seemed fidgety at the same time. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his left foot rested against the brick wall behind him. He was tapping his index finger against his bicep in an irregular rhythm, and his left knee bounced restlessly.

You sucked in a deep breath to settle your nerves and let it all out slowly, letting your shoulders relax to release all the tension that had been built up.

Then, you raised your chin and took a resolute step forth.

Oikawa looked up at the crunch of gravel at your feet and immediately straightened up.

“You came…” he murmured, staring at you as if he couldn’t believe it.

You took a couple more steps forward and nodded slowly. “I… was with Iwa.”

He examined you for a couple of moments longer. His eyes traced over all your features, not missing a single detail as though he was an artist staring down at his magnum opus. A wistful smile blossomed from his lips, giving him an ethereal sort of melancholy that made him so achingly beautiful.

He really could have been a model, you thought.

Unable to stand the tension, you opened your mouth to break the silence, but Oikawa held up a hand.

“Wait,” he requested weakly. “Let’s talk… somewhere else.”

You gazed into his chocolate eyes before giving him a slow nod. “Okay.”

He waited patiently as you considered the places you could go. 

Perhaps it was the nostalgia and sentiment of the place that got to you, but a sudden thought took hold of you and wouldn’t let go.

You chewed on your bottom lip as you rolled that idea over and over in your head. Is it really a good idea to walk down memory lane? You wondered before promptly brushing it aside.

“I have somewhere in mind,” you uttered into the silence that had fallen between you.

Oshinari Park was surprisingly quiet. Only a few scattered commuters hurried through the paved pathways, striding briskly toward their next destinations; no one lingered the way you and Oikawa did, walking at a leisurely synchronized pace, drinking in the rare stillness the city had to offer.

You stared up at the warm incandescent lights and listened to the gentle flow of the river. Occasionally, a little splash broke through the soft rhythm of Oshinari Park as fish swam up close to the surface before flittering away with a flick of their tails.

As you walked with Oikawa next to you at a safe distance, uncertainty and doubt crept in, clouding your initial confidence and conviction to open your heart to him.

It was an excruciatingly familiar feeling—an insidious demon that sucked all the warmth in you and left you feeling cold and numb in that tight suffocating bubble of insecurity and doubt.

The longer you lingered in Oikawa’s bright presence, the more uncertain you felt. His presence only emphasized the contrast between the two of you: where he was bright and brilliant, you were dark and dull.

With a heavy heart, you drank in the intimate scenery before you. The river was a wonderful sight to see in the ever-so-busy bustling city of Tokyo. The pretty light and flittering fish were captivating, almost hypnotic in their harmonious serenity.

But they were still not enough to distract you when Oikawa’s presence felt so grand and demanded most of your attention.

The both of you strolled along the river for a bit longer before finding a seat near a waiting heron, unbothered as if your presence meant nothing to its hunt.

Neither of you spoke for a good while, so it startled you when he gently placed his hand on top of yours. Warm. His hand was still as well groomed as ever, maybe even more so; you couldn't stop staring as he linked your pinkies together.

For a moment, you had the absurd thought of standing up, flinging your arm away, anything to avoid what you set out to do, but your pinkies remained gingerly hooked as you held your breath in anticipation.

"This reminds me of when I visited Japan almost two years ago,” Oikawa mused aloud, raising his gaze to the starry skies—a rarity in Tokyo, and it felt more significant with the two of you in your little pocket of the world. “Do you remember when we visited Skytree?”

“Of course I do,” you laughed quietly. “How could I forget?”

You could never erase that memory from your mind even if you had wanted to—not that you ever would. 

“We saw Tokyo when the sun had been out, but it was still nice,” he hummed. “It felt like home.”

Then, he swallowed nervously and licked his lips, glancing over at you bashfully. “Being with you… it felt like home.”

Dammit, you internally cursed, heart picking up speed at his sweet words that nearly tore down your defences.

You wanted it. You borderline needed it.

Those three forbidden words played at the tip of your tongue, tingling your nerves and urging you to open your mouth and let them escape out into the world—but the memory of Matsumoto’s tired and defeated face popped into your mind.

You might just end up getting caught in something bigger than you expected. Matsumoto’s words echoed like a bad omen in the recesses of your mind, pulling your heart in two opposite directions.

Eventually, the tug of war gave way to one side. And you stubbornly swallowed those forbidden words back and fortified your resolve. No, I can’t. This is wrong—I was wrong. This is all a stupid mistake.

What good did following your heart even do?

“Listen to me, please.”

A shiver ran down your spine following the wonderful sound of your name saturated in his deep rich voice. Your pulse raced with anticipation, but you tried to maintain a semblance of your cool as you shoved your trembling fingers underneath your thighs.

“Oikawa.”

The use of his surname was purposeful. A roundabout yet a stern reminder of the distance between you—a distance you had maintained throughout all these years, one you couldn’t close.

“Oikawa, look—”

“Tooru.”

“Call me Tooru… just for this moment.”

Your heart jerked at his painfully familiar words. They took you back to the day that you now knew was when he had completely taken your heart.

“...Tooru,” you sighed, pulling one hand from underneath your thigh and dragging it down your face tiredly. “I just—I don’t—How is this even supposed to work? We live in different worlds.”

“I’m pretty sure we both live on Earth,” Oikawa retorted.

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I actually don’t.”

You turned your head to the side and heaved a long and heavy sigh of frustration. Why couldn’t he understand? Why was he so set on not trying to understand?

“Oika—Tooru,” you hastily corrected yourself. “Look, it’s just that… we’re different. I’m…I’m not right for you. You’re so—you’re you. And I’m me.”

“You’re perfect,” Oikawa insisted, eyes flashing with determination—one that you had often seen right before he pulled off an awe-inspiring no-touch service ace.

Rather than feel flattered or at ease, frustration started boiling over.

Why can’t he see what I see?

“No, look—” you pinched the bridge of your nose and shook your head. “I… just don’t know where to begin. There’s so much stacked against us, Tooru. You’re… chasing after your dreams in another country. I’m happy living my life in Japan as another regular office worker. I don’t have grand dreams, the same kind of aspirations, as you.”

Oikawa shook his head in that same stubborn and determined manner of his. “That doesn’t matter to me. I just want y—”

“Don’t!” you cut him off sharply, your voice cracking under the strain. “Don’t say it. It’s only going to hurt worse when it ends.” 

The fight abruptly left your body, leaving you feeling entirely hollowed out. Your words had cut through the air harsher than you intended, and you didn't miss the sharp flash of agony that flickered across his features. Why do I keep ruining things? This is why we can’t work out.

The two of you were silent for a tense minute or so, and you felt horrible. Hell, you didn’t even have to look at him to know that your words had also hurt him—you could sense it radiating off of him in alpha waves. 

This was a mistake.

Those words sunk deep into your chest, branding its truth and the seriousness of the entire situation on your heart, leaving a painful sting that felt akin to a burn. 

“You know what…” you sighed, wanting nothing more than for time to rewind itself. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry, Tooru.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. You looked past his shoulder at the river, but the harmonious serenity you had admired moments ago was completely gone. In the dark, the water looked black and bottomless, and the incandescent lights from the bridge fractured across the ripples like shattered glass. It looked just like your thoughts—broken, cold, and entirely uninviting.

You felt like a total asshole and so fucking ashamed of yourself. You knew that the ruined mood was all because of you and your stupid insecurities. This was a mistake.

“That’s why I’m no good for you…” you muttered, turning away from him and putting some distance between you two. Maybe I should just leave?

“What you said back then!” He blurted out, desperation and urgency colouring his voice. “To not ‘discredit the fruits of hard work’! I… Those words…”

You craned your head back to shoot him an incredulous look over your shoulder. “You… remember that?”

“Word for word,” he confirmed before continuing. “Those words… for some reason, they kept me going throughout all these years. Even though you don’t know much about volleyball… I felt like you were the only one who really… understood me—saw me sometimes.”

You fell silent at that, not having realized just how strong of an impact your words had left on him through all these years.

For a moment, everything felt serene. It was as though his words quieted all the loud thoughts in your head. There was something tender and intimate about his admission—words blurted out in a moment’s passion.

“Talent is something you make bloom,” he spoke in a way that sounded as though he was quoting someone. “Instinct is something you polish.”

You felt your body turn slowly as you watched his eyes glaze over as though he was lost in memory. A beautifully wistful expression painted his face, brows slightly pinched together with lips quirked up in an oddly complementary way.

Badump. Badump. Badump.

Your heart sped up and your throat tightened in response. As though keenly aware of his effect on you, Oikawa’s gaze refocused and landed squarely on your wavering ones.

“And that is all through hard work.”

And in an utterly embarrassing cheesy turn of events, a strong gust of wind swept through the place right at the end of Oikawa’s solemn statement. You squinted up at him, and the sight that beheld you nearly stole all the breath in your lungs.

Oikawa’s brown locks danced gracefully in the wind. Although they weren’t in their usual place, not a single lock of hair looked out of place. He looked picturesque staring at you with those serious eyes.

You, on the other hand, probably looked ridiculous. You could feel the ends of your hair rising before it obscured your sight.

You blew a piece of hair away from your mouth and ran a hand through your tousled hair, hoping to get it away from your face.

Damn, he really is a shoujo manga male lead.

“Why are you so perfect?” you blurted out with an odd tinge of annoyance and admiration.

“Huh?”

The poor guy looked gobsmacked. For good reason, you supposed. You had thrown that in out of absolutely nowhere, probably shattering whatever mood Oikawa was working up to.

The serenity that had settled between you two was completely shattered, replaced by confusion and awkwardness.

Ah, shit.

After a second of contemplation, you decided to simply lean into it, allowing yourself to be honest with him—with all your confused and awkward feelings.

“You’re just…” You exhaled a long and shaky breath. “You’re just so perfect. And…and I’m just me.”

“You’re… just you?” Oikawa echoed with an odd inflection in his voice. You couldn’t quite pin down what it was.

“Oi—Tooru. You’re a star volleyball player. Yes, I’ve been keeping tabs, you know—turns out Spanish to Japanese machine translations aren’t that great, but the articles I’ve read have nothing but good things to say about your progress. You’ve chased after your dreams with such… hunger. And look at the heights you’ve reached! People at home—in Japan—now know who you are. And…and…” you trailed off as the fire stoking your words simmered down.

Oikawa didn’t say anything. He only stood, watching you with pained eyes.

“And I’m me. I can’t hold a candle to you. I don’t have big dreams. I don’t have big ambitions. Hell, I’m not that passionate about my job! I’m just… content with being, well, average. Surely, you can do better, Tooru.”

You let your head drop, your chin nearly touching your chest as your shoulders slumped under the weight of your own confession. You stared down at your shoes, suddenly hyper-aware of the sharp chill of the Tokyo night air cutting through your clothes now that his hand wasn’t touching yours. You felt entirely small, hollowed out, and utterly defeated by the gravity of your own words.

You couldn’t bear to look at him any longer, so you turned your body slightly away from the man you loved. Yes, I admit it. I love Oikawa Tooru.

A part of you felt relieved to finally admit those words even to yourself. It was simply the truth—one that you had buried deep into your heart and locked away for it to never crystallize and take proper hold in your mind.

Another part of you felt defeated. All of the years of fighting while subconsciously knowing and denying the truth had gone to waste. There were a multitude of reasons why you had gone down the route of repressing your feelings: the difference in lifestyles, ambitions, and homes to start. The list was seemingly endless. How could you even dare to bask in Oikawa’s light?

You would weigh him down.

You weren’t stupid. You were content in your steady and stable life. Although it was routine and perhaps boring, you liked the stability, the on and off, and the time you had to yourself. 

Oikawa’s was far more unpredictable than yours. He had his busy seasons, where he barely had time to himself, let alone others. 

The distance between Japan and Argentina had been good for you. Being in the same place—in a significant place—your spot—was dangerous. It had effortlessly tore down the walls you had built up over the years and penetrated the fortress around your heart that had guarded your feelings—the truth.

Oikawa remained quiet, but you felt his eyes rest on your figure. You didn’t dare look up, fearing what you would see in his gaze.

“I don’t know why you seem to think you’re… lesser than me because you really aren’t. I’ve always thought you were untouchable.”

“Me?” you snapped your head up and couldn’t help but clarify incredulously. He thinks I’m untouchable?

But… you were you. And Oikawa was Oikawa.

There was no comparison to be made. You were simply not on equal playing fields.

“You’re always so steady,” Oikawa started in a soft voice. “I feel like a fucking mess compared to you. After years of knowing each other, you’ve always stayed true to who you are.”

“I… have?”

“You feel like home. Every time I meet you again, I… you feel familiar. You make me feel safe. Comfortable. Like I can let down my walls so that you can see all my ugly parts. And… I want you to see them. I want you to see me. I…I want to see more of you.”

You were floored. You had absolutely no idea that he felt that way around you. You knew that he held some feelings for you; you would have been a fool to not notice those tender glances, lingering touches, and tense silences. But it had never crossed your mind that he might have engraved a piece of you into his heart as you had for him.

After all… you were just plain old you.

In your eyes, there was nothing special about you. You led an average life and just so happened to have some pretty awesome friends.

“So… you’re perfect.”

You didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry. After all these years of thinking Oikawa Tooru was this bright and brilliant star too far out of your reach, it turns out that he’d thought the same of you.

You couldn’t understand.

How could someone think so highly of you? How could Oikawa think you were the untouchable one?

He’d saturated your world with bright and beautiful colours. He was the sun that shone brighter than ever after a long and fierce storm—the reprieve that everyone sought but couldn’t touch without getting burned in the process.

Oikawa Tooru effortlessly drew you in and kept you on a wire, leaving you pining for more like a selfish child. But simultaneously, he provided an absolute sense of security. You finally understood what he meant. Being with him brought a profound, unparallelled peace.

The week following your departure was always the hardest. A part of you felt hollow, feeling symptoms of withdrawal after having basked in paradise for a short reprieve.

A part of you was spooked by the depth of his effect on you. No one should be so over-reliant on another person. That was bound to be the beginning of a painful ending.

“I love you,” he said, his voice ringing out with absolute, unshakeable confidence. 

You closed your eyes tightly, a heavy lump forming in your throat. 

“I love you,” he repeated, closer now. “And… I desperately want you to love me back.” 

Fuck. 

Even with your lids sealed, hot tears welled up against your lashes, your lips trembling violently. Your eyes fluttered open as you focused on preventing the tears from running loose.

“Please say something,” Oikawa implored.

“I’m… I…” you licked your lips as you tried to verbalize your incoherent thoughts. “I’m… scared.”

Oikawa’s gaze softened at your words, and his fingers twitched toward your hands as though he wanted to hold them, but he, mercifully, held back. “I’m scared too.”

“You are?” you asked in a small voice.

“Of course,” Oikawa replied gently. “I’ve wanted you for so long. And it’s not like I don’t see where you’re coming from. I understand.”

“You… understand?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I get that it can be… burdensome being with a pro athlete. I’ve had colleagues and teammates tell me things over the years. I didn’t want to drag you into all of that and hurt you, so I tried to hold myself back for your sake and mine. But…” He glanced up at the stars and sighed. “But I didn’t want to at a certain point. I was tired of fighting this.”

Suddenly, his gaze fell on yours, and you were entranced.

His soft brown locks danced in the wind, and his chocolate orbs sparkled as they reflected the bright stars in the night sky. He glowed with the city lights of Tokyo behind him. He was staggeringly beautiful, and yet… right now, there was something so completely, beautifully human about him. 

Perhaps it was the subtle tremor he couldn’t quite control in his hands. Perhaps it was the slight redness rimming his eyes. Perhaps it was the tight, anxious clenching of his jaw.

Perhaps he simply convinced you with his open and honest words.

Ah, you realized suddenly as you studied him and noticed all these little details. He isn’t untouchable.

Oikawa Tooru, at the end of the day, was just another person.

You had been so stupid, blinded by the rose-coloured lenses you’d unknowingly donned this whole time. You had put him on a pedestal after you’d gotten to know how amazing the man before you was.

You could see him now, for some reason, with more clarity. You saw the brokenness inside him—one that everyone carried simply because they were human. 

“Take a chance on me. I love you. I have loved you since high school.”

You bit down on your lip, fighting back the tears that welled up in your eyes.

How was it so easy for him to tell you his feelings when it was so hard for you?

“Do… you love me too?”

At his timid question, a single tear rolled down your cheek. Then, another followed suit. And another.

“How could I not?” You responded with a question instead. “How could I not love you? Of course, I love you. I think I’ve loved you since high school too.”

Oikawa let loose a wet chuckle and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “You think? I knew… Actually, I’m pretty sure everyone knew. Iwa-chan knew from day one.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped you, memories of graduation day flooding in like a sudden tidal wave, filling you with wistful nostalgia.

Iwaizumi was a wonderful friend. His knowing smile and eyes suddenly made sense to you.

“He did, didn’t he?”

Then, you suddenly remembered the stupid scrunchie. The ridiculous little token of the past that Iwaizumi had whipped out to prove Oikawa’s sincerity. You shoved your hand into your bag and fished out the silly thing.

Oikawa watched curiously before you brandished your scrunchie before him.

He immediately flushed red.

“O-Oh… uh, that thing! I can—wait—I…”

You took pity on the poor guy and cut him off. “I met up with Iwaizumi earlier. He said that you wanted him to be a messenger.”

The brunet gulped and nodded jerkily. “Y-Yeah…”

“I’ll be honest,” you started slowly. “I didn’t think you would carry something of mine for almost two years. I didn’t think you were the type.”

Oikawa flushed an even deeper shade of red. “I couldn’t help it! I saw the opportunity and… well… yeah!”

“But why?”

“Gosh, you know why! I wanted to have a physical piece of you with me over there, okay? Way to make a guy feel like an absolute idiot,” he whined playfully, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologized with a laugh. “I didn’t mean to tease you.”

“You liar.”

“Okay, well, not that much, alright? Besides… I’m not any better,” you confessed.

At that, the brunet perked up and pinned you down with an accusatory glare.

“Do you remember your second button? From graduation day?” you asked, bypassing his look. 

Oikawa clearly hadn't anticipated your question. His playful defense mechanism dropped instantly, his eyes widening. “You mean…?”

“Yeah, your… gift,” you nodded. “I still have it with me, you know. It’s in one of those small ring boxes with a bow on it.”

Instead of teasing you as you had expected him to, Oikawa simply stared at you with awe.

“You…you kept it? Even after all these years?” he whispered.

“Yes… it’s…it’s precious. A little token of our feelings for each other—even back then.”

A comfortable silence fell between you two. You felt warm, knowing that Oikawa felt the same way as you. It set your heart at peace and soothed the ache that you’d grown used to—one that built up from all the longing and pining over the years.

You smiled at Oikawa, just as a lock of your hair fell over your eye.

He reached up and gently tucked the loose hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed the shell of your ear and trailed down to your cheek. He closed his eyes and rolled his lips in between his teeth, seeming to fight something welling up within him.

“We’re… in love… right?”

“We’re in love,” you whispered into the space between you.

A choked laugh escaped his lips and warmed the cool atmosphere with its beautiful and wonderful tenor.

He opened his eyes, and you weren’t shocked to see that they were glassy with tears as well.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. “I just—I can’t believe…I can’t believe that I’m finally yours.”

You loved how he said it. He didn’t say that you were his, but that he was yours.

“And I’m yours.”

You didn’t think you’d ever said anything truer in your entire life.

His arms snaked around your waist, the heavy fabric of his jacket rustling sharply as he pulled you forward, erasing the last few inches of empty air between you. The contrast was instant—his palm was burning hot against your freezing cheek, his thumb smoothing over your skin with a gentle, desperate friction. You caught the faint, nostalgic scent of his cologne mixed with the crisp, clean breeze from the river. Every single nerve ending screamed with the realization of how solid he was, how completely he anchored you to the earth.

You unabashedly stared deep into his eyes, committing every little detail to memory—the glassy sheen, the little specks of silver and gold from the stars and city lights, the tenderness—all of it.

His thumb gently brushed against your right cheek as he reciprocated your gaze.

You had spent a lifetime maintaining a safe, calculated distance, orbiting his gravity but never daring to close the gap. But as his lips finally descended onto yours, Oikawa completely, beautifully closed the distance between you.

“What…" You cleared your throat, "what is it?”

“[Surname], we need to clean the lockers.”

You blinked. That’s…it?

“[Surname]?”

“What's the issue with cleaning the lockers?”

“[Surname],” Kita shook his head in exasperation. “This is no simple matter. There’s been a very strange smell coming from one of the lockers. No one seems to have noticed except for me.”

You scrunched your nose at the phantom smell you imagined, “Ugh, gross.”

“It concerns me that no one else has mentioned the stench, so I thought it would be best to discuss this with ya.” Kita explained, "I would have cleaned it myself, but…that locker appears to be more of a hassle than I thought."

“We’ll hafta have a chat with the coaches,” you mentioned as you shifted the plastic bag in your arms.

“Let’s talk with them at the start of practice,” he suggested. “We’re always the first ones there.”

You hummed in agreement, giving a thumbs up while holding the bag of chouripan.

“Have a good rest of the day,” Kita raised his hand to bid you farewell.

“You too!” You smiled at him and then watched as he turned around to make his way back to his classroom.

If only everyone else can be like Kita-san, you internally groaned, dreading the mess ahead of you. I’ve never seen him look so…spooked like that.

With that thought, you turned on your heel and trudged over to the classroom where your fellow second years were waiting for their lunch.

"What took ya so long? We're hungry!” Osamu demanded as soon as you stepped foot into Atsumu and Ginjima’s homeroom.

“Patience, children, patience,” you clicked your tongue and pulled out the chouripan from the bag.

Osamu practically lunged for his croquette bread as you took a clever step back. Suna flinched from beside the ravenous beast before thanking you for his curry bread.

“Thanks, [Surname],” Ginjima burped out around a mouthful of yakisoba bread.

You grimaced at the food being sprayed and shifted away from Ginjima. “We still have plenty of time to eat. There's no need to scarf it down." You carefully opened the plastic for your melonpan.

“What do people say? You will get three mon when you wake up early?” Atsumu mused.

“Wow, are ya complimenting me?” you huffed, knowing full well that wasn’t the blonde’s intention.

“Huh?”

“You’re basically sayin’ that you only got to enjoy this delicious food because of me,” you quipped.

“Really?”

“Did you just say that to sound smart?” Suna rolled his eyes.

Atsumu only chomped down on his lunch and avoided eye contact with you and Suna.

Normally, you would have continued to tease your friend, but you chose to hold your tongue at that moment.

Kita-san’ll probably rip them a new one for making the lockers into a mess. Though you weren't sure they were the culprits of the smell, you had an inkling feeling that the cleanup was not going to be limited to that one locker.

After you and Kita explained the state of the locker rooms to Coach Kurosu and Coach Oomi, the two eagerly permitted you to use the coming practice as a time to clean the lockers. The assistant coach even mouthed you two a 'good luck' before turning to his paperwork with gusto you’ve never seen from him before.

“That was surprisingly easy,” you muttered as you and Kita left their office and walked to the gym.

“I believe Coach Kurosu has seen his fair share of grime,” he responded with a slight shrug.

“Probably,” you agreed as Kita pulled open the gym door and motioned for you to enter first.

“Yer late!” Atsumu pointed at the two of you with narrowed eyes. “Ya know the drill for—”

“Too bad for you; we’re in charge,” you interrupted, wanting to get this cleanup over and done with. Truthfully, you were afraid of rifling through their lockers and stumbling upon something gross.

Confused whispers broke out as soon as those words left your lips.

“Did we do something wrong?”

“Is Coach sick or somethin’?”

“But I saw him earlier today!”

“Does he want us to die!?”

The corner of your lip quirked up at that. You knew that you and Kita could make a frightening duo when dealing with the rowdy team; you could only hope that you could instill the fear of God in the boys to take the cleanup with the proper attention it deserved.

Kita glanced at you, prompting you to stride forward and face the team.

“Boys,” you started pointedly. “Yer gonna clean up the mess you created.”

To get them all to settle down, you purposefully omitted that you were going to help because they wouldn't take the cleaning seriously if they knew you were going to clean up their mess for them.

The noise died down into silence.

“Mess…?” Akagi echoed in uncertainty.

“But we always clean up after ourselves,” Oomimi piped in.

“Clearly, your 'clean up' is not enough,” Kita finally cut in with an edge to his voice.

Everyone waited for the captain to say more, but he simply stared them down, silently willing them to subjugation.

Aran shifted his weight to his right foot and wrung his hands together. “So…what are we cleanin’?”

You and Kita exchanged a knowing glance with one another before focusing back on the team.

“The lockers.”

“...”

“Oh, shit.”

“Don’tcha think Kita-san’d love to be reborn as a Roomba?” Atsumu whispered to you, monitoring the captain swiftly take out the junk from the lockers and put them in the trash pile.

You shot him an unimpressed frown in return. “And you’d love to be reborn as trash, wouldn’t ya? Just…take a look at the mess you’ve made!”

“Oh, c’mon! It’s not that bad!”

You did not deign to respond to your childhood friend and crouched down beside Kita to help. The locker was practically a garbage bin, cluttered with loose and crumpled papers, barely readable receipts, unfolded plastic bags, and wrappers of all sorts.

“Which one's the recycling bag?” you asked.

“This one here,” Kita pulled the large bag from behind him and handed it over to you. “Put on your gloves and mask.”

You reached for the one-time-use rubber gloves and gingerly slipped them on. They were a little too big on you, but they would work to protect you from the deep cleaning you were about to perform. Then, you carefully put on the surgical mask and immediately got to work.

After a few moments of surgically sorting through the trash and tossing the recyclables inside the bag, you noticed the team just crowding around the doorway.

“Whatcha doin’ just standin' there?” you ground out in ire, Kansai-ben coming out thick. “Get. Cleanin’.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You studied the team as they scrambled to put on their gloves and masks.

When Oomimi and Akagi opened their lockers and started clearing away trash that accumulated over the past few months (…dare I think since the last cleanin', you sighed), Suna and Ginjima followed suit.

Aran offered to take your place, knowing that you wanted to survey the team and make sure they were cleaning properly, so you thanked him under your breath and beelined straight to the twins.

“Yer comin’ with me,” you grasped their arms in an iron grip and dragged the two behind you.

Unlike the others, you chose to open the empty lockers. The team didn't have permission to use them, but you had a feeling your boys didn't care about whether they had permission or not. And to prove that the empty lockers weren't actually empty, you peered into the locker, then robotically turned your head to the twins.

“Which…idiot…made slime and put it in here? Which one of you did it?”

The twins were quick to put the blame on the other.

“‘Tsumu.” “‘Samu.”

The rest of the team gathered around upon hearing the ruckus.

“Yer brotherly love is truly movin’ me to tears,” Aran deadpanned.

“‘Fess up,” you scowled.

Your best friends flinched, and only then did Osamu raise his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. I’m the one who used that locker, but…I didn’t make slime! I only put the snacks we got from New Year’s.”

“So the snacks amalgamated into slime,” you concluded doubtfully. What kinda snacks morph into slime of all things?

“Well…there was cafeteria bread, milk, mochi, and other snacks!”

“No wonder it became slime,” Kita sighed, then turned to open the adjacent locker, leaving you to deal with the twins.

“Well?” You arched a brow and crossed your arms over your chest.

“I-I’m sorry,” Osamu bowed his head.

“I’m not looking for an apology here, Osamu.”

“Right…” he readjusted his mask and gloves, then started to peel off the slime from the locker.

“Atsumu.”

“I didn’t do anythin’!” The blonde twin cried defensively.

You ignored his comment, already tired from the cleaning you had done. “Go get some wet rags,” you paused as you eyed the locker room. “Actually, fill a bucket with water and grab the pile of rags on the shelf. They're the smaller ones in white—remember not to grab the maroon ones. Those towels are the ones you guys use.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He saluted before scurrying out of the locker room.

You watched Osamu miserably peel bits and pieces of the sticky slime off the bottom of the locker. These bits, however, clung to his gloves for dear life. He had to rub his gloves against the inside of the bag to get most of it off.

These gloves won’t last, you determined, feeling a bit nauseous from witnessing him handle the sticky yet clumpy slime.

Just as you were about to turn and get him a new pair of gloves, you caught sight of Osamu reeling back and nearly falling on his rear.

“What happened?” You rushed over in alarm, nausea forgotten in place of concern, “What is it?”

Osamu wordlessly pointed at the bottom of the locker, turning a little green in the face. Your eyes swivelled over to the area he was pointing at, and a harsh gasp escaped your lips.

To your absolute horror, beneath the slime lay a small pool of yellowish-brown liquid.

“Oh God…”

“Is that…garbage juice?”

“It looks like shit water.”

“For fuck’s sake, shut up, Gin.”

You nearly bumped into Kita when you took a step back.

“Careful,” he murmured before stopping a couple feet away from the unknown liquid.

“K-Kita-san?” Osamu jerked his head up in surprise.

The third year only scrutinized the puddle for a few seconds longer, then finally nodded once and turned to you. “I’ll take care of this, but we’re gonna have to wait until Atsumu comes back. I’ll wipe it down with a couple of rags, then throw them out since we don’t know what this liquid is. It shouldn’t be hazardous, but it’s better to just trash it.”

A stunned silence followed until you broke it.

“Kita-san…”

“Our hero!”

“You’re so brave…and kind, Shinsuke!”

“Hurray for Kita-san!”

Osamu gawked up at his captain with suspiciously glassy eyes, “Kita-san, a-are you sure…?”

“It’s fine,” Kita brushed off everyone’s praise. “But this won’t be happening again.”

“Yes, of course!” Osamu bobbed his head enthusiastically.

“Go clean out the other lockers. We still have a lot to do.”

Everyone immediately scampered away from the locker and resumed their cleaning, touched by Kita’s sacrifice and wanting to lessen his workload.

And so, when Atsumu finally re-emerged with a bucket in one fist and rags hooked under his arm, no one bothered to explain what had transpired in his absence. Even when he’d cried out, “What the fuck is that?” no one bothered to explain. Kita merely sauntered up to him, took a few rags, and let them soak up the liquid without a single word.

Thankfully, all of the lockers following the slime and liquid-filled one were rather simple and easy to clean—pulling out wrappers, forgotten t-shirts, papers, and other harmless miscellaneous items.

You peeked into the next locker and, to your pleasant surprise, saw some familiar trinkets inside.

“Who put losing tickets, sweets, and knick-knacks in here?” Kita frowned.

“Oh, that’s us,” Atsumu freely offered as the other second years gathered closer to take a look at the things Kita had pulled out and dumped into a pile.

“Man, I remember ya got these back in April,” Ginjima crowed in laughter.

“Not by choice!” Atsumu protested.

“It's cuz you lost Janken,” Osamu reminisced, undoubtedly fondly recalling his twin’s frustration at having lost the game.

You gingerly pulled out the knick-knacks and organized them into a separate pile, knowing that the boys would likely sift through them and fight over who would take them home after the deep cleaning.

Suna watched from above, “So why are there three of the same keychain?”

“Ah, Osamu bought a bunch that time ‘cause he didn’t get the one he wanted, 'member? He left the ones he didn’t want.” Ginjima replied, scratching the back of his ear.

“From the gachapon?”

“Yeah? I think so.”

“How nostalgic,” Suna chuckled.

“Yeah, I’m startin’ to remember that day,” Ginjima agreed with a goofy grin.

“Yeah…” Osamu smiled.

“Aw, now we can’t throw ‘em out! They’re our memories, Kita-san,” Atsumu attempted to appeal as he hovered over the crouched captain.

“I see,” Kita nodded once before indiscriminately reaching for the pile of trash beside him, “so it's trash then.”

“Are ya sayin’ our memories are trash!?”

“Think of our banner,” Kita stated frankly. “‘We don’t need memories’.”

“That’s not what it means!” Osamu denied.

“It means you should always try new things—not throw away yer memories!” Atsumu elaborated.

“Now, now,” you pacified your fellow second years by gesturing to the trinkets next to you, “I put the keychains in another pile, so ya can take ‘em home after a thorough wash.”

Suna immediately bent down to the pile of keychains you had set aside and rifled through them. He pulled one out of the pile and dangled it over your line of sight. “I’m gonna take this one.”

“By all means,” you shrugged. “Oh, but clean it before you take it home with ya.”

“Yes, mom.”

“No fair!” Atsumu dropped into a crouch beside you. “Ya got a head start, Suna!”

“Sucks to be you,” the middle blocker stuck his tongue out.

The blonde retaliated before examining the keychains as well. “Hey, I have an idea!”

“What?” you sighed. Outside of volleyball, Atsumu’s ideas were hardly ever good.

“Let’s have matching keychains!” Atsumu plucked the three same keychains off the pile and held them out to you and Suna.

“Why me? Why not your twin?” The latter questioned but accepted it nonetheless.

“I don’t wanna share with ‘Samu. It’s bad enough that I hafta share a birthday with him!”

“And a face,” Ginjima piped in as he and Osamu joined the others.

Atsumu harrumphed and turned to you and Suna with an arched brow, “Well?”

“Sure, I guess,” you took the keychain he offered. It was rather cute: a sleeping chibi nine-tailed fox. Oh, well, ‘Samu’s loss.

“...What are these textbooks?” Kita frowned for the nth time.

Atsumu crossed his arms over his chest and belted out in laughter. “Which idiot left their textbook and forgot about it!?”

The captain flipped open the cover and read out the messily-scrawled name, “This one says Miya Atsumu.”

“Study properly!” Osamu rebuked his twin, whose eye twitched in chagrin.

Kita put Atsumu’s textbook down on the bench and grabbed the other one. “And this one says Miya Osamu.”

You wanted to strangle the twins.

The number of times they had begged you to borrow your textbook the night before a test had caused you greater grief than they could ever understand.

“You guys left it for so long that you forgot it was yours,” Aran shook his head in disappointment.

No one was surprised, though.

You stood in front of the last locker and pursed your lips. Turning to Kita, you asked, “Is this the one?”

He nodded gravely in response.

“The one?” Aran echoed in confusion.

You ignored the questioning gazes from the team and took one stride back. How did they not smell it? It stank of dirty socks, rotten food, and an unidentifiable odour.

Suna braved a step forward, and a look of understanding flashed across his face.

“Oh, you mean this one.”

“Which one?” Ginjima inquired.

The middle blocker scooted away from the locker in question before shoving his hands into the pockets of his jersey jacket.

“The trash one.”

“The trash one?” you echoed in disbelief, sharing a horrified look with the captain.

“Uh,” Suna backtracked, seeming to realize that he had given the team away. “What I meant was—”

“I’m scared,” you admitted, not wanting to hear your friend’s excuses. You were tired, physically and mentally; you did not have the patience to tolerate the usual tomfoolery.

“Scared? Why?” Oomimi tilted his head to the side in evident confusion.

“Listen, the slime locker didn’t even smell this bad.”

Akagi shook his head vehemently, “I swear we don’t put food in this one! …That I know of.”

At the libero’s words, everyone turned to Osamu in sync.

He fervently waved his hands around to deny the silent accusations, “I-I didn’t! I only put ‘em in my locker and that other one!”

Usually, you took Osamu’s words at face value. He was usually more honest than his twin, so you didn’t have a reason to not believe him.

However, the horrific visual of the slime locker had an iron-clad hold on your mind’s eye. You had known that the twins weren’t the most organized of the bunch, but Osamu had gone beyond your admittedly low expectations.

That was all to say, you didn’t know if you could hold him to his words.

Taking a deep breath and holding it, you peered into the last locker.

To your surprise, nothing suspicious was in the lockers. It seemed like someone or perhaps most of the team had chucked their sweaty t-shirts, socks, and other belongings into the locker. It surprised you that clothes of all things could smell like rotten food.

Are high school boys gross enough to stink of mouldy food? you wondered, nose scrunching in both confusion and disgust. Should I throw these out or put them in the laundry?

Just then, out of the corner of your peripherals, you saw it.

Shrieking, you used all your strength to kick yourself away from the locker and scrambled onto the bench nearby.

“W-what! What is it!?”

“[Surname]!?”

You ignored the surprised calls of your team and stared Kita down.

“Kita-san.”

“Yes?” he blinked up at you.

“I think the coaches would understand if we burned the place down to the ground.”

“[Surname],” he sighed. “Arson is never the answer.”

“What is it, though?” Ginjima boldly poked his head into the locker. He seemed to scan it for a few moments until he, too, tensed.

Ginjima was the first of the team to join you up on the bench. You suspected that the others would soon join you after discovering the horror you two had seen.

“Oh God…” he groaned, face taking on a slightly green hue as he covered his eyes with his arms.

The rest of the team exchanged fearful looks with one another, likely wondering what got both their responsible manager and boisterous second year practically flying away from the suspicious locker.

Akagi bravely stepped in front of the herd and carefully examined the locker.

Then, he saw.

“Goki!” he yelped, throwing himself back and clambered to join you and Ginjima on your perch.

Everyone, except for Kita, all joined the libero and watched in bug-eyed terror as the biggest roach they had ever seen crawled out of the locker and make itself known to everyone and everything in the room.

“Shinsuke, save yerself!” Aran frantically cried as he backed up against the wall far away from the locker.

“I-it’s huge!” Oomimi burst out uncharacteristically.

Suna shuddered and scooted further down on the bench, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one that big.”

“It certainly is big,” Kita agreed in an even tone. He didn't even appear disgusted or afraid. He merely studied it like a scientist peering into a microscope with a detached sort of curiosity.

“[Surname] is right,” Akagi said. “We should just burn this place. Just look at—”

“No, that will not be necessary,” Kita cut in with a decisive shake of his head. “I have thought of a solution. Osamu, do ya plan to use this textbook?”

Kita-san, you stared at the captain in awe and admiration. You are such a great man! If only the others were like ya!

Oblivious to the awe he had inspired in all of them, Kita rolled the paper textbook in his hand after Osamu urged him to hurry with the murder.

Taking a few slow and soft gaits forward, Kita carefully poised himself a foot away from the monster, following its path with an intent gaze. His back coiled like a leopard about to charge at its prey, then he slammed the textbook down with a resonant thwack!

You held your breath in anticipation as you regarded the textbook. For a brief second, your shoulders relaxed, assuming that you were no longer in imminent danger. It made its appearance, however, by crawling out from under the sheets to face the bench where you and the team (minus Aran, who was hiding behind the doorway) were all on.

You swore it appeared like it was readying itself to charge forward. Please don't be the type to fly, you clasped your hands against your mask.

To your dismay, its half-broken wings spread in preparation for flight.

Oh no…it’s all over, you thought miserably. Flying cockroaches were incredibly difficult to dispose of. A failure to one-shot kill the pesky thing often led to a wild goose chase with an angry roach buzzing around the room. It’s like they need to assert their dominance as the stronger species.

Kita swiftly chased away your dark thoughts as he moved with lightning speed. He seized a rogue slipper off the floor and shoved his gloved hand through it.

Finally, he ruthlessly slammed the slipper down, squishing the roach and twisting it until a disgustingly familiar crunch echoed throughout the room, signalling to all of you that Kita had successfully slain the beast.

The captain gave the slipper another twist before flipping it over to examine the damage he had done.

“It’s done,” he announced.

All was still.

“Kita-san, you’re truly amazin’!” you gushed, jumping down from the bench and offering the captain a garbage bag to trash the murder weapon.

The rest of the team immediately broke out into triumphant cheers.

“Hail, Shinsuke!”

“Our hero!”

“You’re the star of the day, Kita-san! So brave! So—” Ginjima broke off, voice cracking with emotion.

“It was nothing,” Kita intervened as he trashed both the slipper and the one-time rubber glove into the bag before snatching a rag from another bench.

After you handed the captain a new glove, you carefully lifted Osamu’s textbook off the floor and hastily tossed it into the recycling bag. You recognized it as a first year workbook, so you deemed that Osamu wouldn’t want it back, especially after all it had gone through.

Kita wiped the floor with the rag before addressing the team, “Settle down, now. Resume with the cleanin’, please.”

No one complained as they held out their arms for the various articles of clothing you fished out of the trash locker. They all stank, and you feared that you'd lose your sense of smell as your nose seemed to no longer recognize the stench wafting from the locker.

Maybe everyone’s noses are broken, you considered, realization dawning on you as to why they had not been able to notice the smell. The use of the locker and the exposure to the stench must have ruined their noses forever.

With most of the clothes cleared, your eyes zeroed in on a brown paper bag sitting at the bottom of the locker.

You took hold of its handles and carefully lifted it, double-checking to make sure there wasn’t any garbage juice at the bottom of this locker. You squinted as you brought it out of its dark dwelling. Under the bright lights, you could clearly see the label plastered on the middle of the paper bag.

“McDonald’s,” you deadpanned before sucking in a deep breath and slowly turning to the twin who’d been giving you the most grief in this cleanup session. You could even reasonably pin the blame on him for the roach as well.

“I…” Osamu trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words. He, too, likely came to the same conclusion as you and knew he had no grounds to defend himself.

“Osamu.”

“Y-yes?”

“Didja do it?”

“…”

You didn’t back down and continued to glare up at the prime suspect of the crime in question.

“I…am very sorry.”

Extra: Osamu’s Rotten Luck

If you had to pick which of the twins gave you more grief, you’d choose Atsumu without a doubt. He could be a downright intolerable git at times: loud, rude, impulsive, and stubborn.

Osamu, on the other hand, tended to be more mellow and lowkey than his twin. That was to say, even though he tended to be less of a hassle, he, too, could be a downright intolerable git as well.

You watched with Ginjima and Suna flanking your sides as said twin hovered over the gachapon with laser-focused eyes. Atsumu was by his side, half-absorbed in the process and half-amused by Osamu’s failure to get the keychain he wanted.

“Dammit!” the grey-haired twin yelled after cracking open another capsule.

Atsumu chortled and snatched the keychain from his twin’s hands. “Wouldja look at that! It’s the same one!”

You glanced down at the numerous keychains Osamu had wasted his money on in one of your plastic bags.

“At this point, I think ‘Samu mighta got most of the keychains this machine's got to offer,” you grumbled.

“Except for the one he wants,” Suna added with a snicker.

Ginjima ran a hand through his hair. “He might drain his money before that happens.”

You all fell silent, simply observing Osamu’s nth attempt at getting his desired keychain. He aggressively shoved in another 100 yen to the gachapon, cranked the handle, and waited as the machine dispensed a capsule out for him to take.

Osamu glared down at it before grabbing the capsule and twisting it open.

Atsumu burst out into another round of laughter, alerting you to yet another failure from Osamu.

“Should we stop him?” Ginjima queried with furrowed brows.

“What do you think?” Suna asked you instead, an amused twinkle in his eye as he continued to record the downfall of Osamu's wallet.

“...Let’s just leave him to it,” you decided. “I ain’t getting involved in that. He’ll learn his lesson.”

“[Surname],” Coach Oomi called out, “do you mind going to the parking lot to see if they’re here yet?”

“Ah, yes!” You glanced up at the clock: it was about time their bus would arrive. You gave your fellow second years one final warning glare before exiting the gym.

The twins stuck their tongues out in return.

On your trek to the parking lot, you rifled through your clipboard and studied the notes you'd compiled of Kobe’s players. Kobe University wasn't as strong of a team as Osaka University of Commerce, the go-to team Inarizaki practiced with many times, but the prospect of playing against a university team rather than a high school team never failed to get the boys pumped up for practice matches.

Even the usually indifferent Suna and Oomimi appeared relatively excited whenever they faced university players.

“Hello there, are you perhaps the manager for Inarizaki’s volleyball team?”

You nearly dropped your clipboard when someone came up from behind. You hadn't even noticed someone walking over to you, and you'd scanned the area while looking through your notes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the stranger apologized, brows furrowing in concern.

“N-no, my apologies,” you hastily bowed. “I shoulda paid more attention to my surroundings. And yes, I’m [Surname] [Name], the manager for the volleyball team.”

“No harm done,” he assured you. “I’m Coach Uchimura, the head coach for Kobe University. It’s my first year as head coach, so it’s a good thing you came out to guide us.” He then turned to his team, “Say hello, boys!”

A chorus of hellos broke out as the group bowed in greeting. You floundered for a brief moment before dipping your head in return. As you straightened up, you met the gaze of one of the players, and he quickly averted his gaze.

Huh, weird.

Kobe University, or “Shindai” by the Kansai folk, sent their bench players onto the court.

Coach Kurosu and Coach Oomi already warned them that this could happen since they were a high school team, but you still felt indignant on the team's behalf.

You knew how much effort the boys put into practice, how passionate they were for the sport, and for Coach Uchimura to baby them with the bench players of Kobe’s volleyball club? It was, well, rather insulting.

“We’ll be fine,” Oomimi cut in before your thoughts stewed any longer.

You shut your eyes, counted to three, and decided to fill up the water bottles. I might as well find something to do before the match starts.

Once you informed the head coach you were heading out for refills, he gave an okay. “We’re probably gonna be at it for a bit,” he cocked his head towards the court. Both teams were warming up.

“I’ll be quick.”

You made your way to the door, intending on pushing the door with your back when Kobe’s starting libero, the one you’d made eye contact with at the parking lot, held it open for you.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you bowed as best as you could with an armful of water bottles.

“No problem,” he returned as you carefully adjusted your hold of the water bottles so they wouldn't slip out of your arms.

You both stood there in awkward silence until you realized the poor guy was still holding the door for you. Rushing out with another quick bow of your head, you hurried over to the fountain.

With their manager preoccupied, the team tuned in to their opponent’s rather loud indoor voices.

“Don’tcha think that manager is kinda cute?” Kobe’s libero asked, a dazed look crossing his face.

"Eh, you're two years older than her, if I'm remembering correctly."

"Do you think she'll give me her number if I ask?"

"Wouldn't hurt to try, but if she doesn't, we're calling ya a creep."

"I’m not gonna be weird about it!"

Kobe’s starting lineup burst out in laughter, unaware of Inarizaki scowling from afar.

Everyone had seen the exchange at the door, and the twins knit their brows together as they glowered at the oblivious libero trying to hush his team.

“Stop starin’ at them,” Aran rebuked with a huff. “Yer making it obvious.”

“That guy looks like trouble.”

“The worst kind.”

Suna rolled his eyes, “He looks like an average uni guy.”

“Exactly.” The twins hissed.

“Well,” Ginjima coughed into his fist, “what’re you two planning?”

Atsumu tapped his chin, the corner of his lips quirked up into a smirk. “We gotta protect our dear manager, so…”

“We keep ‘im away,” Osamu finished with a resolute nod.

“But first, we make ‘em pull out the regulars,” Aran added, still irked by Shindai’s coach’s dismissal of their team. “Then, you can target him all ya want.”

Suddenly, the rest of the team was on board with the plan.

“Let’s hit ‘em where it hurts,” Atsumu sneered. He put his hands on his hips, gazing at the bench players warming up on the other side of the court, and soon enough, his eyes landed on their bench libero, Bandou Benkei.

The guy, much to his excitement even though he wanted to face the regulars, cleanly received an admittedly impressive spike serve.

“Nice receive, Ben!”

“Nice, Bandou!”

"Keep it up, Banben!"

Bandou beamed at his teammates before meeting Atsumu’s eyes. His brows rose for a split second, then he turned to his teammate and gestured in bewilderment.

“Shindai offered to let us serve first,” Coach Oomi announced as he walked over to where the team had huddled into a circle.

“They offered, huh?” Akagi murmured darkly.

“How kind of ‘em,” Oomimi grumbled.

“Now, now,” Coach Kurosu sighed, “I know how ya feel, but what can we do? Direct your frustrations into the game, but don’t let it cloud your play. We want to draw out their starting lineup, so make ‘em regret ever crossin’ ya lot. Start strong with yer serves but stay alert. Follow up with your blocks and receives if they do receive your serves.”

“Yes, sir!”

You could hear the familiar squeak of shoes and the bounce of a volleyball against the gym floors. The game had already started.

You crouched down and stuck out one hand, wrist pressed firmly against the cold and filled water bottles, before pulling the door open with all your might. Once the door swung open, you hurried in and let it hit the sole of your shoe, preventing it from shutting loudly.

A sigh of relief escaped you just as the door shut quietly behind you. Then, you inadvertently met the alert gaze of Atsumu, who seemed to be up for a serve.

He held your eyes for a short moment and smirked. Then, he threw the ball up and jumped.

With bated breath, you watched as the ball floated over to Kobe’s reserve libero. The ball wobbled mere inches from his face, and you thought it would go out of bounds until it dipped to the libero’s left.

You could only assume it was out of pure instinct that the opponent managed to hit the ball with his finger. However, it was not enough: the ball dropped beside his foot with a soft thud.

“Nice, Atsumu!”

“Nice serve!”

“Good one.”

Atsumu, however, did not heed the compliments any mind. “Ah, dammit! I wanted it to be a no-touch serve!”

“The libero barely caught it, though. Close enough,” Suna shrugged.

“It was too close to his face!”

Atsumu groaned and glared down at his hands in frustration.

“Scrub,” Osamu taunted, unable to resist the opportunity to poke fun at his twin.

“Hah!? Wanna fight, ‘Samu!?”

“Senpai, do you need help with the bottles?”

You gasped and whipped your head to the side to see a slightly bewildered-looking Riseki gazing down at you in concern.

“O-oh, Riseki… Ya scared me.”

“I-I’m sorry…”

“Ah, don’t worry about it!” You insisted, flustered by your downtrodden junior, “I’m not mad! Um, if you could, wouldja mind takin’ some bottles?”

Riseki instantly perked up and gently took several bottles from you, leaving you with only a couple of bottles. “Of course, senpai!”

“How much of the game did I miss?” you queried, curiously watching Shindai’s coach call for a timeout. Already?

“Not a lot,” Riseki replied, looking at the court with envy. “Atsumu-san sure is amazing. All the points we have now are because of his serves.”

You glanced over to the scoreboard and couldn't help but raise your brows as you processed the number displayed on Inarizaki’s side.

“Seven points!?”

“Yeah, he actually just switched to a jump floater.”

“Lucky number seven, I guess,” you murmured while the two of you made it to the benches.

“[Name]!” Atsumu bounded over to you, plucking a bottle from your hands even though Riseki had prepared one for him with an outstretched hand. “Didja see my sick jump floater earlier?”

“Thought I heard ya say somethin’ about it not being good enough,” you teased, then handed Oomimi and Osamu the remaining two bottles.

“...doesn’t mean it wasn’t cool,” he pouted indignantly before taking a large swig of his water.

Off to the side, Riseki hugged his armful of water bottles close to his chest, greatly resembling a kicked puppy. His overeager admiration for Atsumu was something you couldn't quite understand.

“You’ve definitely gotten better with those,” Akagi offered up to Atsumu as he nudged Riseki for a bottle. “I dunno if I would’ve been able to get that one.”

“Keep at it,” Oomimi patted the setter’s shoulder, “yer on a roll today.”

Atsumu preened under the team’s praises for a bit. Then, he turned to Coach Kurosu, “Coach, do ya think they'll bring out their starters?”

The man in question hummed, glancing over to Kobe’s side with a pensive gaze. Your eyes flitted over to their side, as well, to see the coach talk to the starting members seriously.

“Seems like it.”

You clenched your fist with a grin, and your boys exchanged wild grins with each other.

“Serves ‘em right.”

“About time.”

“Yes!”

“It’s good that it’s so early on in the game,” you mused aloud, “had they not, it wouldn’t have been exactly fair.”

“[Surname]’s right,” Coach Oomi agreed as he sent a disapproving frown towards the celebrating twins, “had Shindai’s starting lineup joined well into the first set, you'da been more tired by then. Don’t forget that they have more experience than you.”

“It wouldn’t have been the fair match ya guys want,” you added.

Just as Atsumu opened his mouth to protest, an “ahem” sounded from behind.

“Coach Kurosu.”

It was Kobe University’s head coach.

“It seems I underestimated your team,” Coach Uchimura admitted, appearing as though he’d sucked on a lemon.

“Indeed?” Coach Kurosu responded coolly.

“Please give my team a few minutes. I will switch the members and get them to warm up properly.”

Your head coach just gave a slow nod as the other dipped his head and jogged back over to his team.

“All’s well that ends well, I suppose,” Akagi hummed thoughtfully.

“Not the end,” Aran disagreed with a shake of his head.

Ginjima nodded, “Just the beginning.”

“Do some light warmups to keep your body warm and geared up to go,” Coach Kurosu instructed. “Don’t overexert yourself, Atsumu,” he said pointedly.

The boy squirmed but gave a quick, “Yes, sir!”

“Keep up the stride,” you encouraged, taking back the water bottles and carefully noting who had given you their bottle.

Kita came over with the rest of the bottles, “These belong to Aran, Gin, Osamu, and Atsumu.” He gave them to you one by one in the order he’d listed out the names.

“Thank you, Kita-san,” you smiled as you took to organizing the bottles according to jersey number—your usual method of arranging the water bottles and towels.

“I forgot to mention earlier, but Granny liked the scarf.”

You tilted your head to the side in confusion.

“From Tokyo.”

“Oh! I see, that’s good,” you straightened up from your crouch with a stretch. “How is she, by the way?”

“She’s fine,” he answered, peeking over your shoulder at something you didn’t bother to see. “She mentioned she’d like ta come and see us at Interhigh if it’s close enough.”

“That’d be nice,” you smiled. You hadn’t met Kita’s grandmother, but she sounded lovely from what your captain and Aran described of her.

A loud and resounding thwack suddenly echoed in the gym, catching everyone’s attention.

You flinched and turned to the source of the sound to see Shindai’s libero receive their ace’s serve with ease.

“That was a strong spike.”

“Yeah, the sound’s insane,” you nodded.

“What’s more impressive is the libero’s clean receive,” Kita noted calmly.

You hummed in agreement and studied the libero’s posture. 

From the quick glimpse you’d managed to catch, he seemed to have quickly read the direction of the ball before firmly planting his feet to centre himself in line with the ball’s path. Your research had suggested that the libero was the epicentre of Kobe’s defence. If Atsumu and the team put enough pressure on the libero and blockers, you predicted that they could pull a win.

Shindai's more of a defensive team, after all.

In the midst of your musings, you hadn’t noticed that you’d kept staring at the libero.

When you finally realized you were staring, he'd already met your gaze and flushed a deep red. You grimaced and hastily averted your gaze.

Caught up in the awkwardness of the exchange, you missed the steely look Kita sent the libero, one that had the poor guy rapidly shifting his gaze elsewhere, and all the colour that had rushed to his face, ears, and neck faded in an instant.

Playing against a university team was never easy. They had more experience and typically better coaches to guide them to potentially professional careers. Even Inarizaki, a top high school team, struggled at times.

Admittedly, seeing the impressive display from the libero and ace earlier had you worried about how the team would fare against Shindai.

However, you felt that your worries were for naught. The boys were toying with the other team in an almost cruel way. All of them (even Kosaku) took turns in pressuring their opponents.

They had forced the ace to exert his knees when receiving until he fumbled on what should have been an easy score. They had scored points off the blockers either by Suna scoring around them or the spikers doing blockouts.

Now, they were targeting the libero.

You scrutinized with narrowed eyes as Atsumu smirked at the player he had targeted with his serve.

Why’re the dimwits taunting the other team more than their usual? You wondered.

There was no doubt the team was performing well: their individual plays and overall teamwork were well-thought-out.

However, there was a sort of edge to their plays: something rougher, harsher, and almost calculative.

The second set concluded with the libero failing to receive Atsumu’s serve.

“Good work,” Coach Kurosu praised when they gathered in a circle. “Y’all are playing more with your heads today. Keep it up into the third set.”

You passed around water bottles and clean towels. “Good work.”

“I’m tired,” Suna moaned, slumping onto the bench beside you gracelessly.

Osamu joined him as he patted the sweat off his face, “Both sets ended with over 35 points.”

“Then try to end it quickly in the next one,” you replied lightly. “Y’all are doing great.”

“Aw shucks, yer gonna make me blush, [Name]!” Atsumu feigned swooning before slumping onto the bench as Suna had done.

“Sure, sure,” you rolled your eyes and gathered the empty water bottles to put aside before placing newly filled ones in their spot.

You glanced over to Kobe’s side and wondered if you should offer your help. Although their team had more or less snubbed yours, you knew that having an extra pair of hands was extremely helpful.

Especially considering they hadn’t brought their manager along with them for this practice match.

With that thought, you sighed and walked over.

“Do you need any help, sir?” you asked Coach Uchimura.

He hesitated.

“I don’t mind,” you assured him. “My team’s fine for now, so I’m able ta lend you a helping hand.”

He relented with a grateful nod, “Then, could you help me distribute the towels?”

“Of course.”

You grabbed a pile and started handing them out to the players. They all thanked you tiredly and immediately wiped away their sweat in relief—a testament to how hard your team had pushed them in the second set.

“T-thank you,” Kobe’s libero stuttered as he gingerly accepted the towel you offered him.

“You’re welcome,” you nodded. “Good work.” With your arms empty, you decided not to linger with Shindai and made to return to your team.

“Hey, uh—” the libero started to say just as you took a step toward your side.

“Oi, can you help wrap my finger?” Osamu cut in, waving a roll of buddy tape around, “I think I jammed it earlier!”

“What?” you rushed over, worried, completely forgetting that the libero had something to say.

With your focus on wrapping Osamu's fingers, you missed the smug look crossing Osamu's face.

The match ultimately ended in Inarizaki’s victory, much to your joy. Although all three sets had been a close call, you hoped that this practice would help raise the team’s spirits for Interhigh.

You folded the pinnies and towels into two neat piles—though they stank and were soaked with sweat, organizing them made it easier to carry over to the laundry. With the articles folded, you couldn't help but scrunch your nose at the stench.

Using Osamu’s leftover water, you drenched a clean towel and rubbed the sweat off your hands. You’d have to wash your hands later, but you didn't want to touch your face or anything with their germs.

“Hey, [Surname]-san,” Shindai’s starting libero jogged up to you right as you threw the towel on top of the pile of pinnies.

Just as his mouth opened, you instinctively turned to the sound of someone calling your name from across the gym.

“Sorry [Name]! Couldja come ‘ere?" Aran called with his hands acting as a megaphone, "I think Gin miscounted the number of balls we've got in the cart!”

“Again?” you complained before shooting the libero an apologetic glance. “If you could please excuse me.”

From across the gym, you noticed Aran gesturing for a high-five with Gin even though the latter shook his head with an affronted look.

Kobe University’s libero hunched his shoulders and wondered if he would ever manage to get the cute girl's number before the end of the trip. Her protective teammates had been blocking his attempts all throughout practice, much to his dismay.

Hell, even their taciturn bench captain had menacingly stared him down across the court, and while he didn't want to admit his fear of the younger boys, he was wary of their intense dislike of him.

I'll try one more time before being called back, but not right now, he determined.

When he spun on his heel to rejoin his teammates, he couldn't help but stagger back upon being face-to-face with the blonde setter (I think I heard his teammate call him Atsumu, he mused) of Inarizaki. It was after he’d taken a few steps back that he noticed the bendy middle blocker (Suna, his mind supplied) slouched towards his left.

“Uh, hey?” he greeted with an inward wince. Are high school students nowadays this terrifying?

A lengthy pause fell between the trio.

Suna eyed him with blatant distaste. “A uni guy hitting on a high school girl? Isn’t that…kinda…creepy?”

He nearly choked on his saliva. “C-creepy!?”

“Couldn’t get the college girls ta pay attention to ya?” Atsumu asked with an innocent face, though he was sure the younger boy hadn’t asked with innocent intent.

“W-what!”

“Well, good game,” Suna shrugged as he bypassed him and started making his way over to their manager, the cute girl he’d been trying to talk to all practice, standing beside the third years.

“Hope ta play with you guys again!” Atsumu piped up with a smile, his canines showing before he, too, swaggered away.

Shindai’s libero stood frozen on the spot with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed some more of Inarizaki's players heading his way.

Oh, no. Not again, he commiserated for himself before speed-walking away from the scariest high school team he ever came across as a university student.

“Why did libero-san look like he was aboutta cry?” you asked as you watched the libero hightail his way out of the gym.

Riseki, Kosaku, and the other bench players shrugged as they carried the remaining bottles and towels they had forgotten to hand over to you.

“Him?" Atsumu snortled. "He was just bein’ a sore loser.”

“And libero-san?” Suna emphasized. “You don’t even know his name?”

“Uh…” you faltered in embarrassment.

It wasn't like you had the information at hand for all university teams. Besides, you only ever bothered to remember the official statistics of players who've played in official matches.

“His name’s Osaka Kentarou,” Kita piped up, his lips quirking up ever so slightly. “Coach Oomi heard from their coach that it’s his first year in university.”

“Isn’t it kinda a betrayal to Shindai that his name’s Osaka?”

You couldn’t help snorting at that but immediately regretted it when the team turned to you in unison, delight crossing their faces like they received coupons for free food.

“Don’tcha think it’s mean to laugh at the poor guy?”

“Yeah, I mean, he was totally off his game today.”

“Didja see his piss-poor receive earlier?”

“Well, it’s not like ya lot made it easy for him,” you retorted pointedly with your hand on your hip.

The team cowered under your sharp look.

“Ya think I didn’t notice? It was obvious when I went to ‘help’ Gin and Aran-kun and found that for once, Gin counted correctly. Plus, y'all weren’t as slick as you'd thought with that high-five.”

“Hey!”

Extra #1: Creep.

“H-hey…” Osaka called out timidly to the team setter, Ogasawara Kansuke.

“Eh, Osaka, what’s with you?”

“...”

“Uh, bro?”

“You don’t think that I’m a…a creep… Do ya?”

Ogasawara gawked at his teammate in disbelief. “Are you still bothered by what Yachigusa said?”

Osaka shifted uncomfortably on his feet as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“...Dude.”

"Those high schoolers called me creepy. I'm only, what, two years older than her, though!"

Extra #2: The World is Dangerous (According to Aran)

“I get it! I get it!” you practically screamed at the team. “No college guys until I get into uni!”

“This is not something you should be dismissing so easily,” Aran frowned as he crossed his arms and stared down at you. “The world is dangerous for girls, [Name]. Ya have to practice caution and—”

“If your spidey senses go off, kick him where it hurts,” Ginjima suggested.

“What.”

“Trust your instincts,” Suna agreed.

“Better safe than sorry,” Oomimi inputted.

Atsumu strode forward and grabbed hold of your shoulders. “[Name],” he began with a stern face.

“Atsumu,” you impassionately returned as you rolled your eyes.

“If ya wanna date someone who ain’t a scrub, then come listen to the pro. I shall graciously guide you in the art of sorting out scrubs.”

You scrunched your nose and pushed your childhood friend away, “Gross.”

“I’m bein’ serious!”

“Or…if ya wanna keep anyone away, come to me,” Osamu chimed in. “I can tell ‘em all about the time ya—”

“Shut yer trap! I just know yer takin’ advantage of this opportunity again!”

Riseki and the other bench members watched the starting lineup hound their poor manager from the sidelines.

“Poor [Surname]-san,” the first year murmured.

Kosaku snorted, “Don't repeat it.”

You sighed but didn't pursue the topic any further, already knowing that the two were unwilling to fight over Ginjima and have one of them room with Atsumu. Ginjima wasn't the type to be early per se; he usually ran around at the last minute getting ready. Although he was hardly ever fully put together, frequently having a shirt lopsided, a shoelace untied, or a hair out of place, he always managed to be right on time.

As Osamu had pointed out earlier, it wasn't like Kita, and by extension, the rest of the third years to be this late.

You bit down on your lip and glanced up at the clock that hung above the receptionists' desk in the lobby. They're late by half an hour.

Just as you finished that thought, you heard a gaggle of familiar voices sound in the lobby. You, Osamu, and Suna all turned towards the noise and found your teammates getting out of the elevator.

"Sorry for being late," Kita apologized as the rest of the starting lineup trailed behind him and joined you, Osamu, and Suna in the lobby. "We had ta help Gin and Atsumu get ready."

"Ah, no problem," you sighed before throwing the tardy duo a sharp look. "Didja wake up ten minutes ago or something? Ya had four other guys help, and yer this late?" You tapped your foot as you jabbed a thumb towards the clock.

Atsumu gave you an easy-going grin before he draped his arm over your shoulders, clearly more than used to your spiel about his habitual tardiness, "Y'ain't happy ta see me, [Name]?"

You shot him a look of mock disgust, though you'd easily forgiven him, and side-stepped out of his arm, using Aran as a shield from the blond. "Aran-kun, a creepy weirdo is claimin’ ta know me."

"Who ya callin' a 'creepy weirdo'!?" Atsumu burst out loudly before lunging towards you.

You grabbed hold of Ginjima by the arms and thrust him out to your childhood friend while silently apologizing to the others in the lobby.

"Oi!"

You didn't pay the two late meatheads any more attention and turned back to the rest of the group. "Y'all ready? We're gonna take the next available bus since we're behind schedule."

Kita glanced at the clock, "The next bus comes in fifteen minutes, right?"

"Yes," you nodded after checking the time. "Luckily, it'll take us about five minutes to get to the bus stop. We've got enough time to make it before it arrives."

"Well then, let's get goin'."

You had already anticipated that you wouldn't be doing much clothes-shopping yourself with seven boys tagging along. Truthfully, you didn't mind and were more than used to helping the twins choose suitable and trendy clothes to buy for themselves.

You glanced up at the boy beside you, "Yer not gonna try anything on?"

Suna spared you a quick look when he looked away from his phone, "Nah. Too much work."

You chuckled at the very Suna-like response you got and elbowed him gently in the side, "Then why'd you tag along?"

"It's not like we're only going to shop," he shrugged before closing the game he'd been playing. He glanced back at you as he shoved his phone into his pocket, "I want to eat something good."

"With 'Samu in the mix, we're guaranteed to try something," you shrugged.

"More like our whole team."

You snorted as you considered his words. The whole team was a bunch of foodies—even Suna and Kita enjoyed eating good food though no one could top Osamu. That boy had an endless pit for a stomach, and you reckoned that he loved food as much as Atsumu loved volleyball.

"[Name]."

You jerked away from whoever came up behind you, nearly crashing into Suna, who shot you a disgruntled look. Ignoring the latter, you turned to see Aran looking down at you with grave eyes.

"Um…Aran-kun? Are ya…okay?" You asked as you discreetly shuffled away from the third year. Over the past few weeks, you were starting to realize that Aran had moments that left you not wanting to have to deal with him…and this was one of them.

"I need yer help."

You exchanged an uneasy glance with Suna as Aran had a…fire to his eyes that left you reeling back at its intensity. His eyes were eerily similar to that time when the team had made a stupid bet for you to put on the cheerleader’s uniform—that time when he tried to pitch you a deal, which he had ultimately lost.

"With…what?" You were almost afraid to find out.

"Clothes."

A tense silence fell between the three of you as you and Suna watched the ace, whose face began contorting into something more and more desperate the longer nobody made a sound.

"With…clothes?" you echoed robotically.

He nodded.

"Wait, with clothes?" you gaped, voice abruptly rising in volume as you finally processed what you'd heard. You didn’t know what you expected, but help with clothes certainly wasn’t it.

The third year had stared you down with an intensity that frightened you.

Aran gave another affirmative.

"Why?" Why the desperate look?

The third year looked down at his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ya see…'Tsumu said that I look a little…scary with the clothes I wear?"

"Scary?" Suna furrowed his brows and gave the ace a once-over. "How?"

"I don't know!" Aran practically wailed as he put his hands together in front of him, bowing to you and Suna. "Couldja please just help me pick out a better style?"

"So," you exchanged yet another uneasy look with Suna, "you…want a…makeover?"

"Yes!"

In just the nick of time, Akagi walked past your small group, humming jubilantly and paying no mind to you three. Before he could get any further, you grabbed hold of his denim jacket and tugged him over without preamble.

"W-what? [Surname]!?" Akagi peered over his shoulder at you in alarm.

"Look, Aran-kun!" You ignored the libero's protests and utter bewilderment, shooting Aran a reassuring smile, "Akagi-san will help you out!"

"Help with what?" Akagi looked towards Suna in confusion. The latter merely shrugged.

"Help with Aran-kun's new makeover, of course," you replied in his stead.

"Aran's new makeover?" Akagi parroted as he gave you a flat stare. You returned his gaze with a sharp look of your own, the one you often used to get the boys to bend to your unwavering will.

Akagi let out a sigh before wiggling out of your grasp and facing his fellow third year. "Wait…Aran, why do you even need a makeover? Ya look fine."

Aran lowered his face, which cast a dark shadow over his eyes. "'Tsumu said I look scary."

"Ya don't!"

"It's no use, Akagi-san," you whispered. "Aran-kun, for some reason, thinks that the twins have the best style and fashion sense, so he trusts what they say the most."

Compassion settled in Akagi's eyes, and he gave you an almost imperceptible nod.

"Ah, well, I guess a makeover would be fun," Akagi said loudly enough for Aran to hear. "I'll help ya, Aran!"

"Really?" Aran stared up at Akagi with disturbingly glassy eyes and threw his arms over his friend. "Michinari!"

You stepped away from the embracing duo and sidled up next to Suna. "Why are the third years so weird?"

He snorted, "Tell me about it."

Akagi grinned up at Aran, "Ya look great!"

Suna only nodded while you threw the third year a thumbs up and said, "Looks good, Aran-kun."

Aran preened under the praise before scrutinizing himself again in the mirror for the nth time. Without drawing attention from your team's ace, you pulled the others aside.

"I don't really get the point of this makeover," you confessed in a low tone, taking occasional peeks back at Aran to make sure he hasn't yet noticed the three of you huddling up for what felt like a secret gathering.

"Me neither," Suna admitted.

"Same," Akagi followed shortly after, glancing over at Aran himself. "It's not like Aran had a bad style or anythin'. The clothes he picked out and tried on are pretty safe and still his style. Maybe he wore something more aggressive-looking, and that's why the twins made fun of him?"

"Maybe," you cocked your head to the side and tapped at your chin. You really could not for the life of you recall a time where Aran wore something 'aggressive-looking,' but you hardly paid attention to the boys' wardrobe since you all wore your uniforms six days out of the week.

It wasn't that you were unwilling to help Aran, and the rest of the boys, for that matter, with picking out clothes and whatnot. You were just worried that Aran was taking what was likely an offhand remark from Atsumu too seriously.

"Eh? [Name]? Oh! And Suna and Akagi-san!"

Your little group jerked away from each other and glanced up to see Atsumu, Osamu, and Ginjima walking over.

"Whatcha doin'?" Atsumu asked.

"'Tsumu!" Akagi looked relieved and waved the rest of the second years over.

Aran whirled around in his spot and gave Atsumu a challenging look.

"Why's Aran-kun lookin' at me like that?" Atsumu questioned in a murmur.

"It's yer fault, ya jerk."

Osamu nodded gravely, "As always."

"Oi!"

"What'd Atsumu do this time?" Ginjima already looked exhausted.

"Tell Aran he looks good, Atsumu," Akagi murmured, nudging the blond with his elbow.

"Huh? Why?"

"Just do it."

Atsumu looked like he was about to protest some more, but you silenced him with a sharp glare, one that promised retaliation. The former froze for a brief second before his twin eblowed him on the side. He perked up and sauntered over to Aran.

"Hey, Aran-kun!" Atsumu shot the team's ace a bright grin. "Ya buyin' new clothes or something?"

Aran narrowed his eyes, "Why?"

"Well, I'll help ya!"

Immediately, a sense of dread and horror washed over you as you took in the mischievous twinkle in your friend's grey eyes.

"'Tsumu—" You tried to stop whatever it was your childhood friend was trying to do, but he instantly waved you off.

"Are ya denyin' Aran-kun the chance ta get the Atsumu-sama's fashion guidance?"

You groaned as you planted your face into your hands. "You didn't just call yourself…'Atsumu-sama'."

"Hey! I am! I mean, look at me!"

Feeling a little sassy and petty, you turned to look at Osamu instead.

"Hey!"

"Now I'm just offended," the grey-haired twin said with an indignant sniff.

"Hey!"

"So, are y'all gonna help me or not?" Aran's voice cut in through your banter.

You exchanged a look with Osamu, wordlessly begging him to reign his twin in somehow. Instead, he shot you a cheeky wink before nodding at Aran, "Sure, count me in."

Ginjima merely sighed. "Guess I've got no choice."

If anybody asks, I don't know 'em, you decided as you turned to look at yet another rack.

"[Name]! [Name]!" Atsumu hurried over to you with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Look!"

Even without the prompt, you couldn’t help but gape at the horrible rainbow sequined—what is that? A shirt or jacket?—cloth that he was waving eagerly.

"Where'd ya even find that…thing?"

"Heh, at the back of the clearance section!"

No wonder, you thought as you forced yourself to look at the shirt/jacket/thing he seemed to want to keep.

"Get that thing away from me."

"Don'tcha think it'll suit Aran-kun?" Atsumu beamed up at you in childlike glee.

He's definitely enjoying this, you noted, scowling at the blond.

"Aran-kun ain't stupid."

"Thank you."

You jumped at the sound of a voice suddenly sounding from behind. Whirling around, you shot Aran, who had a smug smirk on his face, an unimpressed look.

The blond immediately broke out into a wide grin and stepped closer to the third year.

"Aran-kun, don'tcha like this?" Atsumu raised the offending piece of whatever for everybody to see.

Aran swiftly examined the piece of clothing in Atsumu's hand before bursting out, "I'd like it!"

"…If I wanted to look like a damn unicorn disco ball!" Aran huffed as he waved his hand at it.

Rather than get offended, Atsumu's cheeky grin only grew at his teammate's reaction. "Aw, darn, I really thought you’d like it!"

"What's there to like about it!?" Aran retorted, snatching the 'unicorn disco ball' out of Atsumu's hands. He studied it closely before visibly reeling back in disgust. "Why are there holes in the armpits!?"

The team all gathered closer at Aran's indignant shriek.

"Where? Where?"

"How big is it?"

"Is it part of the design?"

"Why'd they even add pit cut-outs?"

"For ventilation?"

Akagi let out an undignified snort at Suna's last comment, prompting the others to point fingers at the libero and tease.

"What was that sound, Akagi-san?"

"Sounded like a pig."

“Can ya blame me?” Akagi queried and took another look at the offending thing in Aran’s hands before bursting into a peal of laughter. “Look at—Look at that...thing!”

As if on cue, Atsumu snatched the sequined monstrosity from Aran and put it against Osamu’s torso. “Lookin’ good!”

Osamu played along with his twin and struck a ridiculous pose with a straight face though you could see the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “High fashion,” he deadpanned.

The group, even Aran, burst out into laughter at how ridiculous Osamu looked. You even let out an amused chuckle but started to grow conscious of how rowdy the team was getting.

"Look! Look!" Ginjima pointed excitedly. "Ojiro-san, what about this hat?"

The silver-haired boy reached over to the neon yellow bucket hat with a bright green ribbon tied around it. "It kinda looks like Itachiyama's uniform!" he said excitedly, sending the team into another round of raucous laughter.

"Let's put them together!" Atsumu removed the sequined monstrosity from Osamu and put it against Aran. Ginjima quickly followed suit and put the ridiculous hat on Aran.

"Take a picture, quick!"

Suna and Akagi swiftly raised their phones to the outlandish-looking Aran, who stood with his lips quirking up against his better wishes.

"Wait, put this on too," Osamu reached over and pulled out a banana print scarf from the shelf beside you. Without missing a beat, he unravelled the unnecessarily long scarf and wrapped it around Aran.

It practically covered half of the third year's face.

The boys all went into hysterics.

You shuffled away from your team until you stood a considerable distance away from them, willing the ground to swallow you up.

You could hear the judgemental whispers of nearby shoppers, and you wished you could just leave the team to their own devices as you feigned ignorance. I'd be returning the favour, you thought sardonically, still bitter over having been left behind by the entire team not too long ago.

"[Name]!"

No.

Pretending as though your name wasn't your name, you sidestepped a couple (they were embarrassingly professing their love for one another in whispers) and quietly sneaked around the corner to the escalators that led to the ground floor of the department store.

"Oi! Do ya know where [Surname] went?" You could hear Ginjima call out while you escaped the premises.

Unwilling to be caught and perfectly willing to ditch your team, you quickly walked down the escalators. You couldn't help the triumphant grin from forming on your face when you successfully exited the department store.

"Ah, [Surname]."

You barely managed to suppress a shriek of surprise as you whirled around to face Kita and Oomimi sitting outside on a nearby bench.

"K-Kita-san? Oomimi-san?" You blinked owlishly at them before craning your neck back at the store. When had they…?

You turned back around to stare down at the pair of quiet third years. "When did you…?"

"Finish shopping?" Oomimi finished for you.

You nodded, still a little speechless.

Kita pulled out his phone from his pocket and flipped it open. "Around twenty minutes ago."

"Didja just stay out here…for twenty minutes?"

Oomimi nodded, "Shinsuke and I didn't want you all to feel pressured to wrap up your shopping, so we decided ta wait outside for you all."

"That's…kind of you?" Did they miss the ruckus?

"How long do you think it'll take the rest of them to come out?"

You tilted your head to the side and tapped a finger to your chin, "Not sure. They seemed to be preoccupied."

"Oh…"

"Yeah…"

"Well then, the only thing we can do is wait," Kita cut in with a tone of finality.

You let out a long sigh and resigned yourself to the possibility of staying out here for a while.

It had taken another ten minutes before Akagi and Suna stepped out of the department store. They did a double-take at the sight of your little waiting group on a bench several feet away from the entrance of the department store. The two of them shot you betrayed looks as they joined you, Kita, and Oomimi.

"Why'dja just leave?" Akagi grumbled to you as he plopped down on the bench beside Oomimi.

"Y'all were getting too embarrassin' for me to deal with," you deadpanned.

Suna squeezed in beside Kita and nodded solemnly, "That's why we left too."

"How long do ya think it'll take the rest of 'em to find us?" Oomimi wondered aloud.

You shot Suna and Akagi an expectant look. After all, they had been the last ones with the obnoxious group.

"It's Gin, Atsumu, Osamu, and Aran," Akagi merely stated.

"Well, this oughtta be some fun," you shrugged, taking an admittedly tight seat beside your only second year companion and captain.

"How long do you think it'll take them?" Suna asked.

You considered the group as you hummed, "Do ya really think they'll come out without our intervention?"

Suna thought about it for a brief moment before shaking his head, "Nah, the ones left behind are…"

"Kinda dumb at times," Akagi finished for the second year. "Well, it's more like they aren't a good group ta be left alone together."

"The chaotic twins, the reactive Aran, and the comparably spineless Ginjima," Oomimi nodded sagely.

"'Comparably spineless'?" you choked out a laugh at the third year's unexpected statement.

"Compared to the rest of them."

"I…guess?"

"Should we just leave them?" Akagi asked after a long moment of silence where everybody busied themselves with their phones.

You glanced back at the department store warily, "They're takin' a little too long…I'm worried for them."

"Why didn't they think to call us?" Suna wondered as he glanced down at his phone log, checking to make sure he hadn't accidentally missed one of their calls.

You simultaneously wanted to shake your friend and slap yourself for not realizing the possibility in the first place. "We should call them then."

"Nah," Akagi smirked, "I wanna see how long it'll take them to realize they could just call us."

"What if their phones died?" Oomimi mused.

"What if they ran off without us?"

"All at once?" Your brows furrowed together, doubtful of the chances but still considering it because their group wasn't exactly the brightest when put together. If anything, they would bring the worst out of each other, as Akagi had noted earlier.

"While it's possible, I don't think Aran would be irresponsible enough to bring a dyin' phone out with him," Kita shook his head. "Besides, I room with him, and his phone was fully charged before we left."

"And we didn't really use our phones much," Suna pointed out.

Though Rintarou used his phone the most, you thought to yourself as you peered over your friend's shoulder to see him mindlessly play a match-three game on his phone.

"Let's just wait and see!" Akagi insisted before turning to you with a grin, "[Surname]! Don'tcha want revenge on them for leavin' ya behind?"

A wave of irritation welled up in you as you recalled the…Itachiyama incident. "Don't remind me," you quipped. Y'all were involved too, but you don't see me saying anything.

"It's mostly Aran and Gin's faults," Oomimi added. You shot the third year middle blocker a withering look, knowing full well that he simply wanted to pawn off the responsibility to the ones who were mostly at fault.

"It's yer faults too," you grouched.

Akagi poked your forehead, unintentionally smoothening out your furrowed brows. "C'mon, [Surname]! Don't be like that. Ya know we're awfully sorry 'bout that."

Well, Riseki had scraped his forehead against the gravel for me. And Kita-san had even bowed to me.

"I know…" you leaned back onto the bench with a defeated sigh.

A brief lull of silence befell your group before Oomimi and Akagi started instructing Suna on his next moves for the game he'd been playing the entire time. You tuned them out and blankly stared up at the department store, wondering if the four would manage to come out before they got too hungry. After all, it was almost lunchtime, and you knew the team was looking forward to hunting down a good restaurant.

"[Surname]."

You turned your head at the call of your name, snapping out of your daze before meeting the steady gaze of Kita.

"Would ya mind helpin' me shop?" Kita asked.

You couldn't help but stare at the captain in shock, wondering if you had heard correctly. Kita-san needs help shopping?

"I…don't mind," you answered, realizing that your senior was looking at you expectantly. "I don't know if I can help you much, though." You looked at the bag in his hand pointedly.

"Ah, these?" Kita lifted the bag and shook his head, "I should've clarified. I meant to ask you for help picking out somethin' for Granny."

You glanced back at the department store your lost quad was still navigating. "Do we just…leave them be?"

"They should realize that they have phones and can contact us if need be," Kita stated. "It's foolish of them to forget that they have the means to contact us."

You stared at the team captain dubiously.

"Kita-san?"

"Yes?"

"Ya just wanna teach them a lesson, don’t you?"

Kita neither confirmed nor denied his intention.

"Well, we're on the same side, so I'll help you!" You rubbed your hands together with a conspiratorial grin.

Kita visibly relaxed at your words and nodded at you, "I saw this quaint lookin' shop close by. I think we could find something for Granny there."

"Sure," you replied before lowering your voice so that the rest wouldn't hear, "should we just leave Oomimi-san, Akagi-san, and Rintarou?"

He leaned back to study the three boys in question, "Rintarou might wanna stay back to see how this all blows up."

"Yer right," you hummed slowly.

Extra #1: Gift for Granny

"How about this?"

You raised your head and glanced over at Kita, who held up a thick woollen scarf.

"It's nice, but your grandmother won't be able to wear it for a while," you pointed out. "Maybe a lighter one?"

"A lighter one?" He blinked back at you in confusion.

"Yeah!" You scanned the area for a lighter scarf Kita's grandmother could wear in the springtime. Within seconds, you noticed a nearby rack of lighter scarves a few feet away. "How about that?" you gestured.

Kita directed his gaze to where you were pointing. He walked towards the rack and slowly scanned the scarves with a comical intensity. Then, he picked one out with a satisfied nod. "I think this will do."

"Great!" You gave two thumbs up as you followed him to the cashier.

"Thank ya, [Surname]. I'll cover for your lunch."

You perked up at the promise of free food but didn’t want to seem too eager even though it was no secret that you were weak to such tradeoffs. You normally caved into the boys’ requests whenever they promised to cover for your meals. "Are ya sure, Kita-san? I didn't do much."

"Consider it my thanks and apologies for…leavin' ya at Itachiyama," Kita replied with a sheepish look on his usually stoic face.

"Ah," you nodded with a smug grin, "I'll gladly accept yer kind offer, then!"

Extra #2: The Realization

Ginjima sighed as he watched the trio of long time friends bicker amongst each other as they all rode the escalator to the third floor. They were hoping that their manager had stalked off to the girls' section of the department store.

He shoved his hands deep into his pocket, fingers brushing past his wallet, eventually touching the hard and flat surface of his…phone.

"Guys." Ginjima felt his eyes widen as he fished his phone out of his pocket and stared down at it in disbelief.

Why didn't I…?

"Guys," Ginjima repeated a tad bit louder, clutching the device tightly in his hand.

"What is it, Gin?" Aran enquired in concern. The second year looked as though he had seen a ghost with his face rapidly losing colour and eyes wide.

"We…coulda just called them."

The group fell silent as they all processed Ginjima's words, staring down at the lone phone with varying degrees of shock and disbelief.

Osamu was the first to break out of the funk and whipped out his phone, speed dialling the last number in his call log.

"Hello?"

Carefully avoiding the gaze of the towering group of boys in yellow t-shirts and dark green shorts, you wrung your hands together and tried to calmly consider your next course of action.

If the team is here, then the coaches must be. I should just—

"You…you're the Inarizaki manager, right?"

You snapped your head up and gulped down the lump forming in your throat as you met the gaze of Itachiyama's captain, "Y-yes."

Iizuna Tsukasa was a household name in the volleyball circuit—and was one of the only names that Atsumu just wouldn't shut up about. Having won the best setter award for the Junior Olympic Cup, your childhood friend had sworn to best the older setter one day and always got fired up whenever Inarizaki faced Itachiyama in any sort of match, practice or official.

He had been extremely fired up at the practice match today though your team had ultimately conceded defeat to the other team much to their frustration.

You furrowed your brows at the thought of your childhood friend and the events that led up to your current predicament. The traitor—no, the traitors had abandoned you. How did the entire team, including the coaches just forget about me?!

You were at war with yourself as you tried to stay composed and collected, hoping that the members of Itachiyama didn't see through your façade.

"So…your team left you?"

Those words were your undoing: you felt your face become hot and your eyes stung a little as you lowered your head in a meek semi-nod.

"Do you have your phone on you?" Komori asked kindly.

"…I don't," you replied after having taken a couple of deep breaths to calm yourself down. It probably helped that the boys were patient and seemed to understand your predicament without you having to explain everything to them.

In fact, the more you thought about your dilemma, the angrier you got at your team. After all, you had told Ginjima and Aran about your whereabouts; you hadn't expected both of them to somehow forget to check up on you.

And the twins! you ground your teeth together, I'd always noticed when one of 'em were missing but they can't even be bothered to do the same for me.

You took another deep breath in and let it all out slowly. "I'd put it in my bag before I went to the washroom. The team probably took it without realizing I wasn't with them and well, y'know left me behind." The last bit came out in a heated grumble. It was easier to let go of your initial anxiety over being left behind when you could channel and pour it all into disgruntlement and irritation—you were more than used to having to solve problems in this headspace given the many troubles your team kindly put you through.

"Heh, you're a sassy one."

"Aren't Kansai girls kinda like that?"

"It's cute."

"Well, in any case, why don't you come with us to the gym? The coaches often let us have free practice after practice matches, so they're in the office right now. I'll go inform them about the situation," Iizuna cut in before shooting you an assuring smile, "we only have our first year manager with us—the other is sick—and she's still a little inexperienced. I'm sure she'll appreciate your company and expertise."

"Expertise?" you echoed dubiously. You could hardly call managing an expertise of yours when you simply rolled with the punches and followed the coaches' instructions most of the time.

"Experience," Iizuna corrected himself after a brief moment of consideration. "She was nervous about overseeing practice without the coaches and our other manager, so I'm sure she'll appreciate you being there."

He patted you once on the shoulder before hurrying off to what you assumed to be the direction of where the coaches were at.

"Welp let's get a move on then, shall we?" an Itachiyama member smiled at you encouragingly, gesturing for you to follow the team.

You followed after a split second of hesitation. It's not like I can do anythin' else.

After the team had filled in their manager about your situation and introduced you to her, she bowed at you nervously, "It's nice to meet you!"

You smiled at her, "It's nice ta meet you too."

"As Iizuna explained to you, we normally have free practice after practice matches. Most of the team has already left by now and some of the bench members are in another gym practicing their individual drills like serves or something," the vice captain, Fukuda told you. "We were actually thinking about practicing our serves today seeing such nice serves from your team today."

You couldn't help the proud smile that spread across your lips, "Well they worked hard on 'em."

"We can tell," the third year wing spiker, Utsubo smirked, "especially that Miya Atsumu. We had a hard time with both his jump floaters and spike serves."

You recalled the fight you had with Atsumu the past week and let out a fond chuckle, "He worked himself to the bone just to nail those serves of his."

"You're childhood friends with the Miya twins, right?" Komori asked good naturedly as you followed the team to the court your team had previously occupied during the practice match.

"You are?" the only first year starting member, Kanehara blinked at you in surprise, pushing the ball cart to the side by the benches.

"Huh, no wonder you can reel them in so well," the other third year wing spiker, Asaoka mused aloud.

"Ah, but Aran-kun and Kita-san help a lot," you replied. "Though I suppose Oomimi-san and Akagi-san help too?"

After all that had transpired in the last month, you weren't sure if you could call them reliable per say, but they certainly weren't as bad as the rest.

Komori laughed, "You don't sound so sure! How about the second years?"

"Those guys? They're the troublemakin' bunch," you scowled, feeling a headache coming on at the very thought of their antics.

"Wow, even Suna and Ginjima?"

"Even them," you nodded solemnly with a half-grimace. "Gin is hotheaded and gets himself into shit while Rintarou is a piece of shit who likes to stir the pot."

"Rintarou…?" Fukuda repeated, "That's Suna, right?"

You flushed and hastily nodded, "Yeah, Suna Rintarou."

Asaoka smiled at you gently, "Sounds like you're close to your team."

"I guess," you nodded, embarrassed to be talking about the boys in such a…gushy way around complete strangers. "I've known the twins since we were in diapers and Aran—Ojiro Aran—since elementary."

"Have they always been that good at volleyball?" Utsubo asked curiously.

You cocked your head to the side and considered his question.

"I…think so?" you frowned as you tried to recall. You've known the twins for so long that it was hard to pinpoint when they got good at volleyball—it's just always been a part of your lives that you didn't think much about the beginnings. Besides, they and the team weren't the types to dwell on the past, only focusing on the present. You continued, "I suppose Osamu was always naturally better at the sport than Atsumu, though."

The team all looked at you in varying degrees of shock.

"Woah, really?" Komori blinked in surprise. Sakusa stared at you with those intense eyes of his.

You nodded, "Atsumu just has this…hunger to be better, grow stronger, and become the best. Osamu's a little more laidback in that sense."

"They seem so evenly matched," Kanehara uttered in awe before shaking his head. "I mean, the ridiculous plays they just pull…they're just on another level."

"Inarizaki is," Fukuda chimed in and turned to you. "Inarizaki is filled with monsters."

You couldn't help the wide smile that took over your lips as you soaked in the praise, "Itachiyama is too, though."

"I think Atsumu might be better because of his serves," Komori mused, bringing the conversation back to the topic of the twins. "I really have to work to get them up properly."

"His serves certainly have become more controlled compared to his past performances," you heard someone murmur from behind you.

Shocked, you turned to face the captain of Itachiyama in bewilderment. The one who'd got the best setter award for the Junior Olympic Cup had praised Atsumu. You were sure your childhood friend would rejoice and want to challenge the setter had he stayed behind.

But he didn't because he was off challenging a different setter of another Tokyo school in a practice match.

Scowling at the unwanted thought, you grit your teeth and inhaled deeply to get a grip on your unsettled irritation. The Itachiyama boys had all been kind and engaging that you'd almost forgotten about the reason you were stuck with them in the first place. Nevertheless, you still couldn't quite wrap your head around just how your team had managed to just up and leave you by accident.

You really hoped it wasn't on purpose. If it was…

"Is something wrong?"

You smoothed out your furrowed brows and scrunched nose as you shook your head in denial, "It's nothing bad. I just remembered my team left me behind…Actually, can anyone spare me their phone so I can call 'em?"

"Sure," Iizuna nodded as he shoved his hand into his pocket and fished out his cellphone.

Iizuna-san's nicer than everyone on my team combined—and that's sayin' somethin', you thought as you softly thanked him when he handed you his phone.

"It's no problem. We'd gladly lend a hand for the damsel in distress," Iizuna smirked teasingly as the rest of the team, excluding Sakusa who had chosen to stand a few feet away from the crowd, nodded behind him with their thumbs up.

You couldn't help but look away from their cheeky grins because it was a tad bit embarrassing being described as a 'damsel' when you were far from it with your own team. For the most part, they treated you like another one of the guys when you hung out with them or an overbearing parent when you got on their asses about yet another one of their antics.

"Oh, by the way," Iizuna cut in before you could even type in a number, "our coaches got a hold of your coaches. They said that you will have to wait with us until your team is done with their schedule for today."

"Ah, alright, thank you for telling me," you bowed to the third year, "but I think it'd be better if I spoke with the team myself, so do you mind…?"

The captain shook his head, "Go ahead. I'm sure your team would like to hear from you."

You gave him a grateful smile before dialing one of the few numbers you had memorized off the top of your head. You held the phone up to your ear and waited patiently for the person to pick up, ignoring the curious gazes of the group of boys and their manager around you.

"Hi…who's this?"

"Ah, Aran-kun."

"[Name]!?" you heard Aran screech followed by an uproar of voices on the other side.

"[Name]?!"

"Is that [Surname]?!"

"Put her on speaker!" you could hear someone holler over the receiver.

Although you had been beaming in pride on their behalf just a few minutes ago, hearing all of the team's voices filtering through your phone really impressed on you that you were truly alone, that they had truly forgotten about you. It was probably immature of you to stubbornly hold on to your annoyance at them, but you had been scared and embarrassingly close to tears when you realized you were on your own in an unknown city.

"I'm assuming y'all can hear me?" you inquired before hearing a chorus of affirmatives from your team. "Well then…what the fuck?"

From your peripheral vision, you could see a few of the Itachiyama boys flinch away from you.

There was a tense silence both over the phone and in the gym you were standing in.

"Ginjima-kun. Aran-kun."

"Y-yes?!"

"H-here!?"

"I swear I told both of ya that I was gonna be in the bathroom and ta look over my stuff in the meanwhile," you started, your voice growing colder and colder with each word that came out of your lips, "or am I just imaginin' things?"

"I…ya told us…" Ginjima replied nervously.

"I see," you said. "I also swear that I've done the same for both—no, actually for all of ya. Y'know waiting for you lot and making sure none of you got left behind."

No one dared to utter another word.

"I heard that the coaches sorted things out and yer gonna pick me up after y'all are done for today," you sighed, suddenly feeling too exhausted to hold on to your frustration. "We'll talk then."

"Yes, ma'am!"

You rolled your eyes in good nature before hanging up the phone and turning to the Itachiyama team who all looked at you with a mix of respect and trepidation.

"Thank you for lendin' me your phone, Iizuna-san," you said as you offered the phone to its rightful owner.

"No problem, got things sorted out?" he accepted his phone and raised a brow.

You sighed for the nth time of the day, "I guess so."

"Then, we'll be entrusting you as one of our managers for today," he smirked before lowering himself into a bow.

The team, even Sakusa, followed suit and bowed at you, leaving you standing there gaping like a fish out of water.

You supposed you had no real reason to be as shocked as you were. Inarizaki was considered an elite school feared and respected by many of their peers, but you were all knowing of their unruly and headache-inducing antics. Still, you hadn't expected Itachiyama of all schools to have their own brand of chaos that had you reeling and shockingly missing your team. It wasn't that your team wasn't bad per say but you knew how to deal with them. You were entirely unfamiliar with the Tokyo team and didn't know how to approach this.

While you and Itachiyama's manager had been busy filling up the water bottles for the players, the team had managed to…get themselves into something.

You hadn't quite seen a sight like this with your team.

All the boys were congregated to a wall seemingly regrouping after something had happened that left Utsubo propped up against the wall with a few scrunched up bloody tissues surrounding him.

You helplessly looked to the first year manager who just looked exhausted simply seeing them; a look you empathized with heavily.

"They sometimes do this exercise where a spiker will spike at the corners of the gym to control the power and spin of the ball," she explained to you in a low voice, not wanting to attract the attention of her team quite yet. "Sakusa-san apparently did that a lot in junior high which inspired the team to give it a go."

In spite of the concerning sight that beheld you, you couldn't help but be impressed by Sakusa's work ethic. "Well, it paid off considerin' Sakusa's spikes are notoriously difficult to receive," you nodded in acknowledgement before glancing back at the team. "But we really oughtta do something about…that."

"Ah, yes, you're right," the younger girl turned bright red. She let out a shaky breath before she took a decisive step towards her team. "Iizuna-san, w-would you mind explaining what happened?"

The starting lineup of Itachiyama all jerked their heads towards you both in surprise, evidently not having noticed you and their manager.

"We…uh, we did the Sakusa drills?" the captain answered sheepishly, having caught your disbelieving gaze.

"Sakusa drills?" you echoed.

Sakusa scowled and averted his eyes from you, "I told them not to call it that."

"But you're the one we took inspiration from!"

"Yeah, we—"

"Well, would anyone like to explain to me what these…'Sakusa drills' are?" you cut in before the team could derail the initial point of the conversation you'd begun (though you were going to have to address the real concern right after).

They all looked at each other a little nervously and you were hit with a sense of déjà vu.

"It's this thing that Sakusa often does," Iizuna sighed and started explaining on behalf of the team. "We go to the corners of the gym and spike the ball at the walls, trying to get them to ricochet off of each other, going from one wall to the other."

You blinked as you tried to process the captain's rather confusing explanation. You turned to the Itachiyama manager helplessly once more but before she could do anything, Sakusa sighed and grabbed a ball off the floor.

"Like this," he said before walking to a corner and demonstrating the so-called 'Sakusa drill.'

You watched in awe as Sakusa spiked the ball perfectly as it hit one wall and bounced off to hit the other. He caught the ball as it fell towards him and turned to you expectantly.

"O-oh, that's impressive," you nodded, temporarily forgetting about Utsubo and his bloody nose. It was hard to tell but Sakusa seemed somewhat pleased with your response as he nodded back at you, his face and posture a touch more relaxed than it had initially been around you.

No wonder he is part of the top three aces in the high school circuit. I wonder if I should tell the team about—

"Wait," you blinked again. "How did Utsubo-san get injured? Did he get a ball to the face?"

Sakusa looked away from you with a slight pout when you directed your gaze at him. You then turned to face the team instead.

"Sort of?" Fukuda rubbed the back of his neck and glanced back at his injured teammate.

"We split up into pairs," Asaoka jumped in. "Spiking and receiving pairs. Utsubo paired with Sakusa and he'd gotten a little too close to Sakusa after he spiked. Sakusa accidentally elbowed him and he got a spike to the face."

"W-what?" the Itachiyama manager looked back at her injured senior in pity. "Utsubo-san got…both?"

"Yeah, an elbow and a ball," Kanehara nodded.

You couldn't help but stare up at the Itachiyama team with wide eyes and a slack jaw. While your team certainly got their fair share of scrapes, bruises, and bloody noses, you couldn't recall anyone taking an elbow and a ball to the face.

At that point, it's just the work of the Gods, you shook your head in disbelief. Utsubo-san must be cursed or something.

You snapped out of your trance at the sight of the first year girl paling and shooting you desperate looks that screamed help! You swiftly gave her what you hoped to be a reassuring smile before straightening out your maroon jersey, preparing to get into what Atsumu had labelled your 'demon manager mode.' To your amazement, you managed to get all of their attention with a quick clear of your throat.

"Has Utsubo-san's nose stopped bleedin'?" you asked sternly, wanting Itachiyama to settle down and focus on the issue at hand.

"For now," Komori nodded.

"Sakusa-san," you turned to the ace, "on a scale of one to ten, how hard do ya think you elbowed Utsubo-san in the nose?"

Sakusa scrunched up his face in displeasure, presumably at the question, but answered nonetheless, "Maybe six."

You bent down towards the injured player, "Sorry but do ya mind if I see yer nose? Just wanna check if it's broken."

He shook his head and removed the bloody tissue from his nose. It was certainly red but you were surprised to see that his forehead was pretty red and swollen as well.

"Does your forehead hurt?"

"Yeah, I think I feel a headache coming," Utsubo responded with a grimace.

You turned to the group behind you, "Someone, please get Utsubo-san an ice pack and some more tissues. If you can't find any, just get a towel."

"On it!" the manager immediately jumped into action and scurried out of the gym.

"I'm no expert but I think Sakusa-san elbowed Utsubo-san's forehead before the ball hit him in the nose," you deduced from what little information you got. "I'd expect an elbow to do more damage than a nosebleed."

Iizuna nodded as he gave you an impressed look, "I think you might be right—a Sakusa level six is probably harder than the average six."

Utsubo merely groaned in agreement.

You weren't quite sure what to make of their unique way of scaling pain, but you supposed anything Sakusa did amplified the amount of pain one normally felt. After all, he was one of the top high school aces in the nation.

You studied Utsubo's forehead again and winced, "That might bruise so be sure to ice it properly, Utsubo-san."

You were glad that the twins weren't here to challenge the ace—they surely would've jumped for the opportunity to replicate the aforementioned Sakusa drill. Sure, the drill itself made for good practice but the way Itachiyama had gone about it was…risky to say the least. Had it been your team, you would have been downright furious at them for trying something so recklessly stupid.

"Next time, please do not pair up in spike-receive pairs," you crossed your arms over your chest and gave the team an unimpressed look, deciding it was for the best to scold them for their actions. "I think the Sakusa drill is excellent practice for ball control, but receiving it is…well, plain stupid."

The Itachiyama starting lineup all looked away from you in shame.

"For one, stuff like this," you gestured vaguely to Utsubo, "can happen again and y'all can get worse injuries from it—believe it or not, I'd say Utsubo-san's rather lucky he only got away with a bruised forehead and a bloody nose. Also, who's to say one of ya won't overshoot and crash into the wall or somethin'? From what Sakusa-san has shown me, the space between the ball and the walls sometimes isn't even that big. If ya only pay attention to the ball, then you can very well underestimate your surroundings. This ain't an open court. You are literally facin' a wall."

You took the time to meet each and every single one of the members, "Well, just don't pull that again. I'm sure if your coaches find out, they'll rip you a new one anyway."

They all paled.

"Get cleanin'."

Everyone immediately got moving on their feet, even Utsubo who got up with the assistance of Asaoka and Iizuna.

You took a step back and heaved a sigh of relief, running a hand through your hair. The trouble Itachiyama got into was very similar yet very different from the trouble your boys got into. You simply weren't used to Itachiyama's shenanigans and had resorted to just treating them like your own team—albeit with less sass and exasperation since you still didn't know them all that well. Truth be told, if the younger manager hadn't essentially pleaded for you to take control of the situation, you may have just let them run their own shit show.

You brushed aside any lingering thoughts and started picking up the scattered balls and throwing them into a nearby cart.

"How do you do it?" you heard someone ask you in a small voice.

"Hmm?" you turned to face the Itachiyama manager just before you threw another ball away. "How do I do what?"

"How do you know what to do? With the team?" she inquired meekly. "You don't even know them that well but you still managed to get them to listen to you. It's the same with senpai too…"

"'Senpai'…as in the other manager of your team? The one who's sick?" you clarified and waited until the first year girl nodded in response. "Well, we just have more experience than you that's all. And frankly, I wouldn't have known how to deal with your team had it not been for you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you," you shot your junior a kind smile. "I know you sometimes feel out of your element being around such talented players but trust me, you know your teammates more than you think you do."

"I-I do?"

"Of course," you laughed, "I mean, I just learned a bunch of their names today!"

"Oh…" she flushed.

You shook your head before continuing off your original point, "You were able to properly access the situation and inform me what likely happened. Ya weren't there to see it but you guessed correctly which tells me that you are already familiar with yer team's antics. You also knew to prompt Iizuna-san into explainin' what had happened while we were gone. I would have just shot at the dark and hoped for the best."

"But…you reproached them for their actions too," the younger manager pointed out. "I don't think I would have been able to do that."

"Ah, that's understandable," you nodded. "I mean, a whopping six of them are yer senpai so it probably isn't easy for ya to just be straight up with them and lay down the facts. But in all honesty, I just treated them like my own team, though a lot…nicer? More patient? Well, in any case, I felt a little out of my element too y'know. I know my team well and just got lucky that what I usually do with my team worked with your team."

"I see…"

You glanced at the first year girl again and gave her an encouraging smile, "Listen, I don't think there is a right or wrong way of managing a team. The team's gonna change every year and yer gonna have to adjust to that. Just trust yourself. No one's expecting ya to be perfect. I'm far from it myself. But lemme tell ya, it's a lot easier when you get closer to them."

"I…don't think I'm close to them yet," the younger girl confessed.

"Yet," you repeated before you picked up a ball and passed it over to her. "You still have time, so I wouldn't worry. It's only natural that yer feeling a little out of your element but you'll get used to it with time. Just be patient with yourself."

"Alright," she smiled up at you, "thank you for your advice, [Surname]-san!"

"No pr—"

You were interrupted by the abrupt call of the Itachiyama manager's name. She startled and turned to see Kanehara waving at her.

"Sorry, but do you mind helping me here?" he called out from across the gym.

You exchanged a knowing glance with the younger manager and quirked a brow up, "Go ahead, manager-san."

She laughed and stalked off in the direction of her fellow first year. You watched as the first year duo laughed and joked around, evidently more comfortable around each other than with their older teammates.

For a brief moment, you swore you could see your younger self with the rest of the second years, all huddled up and relying on each other to get through the awkwardness of having to get along with your seniors as the newbies of the team.

After having been on the receiving end of your lectures, you could practically feel the anticipatory and gleeful gazes of Itachiyama watching the scene in front of them.

You couldn’t blame them.

Even Kita was lowering his head to you in shame as you stared down at the kneeling members of the Inarizaki boys' volleyball team. Hell, even Suna looked thoroughly chastised and ashamed. Had you not been as irate as you were, you would probably find the scene in front of you amusing as well. Alas you weren't in the mood for fun and games. You had a rather tiring day all because of them.

And you didn't even want to think about what would have happened had it been the last day of the training camp.

"You dunces abandoned me," you started in a deceptively light tone.

You didn't think it was possible but somehow, your team managed to look even more nervous and scared under your sharp watchful eyes.

No one dared to say a word or even move.

"You dunces abandoned me in Tokyo," you corrected yourself with a placid smile, "and there are…how many of ya? Around twenty?"

No one dared to answer you.

"Twenty members did not deem it necessary to do a headcount at the very least? Y'all always add me in these headcounts so surely you coulda checked to see if you—I dunno—maybe forgot your freakin' manager?"

You had tried to stay calm but you glared at the herd of boys and balled your hands into tight fists.

Dammit. Seeing them made you remember just how scared and panicked you had been when you first realized your team had left you alone in Itachiyama. Sure, the reaction probably wasn't entirely rational, considering the team was going to stay in the Tokyo area for the next four days and would surely pick you up. But you had been scared. Your mind had simply jumped to the worst possible outcome.

"We're very sorry!"

You jumped as your teammates all apologized to you in one voice before promptly bowing to you in unison.

A moment of silence followed as everyone, including Itachiyama, watched as the entire Inarizaki team bowed their heads on their knees with their foreheads nearly touching the gravel.

"R-raise your heads!" you exclaimed, snapping out of your daze and ushering your teammates to get up. "What if one of you scrape yer—"

Your eyes zeroed in on a bloody forehead amongst the sea of heads staring up at you.

"Riseki!"

"H-huh? W-what is it, [Surname]-senpai?" the first year looked up at you with his brows raised and eyes wide in alarm.

"Yer forehead!"

"Huh?"

The rest of the team turned to look at Riseki.

"Ya were too enthusiastic with yer apology, Riseki!" Ginjima managed before he burst into peals of laughter and nearly fell over an unimpressed Suna.

"Hey," the latter protested as he pushed Ginjima away from him and into Kosaku.

"How did you miss?" Kita glimpsed down at his hands in confusion.

"Yer hands, yer hands!" Aran waved his own hands around before folding them neatly on top of one another above his head. "You should've rested your forehead on your hands, Riseki!"

"We even counted down and all," Osamu said.

"Yeah, like we said we would," Atsumu nodded.

"Riseki, control yourself next time," Akagi said as he pat Riseki, who sat to his right, on the back with a shake of his head.

"Next time?" you echoed in exasperation. "Can'tcha just…not?"

Extra: The Birth of (Another) Demon Manager

"Man…the Inarizaki manager sure is scary."

Almost all of the Itachiyama team nodded fervently in agreement, thinking back to the events that occurred the other day.

"Did you hear how she spoke with Ojiro Aran over the phone?" Asaoka recalled with a slight shudder.

"She even got Kita to bow to her," Fukuda shook his head in slight amazement and awe. "I pegged him as the icy sort of unflappable type."

Kanehara glanced between his seniors with a frown, "Forget her own team, what about how she dealt with us?"

"Do you reckon all Kansai girls are like that?" Utsubo mused nonchalantly.

"I thought she'd be more…docile? She looked like she was about to cry when we first saw her," Komori said, tapping his chin as he thought back to their encounter with the Inarizaki manager.

"She got abandoned by her own team in a region far from home," Iizuna rolled his eyes. "I don't blame her for being a bit panicked and scared. I'd be mad at you guys too if you just up and left me in Inarizaki."

Sakusa gravely nodded in agreement.

"If anybody leaves me alone, I'm going to report you to the coaches. We'll see how you like your drills then," the first year manager accidentally blurted out after considering how uncomfortable it'd be just surrounded by strangers without an inkling as to where her team went.

Nobody spoke, shocked by the harsh words she had unthinkingly blurted out. They shared bewildered looks over her head, wordlessly swearing to make sure they didn't repeat Inarizaki's mistake.

She seemed to have caught on to the fact that she hadn't managed to filter herself and flushed before stalking away from them and to the third year manager.

"…Kanehara."

The first year boy flinched, "Y-yes!"

"Has she always been like that?" Iizuna asked with furrowed brows.

"I…don't know?"

The third years all exchanged a knowing look before taking a quick peek at their third year manager.

"Well, good luck," Utsubo patted Kanehara on the shoulder much to the latter's confusion.

"You too," Asaoka nodded at Sakusa and Komori.

"W-what?"

"Being a manager is tough work," Fukuda stated in an all too serious voice, "don't underestimate them."

"Seriously," Iizuna gave a resolute nod.

If he were to continue as is, Atsumu would only make even more mistakes and overextend to compensate for his errors. He needed to take a proper rest and you would forcefully put a stop to the hole he was digging himself into because you knew he was neglecting his own wellbeing.

There were no words exchanged as you shared a knowing glance with Osamu. Both of you had watched on in concern; this certainly wasn't the first time you witnessed Atsumu hitting a wall he couldn't break through. By now, you knew what to do: you needed to stop him from wearing himself out, whether he liked it or not. You feared that he'd physically wear himself down without realizing just how much he'd stunt his potential and put a huge strain on his mentality.

"Atsumu," you called out as soon as you grabbed hold of his water bottle that he'd neglected by the legs of the bench.

He ignored you.

However, you were unfazed. In his state, it was normal for him to ignore you, but it was a necessary call if you wanted him to get out of his head.

"Atsumu, have some water," you tried again, knowing from experience that simply telling him to stop would only upset him more than relieve him.

He ignored you again.

"…'Tsumu?" You slowly lowered yourself to sit beside him when he shifted his head away from you.

"Not thirsty."

Oh—he's…more upset than I thought he'd be, you realized as you gently gnawed on the inside of your bottom lip. When he was moderately upset, Atsumu would usually swiftly take the opportunity you presented him for a break knowing that he needed to cool his head, especially since his pride wouldn't let him admit that he needed to take one. In fact, you or another member of the team usually had to ease him into taking a break.

It was just that this time, he seemed to be more than moderately upset considering how he denied the opportunity you gave him. He'd reached the end of his rope, you gulped as you slowly stretched your hand out to rest against his shoulder.

"'Tsumu—"

"I said I'm not thirsty," Atsumu snapped, brushing your hand off with a scowl. "Lemme practice some more."

You clutched onto his water bottle tightly as a surge of guilt took over you. You felt like absolute shit for not having properly noticed your childhood friend's struggle this past week. In all honesty, you had been stressed and overwhelmed by the amalgamating tests and projects you had lined up for the upcoming week. You had been too caught up in your own struggles to actively care about his deteriorating state.

"Atsumu, go and take a break," Kita spoke up just when you wanted to stand up and confront your childhood friend.

"I'm fine."

"It's about time we clean up anyway," Aran pointed out.

You got off the bench and took a step forward, "C'mon 'Tsumu, let's—"

"Just get off my back, [Name]!"

You couldn't help but stumble a bit when he burst out, turning to you with a downright livid look on his face, "Yer a damn nuisance! I said to lemme practice! What don'tcha understand, huh? Can'tcha fuckin' tell that I wanna be left alone!? Can'tcha fuckin' tell yer just gettin' in my way? Just leave. Me. Alone."

It was silent in the gym as Atsumu drew in a deep breath after he trailed off in a grouchy mood. You wanted to open your mouth to say something, anything! But before you could, you watched him look off to the side, and heard his grumbles loud and clear, "You can't even do your job right."

The gym was tense and still. Everyone had fallen even more quiet after Atsumu's earlier outburst.

Your hands started to shake.

Yes, you knew that Atsumu was having an off week. Yes, you knew that Atsumu was the type to lash out when he was at the end of his ropes and that he didn't truly mean the words he spewed out at you. Yes, you knew that Atsumu didn't hate you or truly deem you a nuisance. You knew all these things.

But—that didn't mean his words hurt you any less.

Frankly, you had also been having a rough week. You weren't able to concentrate as much as you did in classes and the daily tasks you had almost unconsciously completed before started to feel like they were too much to handle. You felt lightheaded and almost nauseous because of how behind you were on so many things; it felt like you had so little time in-between helping the guys study as you managed the volleyball club, all the while juggling your own studies. It felt like you were barely keeping up with your duties. You were only hindering yourself and your peers.

Yer a damn nuisance!

His words had unknowingly touched a nerve: you had already been feeling like a nuisance.

Dammit, you cursed in your head, swallowing the lump that continued to form in your throat. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

You bit down on your lip as you balled your hands into tight fists. You bowed your head, letting your hair fall and curtain you away from everyone as you blinked furiously to stop the tears you could feel welling up from the corner of your eyes.

The gym remained silent as you inhaled deeply, trying not to let them know that your nose was beginning to run from holding your tears back.

You were very much conscious of the fact that everyone was staring at you and Atsumu. You knew that they probably knew you were trying to hold back your tears.

And you felt utterly humiliated.

You couldn't even look at Atsumu. You didn't want to look at him lest you break down at the sight of his face—whatever expression he donned: guilty, angry, horrified; it didn't matter to you.

Not now. Not here.

You took a deep breath and felt your jaw tremble as you let it all out—the tension, the anger, the humiliation.

It's okay. Calm down. You're okay. You are okay, you repeated those few words in your head like they were a mantra, a spell that would calm you down.

Thankfully, the self-hypnotization method worked, but you knew it was a temporary solution. You just needed to keep a hold on the mental strength that was steadily dissipating to hold your emotions in before you left.

With that final thought, you raised your head and glanced up at Atsumu. There was a slight tinge of guilt and remorse on his face, but you didn't want to see or hear it. You just needed to be alone, just as he needed to be alone, you clearly recalled.

The damage had already been done.

"I see," your voice came out stronger than you expected. "I'll leave you to it then."

Atsumu didn't say anything as you turned around and faced the concerned gazes of the starting lineup along with the captain.

"I'm sorry, but I think it'd be better for me—ta leave." Your voice cracked a little at the end, and you immediately cleared your throat before continuing, "please excuse me."

You lowered your head and hurried out of the gym without a clear dismissal. Every step on your way out of the gym felt too loud: the squeaking of your shoes reverberated in the normally boisterous and bustling gym. You fought to keep a relatively even and steady pace even though you wanted nothing more than to sprint away as fast as you could manage to before you ultimately collapsed.

With shaking hands, you hurriedly opened the door and practically stumbled out of the gym in your haste. When the door shut loudly behind you, you immediately broke out into a sprint and made your way to the clubroom.

Everything had become a blur to you.

You didn't exactly know how, but somehow, somehow you managed to set a record in changing out of your jersey and into your school uniform without completely breaking down because the next thing you knew, you had reached the gates of your safe and familiar home.

Upon opening the entry door to your house, you gave your parents (who'd been shocked to see you back so early) a strained smile. You let them know that practice had ended early, but you weren't hungry, so you were just going to be in your room.

It was difficult putting up an unaffected façade for your parents as you made your way past them and up the stairs to the second floor. As soon as you locked your door, you headed over to your bed and lost the strength to carry on in pretence. You flopped down onto your bed and buried your face in your pillow before finally allowing the tears you had desperately held back to flow. You completely let go of the tight grip you had over your emotions. Within seconds, your pillowcase grew uncomfortably damp from the seemingly unending stream of tears.

You tried to not make any sound lest your parents come up and check on you, but you couldn't help the sniffles and breathless whimpers from escaping your lips.

Why? You grit your teeth. You hated that you were feeling this way. In hindsight, you've heard and been on the receiving end of far, far more hurtful words, but here you were crying over being called 'a nuisance.'

You've known Atsumu for well over a decade. You knew that he was just upfront about his feelings and didn't think twice about what he said in the heat of the moment. You knew that the issue didn't lie in or with you. You knew that he cared about you and always regretted hurting you.

So why were you feeling this way?

You turned your head to the side, ear pressing into your uncomfortably damp pillow as more tears rolled across your face. You sniffled, wincing when you noticed how congested your nose was from crying it all out.

You didn't know how long you'd been lying there on your bed in your unlit room, weeping and sniffling quietly to yourself, but you didn't care to check on the time as you continued to drown in the sea you called your emotions. Waves of sadness and frustration continued to pull you down, barely giving you any time to catch your breath and reach equilibrium within yourself.

It was only when a knock had resounded from your door that you were provided a brief moment of reprieve. You cracked open your eye that you really hadn't noticed you'd shut and glimpsed at the door.

"[Name]? I'm coming in."

You didn't need to look to know that it was Osamu's voice that sounded from outside your room.

When he cracked the door ajar, you turned your body away from him and pulled the blankets over your head before Osamu turned the lights on and sat down on the edge of your bed.

He didn't say a word for a few long moments.

"You've had a rough week."

You turned to him in surprise, pulling the blanket down so you could properly face him—that was not what you expected Osamu to first say to you. "W-what did you say?" You couldn't help how your voice cracked as you questioned him.

"I could tell ya had a rough week," Osamu repeated, "and 'Tsumu's words hurt ya, yeah?" You blearily nodded as he shifted his body ever so slightly so that he was facing you rather than your window.

"Was it that obvious?" you asked as quietly as you could, avoiding answering the second half of his words while hoping your parents weren't standing outside the door—after all, you didn't want them worrying about your troubles when they already had more than enough of their own troubles.

"Dunno," he shrugged, knowing exactly what you were talking about. "I mean—I've known ya for a long time so I had a feeling somethin' was on yer mind. The team was worried about ya too, in case you were wondering."

You pressed your lips together into a firm line.

"Sorry I didn't help," Osamu whispered remorsefully. "I didn't…know what to do when—with 'Tsumu havin' a hard time too."

"You don't needa apologize," you uttered.

"Then—you shouldn't either."

"Huh?" you blinked up at your friend.

"You were feelin' bad for not helping 'Tsumu or whatever else was going on in yer muddled head."

You turned away from him as you avoided his knowing look, not wanting to admit that he'd caught onto the truth.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as you both listened to the sound of the wind knocking against your window, but it was broken when Osamu rose from your bed and announced, "Okay, I'm gonna go down to help Auntie with dinner."

You nearly fell from your bed when you removed your blanket in shock, "Yer gonna stay for dinner?"

"Yeah, so will 'Tsumu."

Your foot had barely touched down when you looked up in surprise, "Atsumu?"

"Yeah, well he's waitin' to apologize to ya downstairs," he deadpanned with his hand folded around your doorknob. "Ya think you're ready ta talk to him?"

You couldn't help but stare after him even after he promptly disappeared from your view.

Atsumu had come over with the intent of apologizing. You had not expected that to happen at all. He had just seemed extremely frustrated and angry that you automatically assumed that he needed at least a day or two to cool off before talking to you.

Besides, it wasn't like you were that mad at him. Sure, you were upset that he said what he had said to you, but you had already been beating yourself down before that; his words had simply tipped you over the edge you'd been balancing yourself on for a while.

"Yeah…tell him to come up," you decided, knowing that Osamu had simply waited outside the door instead of disappearing down the stairs. You confirmed your suspicions anyway when you peered over to meet Osamu's gaze.

He merely nodded before finally, and actually, leaving the second floor.

With the door shut (hadn't you locked it earlier? How on earth did 'Samu get in?), you pulled your pillow off of its usual resting place, sat back down on your bed and leaned against your headboard. Heaving out a long and shaky breath to calm your nerves, you pulled the plush headrest onto your lap and waited.

Soon enough, you heard Atsumu's hurried footsteps sound up the stairs and trudge down the hallway. His footsteps drew closer and closer until he was just outside your room, and you could see his shadow through the crack of your door. He seemed to hesitate a little before finally making a move to knock.

"C-can I…come in?" His voice sounded nervous as much as it sounded hoarse.

"Sure," you responded, keeping a check on your tone so that it remained even though your palms were clammy and your knuckles were turning a shade lighter.

The door cracked open and Atsumu walked in, eyes immediately falling on you as he hesitantly approached your bed. He averted his gaze and sat himself down at the same spot Osamu had sat himself.

An awkward silence followed and you found yourself looking away from him as well. You played with the flaps of your pillowcase and waited.

"Sorry."

You slowly shut your eyes as you ignored the pace of your bleeding heart. You heard him sigh, "I'm…really, really sorry for hurtin' ya. I didn't—mean ta say any of that."

"I know," you murmured, still keeping your eyelids closed as you tugged the pillow a tad bit closer to your chest.

"Y'know that I'm an asshole. I say crap without thinkin' about it. I don't really care what I say ta others…well, most of the time, but I didn't—I didn't realize ya were havin' a hard time too," Atsumu rambled. "Suna and Ginjima told me after ya…after ya left. I felt kinda shitty hearing that and well, understandin' your reaction…Ah, shit. I'm no good with apologies and this sorta stuff! But ah…yeah. I'm sorry, [Nickname]. For…forgive me?"

You had already forgiven him. How could you not? Though it was awkward and a tad bit too long, you knew that his words were sincere and genuine. He never lied to you when it came to the more serious things, so you believed him when he said that he was sorry.

With that thought, you opened your eyes and turned to face your childhood friend. He watched your every move, and you could see a touch of insecurity and fear clouding his usually clear and focused eyes. With a deep sigh, you shook your head with a wry grin and spread open your arms.

"Come here," you demanded fondly.

Atsumu didn't need to be told twice before wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He had been careful not to put too much weight onto you as you felt him rest his cheek against the top of your head. The corners of your mouth quirked up as he returned your hug.

"I forgive you," you whispered amidst the near silent gulp sounding against your ear.

In response, he squeezed you a little tighter and you reached up to pat him on the back.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I didn't mean it."

"I know."

"I'm an asshole."

"Sure are."

Atsumu drew away when you responded to his last words and you grinned at his half-baked scowl, "We were having a moment. Ya couldn't say anything nice back? Like…'No Atsumu, y'ain't an asshole, yer my best friend, much better than Osamu' or whatever?"

You scrunched up your nose and shook your head in mock disgust, "Nuh uh, you are an asshole. To deny it would be a straight up lie. And I don't lie."

He merely narrowed his eyes at you before he poked your side, causing you to jolt away with a sharp gasp.

"Atsumu!" you squealed, trying to catch his hands while attempting to get away from him.

The blond quickly grabbed a hold of your forearm and poked you again with his free hand.

"What…pfft…do ya—think…yer…doin'!?" you barely managed between his relentless attacks and your half-aborted laughter.

"Heh, made ya smile!" Atsumu sang gleefully, and finally let you go after one last poke.

You plopped back down on your bed, panting as you rested your hands on your knees, "W-what?"

"You were frowning a whole bunch this week," he explained as he seated himself right beside you. "Though I felt like shit, I still noticed y'know."

"Oh…" you replied lamely.

"I was shoddy this week, I know that," Atsumu continued. "Both in practice and outside of it. I was frustrated 'cause I'd been making lots of progress this past month, and then it kinda felt like I was takin' a hundred steps backwards when I only took maybe twenty steps forward."

You understood what he was talking about. That was exactly how you had been feeling as well.

"I—lashed out at you…because I was…frustrated, so…"

"Listen, I understand how ya feel," you cut in, seeing Atsumu flounder with his words now that you both cooled off. "I was havin' a hard week too and didn't fully realize how much you were struggling. But it's okay to struggle. It's okay to take steps backward—you just have to keep moving forward."

"I just kept going backwards," Atsumu sighed as he crossed his arms over his head and fell back onto your bed, forcing you to shift your legs away or else he'd be lying on top of them.

"Then take a break," you said, twisting your body to look down at him. "Just—stop and take a breather. Who knows? It might help you clear yer head and see things a tad bit better."

"Yeah," your friend chuckled, "as always, ya should really listen to your own advice."

"Yeah," you poorly mimicked him with a cheeky smirk. It was just a word, but it was enough to break the rest of the ice that had been steadily thawing since his apology.

"I don't sound like that! Don't butcher my amazin' voice!"

"Amazing? Whose voice? Yours?"

"Oi!"

"See? That ain't amazing, you sounded weird just now."

"Humph! Says the one with a nasally voice."

"I was crying, you asshole!"

"So? Yer voice still sounds weird."

After dinner, you and the twins stayed downstairs in the living room. They were setting up the TV and game console to play while you sunk into your cozy couch and watched them rile each other up as per usual.

You finally turned on your phone to see the time, only to see the lock screen filled with countless text notifications.

Are you feeling better, [Surname]? Akagi's message read as you pulled down to preview what you missed.

We scolded Atsumu for you, Oomimi had sent.

you ok? was Suna's short text.

i know you probably know this but i’m sure Atsumu didn't mean it that way, Ginjima had sent.

We spoke to Atsumu, Kita's longer message read. I hope you're feeling better. Feel free to speak with any of us if you need to.

You couldn't help but smile at the team's concern for you. Osamu was right, the team had been worried about you too.

You sent them all a message through the group chat and let them know that you and Atsumu were okay now, that he'd apologized to you and you were sorry for making them worry, and then you thanked them for their concern.

A few seconds after you had sent the message on the group chat, your phone lit up and vibrated in your hand: Aran's name and picture took over your screen.

Without a second thought, you swiped accept and raised your phone to your ear. "Hello?" you tentatively called out.

"Ah, [Name]," Aran's voice sounded through the receiver, "I just saw your message in the chat."

"Ya checkin' up on me too?" You asked into your phone as you watched the twins play Mario Kart: Atsumu was tilting his body to the direction his racer was going while Osamu was turning his head in sync with his own racer.

"I was worried aboutcha!" Aran defensively exclaimed through the receiver.

"Yeah, well I'm doing bett—"

"Ha! I win, you scrub!" Osamu shouted out suddenly, causing you to nearly jolt off of the couch. "Sucks to be ya, 'Tsumu."

Atsumu let out a frustrated shriek and you clutched your phone more securely as he challenged his twin, "Again!"

"Bring it on."

You heard Aran's full-blown laugh come through the phone and you blinked in bewilderment, "I see yer with 'em."

"Ah…yeah," you laughed, settling back against the comfy couch. "They're staying over at my place."

"Looks like I worried about nothing. You and the twins have always made up no matter what came between ya three."

You glanced back over at the twins with a fond smile spreading across your lips, "Yeah, I guess so."

"But take better care of yourself, [Name]. We could all tell you and Atsumu were having a rough week but didn't know how ta help since ya both didn't ask for it. Feel free to reach out for help whenever you need it. We're all friends, ya hear me?"

You blamed it on the fact that you had already cried earlier but you felt your nose tingle and eyes sting again, touched by the third year's comforting words.

"Yer right…thanks, Aran-kun."

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔

Being the little shit he is, he takes pictures of you and well…you look cute

He refuses to send the pictures to the gc tho

You look a little better than he expected

If you’re insecure, he’ll try to assuage your insecurities

“You look fine, so stop worrying.”

But feels awks after telling you and doesn’t bring it up again lol 😂

Also feels kinda feels like a winner for being the one to convince you

𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄

His face gives absolutely nothing away

But he keeps staring at you

Not in a creepy leery sorta way tho bc Kita respects women 😤😤😤

“I…look weird, don’t I?”

“You look nice, not weird at all.”

It’s a real confidence booster when Kita says it

𝐎𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍

Probs the least flustered and weird about it

“Ya look like a real cheerleader, [Name]!”

Thinks you look cute but doesn’t really stare

A part of him is still bitter that he didn’t win the bet so maybe that’s why

Still thinks the twin’s reactions are sorta worth it tho

He understands why they’re like that but…

He knows you’re a girl but still considers you a bro ✊

𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈

Babie was flustered by simply taking part in his own proposed bet

Babie is flustered by your cheerleader outfit

He tries to be respectful and not stare too much

Averts his eyes when they accidentally meet yours

But when (if) he calms down, he’ll compliment you easily 🥰

“You look cute, [Surname]!”

Lowkey grateful that Suna managed to convince you lol

𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐌𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐍

Another flustered and respectful boyo

Tries very hard not to stare so he ends up kinda avoiding looking at you

“Do…I look bad, Oomimi-san?”

“O-of course not!”

Didn’t think you’d look this cute in the cheer outfit

But also feels kinda bad bc he knows you felt insecure

Tells you that you look like a real cheerleader to make you feel better 😊

𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐀 𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈

Internally very proud that he agreed to the cheer captain’s request 🤣

Yet another flustered boi—blushing, stuttering, and tries not to look too much

“I-I toldja you’d look good!”

He’s so used to seeing you in school uniform and jersey

That this change in image is kinda jarring to him

Even after you change out of the cheer uniform, he’s STILL weird around you

Takes him like a week or two to go back to treating you like normal

"You see…" Fujiwara started as she lowered her voice, giving them no choice but to lean a little closer to hear her amidst the background noise. "We asked [Surname]-san if she'd help us raise funds for the club, but she turned us down."

"She said no?" Osamu inquired as he raised a brow in surprise.

[Surname] was usually quick to lend the other teams a hand so long as she deemed the task within her capabilities, so they were all curious why she refused.

"Ah…" Under their attention, Fujiwara gulped before directing her gaze to their feet. "She was willing," she began to explain, "until we asked her to…put on our uniform for the poster."

An awkward and stunned silence befell the group as the cheer captain twiddled her thumbs and stubbornly refused to meet the dumbfounded gazes of the boys.

"Y'asked [Name] ta…put on yer uniform? Why!?" Atsumu reeled back in shock.

"I can explain!" Fujiwara sharply raised her voice, causing the second years to flinch and take another step back. "The volleyball team is really popular and you've all including [Surname]-san appeared on TV! So we thought that her bein' on the poster and all, that it'd appeal ta more people, like yer many fans!"

"But she already turned you down," Suna pointed out.

"If you guys who are closer to her than we are would convince her…it’d be very helpful! [Surname]-san seemed a tad embarrassed, but she might be willing if one of ya ask her! Please! I promise we’ll pay the volleyball team back somehow!"

Fujiwara had, in a calculated motion, caused a scene as she bowed to her juniors for their help. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to convince [Surname] to pose for their advertisement posters, but each rejection had fuelled her desire to succeed (even if the means hadn’t gone through the proper channels and all).

If it weren’t for their team running low on funds after arranging transportation and accommodation for the upcoming training camp during Golden Week, she wouldn’t have resorted to such underhanded methods, but she’d swallowed her pride as a third year and hoped that her plan would work.

"F-Fujiwara-san! You-you don't needa bow!" Ginjima stuttered, uncomfortable under the judging eyes of passersby as he overheard snippets of their whispers. "We'll help! We'll help!" he placated her hoping she'd stop bowing to them.

As if she hadn't caused a scene, Fujiwara rose with a satisfied smile crossing her lips, "Thank you, Ginjima-kun! The team will remember your help!"

The three who'd remained silent watched on as Ginjima rubbed the back of his neck with his ears turning bright red.

"Oh, I won't forget to mention you three either, Atsumu-kun, Osamu-kun, Suna-kun!" Fujiwara mused.

Before any of them could respond to her words, she quickly departed with a merry skip in her steps. What have we gotten into? they wondered as a collective unit, while Ginjima ruminated over how they could possibly convince the manager to help the cheer team when she'd already refused. Besides, if the cheer captain had failed, then wouldn't they be set up for failure too?

"Uwah, you went and did it," Suna muttered in disbelief, knowing the difficult task ahead of them, or well, Ginjima. He wasn't particularly willing to help when he hadn't even agreed to Fujiwara's plea for help in the first place.

"S-shut up!"

"I can't see [Name] willing ta listen, Gin," Osamu stated.

Ginjima fell silent for a few seconds before asking, "D'ya reckon [Surname] will listen if we all asked her together?"

"No way!" Atsumu refused as he shook his head and shuddered at the very thought, "We've already tested her patience the past few days. Who's to say she'll wait for us to speak before refusin'?"

"Ya pissed her off like twice in one week, 'Tsumu," Osamu responded.

"I-I—"

"It's true," Suna cut Atsumu off, not wanting to hear or entertain the twins' usual banter. "But [Name] already refused. Do you think she'll really listen to us of all people?"

"…No," Ginjima admitted after a long pause.

The group fell silent as they all pondered over their dilemma.

"Hey, you four!"

The second years turned and saw Aran, Oomimi, and Akagi approaching them.

"Why are ya guys just standing around there?" Akagi inquired, "Practice is startin' soon."

"Coach'll have your heads," Oomimi added.

Ginjima stared at the ground as the other second years pointed fingers at him. The traitors!

"Ask Gin," Atsumu said.

"Gin?" Aran asked tentatively, concerned for his junior who looked quite ashamed for some reason.

"Um…" Ginjima licked his lips and curled his fingers into a tight fist, "I…Imighthaveagreedtosomethingthat[Surname]won'tlike."

"…"

"Was…was that Japanese?" Akagi whispered to Oomimi, though the rest of them all heard since he wasn't quiet at all.

"I think so," the latter replied.

"Can you repeat yourself, Gin?" Aran requested. "This time, speak slowly," he emphasized.

"I…might have agreed to…something…that [Surname] won't like," Ginjima repeated almost robotically.

Oomimi looked alarmed before he scolded the second year, "Don't give [Surname] more trouble, Ginjima."

Akagi quirked a brow, "But what didja even agree to? Is it something that'll only really affect you or does this drag [Surname] into it?"

"…It drags [Surname] into it."

"Gin!" Aran reproached.

"I swear it's not something too bad!" Ginjima defended. "I just agreed to help the cheerleadin' team get [Surname] to wear their uniform!"

The third years fell quiet, staring at their junior in disbelief.

"W-why…?" Aran stuttered, wondering if Ginjima was pulling his leg.

"The cheer team needs some more funds, so they wanted ta put a picture of [Nickname] on an advertisement poster sorta thing," Atsumu cut in, deciding to finally save his friend from more peril.

"Oh, then [Surname] should help," Oomimi responded with a slight frown. "The volleyball team's in the cheerleadin' team's debt if anything."

"She already said no though," Suna felt the need to point out. Why did everyone glaze over the fact that she didn't want to do it? he sympathized with being forced to do things that he didn't want to do.

But no one heeded Suna's words.

"Could be kinda funny to see her in cheer uniform," Osamu mused aloud, starting to see the merit in aiding Ginjima and the cheerleaders.

"That's true…" Atsumu hummed in agreement, tapping a finger against his chin.

"Ya think it'll be funny?" Akagi repeated incredulously.

"Yeah! I mean…we've seen [Nickname] in her worst moments," Atsumu smirked and shot his twin a knowing look, "Maybe…"

"Maybe it'll be worth helpin' the cheer team out," Osamu finished his twin's train of thought with an identical smirk.

"And it would really help the cheerleadin' team," Oomimi piped up.

The starting lineup of the volleyball team all looked at each other, most of them reaching a decision on the matter at hand.

"Ta make things interesting, how 'bout we have the person who convinces [Surname] to help the cheerleading team have the rest of us do whatever the winner wants for a week?" Akagi proposed after caving in and deciding it was more work to reign in the twins than it was to potentially provoke their manager's ire again.

"Like a gofer?" Oomimi presumed.

"Yep!"

Aran straightened up and proclaimed, "I'm in!" I'm totally havin' the twins do whatever I want every day of the week.

"Sounds like fun, me too," Atsumu nearly sang.

"Same," Osamu nodded.

"I kinda have to," Ginjima said followed by a long and weary sigh.

"I guess I'll join in as well," Oomimi acquiesced.

"Yeah, me too," Suna agreed, shamelessly wanting an excuse to be as lazy as he could for a full week. Though he had initially felt bad for their manager, he was lured into the competition by the tempting reward.

You ran as fast as you could to the gym, finally in your own jersey with clipboard and notebook pressed against your chest. You were later than you had anticipated since the physics teacher had a penchant for going off on long side tangents.

By the time you entered the gym, everyone was finishing up their stretches led by Kita. The coaches were off to the side, discussing something in hushed tones, while waiting as per usual before they could cut in with their usual practice talk.

"One, two, three, four," Kita started.

"Five, six, seven, eight," the team followed.

You paid the team little mind, making your way to the coaches in a hurry.

"I'm sorry for being late," you breathed out as you reached the two older men, "I had to ask a teacher some questions."

"Don't worry 'bout it, [Surname]," Coach Oomi grinned. "Yer still a student."

"And Atsumu told us," Coach Kurosu huffed.

You smiled back politely and asked, "What will we be doin' today?"

"Since we've been doin' some heavy training lately, it'll just be a free practice today. Anyone that wants a practice match can practice on court A, while the rest can work on whatever they want," the head coach replied. "You can help us observe the players for today."

"Yes, sir," you gave the coaches a final bow before stalking off to the benches.

You plopped yourself down onto a vacant bench and finally let out a long breath before fanning yourself with the clipboard. Running all the way from the class to the clubroom to the gym had been quite the workout. Temperatures were slowly but steadily rising as Golden Week neared.

"[Name]!"

You glanced up to see Atsumu walking up to you with his jacket in his arms, "Hold onta this will ya?"

He threw the jacket in your face—you had barely caught your breath when you smelt the rank stench of sweat, causing you to scowl.

"'Tsumu!"

"I heard about Fujiwara-san's little favour," Atsumu whistled, ignoring your indignant shriek as he wiggled his thick eyebrows at you. "Cheerleader [Surname]-chan, hmm?"

Normally, you would have a sharp response to Atsumu's little jabs and teasing, but you could only stare up at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. I…didn't give anything away, did I?

"How?! How did you find out about that?"

Your childhood friend gave you an easygoing smile and slung an arm over your shoulders, "Fujiwara-san asked and Ginjima-kun agreed ta help 'em."

Ginjima, you damn traitor! You internally cursed your fellow second year, scanning the gym for the perpetrator but he was nowhere to be seen. "Where is he?"

"Now now, no need to blame Ginjima, [Nickname]," Atusmu clicked his tongue a couple of times and moved to stand in front of you. "Don'tcha think the volleyball team should be willing ta help the poor cheerleading team?"

"I help enough to appease the gods," you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest before giving him a petulant look.

"Ya don't think you could help more to guarantee your way to a good next life?"

"I was probably cursed in my past life since I have to deal with you."

"Ah, well I guess I have no choice!" he cried out dramatically, drawing the attention of Oomimi, Akagi, and Osamu, who were only a few feet away from the two of you.

You narrowed your eyes, scrutinizing the blond as he leaned in close with a conspiratorial look on his face. You were instantly on guard and wary of his smug smirk and eyes that screamed he was scheming something against you.

"I guess I have no choice but ta tell everyone about that time when we were in fifth grade and—"

"Oh, that story?" Osamu piped in, appearing out of nowhere with an amused twinkle in his eyes. He shook his head, "That's weak, 'Tsumu. How about that time when we went ta Tokyo Tower and [Nickname]—"

"'Samu, that ain't good enough!" Atsumu interrupted his twin. "Instead, do ya remember when [Nickname] got lost in Kobe back in second grade?"

"Or when we went on a trip to Awaji Island for vacation?"

"Oh! How about in Intermiddle?"

"Better yet last year when—"

"Are ya fuckin' done yet?"

The twins immediately shut their mouths and took a quick peek at you. They paled.

"Ya both seem ta forget, but I too have known you for a long ass time," you nearly growled out.

You turned to Atsumu, "Do you remember the time when ya pissed yourself on Diavlo in our first year of junior high?"

Then, you faced Osamu, "How about you, Osamu-kun? I can't seem to erase the memory of when ya got caught having stolen a bunch of onigiri only because you got food poisoning from bad sashimi?"

You heard Akagi choke out a laugh much to the twins' shame.

"Dammit," Osamu cursed under his breath.

"Well played, [Nickname]," Atsumu grumbled with a bright red face, "but screw you."

"Y'ain't the only ones with blackmail, dimwits," you rolled your eyes, "do you play me for a blundering fool?"

"[Surname]!"

You turned at the call of your name and saw Akagi jog up to you with a hand up in the air, waving.

"Oh, Akagi-san. Did you need anything?"

"Uh, well, you ran a little late today!"

"I had to ask Matsumoto-sensei a few questions about the upcomin' physics test," you explained.

Akagi let out a slightly nervous laugh, to your confusion and concern, "Yeah, diligent as always. The rest of the second years oughta learn a thing or two from ya!"

"Yer tellin' me," you grumbled, already anticipating a group study session with you basically teaching the idiot quartet test material.

Your senior shifted on his feet uneasily, and you frowned up at him, "Are you okay, Akagi-san? You seem a little…off."

"Y-yeah! Wait, I mean no! I'm fine!" Akagi turned bright red under your concerned gaze. "I better go and start warmin' up!" He practically ran away from you.

You stared after him, wondering if you had done anything to offend the libero. He was usually easygoing and comfortable to be around. He also had a thick skin so even if you had offended him, he would easily brush it off and not let it bother him.

"Oomimi-san," you nodded at your senior as he approached you in the middle of a break during practice.

"[Surname]," he nodded back at you.

You handed him a water bottle and a spare towel, "That was a nice block just now. You completely snuffed Osamu's spike."

"Thank you, though Osamu kinda messed up his timing on that one," Oomimi replied after taking a large swig of water. "Oh, and I heard that the cheer captain asked for your help."

You groaned, "You know as well, Oomimi-san? Ya shoulda just said that from the get-go."

He smiled apologetically but pressed on regardless, "I think you should reconsider, [Surname]. The cheerleaders always work so hard for us during our games."

You gave him a strained smile back, "This particular favour was a little…undoable."

Oomimi furrowed his brows in concern, "Are you perhaps uncomfortable with wearing the uniform? I apologize if I'm bein' pushy."

Oh my God, he knew all along. He saw right through me.

You swiftly turned on your heel and lightly bowed at him, "I-I should be makin' my rounds. If you'll excuse me…"

You scowled up at Ginjima.

"You."

He flinched and raised his hands up as if it would protect him from your wrath, "I-I'm sorry, [Surname]!"

"Don't even bother trying ta convince me to help, Ginjima," you spat out before turning away from him.

"Wait!" Ginjima cried out as he grabbed hold of your wrist. "I'm really sorry, [Surname]! I…I just felt bad for Fujiwara-san. S-she kinda looked desperate."

You deflated a little at the mention of the cheer captain. She did look a little frantic to you too, but you didn't particularly want to put on the cheerleading uniform and pose for the camera. A part of you felt self-conscious about how you would appear compared to the trained cheerleaders. You also questioned if Inarizaki volleyball fans really did remember how you looked like or even liked you enough to actually donate—you were more than used to receiving glares from the team's more enthusiastic fangirls.

"But…the uniform," you grimaced and gestured vaguely with your hands.

"Y-you'll look good in the uniform, I'm certain of it!"

You blushed at Ginjima's words and smacked him with the back of your clipboard, "Ya idiot!"

Aran gave you a pleading look, "[Name]!"

You ignored him.

"[Name]!" the third year looked a little betrayed. "Are you ignorin' me?"

"Listen, Aran-kun, I know exactly why yer talkin' to me."

"Hear me out! I have a good deal for ya!"

"A deal?" You couldn't help but let out a laugh in disbelief. "Are ya tryin' to pitch a deal with me or something?"

"More or less," Aran admitted with a sheepish grin. "But listen, I promise it's good!"

"I give, what is it?" you relented, curious about what it was that had Aran so confident in convincing you.

"We sorta made a bet and turned it into a competition," he started. "The one who manages ta convince you to help the cheerleading team gets to have the rest do as they say for a whole week."

You plopped your head down on to your clipboard and shook your head against it, "Of course you did…of course ya lot would have some ulterior motive for this…"

"But I'm gonna include ya!"

"Include me?"

"Yeah, I want to win this bet and get the twins to do as I please!" Aran's smile turned a little sinister. "Of course, I could make them cater to you as well, [Name]. We can finally get back at them for makin' us deal with them for all these years!"

While the deal did tempt you, you felt more concerned about Aran's mental wellbeing. He was a little more unhinged than you expected.

"Are ya overworked, Aran-kun?" you questioned, studying the third year carefully. "I'm sorry I didn't pay much attention to yer stress. I just assumed you were used to the twins' antics like I was so I neglected ya."

"Huh? What?"

"Take it easy today, Aran-kun. You've been working hard."

"Wait! I think you're misunderstandin'!"

You ignored the third year again, walking away from him and towards the benches.

You only had a few moments of reprieve until you saw Suna slowly approaching you from the side of your peripherals. Groaning, you pressed your hands against your eyelids and leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees.

"Whattaya want, Rintarou."

"Yikes, frosty."

You lifted your head to glare at the middle blocker, "Look I—"

"Yeah, I know I'm the last one to shoot my shot," Suna shrugged carelessly. "But I'm not gonna hound you about it."

"Oh, really?"

"Yep, you can refuse if you really want."

You squinted your eyes up at him suspiciously, "Are ya tryin' to do reverse psychology on me or something?"

"Nah, too much work."

"I guess so," you snorted at the very Suna-like answer you received. "So whatcha gotta say?"

"Ojiro-san told you what this is all about, right?" Suna questioned.

You nodded.

"Okay, so you know about the wager," Suna paused and you nodded again before he continued. "Help me win, then."

You were rather surprised by the upfront and shameless approach Suna took compared to the others. The rest had either tried to butter you up or threaten you to help them win this stupid bet. Frankly, you were shocked that Suna even participated; he usually found these sort of things to be a drag and not worth the effort. He hardly ever got motivated by competition outside of volleyball, though you supposed the winning deal was just too good for him to pass up.

But you weren't sure if you wanted any of them to win, especially after all the trouble they've given you the past week. And it wasn't like Suna had done anything to win some brownie points from you.

Your skepticism must have showed on your face as Suna went on to say, "Look it's a win-win. I get the twins to do my bidding which will help them get off your ass."

"Technically, Aran-kun's pitch gets the same thing done," you replied before shooting him a knowing look, "and I know ya just want to win this weird bet to have a legitimate excuse to be lazy and get away with it."

"Guilty as charged," Suna smirked and raised his hands up as if surrendering himself.

"Rintarou."

"But do you really want Ojiro-san to win this thing?"

You hesitated. Though the twins definitely drove you up a wall, you still loved them…and you were a little worried just what Aran would do to them if he were to win this entire thing.

"I'll let you do whatever you want," Suna proposed, "as long as you let me have my lazy week."

"Whatever I want?"

"Within reason, of course."

Truthfully, you didn't mind helping the cheer team as much as you initially did; it was just the prospect of wearing the cute cheerleading uniform had you overthinking and doubting your self-esteem and image, but you found that you didn't care as much as you did before. Perhaps it was the team constantly hounding you about the matter or the look on Fujiwara's face after you refused, but either way, you were starting to cave in. Also, Suna had admittedly pitched you a good deal.

Worst case scenario, no one donates to the cheer team and the guys make fun of me. But what's new?

"Okonomiyaki."

"What?"

"Okonomiyaki," you repeated. "I heard there's a new place that has some real good okonomiyaki."

"Oh, I've heard of it. The one near the ramen place we always go to?"

"Yeah, that one."

"And you want it?"

"Pay for my portion and we'll shake on it."

"I'm surprised you agreed ta my terms," you admitted as you flipped your okonomiyaki on the grill.

"Why?" Suna asked across from you, flipping his own as well.

"Ya hafta pay for me."

"Yeah…so?"

You raised a brow at him, "You got your lazy ass out of the house…for okonomiyaki with me."

"I've heard that this place is good too."

"But yer not really a foodie, Rintarou," you pointed out.

Suna merely shrugged and poked the grill with his spatula, "It's no big deal."

"Why?"

"I don't mind."

"Huh?"

"Spending time with you and all. It's nice."

You blinked up at him in shock and if you were totally honest, a little touched too. Suna wasn't really the type to openly acknowledge or say much about his friendships. His nonchalant honesty left you feeling a tad bit embarrassed as you hastily shoved a piece of okonomiyaki in your mouth before you choked on your thoughts.

"Are you embarrassed?" Suna queried with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Shut it," you mumbled through a mouthful of food.

He snickered and ate a piece of his okonomiyaki, thankfully letting go of your apparent embarrassment, "'Sides, I owe you for saving me from Atsumu."

It took you a short moment to understand what he was referring to, but once you recalled the memory of Riseki's nosebleed and Atsumu's jump serve, you scowled.

"Don't remind me."

Extra: The Damned Reminder

In response to what you had said, Suna pulled out his phone and set it against the wall away from the grill as he pressed play.

For some damned reason, Suna had managed to film the entire process from the time he backed up when the ball ricocheted off your clipboard to the moment Atsumu and Osamu hobbled away in a drunken-like manner.

When had he filmed this? What possessed him to film this?

You couldn’t help but listen in on the conversation that came in the next video, when you and Riseki had stayed in the infirmary.

You wish you hadn't listened to it. You reached for the damned phone but Suna blocked your hand from taking it so you couldn't even delete the video of the team chortling at Atsumu’s sudden and over-the-top announcement.

"Guys! Guys!" Atsumu in the video had dramatically called out as the starting lineup plus a couple of bench players sat in front of him as though he was reading them a story, "Let me introduce the leading actors from today!"

You glowered upon seeing the cheeky smile on the blond's face, violently thrusting a piece of okonomiyaki in your downturned mouth lest you do actual damage to Suna's phone.

"[Surname] [Name], the knight in shinin’ armour; Suna Rintarou, the damsel in distress; Riseki Heisuke, the real damsel in distress; and…drumrolls please…the scary dragon, Akagi Michinari!"

"Wouldn’t [Surname] be the knight in shinin' maroon jersey?"

"Oh yer right! Good call, good call!"

You heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of your nose as the video cut off then. What did I do to deserve this? You wondered as Suna with his deadpan expression gave you an irritating thumbs up. "For those videos, I’m adding the most expensive dish to the grill."

You weren’t entirely sure the added expense was worth it just for his guaranteed week of laziness, but Suna’s unrelenting grin made you think that he didn’t entirely mind it.

What did I ever do to deserve this disrespect?

The starting lineup all slumped at the coach’s words, but you knew that they had resigned themselves to complying with their punishment when they replied with a disgruntled chorus of “Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed!” Coach Kurosu huffed out after he turned to the rest of the team. “Leave the nets and balls as they are. Yer troublemakin’ teammates will be cleanin’ up after they finish their drills.”

“Yes, sir!”

You shook your head, feeling a slight twinge of pity for your boys. Coach Kurosu, when peeved, could be relentless.

How did the coach find out? you wondered as the seven troublemakers stood around at a loss for what to do after they were publicly humiliated in front of their peers.

You were fairly confident you had kept mum about the incident. The boys, too, had avoided any mention of it like it was the plague, presumably not wanting to: (a) rile you up, and (b) receive punishment from the coach.

Though you certainly weren’t at fault for what transpired, you still felt a tiny bit responsible for their actions. After all, you had cleaned up after their mess and chose not to report it to the coach as you probably should have. Does that count as colludin’ with the team?

You tapped the side of your clipboard as you decided to keep an eye on them for their extra practice—they tended to slack off without any supervision and wind up in even more trouble. Besides, it would clear you of your ever-so-slight guilty conscience.

Your eyes scanned the gym for the coach, hoping to inform him of your decision before he left, and you noticed he was heading for the storage room.

“Coach!” you called out in a rush as you ran over with the clipboard tucked securely against your chest.

“Oh, [Surname],” he stopped, “do you need anything?”

“Ah, um, if you don’t mind me askin’, how did you…know?” you queried cautiously. Though you wanted to avoid provoking the already peeved coach with your curiosity, your desire for answers outweighed all else.

Thankfully, he merely chuckled before shaking his head with a wry grin, “They weren’t quiet enough when I went ta check in on ya. I could hear them a mile away.”

Your jaw dropped, soaking in the coach’s words. It must've been ‘cause I was taking too long, you realized, connecting the dots of how he'd discovered the truth. So they gave themselves away. They blew their own cover. And here I was, worried that I’d given ‘em away myself.

“Of course,” you deadpanned, barely restraining yourself from planting your forehead against the clipboard. “Of course, they would…”

You couldn't believe that many schools thought the Inarizaki team were 'cool' and 'badass' when in reality, they were a bunch of bumbling fools.

“Yer too soft on them, [Surname], but they’re lucky to have you. If it were me, I wouldn’t’ve let ‘em rest!” Coach barked out a laugh.

Your cheeks heated up at the unexpected praise, “N-No, that’s not…”

“Anyway, I know that’s not the real reason ya stopped me.”

Your fingers clutched the clipboard a tad bit tighter as you shifted on your toes uneasily, “That's…”

“You wanna stay back with them, don'tcha? Shinsuke knew ya would, so he offered to stay back before you came up to me.”

The coach walked into the storage room and pulled out a couple of sheets of paper from the filing cabinet he had the school install a few weeks ago. “Tarou and I’ve got a meeting to attend, so I’ll hafta leave those troublemakers to you.”

You took the pieces of paper he handed over, clipping them to the board before you hugged the clipboard and dipped into a bow. “Thank you, Coach!”

He gave you a final smile, then left the gym with Coach Oomi following closely behind.

Humming quietly to yourself, you glanced down at the sheets and pondered over the most efficient way of jotting down your notes. It would be nigh impossible for you to keep track of everyone unless they wanted to stay back for longer than necessary.

If we put them into serve-receive pairs, the receiver could keep count and report ‘em to me, you considered.

Just as you flipped the page over, satisfied with your plan, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You let out an embarrassingly high-pitched shriek as you tightly and jerkily gripped the sheet, nearly tearing it off the clipboard.

“Sorry, did I scare ya?”

You turned to see Kita staring in concern. Then, you shook your head as you gathered your thoughts and collected yourself, “Sorry. I was just…lost in thought.”

“Be careful,” he frowned. “It’s not safe to daydream in the gym, especially with the risk of getting hurt.”

“Yes, I’ll be more careful,” you replied sheepishly, averting your eyes from the captain.

“Well, I saw ya speaking with the coach,” Kita began. “I assume you know that I’m staying back?”

You recalled the coach’s response with a nod.

“Riseki and Kosaku also offered to stay back and practice their serves.”

“Alright,” you said. “Will you be practicing yer serves too, Kita-san? Or will ya be keeping watch with me?”

“I could use some more practice with jump floaters,” Kita answered as you both made your way to the others. “Are ya takin' notes?”

“As usual,” you confirmed. “Since we have ten players, how about splitting ‘em into two groups? One serving and the other receiving. That way, everyone can practice in serve-receive pairs, and I’ll be able ta observe.”

“We’ll do that, then.”

“Watch out!”

Without batting an eye, you took a step to your right, successfully dodging the powerful serve from Ginjima. A strand of your hair brushed against your left cheek as the ball loudly bounced off the wall and fell to the floor. Once it rolled to a stop by your feet, you bent down and grabbed a hold of it.

“Sorry, [Surname],” Oomimi called out as he jogged towards you with an apologetic smile. “Ginjima’s serves are gettin’ a lot better.”

"No problem," you threw the ball back at him, "I'm glad he's improving."

Oomimi grinned in agreement before he rejoined the court.

As you supervised the team practice, you noted that the majority of them could use a little more practice receiving. It’s an endless cycle, you mused as you spun on your heel to examine the second court. When they get better at serving, they have to practice their receives. When they get better at receiving, they have to practice their serves.

You walked around the two courts that the players occupied, making sure to diligently take as many notes as you could on your own.

Court A occupied the group practicing their jump floaters: Atsumu was close to mastering the jump floater and more or less demanded that he practiced it first with their starting libero, Akagi; beside the setter, Kita carefully took note of each serve he hit while making sure to keep an attentive eye on Riseki’s receives; Suna, on the other hand, wasted no time, clearly wanting to get the drill over with and hit serve after serve at Aran, who managed to cleanly receive most of the balls.

The players on court B were practicing their jump serves: Ginjima, who had nearly pelted you in the head, looked incredibly focused as he aimed yet another powerful serve at Oomimi, though the latter managed to perfectly receive it this time; Kosaku, too, threw his all into each ball he hit, making Osamu use his full body to receive as many serves as he could.

To no one’s surprise, Suna and Aran finished first amongst all the pairs with the pace the former had set. As you’d instructed after the coaches had left, they waited on the sidelines for everyone else to finish before switching and having Suna receive while Aran served.

You were reading through your notes on Suna’s twenty-five jump floaters when you caught Aran approaching within your peripherals.

“The spin isn’t quite there yet,” the third year explained. “You can still semi-accurately predict when it'll drop.”

“Noted,” you replied as you added that into the notes.

Aran then proceeded to tell you the number of serves he had successfully received, fumbled with, and missed entirely. You silently observed that most of Suna’s serves had been somewhat received by Aran.

“Jump floaters are hard,” Suna grumbled as he slowly neared you, seemingly not pleased with the numbers Aran had relayed to you.

“Not sayin’ they aren’t,” Aran shrugged, “but ya could afford to take more time on your run-up and stuff.”

Your fellow second year huffed but still peered over your shoulder. He stuck out his hand, wordlessly requesting to read through your notes. You handed him your clipboard and pointed to where his notes were on the page.

“Atsumu!”

“Oops! Ball!” You heard Atsumu shout, and you gazed over to see what the commotion was about.

Akagi had seemingly fumbled his receive, resulting in the ball hurling towards yours and Suna’s direction. Without a second thought, you snatched the clipboard from Suna’s grasp and raised it over his head like it was a shield.

He jerked away from you, and you saw him flinch when the ball ricocheted off your clipboard with a resounding thwack! which then flew towards the court it came from. It all happened so quickly that you could only watch in abject horror as the ball promptly pelted an unsuspecting Riseki in the face; the sheer force of the ball knocked the poor boy to his rear.

Everything and everyone stood still as you took the time to properly digest and process what had just happened.

The muffled groan from Riseki snapped you out of your trance as you rushed over to the injured first year.

“Oi, Riseki, you okay?” Akagi inquired, having been one step faster at getting to the youngest member in the gym.

“Ah?” Riseki managed, covering his nose with both hands.

“Someone, bring Riseki some tissues,” you addressed the team. Knowing them, had it not been for your reminder, they would’ve remained onlookers, not knowing what to do in the face of a crisis.

“A towel works if you can't find them,” Kita added.

“S-senpai? I…don’t feel so good,” Riseki groaned as his head was tilted back under Akagi's insistence that it would stop the bleeding.

“Riseki, don’t listen to Akagi-san. Keep your head upright for now. Ya keep your head back, and you’ll only ingest yer blood.”

The first year paled at your words and immediately lifted his head back into an upright position.

“Wow, when’s the last time I saw this much blood?” Suna muttered, studying Riseki for a short moment before looking away with a grimace.

“Don’t make it sound like he’s dying!” Aran exclaimed.

“You shoulda been careful, Akagi-san! Now look whatcha did!” Atsumu piped up unhelpfully.

“Let’s not go around blaming others,” Kita cut in before an offended Akagi could retort back. “I don’t believe any of us could’ve been prepared for what happened.” As he finished his statement, you could practically feel Kita’s eyes bore a hole in the side of your skull. His message was obviously pointed in part at you.

You couldn’t deny the truth in Kita’s words. You knew that had it been any other member in your shoes, you wouldn’t blame them at all. It had genuinely been a freak accident.

Still, you couldn’t help but mentally reprimand yourself. Even though you had blocked the ball from hitting Suna, you should have made sure to properly kill the ball’s momentum. Had you done so, then the ball wouldn’t have rebounded off your clipboard and hit Riseki.

But you hadn’t expected such a strong and fast ball to come flying your way. They had been practicing jump floaters on the court closest to you, so you had mistakenly let your guard down. And your carelessness could have seriously injured Riseki.

You bit down on your lip and lowered your head.

“Oi.”

You felt a hand muss up your hair, and you scowled up at the target of your ire.

“‘Samu,” you warned with an unspoken threat underlying your voice.

“What.”

Osamu, the little shit, smirked down at you, knowing full well how much you hated it when people messed up your hair. Your scowl only seemed to incentivize him to mess it up even more.

And people think he’s the ‘nice’ twin, you thought scathingly as you glowered up at your childhood friend.

“Y’know, he kinda went flyin’ like whoosh and then bam,” Kosaku supplied as he scratched his nose without any real concern in his voice.

“I still can’t believe that happened,” Ginjima let out a disbelieving chuckle.

Before anyone else could chime in and tease the poor first year, the door slammed open, and everyone hushed at the sight of Oomimi jogging over with an ice pack and a bunch of tissues in his hands.

“Sorry, I couldn’t find any in the storage. I grabbed these from the infirmary, though!”

Why did you even bring an ice pack? If you were goin’ to the infirmary, ya could have brought the injured along. You sighed, shaking your head before reaching for the ice pack and tissues nonetheless. “That’ll do for now. I’ll take Riseki to the infirmary so the nurse can look at him. ‘Samu, ‘Tsumu, help me bring Riseki to the infirmary.”

“On it, [Nickname]!”

“If ya two don’t return after you drop him off, then I’ll triple your drills,” Kita threatened the twins. You stifled a laugh when they shook their heads and crossed their arms in front of their chests as though they were warding off his very real threat.

Idiots: the lot of them.

The nurse had taped a sign to the door that stated she’d be back in an hour. Luckily, she had the foresight to leave the door unlocked.

“I’m gonna head back first!” Atsumu announced, gleefully letting go of Riseki after he had only taken one step into the infirmary. He shot you a peace sign and rushed out with his fingers still up in the air.

Osamu, who had to bear the entire weight of the first year, glowered, and under your careful watch, gently brought Riseki over to a free bed before chasing after his twin.

“Senpai, I don’t think I can hold the ice pack much longer. My fingers are numb.”

True to his words, Riseki’s fingers were a bright red.

“Sorry, Riseki. I’ll take that from you, so focus on warming yer hands,” you took the ice pack from him. “Oomimi-san really shoulda covered it with a towel or something.”

Your junior gave you an awkward wince in response.

“Oh, throw away the bloody tissues. It looks like your nose has stopped bleedin’.”

“Thank you, senpai.”

You suppressed a chuckle from escaping your lips, realizing that you might actually deserve the thanks you received. After all, the team hadn’t done anything particularly helpful. If anything, they gave you more work to do as per usual.

You heaved a sigh at the thought of the troublesome lot, “Riseki, I’m so sorry for yer unreliable teammates.”

“H-huh!? N-no! It’s okay! Really!”

“They’re all chumps and dunces…well, except for Kita-san. Anyway, no need to hold back, Riseki-kun. My lips are sealed.”

Riseki seemed to hesitate as he played with his fingers and averted his eyes from you. He took a quick glimpse at the bin where he’d thrown out the tissues. You followed his gaze and raised a brow. Is it about the incident?

“Well, what is it?” You narrowed your eyes at the first year. “Spit it out, Riseki.”

“Ah, um…A-Atsumu-san…” he trailed off, looking around the infirmary anxiously.

You crossed your arms across your chest.

Riseki accidentally met your hard gaze and immediately spilled the beans with a wince, “Atsumusandidajumpserveinsteadofajumpfloater.”

It took you a minute to decipher what Riseki had said, but when you finally comprehended his words, you balled your hands into a tight fist, knuckles protruding prominently as you tried to physically hold yourself back from chasing after the perpetrator.

“Are ya tellin’ me that this all happened ‘cause shitty ‘Tsumu didn't listen to me?”

The first year appeared downright terrified, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad for him.

In the decade you somehow got roped into being their best friend, Atsumu had frequently given you endless amounts of grief for not listening to your instructions. While you had grown used to his shenanigans, your tolerance for his recklessness, especially when it could harm someone, had grown slimmer and slimmer over the years.

No one was expectin’ a powerful stray ball from court A. Jump floaters aren’t powerful enough to seriously injure anyone. And Akagi-san definitely wasn’t expecting a jump serve, you reasoned, growing progressively angrier as you started to get the full picture of what’d happened. He can usually dig Atsumu’s serves when he knows which one’s comin’.

You let out a long shaky breath and closed your eyes.

You could hear Riseki gulp in the silence.

“I see,” you opened your eyes after a long moment and gave the first year a placating smile. “Thank you for telling me, Riseki. I’m gonna hafta talk to my friend.”

Extra: A Familiar Scene

“...I’m sorry.”

The team bemusedly watched Atsumu bow with his head and knees on the gym floor as their manager stood with her arms crossed over her chest and a frosty expression on her face. Suna had shamelessly pulled out his phone to film the scene in front of them.

“Is that all?” She asked archly.

“I’m sorry for not listenin’ to ya.”

“And?”

“I promise to listen next time. It won’t happen again.”

There was a tense moment of silence as Atsumu remained with his forehead firmly pressed against the floor.

Osamu quietly counted down in a volume that the two could not hear, “Three…two…one.”

“You fuckin’ liar!” Their manager burst out and lunged at the frightened blonde.

Aran immediately shot forward and looped his arms around the girl’s shoulders. “Calm down, [Name]!”

“Lemme at him! Let. Go. Of. Me.”

“Yer gonna kill him!”

“That’s the fuckin’ point!”

“Ack! Ginjima, help me!”

In the midst of all the chaos, only Osamu managed to catch the unrestrained grin threatening to split his twin’s lips.

You were fairly certain that Osamu and Suna had been taking down the net before you left, but that very net was smack dab in the middle of the gym; the top of the poles touched one another, forming into some crooked arrow or sad triangle.

It was safe to say that none of the team had followed your instructions: rather than clean up the gym, they transformed it into a spectacle.

Volleyballs were littered all over—there was more on the ground than before you left to your utter bafflement and confusion. Water bottles rolled around the floor as some members proceeded to kick them out of their paths. Some drenched wiping cloths clung to the edge of the benches while a few of the boys had haphazardly thrown the others over their shoulders.

Four buckets were held hostage: Akagi wore one like it was some sort of crown; Atsumu tucked another under his right arm as he swung his entire body back and used the momentum of his swing to splash the remainder of his water at Suna, who used his bucket as a sorry shield to protect himself from getting more wet; Ginjima had shoved his elbow into the last one and jabbed it towards Osamu who barely managed to dodge it.

Similarly, the brooms left for clean-up were horribly misused: Osamu thrust his at Ginjima in retaliation for the earlier attack, who deftly blocked it with his shielded elbow; Aran lifted the broom and whirled his wet cloth in the air, swinging at anyone who crossed his path and effectively splashing water on everyone including himself; Oomimi held his broom somewhat properly although he proceeded to jab the wooden tip at the starting libero; Atsumu, the selfish asshole, proudly held his upside down with the brush facing upwards as though it was a regal trident.

There’s water everywhere. How? How did they do it? You briefly wondered as your brain processed the crime scene. How’d they pull this off in the couple of minutes I left them on their own?

It was a miracle you managed to stay dry by just narrowly missing the water fight that beheld you. A couple of water droplets fell a few inches before your feet, and if you didn’t put a stop to the chaos soon, then you would definitely get caught in the crossfire.

Amidst their rambunctious laughter and ridiculous war cries, you continued to stand by the door while taking note of the gym’s state as well as the state of your teammates. They clearly hadn’t considered their inescapable cleanup session following their fun. They also haven’t noticed your presence yet, but you were going to change that in a minute—you just needed that minute to collect yourself before putting an end to their “fun.”

You sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it all out.

Yes, they were idiots, but they were your idiots. With that thought, you rolled up your sleeves, straightened your back, and took a decisive step forward to the pack of wolves you called your team before clearing your throat.

“Oi.”

They instantly froze in their tracks and robotically turned to you in unison. Had you not been as tired and annoyed as you were, you might have laughed at how stupid they appeared: sopping wet from being drenched with sweat and water, they resembled a bunch of frightened and drowned kittens. Even Oomimi and Suna, the least outwardly expressive members of the starting lineup, gaped with their eyes wide open.

Good.

You managed to maintain your composure as you stared down at the boys.

They flinched under your flat gaze and dared not to resume their shenanigans.

Immensely satisfied by how quickly they obeyed your unspoken command to stop, you were more than ready to deliver their deserved punishment.

“What the hell do ya think yer all doin’?” Your Kansai-ben was more pronounced than ever. You supposed you hadn’t entirely managed to quell your irritation as you had believed.

“W-we...” Atsumu stuttered in obvious distress, knowing well that you were pissed, to say the least, “didn’t see ya there! Uh...well, w-we thought we’d clean up!” The rest of the boys all frantically nodded along as though they expected their agreeance would help their case.

It didn’t—not when they pulled all sorts of shit on a bi-weekly basis. You had let them off lightly the past few instances, but you were reaching the end of your fuse.

“I see,” you hummed in a deceptively bright and cheery tone. “Well, tell me, what were ya tryin’ ta clean? The floor? I only see small puddles that are, as y’know, a safety hazard if not wiped down properly. Surely, you know better. The balls? You bunch never cleaned them before, so I’m surprised ya suddenly decided to. ‘Sides, they don’t look any cleaner than normal, so that can’t be it. The pinnies? Again, you lot never washed them before without my help, but you’re more than welcome to do so. Ah, and you’re wearin’ them! If ya have a new cleaning technique that’s more efficient than how I’ve been washing them all this time, please, let me know.”

You snapped your fingers as though you were struck with an epiphany, “Oh! I see now! You’re washing yourselves! Novel approach, I must say. Washing while wearing yer sweaty t-shirts and pinnies can’t be hygienic, but I applaudja for tryin’ something new. I’m amazed by just how much you hooligans can find a new way to give me more work to do, hmm?”

The twins were sweating buckets by the time you finished your tirade. They and the rest of the team knew that when you got mouthy, they were in for it.

Before they could even try to save themselves, you cut in with a placid smile and turned to Aran, “Aran-kun, take the broom off of Atsumu.”

Aran put the broom down so that it was standing upright beside him in his shaking grip.

“Akagi-san,” you addressed the libero of your team. “Please take the bucket off your head.”

He quietly did so and nervously fidgeted with the said bucket.

“Oomimi-san, the broom is not intended to be used as a makeshift sword.”

He swiftly propped it up against the wall closest to him.

“Ginjima, remove your elbow from the bucket.”

He did so.

“Rintarou, the bucket is meant to hold water, not get hit by it.”

Suna gently placed the bucket on the floor.

“Osamu, you are holding the broom wrong.”

He lowered the broom from its resting place on his shoulders.

“Atsumu, you are holding the broom and bucket wrong.”

He lowered the broom and put the bucket on the floor.

After your string of instructions, the team stared at you with bated breaths and wide eyes like you were some sort of drill sergeant at boot camp. Then, you paused for a moment to catch your breath and made sure to meet each and every one of their eyes in the order you addressed them.

“Get cleanin’.”

Without missing a beat, the team immediately got moving.

You watched them for a moment to make sure they were actually going to clean before heading for the volleyball cart in the far corner of the gym, carefully avoiding the puddles along the way. You pushed the cart to the middle of the gym, now net-free as Suna and Osamu swiftly made their way to the storage room with it in their hands, and then you walked to the benches to grab the extra untouched towels that were usually reserved for the players. It seemed they hadn’t wiped their sweat after the rather arduous practice today. They should really use the towels instead of just leaving ‘em around.

You turned to examine their cleaning once more, but the sight of the team gave you pause.

Droplets of water dripped down their hair and clothes, leaving wet trails around them. Akagi seemed to have noticed the trails as he furtively wiped down the water, only to turn around and swipe at another mini-puddle that had materialized behind him. Ginjima let out a quiet achoo! in the middle of picking up the water bottles. You even caught a few members shivering as they went about cleaning up their mess.

They’re bound to catch colds if they don’t change out of their wet clothes, you noted tiredly. Hell, they hadn’t even bothered to put on their jackets to warm their bodies after the earlier practice match. As mad as you were at the lot, it would be rather cruel to let them continue and risk catching colds.

They were the pride and joy of Inarizaki. You loved seeing them play in peak condition—that was when they shined the brightest in your eyes: focused, passionate, and having fun as they were able to pull off miraculous plays in the heat of the match.

With a defeated sigh, you called out to them, “Go take a shower. Yer gonna catch a cold at this rate.”

They all halted in their tracks and gaped at you in shock.

“Yer…gonna clean this yourself?” Aran asked bug-eyed.

“Are ya sick, [Name]?” Atsumu questioned.

Osamu studied you carefully for a couple of seconds before solemnly shaking his head, “She was fine earlier.”

“Are…are you sure, [Surname]?” Akagi bit down on his lip guiltily, knowing you had a torturous task ahead of you.

“Just go,” you insisted. “I’m serious. You’re gonna get sick.”

They hesitated, seemingly torn between warming themselves in the shower and helping you clean up after their mess.

“Just go,” you repeated in a voice that left no room for argument. “Oh, but take off your pinnies and put them on the bench.”

At that, they all took off their drenched pinnies and quietly shuffled to the showers. You caught them constantly glancing back at you as though they were uncertain if you were being serious or not.

Ignoring their gazes, you waited until every one of them left the gym before you took off your jacket and got to work. Thankfully, the net had been put back in the storage room as it was supposed to be, which left you with cleaning up the water bottles, buckets, brooms, volleyballs, and rags.

Just as you shoved the pinnies in the laundry hamper and walked back into the gym after a strenuous session of cleaning, the team finally finished with their showers. You paid them no mind and groaned as you stretched your aching back.

“Good work,” Suna told you as they all approached you.

You let out what felt like the hundredth sigh of the day, “Yeah, thanks.”

“We should be thankin’ you,” Oomimi pointed out with a sheepish grin.

“Good point,” you chuckled, tired but no longer angry at them. The cleaning had helped you take your mind off of your ire and stress.

The boys all glanced at one another, and you swore you heard someone counting down from three. Then, they promptly bowed at you in perfect unison, “We’re sorry and thank you very much!”

You blinked a few times at their bowed heads before you turned your own head to the side, “Pfft.”

Confused, your boys gazed up at you and slowly straightened themselves up.

“It’s just…you said ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’ in the same breath,” You bit down on your lip to refrain from bursting out in laughter. “O-only you guys are capable of doing that, I swear.”

It wasn’t even that funny. You could only guess that it was a release of sorts, of the building stress and irritation that had been chipping away at your calm façade the past couple of weeks, but you really did try to not laugh. An apology was an apology, after all, no matter how silly and clumsy it was.

But you couldn’t conceal the breathless giggles escaping your lips.

“Hey! Don’t laugh at our kindness!” Atsumu cried out, half-embarrassed by your reaction.

“Kindness?” You echoed, wiping the tears that had formed at the corner of your eyes from your fit of laughter. “You sure weren’t kind when ya kindly made a mess for me to clean up.”

“Which’s why we apologized and thanked ya!” Atsumu shrieked.

“Okay, I accept your apologies, and you’re welcome.”

“That does sound kinda weird,” Suna acknowledged with a slight nod.

“Yeah, yer right,” Osamu agreed.

Ginjima shrugged carelessly, “At least [Surname] isn’t mad at us anymore.”

Akagi patted your shoulder now that you weren’t angry at them anymore, “Ya sure are scary when mad, [Surname].”

“I’ll treat you to some meat buns. Yer always working hard for us,” Aran offered with a grateful smile. You tiredly smiled back at him and nodded. Meat buns were a welcome treat after having exerted yourself with additional cleaning.

“Aran-kun, buy me too,” Osamu chimed in shortly after.

“Ah, me too!” Atsumu followed suit.

“I wouldn’t refuse, Aran.”

“Thank you for the treat, Aran.”

“Ooh, me too!”

“Same with me.”

“Buy yer own!” Aran burst out indignantly and appeared to ready himself for his own little lecture.

Then, the door opened, and Kita walked into the gym with his bag in tow. Aran swiftly shut his mouth and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Oh, you all showered already?” He asked as he made his way over.

“The meeting took a long time today,” Oomimi changed the subject, carefully avoiding any potential inquiry into their freshly showered states.

“Yes, well, the Interhigh preliminaries are going to start soon, so the coaches had a lot to say,” Kita stated, then turned to you. “The coaches were worried. Ya said you would get yer notes but never came back.”

The team all stiffened in fear. While you were plenty scary yourself, Kita would not go soft on them as you often did.

“Sorry, Kita-san,” you apologized. “They were still practicing when I came back, so I got a little sidetracked.”

Well, more than just a little sidetracked.

Kita scrutinized the proud starting lineup of Inarizaki and reprimanded them, “We had a practice match against a strong university team. Ya should be resting up instead of recklessly pushing yourselves. We need you in top condition for the upcomin’ Interhigh preliminary games. You are our starting members for a reason, don’t forget that.”

They all avoided their captain’s piercing gaze, and you knew they were thanking you in their minds for saving them from a far worse lecture.

“And you shouldn’t be so soft on them,” Kita scolded you in a significantly softer tone. “They can clean up after themselves, but still, good work today. Go change out of your clothes. We’ll wait for you outside the clubroom. I heard that Aran is going to treat us to meat buns.”

Aran looked at his friend in betrayal.

You glanced between the team and the captain and then left the gym to change out of your uniform. You had done all you could for them, so now it would depend on whether Kita caught on or not, and that wasn’t anything you could really control.

As soon as the door shut behind their exhausted manager and they heard her footsteps retreating from the gym, Kita rested his gaze back onto his anxious teammates.

“What really happened?”

The boys all looked at each other in alarm and panic, wordlessly urging someone to speak out on their behalf. However, no one was willing to be subjected to Kita’s cold logic and sharp tongue.

After a few more moments of being stuck in a silent deadlock with one another, Osamu discreetly pinched Atsumu, who yelped out in response, effectively breaking the tense silence.

“Atsumu?” The captain inquired.

The blond setter gulped nervously and refused to meet the intimidating third year’s eyes. He cursed his twin out in his head as he stuttered his way around a response, “Er, well…we kinda messed around, and [Name] got mad at us.”

“And what do ya mean by ‘messed around’?”

“We…sorta got into a, um, water fight? With the buckets and brooms? And…maybe the balls, too?”

The rest of the team all waited anxiously for Kita’s inevitable lecture, but they were met with a gruelling and what felt like a long few seconds instead.

“You guys really do make things hard for [Surname],” Kita deadpanned.

“W-we know…”

“Since [Surname] went through the trouble to save you all, I’ll spare ya from the lecture you’re probably waitin’ for.”

“Shinsuke…” Oomimi peered down at their captain, touched by his show of benevolence and mercy.

“I’m not gonna be so light next time.”

“Yes, sir!” The team exclaimed, except Suna, who just looked relieved.

“Let’s get our things and go. We said we’d be waiting outside the clubroom, so [Surname] must be waitin’ for us now. I’m sure yer all hungry for meat buns since Aran’s treating.”

“Shinsuke, not you too!” Aran cried out as they all started shuffling out of the gym and making their way to the clubroom.

“Heh, thanks, Aran-kun!” Atsumu patted the soon-to-be-broke third year.

“Don’t mind,” Suna smirked.

“Itadakimasu,” Osamu sang a little too happily.

“Shouldn’t have offered, Aran,” Oomimi said in mock sympathy.

Aran shook his head, “It was for [Name]! For what we did!”

“I didn’t hear her stopping us from requestin’ meat buns,” Akagi pointed out, “and she’s the one who should decide…y’know, ‘for what we did’.”

“Then let’s ask!”

“Ya think she’ll really defend your wallet?” Atsumu arched his brow. “She might still be a little pissed.”

“…Yes.”

“That didn’t sound certain, Ojiro-san,” Ginjima couldn’t help but add on to Aran’s distress. He was hungry after all that had transpired both during and after practice, so he was truly grateful that their manager had let them all off easy this time.

Aran didn’t bother to respond any longer and reluctantly resigned himself to his fate. The team would not budge on matters that involved food, especially with Osamu in the mix.

“Actually, Aran-kun, I’d also like an onigiri—with the meat bun, of course.”

Speak of the devil, the third year lamented before shouting out, “Eat dinner at home! Yer meat bun’s a snack!”

In the end, Osamu got a meat bun and an onigiri and ate a full and proper dinner at home, to Aran’s never-ending distress and dismay.

Extra: The Post-Shower Emergency Meeting

“So…what should we do?” Ginjima whispered as he leaned against a locker and tapped his thigh with his left index finger.

The group of freshly showered boys were all huddled up in the middle of the locker room, keeping their voices low in case their angry manager heard them from the gym.

“Apologize?” Akagi suggested. “It’s our fault for starting the mess.”

“And she’s the one cleaning up for us,” Oomimi added.

“But how should we apologize?” Osamu asked. “Together? Separately?”

“Do you think she’ll have the patience to hear each of our apologies?” Suna wondered aloud.

Atsumu vigorously shook his head, “Let’s not test it.”

Aran sighed and glimpsed at the door to the gym, the only thing separating them from their manager, “Together?”

They all exchanged glances with each other before nodding in unison, “Together.”

Then, Aran opened the door. It was time to face the music.