You're on a path in the woods.

so, the plan was foolproof. he was going to walk up to you after practice, present a perfectly wrapped box of those specific strawberry pastries you practically wept over, and demand—very politely, but with immense internal desperation—that you become his.

except life wasn’t a well-optimized textbook. life was a cruel, unfeeling joke.

shirabu rounded the corner of the sub-gym, a small, neat bag clutched in a grip so tight his knuckles were white enough to blend into the drywall. he stopped dead.

the air left his lungs in a sharp, pathetic wheeze. there you were, looking entirely too radiant under the crappy fluorescent lights, holding a ridiculous giant plush bear. and standing right next to you, towering over your frame like an ominous, athletic monolith, was ushijima wakatoshi.

worse. ushijima was reaching out, his massive, terrifyingly strong hand coming down to rest right on top of your head, ruffling your hair with a gentleness that shouldn’t legally belong to a guy who could dent a volleyball court with his bare hands. you were beaming up at him, your smile wide and bright enough to completely blind a man.

shirabu’s internal monologue immediately shattered into a million screaming pieces. ushijima? his captain? the absolute pinnacle of shirabu’s volleyball worship, the guy he dedicated his entire athletic career to setting for, was currently invading his romantic territory?

a normal person would have wilted. a normal person would have slunk back into the shadows, cursed the heavens, and eaten the strawberry pastries alone in a dark room while contemplating the unfairness of genetic distribution.

but shirabu kenjirō did not possess a normal, healthy coping mechanism when it came to you. he was possessed by a deeply rooted, completely unhinged devotion that bypassed logic entirely. a sudden, white-hot surge of possessive panic flooded his veins. if he had to fight a six-foot-two national powerhouse for your affection, then he would simply have to figure out the exact angle to strike a knee to bring down a giant. he was not leaving here without his girl.

he marched forward, his sneakers squeaking aggressively against the linoleum. each step felt like he was marching into a medieval battle armed with nothing but a box of baked goods and sheer, concentrated audacity.

“excuse me,” shirabu barked, his voice cracking only a tiny, microscopic bit.

you both blinked, turning to look at him. ushijima’s expression remained as blank as a freshly washed chalkboard, while your eyes lit up like sparklers the second you registered his slashed bob hair.

“kenjirō!” you chirped, entirely unaware of the absolute war zone currently occurring inside his chest.

shirabu didn’t look at ushijima. if he looked at his captain, his survival instincts might kick back in, and he couldn’t afford that right now. instead, he locked his gaze onto you with the intensity of a starving hawk. he reached out, grabbed your wrist—carefully, ensuring he didn’t actually hurt you, though his palm was trembling with adrenaline—and literally hauled you three inches to the left, stepping directly into the space between you and the ace.

“i’m taking her,” shirabu said flatly, looking up at ushijima with an expression that he hoped conveyed ‘i will bite your kneecaps off’ rather than ‘please don’t crush me like a bug’. “we have an appointment.”

ushijima tilted his head, his massive brow furrowing in genuine, slow-motion confusion. “an appointment? the cafeteria is closed, shirabu. and she is supposed to help me carry—”

“it’s urgent,” shirabu snapped, his ears burning a furious, violent shade of pink. he tightened his grip on your wrist, his heart hammering against his ribs so loud he was convinced you could hear it. “happy birthday. you’re coming with me.”

with all the grace of a frantic goblin stealing a shiny coin, shirabu turned on his heel and dragged you down the hallway, his legs moving at a brisk, panicked clip.

you let out a breathy, startled laugh, stumbling slightly to keep up with his aggressive strides until he hauled you into an empty, dimly lit classroom and shut the door behind you with a definitive thud.

he leaned his back against the wood, chest heaving as if he had just run a triple marathon uphill. the sheer adrenaline of hijacking his captain’s conversation was beginning to fade, leaving him utterly exposed to the reality of what he had done. he looked at you, his eyes wide and completely vulnerable, looking like a cat that had successfully stolen a giant fish but had absolutely no idea how to clean it.

“kenjirō,” you breathed, a massive, teasing gring breaking across your face. you adjusted the giant plush bear under your arm, stepping right into his personal space. “what was that? you looked like you were about to try and fight wakatoshi with your bare teeth.”

“i would have,” he muttered honestly, his voice dropping into a rough, defensive mumble. he looked down at his shoes, his usual sharp demeanor completely melting into a puddle of mush. “i would’ve fought him. i don’t care if he can launch me into orbit.”

you tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “why would you need to fight him?”

“because!” shirabu burst out, his hand flying up to cover his face as a wave of intense embarrassment finally washed over him. his skin was so hot he was pretty sure he could fry an egg on his forehead. “because i’ve been losing my mind for three months straight over you. because i can’t sleep, and i can’t focus on my sets, and every time you laugh at something semi says i want to hurl myself out a window. and then i come out here to give you your stupid birthday present and he’s touching your hair, and i realized if i didn’t do something right now i was going to lose you to a guy who talks to rice fields.”

he finally pulled his hand away from his face, looking at you with a desperation so thick it was almost tangible. “i like you. so much it’s actually disgusting. i need you to be my girlfriend or i’m going to fail my college entrance exams, i swear to god.”

the classroom went entirely still. shirabu held his breath, his soul practically leaving his body through his mouth as he waited for the rejection that would inevitably send him into hiding for the next five years.

instead, you let out a sound that was half-squeak, half-giggle, dropped the giant plush bear directly onto the floor, and buried your face straight into his chest.

shirabu froze, his arms stiff at his sides like a mannequin. “what.”

“you’re so dumb,” you mumbled against his uniform, your voice muffled but completely laced with joy. “you’re such an idiot, kenjirō.”

“that’s not a no,” he whispered, his hands hovering over your waist, desperately wanting to touch but still paralyzed by the sheer shock of your warmth.

“of course it’s not a no,” you said, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your cheeks flushed a beautiful, soft pink. “i’ve been dropping hints so obvious that even goshiki noticed them weeks ago. but… why were you jealous of wakatoshi?”

“he was touching your hair,” shirabu grumbled, his possessive streak flaring back up as he finally allowed his arms to wrap securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “he doesn’t touch anyone. he barely acknowledges human touch.”

“kenjirō,” you giggled, reaching up to gently pat his burning cheek. “wakatoshi is my cousin. my mom is his dad’s sister.”

shirabu’s brain completely short-circuited. the internal machinery groaned, sparked, and died. “…what?”

“he’s my cousin,” you repeated, your smile growing wider as you watched his expression transition from fierce jealousy to absolute, catastrophic realization. “our families have sunday dinner together every week. he was rubbing my hair because he bought me that giant bear and didn’t know how to say ‘happy birthday’ without sounding like a robot.”

shirabu let his forehead drop forward until it rested heavily against your shoulder. a long, agonizing groan vibrated through his chest. “i’m going to throw myself off the gymnasium roof.”

“don’t do that,” you laughed, your fingers sliding up into his hair, gently massaging the base of his neck. the feeling was so incredibly good that shirabu felt his entire spine go limp. “i like you alive. and i really want my birthday present.”

he sniffed, a purely dramatic sound, and pulled back just enough to retrieve the crumpled paper bag from his pocket. he handed it to you, watching with an embarrassing amount of anxiety as you opened it to reveal the perfectly intact strawberry pastries.

your eyes went wide, and you let out a genuine, delighted gasp that made his chest swell with so much pride he felt like he could fly. “you remembered!”

“of course i remembered,” he muttered, his thumb reaching out completely on instinct to brush a stray strand of hair away from your cheek. his touch was infinitely softer than ushijima’s could ever be, his fingers lingering on your skin as if you were made of glass. “i remember everything you say. it’s a problem.”

you beamed, setting the bag on a nearby desk before wrapping your arms firmly around his neck. “best birthday ever.”

shirabu didn’t answer with words. instead, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, the kiss sweet and desperate and so entirely full of his absurd devotion that it left you both breathless. when he pulled away, his hands were still resting on your hips, refusing to let you step even an inch out of his reach.

“you’re mine now,” he stated, trying to sound firm, though the goofy, love-struck grin breaking across his face completely ruined the effect. “no more giants allowed near you.”

“deal,” you whispered, kissing the tip of his nose.

n: happy birthday again, misa !! mwuah :3

masterlist - the art of haikyuu!!

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