you were known for your face.

and not in the way komori thought you should be—like, “she’s so pretty i might perish dramatically in front of everyone with zero regrets.” no, you were known for your expression. the expression that never changed. the expression that could watch a building collapse and you’d still look like you were politely waiting for bus number 48 to arrive.

stoic. unreadable. the human version of “…” in a text.

you got it from your father—a man so stone-faced he once met sakusa’s aunt during new years and she genuinely thought he was a wax statue.

komori motoya fell in love with it instantly.

and violently.

the first time he ever saw you was in the hallway outside the gym, calmly eating a melon bread while itachiyama’s girls squealed past you about how “sakusa-kun looked like a god when he served today.”

meanwhile, komori walked by, half-dehydrated, holding sakusa’s extra wipes like a glorified purse. and you, with the facial expression of a tax auditor, glanced at him once.

just once.

and komori folded like a lawn chair in a tornado.

his brain short-circuited.

his soul left his body.

his knees physically buckled like he’d been struck by lightning and cupid at the same time.

you nodded at him. expression unchanged.

he had the audacity to blush like you’d whispered something sinful in his ear.

and then—

then the teasing started.

he didn’t understand how it was possible for someone with a face carved from marble to be the most effective flirter in the building. each time you spoke, each time you tilted your head the slightest degree, each time you pushed a stray hair behind your ear with the gentlest fingers known to mankind—komori basically combusted.

𓏵

today was no different.

practice had ended and sakusa was stretching in the corner while komori wiped sweat off his forehead, already glancing toward the door because he knew.

you always showed up at this time.

walking in with your slow, calm footsteps, expression completely neutral, like you weren’t the most emotionally destructive force in his life.

the door slid open.

there you were.

and komori, poor komori, dropped the towel like a 40-year-old Victorian man seeing exposed ankles.

“hey,” you said softly, the same calm tone that made him want to lie face-down on the floor and scream into the earth.

“h-hi—” his voice cracked like a 13-year-old boy discovering puberty.

you blinked at him. no smile, no smirk. just pure serene stillness.

the kind of face monks probably trained centuries to achieve.

but your eyes… they lingered.

that was the problem. your eyes always lingered.

you stepped closer, brushing a loose thread off his jersey sleeve.

“you’re sweating,” you murmured.

komori nearly ascended.

“y-yeah, practice, haha, you know, running— jumping— existing— i mean—"

you hummed, a soft, tiny sound that hit him harder than any spike.

and then—

you leaned in slightly. not flirtatiously. not dramatically. just gently, calmly, like you always did.

“you did well today,” you whispered.

if sakusa didn’t catch komori by the collar he might’ve fallen straight to the floor.

sakusa sighed. “get a grip.”

komori is gripping absolutely nothing.

your face remained unchanged. but your tone? your tone was the equivalent of warm sunlight on a winter morning. soft. kind. something that made komori want to protect you despite the fact he was 99% sure you'd beat him in a staring contest until he burst into tears.

he loved it.

he loved you.

and unfortunately, he was convinced you liked sakusa.

because everyone liked sakusa.

girls slipped love letters into sakusa’s locker daily. someone knitted him a scarf. someone else wrote a confession poem titled “hands so pure they must be sanitized.” sakusa ignored most of it, but komori noticed how you always went quiet when sakusa walked by.

never reacting. never blushing. never anything.

which, in komori’s dramatic mind, meant: you obviously liked him.

what he didn’t know was that you went quiet around sakusa because komori was next to him—and talking to komori made you feel uncharacteristically warm, and you didn’t know how to handle warmth.

𓏵

today, komori couldn’t take it anymore.

after practice, he found you outside under the sakura tree, scrolling on your phone with the exact same expression one might wear while filing taxes.

“can i— uh— talk to you?” he stammered.

you looked up at him slowly. “you are talking to me.”

he wheezed. he physically wheezed.

whole lungs malfunctioning.

“i just— i wanted to ask…” he swallowed, ears turning red, then scarlet, then full nuclear-core temperature. “d-do you… maybe… like sakusa?”

a pause.

a blink.

you tucked your phone away, staring up at him with that same unreadable face that made komori’s entire stomach fold into origami.

“…no,” you said simply.

“oh.”

another blink.

“i like you,” you added.

komori died.

komori actually died.

his knees hit the dirt. he threw his hands over his face. he made a sound so high-pitched an entire flock of birds took off from the tree in panic.

“m-me?” he squeaked from behind his fingers.

“yes.”

he peeked at you, eyes wide, pupils blown like he had seen god and god winked at him.

you, expression still the emotional equivalent of a closed refrigerator door, tilted your head. “should i repeat it?”

“NO— i mean— yes— i mean— wait— WAIT HOLD ON—”

you leaned closer, voice soft as velvet. “motoya.”

he melted.

actually melted.

his soul dripped out like lava.

“i like you,” you whispered again.

and this time, his nose started bleeding.

not like a cute anime trickle.

no.

full-on geyser.

sudden, catastrophic, medically concerning.

you stared at the blood. “should i get tissues?”

“NO— I MEAN— YES— I MEAN— YOU CAN’T JUST— SAY IT LIKE THAT— I’M FRAGILE—” he sputtered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he panicked.

you reached out and gently wiped a bit of blood from under his eye.

soft hands. gentle touch. stoic face.

komori nearly fainted again.

once he finally stopped hemorrhaging emotions (and blood), you both sat on the grass. you stayed close. closer than normal. your shoulder touched his, and he felt like he might spontaneously combust into artisanal charcoal.

“so…” he said shyly. “you like me.”

“yes.”

“and… you want to… maybe… go out sometime?”

you nodded once. simple. calm. definitive. “yes.”

he let out a noise that could only be described as a dying kettle.

you turned to him, finally—finally—breaking your stoic look with the tiniest smile. not big. not dramatic. but soft. real. gentle enough to crash his entire nervous system.

“does that make you happy?” you asked.

“happy? HAPPY?” his voice cracked again. “i feel like someone injected fireworks into my bloodstream— i feel like i could bench-press a train— i feel like—”

you rested your head lightly on his shoulder.

he stopped breathing.

completely.

you spoke quietly, eyes half-lidded, tone melting with warmth:

“i like you, motoya. i want to be with you.”

he inhaled sharply, clutching his chest like love physically punched him.

“i… i wanna be with you too,” he whispered back.

you reached for his hand. he let you take it instantly. your fingers intertwined with a slowness that felt sacred—like it was something meant to happen all along.

komori squeezed your hand gently.

you squeezed back.

“motoya?” you murmured.

“y-yeah?”

“can i kiss you?”

he short-circuited so violently sakusa probably felt it from across campus.

and then you leaned in, expression still calm, eyes soft, lips brushing his with the faintest, sweetest pressure—

and komori felt the world tilt.

flowers blooming somewhere far too dramatically.

romance movie violins playing even though no one hired musicians.

the sakura tree above you practically shedding petals like confetti.

when you pulled back, face unchanged, you whispered:

“you’re very cute when you blush.”

and then he died again. happily. dramatically. beautifully.

komori wasn’t sure if you froze him or melted him.

all he knew was—

you touched his hand again,

and he became warmth itself.

n: just like what i told @forgottensniper and i quote “komori is the most down bad marshmallow to ever breathe”

motoya’s taglist

@kukikoooo @averys-place @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi @asyaacia @rabbitcola @s1lly-bon @whimsybloom @forgottensniper @katzline @michexoxo @pelicanpizza @george-russell-defender @depressinglyobsessed @ghostwifeyy @methiart @wensurr @suha-reads @sillylule @hibernatinghamster @olliesoxenfree @griffincorn @fiannee @starzlytoetsie @littlemissfix-itfic

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

​the silence of the gymnasium was usually your favorite frequency. it was the sound of rubber soles squeaking against polished wood, the rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack of balls hitting the floor, and the steady, grounding thrum of your own breathing.

you were the type of ace who scored a point, adjusted your kneepads, and walked back to the service line without so much as a smirk. you weren’t cold; you were just focused. praise felt like a light breeze—refreshing for a second, but ultimately gone before you could even think to catch it.

then there was goshiki tsutomu.

goshiki was not a breeze. goshiki was a category five hurricane made of bangs, adrenaline, and a desperate, soul-deep need to be perceived by every living organism within a five-mile radius.

basically, you’re the calm center of a hurricane. goshiki is just the hurricane, but with more feelings and a worse haircut.

how the two of you ended up sharing a strawberry crepe every tuesday was a mystery that kept the entire boy’s volleyball team awake at night.

“i just don’t see the structural integrity of the relationship,” shirabu muttered one afternoon, leaning against the gym doors as he watched goshiki vibrate with excitement near the water fountain. “she’s a mountain. stable. immovable. he’s a… he’s a glitter bomb in a wind tunnel.”

“it’s statistically improbable,” tendō chirped, popping a grape into his mouth. “and yet, look at him. he’s practically leaking joy. it’s disgusting. i love it.”

even ushijima, the man who processed emotions with the speed of a tectonic plate, had paused during practice when he saw you waiting for goshiki outside. he’d blinked once, twice, and then looked at goshiki with a newfound, albeit confused, respect. to ushijima, you were the pinnacle of efficiency. to see that efficiency directed toward someone as chaotic as goshiki was like watching a master chef use a five-star kitchen to make a single piece of dinosaur-shaped toast.

goshiki, for his part, was well aware of his luck. he didn’t just love you; he worshipped the very ground your shoes touched. to him, you weren’t just the ace of the girls’ team—you were a celestial event. a supernova that had decided, for reasons beyond his comprehension, to let him orbit you.

the boy was down bad. he was drowning in the deep end, and he didn’t even want a life jacket.

“y/n! did you see that?!” goshiki shouted, sprinting toward you the moment practice ended. he didn’t just walk; he launched himself across the floor like a heat-seeking missile fueled by pure devotion. “did you see the line shot? it was at least eighty percent as good as ushijima’s! maybe eighty-two percent!”

you looked up from your sports bag, your expression as calm as a forest pond at dawn. you reached out, your fingers steady and cool as you brushed a stray lock of his fringe back into place. the touch was brief, a mere flicker of contact, but to goshiki, it was a holy anointing. his knees actually buckled.

“i saw it, tsutomu,” you said softly. “it was a good shot. your form was better than yesterday.”

that was it. no grand speech, no cheering, no “you’re my hero.” just a factual observation delivered with the gentle weight of truth.

goshiki looked like he was about to combust. his face turned a shade of red usually reserved for fire engines and overripe tomatoes. he started making a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a tea kettle reaching its boiling point.

“she… she noticed the form,” he whispered to the ceiling, his hands clenched into trembling fists of ecstasy. “the form was noticed. my life has peaked.”

“we have to go if you want that crepe,” you reminded him, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

he was moving before the sentence even finished. he scrambled to grab your bag for you—an unnecessary gesture since you were significantly stronger than you looked, but he treated your gym bag like it contained the crown jewels. he walked three paces ahead of you, then two paces behind, then right at your side, trying to find the perfect proximity that signaled “boyfriend” without accidentally tripping you.

the boy was a mess of limbs and longing. every time your pinky finger brushed against his sleeve, he gasped as if he’d been hit by a stray bolt of lightning.

at the crepe stand, he watched you eat with an intensity that was frankly alarming. he wasn’t even eating his own; he was too busy cataloging the way you held the paper wrapper.

“you’re so cool,” he blurted out, his voice cracking mid-sentence. “how are you so cool? if i scored half the points you did in the inter-high qualifiers, i’d have hired a skywriter. i’d have put it on a billboard. you just… you just walked off the court and bought a protein shake.”

you hummed, swallowing a bite of strawberry. “the game was over. there wasn’t anything left to do.”

“but the glory!” goshiki wailed, throwing his arms out so wide he nearly clocked a passing middle-schooler. “the destiny! the way the light hit your jersey! it was like watching a goddess descend to earth to personally dismantle the defense of dateko!”

you blinked at him, a tiny, genuine smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. you didn’t find his theatrics annoying; you found them fascinating, like watching a very loud, very colorful bird perform a mating dance. he was so full of life that it felt like he had enough for both of you.

“you have enough glory for the both of us, tsutomu,” you said, reaching out to wipe a smudge of whipped cream from his cheek.

goshiki froze. the world stopped spinning. for a moment, the only thing that existed was the sensation of your thumb against his skin. he looked at you with wide, watery eyes, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. he felt a sudden, desperate urge to do something magnificent—to jump over a building, to win the nationals single-handedly, to write a symphony in your honor.

instead, he just exhaled a shaky breath and leaned into your hand.

“i’m going to be the best ace in history,” he promised, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and thick with emotion. “for you. i’m going to make sure everyone knows that the guy dating you is someone worth looking at.”

“you’re already worth looking at, i’m looking at you.” you said, your voice a soft anchor in his stormy sea of ambition.

goshiki’s soul basically left his body. he spent the rest of the walk back to the dorms floating six inches off the pavement, muttering about how he needed to buy you a bouquet of flowers the size of a small shrub.

the following friday, the boys’ team were having a particularly grueling practice. coach washijo was in a mood, which meant everyone was being pushed to their breaking point. goshiki was struggling. his serves were hitting the net, his timing was off, and his confidence—usually his greatest armor—was starting to crack.

he was standing at the back of the court, staring at his hands as if they’d betrayed him, when the gym doors creaked open.

it was you. you weren’t there to make a scene. you didn’t shout his name or wave a banner. you simply walked over to the bench, set down a bottle of sports drink with a specific brand of energy gel taped to the side, and took a seat. you pulled out a notebook, likely for scouting or homework, and started writing.

the atmosphere in the gym shifted instantly.

goshiki’s head snapped up. he didn’t need a speech. he didn’t need you to tell him he could do it. the mere fact that you were there, sitting in your usual quiet, composed manner, was like a shot of pure adrenaline to his system. he felt your presence like a physical warmth, a steady light that cut through his frustration.

“goshiki! focus!” shirabu snapped.

“i am focusing!” goshiki roared, but this time, the roar had teeth.

he stepped up to the service line. he took a breath, bouncing the ball exactly four times. he looked over at you. you didn’t look up from your notebook, but you shifted your weight, a subtle acknowledgment that you were aware of him.

he launched the ball. he leaped. the contact was perfect—a sound like a gunshot echoing through the rafters. the ball blurred past the receivers and slammed into the back line, dead center.

“yes!” goshiki screamed, pumping his fists so hard he looked like he might dislocate a shoulder. he immediately spun around to look at you, his eyes searching for that tiny nod of approval.

you looked up, met his gaze, and gave him a single, slow blink. then, you tapped the top of your sports drink.

goshiki vibrated. he actually vibrated.

“did you see that?!” he turned to ushijima, who was standing nearby. “captain! she saw! the ace saw my power!”

ushijima looked from the crater on the floor to your calm form on the bench. “she is quite consistent,” he remarked, which was the highest praise he could offer. “it is no wonder you are so preoccupied with her. she provides a necessary counterbalance to your… volatility.”

“she’s the best thing that ever happened to me!” goshiki sobbed, wiped a tear of joy from his eye, and proceeded to play the best set of his life.

after practice, while the rest of the team was cleaning up, goshiki practically crawled to your side. he was sweaty, exhausted, and smelled like a locker room, but he looked at you as if you were made of starlight.

“did i do good?” he asked, his bravado replaced by a soft, vulnerable hope.

you stood up, picking up the empty sports drink bottle he’d drained during the break. you reached out and ran your hand through his damp hair, smoothing down the bangs that had been ruffled by the wind and the workout.

“you were incredible,” you said.

it wasn’t an exaggeration. it wasn’t a platitude. it was your honest assessment, delivered with that grounded, unwavering sincerity that made him feel like he was the only person in the world.

goshiki’s eyes filled with tears. he didn’t care that his teammates were watching. he didn’t care that shirabu was making a gagging noise in the background or that tendō was humming a wedding march. he surged forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“i love you so much,” he muffled into your collarbone. “i’m going to win every trophy for you. i’m going to build you a palace out of volleyballs. i’m going to—”

“tsutomu,” you interrupted, your voice a gentle hum against his ear.

“yes, my queen? my light? my guiding star?”

“you’re getting sweat on my jacket.”

he pulled back instantly, horror-stricken. “oh no! i’m a monster! i’ve desecrated the sacred fabric! i’ll wash it! i’ll buy you ten new ones! i’ll—”

you cut him off by leaning in and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead.

the silence that followed was the loudest thing in the gym. goshiki turned a color that shouldn’t be possible for a human being to achieve. his eyes rolled back slightly, and he let out a long, shaky exhale that sounded like a balloon losing air.

“okay,” he whispered. “sweat is okay. everything is okay.”

“let’s go home,” you said, taking his hand.

your fingers slotted perfectly into his, your steady palm against his frantic, pulsing heat. as you led him out of the gym, the team watched in stunned silence. goshiki was stumbling slightly, his head lolling toward your shoulder, a dazed, lopsided grin plastered on his face.

“i still don’t get it,” shirabu said, shaking his head as the doors swung shut.

“it’s simple,” semi replied, a small smile on his face. “he gives her the noise she doesn’t have, and she gives him the peace he can’t find on his own. plus, look at him. he’d jump off a cliff if she asked him to.”

“he’d jump off a cliff if she just looked at it for too long,” tendō added.

outside, the evening air was cool. goshiki had finally regained his ability to speak, which meant he was currently detailing his plan to become the top scorer in the nation just so he could mention your name in the post-game interview.

“and then,” he said, swinging your joined hands with enough force to potentially dislocate a normal person’s arm, “i’ll tell them that my girlfriend is the greatest ace shiratorizawa has ever seen! i’ll make them put your picture on the news! i’ll—”

“tsutomu,” you said, stopping in your tracks.

he paused, looking at you with wide, expectant eyes. “yes?”

you reached out and adjusted his collar, your touch slow and deliberate. you looked into his eyes—those bright, energetic, chaotic eyes—and felt a wave of genuine warmth wash over you. he was a lot. he was loud, he was dramatic, and he was currently trying to figure out how to buy you a literal star. but he was also yours.

you leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “you don’t have to tell the world anything. i already know.”

goshiki didn’t scream. he didn’t faint. he just stood there, his hand tightening around yours, his chest heaving with a sudden, overwhelming surge of devotion. he felt like he was glowing. he felt like he could fly.

he didn’t need the skywriter. he didn’t need the destiny speeches.

he just needed you to keep holding his hand while he figured out how to be the man who deserved it.

as you walked toward the dorms under the glow of the streetlights, goshiki started humming a song he’d heard on the radio, his thumb tracing circles over the back of your hand. he was still vibrating with energy, still the most extra person you’d ever met, but in the quiet space between your steps, there was a new kind of rhythm.

it was the sound of a boy who had found his center, and a girl who had finally found something worth making a little bit of noise for.

you felt the weight of his head as he finally settled it on your shoulder, his bangs tickling your cheek. he was finally, blessedly, quiet.

“i’m really glad you chose me,” he murmured, his voice finally matching the stillness of the night.

you squeezed his hand, the simple pressure saying more than a thousand grand declarations ever could.

“me too, tsutomu. me too.”

and as you walked into the shadows of the trees, the only sound left was the synchronized beat of two hearts that had no business being in sync, yet somehow, perfectly were.

n: as you can see, i really love jumping off cliffs.

tsutomu’s taglist

@lsirria @highandalive @nelinkythoughts @sleepykeijiii @averys-place @anzuuhoshi @eudaim0nia-a @katzline @michexoxo @fiannee @george-russell-defender @depressinglyobsessed @perpetuallydone @emotiandon @suha-reads @sillylule @olliesoxenfree @poeticsorcery @windsblow @starzlytoetsie @forgottensniper @eri0-0 @lazyruinsperson @kuroofangirl67 @bigdaddyyaoii @lov3shin @estelleythegreat @lilith-dear @n1koolya @applepiblog @reggies-floatiess @itoshirinlover @iits-yueehuaa @jjunnixzz @lizbix @renriiwrites @akaashiit @bonsaijoons @irohasmp3 @kenmakksimp @fulltime-melancholic @m0chablitz

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

there was energy to him— restless, magnetic in a way that made it difficult not to look when he moved.

you remembered the first time you really watched him.

you’d been half-focused on your phone, only half-paying attention to the friendly game between inarizaki and some other school, when the team suddenly erupted in cheers loud enough to make you glance up.

you caught the play mid-finish— atsumu sending a backward set so clean it barely looked real, the ball landing perfectly in place like it had been guided.

aran scored instantly.

everyone reacted at once. and you found yourself staring for a second longer than necessary.

annoyingly longer.

mika, sitting beside you, taking notes of their play, nudged your arm without looking up. “he’s ridiculous, right?”

you blinked, tearing your gaze away a beat too late.

“…mhmm, yeah.”

ridiculous felt like a safe word choice— safer than impressive— safer than unfairly attractive for someone with that personality.

because really, someone that arrogant shouldn’t also be that skilled.

or that… easy to watch.

it felt like false advertising.

you told yourself it was observational interest. boredom. proximity bias. definitely not a crush.

even if your eyes kept finding him first whenever practice got loud.

even if you’d memorized the way he moved without meaning to.

even if— unfortunately— being kind of an asshole didn’t make him less attractive.

if anything… it made the problem worse.

but life continued like that.

school. gym. waiting for mika. watching practice without admitting you were watching practice.

it was harmless, manageable.

until mika’s phone situation imploded.

you were sitting in the gym bleachers like usual while mika hurried around the court collecting practice sheets.

she jogged up to you mid-break, slightly out of breath. “hey— quick thing,” she said, pulling her phone from her pocket.

“what.”

“my number changed.”

you blinked.

“…changed how.”

“sim problem. long story. i had to get a new one yesterday.”

before you could respond, she was already reaching for your phone.

“lemme just put it in— don’t text the old one anymore, okay?”

you unlocked it automatically, handing it over while she typed quickly— thumbs moving faster than usual, attention clearly split between your contact page and whatever was happening on the court behind you.

someone called her name halfway through.

“coming!” she shouted back without looking up, finishing the number in a rush.

she saved it, shoved your phone back into your hands, and was already jogging away again before you could even glance at the screen properly.

“text me later so I know it works!” she called over her shoulder.

you looked down at your phone briefly. her contact sat there like normal.

same name. same emoji she always used.

the number underneath it looked fine.

you didn’t study it long enough to memorize it anyway— just locked your phone and slipped it back into your pocket as practice noise swallowed your attention again.

somewhere in the background, mika was arguing with one of the twins about hydration.

everything felt ordinary.

routine.

and if one digit sat slightly out of place in your contact list— you had no reason to notice.

you'd gotten home earlier than usual that day instead of messing around the neighborhood with mika— had to finish some dumb presentation. she'd waved you off and promised to text later. so now you were sprawled across your bed, staring at the ceiling.

being alone was usually peaceful for you.

you liked quiet— liked being able to finish homework without mika talking in your ear or gym noise echoing in your skull.

but there was a very specific kind of alone that felt dangerous, the kind where there was nothing to distract you.

no assignments due. no shows you were currently invested in. no new texts from any groupchats. hell, no one was even posting on their stories.

it was just you and your thoughts.

which, unfortunately, had been heavily atsumu-themed lately.

your brain, left unsupervised, immediately opened the highlight reel.

atsumu lifting up his shirt to wipe his sweat. atsumu's muscles flexing when he set the ball. atsumu. atsumu. atsumu.

you groaned, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your pillow. “this is so annoying,” you muttered into the fabric.

because the thing about crushes— especially inconvenient ones— was that they got louder when you were alone.

there had been an interaction today. the thought infiltrates your mind.

it was small. technically insignificant. but psychologically? it was devastating.

practice was nearing its end.

you were lingering near the court while mika finished up her manager duties— half-helping gather stray balls, half-waiting for her to be done so you could both leave.

you weren’t paying full attention to the court anymore, your brain already clocked out for the day.

which is why you didn’t notice the ball flying right to you at damn near mach speed.

you only registered movement at the last second—

a hand wrapped around your wrist suddenly, firm but not rough, pulling you a step backward just as the ball smacked against the floor where you’d been standing.

the sound cracked loud against the gym floor.

you blinked, startled, heart jumping up your throat.

and then you looked up.

of course.

it was him.

atsumu was standing close— closer than you’d ever been to him before — his grip still loosely around your wrist like he was making sure you were steady.

“ya gotta watch where yer standin’,” he said, voice casual but edged with focus, like his brain was still half on the court.

you nodded automatically, words buffering.

“yeah— sorry. i didn’t— i wasn’t paying attention.”

“clearly.”

there was no bite in it.

just matter-of-fact.

he let go of your wrist then— but not abruptly. his fingers slid away naturally once he was sure you weren’t about to stumble.

“you good?” he asked, glancing back at you briefly.

you nodded again because speech was still under construction.

“yeah.”

he hummed once, satisfied, then tossed the ball back toward the cart without looking— it landed cleanly inside.

“tell mika she left her clipboard near the bench,” he added, already turning back toward the court.

“okay.”

you walked away faster than necessary.

you kept flexing your wrist absentmindedly the entire walk home like you were checking if the contact had actually happened.

it had.

and mika wasn’t here to absorb the spiral verbally like she usually did, which meant your emotional support hotline was temporarily digital.

you grabbed your phone, scrolling to her contact.

right.

you hadn’t actually texted the new one yet.

perfect opportunity.

you didn’t overthink it— because when you were spiraling, thinking less usually meant speaking more honestly.

your thumbs started moving before your pride could intervene.

You: mika its (y/n) save my number btw i need to talk about something serious

across town, atsumu was lying on his bed, half-scrolling his phone with one hand while watching a volleyball clip on his laptop.

his phone buzzed.

unknown number.

he almost ignored it, but the preview message caught his eye.

i need to talk about something serious.

he frowned slightly, opening it.

and before you say anything yes its about atsumu

he blinked, sitting up a little straighter before scrolling up.

no previous messages.

wrong number, obviously.

he should’ve corrected it immediately. should’ve replied: wrong person. should’ve ended the interaction there.

but curiosity— fatal, nosy curiosity— got him first.

because you kept typing.

i thikn im actually about to combust send 911

atsumu stared at the message for a second longer than necessary, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

he knew this wasn’t meant for him.

but he also knew exactly who it was meant for.

mika.

he texted her often enough— nothing deep, usually practice-related.

"Where’d ya put the stat sheets." "Coach lookin’ for ya." "Bring extra tape tomorrow."

short, practical exchanges, but frequent enough that he knew how she typed.

he knew her habit of dragging vowels when she was being dramatic, knew she spammed emojis when she was excited.

so when he typed—

Mika 🩷: WHAT HAPPENEDDD 😭

—it didn’t feel like guessing.

it was close enough to believable and close enough that you didn’t question it for even a second.

and honestly, he told himself he’d correct you after the next message.

or the one after that.

but then you kept going.

and he found himself.. interested.

not only just because you were talking about him— but because he’d noticed you before this too.

you were hard not to notice once he realized you were always there— sitting on the bleachers during practice, usually talking to mika, sometimes pretending not to watch the court.

you never tried to talk to him.

never hovered around the team like some girls did.

you just existed nearby— quiet, observant, out of the way.

but he’d caught you watching him more than once, especially you looking away too fast when he glanced up.

and he’d thought, briefly, that you were pretty.

he’d never had a reason to talk to you though.

you were just mika’s friend, not a manager or anything. outside the team’s orbit.

so whatever curiosity existed stayed exactly that— curiosity. unexplored. unimportant.

until now.

until you were texting 'mika' about losing your mind over him.

and suddenly he had front row access to thoughts you’d never say out loud.

You: so like basically i was so zoned out while trying to pick up the stray balls right and there was one blasting right towards my face THEN atsumu grabbed my wrist and pulled me out the way i swear my heart dropped to my ass

Mika 🩷: HELLOOOOO?? like FULL ON grab or just brushhh

You: full grab . im so fucking unwell rn omfg i admit it im sorry for lying to u all those times u cqaught me staring at him yes hes lowkey hot yes hes so actually nvm thats between me and god

Mika 🩷: oh my goddddd I KNEW ITTTT finish that sentence rn i DARE u

You: NO?? youd js bully me and id never hear the end of it from u

Mika 🩷: DONT EVEN PLAY RN i would neverrrrrr

You: liar rmb what u said to me when i told u i think he smells good

Mika 🩷: wait u think he smells good?

You: no i think he smells disgusting YES I THINK HE SMELLS GOOD why r we acting like this is shocking news

Mika 🩷: oopsieeee brain fart

You: u're so weird today did ur brain get reset too when u reset ur number but anyways that was it i js needed to get it out of my system before i exploded night mika

you tossed your phone onto your bed after sending that last text, face still warm from the sheer amount of secondhand embarrassment you’d just inflicted on yourself.

it felt good though— getting it out of your system.

like you’d vented enough to reset your brain back to normal levels of functionality.

you rolled onto your side, pulling your blanket over your shoulder.

“okay,” you muttered to yourself. “crush over. we’re so done.”

you were lying, obviously. but sleep came easier after the spiral was out of your system.

the next day at practice, you told yourself you’d be normal again— absolutely no eye contact, professional bleacher-sitting behavior.

it worked for exactly 7 minutes.

because the moment atsumu walked into the gym, tossing a volleyball between his hands like it weighed nothing, your brain immediately shut down.

you looked away quickly, opening your notebook like you were deeply invested in algebra.

you were not.

you were hyperaware of where he was on the court at all times. unfortunately.

when the boys took a short break, you were half-focused on homework when mika nudged your knee.

“can you hand those water bottles to the court? i forgot to bring them earlier.”

you sighed but nodded, grabbing the crate beside you.

you didn’t think too hard about walking onto the court— you’d done it before for small things.

but halfway across, you realized too late that you were walking directly toward atsumu.

abort mission impossible.

you kept moving anyway, placing the crate down near the bench, already turning to leave when—

“thanks.”

you blinked, looking up automatically.

atsumu was standing closer than you expected, towel slung over his shoulder.

he nodded once toward the crate.

“mika’s been forgettin’ those lately.”

“oh— yeah,” you said, trying not to embarrass yourself infront of him. “she’s been busy.”

he hummed in agreement, wiping his hands on his towel.

you shifted your weight slightly, unsure if you were supposed to leave immediately or not.

he spoke again before you could overthink it.

“ya stayin’ for the whole practice today too?”

the question caught you off guard.

“…yeah? i usually do.”

he nodded like that answer made sense.

“figured.”

you blinked.

“…figured?”

“yer always sittin’ with mika,” he said, jerking his chin toward the manager chairs. “thought maybe ya liked volleyball or somethin’.”

you laughed awkwardly.

“i mean… i like watching.”

“watchin’ who,” he asked casually, grabbing a water bottle from the crate.

you almost choked on air.

“volleyball,” you said quickly. “just… volleyball.”

he smirked slightly— subtle, knowing. he didn’t press it.

“fair enough.”

he twisted the cap open, taking a sip, attention already drifting back toward the court like the conversation had been nothing more than a passing comment.

but for you, it lingered.

you walked back, a little too aware of your own heartbeat, pretending to read your notes while your brain replayed the exchange on loop.

'watchin’ who.'

the way he’d said it hadn’t sounded accusatory— more curious. casual. like he’d already guessed the answer and was waiting to see if you’d admit it.

you hadn’t, obviously.

self-preservation instincts had kicked in immediately.

still, the smirk he’d given you before dropping it stuck longer than it should’ve.

you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

just atsumu being atsumu. he's observant, a little too perceptive for comfort.

practice resumed like normal after that, noise swelling back into the gym, sneakers screeching, balls slamming.

but you were hyperaware now whenever he passed near the sidelines.

not looking directly.

just… aware.

and, inconveniently, it felt like he was aware of you too.

it rained a few days later.

not light drizzle either, it was the kind of steady downpour that turned the school courtyard into reflective pavement and made everyone hesitate at the exits.

you were sitting near the gym doors waiting for mika, watching the team pack up while rain tapped loudly against the windows.

atsumu walked past you toward the exit, gym bag slung over one shoulder.

he slowed slightly when he saw you still sitting there.

“yer not headin’ home?”

“i’m waiting for the big boss,” you said, glancing up.

he looked back toward the court briefly, then at the rain outside.

“…she’ll be a while. coach kept her.”

you sighed quietly.

“mm. she's always so busy.”

he adjusted his bag strap, shifting his weight for a second like he was deciding something.

then he jerked his head toward the hallway vending machines.

“want a drink? i’m goin’ anyway.”

“you don’t have to.”

“didn’t say i had to,” he replied easily, already turning to walk.

you hesitated only a second before following. because apparently your ability to decline invitations from your crush was nonexistent.

the vending machine hummed softly in the empty hallway, fluorescent lights reflecting faintly off the glass.

he stood in front of it, scanning options like it was a tactical decision.

you hovered beside him, hands tucked into your pockets to hide from the creeping cold, listening to the rain muffled against the building.

it wasn’t awkward.

which somehow made it worse.

comfortable silence with someone you liked felt significantly more dangerous than small talk.

he tapped a button, grabbing his drink when it dropped.

glanced at you.

“pick somethin’.”

you stepped forward after he inserted the coins in for you, choosing a drink a little too carefully just to have something to focus on.

he leaned back against the wall beside the machine while you grabbed your drink, arms folded loosely.

“you always wait for her after practice?” he asked.

“yeah.”

he nodded slightly.

"how dedicated.”

you huffed softly.

“or trapped. depends on the day.”

he laughed under his breath at that. not loud or anything, just a quiet exhale through his nose.

you glanced at him instinctively when he did— and caught him already looking at you.

neither of you looked away immediately this time.

he held your gaze a second longer than usual before pushing off the wall.

“c'mon. i’ll walk ya back before she starts yellin’ at me for kidnappin’ her friend.”

your stomach did a small, traitorous flip.

kidnapping was a strong word for a vending machine trip.

but you walked beside him anyway.

time passed the way it always did during the school term— days blurred into each other through classes, homework, after-school waiting sessions in the gym.

but something subtle had shifted in your routine. because now, you and atsumu talked.

not all the time. not long, deep conversations.

just… consistently.

it started small.

passing comments when you handed out water bottles. quick remarks when you helped mika pack equipment. a “see ya tomorrow” if you were still near the exit when he left.

none of it felt monumental on its own.

but repetition builds familiarity faster than you realize.

and atsumu, once he started talking to you, didn’t seem particularly interested in stopping.

you learned he was more talkative off-court— less sharp-edged than he sounded during practice or games.

still a little cocky, but looser. easier to joke with.

one afternoon you’d been sitting on the bleachers working on homework when he dropped into the seat beside you without asking.

you’d nearly jumped out of your skin.

“relax,” he’d said, glancing at your notebook. “I ain’t gonna copy.”

“i didn’t think you were.”

he hummed, unconvinced.

“yer math looks hard.”

“it is hard.”

he nodded like that confirmed his suspicion.

“glad i don’t gotta do that anymore.”

“you literally go here. we're in the same year...?”

“mentally graduated.”

you’d laughed before you could stop yourself.

other times it was walking conversations. just short ones.

from gym to hallway. from vending machine back to practice.

he’d ask random things like: “what classes d’ya hate most.” “yer always listenin’ to music— what kind.” “why d’ya always wear white socks, don’t they get dirty.”

you’d answer despite yourself. even tease him back sometimes.

and every time you expected the interaction to feel awkward.. it didn’t.

it felt easy.

and somewhere in that growing familiarity, the texting dynamic kept running parallel.

you still talked to 'mika' about him.

but the tone had changed without you noticing. it was less of how he was on the outside and more like—

You: he walked me to the gate today he saved me a drink from the vending machine. he sat next to me again.

you were talking about how he treated you.

and atsumu— reading all of it— was realizing the shift too. (although of course you had your moments when you just had to say something about how good he looked at practice that day)

it started small.

osamu noticed it the same way he noticed most things about atsumu— against his will.

they were in their room, after school, winding down, the usual routine.

atsumu sprawled on his bed, seemingly typing on his phone.

osamu was at his desk eating onigiri, half-watching some late-night variety show.

it was normal, quiet, peaceful even.

until— atsumu snorted.

osamu’s chewing slowed. he glanced over.

atsumu was staring at his phone screen with the most unserious grin imaginable— the kind he usually only wore after winning a point off someone he hated.

osamu squinted.

“…what.”

atsumu didn’t look up.

“hmm?”

“what’re ya smilin’ at.”

“nothin’.”

immediate lie.

osamu turned fully in his chair now, narrowing his eyes like a detective who was on the brink of solving a crime.

“yer face looks punchable. that ain’t ‘nothin’.’”

atsumu huffed, still typing.

“mind yer business, 'samu.”

osamu stood, walking over slowly— making sure to look casual on the outside. he leaned slightly, trying to peek.

atsumu tilted his phone away instantly.

too fast. definitely guilty.

osamu’s eyes sharpened.

“…why’d ya hide it.”

“didn’t.”

“ya did.”

“did not.”

"quit lying."

"oh my god m'sexting my fuckin' girlfriend, leave me alone," (lie again)

osamu moved quicker this time— years of reflexes from fighting with atsumu kicking in— grabbing atsumu’s wrist and yanking the phone into view for half a second.

just enough to see the chat.

just enough to read:

(y/n): no u dont get like he'd never date me like he has 129287319 fangirls he'd prob date one of them instead one more his type

osamu blinked, then slowly turned his head toward atsumu.

“…is that who I think it is.”

atsumu tried to snatch his phone back.

too late.

osamu held it higher, scrolling up

he blinked again.

there was long texts, and crush talk.

his expression went from curious to confused to deeply unimpressed and he lowered the phone slowly.

then smacked atsumu upside the head with it.

“yer a dickhead.”

atsumu grabbed his phone back, scowling.

“the hell was that for?!”

“yer pretendin’ to be her friend??”

“keep yer voice down!”

“she’s pourin’ her heart out thinkin’ yer her best friend!”

“i didn’t start it on purpose!”

osamu crossed his arms, unimpressed.

“ya still kept it goin’.”

atsumu opened his mouth. closed it. because yeah. he did.

“that’s low even for you.”

“i was gonna tell her eventually!”

“when?? after she sends ya her social security number too??”

atsumu scowled deeper.

“it ain’t like that.”

osamu raised a brow.

“oh yeah? then what’s it like.”

atsumu hesitated, glancing at his phone. his expression shifted slightly— less smug now, more thoughtful. “…she’s funny.”

“what.”

“she’s funny,” atsumu repeated, quieter. “an’ she’s honest when she thinks it’s safe.”

osamu stared at him.

then groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“oh my god yer catchin’ feelings while catfishin’ her?? yer sick.”

“i am not catfishin’!”

“yer textin’ like this—” osamu grabbed his phone again, reading dramatically:

“‘OMG that’s sooo real😭💗’ — SINCE WHEN DO YA TYPE LIKE A 13-YEAR-OLD GIRL.”

atsumu flushed.

“shut up! i’m commitin’ to the role!”

osamu looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

“commitin’ to the role,” he repeated flatly. “yer such a loser.”

atsumu kicked his leg lightly.

“yer just mad no one’s sendin’ you selfies.”

“I DON’T WANT SELFIES FROM GIRLS WHO THINK I’M THEIR BEST FRIEND.”

“liar.”

osamu rubbed his temples.

“tell her.”

“not yet.”

“TSUMU.”

“not yet.”

osamu studied his face carefully now, not teasing anymore.

“…ya like her atleast?”

"no shit. if i didn't i wouldn't be replying to her, would i?"

osamu clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he walked back to his side of the room. “messed up.”

“relax,” atsumu muttered. “she ain’t gettin’ hurt.”

"dickhead."

osamu did not confront atsumu again immediately. which honestly?—was scarier.

atsumu knew that look— the quiet one, where osamu stored ammunition for later use.

so the next few days were tense— not visibly, but atsumu noticed the way osamu would glance at his phone when it buzzed.

noticed the way he’d hum like he knew something.

it was psychological warfare.

and then the blackmail finally dropped.

they were in the kitchen after school— atsumu grabbing water, osamu heating leftovers.

normal.

until osamu spoke without looking up.

“clean the bathroom tonight.”

atsumu blinked.

“…why.”

osamu took a bite of food calmly.

“or i tell her.”

atsumu choked on air.

“tell her WHAT.”

osamu looked at him blankly. “don’t play dumb now. we both know yer big head ass has our birthday as your phone password.”

atsumu slammed the fridge shut.

“you wouldn't..”

“course i would.”

“yer sick.”

“bathroom. tonight.”

atsumu glared.

osamu took another bite, unbothered.

“…also buy me pudding on the way home tomorrow.”

“go to hell.”

“better lock that phone real good, 'tsumu.”

“…yer so evil.”

“bathroom,” osamu repeated, smiling slightly.

and just like that, atsumu miya— top setter, nationally ranked menace — was domesticated via blackmail.

it had been building for days. weeks, technically— but worse recently. because atsumu wasn’t just your eye-candy crush anymore. you've already realized that but now, the realization of the realization was really settling in.

like background noise you couldn’t turn off no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself.

you noticed it most when you were around him.

how hard it had become to act normal.

how your thoughts tripped over themselves mid-conversation because you were too busy being aware of him standing there.

the way your chest tightened whenever he leaned too close to look at something you were holding.

how your heart started beating faster anytime he said your name — casual, effortless, like it didn’t affect you at all when it very much did.

it was exhausting.

not in a bad way, just overwhelming to carry around silently.

and the worst part was knowing it probably wouldn’t go anywhere.

atsumu flirted casually with girls sometimes— playful, unserious— but never in a way that meant anything.

you’d never seen him look at you like that.

never seen anything that suggested he liked you back.

so the feelings just… sat there.

unresolved.

and the longer they stayed, the heavier they felt.

you rolled onto your side, staring at your phone where it lay on your pillow beside you.

your chat with mika open out of habit.

you stared at the screen for a long second before typing.

You: do u think i should just confess

the typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

on the other side of the screen, atsumu’s phone buzzed where it rested on his desk, pulling his attention away from the homework he’d been half-doing.

he opened the message— brows lifting slightly as he read it.

Mika 🩷: CONFESS???

you exhaled slowly through your nose, staring up at your ceiling again as you typed.

You: yeah like just get it over with

he sat up a little straighter now, interest sharpening.

You: i literally CANNOT hold it in anymore being around him feels like im going to combust

he swallowed quietly, rereading the message once before replying.

Mika 🩷: but what if he likes u backkkkk

you laughed once under your breath— humorless.

You: sighhh a girl could only dream but we need to be serious

Mika 🩷: i mean u never know right i dont think u should think so negativelyy

You: i’m not confessing because i think he’ll like me back i’m confessing because i need closure like i js want him to reject me so i can move on

he leaned back in his chair slowly, eyes still on the screen.

You: rip the bandaid off and hopeuflly die quickly 💔

atsumu stared at your chat long after the typing bubble disappeared.

confess. soon.

he exhaled slowly, phone still in his hand, because what had started as curiosity… was now turning into something a lot more complicated.

then, it was late.

too late for atsumu to still be awake.

but he was sitting at the kitchen counter anyway, phone face-down in front of him.

your messages from earlier were still burned into his brain.

because at first? yeah— it was funny.

wrong number. secret crush confession hotline. front row seat to your thoughts.

he’d kept it going for entertainment. curiosity. maybe a little ego boost.

but somewhere between— everything— it stopped being a joke.

osamu walked past the hallway to get to the bathroom and immediately sensed the weird energy.

atsumu sitting quietly is an unnatural phenomenon. meant nothing good was ever happening.

he walked towards atsumu and grabbed a drink, leaning against the counter.

“…what now.”

atsumu didn’t answer at first.

which already had osamu bracing himself.

then, “…she’s gonna confess.”

osamu took a sip calmly.

“okay.”

atsumu frowned.

“‘okay’ what.”

“so reject her or don’t.”

atsumu scowled.

“i don’t wanna reject her.”

osamu slowly lowered his drink.

“…and why is that”

atsumu hesitated, scratching the back of his neck.

“…i like her.”

osamu stared at him like he was the dumbest person on the planet.

“…ya what? say that again?”

"goddamnit, 'samu, go get your ears checked." atsumu whisper-yelled, not wanting to wake anyone up. "i like her!"

osamu let out a long breath through his nose.

“exactly. yer so stupid.”

atsumu scowled instantly.

“how does that make me stupid??”

osamu set his drink down slowly— the way someone does before delivering devastating news.

“lemme get this straight.” he started counting on his fingers.

“she likes you.”

“yeah.”

“you like her.”

“…yeah.”

“she’s literally plannin’ to confess to you.”

“…yeah.”

osamu stared at him flatly.

“…and yer stressed about what exactly.”

atsumu opened his mouth. closed it. because when you said it like that…

“…it ain’t that simple.”

osamu groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“it IS that simple.”

“no it ain’t! i catfished her, 'samu!”

osamu nearly laughed.

“…you finally admitted it.”

“i didn’t mean to! she texted first!”

“and ya kept it goin’.”

“…yeah.”

osamu stared at him for a long second, then shook his head slowly. “yer dumber than i thought.”

“HOW.”

“because the answer’s obvious.”

atsumu threw his hands up.

“then tell me the answer!”

osamu pointed at him like he was explaining math to a toddler.

“stop pretendin’. tell her the truth. then date her.”

atsumu blinked.

“…that’s it?”

“that’s it.”

“she’s gonna hate me!”

“maybe for five minutes.”

“five minutes??”

osamu shrugged.

“she already likes ya. that don’t disappear overnight.”

it was safe to say atsumu did not sleep well that night.

which— for him— was saying something, because usually he slept like someone who had never made a bad decision in his life.

but now?

every time he thought about you walking up to him to confess— nervous, bracing for rejection— his stomach twisted.

because he knew two things now. one, he liked you back. two, if you confessed first, you’d be humiliated for no reason.

he didn’t want to be the reason you were embarrassed.

when morning came, he was quieter than usual— which osamu noticed immediately while tying his shoes.

“…yer thinkin’ too loud.”

“shut up.”

“listen.”

atsumu glanced over reluctantly while osamu crossed his arms.

“she said she’s gonna confess soon, yeah?”

“…yeah.”

“then you confess first.”

“…what.”

“confess first. saves her the embarrassment.”

atsumu frowned.

“how’s that save her embarrassment?”

“because if ya confess first, she ain’t riskin’ rejection.”

that one landed and atsumu’s expression shifted slightly.

“she’s stressin’ thinkin’ you don’t like her back.” osamu continued. “so fix it before she spirals more.”

atsumu looked down at the floor, thinking. it made sense. logically. emotionally.

all of it.

but then—

“…what about the texting thing.”

osamu winced.

“yeahh.. that part’s still psychotic.”

“real helpful.”

“relax. just tell her after you confess.”

atsumu’s head snapped up.

“AFTER??”

“yeah.”

“she’s gonna kill me!”

“not if ya do it right.”

atsumu stared at him.

“…define ‘right.’”

osamu shrugged.

“don’t make it a big dramatic confession of guilt.”

“then what do I do??”

“tell her you like her. first. make that clear.”

atsumu listened closely now. actually taking notes mentally.

“then,” osamu continued, “ease into the texting thing. laugh about it. don’t act like ya committed a felony.”

“it feels like a felony.”

“only if ya make it one.”

“confess first. so she knows you like her.”

“then tell her about the thing.”

“then apologize.”

“and then,” osamu added, smirking slightly, “brace for impact.”

atsumu huffed.

“…she might never talk to me again.”

osamu tilted his head.

“you don’t know that.”

“i do.”

atsumu frowned.

“how.”

asamu shrugged casually.

“just don’t be too serious when ya tell her.”

atsumu blinked.

“…why.”

“because if ya sit her down all intense like ‘I have a confession’ she’s gonna think she’s about to get expelled or somethin’.”

atsumu snorted slightly despite the nerves.

but you— you hadn’t been able to think straight all day.

it wasn’t dramatic enough to stop you from functioning— you still went to class, still nodded along in conversations, still followed practice from the bleachers like usual— but everything felt slightly muffled around the edges.

like your mind was focused on something happening later rather than anything happening now.

because you’d decided.

after weeks of spiraling, weeks of carrying feelings that felt heavier the longer you kept them to yourself, you’d finally reached a breaking point the night before.

you were going to confess.

not because you expected anything good to come from it— if anything, you’d prepared yourself for rejection more than success— but because you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

being around atsumu lately felt like trying to act normal while standing too close to an open flame.

you were constantly aware of him.

his voice, his proximity, the way your name sounded when he said it casually like it didn’t do anything to you when it absolutely did.

you just needed closure.

and the time practice rolled around, your nerves had escalated from background noise to something sharper.

you couldn’t focus on homework.

couldn’t focus on whatever mika was talking about.

because every time you looked at him, your chest tightened because you knew what you were planning to say later.

so, you slipped out toward the vending machines near the end of practice just to breathe, just to think without the gym noise amplifying your stress.

you stood in front of the vending machine longer than necessary, staring at the drink options without actually seeing them, arms were folded loosely, your expression tense enough that anyone passing by would’ve assumed you’d just received bad news.

thoughts were too loud to notice anything else.

you were mentally rehearsing confession lines again— none of them sounding right.

too blunt.

too awkward.

too embarrassing.

you didn’t hear footsteps approaching, didn’t hear your name the first time either.

atsumu had spotted you from across the hallway almost immediately.

he’d been looking for you anyway.

osamu’s advice from the night before still sat fresh in his mind. "confess first. saves her the embarrassment."

he’d planned to find you after practice ended.

but seeing you alone now— clearly spiraling about something— felt like the right moment presenting itself.

he walked over casually, stopping beside you.

he said your name once.

no reaction.

he tried again, a little louder.

still nothing.

he frowned faintly, leaning closer.

“oi.”

you startled slightly at the proximity, snapping out of your thoughts abruptly, turning your head and freezing when you realized who was standing beside you.

“oh— hi.” your voice came out quieter than intended.

he studied your face for a second, brows knitting faintly.

you looked like you were preparing for impact.

“ya stressed or somethin'?”

"i'm not stressed," you answered too quickly, because apparently your mouth wanted you dead. "i just have a really intense thinking face. i inherited it from my mom. she used to do taxes like this."

he leaned one shoulder against the vending machine beside you, watching you a little more carefully now, a small snort escaping his lips

“damn. those taxes must've been somethin', huh.” he teased. “look like someone just murdered yer family.”

you huffed despite yourself, tension easing slightly at the absurdity. “that’s dramatic.”

“so’s yer face right now.”

you rolled your eyes, but the small humor helped steady your breathing.

then his gaze shifted slightly, he noticed the details now that he was closer.

your hair was sitting neater. your uniform sharper than usual. it was subtle, but noticeable.

“you look nice today,” he said after a second.

you blinked, caught off guard.

“…huh?”

he shrugged casually, like the observation hadn’t required thought.

“just sayin’.”

heat rose to your face instantly.

You looked back at the vending machine buttons quickly, suddenly hyperaware of your appearance in a way you hadn’t been before.

“thanks.”

then, silence settled between you— a little awkward and charged in a quiet way.

he straightened slightly from the machine after a moment.

he knew this was his chance.

better now than letting you confess first expecting rejection.

“can i say somethin’?”

you glanced at him again, nerves spiking slightly.

“…yeah.”

he rubbed the back of his neck— a rare tell that he was thinking more carefully than usual.

then he spoke.

“i like ya.”

the words landed simply. no buildup. no dramatics.

and yet they hit harder than anything rehearsed ever could.

you froze where you stood, your brain struggling to process what you’d just heard.

he continued when you didn’t respond. “i’ve liked ya for a bit now. didn’t say anythin’ ‘cause i didn’t know if it’d make things weird.”

your heart was pounding so loudly you could barely hear him over it.

“but i figured i should say it before ya stressed yerself out thinkin’ i don’t feel the same.”

your head lifted slightly at that.

“pause— what?”

he glanced at you, faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“i know yer plannin’ to confess.”

your stomach dropped.

“how.”

he shook his head lightly. “don’t worry ‘bout that part right now.”

he held your gaze steadily, expression softer than you’d ever seen it during practice.

“i just didn’t want ya doin’ it expectin’ rejection when that ain’t what’d happen.”

the words settled slowly. you’d spent all day preparing for heartbreak. you hadn’t prepared for this.

“you… like me?”

“yeah.”

no hesitation. no teasing. just certainty.

your knees felt weaker for a second— not enough to stumble, just enough that you had to steady yourself mentally.

he noticed your stunned expression, smirking faintly again.

“so relax,” he added lightly. “no need t’confess lookin’ like yer goin’ to war.”

your face burned instantly.

“you could tell i was planning it?”

“er— ..somethin' like that.”

you covered your face immediately, mortified. “oh my god.”

he laughed softly, reaching out to pull your hands down before you could fully hide.

“don’t die of embarrassment yet,” he murmured. “i still gotta take ya out first.”

and just like that— the confession you’d spent days preparing… wasn’t yours to make anymore.

“…there’s one more thing though.”

you blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “what.”

he scratched the back of his neck slightly— the same nervous tell you’d noticed earlier. “a confession after the confession.”

your stomach dipped slightly. “that sounds ominous.”

he huffed a quiet laugh in response. “relax. It ain’t bad. i think”

you immediately did not relax.

“why would you say relax like that.”

he glanced at you, clearly debating how to phrase whatever he was about to say, then exhaled slowly.

“ya know how you’ve been textin’ yer best friend about me.”

your entire body stilled. “…how do you know that.”

he winced faintly.

“wrong number.”

you blinked.

“…what.”

“been me.”

the, there was silence. not the short silence either— like full processing silence.

your brain tried to load the information and simply buffered.

“you.”

“yeah.”

“YOU???”

“yeah.”

“THE WHOLE TIME??”

“…yeah.”

you stared at him, horror dawning in slow motion, then your hands flew to your face instantly. “oh okay— oh my god.”

He was already laughing softly now — not cruel, just unable to help himself at your reaction.

“i didn’t mean for it t’start like that—”

“you let me text to you about YOU.”

he leaned slightly closer, voice lowering just a fraction. “didn’t hate hearin’ it though.”

you froze, looked up slowly and he was smiling— not teasing this time— okay, maybe a little— but it was warm. real.

and the next morning, you found mika, with a singular mission. dropping your bag beside her desk dramatically. “we need to talk.”

she glanced at you slowly. “…good morning to you too?”

you crossed your arms. “when were you gonna tell me.”

her brows furrowed instantly.

“tell you what.”

“that I WASN’T TEXTING YOU.”

silence.

she stared at you. you stared back.

“huh?”

“your new number.”

“yeah?”

“WHY DID YOU NEVER QUESTION THAT I WASN’T TEXTING YOU.”

she sat up straighter now, confused. “'CAUSE WE SEE EACH OTHER EVERY DAY?”

you were about to respond but then, the realization clicked in her head, hand slapping over her mouth. “who were you texting.”

you covered your face, voice muffled. “atsumu.”

her jaw dropped so fast it was audible.

“you were WHAT.”

bro i wrotr this at like 1 am anyways im back after like a week cuz i FINALLY FINALLY have a holiday from school ughhhhh

you blinked at him. you realized you were staring at him for quite a moment.

“ah, well...” you awkwardly scratched your cheek. “the next scene of this chapter is what i'm still unsure of... i thought of conducting a research about it but i figured i could just ask you.”

both of you are sitting on the floor with the table in front of you have papers scattered on it. pencils, pens, and ink are also on the table. while mr. akaashi is in front of you, writing something.

he raised his hand to fix his glasses. “yeah? what is it then, ms. l/n?”

you glances at the notebook in front of you with the scenes written of the chapter you were currently working on. you've listed the main scenes and you were trying to fill the scenes with words and actions as the written draft.

“how do boys act around their crushes?”

you looked back to him and saw him staring at you. mr.akaashi place an elbow on the table and leaned his face on his palm. he thinks for a minute while his eyes closed and you took the chance to carefully admire his features.

“i agree it was the best choice to ask instead of reearching about it.” he said.

you slides back your gaze at his eyes that was already pointed at yours. “...yes?”

“but i also think that it's different for everyone on how they act around their crushes. considering the personality of your male character, am i the best person for you to ask? i might give out a different answer from what you'll expect, ms. l/n.” he gave out a little smile.

you part your lips, thinking of the personality and the possibilities of how your character acts around people. you absolutely not know how but... your character and mr. akaashi are quite similar.

and you were thinking how you probably... actually took inspiration on your character from mr. akaashi's personality.

“i actually think that both of you are the same. in terms of your personality, that is.” you confessed. ”so i was thinking it would be the best to know some of the real-life situation.”

mr. akaashi stares at you.

you avoids his eyes. “...or ideas. if you have any idea of how my character would act.”

“well, i'm glad you want to get ideas from my experience. i'm sure it will be much helpful for you but i think i'd rather give you some ideas than from my own experience.” mr. akaashi took a sip of water.

you turn your head back at him with widened eyes. “eh? why? do you not have any experience with your crush? on how you act around them?”

...oh shit.

“sorry.” you covered your mouth with your fingers. “if you're uncomfortable telling me, it's fine, mr. akaashi. i understand if it's too personal.” you slightly bow your head at him.

ah, suddenly you missed your previous editor. it's too awkward here with mr. akaashi.

though it had only been 2 months since the both of you are working with each other and the possibilities of having to work more months with each other... you feel like you're making it awkward and less comfortable to work with mr. akaashi.

you'd hate to think he'll feel like that.

“ah, it's alright. it's not uncomfortable.” you heard him say that made you raised your head to look at him.

“rather...” mr. akaashi looks down to the papers, seemingly avoiding my eyes on him. “it's embarrassing.” he said with... reddened cheeks.

“oh no, it's okay! you don't have to.” you assured him, feeling embarrassed as well. ah damn, you can't help but stare at his cheeks. you were feeling you cheeks burned as well from embarrassment. ”...you don't have to.” you coughed out.

do mr. akaashi does this too when he's arround his crush?

mr. akaashi covers his lower face with his hand and was quiet for a while. you thought he would not talk about it again so you awkwardly bit the insides of your lower lip. until he glances at you.

“i only started noticing my self act awkwardly around them.”

you blinked at him. “yes?” you leaned forward, intrested in his answers. you hold a pen as you were ready to write down everything he says.

“mhh... i think i was more gentle with them. as if I don't want her to see her troubled face all the time. i tried helping her as much as i can.” you kept on writing. “i just can't help it but i had this habit of staring at her on times i know she isn't looking. and then i would notice something new about her every time like...”

you stopped writing when mr. akaashi didn't continue to talk. your eyes slides towards his and noticed how deeply mr. akaashi is looking at you.

you stared back at his growing smile. “like how she furrows her eyebrows when she is focused. when she would blinked hard when her eyes are starting to feel dry. when she would eat the last bite even though she's already full so that the food would not be wasted.”

oh... shit.

mr. akaashi smiles more as he tilts his head. “or when her face is immediately red when she's embarrassed.”

you coughed.

“i would just... notice all of it.” mr. akaashi straightened his posture and dropped his hand under the table.

“...correct me if i'm wrong but... do you like me?” you immediately asked.

you didn't want to waste time thinking about mr. akaashi's words since you already noticed how it heavily affects you. you didn't want it to interfere with your work together with him.

mr. akaashi blinks and lick his lips wet. your eyes dropped to it. “i'm sorry... are you uncomfortable?”

“no! it's—” you felt your cheeks hot from your sudden shout. you dropped your head to the table and surrounds your head with your arms.

you were trying to cover your face from mr. akaashi since you felt like you were becoming more obvious.

“i'm not. i was just feeling shy all of the sudden.” you mumbled.

mr. akaashi was silent and that made you nervous. not until you felt him patting your head. “i'm sorry, please don't think much about it.” he said.

“i don't want to interfere with work, ms. l/n. but i do like you.”

you felt your self stiffen. “i thought i was obvious with it...” you heard him cleared his throat. “but you don't have to think about me. i'm not gonna do anything.”

you moved your head to take a peek with him. this time with your brows furrowed.

“you're not gonna do anything?”

he shakes his head. “i don't want to make you uncomfortable, ms. l/n. i'm worried it would affect our work and relationship.”

“even though you like me?”

“even though i like you, yes.”

you hid your face again and breathe out. “it's fine. you can act comfortable with me.” you mumbled.

“i'm sorry? what was that?” he kept brushing your hair.

“it's fine. be comfortable with me, mr. akaashi.” you raised your head and leaned towards him.

“let me see how you act around me.”

he blinks. then avoids looking at me. “... is this for you to get ideas for your story?” mr. akaashi whispers as he covers his lower face again, specifically his reddened cheeks .

you smiled a little. “that as well but i just wanted to see how you are if you're comfortable with me. let's do our well.”

he glances at you, seemingly searching for something. “i'll... make sure to help you, ms. l/n.”

your smile grew wider. “looking forward to it, mr. akaashi.”

i was actually half-asleep when i wrote this djodnc

masterlist ♡

© written by @yoonlyhan. don't plagiarise my content. u will be blocked :x

Akaashi Keiji was the type of guy to keep his composure. He'd be described as someone reserved, thoughtful, and some might even say poise.

He wasn't the type of guy to brood over trivial things. He liked his life in order, his thoughts organized like the lines on a court.

However, something is nagging him lately.

It started small, and he tried to brush it off. It was during lunch break, when he messaged you to go ahead and eat without him as he had to attend a meeting for their volleyball club.

Being a good friend you are, you decide not to eat your meal until Akaashi arrives, eventually settling down with reading a book.

The book has philosophical genre contents in it—a book that Akaashi recommended to you a week ago.

Then Akaashi didn't know how it happened;

His world somehow stopped when he arrived at the usual spot where you both eat. When he saw you reading the book he suggested, all noise around him suddenly went to silence. His focus was only on how serious your face is while reading, and how your fingers flip the pages.

"It's almost too cliché," he thought to himself. So, he shrugged, thinking it's probably just the remaining ecstatic he felt due to the good news of their coach.

Yet, as if his body is separated from his mind, he started doing gestures towards you that he hasn't even done before.

For example, he always had the need to walk you home after school. You'd ask why, but of course, Akaashi would cover it up with something like, "Can't I catch up with my friend anymore?" or “I just insist in doing so.”

Another example was this one time when he managed to get you a free ticket in their volleyball match for the regional playoffs.

He tried his best to dismiss it.

Afterall, he's not the type of guy to ponder for so long with these kinds of things. He must be composed and calm.

But Akaashi knew he's in deep trouble when he felt his eye twitch when he heard you laughing over a joke Bokuto made.

He watched the both of you from afar: Bokuto showing something that he's proud of to you, as you clap your hands with glee.

He should be happy that you've done something to get Bokuto out of his slump. Yet, somehow, there's this sour and bitter feeling that even his tongue can taste.

Akaashi snapped back to reality when he heard a teasing laugh from his teammate, "Jealous, vice capt'n?" Konoha asked sarcastically, as he draped his arm over Akaashi's shoulder.

"Jealous?" He asked himself through his thoughts. Is that really the right word to describe the uneasy feeling he has?

Akaashi wasn't the type to overthink—but for you to meddle in his thoughts like crazy, he knew it was something he can't escape.

You and Akaashi have been friends since middle school. The both of you got along through niche interests and gradually started to become close ever since.

You would agree that he is indeed as others would say he is, but it became agree to disagree.

Perhaps he is too reserved for others and displays little to no emotions. But towards you? No matter how light or tough his day had been, he'd greet you with a soft, closed-lip smile.

He'd laugh with you over inside jokes you both made, he'd spend countless hours with you as he listens to your thoughts about the book he recommended, he'd even take you home even if the both of you are a train stop apart.

But you weren't sure how it started. Maybe it was that one time when you finally had free time to attend one of their matches.

When Bokuto was having one of his mood swings, you watched how Akaashi quickly handled him. Watching that scene from the bleachers made your stomach turn a little—the good kind. He may be blunt at some times, but you admire him for how he cares for his friends.

Perhaps that was the moment you started to have a hint of your developing feelings towards Akaashi.

However, unlike him, you didn't brush it off. In fact, you got in too deep with your thoughts.

Then again, you tried to deny it. Regardless of how he acts towards you, you know that Akaashi is the type of guy to be serious. He wouldn't waste his time over distractions like this. So, you thought it's silly.

You were almost about to give up on your thoughts, until the one time when you were dozing off in your seat. You went back to your senses when a ballpen was placed in front of you.

The ballpen had a cute animal design on it. Your favorite animal, specifically.

You looked up at Akaashi, "What's this for?"

"Nothing. I just remembered you looking at it back then when we were on our way home. I passed by the same stationery shop yesterday and thought I'd buy it for you," He said in his usual tone.

There was also this one time when he placed a snack in front of you. As per usual, you were about to ask him why. But this time, he beat you to it.

"Just eat," Akaashi said before he munched his food.

You remember mentioning how you like this specific snack to Akaashi once. The snack got quite famous, so it was almost sold out in every convenience store. You were amazed that Akaashi got a hold of it.

Looking at the snack while you hold it, it was when you truly realized and noticed the changes in Akaashi;

How his voice changes when he talks to you, the change of his gaze when he looks at you, and how his actions towards you have changed.

You observe Akaashi in front of you. He was saying something about his starting interest in bonsai plants, but you couldn't focus. You just smiled at him, in defeat that you can't deny or turn back anymore.

Both feelings are still left unsaid; you were afraid that you probably misunderstood everything and Akaashi was unsure of the words he wants to convey.

So here you both are, sitting besides each other on the swing of a nearby park. You clutch the jacket Akaashi gave you as the evening breeze is rather cold and windy.

You could only hear cricket noise until he said, "I'd like to give you something."

You look at him, "What is it?"

He pulled out a book from his bag, then he hands it to you. You analyzed the book in your hand, "Isn't this your favorite?" you asked with a sheepish smile.

Akaashi didn't answer, so you're not sure what he wants you to do with the book. You read it, of course—but why?

When you noticed a bookmark hanging out of the book, you opened it to that specific page. Immediately, your eyes read the quotation that's been highlighted:

"The true measure of a person's life lies not in grand gestures, but in the quiet moments when their happiness becomes as important as your own."

Akaashi brushes away strands of your hair and he tucks it behind your ear. You look up at him once again, with a puzzled but knowing expression.

He gives you his usual smile, "It's one of my favorite passages," his voice is soft, his gaze, too. His hand keeps its gentle hold on your face.

Akaashi Keiji isn't the type of guy to lose his cool. But for you? He'll allow himself to melt.

Warmth immediately rushed into your face, but you try keep up with his composure, so you put your hand on top of his.

You're lucky it's your friend you've fallen into; and what makes you luckier is that it's Akaashi Keiji.

The next day at school, you and Akaashi walk in with hands intertwined. When the two of you bumped into Bokuto, you excitedly told him about your new relationship with Akaashi.

You thought Bokuto would be surprised, shocked, or even flash his big smile. However, he only looks at the both of you with his arms crossed, head tilted to the side, and his eyebrow raised,

“I kind of thought you two were already together before?"

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