He watches in silence as Wakatoshi shuts his eyes before lifting his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. His chest is heaving, and Tobio wants to ask him when’s the last time he drank something, but he already knows the answer. His water bottle hasn’t been touched since Tobio went to refill them, and that was over two hours ago.

And while it’s true he’s becoming more analytical with his attacks with every passing day, Wakatoshi shouldn't be practicing this hard. He's putting unneccessary strain on his body right now. He won't be able to focus tomorrow if his body and mind are too exhausted. He needs to rest.

Tobio can't believe what he's saying. While he would love nothing more than to practice late into the night with someone who finally gets him, to become even stronger than they already are…

He doesn't want it like this.

Wakatoshi is hurting.

From what, Tobio doesn't know.

But they'll get nowhere while he's like this.

"We should stop for now. We have to rest for the tourna--"

Tobio flinches when Wakatoshi roars from across the court to just give. him. the damn. ball.

They stare at each other for a moment, before Wakatoshi bends over to catch his breath. He glares at the ground, sweat stinging his eyes before he tries to wipe it away with the back of his hand.

Tobio’s right. He needs to stop. His thighs have been burning for almost an hour now and he’s only keeping himself up by pure anger at this point.

But he’s safe here.

They've both been at it since early afternoon, and while everything in his body is screaming at him to stop, he can’t find it in him to.

At least this way in the gym, he's safe.

Tobio wouldn’t understand it though, so there’s no point in trying to explain it. He’d just start shouting that he’s being stupid and to let it go.

But god, this isn’t Tobio’s fault. None of this is Tobio’s fault. He’s only telling the truth and trying to help and here he is being a complete ass and yelling.

And Wakatoshi croaks out an apology.

But it's too late.

Wakatoshi's blood throbs in his veins and his heartbeat pounds in his ears, but the sound of Tobio's disappointment in him is even louder.

When Wakatoshi looks up again, Tobio avoids eye contact with him, walking straight past him and to his duffel bag on the bench.

"I'm going home," He tells Wakatoshi calmly, sliding his jacket on, "And you need to go home too. You won't be of any use to us tomorrow if you run yourself into the ground."

Wakatoshi swallows hard as Tobio slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and finally turns around to look at him. He searches his best friend's eyes for some sort of empathy, but all he’s met with is coldness.

But that doesn’t stop him from trying again.

"Tobio, I'm sor--"

"No, you know what? Save it!" Tobio snaps, strangling the strap of his duffel bag with both his hands, "I don't know what's got you acting like this all of a sudden, but you need to figure it out before you jeopardize the team."

Wakatoshi shuts his eyes, shame filling his chest because how the fuck did it get to be this bad? What in the actual fuck is happening to him right now?

This isn't who he is. He’s always been a pillar for every team he’s been on and here he is having a complete breakdown over the thought of having to be alone with his thoughts. He needs to be strong for his team right now. They're all counting on him.

And as the door groans shut with Tobio’s departure, Wakatoshi’s worst fear is now a reality.

He’s now alone. No more disctractions for the day. No early morning run, no work-out, no warm-ups, no practice with the Adlers, and now, no Tobio.

He fucking hates this part.

His throat screams at him for some sort of relief, and it's only then that he goes to get his water bottle on the bench. He downs half of it in one go before collapsing onto the bench and reaching for his phone, and the glaring white numbers on his lockscreen confirm that Tobio is right.

It’s late. Almost midnight. He needs to go home and rest so he doesn’t ruin the team’s chances tomorrow.

But how can he?

He knows what's going to happen as soon as he gets home. It's only going to be thoughts of you. It’s been like that almost every night for two weeks and he hates himself for being this weak. At least during the day, there’s other people around, but at home? There’s nothing there waiting for him. He has to come back to his apartment every fucking night, trying to fight off thoughts of you until sleep takes him.

And as he absentmindedly swipes through his notifications, Wakatoshi wheezes out a chuckle when he gets to the bottom, because what are the fucking chances?

Toshi! You're probably asleep right now, so I’m sooo so so so sorry if this wakes you up. But if I don’t ask now I’m going to forget lol

But do you want to have lunch with me later this week? We found this really neat sandwich shop you might like! 🥰 You can put all sorts of protein on yours!!

His thumbs hover above the screen as he thinks of how to respond. Yes? No? A thumbs up?

Sweat drops glitter across the screen as he types up his reply.

Sounds good! :-)

Sounds good.

Sounds good?????

He's so stupid.

He's so stupid for using old school smiley faces.

He's so stupid for deciding two months ago to go out to eat with friends. He's so stupid for trying to cram himself into the tiny booth next to you while Kotarou was on your other side.

He's so stupid for awkwardly asking you questions all night, thinking it was going swimmingly between the two of you.

He's so stupid for exchanging numbers with you.

He's so stupid for not asking why you were there in the first place - having to find out at the end of the night through Tobio that Kotarou and you had been dating for over five months now.

And he's so, so stupid for falling for you.

But how can he ever say no to you?

How can he try to just move past it when you've awakened something in him that he's never felt before?

How can he deny his heart and his soul something that it so desperately wants?

And as he sits there on the cold metal bench, shoving his face into his palms and your own face becoming a kaleidoscope behind his eyelids, his heart has become too loud to ignore.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Wakatoshi lets his eyes fall shut now, stilling his fingers as he starts to breathe in a slow, steady rhythm. If he can just put your bakery inside a court . . .

After a few moments, though, he gives up. It’s not working. The mere thought of talking to you is a thousand times more anxiety-inducing than any team he’s ever encountered.

He’s being ridiculous. All he has to do is open the door. He just has to open the door and say good morning to you. He just has to talk casually to you, ask how your morning is so far, and not act like he wants to throw up. All he has to do is casually steer the conversation toward asking you out.

Is it really conversation? His brain teases him. It takes two to take part in a conversation.

Regardless, it’s become his favorite part of his morning routine: munching on his bagel and sipping his coffee while you fill the silence. It strikes him as funny that you chatter away exactly like Satori and Shoyo do, jumping from one topic to the next with ease. But unlike with Satori and Shoyo, he doesn’t mind it one bit.

And while he has shared little about himself with you — “It’s always wise to be cautious and stay vigilant when you’re a famous athlete.” Or at least, that’s what his coach tells him — You don’t seem to mind it. He’d much rather listen to you anyway. You’re far more interesting than he could ever be.

But you know he has a dog (his phone’s wallpaper). You know that Satori is his best friend (Satori had switched the wallpaper to a picture of himself). You found out through the TV that he plays volleyball professionally. And you know he can’t stand the greasy texture of sausage on his breakfast sandwiches.

The last one still makes him cringe thinking about it. You tried to persuade him to taste a custom-made breakfast sandwich, boasting about the hearty protein infused in every layer, from the dough to the flavorful toppings. But the face he made betrayed his polite “No, thank you”.

And though you never pried for information about himself, he still found himself talking at length about his protein sources and about tips for boosting protein in one’s diet, all while catching the bright sparkle in your eyes as you listened with fascination.

And he learned that day that maybe Coach could be wrong.

Maybe letting your guard down is okay, if that’s what he gets to see in return for sharing.

Wakatoshi reaches for the door handle now, his fingers brushing against the cool metal, his gaze lingering on the smudged handprints marring the glass.

Shit.

Wakatoshi has no doubt in his mind that these are from Kotarou. They can’t not be. Because Kotarou had arrived for their practice match last week, kicking open the gym doors and practically pirouetting across the court, with his voice bouncing off the goddamn walls, announcing that he had found a new favorite shop - and possibly a new lover - on his way there.

Kotarou was gushing, his words painting a picture of your delightful nature — your kindness, humor, and the exquisite taste of your pastries. Knowing exactly who Kotarou was talking about, Kiyoomi’s head swiveled in Wakatoshi’s direction, and they instantly made eye contact. Kiyoomi had given him a firm nod to let Wakatoshi know he’d shut Kotarou up if that’s what he wanted, but Wakatoshi only shook his head once, and that was that.

Instead, Wakatoshi had held his hands at his sides, clenching them until pain seared into his palms.

How could this have happened? The bakery was his spot. Was it just sheer dumb luck on Kotarou’s end he found it? Or did Wakatoshi, yet again, have the bad luck of a friend swooping in before he got the courage to ask them out?

Anyway. Leave it to Kotarou to not read. Wakatoshi could just see it. Kotarou pressing his entire body flush against the door, his golden eyes darting around the empty shop soaked in sunlight, wondering why the door was locked, when the answer was right in front of him.

The bell above the door chimes as Wakatoshi swings it open with just a little more force than necessary.

This time. You have to ask them this time before Kotarou can. You can’t keep putting it off.

But instead of being greeted by your smiling face, Wakatoshi is greeted by . . . Nothing.

Nothing more than an open bakery, with no one manning the counter.

Wakatoshi looks around, trying to find any sign of you. It’s not like you to not work this early. Are you ill? You occasionally liked to flirt with danger, snacking on a small cup of raw cookie dough while you told him your plans for the day. He isn’t the least bit surprised if you’ve gotten salmonella.

When he told Kiyoomi this a month ago, Kiyoomi went on and on about hygiene, his eyebrows scrunching together as he just kept shouting “But WHY?” and “It’s a BUSINESS!”. Wakatoshi told him that your shop was the cleanest place he’d ever seen, and you were always fussing about keeping things in an orderly fashion. You deserved a little treat of raw cookie dough now and then for how hard you worked.

A sweep of the shop confirms to Wakatoshi that you aren’t here. Only an older gentleman at one of the far tables, doing what looks like a crossword puzzle while he occasionally takes bites of his muffin.

Surely someone’s here. The old man wouldn’t have just climbed over the counter and plucked out the muffin himself.

“GOOD MORNING, WAKATOSHI!”

Wakatoshi inhales sharply as you magically materialize behind the counter.

“Good morning.” He answers, regaining his composure and giving you a nod. “I was starting to think that you weren’t here.”

You cock your head to the side, frowning a little as you wipe your hands on your apron. “Why would you think that? I’m always here.”

“I thought the raw cookie dough got you.”

He wants to smack himself upside the head for such an honest response, but your sudden burst of laughter calms his nerves.

“Not yet. One of these days, though, probably.” You say, before giving him a small wink.

His heart hammers away even harder in his chest.

“So, what will it be today?” You ask, leaning over the counter as he comes closer. “Do you want to be adventurous today? I got some strawberries this morning. I could make you something with them if you can hang around for a bit.”

“No.” He says, just a little too quickly. He wants to shove the word back into his mouth when your eyes flicker with sadness.

“I mean, not today.” He clarifies, “Maybe another day. Just a—”

“Yeah, yeah. Just an everything bagel with cream cheese and a black coffee. I know.” You sigh, pushing yourself up from the counter. “One of these days, I’m going to get you to try something else! I don’t just make delicious bagels, you know!”

Wakatoshi watches on as you go about creating his usual order - coffee that’s, you once joked, “as black as your soul” and a lightly toasted bagel with a hefty amount of cream cheese.

(When you had asked him once why he preferred just a light toast, he shyly admitted he didn’t like thoroughly crunchy items. Although this preference probably came about from being Satori’s guinea pig for many, many trial and error baked goods, now that he thinks about it. You don’t need to know that, though.)

“Tasty as always!”

Wakatoshi nearly jumps out of his skin at the old man’s voice cutting through the quiet. How long has he been standing next to him? Such a big voice for someone so small.

“I’m glad you enjoyed!” You grin back at the old man before reaching across the counter to hand Wakatoshi his bagel.

Wakatoshi quickly closes the gap, his fingertips brushing yours while you ask the man how he did on his crossword today. He’s thankful you’re looking in a different direction because the less you see him blushing, the better.

Wakatoshi carefully unwraps the bagel now, half-listening in on you and the old man.

How in the world is he supposed to ask you out now without making it awkward?

What on earth is he supposed to do? Ask for your phone number? No, you might give him the phone number for the bakery as a misunderstanding. But what if he’s late for practice? Coach will have his head. Maybe he should just text the group chat and tell them he isn’t coming today.

Wakatoshi chews his bagel slowly, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine as he senses something watching him. He glances down to his right, and just as suspected, the old man is smiling warmly up at him.

“You look strong.” The man says, giving Wakatoshi a once-over.

“I am.” Wakatoshi confirms, then takes another bite of his bagel.

The old man’s eyes dim, his mouth curving downward as he turns to you.

“He doesn’t mean anything by that. He just talks like that.” You whisper from behind your hand to the old man, and he nods knowingly.

“Did you know that Wakatoshi here is a professional athlete?” You say proudly, attempting to change the subject. “You should see him on TV! He’s really good! When he’s — what’s it called? Serving? Hitting? I dunno. But he goes BAM, and the ball goes flying!” You exclaim, and the old man chuckles.

“What do you play, son?”

Why is everyone talking about him as if he’s a child who has just joined their first sports team? It’s condescending.

“Volleyball.”

“Ah. I’m sure all that height and strength is an advantage for you!”

Wakatoshi chews some more, then swallows. “Sometimes.”

The old man’s eyes crinkle as he throws his head back and laughs, giving Wakatoshi a firm pat on the back.

“I like this one.” He says to you, motioning to Wakatoshi. “He’d be a good boyfriend for you.”

Wakatoshi almost drops his bagel onto the gleaming floor, his fingertips pressing into the creamy spread as he hurriedly tries to catch it. And when he looks down, he finds he no longer has a bagel at all in his hands, but a taco.

A very smushed taco.

When he looks at you for your reaction to the man’s suggestion, you’re too busy having problems of your own.

“He doesn’t mean anything by that, Wakatoshi!” You yell at the counter, frantically tearing off paper towels to blot at the coffee you’ve splashed across its surface. “He just talks like that!”

Wakatoshi meets the old man’s gaze once again, who is only looking back at Wakatoshi with a smug grin, his eyebrows doing a little dance of amusement.

What a strange man.

“Well, I’m off!” The man announces, giving you a wave and Wakatoshi a nod. “I’ll be back next week!”

“Okay! See you then!”

You’re still talking to the counter.

The bell above the door chimes as the old man exits, and Wakatoshi’s attention shifts to removing the cream cheese from his fingers, twisting his body so you don’t see him sucking on them. When he turns back around, though, you’re nowhere to be found again. What are you, a magician on the side?

“Don’t mind him.” You say, popping up from the floor and avoiding eye contact with him, inspecting your now clean counter. “He likes to stir up trouble. He was just joking.”

Wakatoshi has his doubts, because your tone is light, but the sweat forming on your forehead says otherwise.

Still refusing to meet his eyes, you place a larger, empty to-go cup on the counter and pour the coffee with intense focus, as Wakatoshi savors the final crumbs of his bagel-taco.

When Wakatoshi reaches for his wallet to pay, you dismiss him with a wave. “Oh, it’s all free today! The least I can do after he embarrassed us both like that.”

Embarrassed?

Do you . . . Do you not think he’d make a good boyfriend? Has he been reading this wrong the entire time? Of course he has. Idiot. He’s just a patron. He was a fool to think it could have gone somewhere.

Kotarou would be a much more appropriate boyfriend for you, anyway. Kotarou knows how to talk to people and how to make them more comfortable instantly. He can make an entire room of strangers feel like they’re best friends in a simple matter of minutes.

He can't compare in that way. He would just make things awkward for everyone you knew.

How would you introduce him to your friends, your family? Prepping them beforehand that he can be blunt, but it’s unintentional? You wouldn’t be able to take him anywhere.

He may be equals with Kotarou on the court, but not at this.

At this, he’ll always be a thousand steps behind.

“Okay,” He says, realizing he’s been quiet for much too long. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! And please, don’t let him deter you from coming back here. He just likes to tease. You’ll get used to it.” You reassure him, handing him the new coffee.

The warmth of the cup in his hand becomes his sole focus, a welcome contrast to the sharp sting behind his eyes. He can’t cry. Not now. He has to get to practice, and he can work it out there.

The smudges left by Kotarou mock Wakatoshi as he approaches the door and pushes it open with a shoulder. They’re smudges that belong to hands that will get to hold yours eventually, probably, if Kotarou gets his way.

He’s charming and joyful and easygoing and all the things he’s not.

And he’d be lucky to have you.

“You’ve got handprints on your door,” Wakatoshi informs you, his tone carefully controlled as he stands with the door half open.

“Oh?” You say, walking out from behind the counter. “Oh, yeah. I see ‘em. Thanks for letting me know!”

“You’re welcome.” A beat. And then, “Goodbye.”

“Bye! Don’t work too hard!”

Working is all he’ll be doing now, but he keeps the thought to himself.

Idiot. Why didn’t you ask them?

Wakatoshi takes a long, hot gulp of his coffee, his footsteps echoing faster on the pavement as he makes his way down the sidewalk now. A grunt escapes him as the searing heat of the liquid instantly burns the roof of his mouth. Adding insult to injury, he sees. Or is it injury to insult? Would that be more fitting in this situation?

It’s for the best this way. He won’t have to talk to Kiyoomi when he inevitably asks how things went this morning. He won’t have to talk to Kotarou when Kotarou announces to the entire world with his megaphone mouth he has a date lined up with you. It will be awkward when Kotarou introduces you to everyone, but he’ll just deal with it.

When is it his turn to fall in love? Why is he always on the damn sidelines when it comes to this sort of stuff?

Maybe he can move out of the country and start playing internationally. Coach has to know somebody who knows somebody.

“WAIT! Wakato — WAKATOSHI, WAIT! HOLD UP!”

Wakatoshi slows his pace and turns to witness your desperate sprint, your legs pumping furiously to close the distance. By the time you get up to him, you’re heaving like he is at the end of a match.

“How f—” A deep inhale from you, shielding your eyes from the sun to look at him properly. “How fast can you run?! I couldn’t even keep up with you walking!” You wheeze, bending over and toward the street. “Oh my god, I’m dying. . .”

“Do you need medical attention?”

You cackle, then immediately wince, clutching at your side. “Ohhh, ow! Ow ow ow ow! Don’t— Don’t make me laugh. It hurts t—” Another deep inhale. “It hurts too much.”

Wakatoshi stands there, watching you as you try to catch your breath, when his eyes catch something glossy in your left hand. When you finally stand upright, you take a deep breath and then exhale slowly before presenting the object to him.

A cookie?

“I know you probably can’t eat it until, like, later or whatever. I can only imagine how strict your coach is about nutrition and stuff. But I want you to have this! Just to, y’know, prove I can do other stuff besides bagels.” You say.

Wakatoshi’s fingers brush yours as he hesitantly takes the cookie. It’s a fair size, roughly matching the span of his palm. The sweet scent of sugar wafts from beneath the crinkling cellophane, his gaze fixed on the pristine icing.

“I didn’t know what kind you liked, so I figured a sugar cookie was a safe bet, being plain and all. I even put a little volleyball on it, see?” You point at the cookie. “And your jersey number too!”

He silently marvels at the great attention to detail; the lines on the volleyball meticulously applied, and he’s impressed by how perfectly straight the numbers appear.

He recalls your complaint that you detested personalizing your items, citing that “working with icing is always unpredictable.” He tried to relate to you on some level, saying he had opponents who were also unpredictable. Even with all his intense research weeks beforehand, he still couldn’t predict what they would do come game day. When he had finished his spiel with “All you need to do is practice”, you had sighed heavily and nodded your head. “You’re right.” You had said. “Why are you always somehow right?”

Looks like you practiced.

But this is still a sick joke. One last parting gift before he has to see you with Kotarou all the time. The Universe is twisted.

And while he appreciates the sentiment, a cookie won’t solve anything.

He doesn’t want his jersey number on a cookie. He wants his jersey number on you. He wants to look out into the stands and see you cheering him on, smiling from ear to ear every time he adds another point to the board.

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Just then, Wakatoshi's phone buzzes incessantly in his jacket pocket. He doesn't even have to look; he knows who it is. Only one man blows up the group chat at any given time.

Wakatoshi bites the inside of his cheek as you glance down at his jacket, the fabric shifting with every buzz.

“Are you gonna get that?” You ask.

“No,” He answers after a moment, and you laugh.

Honestly, he had no intention of being funny. He's mostly worried about what he'll see if he looks. It could be Kotarou saying that he's going to go to the bakery today to see you.

It crosses his mind briefly that he could just lie to Kotarou and say that you have a boyfriend, and Kotarou would one thousand percent believe him, no questions asked. Because why would Wakatoshi lie? A fine, upstanding, trustworthy man like Wakatoshi? He would never.

But, then again, Kotarou will live this one time, right? It won’t be the end of the world if he doesn’t get what he wants. He gets shiny syndrome all the time. He'll dramatically nurse his heart and be onto someone new in two days.

But, then again, Kotarou wouldn’t hurt him intentionally, so maybe if he just explains to Kotarou that—

No, you know what? Screw it.

“Would you like to go out with me this weekend?” Wakatoshi blurts out, the cellophane loudly crinkling in his hand as he tries to put the nervous energy somewhere.

Eyes fixed on you, Wakatoshi holds his breath as you blink once, twice. And then a soft smile slowly spreads across your face.