#aone fluff

with a strange pressure in the air, it’s like the universe knows something loud is coming and is politely stepping aside.

you drop your bag first. then your shoes. then your dignity.

aone is already there.

he’s sitting at the small kitchen table like a gargoyle carved out of discipline and protein powder, back straight, hands folded, eyes calm. he looks like he’s guarding a national treasure instead of waiting for you to finish unlocking the door.

you don’t even greet him.

you inhale.

“okay so first of all—”

his head tilts exactly two degrees. engaged.

“—why does that guy from my stats class think it’s okay to chew like he’s auditioning to be a sound effect for a swamp monster? like, i swear he waits until the room is silent and then unleashes it. it’s personal. it has to be.”

aone nods once. solemn. respectful. as if you’ve just disclosed a war crime.

you pace. your hands are doing most of the talking now. your voice keeps climbing like it’s trying to escape your body.

“and then my professor assigns a group project. a group project. in a class where nobody talks. so now i’m paired with chewlord and a girl who types like she’s mad at the keyboard. and guess who ended up being the group leader without consenting to this role?”

aone’s eyes soften. his jaw tightens. a pen appears in his hand. you don’t remember him picking it up.

“also,” you continue, spinning dramatically, “someone took my seat. my seat. i’ve sat there since week one. i don’t care that seats aren’t assigned, that seat is emotionally bonded to me.”

another nod. slower this time. he hums, low in his chest, like a piece of heavy machinery acknowledging input.

you’re on a roll now.

“and then i get coffee, right? except it’s wrong. wrong milk, wrong syrup, wrong vibe. it tasted like disappointment with a foam top. i paid a thousand yen for emotional damage.”

aone blinks. once. twice.

you keep going. ten minutes pass. maybe fifteen. time is a concept for other people. your voice rises and falls, your grievances stack on top of each other like a poorly constructed jenga tower of irritation.

through it all, aone takanobu does not move.

he watches you like you’re the most compelling documentary he’s ever seen.

when you finally stop, breathless, leaning against the counter with one sock half off, you feel lighter. wrung out. like you’ve screamed into the void and the void nodded back.

silence settles.

then—

“the guy,” aone says slowly, carefully, as if each word needs permission to exist, “chews with his mouth open?”

you stare.

“…yes.”

he frowns. just a little. it’s devastating.

“does he sit two rows ahead. left side.”

“…yeah.”

aone’s grip on the pen tightens. imperceptibly. but you see it.

“and he laughs before speaking. like he’s pleased with himself.”

your mouth opens.

“…yeah.”

he nods again. writes something down. you do not know where the paper came from. or why this feels like a court transcript.

“your seat,” he continues, eyes lifting back to you, “third row. aisle. near the window. you like the draft.”

“…i do.”

“you tap your foot when you’re annoyed,” he adds. “you did it when you talked about the coffee.”

you look down. your foot is tapping.

he clears his throat.

“you didn’t eat lunch.”

that one hits.

“…how do you know that.”

aone’s ears turn pink.

“you rant faster when you’re hungry.”

you laugh. it slips out of you before you can stop it, soft and a little broken, like you weren’t expecting to be known this thoroughly.

“you’re insane,” you say fondly, not meaning it as an insult, more like an observation of the sky being blue.

it’s immediate. like a building deciding to relocate. he moves closer, steps careful, gaze never leaving you, like if he looks away you might evaporate.

“i listen,” he says simply.

then, quieter, “i want to listen.”

he reaches out, hesitates, then gently takes your wrist, thumb brushing the pulse there like he’s checking if you’re real. like he needs confirmation.

“did the girl with the loud typing upset you more than the seat situation.”

you snort.

“no, the seat thing was worse. that was personal.”

he nods. satisfied.

“i’ll make you dinner,” he says. not a question. a promise carved into stone.

“you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupts, voice firm but soft around the edges when it comes to you. “you didn’t eat. you’re tired. you were polite to people who didn’t deserve it.”

you watch him move around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, like a man built for battle choosing instead to wage war on a cutting board. he glances at you every few seconds. always checking. always making sure you’re still there.

it’s… a lot.

but it’s warm.

when he hands you a plate, he waits. doesn’t sit. just stands there like a knight awaiting approval.

you take a bite.

“…this is really good.”

his shoulders relax like you just told him the world is safe.

you eat. he watches. he always watches. not in a way that feels heavy—more like reverent. like you’re doing something holy by existing.

“you can sit,” you tell him.

he does. immediately. close enough that your knees touch.

silence stretches. comfortable. thick with things unsaid.

then aone speaks again.

“the coffee you told me about,” he says. “you like it?”

you blink.

“…yeah.”

“tomorrow,” he continues, eyes steady, “i’ll make it for you. before class.”

your chest does something weird. like it’s trying to fold in on itself.

“you don’t have to wake up early—”

“I will,” he says. no hesitation. “i want you to start the day correctly.”

there it is. that edge. that devotion that borders on alarming if you think too hard about it.

you smile anyway.

“you’re… really something.”

his lips twitch. almost a smile.

“you’re everything,” he says, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world. like gravity. like math. like breathing.

you choke on absolutely nothing.

he leans closer, forehead resting against yours, voice dropping to something only meant for you.

“when you talk,” he murmurs, “i remember it. all of it. because if something bothers you, it matters. if someone upsets you, i notice. i don’t like it when people make your day worse.”

there’s a flash of something dark there. protective. sharp.

then it softens.

“i like being the place you put it all down.”

your hands curl into his shirt.

“yeah?” you whisper.

he nods.

“always.”

and when you start complaining again—about tomorrow, about life, about the world being mildly annoying—he listens like it’s sacred. like it’s his purpose.

and honestly?

it might be.

n: oh to have someone like aone

takanobu’s taglist

@lsirria @the-bloopsters @highandalive @n-o-b-o-d-y123 @averys-place @anzuuhoshi @evilari111 @nivabiva @whimsybloom @katzline @forgottensniper @fiannee @eri0-0 @immortalblazethief @pelicanpizza @keiob @mptality @qardasngan @crystal-lilac @methiart @suha-reads @mitzukita @poeticsorcery @windsblow @starzlytoetsie @bigdaddyyaoii @lov3shin @thinc0ck @lilith-dear @little-miss-existencialcrisis @insomniakeepsmeawake @slu77ym4nw415ts @lily-cheese-xoxo @iits-yueehuaa

© 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 !

★ aone finds it really cute tbh. he'll always bend down for you wordlessly, knowing the drill. but you like to catch him off guard sometimes to be cute, hopping up to barely get a peck on his cheek. he blushes like crazy, which you think is the cutest.

★ tsukishima is an ass. this man will stay standing tall, even tilting his head up and looking down at you, with a tiny smirk on his face. he enjoys seeing the struggle. when you get annoyed and angrily pout though, he bends down for you, muttering a small "cute" under his breath.

★ ushijima smiles whenever you do it, telling you sweetly "there's no need for that, sweetheart," placing his hands on your waist and holding you still so he can bend down and kiss your cheek. sometimes he'll just pick you up so you can kiss his cheek though, like it's nothing.

-

He walks down the same street as you and neither his white hair nor his height help him blend in with the masses.

Suddenly, he stops.

You don’t mean to catch up to him, but you do, stopping just a few steps behind him without meaning to.

You can hear a little kid crying and it’s hard to make out in the hustle of morning commute but you think it might have dropped its plushy into the thick shrubbery this coffee shop calls decoration. 

“Here,” you hear a deep voice say, can’t help but watch as the man pulls the plush out with ease - not at all caring about the branches scratching up his arm - and dusts it off gently, “Everything’s fine.”

He turns to hand the plush - an awkward mix of glitter and snail - back to the child. One look at his face and the crying gets even louder. Oh. Oh no.

“Now, now,” you step in, your voice sweet despite your annoyance. You hate crying kids. “No need to cry. This nice man just saved your little snail. What’s their name, huh?”

The kid, who from this angle looks clearly like a little girl, wipes their nose on their sleeve and blinks up at you. “Gary.”

“Gary, huh?” You cringe inwardly at the name. “How sweet. See, Gary is fine. Our dear friend here saved him.” You turn to take the snail plush from the man, his face close to yours from how he’s bent forward. 

His face might be intense, but his eyes are different from this close. His hands are warm, the skin rough against yours as he hands you the plush. Warmth pools in your stomach and you have to swallow thickly as you turn back around, hand over the plush, and sigh out in relief when the child’s caretaker finally realizes what’s going on. 

“Thank you,” the man says behind you, his voice so deep you feel it vibrating in your bones.

“Anytime.”

“My name…” You turn back, too aware of yourself and him, the space between you and the space around you and- “is Aone.”

“Hi,” you swallow again. He bows. His hair looks soft, like fluffy clouds on a summer day. 

When he comes back up you can see a clear question in his eyes and you find yourself telling him your name without meaning to.

“I need to get to work,” he points out and you straighten. 

“Right, yes, me too.”

To make it even more awkward you keep walking in the same direction for five more minutes only to realize that your office is right across from the construction company he walks into.

-

Every single morning when you step onto the train he’s standing in the middle of the train compartment, leaving the seats for others to take.

Every single morning you take the handle closest to his - without being too close - and try to stare out the window.

It’s nice, not talking. 

You’re not shy, per se, you’ve just always preferred silence.

If only you could keep your eyes on something else things would be perfectly fine.

But you can’t.

It starts with his hair, perfectly dishevelled and different every time you see him.

Today he’s got the faintest hint of a cowlick on his left side. Your hand has reached out before you’ve realized, tucking the rebelling strand behind his ear.

He smiles, just a minute twitch of his lips, but it leaves your knees a little wobbly.

His arms are nice too, thick with muscle, tensing ever so slightly when the train’s coming to a stop and you’re both rattled where you’re standing.

But you like his eyes the best, how expressive they can be even when scowling.

“You good?” You ask quietly when he twitches, looking off to the side for a second. 

He nods, but it doesn’t look convincing. 

“You sure?” 

“Headache,” he explains, stepping to the side when someone walks past. 

The guy, barely older than you, ill-fitting business suit and messy workfolder telling you more than enough, still manages to tumble into Aone.

“Can’t you watch where you’re going,” he asks, tone sharp. Aone’s face twitches again, and a part of your brain tells you that the lound voice probably isn’t helping his headache, but you’ve already started talking.

“Tell that yourself, you mole.”

“Hah?!” He turns to you, clearly surprised someone’s talking back at you.

“Yeah, I was talking to you, you asshat. We’ve been standing here, minding our business for half an hour. It’s not our problem you went out drinking last night and only realized this morning that your presentation isn’t ready yet.”

He pales, stutters something unintelligible and presses his work folder against his chest, almost tripping over his feet when the doors open and he’s pushed toward the exit.

“Sorry,” you turn back to Aone who’s looking at you with a question in his eyes. “I hate guys like this.”

“You can be very mean,” he points out, but he doesn’t sound scandalized. It’s more like a fact.

“Yeah,” you agree, not willing to apologize for it, “I know my face doesn’t fit my tone but that’s not my fault, is it?”

“No.” He smiles again but it’s gone in a heartbeat when a rather sharp stop rattles the two of you again. He’s clearly in pain.

“Do you want to sit?” You ask, pointing your chin at a single free seat at the window. “I know a trick. I’d have to touch the back of your neck though.”

Aone hesitates for a second before he nods. “Alright.”

You follow him to the seat, let him sit down before you step directly in front of him. It’s a little less crowded over here, the older gentleman on his left and the teenage girl on his right absorbed in their phones. 

“Can you hold me?” You ask, voice low. “I’ll use both hands to press into your pressure points so I can’t hold onto the handrails.”

His hands, warm and large and strong, take a hold of your hips and you swallow thickly.

“Lean your head forward. You can rest it against my belly, I don’t mind.”

It’s like that, his temple pressed into your belly, your fingertips digging into the warm, soft skin on his neck, wisps of his hair caressing your skin, that you realize a thing you should have noticed weeks ago: You want him.

You could have stayed like this forever, held up in place by his strong arms while giving back the only thing you can give at the moment. 

But your stop arrives sooner than you want it to and even though you take your time smoothing your hand over his head, a gesture too loving for the short time you know each other, you have to take a step back.

-

There’s something in his eyes that you cannot translate and not enough time to keep looking.

You have to get to work and he has to get to his.

Your stomach is filled with a fizzy warmth and you wonder if it’d be too forward to take his hand.

Aone stops you right where your ways part, one hand on your shoulder.

You can tell that he’s working on the words, mouth not yet moving the way he wants it.

“Aone,” you say, swallowing the nerves, leaving the words on your tongue. “Go out with me? Please?”

His lips twitch into a smile, the biggest you’ve seen on him so far. He nods and moves as if to bow only to press his temple against yours. 

It’s oddly endearing.

Oh…

-

“Visitor!” Someone yells when you open the door to the Gym. 

You’re wearing a pair of kitten heels that you love, the clasp the most annoying thing and you’re not willing to bend down and open them just to walk barefoot on the dirty gym floor, so you stay where you are, in the open door.

Takanobu’s at the other end of the wide space, listening to a guy. From here it’s hard to tell but the way he’s leaning in you’d say he’s agreeing with him.

“Are you looking for someone?” A guy you don’t know comes over. “We usually don’t have visitors as pretty as you.”

“I’d call that a skill issue,” you tell him plainly, “I’m just waiting for Takanobu. But I’m a little early, so all’s good.”

“Aone?” He blinks in rapid succession. “Why?”

You give him your best unimpressed stare. It doesn’t succeed. Damn your sweet features.

“Aone?” Someone asks from the other side of the Gym. You look over to see him jogging toward you.

You can’t help but start smiling, lips pulling upward despite the long day pulling on your limbs.

“Hey,” he doesn’t pull you in, knowing well how much you hate being hugged when he’s all sweaty. But he presses his temple against yours in the sweetest - and sweatiest - greeting. His nose taps against yours too and you can almost read the “Boop” in his eyes.

“I’m going to be ready in a minute,” he promises, “Do you wanna sit down?”

“I don’t want to take off my shoes,” you explain, “It’s no big deal.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but another voice cuts him off.

“Aone? Who’s that?”

Takanobu turns, mouth working with no words coming out yet again. You haven’t been dating for long and you wonder if this is the first time he gets to introduce you as his girlfriend. 

You give him a second to gather himself but when still no words come out, you realize he’s fighting a losing battle, overthinking instead of speaking.

“You must be new,” you address the guy instead, “I’m his girlfriend.”

“Girl-” his jaw is open, “Friend?”

“Yes, yes, I know you’re unfamiliar with that term, but they exist, don’t worry. Now, if you’d be so nice and get going? We were having a moment here.”

Takanobu touches your shoulder slightly, just a soft touch of his fingertips but you can already feel yourself relax under it, tension slipping off like a too big coat.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat, “I didn’t mean it like that. Long day.”

“Ah,” he chuckles nervously, “I get that. Umm, I’ll get going then. See you around, I guess?”

-

“Cat’s don’t like me,” you explain when Takanobu holds up the tabby he just lured down from the tree. “I’d rather not come closer. I don’t like getting scratched.”

The kitten doesn’t even look that mean, at least from this far away. 

She enjoys the strength of his arms just as much as you do, rubbing her small head against his chin in a way that’s making you jealous… of the cat.

Takanobu holds out his hand, luring you in just like he’d done with the cat minutes before.

You sigh, stepping a little closer. You don’t want to spook the kitten.

His hand takes yours as soon as you’re close enough, bringing it up - to press a kiss against your knuckles.

Heat floods your face, warmth spreading through your body. He smiles that tiny smile you’d almost miss if you didn’t look right and leads your fingertips to gently pat the kittens head. She purrs into the touch.

You’re still warm and tingly all over by the time the kitten finally decides it’s time to head home - you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t have dropped her on his own any time soon - and your hand is warm and safe in his hold as you walk on, enjoying the silence together.

“Do you have cats?” You ask when the restaurant - you picked tonight’s spot - is coming into view.

He shakes his head.

“Do you want cats?”

He nods.

“Dogs too?” His hand twitches around yours and you smile.

“I draw the line at three pets, okay? And we need at least one that likes me too - and I mean, without you meddling.”

Takanobu stops on the middle of the sidewalk, eyes full of a question you don’t need translating. 

He closes his eyes when you bring your other hand to his cheek, curls into the touch just like the kitten had. You love him. You love him. You love him.

The truth hammers around your head with the beat of your heart. 

All you need to do is tell him.

And you’re not even scared. 

But words have never been your language, you think, and get on your tiptoes to reach his lips.

And it’s no surprise, no great revelation. Kissing Takanobu is like loving Takanobu, like knowing him and touching him and longing for him. 

It’s warm and strong and safe… and quiet.

But you’ve always liked Silence more.

-

“You’re late,” a voice calls out when you step into the Izakaya, Takanobu’s hand on your shoulder as he walks in right behind you.

“No, you’re just early,” you point out, “Didn’t know you were so eager to meet me.”

“Not you, just Aone,” the guy sticks his tongue out at you and you turn slightly.

“Futakuchi?” You ask and Takanobu nods.

“No fighting,” someone with fluffy black hair calls out from the other side. “Moniwa,” Takanobu explains before you can ask. 

Moniwa seems to realize just a second later, almost throwing his glass off the counter.

“Hey! You made it.”

You immediately tense when he widens his arms as if to hug you. Takanobu steps in front of you, arms outstretched like a traffic policeman. You can’t help but laugh.

“It’s okay,” you tell your boyfriend, taking his hand, “Introduce us, huh?”

So he does, using as little words as possible.

“How did that happen?” Futakuchi leans into your space, just far enough away not to touch you. You appreciate it. “Did he scare you into dating him?”

Takanobu bristles slightly and you squeeze his hand.

“Actually it was the other way around.”

“She bites,” Takanobu jokes. You snort but it takes his old team about half a minute to realize that their friend just used humor for the first time.

“Whatever floats your boat,” Futakuchi drawls and you nod, sending him a sweet smile.

“Don’t worry, even the Titanic had some people on board. There’s still hope for you.”

His face falls when he realizes what you meant. 

-

It’s pretty late when you step back into the cool air again, the alcohol coursing through your system keeping you warm. 

Takanobu’s steps have gotten slower, the alcohol clearly even affecting him. The week must have started catching up with him too and you squeeze his hand a little tighter in yours, telling him without words that you know and you understand.

“Want to take an Uber?” You ask, “I think we could splurge a little today.”

He hesitates for a second before he nods. You pull your phone out, quick to navigate through the app.

“Five minutes,” you tell him, directing him to a small bench, “Let’s sit down until then.”

“What did you think?” Takanobu asks, leaning into you. “Of your friends? They’re nice. They don’t ask too many questions, I like that.”

“Futakuchi does.”

“Yeah, but it’s okay when he does it,” you think out loud, “He’s one of this annoying-charming people. He’d loose all his charm if he stopped being annoying.”

“I’ll tell him you said that,” He takes your hand, presses his lips against one knuckle after the other, “Or you can tell him yourself.”

“You know,” you say after a moment of Silence, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, fingertips following the curve of it down to his neck, caressing the slight stubble that’s forming on his chin. “When we get home I’ll tuck you in.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. I could spoon you too, you know. Be the big spoon this time.”

“The big spoon?” His eyes are closed now, a private little smile on his lips. 

“Well, how else am I going to be able to press hundred kisses onto these strong shoulders?” You ask, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I love you,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a little shy. 

His eyes don’t open, his smile doesn’t move but his hand squeezes yours, one, two, three times.

He’s never needed much words to tell you what he wants to say.

"You scared me!" You breathed, laughing a bit. It was almost comical how someone as huge and imposing as Aone could somehow make himself so invisible. But considering how quiet he was, it wasn't surprising to you.

Aone didn't react to your words, but his stare was intense on your face, eyeing you closely before he reached a finger out to poke at the skin under your eyes. Oh.

You felt your face heat a little at his touch, but you gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Aone. Just a little tired."

It seemed like he didn't believe you, the scowl between his eyebrows only deepening. You fidgeted a bit.

From your very first day managing Date Tech's volleyball club, you had had a soft spot for Aone Takanobu. He was, by all means, a scary looking dude. Taller than any boy you knew, and built like a brick wall. Despite his massive size, he was agile too, a very scary combination. Silver hair, a deep scowl that always seemed to twist his face (you later realized that he wasn't scowling, it was just the lack of eyebrows that made it appear so). It was no wonder people tiptoed around him.

But two years on the same team, spending every day together, meant that you knew Aone in ways that his audience did not. His personality was anything but scary. He was as docile as they came, and slowly but surely, you felt yourself drawn to his quiet disposition. In the storm that came with Futakuchi constantly butting heads with your third years, Aone was the silent bubble you found comfort in. He knew you inside out, and he was perceptive. Like right now, pointing out the dark circles under your eyes with an uncharacteristically gentle touch.

No wonder you had an embarrassing crush on him.

He kept an intense stare on you, his way of insisting there was something wrong. You shook your head again, sighing. You knew he wouldn't let this go. So you let yourself vent, letting out every dark and uncertain emotion inside you.

You ranted about everything that was plaguing your mind, body turned towards Aone but curled into yourself. You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them to curl into yourself as you spoke, looking up at the boy next to you every now and then.

Aone did not interrupt. He never interrupted. He let you go on and on about how you didn't think Futakuchi was mature enough to lead a team, or how Koganegawa was nowhere near ready to stand on a court. All your doubts were spilled out into the air surrounding you, welcomed by Aone as he sat and listened to everything you had to say. His eyes did not leave you once, but he didn’t react in any other way.

"Sometimes I think you are the only thing holding the Iron Wall together." You gave him a little smile. "And I don't know how you do it."

When you finally finished, silence stretched between the two of you, as if everything around you was absorbing your words. You watched Aone, waiting for him to lean towards you and nod encouragingly, like he did whenever you had one of these ranting sessions.

"I do it because of you."

Your eyes widened, not expecting that he would speak. You knew Aone, and you knew he wasn’t a talker. He loathed having to voice anything because he felt like he didn’t have anything to say which wasn’t already understood. His voice was hoarse and deep, making your breath catch.

"Do what?" You asked, not understanding his words.

"You said I hold the Iron Wall together." He continued, and you basked in the sound of his voice. It was so rare for him to say anything. You wanted to savor it while it lasted.

"I do it because of you. I see how hard you work for this team. And it makes me work hard too. For you."

Your heart was beating a mile a minute, trying to catch up to his words and process them. You felt like your entire face was on fire, your breath stuttering. Aone did not look at you, instead staring at the ground before him. Your eyes caught his porcelain pale skin, eyeing how the back of his neck flushed red. The sight made you giddy.

"Aone…." You breathed, feeling truly speechless. Which wasn't like you at all. Between the two of you, you talked and Aone listened. For the first time, the roles were reversed.

Aone shifted a bit, still not looking at you. "Don't worry too much. You will figure it out like you always do. And I'll be here for you."

His sentences were simple. Yet to you, it felt like he was waxing poetic. You couldn't help your wide smile, shuffling closer to Aone and placing your head on his shoulder. You felt infinitely lighter, like all of what you were worried about didn’t matter at all when Aone was right there with you.

"Thank you." You whispered.

You felt Aone nudge at you gently, his way of saying 'you're welcome'. You let yourself bask in his touch, cheek pressed to his bicep, feeling how your heart pounded in your chest.

Multiple steps sounded on the ground, and then a sharp voice broke through the silence.

"You lovebirds done? Come on, let's get pork buns and then head home. I'm hungry!"

You sighed and rolled your eyes, pulling away from Aone to glare at Futakuchi, who was standing a few feet away while the team lingered behind him. They had all changed out of their sweaty practice clothes, bags slung over their shoulders and ready to leave. You saw Koganegawa peek at you from behind him, his mouth open comically wide.

"Eh? I didn't know our manager and Aone-san were dating!"

Before you could protest, Aone was lumbering onto his feet and grabbing your hand, pulling you up with him. His giant hand enveloped yours completely (you were giddy as you observed this fact), and he didn't let go as he walked past Futakuchi, who had an annoyingly smug grin on his face. You knew you wouldn't hear the end of this.

"Yeah, stay away from her, Kogane!" He called, being obnoxiously loud on purpose. He was definitely trying to goad you two, as was his nature. "You don't wanna know how pissy Aone gets when other guys flirt with her."

Your eyes widened, looking up at the boy in question. Aone pointedly looked away from you, but his grip on your hand tightened, and you could see the same blush creep up his neck and to his ears.

You grinned all the way to the convenience store, and then all the way home too, basking in the new information Futakuchi had spilled, as well as the tight grip Aone had on your hand.

He didn't let go even once.

Aone stepped outside and looked down. His apartment was on the fifth floor and even though he had heard that cats always landed on their feet, he didn’t want to think about Nyan falling from this height.

He heard a soft mewing and turned, hoping to see her hide between the plants he could barely keep alive. Nothing.

His eyes moved over the balcony next to him. There was a cute little pink chair with a matching table and a few flower pots with healthy-looking plants. That was no surprise.

Aone had met his next-door neighbor the day he moved in.

You’d been so sweet, knocking on his door with a plate full of cookies and a friendly smile and he’d been so flustered by your sight and the little dusting of flour on your cheeks that he couldn’t bring his lips to move. He’d gripped the doorframe so hard you had noticed and excused yourself, “not wanting to keep him up if he was tired from moving”.

Aone hadn’t been tired. Just awkward, like always.

After that, he’d only been able to nod at you in passing, his tongue in a knot the moment he thought he’d seen the swish of your hair or caught a whiff of your flowery perfume. 

In a way, you reminded him of Hinata.

Beaming like the sun whenever you meet someone, and never tiring of treating everyone and everything with kindness.

If only you’d been as daring as Hinata when it came to talking to him. 

Aone had always done better with friends who were more forward than he was.

-

Another sound pulls him from his thoughts and he takes a step forward, realizing that the door leading to your balcony is open. Nyan has likely taken that route.

This is bad. This is very bad.

Sure, it’s not worse than Nyan falling off the balcony, but what if you’re allergic to cats? What if Nyan scared you? A fear of cats is a real thing, he’s read about it once in school.

What if you thought he couldn’t take care of a cat?

Aone hasn’t exactly proven himself worthy of having Nyan today, so he can’t blame you for that.

With shaking knees and a knot in his tongue, he stalks through his apartment and out the door, knocking on yours with a bit too much force.

“Coming!” He hears from inside, giving him just barely enough time to steel himself before the door opens.

“Oh, Aone-kun! Hi!” You smile, and he manages a grunt, trying to untangle his tongue.

“Cat.” He finally gets out.

“Oh, is it yours?” You blink innocently. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Last week.” Aone presses through his teeth. “Found her on the street.”

“Oh really? How sad!” You clutch a hand to your chest, the movement pulling down your sleeve. His eyes flit to the colors adorning your arm. Is it a bruise? No, he realizes, it’s a tattoo.

“This was my first.” You explain and pull your sleeve up further to reveal it. “I really like Octopuses.” 

He blinks, not daring to stretch out his arm and touch your arm.

Somehow, just in that little moment, his impression of you has shifted. 

You’re not some unreachable goddess, but real, like him.

It’s that thought that unravels the knot in his tongue.

“Her name’s Nyan.” Aone says, eyes still locked on your arm. “Because she mews a lot. She talks a lot.”

You laugh. “I noticed. Do you like that?”

“Yes.” He admits eyes on the floor now. “I like to listen.”

“Come in.” You open the door wider. “I don’t mind Nyan coming over for a visit, but I’m sure you’re already missing her.”

Aone nods, unable to form words yet again when he realizes he’s in your apartment.

His eyes dart around, to the plates in the open cupboard you once used to bring him cookies, to the plants on the shelves that seem to wink at him, and the cardigan over the chair that he’s seen you wear at least twice this month.

“It looks like you.” He says because he’s been taught to compliment when shown an apartment.

You laugh, the silver twinkle of it running down his back.

From somewhere behind you, Nyan mews loudly and you gesture for him to follow you.

“She got into my bedroom, don’t mind the mess…” 

Aone follows you through the doorway, heat rising to his cheeks when he sees your unmade bed, your pajama a heap on the middle of the mattress.

It feels indecent to stand so close to you in such a private place and he doesn’t want to know how red his face is right now, his eyes darting around in the search for Nyan.

He finds her, to his horror, in a little woven basket next to your nightstand. The basket must have been filled with yarn before, balls of wool in different colors covering the floor around it now.

“Nyan.” His voice is low but stern and he gingerly takes the few steps necessary to come to her side.

His cat, troublemaker that he now knows her to be, stops in her madness and looks up at him like she’s never done anything wrong in her life.

He picks her up as carefully as he can, strands of wool still hanging from her claws. As he holds her up to his chest, the strands of wool hang around her almost like tentacles and before he can stop himself, he presents his cat to you with one single, stupid word: “Octopus?”

For a second, you stare at him wordlessly. Then, you press a hand against your mouth, but your laugh splutters out like water from a pressure washer.

You’re belly laughing now and he can’t look at you, knows his face is as red as Nekoma’s Volleyball Jerseys. He picks the wool from Nyan’s claws, the cat curling into a purring ball in his left arm. Aone drops to his knees, collects the wool on the floor with one hand and puts it into the basket while you’re still laughing, although it’s growing into more of a giggle now.

“Aone-kun…” 

He doesn’t look back at you until he’s sure all the wool is back in the basket and he’s standing again.

Your eyes are still gleaming with amusement and even knowing that it’s at his expense, it just makes you more beautiful.

“I am very sorry.” He presses through his teeth. “It will not happen again.”

“That’s a shame.” 

He freezes, your words rolling through his brain like bowling bones in search for cones to hit.

“Your cat is very sweet. Just like her owner.” You step forward and scratch Nyan behind her left ear, your hand dangerously close to his thundering heart.

“I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stay a bit longer. With Nyan or without her. I could order dinner.” You add on, your voice growing more timid at the end.

He’s doing it again. Staring at you until you’re ready to flee, unable to open his mouth.

Nyan’s sharp claws dig into his arm, pulling him out of his head just long enough to speak.

“I eat a lot.” Aone says and wants to slap a hand to his forehead. What?

You smile. “That’s good. I like ordering a lot.”

Nyan mews loudly, calling for attention and Aone feels like his cat has decided for him.

-

Months later:

Somewhere in the distance, Nyan mews loudly, calling for her breakfast.

Aone’s head is buried in your hair, arms wrapped around you. It’s Sunday, the one day he gets to sleep in.

“Nyan’s hungry.” You mumble, sleep slurring your words.

“Can wait.” He mutters against your skin, drawing you a little closer.

He’s falling asleep again when the bed dips behind him. He’s got not even a second to prepare himself before the full weight of Nyan, the most spoiled cat in the world, lands on his back.

Nyan mews loudly and once more when Aone pulls back from you, knowing he’ll get no rest before the bowl is filled.

When he slips back into bed five minutes later, you’re already dead asleep again, not even noticing that he pulls you back into his arms.

you look at aone's shortened self, and your laughter bubbles out of you. his cheeks go warm with colour at the sound— though he's unaware of the reason for laughter.

“you're so cute,” your hands cup each side of his cheeks and you press your lips against his forehead— a forehead free from its seemingly permanent creases. when you pull away, it's with a smile so sweet it's practically sugar.

“good luck, 'nobu.”

aone swears he can hear the hearts that come with your sentence. he stands normally again, and only then does he notice the eyes his teammates have on him. the blush deepens, but he doesn't let it affect him when he gives you a little smile.

“thank you, darling.”

✧ — thank you for reading !! rbs and feedback are greatly appreciated <3