#goshiki

​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 !