#motivated

I should’ve known something was up the second Goshiki froze in place.

One moment, we were walking out of the gym after Shiratorizawa’s practice, laughing about Tendou being dramatic during serves again, and the next—

Some random guy stepped right into my path with a grin way too confident for someone wearing knockoff Jordans.

“Hey,” he said, giving me a once-over that made my skin crawl. “Saw you watching practice. You’re cute. You got a name?”

I blinked, caught off-guard. “Uh… yeah? I—”

Before I finished a single syllable, Goshiki stiffened beside me, shoulders tightening like someone had just asked him to carry Ushijima’s entire bench press set.

He wasn’t glaring, exactly. Just staring. Very hard. Like the guy had personally insulted volleyball.

The stranger leaned closer. “You busy tonight? I’m sure I could show you a better time than—”

“I—” I stepped back, uncomfortable. “I’m good, thanks—”

Goshiki suddenly moved. Not toward the guy — but in front of me, blocking his view completely.

“Excuse me,” Goshiki said, voice strangely low for someone who normally shouted everything like it was a battle cry. “She doesn’t need your attention.”

The guy’s eyebrows shot up. “Yo, what’s your problem?”

“My problem,” Goshiki said, puffing up like an offended pigeon, “is that you’re interrupting us.”

“Us?” the guy repeated, smirking. “That your girlfriend or something?”

Goshiki choked on AIR.

I could practically hear his brain whirring and breaking.

“I— she— we— THAT’S NOT—” He paused, coughed, then added very stiffly: “We’re… walking together. And you’re being rude.”

That certainly wasn’t a confession, but it wasn’t not one either.

The guy just rolled his eyes. “Whatever. If you change your mind, sweetheart—”

“She won't,” Goshiki snapped, cheeks blazing. “She has standards!”

The guy scoffed and walked away muttering something rude.

The moment he was out of earshot, I slowly turned to Goshiki.

“…Tsutomu?” “YES?” “Are you okay?”

His face was red. Not pink. RED. Full tomato.

He straightened up like he was reporting for military duty.

“I’m fine,” he declared. “I’m not jealous.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I never said you were.”

“I’m NOT.”

“Okay.”

He crossed his arms.

“…I’m motivated.”

I blinked. “…motivated?”

He nodded with painful seriousness.

“That guy clearly thought he had a chance. With YOU. Which means—” He smacked one fist into his palm. “—I need to get better.”

“…better at what?”

“Everything.” He took a deep breath like he was about to list his New Year’s resolutions.

“I need to jump higher. I need stronger serves. I need to be cooler, smarter, more impressive, more reliable—”

“Goshiki—”

“—and maybe get a new haircut—”

“Goshiki.”

“—and maybe train my abs more—”

“TSUTOMU.”

He snapped to attention. “Yes?!”

I stepped closer, poking his chest gently. “You don’t have to compete with some random guy. I wasn’t interested.”

He froze. “…you weren’t?”

“No. I was with you.”

His mouth fell open a little.

“And,” I added softly, “I think you’re already impressive.”

He made a sound that was definitely not human. Somewhere between a dying kettle and a startled puppy. Then he looked away, ears red.

“…I still want to train extra hard,” he mumbled, trying to recover.

I laughed. “Why?”

He swallowed, then met my eyes with surprising boldness.

“Because I like you,” he said simply. “And I want to be someone worthy of standing next to you.”

My breath caught.

“And next time,” he added, cheeks flaming, “if someone tries to hit on you again, I want you to think, ‘Why would I look at anyone else when I have Goshiki Tsutomu?’”

I blinked, stunned by the sincerity behind his dramatic declaration.

“…Tsutomu?”

“Yes?”

“I already think that.”

He malfunctioned again.

But then — slowly — he smiled.

A bright, beaming, relieved smile that made my stomach flip.

“…I’ll still keep training,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” I whispered back, slipping my hand into his. “I know.”