hypotheticals
kuguri naoyasu x f!reader
naoyasu has the emotional range of a very handsome, slightly dehydrated brick, but for you, all of that is nonexistent. wc: 1.9k, request
it started during a particularly grueling practice session at nohebi academy, where the air smelled intensely of floor wax, knee pads, and daishō suguru’s ego. naoyasu was sprawled on the sidelines, looking less like a volleyball player and more like a discarded piece of linguine. his eyes, usually half-lidded and radiating a profound desire to be literally anywhere else, were fixed entirely on you. you were currently wrestling with a stubborn water cooler jug, your face scrunched up in a display of effort that naoyasu found more captivating than the invention of the wheel.
“hey,” naoyasu called out, his voice a low, melodic drone that somehow cut through the screeching of sneakers on the court. “hypothetically, if a meteor was about to obliterate the earth in exactly forty-seven seconds, and you had one phone call to make, who are you calling? and keep in mind, i have excellent reception in the locker room.”
you paused, one hand still gripping the plastic neck of the jug. “the emergency services? or maybe my mom?”
naoyasu’s expression didn’t change, but his soul visibly withered. “wrong. the answer is me. i would simply catch the meteor. hypothetically.”
daishō, passing by with a ball tucked under his arm, let out a sound that was half-scoff, half-sob. “kuguri, shut up. you can barely catch a serve right now because you’re too busy staring at the back of her head. and for the record, you would die. we would all die. please stop being weird so we can finish drills.”
but naoyasu was already gone. deep in the trenches of his own devotion, he didn’t even hear his captain. his mind was a curated gallery of every time you’d ever tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear or laughed at a joke that wasn’t even funny.
the ‘hypotheticals’ became a daily ritual, each one more unhinged and transparent than the last. they were delivered with a deadpan seriousness that made them ten times more devastating.
“hypothetically,” he started the next day, leaning against the gymnasium doors as you walked in. “if you were a ghost, haunting a very specific hallway, and i was a professional exorcist, would you let me catch you? or would you make me chase you through several dimensions? because i’ve been working on my cardio, just in case.”
you laughed, a sound that naoyasu clearly wanted to record and play on a loop as his white noise machine. “kuguri, are you asking if i’d let you trap me in a vacuum cleaner?”
“it would be a very comfortable vacuum,” he muttered, his ears turning a shade of pink that rivaled a sunset over a cherry blossom festival. “top of the line. leather seats. hypothetically.”
as the weeks bled into each other, the hypothetical scenarios began to shed their protective layers of ‘if’ and ‘maybe.’ they became increasingly specific, hovering dangerously close to the reality of his feelings. he was no longer asking about meteors or ghosts; he was asking about the architecture of your heart, disguised as nonsense.
“hypothetically,” he whispered one afternoon while you were sitting on the bleachers, helping him study for a history exam he definitely wasn’t passing because he was busy memorizing the exact shade of your eyes. “if there was a guy—totally random guy, probably taller than average, maybe plays a sport involving nets—who thought about you every time he saw a cloud that looked vaguely like a heart... or a volleyball... or a toaster... would you think he was a freak? or would you, i don’t know, maybe want to get ramen with him?”
you looked up from your textbook, catching the raw, terrifying sincerity hidden behind his sleepy gaze. “i think,” you said softly, watching the way his breath hitched, “that if this very specific, tall, athletic guy asked me for ramen, i’d tell him he doesn’t need to use the word ‘hypothetically’ anymore.”
the silence that followed was heavy with the weight of a thousand unsaid confessions. across the gym, daishō dropped a ball. numajiri froze mid-jump. the entire nohebi team seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see if their stoic middle blocker would finally achieve sentience or simply combust.
naoyasu didn’t combust. instead, he leaned in, his shadow falling over you like a warm blanket. the “cool” facade he usually wore was cracked, revealing a frantic, shimmering adoration that was almost embarrassing to witness. he looked at you like you were the person who invented oxygen.
“okay,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its playful edge. “no more hypotheticals. i’m actually, physically, in real-time, asking you to go to dinner with me. and not just once. i want to take you out until you’re sick of me, and then i want to take you out some more. i want to be the reason you look at your phone and smile like a dork in the middle of a crowded room.”
he reached out, his fingers grazing the back of your hand with a reverence usually reserved for ancient artifacts. his touch was tentative, as if he expected you to vanish into a cloud of glitter if he pressed too hard.
“i’ve spent three months coming up with scenarios where i get to be near you,” he confessed, his thumb tracing small, dizzying circles on your skin. “and honestly? every single one of them sucked compared to just sitting here right now. i don’t want to haunt a hallway or catch a meteor. i just want to hold your bag and buy you snacks and listen to you talk about your day until the sun goes down and comes back up again.”
you felt a surge of warmth bloom in your chest, a dizzying, head-over-heels sensation that made your toes curl inside your shoes. “kuguri, you’re being really loud for someone who usually doesn’t say more than ten words a day.”
“i have a lot of lost time to make up for,” he countered, a small, genuine smirk finally tugging at the corners of his mouth. “and i’ve realized that being ‘cool’ is vastly overrated when i could be being ‘yours’ instead. that’s a much better job title. higher benefits. better view.”
he wasn’t ‘down bad’; he was at the bottom of a deep, dark well of his own making, and he had no intention of climbing out. he looked at you with such intense, concentrated focus that for a moment, the rest of the world—the squeaking floors, the shouting teammates, the looming exams—simply ceased to exist. there was only the steady thrum of his heartbeat and the way his hand felt, large and protective, over yours.
“so?” he pressed, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability that made your breath catch. “is that a yes to the ramen? or do i need to go back to the drawing board and come up with a scenario involving us being the last two people on a desert island? because i have a forty-page outline for that one, and it involves me building you a palace out of palm fronds.”
you laughed, leaning forward until your forehead rested against his. “ramen sounds perfect, kuguri. no palm fronds required.”
he let out a long, shaky exhale, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. for the first time in his life, naoyasu looked genuinely, hopelessly happy. it was a look that transformed his face, smoothing out the edges of his perpetual boredom and replacing it with a radiant, doting glow.
“thank god,” he breathed, his fingers finally interlocking with yours, squeezing tight. “because i really didn’t know how i was going to explain the palm frond palace to the zoning board.”
from the other side of the court, daishō let out a dramatic, theatrical groan of relief. “finally! he did it! now maybe we can actually practice without him wandering into the net because he’s daydreaming about marriage! get a room, you two, or at least get out of my sight so i can stop feeling like a third wheel at a funeral for his bachelorhood!”
naoyasu didn’t even flip him off. he was too busy looking at you, his eyes filled with a devotion so thick it was practically tangible. he leaned in, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from yours, the scent of his laundry detergent and clean sweat wrapping around you like a hug.
“hypothetically,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “if i kissed you right now in front of everyone, would you be embarrassed? or would you want me to do it again?”
you didn’t give him the chance to finish the thought. you closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft, sweet, and tasted faintly of mint and pure, unadulterated relief. it was the kind of kiss that felt like coming home, like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.
when you pulled back, naoyasu looked slightly dazed, his pupils blown wide and a goofy, lopsided grin plastered across his face. he looked like he’d just won the national championship and a lifetime supply of his favorite food all at once.
“definitely doing that again,” he murmured, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. “forget the ramen. i think i’m just going to stay here and stare at you for the next three to five business days.”
he tucked his chin over your shoulder, hiding his burning face in the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping around your waist with a possessive, gentle strength. you could feel the steady, rapid thud of his heart against your own, a rhythmic reminder that this wasn’t a hypothetical anymore. it was real, it was messy, and it was yours.
as the team eventually gave up on practice and started packing away the equipment, naoyasu didn’t budge. he stayed anchored to you, a silent, devoted sentinel who had finally found exactly where he was supposed to be. he didn’t care about the teasing or the rolling eyes of his friends. he had you, and as far as he was concerned, that was the only reality that mattered.
he leaned back just enough to look you in the eye again, his expression softening into something so tender it made your heart ache. “hey,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble of affection. “i’m really glad you’re not a ghost. the vacuum thing would have been a lot of work.”
you laughed, squeezing his hand. “i’m glad too, kuguri. now let’s go get that ramen before daishō actually has a heart attack.”
he nodded, standing up and pulling you with him, never once letting go of your hand. as you walked out of the gym together, the evening sun casting long, golden shadows across the pavement, naoyasu looked over at you, his thumb still tracing patterns on your palm.
“one last one,” he said, his eyes twinkling with a newfound mischief. “hypothetically, if i told you i loved you right now, would it be too soon? or would you say it back and make me the luckiest guy in the zip code?”
you smiled, pulling him closer as you walked toward the horizon. “i think i’d say it back, kuguri. nothing ‘hypothetical’ about it.”
his grin widened, bright enough to rival the streetlights flickering to life around you. he didn’t need any more questions; he finally had all the answers he ever wanted.
n: naoyasu is soooo growing on me after i kept rereading his wiki.
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© 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 !
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