#niceutossu

‘There are too many damn reasons.’ Is Atsumu’s first thought, and the same one he swallows down as he forces himself to mirror Hinata’s earlier thoughtfulness.

“He’s so nice now,” Atsumu says, scowling. He thinks back to all the times he and Osamu used to go at it over the smallest things.

Hinata laughs, clearly amused. “Yeah, but he’s always been the nicer twin.”

“Yeah well, not like this,” Atsumu grumbles, thinking back to your first day at the restaurant.

When he met you, Osamu’s first ever employee, there wasn’t any of the weird tension between you and his brother that he could feel now. He was just your boss and you were just his employee, both professional and still a little awkward around each other.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em.” Atsumu had joked, your looks having been one of the first things he noticed.

“Shut it.” Osamu grumbled, clearly overwhelmed having to train someone new when he’d barely figured out what he was doing himself.

Atsumu had found it endlessly amusing watching his brother struggle to share his personal space. He needed the help, desperately, but it also meant letting someone else into his kitchen and by association, life.

For your first day, you did incredible. Seriously, if Atsumu hadn’t been there to witness himself he would’ve never believed someone could hold themselves together so well. The more Osamu seemed to crumble, the more you pulled it together: a true dream team.

“Please keep takin’ care of him.” Atsumu had teased, jokingly bowing before saying his goodbyes and leaving you both to finish up your work. Back then, he was completely clueless to the chemistry brewing between you and his brother; one that went beyond the workplace.

-

The first real hint he picked up on was an inside joke. Honestly, he doesn’t even remember the punchline, just how he felt seeing the two of you laugh without him. He was having a quick lunch and paused mid-chew, glancing over at his brother with an expectant look.

“It’s nothing.” Osamu tells him, and the way he’s still smiling like some kinda idiot confuses him more than irritates him. Still, he brushes it off then because it is nothing. Or at least, it was. Until it became two, then three, and then a whole bunch of ‘jokes’ he couldn’t wrap his head around and ‘Samu still refused to explain.

“They have like, inside jokes.” Atsumu grumbled and Hinata laughs.

“The whole team has inside jokes.” He says, rationalizing what he clearly sees as Atsumu’s irrationality almost effortlessly.

“No it’s different, it’s not platonic like us.” He explains, motioning between the two of them as if to emphasize his point.

The two of them had grown pretty close, whether it was because of their positions as setter and spiker or their personalities was anyone’s guess. Regardless, his innocent friendship with Shoyo wasn’t anything like whatever the hell was going on between you and his brother.

He suddenly starts to reminisce on all the different occasions he had stopped by and gotten a glimpse of your blossoming bond.

-

He was only at the restaurant because Ma asked him to drop off some paperwork for Osamu, something about taxes but he hadn’t bother too much with the details. He figures he’ll get a free onigiri out of it, so he’s not complaining.

It’s slow when he walks in. Just a couple people left, it’s the tail end of the lunch rush going into the dead hours. He spots you behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, laughing at something Osamu’s saying in that all-too-familiar voice Atsumu grew up listening to.

He’s halfway to tossing the folder onto the nearest table when he hears it:

“Don’t forget about your grandma’s pickled onions,” you call over your shoulder, casual as anything.

Atsumu freezes mid-step.

You don’t even notice him, just mindlessly wipe down the counter like you didn’t just say something that should’ve been a secret.

Atsumu stands there, folder dangling from his fingers. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Nothing can come out.

Because…how the hell would you know about the pickled onions?

That wasn’t small talk. That was…private talk. Intimate stuff. Family stuff.

He swallows it down, slapping the folder onto the table harder than necessary. Osamu shoots him a look, but doesn’t say anything.

Atsumu doesn’t either. Not yet at least.

-

Back in the present, he rubs a hand over his face, trying to explain himself without sounding jealous.

Because he’s not jealous. He’s just… curious. About you, about Osamu, about your relationship. About why ‘Samu hadn’t told him anything yet.

He knows they had probably grown apart with Osamu being a full time business owner and his own career as an athlete, but still. They were family, brothers; twins.

“She knew about the pickled onions Shoyo,” he mutters.

His stomach churns at the thought, and he’s annoyed at himself for even caring what a hard ass like ‘Samu even did with his life.

“Onions?” Hinata repeats, cocking his head.

“Yeah. Pickled onions,” Atsumu repeats, sharper than he means to. He drags a hand through his hair, frustration prickling under his skin.

Hinata doesn’t say anything, just leans forward a little, waiting, patient as ever.

“It’s not just that,” Atsumu mutters. “It’s—everything.”

He throws his hands up, voice getting louder before he can stop it. “It’s so obvious somethings going on.”

And it sounds dramatic but it’s true. The next time he stops by the store on one of his rare free days, you two are practically glued at the hip.

-

“Atsumu, welcome in.” You say, and he can’t even stay mad at you when you say his name so sweetly. The cute smile on your face doesn’t hurt either. He suddenly feels like he’s too aware of just how good you looked up close.

Osamu seems to read his mind, greeting him in his own way with a hard flick to the forehead.

“Hey, unprofessional.” He whines, going to soothe the stinging between his brows.

“Are ya ordering something or just here to loiter?” His brother asks, a little too protectively for someone who’s just supposed to be a manager.

“Two of my usual please.” He says, taking a seat right up front to keep on eye on you two.

When you go to make him his order, Osamu stops you by gently nudging your shoulder with his own as he walks by to make it himself, ignoring Atsumu’s complaints that he wanted his ‘favorite’ employee to do it instead.

“You guys are so funny.” You comment, trying to make conversation which makes Atsumu perk up a bit.

“Really? Never thought of ‘Samu as a funny guy, just rude.” He responds, saying the last word loud enough for his brother to hear in the back of the kitchen.

You laugh again, a sound that’s light and inviting. He can’t tell if you’re being nice cause he’s a customer or because he looks just like your manager. Regardless, it feels nice to be in your presence. For a moment, he thinks he can understand why his brother hired you to begin with.

It makes his heart drop in a funny way, the feeling that you were being kept a secret. If you were important to ‘Samu then you’d definitely matter to him too. Didn’t his brother know that?

“I know he’s my boss so it sounds like I’m kissing ass but, he can actually be pretty nice.” You say, and even though the compliment is plain the way your eyes shine with something makes Atsumu raise an eyebrow.

“Did he get ya that pin for your hat?” He asks innocently, having noticed it when he first walked in but not having gotten a chance to comment on it till now. Honestly, he made the connection on a whim and expected you to say no.

“Huh?” You squeak out, clearly surprised he had pointed it out. The way you tensed up and averted his eyes has him widening his own.

“Oh yeah, he did.” You mumble out, a little too shyly. Like you had just been caught. Upon closer inspection, he can see the smallest tinge of red on the tip of your ears.

Atsumu blinks. Then squints. Then leans in a little, like somehow getting closer to you might make you more honest.

“You’re blushin’,” he points out with a grin, almost sing-songy.

“I am not,” you huff, quickly busying yourself by wiping down a spotless part of the counter. It’s the weakest cover-up he’s ever seen which just makes it even funnier.

Osamu finally returns with Atsumu’s food, sliding it across the counter with a short, “Here.”

“Hold on. Ya bought her a gift?”

Osamu doesn’t even flinch. “Employee appreciation.”

“Employee appreciation, my ass!” Atsumu whines, pointing at the way you’re basically trying to sink through the floor. “When have ya ever appreciated me?”

“I haven’t,” Osamu says, so flat it makes you exhale against your will.

Atsumu gasps, hand going over his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. He then leaves just as dramatically, doing his best not to scream that you’re both terrible liars as he walks back home.

-

Back in the present, he suddenly grabs Hinata’s shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts as that specific memory resurfaces.

“He bought her a gift.” He says, dead serious, like he’s delivering life-or-death news.

Hinata just laughs again. “He’s gotten me a gift.”

“Food doesn’t count as a gift, Shoyo!” Atsumu whines, and to his immense relief, Hinata actually looks like he might agree with him this time.

“Ugh, whatever. I’m just being a creep anyway,” Atsumu grumbles, suddenly drained by the conversation he himself had started.

But Hinata doesn’t let drop it. “What if you noticed it before they did? You’ve got super insane senses when it comes to people on court, maybe it’s the same off of it too.”

Of course sweet, innocent Shoyo would find a way to tie this mess back to volleyball.

Though, to his credit, they were sitting in the gym post-practice, both waiting for a ride from Osamu.

“Maybe,” Atsumu mutters, and right then he hears the gym doors creak open.

He looks up, expecting to see Osamu waltz in with his usual lazy wave.

Instead though, he sees you.

He feels his mouth go dry as Hinata keeps talking beside him, his words dissolving into meaningless noise.

“What’re ya doin’ here?” Atsumu calls out, his voice sharp with surprise, forgetting his manners entirely.

You flinch, like you hadn’t expected to be called out so quickly, and Atsumu immediately regrets the way the words came out. He’s just… shocked.

Because why were you here? And why were you wearing Samu’s jacket?

“Oh my god. You were right,” Hinata chokes, half-laughing beside him, recognizing the worn out Ongiri Miya branding on the jacket almost immediately. A staple in Osamu’s wardrobe.

You shift awkwardly under their combined stares, clearing your throat before speaking.

“I’m here to pick you up. ‘Samu got held up,” you explain, flustered, too flustered to realize you’d called his brother by the same casual nickname Atsumu always used.

“And this—” you tug at the hem of the jacket, grimacing, “was actually not my first fashion choice.”

You start to shrug it off, like you’re desperate to shed the evidence, but both teammates jump to stop you.

“I know,” Atsumu says quickly, hands up in surrender, his mind racing a mile a minute. “He forced ya.”

And for a second, it’s like he’s a kid again, watching Osamu pile his love onto the people he cared about, whether they liked it or not. It had always been easier for him to show it rather than say it.

And now, here you were. Wearing it. Showing him. The most obvious message one could send.

It should’ve been cathartic, relieving but instead, it just felt disappointing. Since when did him and his brother stop sharing everything? Probably a long time ago but you felt worth mentioning.

But then you spoke up, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“You know… it’s kinda because of you, ‘Tsumu.”

He blinks at you, slow. “Because of me?” The way you say his nickname has him feeling nervous, like you already knew more about him than you let on.

Probably cause of Osamu. He thinks to himself.

You nod, like it’s obvious. “You kept coming around, poking your nose in everything… if you hadn’t, I don’t think we would’ve ever realized we were being so weird.”

Atsumu lets out a weak scoff, not sure if he should feel offended or proud of his observations.

At least he wasn’t going crazy after all.

“Ya well, yer welcome.” He mutters, scratching the back of his neck. He wants to ask if his brother ever talks about him. If he ever says he misses how things he used to be. If he ever misses him.

“Wait—I wanted to show you something.” You say, reaching into the pocket of the jacket as he and Hinata exchanged a curious look.

“Don’t tell ‘Samu.” You say, half-joking but both teammates nod in agreement, having faced his wrath before.

You pull out a folded napkin, opening it up to reveal scribbled and messy handwriting. Osamu’s handwriting.

On it is a list of dates and times, which he doesn’t recognize at first. Was this another inside joke?

“Oooohhhh, it’s our upcoming matches!” Hinata exclaims and the realization makes Atsumu’s chest ache in a quiet way.

He stares at the napkin for a bit longer, thinking about how he must’ve written them all down every time he had visited the restaurant to chat. The same days he thought his brother hadn’t been listening at all.

“Idiot,” he mumbles, voice a little rough. He clears his throat before speaking again, “Please keep takin’ care of him.” The softness and sincerity has you and Hinata exchanging a look of your own.

“Of course.” You reply, placing your hand over his arm and giving him a light squeeze. He feels awkward having you comfort him but he also feels better, lighter even.

“Didn’t know my little bro was such a big fan.” He teased, trying to take attention away from him and back to the napkin in his hands.

“‘Little bro’? But he said you were the younger twin.” You stated, tilting your head to the side.

“What?” Atsumu deadpanned.

Silence.

He blinks. Once. Twice.

Instead, he offered her a forced but friendly smile, retreating towards the uncomfortable hospital chairs. As he sat down the plastic squeaked: loud and jarring, and he grimaced. There was no point in arguing but it didn’t ease the nervousness crawling under his skin. How long had you been here? How long before he could see you? He began tapping his foot restlessly, only serving to amplify the ache in his chest.

You two were family, practically at least. You both lived together. You shared meals, inside jokes, and the kind of silence that only happens between people who really get each other. He knew how you liked your tea, the temperature you liked to have bath drawn to. Was that not family-like?

He clenched his hands, feeling his fingernails dig into his palms as memories started to surface, further sharpening the ache. He’d never bothered to bring up marriage, and you never asked. You both knew—knew what being a pro-athlete entailed. Time off spent planning was time he lost playing. He thought he had made it clear he was still yours and you were his. But now, as he sits helplessly outside your hospital room, he regrets never saying anything.

If you were really his he’d be able to see you, and if he was really yours then he’d be willing to settle down and take things seriously. He feels himself cringe as he remembers similar words Iwaizumi had spoken to him the night you two had first met.

After introductions and hours of chatting, the three of you finally settled into a comfortable rhythm. You and Iwaizumi were a surprise match—though Oikawa teased that it shouldn’t be that surprising given that he had good taste, earning him a synchronized glare from the two of you.

He felt his heart flip in his chest—he really did have good taste (and maybe a type). Later, during a moment of quiet, Oikawa excused himself to the bathroom. When he returned, he found the two of you sitting in a mutual silence.

“Hey I was gone for just a second now, what happened to all the good times?” He joked, his signature smirk only lasting a moment before being startled by the sound of the restaurant staff singing happy birthday behind him.

Turning around, he watched as they brought out a small cake with candles. His name written out in chocolate syrup and topped off with powdered sugar in the shape of his jersey number.

“I told her you weren’t worth it but she insisted.” Iwaizumi deadpanned, but the softness in his eyes betrayed him. Oikawa felt a lump form in his throat at the sight of your warm smile. The glow from the candles were nothing compared to the light in your eyes when you looked at him.

“Happy birthday Tooru.” You spoke gently, contrasting the loud cheers behind him. He felt a weird weakness wash over him, one that scared him more than the surprise singing.

You’d already celebrated with him that morning—and afternoon. He’d never thought you’d extend it to dinner. He was known to be a dramatic guy, extravagant even, but being celebrated for those things felt foreign.

Later, as you took a call nearby and he and Iwaizumi argued over the bill, his friend placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi asked, his voice softer than usual, “you’re serious about this, right?” He didn’t need to specify; his question hung in the air, pressing gently but firmly on Oikawa’s usual bravado.

Caught off guard, Oikawa searched for a lighthearted response, but Iwaizumi’s hand didn’t move. He hesitated, then admitted quietly, “I’ve never been celebrated like this before.” He felt small under the weight of his best friend’s discerning gaze.

In all his previous relationships, he had failed to feel true intimacy, always keeping partners at an arms-length. He thought your relationship would be no different, that it’d still be on his terms albeit a bit toxic.

Except it was not like that at all.

You were like a whirlwind in his life, at first catching him off guard but now helping him build solid foundations. Between the two of you, he was definitely more needy. In the past, he would’ve said it was the other way around but you had your own undeniable magnetism. Anyone with eyes would be sure to see it too, and see right through him at the same time.

The feminine niceties he thought he had grown accustomed to had him giddy and unable to keep his hands off you. Everything you did had his heart racing and for the first time in his life, he was nervous to lose someone.

His suave streak had been brutally ended by your presence alone, having made him feel like he was worth loving again and again without even knowing. His own sweet and cheeky angel.

“If it feels good, then take it seriously.” Iwaizumi replied, his words simple but earnest. Before Oikawa could respond, you returned, bringing back your carefree nature he always craved, the same one he was starting to feel like he didn’t deserve.

Despite it being his birthday, despite feeling a certain question rise behind the heaviness in his throat after his exchange with Iwaizumi, he stayed quiet. He could’ve at least made a joke about it then, but he didn’t.

He’d told himself he was taking it, you, seriously—that you would understand without him saying it out loud. You knew him and he knew you, was that not enough? Maybe not to Iwaizumi, who also knew him maybe a bit better than he knew himself sometimes. The thought of losing you the same way he’d lost others left a knot in his stomach.

He had tried to ignore this truth: that you meant something more—not just to him, but to the people he loved. Yet every now and then, there would be reminders of just how deeply you’d embedded yourself into his life.

He started to reminisce on how he’d found out how you kept visiting his nephew after he’d left for Argentina. He’d received a photo out of the blue: you and Takeru, cheek-to-cheek, grinning at the zoo. His younger self would’ve called it impossible—Takeru, in a picture? Smiling? But there it was.

He quickly replied back with a like to the photo and a teasing message along the lines of ‘huh why what’. He’d barely hit send before you replied with another picture. This time it was of you and his older sister pressed cheek to cheek, her eyes shining with the same warmth he felt every time he looked at you.

“Sponsored trip by my favorite Oikawa <3,” you’d written.

As much as he wanted to text back a cheeky remark he felt himself falter, too focused on the way his sisters eyes shined with the same affection he felt for you. It made him feel a little funny, a little weak. The same way he felt when Iwaizumi prodded him. This was family and something else he couldn’t name quite yet.

Without even thinking he called you, needing to hear your voice and feel like he was there with you (and, of course, remind you that he’s your favorite). He’d kept his tone light, playful. But there’d been a weight in his chest, the same question hovering unasked. He knew you could tell in the way you asked him things, lingered onto his replies as if to find some deeper meaning.

Again, he could have asked. He could have made you family in name as well as in his heart, so many times. Except now, that same question haunted him, and he wasn’t sure he even deserved to ask anymore.

He shook his head as if to rid himself of any more good memories, not allowing himself to relish in you with all the regret that gnawed at him. He was so good at not biting his tongue except when it came to things that mattered. Because nothing was serious to Oikawa until it was, for better or for worse.

And he didn’t know exactly when you had become serious to him, but you had. He felt a tremor pass through him at the thought of seeing you look anything less than alive. Or not being able to make you laugh when you come home sullen anymore.

He moved around restlessly at that thought of not seeing you again. It felt wrong—horribly wrong. He took in a deep breath to calm his ragged nerves. He would see you again, even if it meant seeing you at your worst.

You had seen him at his most selfish and prideful and yet, you still reached out to him, unafraid. He wanted, no, needed to show you that he loved every single part of you the same, no matter how overwhelming because no one could be as much as he is sometimes.

All the relationships he had in high school, college, and the flings in-between had felt so stifling. The thought of making a legal commitment had always made Oikawa’s skin crawl. Except now, sitting under the sterile white lights and thinking of just how much you meant to him feels even more suffocating. You weren’t a high school girl or a fling, you were you.

And then the realization hits him hard: maybe he does wants all of it, as long as it’s with you—the highs, the lows, the commitment he once ran from. For there to never be any more regrets, to love and to cherish, all of it as long as it was with you.

But what if he was too late again?

“Tooru?” The soft sound of your voice pulls him from his spiraling thoughts. His head snaps up, eyes wide as he sees you standing there, in a hospital gown, looking a bit pale but alive. Your face is a little worn, eyes sunken in but you’re still here. You’re still you. Relief floods him, so overwhelming he barely notices the creak of the plastic chair as he rises, taking long and purposeful strides towards you.

If it feels good then take it seriously.

He stands in front of you for a moment, not knowing where to place his hands as familiar words gather in his throat the way they had so many times before. Except he doesn’t let himself hold back—not this time. He’d held onto these words for too long, out of fear or pride, whatever it was, it didn’t matter now.

You force yourself to turn with a strained grin, doing your best to keep up the facade that you had been the entire night. You could keep up a conversation, but not like this, not like he could.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You say, too tired to feel embarrassed at your unconvincing tone.

Whoever you’re meeting seems unfazed by this, taking your hand in their own. Their presence is warm and solid, like they belong there. Like they’ve always belonged there.

Unlike you.

“Hey congrats! You must be really patient.”

The words are wrapped in what you pray is good-natured surprise, light teasing at most. Nonetheless, you feel their heaviness settle in your chest. You’re not sure why you expect something different after hearing the same sentiment again and again.

Still, you don’t let your face betray the ugliness you feel, ignoring the way your fingers twitched at your side. You should be used to this, used to being gawked at like some sort of impossibility. Of getting treated like some kind of inside joke.

It seemed like everyone half-expected you to be long gone by now, another forgotten name in Oikawa’s long list of admirers.

Tooru laughs, though, effortlessly as always. “Of course, that’s why you’re the best!” He says while looking towards you, squeezing your waist as he leans into you. He acts like this isn’t the hundredth time someone has said something similar. Like it doesn’t matter.

A part of you wishes you could brush it off the same way.

But you can’t. So instead, you feel stuck as you offer a smile that’s anything but relaxed. And before another word can be spoken, you excuse yourself, making your way towards a quiet corner you could safely crumble in.

You had felt insecure sometimes, sure. His erratic schedule and lack of communication were valid causes for concern. Still, the weight you felt on you was nothing like those things. You felt even smaller right now, nearly invisible.

Before Oikawa, you weren’t always so hung up on impressions. Your life was your own, regardless of what anyone thought. It’s what made him so smitten in the first place: your commitment to yourself above anyone else. Still, somewhere along the line, you started to lose sight of that.

He was a force to be reckoned with, unknowingly taking up the room with just a single smile. And sometimes it made you feel overwhelmed, swept off your feet in all the wrong ways.

You hadn’t even known who he truly was when you first started dating.

Not really at least.

You had gotten to know his name, Oikawa Tooru. Gotten to know that he smiled like he knew he was being annoying, and that he walked around like the world belonged to him. You just hadn’t realized that some of the world actually did.

When you eventually did catch on, you were already half a year into your relationship, an occasion you were celebrating a bit early, given his irregular and mysterious schedule.

You were sitting on the floor of his apartment, cross-legged in front of a takeout container while putting on a show to watch.

As his smart TV flickered to life, a volleyball match began playing in the background on one of those random sports rerun channels he probably left on for background noise. You were about to switch to a streaming service before you paused upon hearing his name get called through the speakers.

“Wait,” you said, pointing your chopsticks dumbly at the screen showcasing the bold white lettering. “That’s your name.”

Tooru froze, mid-bite, eyes glancing toward the TV.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“I knew you played volleyball,” you start slowly, still chewing. “But do you play like…professionally?”

He scratched at the back of his neck, and for the first time since you met him, he looked anxious.

“Yeah,” he muttered, suddenly very interested in the leftover rice at the bottom of his container.

You blinked. “Like… stadiums and crowds and… the whole jersey number thing?”

“Yep, the whole thing,” he said, trying to go for lighthearted, but you could hear it; something a little wary hiding beneath the surface.

You stared at him, then the TV, then him again.

“So… you’re like famous?”

Tooru winced like the word physically hurt, throwing his chopsticks into the container dramatically as he brought his hands to cover his face, “God, don’t say it like that.”

“But you are,” you insisted as you laughed, not to mock him but just out of disbelief. “That’s so crazy. So if you have fans, do you have like… fan edits too?”

“I might have fan edits,” he said under his breath, dragging his hands down his face.

“You got any groupies?”

“Can we not?” he groaned, looking absolutely mortified, which only made you laugh harder.

But then you stopped. Not all at once, but gradually.

Because suddenly it clicked: why he always had his phone on silent, why people sometimes stared when you went out together. And why he was so adamant about having zero social media presence despite seeming like the type of person who would thrive online, all things he never made you feel stupid for not knowing.

Things he also never once brought it up himself.

“You should’ve told me,” you said quietly, pouting as the realization and slight sting of betrayal settled over your shoulders like a heavy blanket. Nothing was different per se, but you still felt a little played, a little naive. How could you not have noticed?

“I liked that you didn’t know,” he said, just as softly. “You weren’t trying to impress me. You were just so… you.”

You turn to take a look at him, really take a look at him, with his glasses and messy hair, mouth stained with soy sauce, and legs stretched long across the floor like he had nowhere better to be.

You then go back to stare at the picture-perfect version of him about to serve, hair laid out in a perfect messy crown, and with a glistening sweat that gives him an otherworldly glow. The only reason you could even tell it was the same person was the matching pair of intense, chocolate brown eyes.

“Are we sure this is even the same Oikawa?” You teased after a moment, feeling relieved by how comfortable he seemed around you despite his celebrity status. Yes, he had fans, but none of them would ever get to see such a domestic version of him.

“Heyyy,” he groaned out, but you can tell he’s also relieved you didn’t react poorly.

You lean over to steal a piece of food from his container, shrugging before you speak, “Well,” you said, “I guess if you’re also still you, then I don’t mind.”

He grinned, a goofy and childish one that made your stomach flutter, “Thank you very much.”

The exchange had been simple, truthful, but plain enough to make you stay. The mundane parts of his life were the parts he wanted to spend with you; it was all intentional. You were his choice, and he was yours.

Afterwards, your eyes were open to a new world; one that adored Tooru as much as you did. It rarely made you feel jealous, more so unsure of your place in his life, despite how sure he seemed himself. Oikawa knew so many people, loved so many people. Why you?

After over half a decade together, you weren’t expecting any more surprises. You knew who Oikawa was, a global volleyball star and your silly boyfriend. For a long time, this was fine with you. He was fun. Your relationship was fun. There was no expectation of a lifetime commitment from either of you, only genuine loyalty.

Still, Oikawa was also famous for his long list of lovers; a discovery you made after the fourth ex-girlfriend you were introduced to. You tried not to let it bother you, did all you could to hide the irritation on your face as he was smothered by gorgeous women, and sometimes even men.

You were still human, though, bound to crack under the weight of so many beautiful exes. You had struggled with insecurity before, sure, but not like this. Being faced with so many past lovers had whittled away the confidence you had worked so hard to build over the years.

All these people had been you, or in your position at least. What did you have that they didn’t? Every person you met seemed to be charming in their own way, enough to have you picturing a time where they complemented your Tooru well, in beauty and wit.

And despite the whirlwind of happiness that had come with getting engaged, you also felt so uneasy, like the rug could be pulled from under you at any moment.

‘I don’t actually love you.’ He would say, any future plans for a wedding would be discarded, and you forgotten.

Except, Oikawa wasn’t like that. He was a lot of things, but not cruel, not when it came to you.

Still, being in a room full of people who adore him—treat him like some legend, someone larger than life—you can’t help but feel the weight of everything you’ve tried so hard to swallow force its way back to you.

Things like the fact he was never your Tooru, not really. He was just Tooru. And maybe calling him yours was childish to begin with. But he was your boyfriend. Your charming, extroverted, and stupidly attractive boyfriend.

And the worst part is, he’s not doing anything wrong; he’s just being himself. But still, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You used to love how effortlessly he shined, but now, lingering on the outskirts, you’re not so sure. Watching him laugh, watching him easily command a room, you can’t help but feel like you were never meant to stand beside him.

“Hey,” a familiar gruff voice interrupts the beginning of your silent meltdown.

“Iwaizumi,” you say softly, not turning to look at him directly but making space for him to stand next to you in the crowd.

“Isn’t it too late for a cold shoulder?” You can’t help yourself from exhaling at his words, recognizing his dry humor right away.

You turn to face him, doing little to hide the anxiety written all over your features. At the sight, he falters, unsure how to approach but choosing to reach out nonetheless.

“Did…did he ruin this for you?” He asks, hesitant but seemingly ready to smack his best friend over the head at any moment.

You pause at his words, unsure how to answer. Oikawa had ruined a lot of things for you. Your expectations of a lover. Planned surprises. A chance at love after him…

“I’m ruining it for myself,” you admit, finding his presence comforting despite his status as your fiancé’s best friend and man.

“Well, I was gonna say it looks like you need some fresh air but let’s start with a drink.” He says bluntly.

“Just get me whatever you get.” You mumble out, feeling caught off guard but finding solace in his sudden appearance.

Iwaizumi was Iwaizumi. Just like how Tooru was Tooru, you knew what to expect.

“That’s not like you, he must’ve really ruined this for you.” He grumbled, clearly disturbed by your uncharacteristic nonchalance but still desperately trying to keep a conversation.

“It’s still me, it’s definitely me.” You admit, feeling anything but yourself.

“Hm,” he responds, making his way to the bar but not before giving you a look that says: ‘stay put’.

You oblige with his silent request, despite the ever-growing need to run away from peering eyes. When he comes back with two drinks, you don’t bother asking him what’s in it before taking a long swig.

“Woah, no cheers?” He says, still joking but now visibly concerned. You are an adult. Free to drink as you please. But this, none of this, felt like you.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” You admit, letting the ‘liquid courage’ soar through you, or at the very least, the placebo effect of it.

“I’m me and Tooru is Tooru...you know what I mean.” You croak out, unable to say the words you felt pathetic just thinking about.

Why is he with me?

“What.” Iwaizumi blurts out, his tone more pissed off than questioning.

“Dude, he sucks.” Iwaizumi continues bluntly, face forming into a scowl at the mere thought of his oldest friend.

You laugh just a little, tired around the edges, before sighing out a response, “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” He says, meeting your gaze head-on. His eyes are steady, voice firm. And the confidence in them, in you, is so fierce it makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

“You know he’s had a lot of girlfriends,” he starts, and you can’t stop your eyes from rolling.

“God, you too Hajime?” You groan, going to chug the rest of your drink before his hand gently catches your wrist.

“Let me finish,” he grunts out, clearly annoyed at your impatience.

“He’s had a lot of girlfriends, but this is the first time he’s had a fiancée.” He says, clearly still trying to console you.

There's a beat of silence. And then two. You can’t rationalize why his words anger you more than comfort. So what? First doesn’t mean you’d be the last. And if you knew anything about Oikawa is that he never settled for the first option. Only the best. And you were starting to feel like anything but.

“Yeah, that’s exactly the problem,” you whimper out and he lets go immediately, as if he had felt your skin catch fire.

You feel your lip tremble as you tighten your grip on the glass before speaking your next words.

“Why me?” You manage to strangle out, voice barely audible, but you can tell he heard you from the way his eyebrows furrow together.

“Hey,” he starts, hand going to your shoulder to steady you, but his touch feels cold. You feel cold. It was like you weren’t even wearing skin anymore, as if it had all burnt off from the shame of admitting you didn't really feel chosen.

“Sorry, please forget I said anything.” You mumble out, taking a deep breath before finishing the rest of your drink. You hold up the empty glass for him to see, “Do you mind? I could really use a refill.” You say, sweet and strained, but he seems to understand what you really need: space.

He takes the glass from your fingertips and, without another word, leaves you just as you had started. Lost in a sea of people, you either didn’t know or only knew through mutual friends.

Deciding you had had enough mingling for now, you waded through the crowd silently, blending in effortlessly as you made your way to the balcony. You’ve never been so grateful for Oikawa’s extravagance, which was now your only chance at escape.

You open and close the door quickly, feeling your skin prickle at the cool night air. You inhale and exhale deeply, letting relief wash over you as you finally stop hearing the murmuring of festive attendees.

Sure, you feel a little guilty leaving a party meant to celebrate you and your love. Nonetheless, you just needed a moment to yourself, away from the clinking of glasses and the feeling of being an outsider looking in. The whole night had just been exhausting.

You were just so exhausted.

Exhausted from smiling until your cheeks hurt. Exhausted of pretending like you loved being the center of attention, and the subtle digs that came with it. Exhausted from convincing yourself that loving someone so bright wouldn’t eventually burn you out.

You lean against the balcony railing at that last thought, pressing your hands to the cold metal as you peer over to the bottom. Its chillness steadies you for a moment, while your eyes absentmindedly trace the skyline. Little by little, you start to feel yourself come back down from the edge you had pushed yourself to.

The muffled laughter behind thick walls brings you back to the reality, though, just for a moment. The sound should be comforting, but instead, it almost feels hollow. Like a symphony of torment drawing out your deepest fears.

Normally, Tooru would be the one to ground you without a word. Still, how could you explain everything without sounding like you were blaming him or like you were bringing up the past? You feel your eyes burn as your frustration with yourself reaches a crescendo. Hopefully, you could get your act together before he noticed you were gone.

As if on cue, a soft knock on the glass door behind you pulls you out of your fog.

You tense up, not turning just yet. You already knew who it was; no one else knocks like he does. Gentle, hesitant, but unwilling to let his presence go unknown.

“Can I please come out?” His voice is low, stifled by the glass. When you do turn, you can’t help a small smile from tugging at your lips at the sight you’re met with.

Tooru, with his forehead pressed against the glass, eyes glossed over like a puppy’s. He perks up when your eyes meet, hand going to turn the doorknob as you nod in confirmation.

Even during your lowest moments, you couldn’t deny him, not when he was being this cute.

You watch as he slips through the doorway, shutting it quietly behind him like he’s afraid any sudden movement might scare you off. His eyes search your face immediately, trying to read what you’re feeling without making you say it out loud.

“You disappeared,” he says, voice softer now, careful in a way that makes your chest ache.

You don’t answer right away, or even look at him. “Just for a little.”

Despite your unwillingness to meet his gaze again, you still feel his eyes on you. Searching for something you were desperate to hide.

“I should’ve come after you sooner, I’m sorry.” He adds, taking responsibility for something he didn’t explicitly name.

You shrug, finally looking into his eyes but the way your stomach squeezes when you do has them darting away just as fast. “You were busy.” You mumble out, slightly wincing at how unconvincing the words sound.

“That’s not an excuse.” His voice sharpens, not with annoyance, but rather guilt. “Not when you looked like you were drowning out there.”

You close your eyes at his words. Why did he have to say it like that? You sometimes hated how he seemed to have a finger in every fold of your brain, ready to speak the words you were only just thinking.

You don’t respond for a moment, feeling a little too raw despite how comforting his presence normally is.

“I didn’t even get to show you my dancing skills,” he says after a beat, trying to be light, but it lands somewhere between awkward and earnest. “I was gonna challenge you to a dance off. It was gonna be real romantic.”

You huff out something that could almost pass for a laugh. “That would’ve made me disappear for real.”

“Hey, don't joke about that,” he says, and the sudden seriousness in his tone surprises you.

You glance back at him, eyebrows pinching. He looks…nervous. Nothing like the entertainer you had seen dazzling guests moments earlier. He had that same look he wore when he proposed with shaking hands and the most un-Oikawa-like stumble of words.

“I thought I lost you tonight,” he admits, voice cracking on the last word.

You blink. “What?”

He steps closer, slowly like you’d run away any moment. He can’t see the way the cogs in your head stopped turning, unable to process his words entirely. “Everyone kept making comments, and I thought—I thought you were finally seeing it. That I waited too long, that I’m too much that, that...I’m not good enough for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” you ask, brows drawing together, “Everyone was saying they were surprised you were still with me—”

He interrupts you with a small chuckle, one that turns into a deep belly laugh. The way he's smiling has your ears burning with embarrassment and clicking your tongue. When finally he notices your pouty expression his own softens.

“No. No, they weren’t saying that. They were saying they didn’t know how you were still here. With me. Everyone here is genuinely surprised I hadn’t scared you off yet with how crazy I can get.”

The words hit you like a wave, warm and sudden. Unlike the tsunami that almost crushed you earlier in the evening. You turn fully toward him, noticing the way the city lights paint his face in soft golds and moving shadows.

“You,” you start, but your voice dies in your throat. “You’re not too much.” You finish meekly, but it’s laced with sincerity.

He steps closer until he’s right in front of you, gently tugging your hand away from the railing to hold it between both of his. His fingers smooth over the band on your ring finger, lips twitching upwards at the feeling of the massive diamond perched on top. A small part of you wonders how he can still be so cocky even during such intimate moments.

“I think about you constantly. I talk about you even more. Every person I’ve ever known has told me I’m annoying. Hajime told me if I didn’t tone it down a bit, I’d freak you out and then, then you’d leave me.” He blurts out, voice shaky and so unlike the man who had just been smirking at your ring.

You blink again, stunned. “You’re scared of me leaving?”

His lips twitch upward, but there’s no humor in it. “I’ve never cared about someone like this. If I’m being honest, I’m actually pretty terrified.”

You pause for a moment. And then another. You try and take it all in; his vulnerable expression, your complete misunderstanding. How he felt like too much, and you, like not enough. Both desperate to keep the other around.

For the first time that night, you smile, a genuine one that makes Tooru’s eyebrows raise in a hopeful way. You then go rub at your eyes, desperate to soothe the burning behind them because, despite your initial relief, you had failed to see him the way he had seen you.

“Please don’t cry.” He whispers, hands going to curl around both your wrists gently.

You move your hands away from your face, looking up at him through watery eyes. You feel like an idiot having him comfort you when you hadn’t even noticed he’d been drowning too.

“I’m sorry for being selfish.” You say and now it’s his turn to smile, a confused but amused one.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” He says cheekily, pulling you closer by the wrists as you happily oblige to his warm touch.

“But seriously, don’t apologize. Thanks for putting up with me for so long.” He mumbles into your hair before giving your head a gentle kiss, as if making a silent vow to himself.

You hum in response, making a move to wrap your arms around his torso as he greedily accepts more of you into his arms.

“I promise I won’t disappear again.” You say, glancing toward the balcony door and the party still pulsing behind it. The night was still young, and you felt strangely refreshed. Renewed even. ‘I tend to have that effect on people,’ Oikawa had teased once. It used to annoy you, and it still did, mostly because it was true.

For a second, neither of you speaks, simply relishing in each other's presence. The wind suddenly picks up a little, tugging some loose hair strands around your face, and he reaches to tuck them behind your ear as if on instinct.

How was it that you could get along with him and Atsumu? It was unprecedented and you also were the newest addition to the team, so he couldn’t help himself from questioning your true intentions.

-

“Hinata-san is always so lively, huh?”

Sakusa paused upon hearing your voice, not wanting to intrude on you and Iwaizumi’s private conversation about his teammate. While he’d normally be one to mind his business, he couldn’t help but stand still for a moment to find out what you really thought behind the scenes.

“I guess you could say that.” Iwaizumi responded, having known the ginger longer than he had worked with him.

Sakusa slightly frowned at his tone, assuming you had broken your professional streak and were engaging in petty gossip. Of course you had been faking all those cheerful greetings, just as he had-

“Well, I like it.” Your clear voice interrupted his thoughts, tone firm as if challenging Iwaizumi’s previous comment and his own negative thoughts.

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, feeling a brief sense of relief wash over him before he felt shame slowly replace it. What the hell was he doing eavesdropping and why did he feel guilty? It’s not like being a people person absolved you of anything, you were bound to show your true colors sooner or later.

-

Weeks later during your first ever team meeting, and Sakusa’s umpteenth, you catch him off guard yet again as their power-hungry assistant coach goes to make the same tired comment about Bokuto’s inconsistency.

“You’re just not very reliable during high-pressure moments.”

Glancing over to look at his teammate, he could already see his two-toned hair begin to droop when suddenly your hand shot up and all eyes turned to look at you.

Your expression was calm but your eyes were glazed over with purpose, so unafraid it almost seemed like this was your umpteenth meeting.

“Bokuto-san has always been someone who performs best when he’s supported. I’ve seen firsthand how well he steps up under pressure when he’s in the right headspace, and that’s something we can easily help him with.” You speak up, voice firm but polite.

Glancing over at his teammate again he can see the tip of his hair now standing tall, his amber eyes filling with overdramatic tears as he tried to start bounding towards you, barely held back by Atsumu and Hinata who knew better than to disturb a team meeting.

The tension in the room, despite Bokuto’s incessant wailing, was thick. Even though you were both assistants, you were younger which meant the assistant coach was technically your senior, and he had taken your comment as direct disrespect. Thankfully, Iwaizumi came to the rescue, not only agreeing with your point but adding a few of his own to de-escalate the situation.

Afterwards, Sakusa couldn’t help but keep glancing over at you during the rest of the meeting. The smallest part of him even hoping to catch your eye which surprises him.

Why would he ever want such a thing?

-

It’s their first big home game and nothing is going right for Atsumu. Sakusa can tell by the sloppy passes and frustrated grunts during rotations. Everyone was bound to have an off-game, it was human nature. Except Atsumu was anything but human— or at least he pretended to be.

Bokuto’s ‘don’t minds’ and Hinata’s ‘next times’ fell upon deaf ears as the setter finally began to crack. Before he could blow up on court the whistle was blown and a timeout was called.

The blond angrily made his way to the bench, brushing off his teammates encouragement as he sat down with his eyes locked onto the floor. He put his hands on his knees as he breathed heavily, clearly lost in thought over his minor but costly mistakes.

Even though the setter was a pain in Sakusa’s ass, he would never deny his skill when it came to the sport. He was annoyingly prideful but he had every right to be when it came to his precision and control during games. Any time he couldn’t show off these assets, his meltdowns were inevitable.

As such, Sakusa simply swipes the sweat from his brow while glancing over at his aggravated teammate from the sidelines. He knows it’s better to leave him alone to collect himself.

Just as he thinks this, there, from the corner of his eye, he sees you walking over to them. You stand right in front of Atsumu and he can tell the whole team is holding their breath as they wait for you to say something.

Over-the-top encouragement was a guaranteed way to piss Atsumu off, and also the go-to for inexperienced trainers. Sakusa can’t help but feel a little bad for you when the blond finally glances up at you, his eyebrows knit tightly and mouth parted as if ready to tell you off.

Before he can say anything though, you kneel down slightly to meet him at eye level, voice steady but soft enough for only him to hear as you speak. From his spot on the court, Sakusa couldn’t hear what you were saying but he does notice something strange: Atsumu is actually listening to you.

A few moments pass and you stand back up, offering him a small nod before going to stand at the sidelines. The setter isn’t staring at the ground anymore and the previous frown on his face has eased up. Whatever it is you had said, it had clearly resonated with him.

A few points later, Atsumu delivers a perfect set to Hinata who spikes the ball and wins them the rally. Afterwards, the blond turns back to look at you in the sidelines, flashing you a smile Sakusa had never seen before.

It’s not the annoying grin he puts on for fans or the one he’s practiced for pictures, but something more real and subdued: a genuine token of appreciation.

When Sakusa catches the exchange he feels stupid. Really stupid. You were authentic and true and he was a pessimistic asshole. At least, that’s what it felt like the universe was telling him as the rest of the match goes smoothly. Never once during it do you bring any more attention to yourself, despite having been the one to break through to their setter.

Later, during their time in the locker room and after having won, Sakusa overhears Bokuto ask Atsumu what you had said to him. Normally, Sakusa would be in and out, repulsed by the environment and wanting to avoid these sort of post-match conversations all together. This time though he stayed put, taking his time to pack his things.

Why did he even care?

“Nothin’ that hasn’t been said before.” Atsumu responded simply, and Sakusa can’t rationalize why he feels a pang of disappointment when everyone but him seems to know what that means.

He knows you had probably gotten closer to his other teammates, while he himself could count the amount of times you had spoken to him on one hand. But were you really that much closer to everyone else but him?

After he had seen the moment shared between you and Atsumu, he had silently accepted defeat. There was no need to question your intentions or gauge for your reactions anymore. He decided then and there that he could finally let it go. You weren’t like any of the trainers before, you were better in every way and then some.

But now, knowing that he had missed out on whatever magic you seemed to carry, he felt more on edge than he had waiting for you to fail.

He stuffs the rest of the things in his bag unceremoniously, clicking his tongue in annoyance and unintentionally gaining the attention of Hinata who gives him a curious look.

“You’re not really that close to Iwaizumi jr. are you, Sakusa?” The ginger asked, simply making a harmless observation but landing a critical blow on whatever remained of his fellow spiker’s composure. Honestly, Sakusa should’ve told him to stop calling you that ridiculous nickname but instead, all he could muster was a head shake ‘no’ before leaving.

-

The next few days during practice, Sakusa still can’t keep his eyes off you. Now without any judgement to cloud his mind, he’s started noticing things he hadn’t before.

Like how your hair always seemed shine when you would stand by Iwaizumi during morning meetings. Or how you smelled when you walked by, clean but never overpowering.

He feels like a creep for being able to pick up on it but he manages to convince himself he’s still merely observing, making sure you’re doing well for the good of the team.

Over time he discovers that if he gets you to meet his gaze you’ll tense up when your eyes meet his own, with you quickly feigning ignorance afterwards as you look anywhere but him.

Your subtle antics were starting to become a bit too endearing for his peace of mind. And before he knew it, getting you to meet his gaze became like a game of sorts. He felt a little mean at times but nothing excited him more than to see someone who was usually so composed, become so flustered.

You weren’t a serious person per say, he had overheard you cracking jokes even he found himself nose exhaling at. But you also weren’t so easily swayed. Hinata’s friendliness and Bokuto’s frequent touches usually went unnoticed by you. Even Atsumu’s blatant flirting left you unfazed (despite some of the lines making even Sakusa’s stomach flutter…).

So why was a little eye contact making you so nervous? He knows he can be an intimidating guy but he also can’t help himself from letting his thoughts drift to more interesting possibilities.

What if he made you nervous for…different reasons?

That thought alone led to a week of sleepless nights. He remembers the whole ordeal well because he had terrible eye bags. Or at least terrible enough for you to leave energy packets near his water bottle, neatly boxed and sanitized to his liking.

Yet again you kept him thinking of you without even saying so much as a word to him.

How cruel.

After that incident, he finds all of his thoughts drifting back to you, with his eyes now unconsciously following suit. He felt a little ashamed at times, given that you were an innocent bystander who had gotten caught up in his uncharacteristically messy emotions. The two of you weren’t even friends.

You were a stranger, charming and capable yes— but still a stranger. He was only seeing you through a rose-colored lens, he rationalized, having heard nothing but high praises from his peers. You definitely had your own germs and quirks he’d find annoying, a deadly threat to his very way of life.

But if he was being honest with himself, truly honest, you had your own gravitational pull. A sort-of welcome weight that went directly against his usual sound logic and reason.

He only truly noticed it when he saw the way you lit up talking to anyone and everyone. That’s when he thinks he’s starting to get it, to get you. And the patience and passion you have for the sport that rivaled his own.

The one he could see it in the hours you put in and the minute details you remembered, things that made you stronger and infinitely better than anyone before you.

Your quick wit was also a nice touch but these were things he didn’t even get to experience, merely yearn for from the sidelines for almost a year before he feels himself finally begin to give into your weight.

The old rickety dwellings of his heart creak at the thought of making room for another person. Especially after having spent his entire life trying to put space between him and the entire world.

Relationships with his teammates were a given, an unwritten rule in the countless contracts he had signed throughout his career. He could deal with people if it meant he got to play volleyball.

This, you, were different though. There was no need to pursue anything outside of daily niceties, simple hellos and goodbyes. You had given him the space to, the chance to live his life without another person’s germs to deal with.

But he didn’t want that, he hated that. He also hated that you had made the choice for him before getting to know him, even though you had only done so because you did get to know him through Iwaizumi. He feels stupid when he really thinks about it; how his feelings were just one big paradox.

If nothing was going to make sense, then there was no need to be logical. At least that’s what he decides when he catches himself searching for you during public events, never once actually spotting you among the crowds.

And it shouldn’t have been that surprising given your role, things he would have normally taken into account being such a rational guy. But all he can focus on for the rest of night is the disappointment he feels, and the heavy ache in his chest. It should’ve irritated him, should’ve made him push you further away but instead it left him wanting more.

Yes. He wanted more, even if it came at the cost of social interaction. If you were going to keep him up at night and occupy his thoughts 24/7, it was better to break his own rules than lose his mind thinking about you. And, if you were going to keep your distance, then maybe he’d to be the one to close the gap.

-

Whatever you were in the middle of writing down is suddenly forgotten when you feel his gaze on you again. It’s getting heavier each time, lingering longer, more insistent. It made it a bit difficult to focus on your work, especially when it was practically non-stop now.

Sakusa was an observer, that much was clear from the day you met him. He was a lot more laidback than the trio you had become well-acquainted with, preferring to stay back with Meian or Inunaki.

You never minded his gaze, noticing how his eyes closely followed anybody from his teammates to coaches. Except just like him you were also an observer, immediately picking up on his increased glances.

In the beginning it felt like he was judging you, gaze passive and discerning. There was no real interest behind it past cold calculation. Despite the heaviness, it was bearable then. You weren’t a stranger to doubts and Sakusa was just another person to prove wrong.

Except, his eyes on you feel different now: they’re searching, watching and impossible to ignore.

The first few times you had pretended not to notice despite the way his eyes burned into you, as if studying you. It made it harder to focus on the clipboard in front of you, your racing heart thrumming loudly in your ears. Why was he looking at you?

You kept telling yourself that you didn’t care, that you were imagining it, and that it didn’t matter either way.

But it did matter.

You had been trying so hard to convince yourself it didn’t, that Sakusa was just another player—albeit a more complicated one—and that whatever you were feeling were just misplaced nerves.

After all, you were surrounded by men like him all the time: strong, talented, and painfully good-looking. Bokuto’s infectious enthusiasm and Atsumu’s flirtatious antics didn’t make your pulse quicken. Even Hinata, with his boyish charm and relentless optimism, didn’t throw you off like this. So why Sakusa? What was it about him that had you so unsteady?

Perhaps it was the way he stood apart from the others, always watching from the sidelines, but never fully engaging unless he had to. He kept his cards close to his chest, making him difficult to understand and even harder to approach. His sharp jaw and dark eyes definitely didn’t help to ease your nerves either.

Honestly, it was a bit frustrating how much he was affecting you. Half the time you couldn’t even see his entire face but when you did, you’d always have to take your lunch then and there to collect yourself in the break room.

You had been so careful to respect his boundaries, so determined to keep things strictly professional, and yet here you were—practically stumbling under the weight of his gaze.

What made it even worse was the fact that he knew. He had to know, didn’t he? You weren’t that great at hiding it, despite your best efforts. It felt like every time he looked at you, he was waiting for you to slip up, to betray some part of yourself you’d rather keep hidden.

Despite this, you wanted him to acknowledge the tension that had been building between you for months now. Because at least if he said something, you’d know where you stood. You could finally stop playing eye tag, stop wondering what he thought of you, and stop second-guessing yourself every time his eyes lingered a little too long.

Except you doubted he’d ever comment on his effect on you and a part of you honestly preferred to live your life without him ever saying anything about it. Perhaps you were overthinking it, and there was a logical explanation waiting to be revealed.

Like your hair being messy or how he found what you thought was thoughtfulness to be overbearing. You were someone who usually prided themselves on their people skills but Sakusa had left you utterly perplexed. It was well-known he was a complicated person but this was way beyond your scope.

Normally, he would stare from afar but this time he was approaching towards you, and quickly. You turned your head to meet his obsidian eyes and flash him a friendly smile, doing your best to ignore the nauseating way your stomach flipped and heart squeezed.

What why what—

“Do you need something, Sakusa-san?” You ask, putting on a brave face despite your crumbling composure.

It wasn’t the first time you had said his name but it was the first time he noticed how sweet it sounded coming from you. It was like even your voice was attentive, carefully curling around the syllables of his name.

“Do you have a handkerchief I could borrow?”

You immediately freeze at his question, eyebrows almost knitting together in confusion before your expression turned neutral again, remnants of hesitation still evident in your eyes.

What the fuck.

From the first day you had met Sakusa, you had also learned another thing about him; he was a germaphobe on the extreme end of the spectrum. Iwaizumi had warned you to steer clear of his belongings and ‘let him come to you’.

You remember cracking a joke that he was kind of like a cat but Iwaizumi hadn’t laughed, or even smiled for that matter.

“Well, no, cause cats eventually warm up to you.”

You waved it off awkwardly before changing the topic, silently making a mental note of Sakusa’s habits. You didn’t mind having to accommodate to him or the fact you wouldn’t be able to get close to him period. This was your job after all, you’d respect any and every boundary of your new teammates.

So why, why was he standing right in front of you, close enough to where if either of you reached out your arms you’d touch, asking for something so…unclean. You blinked up at him, head still reeling at having been so caught off guard.

It was a well-known fact Sakusa would rather be caught dead than use anyone else’s, so he can’t even feel offended at your stunned reaction. If anything, he feels embarrassed that this is the only way he could think of getting closer to you.

You feel your spine tingle as his scent invades your senses. There was an expected cleanliness to it but behind that was a hint of sweat; salty but inviting like the sea. Normally you’d gag at the smell but the fact that it was Sakusa made it gratifying. You manage to hold yourself back from taking in a deeper breath and getting fired for sexual harassment.

You only realize you’ve failed to say anything for too long when he suddenly cleared his throat, now mortified from your earlier gaping. You let out a string of apologies, stumbling over your words as you hastily make way to the bench where you had set your things, looking over your shoulder to make sure he was following you.

Despite seeing you in this flustered state constantly, it never failed to make him feel excited. You never acted this way with other team members, never threw them such coy looks. But even if that was true, he was still himself.

Aside from the excitement of being around you, he was also nervous. Completely unsure of what he would do when he was forced to take what he asked for. Even though he was interested in you he was also not about to get over years of ingrained habits like it was nothing.

When you went to hand him the cloth, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly in surprise. You had his exact brand and style of handkerchief. He could have sworn you used a different brand, having seen you offer all his other teammates a checkered red and white one.

“I haven’t used it for anyone else or even myself yet, so,” you said, voice the least confident he had ever heard it. He knew you were well-acquainted with his germaphobic tendencies but thinking about how you had been holding onto something like this, for him, was almost too much to process.

He stared down at you, expression hardened as he remained unmoving. Your hand remained outstretched to offer him the cloth, still neatly pressed in the packaging. Had you been observing him as much as he had been observing you? If so, he had never noticed your keen eyes on him.

“This brand,” he started, unsure of what he wanted to say.

‘This brand…is my favorite?’ Stupid.

‘This brand…is the best.’ God what is he, Hinata?

‘This brand…isn’t what you normally use.’ Absolutely not.

“I saw you using one like it once and so I tried them out.” You stated, unknowingly saving him with your shy confession.

“What did you think?” He asked, refusing to let your first real conversation end despite the awkward pauses and stiff flow.

At his question there was a sudden beat of silence, your eyes scanning over his face with an unreadable expression. He felt his heart stutter in his chest at your gaze, wanting to run away and hide before you could find whatever you were looking for.

On your end, you were taking your time to admire his features up close. He was handsome, moisturized skin and matching lips. His eyebrows were well-maintained, and you felt your hand twitch at sight of duo moles above his right one; fingers longing to trace over each one individually.

If this was going to be one of your only conversations with Sakusa, and the closest you’d ever get to him, you wanted to savor it despite the tense atmosphere.

“You have a good eye.” You complimented, voice so sweet and honest it made him smile, a small one that he followed with an amused exhale.

At the rare sight you gave him your own unique expression, eyebrows knitting together with a pretty red tint blooming across your cheekbones. Your eyes were searching his own for some sort of explanation, as if you had read him wrong but when he let his smile fully reach his eyes your blush only grew deeper.

Sakusa wasn’t some sort of alien, he smiled when he felt like it just like anyone else, and between knowing you noticed him and having you compliment him, he just couldn’t help himself.

“Thanks, you have a good eye too.” He said, eyes twinkling with some sort of double-meaning that you didn’t quite pick up, evident in the way you cocked your head to the side.

Maybe you hadn’t noticed him the way in the same way he noticed you.

He waved his last statement off, opting instead to take the package from your hand, making sure your fingers touched despite your best efforts to avoid it. He felt himself tingle at the brief skin-to-skin contact, eyes meeting yours as if to say ‘that was on purpose’.

“I’ll be sure to return this.” He states in his usual cool tone as you remained in a bit of a daze, cheeks still slightly flushed with your mouth pulled into a tight line.

He had never seen you show any of the other guys such a vulnerable expression and he felt his chest swell with pride at the thought. The red on your cheeks began to fade as you composed yourself, looking less and less coy but just as alluring.

“You can keep it, I bought it just for you.” You admitted, your voice once again brimming with newfound confidence as you bowed slightly.

Now it was Sakusa’s turn to be stunned. He had not expected you to be so honest. This brand was expensive and the store was out of the way. Had he really been worth the trouble?

The piercing sound of a loud whistle and squeaking of sneakers cut your exchange short. Without saying anything he met your eyes again with an intensity you finally understood the meaning of. At least enough to not look away this time, firmly holding his gaze despite the weak feeling in your knees and loud beating of your heart.

A few moments passed between the two of you, eyes locked onto one another’s in a silent confirmation of sorts, an unspoken I see you. After no more than a couple seconds he gave you a small thanks and wave goodbye. As he approached his teammates he felt himself wanting to look back at you, at your eyes more specifically. He always thought the way you avoided eye contact when he stared was amusing, but having you finally hold his gaze nearly killed him.

Had he been looking at you that intensely? He pressed his lips together tightly, swallowing down hard as the image of your glossy eyes staring into his own filled his mind. Before he could think about it any further he remembered the brand new handkerchief in his hand, gripping it slightly before deciding to pocket it, having no real intention to use it then it there.

Well he had never said the last one but that’s how it felt like in your eyes. After countless missed dates, calls, hugs, and everything else a boyfriend was meant to provide it was easy to tell why you had become so insecure. You had beat into your head that you weren’t nearly as much of a priority to him as the sport he loved. It hurt to not be on par with a sport of all things, but you would never admit that to him. You never wanted to be the clingy partner who prevented him from chasing his dreams but you couldn’t help the insecurity that had built up so high it was close to bursting out as Atsumu somehow devoted even more of himself to volleyball.

It all came crashing down when you confronted him after yet another one of his late practices, so sick of the empty bed and unopened messages and your entire one sided relationship.

You were laying on the couch in your empty living room, a random movie playing in the background as you rubbed at your tired eyes. It was late and you were waiting for Atsumu in hopes of planning the next date, or even just the next interaction the two of you would have.

Important matches had been piling up on Atsumu and the pressure to be the best setter he could be was clearly pushing him to work harder than ever. At first you had been completely understanding when he told you he might not be able to spend as much time with you as he focused more on practicing, after all you had seen firsthand how hard he had been working towards his dreams.

Yet your unwavering support began to falter when you realized that your time together would become nonexistent. You had hoped that limited time would at least mean you got to talk before bed or kiss each other goodbye in the morning. Instead limited time had become no time at all, the last time you had seen and had a conversation longer than three words with Atsumu was almost three weeks ago. Your heart sank at the thought as you gently wrapped your arms around yourself, almost letting yourself succumb to a lonely sleep before you heard the front door unlock and creak open gently.

Atsumu walked through the door with a heavy sigh while setting down his duffel bag and some takeout garbage. He rubbed at his own tired eyes as his shoulders slumped before he finally noticed your presence on the couch, a tight smile forming on his lips as he made his way over to you.

“Why are you still awake?” He asked tiredly as he tried to hold back a yawn.

“I was hoping we could talk.” You said gently as you adjusted yourself on the couch to give him a space to sit, he remained standing though with an unreadable expression as you suddenly felt nervous under his tired gaze.

“Sorry but can’t we do this tomorrow or something? I’m really tired and I have early morning practice so,” Atsumu said expectantly as he began making his way towards your shared bedroom without even giving you a chance respond.

“‘Atsumu are you serious? It’s not like that will even happen with how busy you are, so busy apparently you can’t even give me a minute to talk.” You snapped, feeling irritated that his immediate response was to shut you down.

“Oh my god yer not starting this I told you I was gonna be busy why are you treating me like the bad guy now, I warned ya didn’t I?” He snapped back as he narrowed his eyes at you.

“I haven’t seen you in literal weeks Atsumu, you come home when I’m asleep and leave before I wake up. The only thing we’ve done as a couple is sleep next to each other.” You say as you start to get angrier, the glare Atsumu sends your way pissing you off even more. It had started to feel like you were his roommate more than his lover and it only added on to your growing insecurities.

“I don’t know how you think I can remain one of Japan’s best setters without practicing every single day sweetheart.” Atsumu said, the usually tender nickname now laced with a mean bite to it as he tried to his best to keep his temper in check, which was becoming harder by the second as he wondered why you couldn’t let go of what he thought was such a stupid conversation. He didn’t feel like he needed to justify his devotion, you already knew how much this meant to him. Why couldn’t you just continue to support him even if it meant not seeing him that much?

“Obviously I know you have to practice Atsumu,” You said with an annoyed tone as you tried your best to calm down and be civil despite the anger coursing through every part of you. As much as you wanted to be openly upset and clingy and cry about how much you missed him you still had your pride and he should be willing to spend a bit more time with you, you were his lover after all.

“I love that you can pour everything you have into volleyball but I also miss my boyfriend. I’m not asking you to choose one or the other I just want to spend a fraction of the time you spend on volleyball together.” You finished calmly, gaze softening as your hopeful eyes met Atsumu’s irritated glare.

“Is that it? Yer just feeling needy? You know how important this is to me and you still are always asking me for such annoying things. Volleyball has always and will always come first, okay? I don’t get what you’re thinking but the most important thing to me right now isn’t spending time with you it’s-“ Before Atsumu could finish he met your gaze as the angry tears you had been trying so hard to hold back finally began to fall.

“Volleyball! I know god I know. Volleyball is your job, volleyball is your passion, volleyball is your life I fucking know Atsumu. God I know that I come second every time too- god don’t you think I know that?” You asked, voice going embarrassingly high pitched towards the end as the sobs you had tried to so desperately keep in finally tumbled out of you.

“I thought maybe if I was second to someone like you it would feel like first but it doesn’t, you don’t even care about me- god I’m sorry that me loving you is so,” You stopped trying to fight against your shaky voice to speak and instead let yourself succumb to your loud hiccups and cries.

“Annoying.” You managed to finish in a hoarse voice, repeating his earlier words as you looked up to meet eyes glazed over with obvious anxiousness and regret. Atsumu had never been the best at words like he was at volleyball, it had been fun to joke around about it before but right now, when you needed his reassurance more than ever, you found it the be the least funny thing in the world.

At his silence after your words you scoffed as you got up from the couch and walked past him silently to your shared bedroom, closing and locking the door behind you as tears continued to stream down your face. The bubbling anger that once tormented your stomach had turned into a pitiful ache of insecurity, one that had you sobbing into your pillow while Atsumu remained outside listening to your cries.

He stayed glued to his spot in the kitchen, eyes staring at the door you had closed behind you while his mind raced endlessly.

The truth was Atsumu had no idea how he was going to fix this, therefore he had said nothing to you. He had never seen in you in such a state during an argument, his brain kept replaying the look of pure devastation that flashed in your pretty eyes the moment he decided to be an asshole and bring up his commitment to volleyball. He knew you understood his love for the sport, god-you were the one who was always in the stands, staying up late after practice hours to tell him good night and waking up early to wish him good luck for matches, and trying your hardest to synch up your lives together. He had been so stuck in his own selfish ways that he failed to notice how much you needed him.

You had been giving him your all and more and he had not even spared you a moment’s time. He had felt lonely too but when he would get notifications with your sweet messages, sleepy kisses in the morning, and gentle good lucks before every game no matter what were enough for him to be reminded of your support. Yet he had offered none of the same in return, his heart ached at the thought of just how lonely you must have been. He had rarely replied to your messages or even provided you with a fraction of the love you gave him.

That’s why he felt like such shit, because you had been putting in so much effort to make things work and he had been afraid. Afraid of how much he started to care about you, afraid of how much he started to depend on you, afraid that you meant as much to him as volleyball because no one had ever meant that much to him. He was especially afraid of the day where he would have to choose, that was until he was reminded that he would never have to, you would never make him. He knows that and he feels his heart tighten as he continues to reflect while desperately gnawing on his bottom lip.

He feels like he’s going crazy thinking about how’s he going to fix it, wanting nothing more than to barge into your shared bedroom begging for forgiveness on his hands and knees but deciding it was better to give you some space. He had been an asshole after all, the least he could do was not force you to listen to any more of his bullshit. Right before he started to get ready for a night on the couch he heard your door unlocking and whipped his head to see your tear-stained face poke through as you shuffled out.

Atsumu immediately straightened up as he met your gaze, still feeling unsure of what to say but knowing he has to say something, anything. You deserve it and he knows that but he’s suffocated by the guilt that overcomes him as he remembers just how much you love him, and that if he truly did love you more you wouldn’t have been crying over him a few minutes ago.

“I’m sorry,” Atsumu begins, words unsure and timid as he looks up at you for permission to continue. He feels himself perk up at your slight nod.

“I didn’t mean what I said and, and,” Atsumu continues as he struggles for the right words to find. This was one of the things that pained Atsumu about being madly in love was that there was no way for him to the word the important things. A part of him really wishes he could go back in time and beat himself up so he could just hug you right now, avoiding using words entirely.

“And you know that I’m really bad at apologies just like how you know everything about me and I think I love you just as much, no- more than what I do because I get to do it with you. So, I’m sorry for being so difficult. You aren’t ever second, yer my everything.” Atsumu finished as he felt himself flush hot at the confession. Another thing that pained Atsumu about being madly in love was that he had never been this vulnerable with anyone before, you brought out even the most hidden parts of him it seemed.

It was quiet for a moment as Atsumu stared you down for a response after having poured his heart out. He receives it in the form of a hug, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist as you look up at him with those dazzling eyes, albeit a bit ringed with red from crying, your chin digging into his stomach as you smile gently.

“I missed you ‘Tsumu.” You said softly into the fabric of his shirt as he brought his hands down to smooth down your hair, arms eventually wrapping around you in a tight embrace.

But you weren’t home. You weren’t like Oikawa or anyone from his past. There was more to you—things that made you different, and, he would later admit, better. You were diligent, kind, and despite your popularity, you were humble. You didn’t boast about your accomplishments, didn’t flaunt the attention people naturally gave you.

That was his favorite thing about you. When people would be whispering in disbelief over who could have possibly gotten a one hundred percent on the midterm, you remained unfazed. It wasn’t until class was over that you would let that silly, triumphant grin spread across your face.

“It was meee,” you’d tease, voice lilting with mischief. He never saw you do it with anyone else. That side of you, that playful confidence—it felt like something just for him.

Despite all of this, despite how you’d already become woven into his everyday life, Iwaizumi kept you at arm’s length. He had to. He knew this was temporary—both the place and the time you shared. He told himself it would hurt too much if he got caught up in your antics, no matter how charming. Except you had a pull, your own gravity, and by the time he noticed, it was too late. He was already in your orbit.

He was the one who broke first. The one who asked to see you outside of class, breaking his own promise to himself. He took you to the beach, and you showed him your favorite tourist spots, laughing at how unimpressed he was with the so-called ‘attractions.’ And later, when you invited him to your favorite restaurant, he didn’t mind paying for dinner, or the ice cream afterward. Somehow, with you, it didn’t feel like a big deal.

There was no label, or a need for it. The reminder of the time you had left together was enough. You both lived like you knew there wasn’t time for ‘what ifs.’

But then the time came, and the goodbyes followed. The first was when he left California for Japan. You had insisted on driving him to the airport, despite his protests that you were a terrible driver. He had teased you, of course, but the truth was, he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you behind. He remembered looking back, risking bumping into frustrated travelers, just to catch one last glimpse of your face.

The second goodbye was harder. You flew out to visit him in Japan, and the weeks you spent together were filled with blissful dinner dates, shared memories, and the kind of closeness that made it feel like no time had passed at all. Unsurprisingly, you got along well with Oikawa, much to Iwaizumi’s dismay. He thought maybe you’d want to try long-distance. He thought you maybe you might want to keep this going, somehow.

But you were smarter than him, as always. You told him you didn’t want to.

“I just wanted to see you one last time,” you’d said, your voice trembling as you stood in his arms.

He could still remember how you felt in that moment—the way you shook, not out of fear, but because of the weight of it all. You cared too much about him to let him get tangled up in something that couldn’t work. The distance, the different paths you were bound to take—it would only pull you further apart. He understood. But it didn’t make the ache any easier to bear. It didn’t stop him from wishing he could have stayed with you just a little longer.

After that you never reached out to him again, once again saving you both from the ‘what ifs’. He threw himself into his career and met a lot of women, experienced love, real love unconstrained by time. Oikawa would ask about you occasionally—sometimes out of genuine curiosity, sometimes just to annoy him. It didn’t matter. It’d make him wonder what you’d done all these years apart. Had you gotten to experience the same? He hoped so—and that whoever you were with understood they’d always be second best to you.

At this point he’s been an athletic trainer longer than he’s known you, but you still managed to occupy a smaller corner of his mind. Still, unlike his childhood his friend, he wasn’t enough of a masochist to look you up on social media. The one time Oikawa tried to show him something about you, he’d looked away, feigning interest in something else.

But today was your birthday. His phone had made a collage of the special occasion. ‘Eight years ago, today,’ it read, with the cover photo being of your back to the camera, looking out into the sea. Iwaizumi felt his lips twitch at the sight. It had been more than enough time, right? He could allow himself to indulge in memory lane, just for a little.

The first photo: you’re wearing his sweater. He feels his nose exhale in amusement as he recalls you complaining that it was ‘freezing cold’ as you pressed yourself closer to him, teeth chattering. The next photos show you pointing out a lifeguard post, a devilish twinkle in your eye as you suddenly begin sprinting full force towards it. The blurry shots confirm he was close behind—there’s a clear shot of your laughing face as he traps you in his arms once he catches you. It softens his heart.

You had always been so beautiful, you were probably even more so now. The next images show you two inside the lifeguard post, your grin surely due to his nagging about your behavior, despite the fact he always chased after you. When he slides his thumb for the next picture, he finds a video instead.

You’re the one filming him, and he feels awkward seeing a younger version of him nervously staring back at him. He hesitates before pressing play.

“Alright Iwa, time to sing happy birthday!” Your voice rings out and his breath hitches. Over time he had forgotten the little details—like your voice. Hearing it now, how could he have ever forgotten?

“I feel stupid this is stupid,” His younger self mutters, and while he should feel more embarrassed hearing his own voice, he’s still reeling over the sound of yours.

You laugh, and it makes him feel like he can’t breathe for a moment. This is why he did not indulge in the past. What was the point of reliving this? Nonetheless, his eyes remained glued to the screen.

You turn the camera so that both of you are in the frame, albeit at a weird angle.

“Let’s sing it together then.” And you do. He isn’t even paying attention to his grumpy twenty-year-old self in the background, too focused on the way your eyes keep darting back to him as you two sing happy birthday off key.

“Yayy! Thank you Hajime!” Right. You used to call him that sometimes. And the way you’d say it, voice so sincere, it crushed him then and it crushes him even more now. You make him wave goodbye to the camera before ending the recording and he’s left alone, ears still ringing with the sound of your voice.

Now, on a newfound masochist streak, he felt himself looking up your name on every social media app he could think of. He had to know, he was alone so he could feed into the dangerous what ifs. It had been years but today was your birthday, maybe he could send you a message, maybe enough time had passed where you two could-

When he finds your account, there’s a new post. It’s you, celebrating your birthday. You look just as you did back then, with the same bright smile and mischievous glint in your eyes.

Only now, it’s directed at the child in your arms. It’s a slide show and each photo shows you in familiar places. The beach where you once watched the sunset together. The restaurant where he bought you ice cream. Tourist spots he’d scoffed at.

‘Happy birthday to us,’ the caption reads. ‘Showed baby Haji all my favorite places.’ He feels the breath leave his lungs, slow and heavy.

He shuts his phone off and sits in the silence. It didn’t ache as much as he’d expected—this final realization. You had kept him in your life, but that didn’t mean there was any space for him in it now.

He wasn’t heartbroken—just surprised, maybe. That you’d kept a part of him close by, even after all this time. He should’ve felt more guilty at the thought of the poor guy who either knew or didn’t know of his existence, which one was worse was anyone’s guess. Instead though, all he felt a strange sense of relief.

He wonders, just for a moment, what might have happened if he’d stayed, if you’d fought a little harder, if there had been room in both your lives for more than just memories. The thoughts come softly, like the waves crashing on the shore of a distant beach.

But he knows better than to dwell on what ifs. He knows, deep down, that you were right even if you were also clearly living with your own regrets. Your lives had gone where they needed to go. You had found your path, and so had he.

-one night, his usual delivery boy has only one order left but unbeknownst to Osamu, he’s also been on the verge of hurling his entire shift and throws up right before he can complete it

-Osamu sends him home because he refuses to not follow food safety guidelines (plus he also feels a little bad he was unaware that his employee had pushed himself so hard)

-since it was also for someone who lived in the same building as him, he really didn’t mind being the one to drop off this last order

-while packing up to leave his employee makes a cheeky remark, something along the lines of “Thanks for doing this, though we’ll be even after you see the babe it’s for.”

-Which Osamu completely disregards because there were a lot of beautiful women living at his complex (as once commented by Atsumu) so he wasn’t really all that excited about the prospect

-he was tired and he just wanted to go home and get enough sleep before he had to rush out the door in the morning to catch a glimpse of your face

-when he finds the apartment, two floors above his, he knocks and is getting ready to leave when the door swings open and he looks up to find you looking back at him

-except you don’t look anything like how you usually do

-you weren’t wearing your black blazer and matching skirt, both of which were clearly ironed with lots of care

-the white lace of the crisp white blouse you normally wore wasn’t peeking through the collar of your jacket, and your hair wasn’t pulled back into the neat half updo he had grown a bit fond of (how could you pull off something so simple so well?)

-instead, your hair was down and damp, your shirt wrinkled, and you were wearing athletic shorts so oversized they almost reached past your knees

-the smell of shampoo meant you weren’t wearing any make-up but you looked the same to him, the only real difference was the glasses perched on your nose

-he couldn’t tell if they were real or blue light but he didn’t care, you looked good

-you looked so good like this, so cute

-he had always thought you were attractive in a mature way, radiating confidence that made head turns everywhere you went

-your tight clothes did you justice, and your ‘I have my shit together’ attitude was undeniably magnetic 

-but the way you looked now, so small and tired, clearly irritated from hunger but ready for bed was what made the little crush he had on you turn into a full-blown ‘like’

-Osamu liked seeing you like this, maybe even more than he did seeing you be a professional

-before he could continue to gawk any longer you took the food from his hands and stared at him for a moment, squinting your eyes before widening them in some sort of horrible realization

-“Wha- where’s the usual guy?” You asked, blushing in a way that had Osamu feeling a mix of confused and a little bit annoyed

-“You got the food…so does it matter?” Even if you were cute, he wasn’t about to pour his feelings out to someone who was still a complete stranger, and currently, a seemingly unsatisfied customer

-you scrunched your nose at his response, huffing slightly and seemingly contemplating for a moment before speaking again

-“do..do you not recognize me?” You asked hopefully, eyes looking up at him past the glasses and making his heart twirl as he held back the smile that tugged at his lips

-“Convenience store.” He replied, keeping it short but only because he couldn’t handle the implications of the entire interaction

-did you also think of him beyond just seeing him once in the morning?

-your eyes lit up at the acknowledgment before offering him a smile he hadn’t seen before, one that was more carefree now that it was just you two alone and in private 

-“I had no idea you worked here.” You spoke, pointing your hand towards the bag of food he was still holding while offering him friendly conversation

-“And I had no idea you were a customer.” Osamu said while handing you the bag, deciding to use the chance to show off a bit and maybe even get you to come visit in person

-“How long have you been working there?” You questioned, eyes glazed with genuine curiosity that made his heart curl

-“Well, I kinda own it so, since I opened it?” He replied, feeling nervous and now stupid for the way he had explained himself. There goes his opportunity to show off

-despite his awkwardness, you laughed at his stupid joke and he felt himself bubble with pride, he needed to hear more of that

-he suddenly thought back to what his employee had said about you being a ‘babe’ and felt himself get annoyed, he’d definitely have to convince you to start coming in person

-“you’re funny and the owner of your own business? Man, you’re doing way better than I am.” You admitted, the nervous atmosphere settling into a more comfortable one

-at your words Osamu frowned, were you not some up and coming CEO yourself?

-you looked at him, confused as Osamu suddenly realized he had asked that out-loud

-you both stared at each other as a couple beats of silence passed before you suddenly broke out into laughter again like he had just said the funniest thing in the world 

-he should’ve been more annoyed given that you were practically laughing in his face but he was intrigued more than anything else 

-“CEO would be awesome but I’m nothing more than an intern at the moment.” You admitted after calming down, still letting out a few giggles as your cheeks were now flushed from having laughed so hard

-Osamu thought you couldn’t look more perfect than you do now, face rosy from something he said and pretty eyes focused solely on him 

-so you weren’t some fancy CEO, that was a relief but he also knew somehow in his gut you wouldn’t stay an intern for long

-he didn’t know a lot about you past admiring you for always being on top of it and on time, unknowingly inspiring him to do the same

-but now he wanted to get to know you more than anything, to see you become the boss you were clearly meant to 

-“well, just know when the time comes you’re already the perfect, pretty picture of a CEO.” Osamu complimented, somehow confident in your abilities despite your status as strangers

-at his compliment your blush deepened, the sweet tone and sincerity in his words causing a rosy red to stick to your cheeks

-the word pretty rang out in your mind as you unconsciously went to tuck a piece of damp hair behind your ear, something that made Osamu’s lips finally twitch into a smile

-to know and see that he had an any sort affect on you, like you had on him all these months made it hard to hide the giddiness he felt

-he really had to get to know you, he had been so wrong about you this entire time and he needed to get it right, to get to know you fully 

-“Jeez, you’re not supposed to flirt with customers y’know?” You joke, voice light as you poke at his chest playfully 

-your eyebrows raise ever so slightly as you feel all the muscle underneath the simple black t-shirt and you give him a shy glance 

-“I promise I’ll try and come by in-person. But only if you promise me one thing in return.” You speak, finger unmoving from his chest as your eyes remained fixated on his own

-he swallowed thickly before responding with a small ‘hm?’

-“Same time tomorrow?” You asked, referring to your daily morning routine

-Osamu felt himself practically soar at those words, even after having seen you almost daily this time- this time you’d both know that you were each there hoping to find the other