Not Replacing Anyone-Kageyama
I didn’t mean to overhear it.
That was the worst part — that I wasn’t supposed to know.
I was halfway down the hallway outside the gym, arms full of stray water bottles and towels I’d volunteered to return, when voices drifted through the open door. Familiar ones. Teammates laughing, stretching, cooling down.
And then my name.
“…it’s just weird, y’know?” someone said. “Ever since she started coming around more, Kageyama’s different.”
Another voice snorted. “Yeah. It’s like he replaced—”
The rest of the sentence blurred.
My feet froze to the floor.
I didn’t hear who they were talking about replacing. I didn’t need to. The implication settled heavy in my chest anyway, like something fragile cracking.
I backed away before anyone noticed me, heart pounding too loud in my ears. I dropped the bottles off in the equipment room instead, hands shaking as I set them down.
I told myself not to overthink it.
But I always did.
I’d been hanging around Karasuno more lately — helping with homework, watching practice, sitting in the stands with Hinata while he loudly narrated plays like I couldn’t see them myself. And Kageyama… Kageyama had been there too. Quiet, intense, always glancing my way when he thought I wasn’t looking.
I thought maybe I imagined it.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
When practice ended, I tried to slip out unnoticed.
I didn’t make it three steps before a familiar voice cut through the hallway.
“Hey. Wait.”
I stopped.
Kageyama stood there, towel around his neck, hair still damp, eyes sharp but uncertain — like he wasn’t sure what to do with them yet.
“You didn’t stay,” he said. It wasn’t an accusation. Just an observation.
“I have stuff to do,” I lied, shifting the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder.
He frowned slightly. “You always stay.”
The way he said it — like it mattered — made my chest ache.
“I’m tired,” I said instead.
Something in my voice must’ve given me away, because his posture changed instantly. Shoulders stiffening. Jaw tightening.
“Did someone say something?” he asked.
I blinked. “What?”
He stepped closer. Not crowding me — just enough to be there. Solid. Grounded.
“You do that thing,” he said, frowning harder. “Where you pull away instead of arguing.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Wow. Didn’t know you were that observant.”
“I am,” he said immediately. Then, quieter, “About you.”
That did it.
I swallowed hard. “I heard people talking,” I admitted. “About how you’ve been acting. About me.”
His eyes darkened. “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said quickly. “I just— I don’t want to mess anything up for you. Or replace anyone. Or be… some distraction.”
The word tasted bitter.
Kageyama went completely still.
Then he did something unexpected.
He reached out and gently grabbed the strap of my bag, stopping me from turning away. His grip wasn’t tight — just enough to keep me there.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did.
His expression wasn’t angry. It wasn’t flustered. It was serious in a way that made my heart skip.
“You’re not replacing anyone,” he said firmly.
I opened my mouth, but he kept going.
“You’re not taking someone’s place. You’re not a substitute. You’re not a distraction.” His brows furrowed like the idea offended him. “You’re you.”
My throat tightened.
“I didn’t start playing worse because of you,” he said. “I play better.”
I blinked. “What?”
“I focus more,” he admitted. “I try harder. I… want to be better when you’re watching.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Kageyama—”
“I’m bad at this,” he interrupted quickly, ears turning red. “At explaining. But when you’re around, things feel clearer. Like I’m not just chasing perfection for myself.”
His hand tightened slightly on my bag strap.
“I don’t care what they think,” he said. “I care what you think.”
Silence stretched between us.
My chest felt too full.
“…You’re not replacing anyone,” he repeated, quieter now. “You’re adding something I didn’t know I was missing.”
I laughed softly, tears stinging my eyes. “You’re really bad at being subtle.”
He huffed. “I wasn’t trying to be.”
I took a breath. “I just didn’t want to be a problem.”
“You’re not,” he said immediately. “You’re… important.”
The word landed heavy.
He released my bag and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “So. Uh. If you stop coming around because of that… I’d be pissed.”
I smiled through the ache in my chest. “Is that a confession?”
His face went bright red.
“I— I mean—” He stopped, exhaled sharply, then met my eyes again. “Yes.”
My heart stuttered.
“Kageyama Tobio,” I said softly, stepping closer this time, “you’re really bad at lying.”
“I’m not lying,” he said. “That’s the point.”
I reached out and took his hand.
His grip tightened instantly, like he was afraid I’d disappear.
“I’m not replacing anyone,” I said.
“No,” he agreed. “You’re staying.”
And for the first time, the word didn’t scare me.
