reverse "when did you get hot?" various haikyuu boys x reader
includes h. iwaizumi, i. matsukawa, a. miya, o. miya, r. suna, k. akaashi, k. bokuto, t. kuroo, k. tsukishima, and s. hinata
original "when did you get hot" post + request
a/n based on the song "when did you get hot?" by sabrina carpenter, just reversed. ive had more free time so these turned out a little longer than the original post and added a few more boys but hey whos complaining. i will try to write a part two with even more boys if yall would like, no promises tho🥀🥀🥀 God i need iwaizumi so bad (again)
You and Hajime had been inseparable since middle school, neighbors, lab partners, movie marathon buddies. He’d always thought of you as “his best friend,” the kind of person you could sit in silence with and still feel comfortable. After graduation, life split you both apart for a while, but the first real reunion came at a summer barbecue, hosted by a mutual friend.
Hajime got there early, beer in hand, already chatting with a few old teammates. He was laughing at some dumb joke Matsukawa made when he noticed you walking up the driveway. He nearly choked.
“-the hell?” Hajime muttered under his breath.
You were in a sundress, hair caught up by the evening breeze, a glassy smile lighting up your face as you waved to a few people. Hajime felt his stomach tighten in a way that startled him. He’d seen you a thousand times before, but suddenly you weren’t the same person he remembered sprawling across his couch in sweatpants during study sessions.
You spotted him almost instantly. “Haji!”
The nickname you’d always used sounded different now, and he swore his ears burned when you threw your arms around him like it was nothing.
“Hey,” Hajime said, clearing his throat, holding the beer awkwardly so he didn’t spill it down your back. “Uh- you look good.”
You laughed, pulling away. “You too. Same old Hajime.”
Same old? He was trying to reconcile that thought with the way his brain had short-circuited at the sight of you. Throughout the night, he caught himself staring too long, at your smile when you laughed too loud, at the curve of your jaw when you leaned in to tell Bokuto a story, at the way your hand brushed his arm like you always did. Only now, it felt like something.
He wasn’t subtle, apparently. Matsukawa elbowed him. “Bro, you’re ogling. Chill.”
“Shut up,” Hajime hissed, ears red.
It didn’t help that, later, you sat beside him by the firepit. “You’re quiet tonight. Everything okay?”
Hajime rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like he was in high school all over again. “Yeah, yeah, I just- uh…” He swallowed, blurting before he could stop himself. “When did you get hot?”
You blinked, then broke into a laugh so genuine it made his embarrassment worse. “What? Hajime, I’ve literally been the same since forever.”
“Yeah, no-” Hajime looked at the ground, refusing to meet your eyes. “You definitely haven’t.”
And when you nudged him, teasing but warm, he knew he wasn’t imagining it. Something between you had shifted.
You and Issei had been friends since high school, the kind of easy, goofy friendship built on shared sarcasm and mutual roasting. He was the guy who’d copy your homework when he forgot his, and you were the girl who’d steal his fries at lunch like they were yours. Even after graduation, the two of you kept in touch. Group calls with the Seijoh boys, the occasional meet-up when schedules aligned, always full of laughter and playful digs.
But the day he realized something was… different? That hit him like a truck.
It happened at Makki’s small get-together. Nothing fancy, just old friends and a lot of takeout. Issei was sprawled on the couch, scrolling on his phone, when you walked in. No warning, no fanfare. Just you, balancing a tray of drinks, laughing at something Makki had shouted from the kitchen.
Issei’s jaw literally went slack.
You weren’t doing anything particularly dramatic. Just wearing jeans and a cropped sweater, hair falling naturally around your shoulders. But for some reason, the room tilted. He blinked a couple times, sitting up straighter without even realizing it.
“Yo, yn!” Makki cheered, and you waved, smiling so brightly it felt like the whole room shifted.
“Hey, loser,” you grinned at Issei as you plopped down beside him, shoving a drink into his hand.
He tried to play it cool, but his brain wasn’t working properly. Up close, it was worse. You smelled good. Like shampoo and something faintly sweet. And when you leaned over to grab a napkin, your sweater slipped just slightly off your shoulder. His eyes flicked there before he could stop himself.
“Dude,” Makki snorted from across the room, catching him in the act. “You’re not even subtle.”
“What- shut up,” Issei muttered, nearly choking on his drink.
You raised a brow, totally oblivious. “Subtle about what?”
“Nothing,” Issei said quickly, glaring daggers at Makki. He could feel his ears burning.
The night went on, but Issei couldn’t shake it. You’d always been cute, sure, but this was different. Every laugh from you felt sharper, every glance lingered longer than he expected. He caught himself staring more than once, only to snap his gaze away when you noticed.
By the time the group had migrated into the living room for a movie, you ended up leaning against him like you always did. Normally, it was fine, best friend behavior. But tonight? He was hyper-aware of the weight of your head on his shoulder, the warmth of your arm brushing his. His heart thudded stupidly against his ribs.
Makki, of course, wasn’t going to let it slide. Halfway through the movie, he leaned over with a smirk and whispered way too loudly, “So, yn… when did you get hot?”
You laughed, tossing a pillow at him. “What? Shut up!”
But Issei froze. Because that was exactly what he’d been thinking since you walked in.
You turned back to the screen, still chuckling, totally unaware that Issei’s world had tilted on its axis. He sat there stiff for a moment, then sighed, draping his arm casually along the back of the couch. Your head naturally settled against him, and he forced himself to look at the screen, though his thoughts were miles away.
Because he knew. He was in trouble now.
You and Atsumu had been circling each other since high school. Not in a romantic way, at least, not openly. He was Osamu’s twin, the loud one who was always in your orbit whether you liked it or not. Over the years, he became something steady: an occasional study buddy, the first to text you when something funny happened, the one who dragged you to matches and dinners even when you swore you were too tired.
By now, it was muscle memory to have him around.
So when you walked into the MSBY gym after work one evening, balancing a bag of snacks Osamu had asked you to deliver, you didn’t expect anything different. The team was already wrapping up practice, Atsumu at the center of it all, sweaty and grinning as usual.
He spotted you instantly. “Oi, yn!”
You rolled your eyes at the volume, waving halfheartedly. “Don’t yell like I’m across a stadium.”
But he was already jogging over, towel slung around his neck, hair plastered to his forehead. You shoved the bag into his hands, muttering, “Delivery from your twin.”
“Yer a lifesaver.” He peered inside, pulling out a rice ball. “’Samu sent three. He knew I’d share.”
Atsumu grinned, already holding one out toward you. “Course. What kinda gentleman do ya take me for?”
You rolled your eyes again, but took it. And that was when it happened.
You’d been standing under one of the gym lights, hair catching the gold, face flushed from the lingering summer heat. When you bit into the rice ball and smiled, just a little, Atsumu’s words slipped out without thought.
“…When the hell did ya get hot?”
It came out loud. Too loud. The gym wasn’t empty enough for it to disappear unnoticed. A couple of his teammates glanced over, Bokuto actually choking on his water.
You froze mid-bite. “Excuse me?”
Atsumu blinked, like he was just realizing he’d said it out loud. His ears went red, but he laughed it off instantly, the way he always did. “Nothin’! Don’t worry about it!”
“No,” you pressed, narrowing your eyes. “What did you just say?”
He shifted on his feet, caught between retreat and bravado. For once, his usual confidence wavered. But then he smirked, trying to salvage it. “Ya heard me.”
You blinked at him, stunned into silence. He looked back at you, grin tugging at the edges of something more serious.
And for a moment, neither of you laughed.
You’d known Osamu since middle school. Back then, he was the quieter twin, less loud than Atsumu, more grounded. The one who’d share his lunch when you forgot yours, the one who’d walk you home without being asked. It was easy with him. Comfortable.
After high school, though, life pulled you all in different directions. You and Osamu still talked, but it was texts here and there, the occasional call. Which was why, when he invited you over to his place a few years later for a simple dinner, you didn’t think much of it. Just catching up with your best friend, like old times.
He opened the door with that same easy grin you remembered. “Well, look who finally decided t’show up.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m literally two minutes late.”
“Two minutes too long,” he teased, stepping aside to let you in.
His apartment smelled incredible, garlic and butter and something warm simmering on the stove. You kicked off your shoes and wandered in like you owned the place, because in some ways, it felt like you did. Osamu, moving around the kitchen in a plain t-shirt and sweats, looked entirely in his element.
You sat at the counter, chin propped in your hands, watching him cook. “You’ve gotten domestic, ‘Samu.”
He smirked, tossing you a piece of bread he’d just sliced. “And you’ve gotten picky. Still don’t like onions?”
“Nope.” You popped the bread into your mouth. “Some things never change.”
Osamu glanced up, mid-chop, and froze for half a second. He hadn’t expected it to hit him so hard. The kitchen light caught the curve of your face, the way your hair framed it, the easy smile tugging at your lips as you munched on his food like you had a hundred times before. But this time… something was different.
You weren’t just his best friend anymore. Not in his head.
“When did ya-” he cut himself off, biting back the words. He shook his head, turning back to the cutting board before he made a fool of himself.
You raised a brow. “When did I what?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, tossing the onions into the pan. The sizzle covered the sound of his racing heartbeat.
Dinner was good, it always was with Osamu. You laughed, caught up, teased each other over who remembered what from high school. But Osamu kept catching himself staring, at the way your lips curved around your glass, at the light in your eyes when you told him some ridiculous story. He tried to focus on his plate, but his gaze kept drifting back.
By the time you were helping him wash dishes, it slipped out.
“You know,” he said quietly, passing you a dripping plate, “when did ya get hot?”
The words hung between you, heavier than the steam rising from the sink.
You blinked, then snorted, clearly thinking he was joking. “Shut up, Osamu.”
“I mean it.” His voice was low, steady in a way that made you glance up. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved.
You laughed again, softer this time, shaking your head as you handed him the towel. But Osamu knew it wasn’t a joke. Not to him.
And as you brushed his shoulder on your way out of the kitchen, he couldn’t help but think, he was never going to look at you the same again.
You’d met Suna back in first year of high school, and somehow the two of you just… clicked. Maybe it was your patience with his deadpan humor, maybe it was his quiet steadiness that matched your energy in unexpected ways. Either way, by graduation you were inseparable. Best friends, no question.
Years later, not much had changed, at least, that’s what you thought. You still texted daily, still called each other when life was too much, still found excuses to hang out even when you were both busy. It was routine. Comfortable.
But for Suna, something had shifted.
It happened one evening when you’d agreed to meet him at a new ramen shop near his place. You walked in late, apologizing as you slid into the booth across from him, hair slightly tousled from the wind outside. He looked up from his phone, ready to tease you, and then stopped.
You weren’t dressed up, not really. Just a fitted top and jeans, nothing fancy. But the way the neon sign outside caught in your hair, the way you laughed as you waved for the waiter, it knocked the air out of him. He stared a second too long, phone still in his hand, before realizing he hadn’t said anything.
“What?” you asked, brows raised, a smile tugging at your lips.
“Nothing.” He went back to his phone quickly, scrolling through nonsense to cover up the way his ears burned.
Except it wasn’t nothing. The entire dinner, he couldn’t stop sneaking glances. The way you slurped your noodles and grinned at him when he rolled his eyes. The way you leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin propped in your hands as you told him about your week. He’d seen that expression a million times, but suddenly it felt… different.
Halfway through, you caught him staring.
“What?” you asked again, tilting your head.
Suna leaned back, chopsticks still in hand. “Just wondering when you got hot.”
You nearly choked. “Excuse me?”
He smirked lazily, like he hadn’t just set your brain on fire. “I mean, I don’t remember you looking like this in high school.”
You laughed nervously, tossing a napkin at him. “Shut up. I look the same.”
“Mm.” He slurped another bite of ramen, eyes sliding back to his bowl. “No, you don’t.”
The conversation moved on, or at least, you tried to move it on. Suna didn’t push, didn’t elaborate, just went back to his usual dry commentary and casual questions. But the weight of his words lingered in the air.
After dinner, when you both walked out into the night, you hugged him goodbye like always. He slipped his hands into his pockets, watching you walk toward your car. And even though his face stayed neutral, his mind was anything but.
Because for Suna, the realization wasn’t casual. He’d said it like a joke, like a tease. But the truth? He meant every word. And now, he wasn’t sure how to go back to seeing you as “just his best friend.”
Your friendship with Akaashi had always been steady. You met in high school, when you were assigned as partners for a literature project. He was quiet at first, polite and reserved, but you had a way of drawing him out. What started as study sessions turned into late-night conversations, into easy companionship that carried on well after graduation.
Years later, you were still close. Akaashi worked long hours as an editor, and you were one of the few people he made consistent time for. Coffee on Sunday mornings, quiet dinners during the week, late-night calls when one of you couldn’t sleep.
It was during one of those Sunday mornings that it hit him.
You’d chosen a new café, tucked into a corner of the city. It was small and cozy, filled with the scent of fresh pastries and the hum of quiet conversation. Akaashi arrived first, as usual, securing a table by the window. He pulled out his notebook, already jotting down a few edits he hadn’t finished the night before.
Then the bell above the door jingled, and you walked in.
His pen stalled mid-sentence.
It wasn’t that you’d changed dramatically, you wore simple clothes, hair a little messy from the breeze outside. But there was something about you in that moment, the way you pushed your sunglasses up onto your head, the smile you gave when your eyes landed on him, that made his chest tighten unexpectedly.
“Keiji,” you greeted warmly, sliding into the seat across from him.
“yn,” he replied automatically, closing his notebook. He forced himself to look down at his coffee, but his pulse betrayed him.
As you chatted, he kept noticing things he hadn’t before. The way your laugh had deepened, richer than in high school. The way your hand brushed his when you reached for the sugar. The confidence in the way you carried yourself now, like you’d grown into someone even more magnetic than you’d been before.
Halfway through, you caught him staring.
“What is it?” you asked, tilting your head.
Akaashi blinked, shaking himself. “Nothing. Sorry.”
He hesitated, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. He wanted to say it. To ask the question sitting heavy on his tongue. But the words felt too blunt, too revealing for the quiet space between you.
So instead, he smiled faintly, meeting your gaze. “I was just thinking. You’ve… changed.”
You raised a brow. “Changed how?”
“Not in a bad way.” His voice was soft, deliberate. “Just… it suits you. Who you are now.”
Your cheeks warmed, though you laughed it off. “That’s a very Keiji way of putting it.”
He smiled, embarrassed, sipping his coffee to avoid saying more. But the truth lingered in his chest: he’d always known you were beautiful. He just hadn’t realized until now how much that beauty had grown with you, shaped by time and confidence.
Later, as you walked together down the street, the sunlight catching in your hair, he thought again of the words he hadn’t said. When did you get hot? It felt too shallow for what he meant.
Because for Akaashi, it wasn’t just that you were hot now. It was that he couldn’t stop seeing you, really seeing you, in a way that made him wonder if he’d been blind all these years.
You’d met Bokuto in high school through volleyball. Even though you weren’t on the team, you’d somehow gotten swept up into his orbit, his energy was magnetic, impossible to ignore. From then on, you were part of his inner circle. He was the kind of best friend who’d send you ten texts in a row just to tell you about a new training move, or show up at your house with snacks because he thought you “looked tired” that one time.
Post-graduation, you still kept up, though less often with both of you juggling new lives. Which was why the reunion at a mutual friend’s birthday party felt so special.
Bokuto spotted you across the crowded apartment almost instantly. You were laughing at something Kuroo said, leaning against the kitchen counter, drink in hand. And just like that, his world tilted.
He froze mid-conversation with Akaashi, blinking hard. “Huh?”
Akaashi followed his gaze, already piecing it together. “…Don’t make it weird.”
But Bokuto was already on his feet, weaving through the crowd like a man on a mission. His voice boomed above the chatter the second he reached you.
You turned, smiling brightly. “Hey, Bo!”
And before you could even brace yourself, he blurted, “WHEN DID YOU GET SO HOT?!”
The entire kitchen went quiet. Cups halfway to lips. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Kuroo choked on his drink, slapping his chest, while someone in the back cackled.
Your face flamed instantly. “Bokuto!”
“What?!” His golden eyes were wide, genuinely confused. “I’m just saying! You didn’t look like this in high school! You look-” he gestured vaguely at all of you, “-different! In a really good way!”
You buried your face in your hand, laughing despite the embarrassment. “You can’t just yell that across a room!”
Bokuto blinked, then lowered his voice a fraction, leaning closer like he was sharing a secret. “Okay, but seriously… when did this happen?!”
You shoved his shoulder playfully. “I’ve always looked like this. You’re just dramatic.”
He gasped, stepping back like you’d insulted him. “No way! You’ve definitely leveled up!”
Kuroo, still wheezing, muttered, “Smooth, Bokuto. Real smooth.”
But Bokuto barely noticed the teasing. He was still looking at you, head tilted like he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around the shift. And for once, he didn’t feel embarrassed about blurting it out. He was too honest to hide it, too straightforward to pretend otherwise.
Later, when the crowd had moved on and the moment faded into background noise, Bokuto nudged you with his elbow while you both leaned on the balcony railing.
“Hey,” he said more softly this time. “I wasn’t kidding. You look amazing.”
Your chest warmed at the sincerity in his voice, even if his delivery earlier had been… peak Bokuto.
And as he launched into an animated story about training camp, you couldn’t help but laugh, because somehow, his lack of filter made the compliment mean even more.
You and Kuroo had been friends since your first year of high school, and he’d always been the same, clever, sharp-tongued, forever scheming. If Bokuto was the type to yell his thoughts the second he had them, Kuroo was the type to savor them, stretching them into a game.
You reconnected with him years later at a rooftop bar in Tokyo. A mutual friend had organized the meet-up, and you weren’t surprised to see Kuroo already there, leaning casually against the railing with a drink in hand, chatting with anyone who passed by. He looked comfortable, grown into his height and shoulders in a way that made him even more magnetic.
What did surprise you, though, was the way he looked at you.
You approached, waving. “Kuroo!”
His eyes flicked over you quickly, from your dress to the curve of your smile, before settling back on your face. A slow grin spread across his lips.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t yn.”
“What’s with that tone?” you asked, rolling your eyes as you reached him.
“Nothing,” he said, voice dripping with mischief. “Just… trying to figure something out.”
You frowned, leaning beside him against the railing. “Figure what out?”
He took a sip of his drink, deliberately stalling. “Hm. You look… different.”
He let the silence stretch, eyes twinkling as he watched you start to squirm. “Don’t tell me you don’t know.”
“Kuroo,” you warned, narrowing your eyes.
“Relax,” he said with a chuckle, finally leaning closer. His breath brushed your ear as he murmured, “I’m just wondering when my best friend got so… distracting.”
Your face heated instantly. “What- shut up.”
He leaned back, grinning like he’d just scored match point. “Oh, so you didn’t know.”
“Mm, maybe.” He tilted his head, studying you with that same sly smile. “But I’m right.”
The conversation carried on, light and teasing, but you couldn’t shake the warmth in your chest. Every time he laughed, every time he threw another sly comment your way, it was like he was testing the waters. And the thing was… Kuroo never said things without meaning them.
Later, when the group had dwindled and it was just the two of you lingering at the railing, he glanced over with that infuriating smirk again.
“So,” he drawled, “are you gonna tell me your secret, or do I have to keep guessing?”
“Yeah.” His eyes caught yours, sharp and unreadable. “The one where you somehow went from my scrappy little best friend to… this.”
You shook your head, laughing to cover the way your heart skipped. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe.” His grin softened into something almost fond. “But I’m not wrong.”
And just like that, the game wasn’t so much a game anymore.
It wasn’t like you and Tsukishima had the kind of childhood where you were inseparable. You weren’t glued at the hip the way Yamaguchi was with him. But you’d always been there, seated at the same lunch tables, walking home in the same direction, trading homework answers when he got too lazy to finish his own.
Over the years, that quiet rhythm stuck. Even after graduation, it never occurred to either of you to stop hanging out.
So when Yamaguchi texted both of you to meet at a café for a little reunion, it was nothing new. You showed up first, already sipping on a cold drink when Tsukishima walked in. He spotted you by the window and made his way over, that permanent disinterested look on his face.
But something stuttered in his steps.
He’d seen you plenty of times since high school, movie nights, casual dinners, the occasional volleyball game, but somehow, here under the café’s warm lights, it hit him like a delayed reaction. The way your shirt dipped just enough to reveal the delicate line of your collarbone. The way your hair framed your face differently than before. The gloss on your lips that caught the light every time you took a sip.
He actually had to look away before he sat down.
“You’re late,” you teased, nudging his shin under the table.
“Not really,” he muttered, pulling out his phone like he didn’t care. “I’m exactly on time.”
“Two minutes late,” you corrected.
He hummed. Didn’t argue. But his eyes flicked up once, just once, and he caught you laughing at something on your phone, head tilted back slightly, throat exposed.
He cursed himself for noticing.
It became a theme for the night. Yamaguchi eventually arrived, and the three of you fell into old habits: teasing, reminiscing, swapping updates about your lives. Tsukishima hardly contributed, as always, but when you laughed too loud, he found himself smirking. When you leaned forward to tell a story, his eyes trailed for longer than they should’ve.
By the time Yamaguchi excused himself to the bathroom, it was just you and Tsukishima again.
“You’ve been quiet tonight,” you said, sipping your drink. “More than usual.”
He pushed his glasses up, averting his eyes. “You’re imagining it.”
You tilted your head. “Am I?”
He hesitated. Just a fraction of a second too long. And before he could stop himself, his voice slipped low, dry but too honest.
Your straw clinked against the glass. “What?”
He cleared his throat, eyes fixed firmly on the condensation ring his cup left on the table. “Nothing.”
“No, no, no,” you pressed, leaning forward, grinning now. “You did not just say that to me.”
“I didn’t,” he deadpanned, still not looking at you.
The corner of his mouth tugged, barely. He stayed quiet, hiding behind his glass, but the tips of his ears were unmistakably red.
And you sat there, smiling like you’d just uncovered a secret he’d tried so hard to bury.
You and Hinata had been best friends since high school. Back then, you were always the one cheering him on, showing up to matches, studying with him in the library when he was too restless to sit still. He was sunshine incarnate, your partner in crime, and over the years, even as life moved forward, that bond never faded.
He’d gone pro. You’d gone on your own path. But somehow, you always circled back to each other. Calls across time zones, video chats when he was traveling for matches, spontaneous hangouts whenever he was back in town.
It felt safe. Familiar. Until one summer evening, everything changed.
You’d agreed to meet him at the beach. The two of you hadn’t seen each other in months, and Hinata had been buzzing with excitement all week. He got there first, barefoot in the sand, a volleyball tucked under his arm like always. The sky was painted orange and pink, the air warm with salt.
Then he saw you walking toward him, sandals dangling from your fingers, hair stirred by the breeze. And for the first time in his life, he forgot how to breathe.
It wasn’t that you hadn’t always been beautiful. But something about this moment, the way the fading sunlight caught on your skin, the easy smile on your face when your eyes found his, it hit him like a spike straight to the chest.
His heart thudded wildly.
You jogged the last few steps to him, grinning. “Shoyo!”
He blinked, trying to rewire his brain back to normal. “y-yn!” His voice cracked embarrassingly, and he coughed to cover it.
You laughed, tugging him into a hug. It was casual, the kind you’d shared a thousand times before, but suddenly, Hinata’s arms didn’t feel big enough to hold all the feelings surging through him.
When you pulled away, he was still staring. He couldn’t stop.
“Everything okay?” you asked, tilting your head.
Hinata scrambled, cheeks blazing. “Yeah! Totally! Uh… you just- you look…” He trailed off, words slipping from his grasp like sand through his fingers.
You raised a brow, amused. “I look…?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “Different. Like… wow-different.”
You rolled your eyes, chuckling as you tugged him toward the shoreline. “You’re so weird.”
But Hinata couldn’t focus on the waves, or the volleyball game you started, or even the way the tide lapped at your ankles. All he could think about was how his best friend had somehow grown into someone so stunning it made his chest ache.
At one point, you dove for the ball, tumbling into the sand with a triumphant laugh. Hinata froze mid-step, staring. The sunlight lit you up like fire, hair messy, smile wide, cheeks flushed. His heart gave another violent kick.
“Shoyooo,” you whined playfully, holding up the ball. “Stop zoning out!”
He snapped out of it, sprinting over, but the heat in his face wasn’t from running.
Later, after the sun had dipped and you were both sitting on the sand with ice cream cones, Hinata finally cracked.
“Mm?” you hummed, licking a drip of chocolate from your thumb.
He hesitated, eyes on the horizon. “When… when did you get so-” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I mean… you’ve always been amazing, but now it’s like-” He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Ugh, I sound so dumb.”
You laughed softly, nudging his shoulder. “You’re not dumb.”
Hinata peeked at you through his fingers. “It’s just… I don’t know when it happened. But I can’t stop noticing you.”
The words tumbled out, unpolished but painfully honest. His chest was heaving, like he’d just sprinted down the court.
You blinked, startled, but the warmth in your eyes softened the sharp edges of his panic.
And though you didn’t say much right then, the way you leaned your head against his shoulder as the waves crashed below told Hinata he hadn’t just imagined the shift.
For the first time, he realized things would never quite be the same between you.
