#wakatoshi

FRIDAY:

the cherry blossoms were at their peak. the spring season was very lovely. the school year had just started. and you were already team captain. specifically, team captain of the national level, highly competitive, incredibly intense shiratorizawa girls basketball team. you were skilled, you knew that. but it was still pretty cool that you were team captain after having transferred no more than a month ago.

and now here you were, officially attending a team captains meeting. perhaps it would be an opportunity to engage with fellow students with great athletic capability and leadership skills. you checked your watch: 4:15pm. perfect. punctuality was a value of yours, and you enjoyed being one of the first in the room. so when you entered the meeting room, you didn't expect to see another person there.

there was a tall boy, most likely in his 3rd year like you, with a strong, athletic build. he had dark, olive green hair and matching colored eyes. you'd never seen him before, but you respected his clear dedication to maintaining his body in such a good state.

now it was just you and him in the room, and of course, you greeted him respectfully, bowing formally once you were in front of him. "hello. my name is y/n l/n. it's a pleasure to meet you." he matched your greeting. "likewise. my name is ushijima wakatoshi. i am the team captain of the boys volleyball team. are you a new student here?" you nodded, the two of you falling into a short conversation. he didn't seem to speak that much, but that was alright. you weren't a big fan of wasting your breath on unnecessary words either.

you found out more about him: indeed, he was a 3rd year like yourself, had been playing volleyball as long as he knew, and was currently one of the top 3 aces in the country. you didn't know all that much about volleyball, but you were impressed. this man would serve as a helpful example of a team captain for you.

soon enough, the athletics director, the coaches, and all the other team captains entered. the meeting was brief, with the coaches simply explaining the sports seasons, athletic calendar, expectations with balancing academics, information you'd already read about in the school website. once it ended, you were packing up your stuff, ready to head to practice, when a loud, energetic voice interrupted your thoughts. "wakatoshi-kun!!! d'you wanna go to my house- oooh it's the pretty girl you told me about!" it was a short boy with spiky red hair, a wild smile, and taped fingers that were currently pointing at.. you? you guessed he was one of ushijima's teammates or friends. but did he need something from you? was ushijima telling him about you? how peculiar. and what did he mean when he said pretty? pretty... what? you hoped it was something positive, though honestly, you doubted it would make much of an impact on your life.

you walked towards the door, ignoring the soft chatters of ushijima and his friend's conversation. that is, until ushijima tapped you on the shoulder. you turned. "could you give me your phone number? satori says i should get it." you nodded in response, typing in your number into the phone he'd handed to you. so satori was the red head's, whose grin had somehow gotten even wider now, name. you still weren't sure why exactly he wanted your number, but you realized it might be mutually beneficial if you had another team captain you could easily contact. you handed the phone back, bowing once more before heading out.

immediately after you left, your phone pinged with a message from the number you had just saved.

throughout your life, you'd been told that you texted like a robot. and while you saw where the comparison was coming from, at the same time, you didn't understand why you needed to use abbreviations, slang, or all lowercase. the point of texting was to communicate, was it not? and all those only made it more difficult to understand what someone else was saying to you. but at least ushijima texted clearly and maturely. it was nice texting him. you were also looking forward to him attending your game as it would be the first time he gets to see you play.

that evening, you received a text from your best friend, who was also a teammate of yours.

The camera lens was unforgiving in its stillness.

It sat on its tripod like a silent judge, red recording light blinking softly in the dimmed studio lighting. The room smelled faintly of polished wood and old paper archives, perhaps, or the weight of a life already being catalogued for posterity.

You sat with your hands folded tightly in your lap, back straight, the way one sits when they know they are being measured.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the director said gently from behind the camera. Her voice was kind, professional. “We can start with something simple. How did you first meet Wakatoshi-kun?”

You almost smiled at the honorific. Even years later, people still spoke of him with that slight deference.

The question was simple on the surface. But nothing about Ushijima Wakatoshi had ever been simple once you let him into your life.

You exhaled slowly.

“It was during his third year at Shiratorizawa,” you began, voice quiet but steady. “I wasn’t anyone important. Just… there.”

Shiratorizawa Academy – Three Years Earlier

The late autumn wind cut across the school grounds, carrying the sharp scent of damp grass and distant rain. You had been sitting on the stone steps near the gymnasium, sketchbook balanced on your knees, when the heavy doors slammed open.

Ushijima Wakatoshi stepped out first, as he always did. His shoulders squared with an expression that remained unreadable, a volleyball bag slung over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. His teammates spilled out behind him in a loud, chaotic wave of voices and laughter. Tendou’s teasing rose above the rest, followed by Semi’s dry retort and Reon’s calm mediation.

But Ushijima didn’t join them.

His gaze swept the courtyard once, then landed on you.

He changed direction without a word.

The others noticed. Of course they did. Tendou’s grin sharpened with curiosity, but he didn’t call out. They had learned by then that when Ushijima moved with purpose, it was better not to interrupt.

He stopped a few feet away from where you sat.

“You’re here again,” he said. Not a question. Just observation.

You looked up, pencil still in hand. “I am.”

A comfortable beat of silence passed between you, it was natural between you. The kind of silence most people found awkward with him.

Ushijima nodded once, then lowered himself onto the step below yours, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed your knee. He didn’t ask what you were drawing. You didn’t offer an explanation.

The two of you simply existed there, side by side, as the sky slowly bruised into evening.

That was how it started.

No grand meeting. No dramatic collision of fates.

Just two people who learned they could sit in silence and not feel the need to fill it.

Back to Present – Studio

The interviewer leaned forward slightly, intrigued.

“Many of Ushijima’s former teammates have described him as… difficult to get close to. That he doesn’t open up easily. Would you agree with that assessment?”

You let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh, though there was no real humor in it.

“He doesn’t open up to people,” you said carefully, echoing the words you knew they had heard from others. “Not in the ways most people expect.”

You paused, eyes drifting somewhere far away.

“But he does open up. Just… not with words.”

Cut.

Past – Shiratorizawa, Winter

The gym lights were still on long after practice had officially ended.

You had brought him an onigiri wrapped in convenience store plastic. It was nothing special, just something to eat because you knew he sometimes forgot when he was deep in training mode.

Ushijima accepted it without thanks, unwrapping it methodically. He took a bite, chewed, swallowed.

Then, without looking at you, he spoke.

“My left hand feels slower today.”

It was such a small sentence. To anyone else, it might have sounded like nothing. But you understood what it meant coming from him.

You tilted your head. “The serve or the spike approach?”

“Approach.” He took another bite. “The timing is off by a fraction.”

You nodded. No dramatic solutions. No coddling.

“Try shifting your weight a little earlier on the plant foot tomorrow. You always favor your right side when you’re tired.”

He considered your words for a long moment, then gave a single, decisive nod.

That was all.

But the next day, after practice, he found you again on the same steps.

He didn’t say “thank you.” He never did.

He simply sat closer than usual.

Present Day

One of the producers asked the question you had been dreading.

“Were you two… dating?”

The studio felt smaller suddenly. The lights are hotter.

You stared at the camera for a long time.

The silence stretched.

Finally, you answered, voice barely above a whisper:

“We never defined it.”

You could almost hear the collective lean-in from the crew.

You continued, eyes lowered.

“I was just… there. And he let me stay. That was enough for a long time.”

Present – Studio

A former Shiratorizawa teammate, probably Semi or Reon, appeared on screen during the edited footage they showed you later. His voice was thoughtful, almost cautious.

“Ushijima… he’s not the type to talk about feelings. Hell, he barely talks about anything that isn’t volleyball. Most of us respected him, but getting close to him? That was rare.”

The interviewer’s voice cut in gently: “Did anyone manage it?”

The teammate gave a small shrug. “Not really. He kept everyone at arm’s length.”

Cut.

You sat straighter in your chair when they asked for your response.

“He does open up,” you said quietly, but firmly. “Just not in ways most people notice.”

Past – Shiratorizawa Academy, Late Autumn

The stone steps outside the gym had become your unspoken meeting place.

That afternoon, the air carried the sharp bite of the coming winter. Dry leaves skittered across the ground as the wind picked up. You sat with your back against the cold wall, knees drawn up, a half-finished drawing of the gym’s roofline in your lap.

Ushijima appeared without warning, as he often did. His practice jacket was zipped halfway, dark hair still damp with sweat despite the chill. He carried the faint scent of rubber court and clean soap.

He stopped in front of you for half a second, then lowered himself onto the step below, broad shoulders filling the space. His volleyball bag landed beside him with a dull thud.

Neither of you spoke for several minutes.

You continued shading the shadows under the eaves. He stared straight ahead, elbows resting on his knees, large hands loosely clasped.

After a while, he broke the silence.

“The wind today affected the ball’s path more than expected.”

You hummed softly, not looking up from your sketch. “It was stronger during the second half of practice, right? I noticed it pushing the serves wide.”

Ushijima turned his head slightly toward you. His olive-green eyes studied your face for a moment, then returned to the horizon.

“Yes,” he confirmed simply.

That was it.

No explanation needed. No lengthy discussion. You watched from the sidelines again today. Not because you were a manager or a fan club member, but because you simply showed up. And somehow, that had become enough for him to expect your presence.

When the cold started seeping through your uniform, you rubbed your hands together. Without a word, Ushijima shifted closer, his shoulder now lightly pressing against your leg. The warmth from his body cut through the chill.

You didn’t thank him. He didn’t expect it.

The silence that followed felt heavier than usual, but comfortable. Like two people breathing in the same rhythm.

Present – Studio

The interviewer leaned in. “So your relationship was… quiet?”

You gave a small nod.

“Very quiet. We didn’t need to fill every moment with conversation. He liked that, I think. Most people try to pull words out of him. I never did.”

A faint, bittersweet smile touched your lips.

“I just accepted what he gave. And he gave more than most people realized.”

Past – Winter, After a Match

The roar of the crowd still echoed in the hallways of the gymnasium long after the final whistle.

Shiratorizawa had won, as expected. Ushijima’s spikes had been merciless, each one landing like a verdict.

You waited near the exit like always, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed against the cold. Players trickled out in groups, loud and triumphant. Tendou spotted you first and flashed a dramatic wink, but he didn’t stop to tease.

Ushijima came out last.

His eyes scanned the hallway once before locking onto you. Something in his posture eased for a fraction that no one else would notice.

He walked straight to you.

Without stopping, he placed his bag down and stood close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him from the match. His breathing was still slightly elevated, chest rising and falling under his jacket.

You looked up at him.

“Good game,” you said softly. “That last spike in the fourth set… it was perfect.”

He nodded once. Then, after a beat:

“I looked for you before the final serve.”

Your heart stuttered, but you kept your voice even. “I was there. Third row from the front, left side.”

“I know.”

He didn’t say anything more. He simply stayed there, letting the noise of his celebrating teammates fade into the background. For a few precious minutes, it was just the two of you in that quiet corner of the hallway.

When he finally picked up his bag again, he spoke one last time before leaving.

“Tomorrow. Same steps?”

You smiled faintly. “Same steps.”

Present – Studio

One of the crew members asked gently, “Did it ever feel like more than friendship?”

You paused, fingers tightening slightly in your lap.

“It felt like everything,” you answered honestly. “But we never called it anything. No labels. No promises.”

Your gaze drifted to the floor.

“And for a while… that was enough.”

Present – Studio

The lighting felt warmer now, or maybe it was just the memories surfacing. The interviewer flipped a page on her notes.

“During his rise to the professional league, Ushijima became even more focused. Many people around him said he lived and breathed volleyball. Was there anyone who could pull him out of that mindset?”

You looked directly at the camera this time.

“I never tried to pull him out,” you said. “I just stood beside him in it.”

Past – Spring, Shiratorizawa Third Year

Cherry blossoms drifted across the school courtyard like pale pink snow. Practice had ended late again. The team was exhausted but buzzing with quiet confidence knowing that nationals were approaching.

You waited on the usual steps, a small bento box balanced on your knees. Nothing fancy. Just rice, grilled fish, and pickled vegetables you had prepared quickly after class.

Ushijima emerged from the gym doors, towel around his neck. His eyes found you immediately. He walked over with that steady, powerful stride and sat beside you this time. On the same level, shoulders almost touching.

You opened the bento and handed him the chopsticks first.

He accepted it without question and began eating. After a few bites, he spoke.

“My spike timing improved this week.”

You nodded, watching the blossoms catch in his dark hair. “I saw. You were reading the blockers better. Less predictable.”

He ate in silence for a while longer. Then, unexpectedly:

“My father called yesterday. He wants me to consider moving to Tokyo sooner for the pro team scouting.”

Your chopsticks paused mid-air for half a second before you continued eating.

“And what do you think?” you asked calmly.

Ushijima stared at the falling petals. “It is the correct path. Stronger competition. Better facilities.”

You didn’t push. You never did.

Instead, you simply said, “Then that’s what you should do.”

He turned his head to look at you fully. Those intense olive eyes studied your face like he was memorizing it. For a long moment, the only sound was the wind rustling through the cherry trees.

When he finished the bento, he closed the box neatly and set it aside. Then he did something rare… he stayed even after finishing.

His hand rested on the stone between you. Not quite touching yours, but close enough that you could feel the warmth.

You slid your fingers over until they brushed his. He didn’t pull away. He never did with you.

Present – Studio

A soft chuckle came from the interviewer. “It sounds like you two were very close.”

You gave a small, pained smile.

“We were. He would finish every important match and look for me first in the stands. Not his coach. Not his teammates. Me. I became the constant he returned to.”

You paused, throat tightening slightly.

“He shared things with me he never told anyone else. Small things. How a certain serve felt off. How the pressure from expectations sat on his shoulders. He didn’t complain. He just stated facts. And I listened.”

Past – Summer, Before Nationals

The night air was thick and humid. The team had won another practice match, but Ushijima had stayed behind in the gym long after everyone left. You found him there, alone under the dimmed lights, practicing his approach over and over.

You sat on the bench near the court, watching silently.

When he finally stopped, sweat dripping down his face, he walked over and dropped down beside you. His breathing was heavy.

“I keep thinking about the future,” he said suddenly. His voice was low, almost rough. “Volleyball is everything. But sometimes… there is space for other things.”

Your heart clenched. You turned to him.

“Like what?” you whispered.

He looked at you for a long time. The words seemed to hover on his tongue, but he never released them.

Instead, he reached out and gently fixed a strand of hair that had stuck to your cheek from the humidity. His calloused fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary.

“You,” he said simply.

No grand confession. No “I like you.” Just that one word, you, delivered like an undeniable fact.

You felt your eyes sting, but you smiled and leaned your head lightly against his broad shoulder. He allowed it. The gym lights hummed above you as the two of you sat in the quiet afterglow of his hard work.

No labels. No promises.

Just the steady beat of his heart next to yours.

Present – Studio

The interviewer asked carefully, “Did you ever wonder where you stood with him?”

You let out a slow breath.

“Every day. But I stayed anyway. Because being important to Ushijima Wakatoshi… that was already more than most people ever got.”

Your voice grew quieter.

“I thought it would be enough forever.”

Present – Studio

The mood in the room had shifted. The interviewer’s voice softened, sensing the weight behind your answers.

“There came a point when Ushijima made a major career decision. By turning pro and moving to the Sendai Frogs initially, then the national team path. How did that affect your… connection?”

You stared at your hands for a long moment. The camera kept rolling.

“It forced us to face what we never named,” you replied.

Past – Late Summer, After Nationals

The celebration had died down hours ago. Shiratorizawa had taken the championship again, and the team party was loud and chaotic. But Ushijima had slipped away early.

You found him on the rooftop of the school building, the city lights glittering below. The night breeze carried the last remnants of summer heat.

He stood at the railing, broad back straight, gazing out at nothing in particular. When he heard your footsteps, he didn’t turn around right away.

You stopped beside him, close enough that your arm brushed his.

“Congratulations,” you said softly. “You were incredible out there.”

He gave a single nod. Then, after a beat of silence, he spoke in that steady, matter-of-fact tone:

“I’ve decided. I’m going pro. The offer from the Sendai Frogs is the most logical choice. Stronger training environment. Better path to the national team.”

Your chest tightened. You had known this day would come, the rumors had been swirling for weeks. Still, hearing him say it so plainly hurt.

“That’s… good,” you managed. “It’s what you’ve been working toward.”

Ushijima finally turned to look at you. His expression was calm, almost peaceful, as if the decision had already settled perfectly in his mind.

“Yes. It is the correct decision.”

The silence that followed felt different this time. Heavier.

You swallowed hard, staring at the city lights instead of him.

“And where does that leave us?” The question slipped out before you could stop it. Your voice was quieter than you wanted.

He blinked once, as if the question surprised him.

“You can visit when you want,” he said simply. “Tokyo isn’t far.”

That wasn’t what you meant. Not even close.

Your hands gripped the railing until your knuckles turned white. The words you had held back for so long finally pushed forward.

“Wakatoshi… What am I to you?”

The question hung in the warm night air.

Ushijima looked at you directly, those intense olive eyes steady and honest. He didn’t hesitate.

“You are important.”

Important.

Not “I need you.”

Not “Stay with me.”

Not “I love you.”

Just… important.

You felt something crack inside your chest. The breeze suddenly felt colder.

“I see,” you whispered.

He reached out and placed a large, warm hand on your shoulder. A rare gesture of comfort from him. “This is the best path for my career. You understand that.”

You did understand. That was the problem. You had always understood him better than anyone.

But for once, you wished he would understand you.

Present – Studio

The interviewer waited patiently as you gathered yourself.

“Did you tell him how you felt?” she asked.

You shook your head slowly.

“No. Not then. I realized at that moment that I didn’t know where I stood in his life. And he… he didn’t see why that mattered.”

Your voice cracked just slightly.

“He thought ‘important’ was enough. For him, it was the highest thing he could say.”

Past – Two Weeks Later

The train station was crowded with students and salarymen. Ushijima stood on the platform in his casual clothes, bag slung over his shoulder, ready for his first official meeting with the pro team staff in Sendai.

You had come to see him off.

He turned to you as the train approached, expression unchanged from any other day.

“I will call when I settle in,” he said.

You nodded, forcing a small smile. The crack in your chest had widened into a chasm.

The train doors opened. He stepped toward them, then paused.

For a second, you thought he might say something more. Something that would change everything.

Instead, he simply said, “Take care.”

And he boarded.

You stood on the platform until the train disappeared from view. He never looked back.

That night, you packed your own things quietly. No dramatic goodbye. No angry letter.

Just a quiet finality.

You left for a different city the next morning.

He didn’t stop you.

Because in his mind, if it was your decision, he would respect it.

Present – Studio

You looked straight into the camera, eyes tired but clear.

“I left because staying would have hurt more. He never said what I needed to hear… and I couldn’t keep pretending it was enough.”

The room had grown quieter. Even the crew seemed to sense the shift as the interview moved into heavier territory.

The interviewer spoke carefully. “After he turned pro, the two of you… drifted apart?”

You gave a slow nod, eyes distant.

“Not with shouting or fighting. It was quieter than that.”

Past – Autumn, One Month After He Left

Your new apartment in a different prefecture felt too empty. The boxes were still half-unpacked, the walls bare. You had taken a simple job and tried to build something new, but every quiet moment pulled your thoughts back to him.

Your phone lit up with a rare message.

Wakatoshi: Practice went well today. The team’s coordination is improving. How are you?

You stared at the screen for a long time. The words were typical Ushijima, always factual and direct. No mention of missing you. No question about why you had suddenly left without a proper goodbye.

You typed back with trembling fingers.

You: I’m okay. Settling in. Glad practice is going well.

That was the last real conversation for a while.

He continued sending occasional updates. Just short and straightforward texts about matches, training, and small observations about the pro environment. You replied every time, keeping the tone light, never mentioning the growing distance or the ache in your chest.

But the silences between messages stretched longer.

Present – Studio

“He never asked me to stay,” you said, voice low. “And I never explained why I left. We both just… accepted it.”

The interviewer nodded sympathetically. “Did he try to reach out more?”

You shook your head.

“Not in the way I hoped. He respected my decision completely. That’s who he is.”

Past – Winter, Three Months Later

The snow fell heavily outside your window as you watched a recorded match on your laptop. Ushijima dominated the court as always. With his powerful spikes, unshakeable focus. He was always the ace the team relied on.

After the match, the camera caught him scanning the stands for a moment. The same habit. Looking for someone who was no longer there.

Your phone buzzed.

Wakatoshi: We won. The spike in the third set worked as planned.

You didn’t reply for two days.

When you finally did, it was short.

You: Congratulations. You looked strong out there.

No more late-night thoughts shared. No more quiet evenings on the steps. The comfortable silence that once connected you now felt like a wall.

One evening, you sat on your bed and typed a longer message. Containing everything you had held back.

Wakatoshi, I left because I realized I was waiting for something you might never say. I was important, but I needed to know if I was more. I’m sorry for disappearing like this.

Your thumb hovered over send for a long minute… then you deleted it.

Instead, you sent nothing.

Two weeks later, you changed your number. Not out of anger, but out of the need for a clean break. A quiet finality.

He never chased after you. He simply continued his path, as steady and unwavering as always.

Because if leaving was your decision, he would respect it.

Present – Studio

You took a slow, shaky breath as the camera focused on your face.

“I left without a big scene. No fight. No closure. Just… gone. And he let me go. Not because he didn’t care, but because he believed respecting my choice was the right thing.”

Your eyes glistened under the studio lights.

“He never stopped me. And that silence hurt more than anything he could have said.”

The interviewer gave you a moment before asking gently, “Do you regret how it ended?”

You hesitated longer this time, the pause stretching.

“He never said what I needed to hear,” you whispered. “And I never gave him the chance to learn how.”

Past – One Year Later

You saw him on television more often now. Called the rising star of the pro league, the powerful opposite hitter everyone talked about. Ushijima Wakatoshi, the man who spoke little but dominated everything.

Sometimes, late at night, you wondered if he ever thought about those quiet moments on the steps, or the way your hand had brushed his, or the single word “you” he had given you under the gym lights.

But life moved forward.

You built new routines. New people entered your life, though none ever felt quite right.

And somewhere across the country, Ushijima kept playing. Still strong, focused, and unchanging. The fracture had become a canyon.

Present – Documentary Studio

The set looked different for Ushijima’s session.

Warmer lighting, a single chair centered in the frame. He sat with perfect posture, wearing a simple black team jacket, hands resting calmly on his thighs. The camera loved him. All because of his sharp features, broad shoulders, and that unreadable intensity never wavered.

He had answered every question so far with his usual precision: short, factual responses about his career, training philosophy, and key matches. No embellishment. No emotion.

Until now.

The interviewer leaned forward, tone shifting.

“We’ve spoken with several people from your past. One person in particular was mentioned often. Someone important during your Shiratorizawa years. She appeared in earlier interviews but preferred to remain vague about your relationship. May I ask… who was Reader to you?”

The room fell completely silent.

Ushijima didn’t move at first. His olive-green eyes stared straight into the camera for a long, heavy pause. Five seconds. Ten. The kind of silence that made the crew exchange uneasy glances.

Then, in his deep, steady voice:

“She was the person I chose.”

The words landed like a spike hitting the court. The interviewer blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Could you… elaborate?”

Ushijima took another long breath. For the first time in the entire interview, his gaze softened, just slightly.

“I do not speak many words. Most people find this difficult. But with her… I did not need to. She understood without explanation. She sat with me in silence. She saw my plays before I made them. She was there after every match. Not because she had to be. Because she chose to be.”

He paused again, as if searching for the right words. Something he rarely did.

“I never called her my partner. I never said romantic things. But every day, I chose to be near her. I looked for her first. I told her things I told no one else. When she left, I respected her decision. I thought… that was correct.”

His large hands tightened almost imperceptibly on his thighs.

“To me, choosing someone every day was love. I believed it was obvious. I did not know it needed to be said.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Ushijima looked directly into the camera again, his voice quieter but firm.

“If she is watching this… I was wrong. You were more than important. You were the only person I ever chose above volleyball.”

Cut to black.

Later – Your Apartment

The documentary had aired.

You sat alone in the dim glow of your screen, knees drawn to your chest, watching the final episode. When Ushijima’s interview segment began, you had expected his usual short answers.

You were not prepared for this.

His deep voice filled your small room. Those simple, devastating words “She was the person I chose.” echoed in your ears.

Tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them.

All those quiet moments rushed back at once: the stone steps at Shiratorizawa, his shoulder warm against yours in the cold, the single word “you” under the gym lights, the way he always looked for you first.

He had loved you.

In his own way, the only way he knew how, he had loved you deeply.

And you had left because you never heard it spoken.

Too late.

The screen faded to black on his final words. You sat there in the dark, chest aching with a bittersweet pain that felt both crushing and healing at the same time.

Everything was recontextualized.

Every silence. Every glance. Every choice.

He had chosen you.

And you had never truly known until now.

Three Weeks Later

Your phone had been quiet for years. Then one message changed everything.

Unknown Number: This is Ushijima Wakatoshi. I received your new contact from the documentary staff. I watched the full series. If you are willing, I would like to meet. 

There are things I need to say clearly this time.

You stared at the message for nearly an hour before replying with a single line.

You: Okay. When and where?

He chose a small, quiet café in Tokyo on a weekday morning. It was early enough that the usual crowd hadn’t arrived yet. Neutral ground. No pressure.

When you walked in, he was already there.

Ushijima sat by the window, shoulders filling the chair, wearing a simple dark sweater. His hair was a little longer than you remembered, but his posture was the same. The moment he saw you, he stood up immediately.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then he said your name. Just your name. But the way he said it made your throat tighten.

You sat across from him. Two cups of coffee were already on the table. Black for him. The way you liked it for you.

“I watched the interview,” you started, voice barely above a whisper. “What you said…”

Ushijima nodded once. He looked at you directly, those intense olive eyes holding yours without flinching.

“I was wrong,” he said plainly. No excuses. No softening. “I thought my actions were enough. Choosing to be with you every day, looking for you first, sharing my thoughts with only you. I believed that expressed everything. I did not understand that you needed the words.”

He paused, hands resting calmly on the table.

“I love you.”

The words came out steady and certain, like a spike he had practiced a thousand times. Simple. Honest. Devastating in their directness.

Your breath caught.

“I loved you then,” he continued. “I love you now. When you left, I respected your decision because I thought it was what you wanted. But after the documentary… I realized I had never given you a reason to stay.”

Tears welled in your eyes. You didn’t try to hide them.

“I waited so long to hear that,” you whispered. “I thought I was just… convenient. Important, but not enough.”

Ushijima’s brow furrowed slightly, the closest he came to pain.

“You were never convenient. You were the only person who made the world quieter. With you, I did not have to be the ace or the future of Japanese volleyball. I could just be… me.”

He reached across the table slowly, giving you time to pull away. When you didn’t, he covered your hand with his. Large, warm, calloused from years of spiking. The same hand that once brushed hair from your cheek under gym lights.

“I cannot change the years we lost,” he said. “But if you will allow it, I want to choose you again. Properly this time. Every day. With words when you need them.”

The café faded around you. All that existed was the steady rhythm of his voice and the warmth of his hand.

You turned your palm up and laced your fingers through his. “I never stopped choosing you either,” you admitted, voice thick with emotion. “Even when it hurts.”

A small, rare smile touched Ushijima’s lips. The smile was barely there, but real.

“Then we start again,” he said simply. “No unspoken things this time.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand.

Outside, the city moved on as usual. But inside that small café, two people who had once let silence define them finally gave it language.

Not perfect. Not without scars. But hopeful. And this time, chosen out loud.

Two Years Later

The stadium was alive with thunderous applause. Flags waved in waves of red and white as the final whistle echoed through the massive arena. Japan had won another grueling international match, and once again, Ushijima Wakatoshi stood at the center of it all.

His final spike in the fifth set had been devastating. With a powerful, decisive strike that left the opposing blockers frozen. The crowd chanted his name, but his focus remained sharp, unbroken.

You sat in your familiar seat: third row, left side of the court. The same position you had occupied since his high school days. Only this time, you weren’t hidden in the shadows or watching from a distance. You wore his national team jacket openly over your shoulders, the fabric still carrying his scent.

People had noticed. Of course they had. Cameras had panned toward you multiple times during the match. Social media was already buzzing with new photos and speculation, but none of that mattered tonight.

The players lined up for their final bow. Ushijima moved with them, tall and composed, but his eyes weren’t on the crowd or his teammates.

They were on you.

Even across the glowing court, his gaze found you instantly. That subtle shift in his posture. The slight relaxation of his broad shoulders told you everything. He gave one firm, deliberate nod in your direction before straightening again. A private acknowledgment in the middle of thousands of screaming fans.

Your heart swelled the same way it had on those quiet Shiratorizawa steps years ago.

The corridor outside the locker rooms was quieter now, though the distant roar of the crowd still vibrated through the walls. Staff members moved efficiently, and a few teammates offered you polite nods as they passed. They had grown used to seeing you here.

You leaned against the wall, arms loosely crossed, watching the door.

When Ushijima finally emerged, he looked exactly as you remembered from every important match. His hair damp from the shower, team jacket zipped halfway, and duffel bag slung effortlessly over one shoulder. His presence filled the hallway.

His olive-green eyes locked onto you immediately. Without hesitation, he walked straight toward you, ignoring the lingering reporters and crew. He stopped just inches away, towering over you in that familiar, comforting way.

“You came,” he said, voice deep and steady. There was a quiet warmth beneath the words now. Something he had learned to let show.

“I promised I would,” you replied softly, smiling up at him. “You were incredible out there, Wakatoshi. That last spike… the timing, the power. It was perfect. The blockers had no chance.”

He nodded once, accepting the praise with the same seriousness he gave everything. But then he added something more, words he now gave freely.

“I saw you before the serve. Knowing you were watching made it easier. I wanted to end it cleanly for you.”

Your breath caught. Even after two years of rebuilding, his honest declarations still made heat rise to your cheeks.

He reached out with one large hand and gently adjusted the jacket on your shoulders, making sure it covered you against the post-match chill. His fingers lingered, brushing lightly along your arm in a touch that was both protective and tender.

“The press is waiting outside,” he continued, eyes never leaving yours. “They will take many photos again. Are you comfortable with that?”

You slipped your hand into his without thinking. His fingers closed around yours immediately. The gesture was warm and sure. “Let them,” you said. “I’m not hiding anymore. This is us now.”

A rare, small smile touched his lips. It was subtle, barely curving the edges of his mouth, but it was real and meant only for you. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, right there in the open hallway where anyone could see. No hesitation. No shame.

“Come home with me,” he murmured against your skin. “I want to hear everything you thought about the match. Every detail. And then… I just want you close.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I’d like that.”

As you walked together toward the exit, hand in hand, the flashes of cameras greeted you. Reporters called out questions, but Ushijima ignored them all, his focus entirely on you. He kept his grip steady, guiding you through the crowd with quiet protectiveness. The world saw it now. What had once been unspoken was finally visible.

In the car ride back to his apartment, the city lights blurred past the windows. Ushijima drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. It was a simple touch, but it spoke volumes.

“You are here,” he said quietly after a while, echoing the same words from years ago, but now filled with deep contentment. “Every important match… you are here.”

“I’m staying,” you whispered, placing your hand over his. “No more quiet fractures. No more wondering where I stand. We say it now.”

He glanced at you at a red light, eyes soft in the glow.

“I love you,” he said plainly, like it was the most natural fact in the world. “I chose you then. I choose you every day now.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but they were happy ones. You leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder as the light turned green.

“I love you too, Wakatoshi.”

The apartment was warm when you arrived. He made tea the way you liked it while you curled up on the couch. Later, as you talked through the match. Conveying every one of your honest thoughts and the small observations only you would notice. He listened intently, occasionally nodding or adding his own insights.

When conversation faded, he simply pulled you closer, wrapping his strong arms around you. The silence that settled between you was the same comfortable one from years ago… but now it carried no uncertainty. No unspoken pain.

Just peace.

And love, finally spoken out loud for the world, and each other to see.

if love were a competition, ushijima wakatoshi would be undefeated, undisputed, reigning champion of the world. he would also insist it’s not a competition, because to him it’s simply fact. an unshakable truth.

and unfortunately for the schweiden adlers’ PR team, tonight he decides to share that truth on live television.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the adlers win big. sweat, cheers, the whole stadium buzzing with victory. ushijima is plucked out for a quick post-game interview, mic shoved into his hand, cameras trained on his sharp, stoic features. the fans brace themselves for his usual short answers, the kind that make headlines only because he’s too blunt to sugarcoat.

but the reporter smiles brightly. “ushijima, people call you the ace of japan. what does that title mean to you?”

it’s a normal question. harmless. safe.

and then he says it.

“it means nothing compared to y/n being the ace of my heart.”

the air dies.

the crowd goes dead silent, as though he just announced his retirement. the reporter freezes, visibly rebooting. the cameraman audibly chokes.

and ushijima? unbothered. deadly serious. standing like a marble statue carved by gods.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

“volleyball is important,” he continues, as though giving a lecture, “but y/n is more important. every serve i make is for her. every spike, every block, every drill—dedicated to her. when i am tired, i think of her. when i succeed, it is because of her.”

you, watching from home, nearly drop your drink all over yourself. “oh my god.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the camera cuts briefly to the adlers’ bench, where his teammates are clearly not handling it any better.

romero, leaning forward with a hand over his heart, looks genuinely moved to tears. his lips form the words, “so beautiful.”

hoshiumi is vibrating out of his seat, smacking kageyama on the shoulder like he’s just witnessed history. “DO YOU HEAR HIM?! THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT! THAT’S LOVE!”

kageyama, ever blunt, nods firmly. “he’s right. y/n is the ace of his heart.”

they’re all so serious about it that the PR manager in the background looks like he’s aged ten years, gave birth to sixty kids, and did a cartwheel for five days in thirty seconds.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the reporter tries desperately to wrestle control back. “so… you’re saying teamwork motivates you?”

ushijima nods solemnly. “yes. y/n and i are the ultimate team. unbeatable. synchronized. the setter to my spiker, the libero to my defense, the heartbeat to my life.”

the crowd erupts. the internet combusts. you bury your face in a pillow, screaming into the fabric, because your boyfriend just publicly upgraded you from girlfriend to entire tactical formation.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

and then the mic is passed around. mistake number one.

romero gets it first. he smiles, all charming, and says: “ushijima’s right. y/n’s the secret weapon of the adlers. without her, we’d all be half the players we are today. she cheers so loud i can feel it in my soul. honestly? she’s our mascot, our captain, our strategy.”

the crowd cheers.

then hoshiumi grabs the mic. “listen—listen! i’m not exaggerating when i say y/n makes me jump higher. every time she’s in the stands, i feel like i could touch the ceiling! she’s like—she’s like rocket fuel for my legs!”

the crowd SCREAMS.

finally, the mic goes to kageyama. he stares into the camera, utterly serious. “y/n has perfect toss form. if she ever wanted to set for me, i know it would be the best set of my life.”

absolute silence. then hysterical laughter.

the reporter looks two seconds away from fainting.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

you? you’ve fully melted into the couch, holding your phone as it buzzes nonstop.

friend: ARE THEY ALL IN LOVE WITH YOU???

you: i just take care of them, that’s all??

your mom: ushijima’s teammates are very nice boys, you can marry him now.

random guy named berto: pls marry him and end volleyball wars.

twitter is a disaster:

#AceOfMyHeart trending globally

memes of hoshiumi photoshopped into space with rocket flames captioned “y/n’s in the crowd”

fancams of romero blowing kisses to the camera synced to dramatic latin music.

clips of kageyama saying “best set of my life” used as reaction memes for literally everything

you throw your phone across the couch and groan into your blanket. “i can’t go outside anymore.”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

when ushijima gets home that night, he’s completely calm. walks in, gym bag slung over his shoulder, like he didn’t just put your entire relationship on the world stage.

“y/n,” he greets, steady and warm.

you sit up, eyes wide. “toshi. explain yourself.”

he tilts his head. “did you see the interview?”

“did i see it?!” you clutch your blanket dramatically. “you made it sound like i’m the federation of volleyball itself!”

“you are.” he says it without blinking.

“toshi!” you throw a pillow at him. he catches it easily. “you made romero cry!”

ushijima blinks. “he understood the truth.”

“and hoshiumi basically called me rocket fuel!”

“you are,” he repeats, like it’s obvious.

“and kageyama—kageyama said i’d give him the best set of his life. do you realize what that sounds like?!”

a pause. ushijima frowns slightly. “it sounds accurate.”

you collapse into laughter, tears pricking your eyes because there’s no winning with him. ushijima wakatoshi will stand ten toes down on his devotion until the end of time.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the next practice, you tag along, and the second you step into the gym, all three of his teammates practically sprint over.

romero bows dramatically. “mi reina, my queen, my eternal cheerleader. your presence blesses us today.”

hoshiumi beams, bouncing on his heels. “Y/N! can you cheer for me once? just once? i swear i’ll break the ceiling with my jump.”

kageyama stares dead serious. “please toss to me.”

you blink at them, stunned, then turn to ushijima like: what have you done.

he looks at you, entirely unashamed. “they understand.”

and god help you, they really do.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

by the time you leave practice, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. ushijima slings an arm around your shoulder as you walk, steady and grounding, the way he always is.

“you didn’t have to do all that, you know,” you murmur. “the interview, the speech, everything.”

“i did,” he says simply. “the world should know.”

you roll your eyes, but your heart swells anyway. because for all the chaos and embarrassment, there’s no denying it: ushijima wakatoshi, one of the best volleyba players—

but you’ll always be the ace of his heart.

and apparently, the rest of the adlers agree.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a: this is so fun. what’s not fun are the kōrai haters in my inbox, y’all can smd 🤑

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners. (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)