First Meet

Oikawa Tooru surprisingly doesn’t miss his homeland that much. Sure, he pours over old photos with a small grin and sometimes cries in his room because (as much as he would hate to admit it) he misses Iwa’s vulgar nicknames about him. 

But other than that, he’s doing just fine. Er—he thinks.  

Yet the one thing that he finds himself missing ultimately is...his fangirls. He knows he’s being shallow, but he liked the attention that was showered upon his good looks, the praise at every game, every move, practically at every breath that he took. It was a good contrast against his rather depressing life.  

He liked the chocolates that he received, the love letters, and the feeling of being admired just because he existed. 

But now, in Argentina, he finds that the locals here hold themselves to different standards than those set in Japan. And he's rather disappointed when he realizes that he hasn’t received a confession since leaving Japan.  

That no one has asked for his number yet.   

So, he decides one fateful afternoon that he’s going to have to step up his game. Pronto.  

And when he sees you waiting at the bus stop, he sidles up next to you and thinks. His friend, when he was complaining about his problem earlier told him a pick-up line that apparently worked on everyone. 

“It means what is a pretty face like you doing here! Go on and try it Tooru, with a face likes yours, you’ll definitely get any girl” And for more reassurance he clapped him on the back and nodded. Oikawa nodded back grinning as brightly.  

Now, the man smirks and sighs, catching your attention. You spare him a look as he looks around dreamily.  

“¿Cómo es posible que una chica como tú tenga esa cara… y aun así salga sin máscara?” Oikawa breathily says—just like he would to his fans in high school. And he waits for the shy giggles or the bashful scoff. But nothing reaches his ears—he even strains them! 

He stills. A beat passes, and then he thinks that you must be too shocked to even respond, so he decides to do you a favor and look at you—

Why the hell are you glaring at him like he was a piece of gum on the soles of your shoes? 

“Uhm...hola? Lo siento.” He stutters, ego broken. His face was red, flushed like a tomato, and he went to take a step away before you opened your mouth and stopped him.  

“Do you even know what you just said?” You coldly ask in English. You raise a brow at the way he slowly nods. “...What is a pretty girl like you doing here?” He mumbles, kicking at a rock.

When he peeks at your face, he groans when you stare incredulously at him, laughter cracking underneath your pretty features.  

You finally start giggling when you meet his eyes, and his heart beats a little faster. And he’s suddenly feeling a little bashful.  

“It means something else, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah. Do you wanna know what you just said to me?”  

He nods and weakly croaks, “Please,” bracing himself for the worst.  

You try to hold back another bout of chuckling, “You just asked me, how it’s possible that a girl like me has this face and still goes out without a mask.”  

Oikawa’s face contorts into one of complete horror. “I... oh my god, I’m so sorry. I—you see! My friend told me to say that...and I believed him.” He takes a deep, shameful breath in as you start laughing even harder. “I am so sorry again.” 

“Don’t worry about it at all. Just do your research next time before you say something else to the wrong person.”  

He grins, but another idea pops up in his head, one that would send Iwa into a coma from his stupidity, “Of course. I’ve learned my lesson now. But you know if I had a translator I wouldn’t have run into this probl—” 

 “I’m not giving you my number.” You bluntly say, but there’s a soft smile playing on your lips that makes Tooru look away for a second to ignore the way that his stomach is twitching. 

He exhales dramatically, “You won’t even take pity on this young, lost, handsome, foreigner? Oh, what has this world come to?!”  

You snort and shake your head, but as you roll on the balls of your feet and chew on your lip, you finally let in. “I really don’t know about the handsome part—” 

“Ouch.” He gasps, holding his chest.  You roll your eyes and continue, “But fine. I’ll be your translator. But only because I feel bad.”  

And at that, Oikawa smugly twinkles. And thinks that maybe he’s still got it in him. 

First Date

You didn’t actually think that Tooru was going to use you as a translator. But as soon as you get back home, you are met with a flurry of texts from the man, asking you which route was the fastest way back to the city or what the packaging on his snack meant.  

That wasn’t the last time that you got a text like that.  

You didn’t really mind, though. To be honest, you quite enjoyed his texts, finding them rather funny in your mundane day, and you liked helping him when he got a little lost. You find it endearing. You find him endearing.  

So, when Tooru, after a few weeks of back and forth, asks you out to coffee to say thank you for your trustworthy efforts...you say alright, only pretending to be annoyed.  

You weren’t sure if it was a date or not, or if he was just being friendly. You kind of hoped it was, deep in your heart, but you knew that he was way out of your league.  

Yet when the awaited day came, you put on a dress that made you feel pretty and put on a little more makeup for something so casual.   

You're glad you did, because Tooru’s flustered face was worth it, eyes scanning you up and down as you opened the door for him. You flush and lean your head on the door. 

“Hi Tooru.”  

“Hi—Wow...you’re really gorgeous.” He croaks. He then takes a moment and breathes in, “I um got you flowers...didn’t know if it was a date or but you know.” he shrugs and pulls out the most stunning flower bouquet. And you stare at it in silence, touched...which he mistakes for disappointment.  

“It’s totally fine if you don’t like it! I just—” 

“They’re really pretty, Tooru. It’s just that no one’s gotten me flowers before, so...thank you.” You smile blindingly, and the man must hold onto a wall before he passes out from the light that you radiate.  

You’re genuinely the most beautiful woman he thinks that he’d ever seen.  

“And um...” You say, taking the flowers and holding them close to you. “It is a date, right?” 

Tooru blinks. Then nods rapidly, “Yes. Yes. Date. It’s a date.”  

You laugh prettily and excuse yourself so you can set your flowers down before taking his waiting hand. You flush when he takes the back of your palm and gently places a soft kiss on it. 

The coffee that day has never been sweeter. 

First Kiss

Tooru is an all-time sweetheart—something that you find out and experience through your many dates. Dates that consisted of late nights, food at the park, his volleyball practice, and your hand in his as he navigates through his new life. With you. Always you, he swears. 

Where he muses you soft, sweet, sometimes awkward nothings and makes you feel like you’re the only woman in the world. Where he teases you so funnily but always turns serious when your lips downturn into a frown, and you’re both suddenly going on a whole spiel of deep thoughts.  

Dates that embody the true meaning of one in love. And God, you’re in love.  

Oikawa Tooru asks to be your boyfriend over a bottle of wine and a small basket of your favorite foods. You say yes...not even hiding the eagerness in your tone. You got horribly poked at that in his dramatic flair, but you quietly remind him that he had called you something nasty the first time you two met. He apologized once more. 

That day was quite boisterous, something that was loud as two hearts start to intertwine—messy at first as they try to sync in beat. Still nice though—you cannot complain.   

But now, as you stare at the man next to you, so handsome against the night sky, there’s this constant quietness. Not clumsy, but one of understanding as something thrums underneath your fingertips when your hand is in his.  

You study his features, all the way from his unruly hair to his slender figure. And when your eyes whisk back up to his face, you flush when you realize that you were caught ogling at him. “Like what you see?” He prods, but you see the way that his fingers scramble to conceal his reddening ears. Cute. 

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.” You turn away to move, but Tooru’s warm hands pull you back. “Tooru, what happened?”  

He shakes his head, but then he takes a step closer, peering into your eyes with a honeyed gaze that you cannot look away from. He says so much without talking, brows furrowing beautifully, and his hands slithering up to your jaw.  

“You really are the most captivating woman I’ve ever met. I... can I please kiss you?” He whispers, ghosting over your left cheek. You swallow thickly and grip his collared shirt.  

“Will you?” 

He doesn’t give you an answer. Instead, he meets you halfway and firmly but steadily moves his lips against yours. Your fingers play with the curls, tightening at the maple intrusion—so sweet and tender yet hard and secure. 

You two only part when you’ve run out of air. But it’s not for too long, as you’re both on each other again.  

And he realizes that night that he’s a man addicted.  

First I Love You

Tooru was disappointedly informed that you were unable to attend one of his games due to work. Which was no big deal, because there were obviously so many more that you can go to in the future to make you happy, but he supposes that he feels a little out of place. Like an incomplete puzzle—so empty.  

And he wonders how he even made it this far without you.  

But as he’s about to serve, all he thinks about is you, you, you. The way that you crinkle your eyes crinkle when he catches your eye before the match, the way that your lips pout when the opposing side scores a point, the way that you cheer for him, so loud and bright without any shame.  

And your good luck kisses that always left him a little ruffled and lovesick. Fuck. You didn’t even give him one today morning, rushing out to your office...and his stomach drops at the thought of it.  

Tooru promised you that he wouldn’t look out at the crowd when he was about to play because you were scared that he was going to distract himself. But he can’t help it this time, his eyes scanning the people, the faces...before— 

Before they stop on you.  

Front row, grinning so bright that he felt jealous of whoever was next to you. You meet his eyes, and glare, nudging your head back to the game ahead of him. But your soft, flustered smile says something else.  

And this odd realization comes upon him...You skipped work. For him.  

So, Tooru, with much more confidence from before and a faster heart filled with, throws up the ball and smashes it onto the other side of the court. Service Ace.  

All he hears is your raving, which doesn’t stop until the end of the game. His team wins by a landslide, a huge one, but something is nagging at his chest.  

Something that you can fix. 

He doesn’t even spare his teammates a glance before he’s sprinting out through the stadium’s hallways and finds you staring at a vending machine. ‘How typical,’ he snorts, but there's this thing that is pounding at his ribs, sharp and wanting. Wanting you.  

Tooru’s feet are lithe and quiet, but your body feels him before you even realize it, and so when his strong, sweaty arms wrap around you, you relax into his chest, relishing in the chaste butterfly kisses he drowns you in. 

“Mmm, Tooru, you’re so sweaty!” You whine, but you don’t make any effort to push him off. You instead just spin around in his arms and look up at him so lovingly that it pains him beautifully. “Were you surprised?”  

He weakly nods and buries himself in the crook of your neck. “You didn’t have to skip work for me, you know. I would’ve been just fine.” 

You shrug softly, “I know. But I wanted to. That’s why I rushed out today morning. It was so I could get all my work done earlier!” 

Something blooms in Tooru’s chest, and he just hugs you closer, tighter, the three words already scorching his tongue. 

“Thank you. You mean so much to me. I really love you.” 

And at his proclamation, you don’t still or freeze or gasp. Instead, you ease into it, so easy and adoring. Not jagged because it has never been awkward with him. 

“I love you, too, Tooru."

First Fight 

Tooru was a volleyball addict, surface-level-wise. A freak. 

But you knew better. Knew him. You saw past his insecurities and his horrors. The thoughts that circle his nightmares of always being second place, never getting better, that his hard work will never pay off against someone with raw, unadulterated talent.  

He had told you once that it started in high school. That one of his juniors had created this swirling fear, an aching in his hands whenever he set a volleyball. It continued until high school, unable to get into nationals. Unable to make a name for himself in the sports world. That’s why he moved here, he reasoned with you. 

“Because I knew that I was never going to make it in a country that only housed talent.”  

And so, when he’s at practice a little longer than usual, you let him be. You understand that he needs to feel this pain—to improve, to succeed, and that all he wants from you is your undying support—a hand as he battles himself.  

But you draw the line when he starts to neglect himself. 

“Tooru, it’s almost one in the morning, and you haven’t eaten all day. You need rest.” You groan. One of his teammates has informed you that your boyfriend was still at the gymnasium practicing and has not been letting up.

And to that, you’ve called his phone a dozen times before picking up your keys and driving all the way to the courts.  

You sighed, knowing that this wasn’t going to be easy. “No, I don’t. I’m doing perfectly fine. You’re not my fucking mother to worry about me.” He spits, and it stings. But you brush it off and sigh, not able to ignore the anxiousness that creeps up on you.  

You take a step forward, and he turns awa,y and you feel like you’ve just been slapped.  

“Love, please. I understand—” 

“No, you don’t (Y/n)—” 

“Fine. Okay, I don’t understand! But seriously,y Tooru, you’re going to injure yourself if you don’t take a break! I’m just worried that you’re going to fall sick or something bad is going to happen. You’ve been up against it for days! And—”

You’re twisting your fingers, pulling at your skin, opening wounds to the stingy tension that crackles between you two.  

“You know (Y/n)...” Tooru coldly says, “You’re being really damn clingy. It’s starting to get fucking annoying.” You hear him open his mouth to say something else, but you storm out of the gym, tears pooling in your eyes at a rapid rate.  

So much for caring.  

First Anniversary 

Tooru knows how much you despise huge dates. That you really don’t like going to big, fancy restaurants or anything else that requires you to act so formal, because it was so uncomfortable. So, expecting. 

You liked the small things. More intimate things, where your eyes twinkled brightly and your lips quirked so prettily, cheeks full and happy. And God, he really loves you for that.  

He loves when you love, when your heart beats against his chest, and all he can think of for the rest of the night is how much he adores you. Tooru’s been with you for a whole year—a whole year of love and cherishing each other.

Where your lips have molded against his, molded against the right side of his bed, molded in the kitchen when you cook him blueberry protein pancakes. 

Molded in his heart, his eyes, his touch, his ears, his nose. Indents. 

So, when your first anniversary rolls around, you both choose to go out to a home-cooked diner. Comfortable and happy, he watches you with wide eyes as you talk about your job promotion and other affairs that have been happening.  

He pouts and grins and does his theatrics at the right times, making you giggle or act all annoyed at him.  

In turn, he tells you about the antics that his best friend Iwaizumi has been doing in California. You've been on a call with the dude once, and it ended up with you two bullying your boyfriend and a promise of sharing rather horrendous pictures of him.  

You laugh now and take an off-guarded picture of your lover in front of you, as he rants about wanting to go surfing once because Iwa went, and you just roll your eyes and tell him that he’ll drown in the water.  

He sulks at that but perks up as you share of strawberry cake roll in and he’s immediately begging for a little bite, like he didn’t have his own lava cake in front of him.  

And you give in, because how can you not? He pays for the check with faux annoyance that you slap him for, before he takes your hand and leads you to a surprise that he’d been planning.  

Tooru takes to the top of a hill, so tall that it overlooks the entire city. You gasp when you see it, the little blanket lying there, and a little letter on top of it addressed to you.

When you give him a questioning look, he just says, “I’m not very good with words, so I wrote them down. Read it later, okay? But...” 

He swoops down on you and cradles you so softly that tears already prick at the corner of your eyes. You sniffle—always a crybaby.  

“Te quiero muchísimo. Gracias por cuidarme durante un año y por los muchos años que quedan, mi amor.” 

First Morning Moved in Together 

You’re very used to the bold, thick arms that wrap around you in the morning. The small drool on your shoulder and the warm chest pressed against your back.  

It’s nothing special, but it’s there and it grounds you as you awake your fluttering eyes, from the peeking sun that shines through the half-open blinds.  

Turning over against the mattress that you both placed on the floor, because your new bedframe wasn’t here yet, you whine into your boyfriend’s neck. Rudely awakened by the sun, because he forgot to close the shutters when you told him to last night.  

“Stop moving against me...” He groans, his hair tickling your forehead. Yet when you huff and try to wriggle out of his grasp, he just pulls you in deeper and presses a dry kiss to your hair.   

“You forgot to close the blinds when I told you to.” You say, trying to sound pissed. 

You don’t, and Tooru can feel that warm smile against his jaw, so his fingers tighten against your waist, and he breathes you in deeply. “That still sounds like your problem.”  

He smirks. And you sigh.  

“Really?” You cock your head and then knee him in the gut. “Oops!” 

 He yelps in pain and pushes you away as you start to cackle. But then this silence overcomes the room as the laughter dies, and your fingers touch the hardwood floor from the lack of a frame.

You stare at the empty walls that will be filled with memories and love. With tears and happiness.  

And then you get this realization. It’s weird and specific, but it makes your stomach dip and creates an uncontrollable grin on your face. ‘You didn’t have to leave to go back to your house when you’re already in it’  

When you look across at your lover, your home, he is already staring at you. Taking your arm, he tugs you into his bare chest. “Whatchu thinking about?” He asks, eyes fluttering close as you wrap around him once more. Your breathing relaxes, and a sudden doziness falls upon you.  

“About how much my back hurts. We really need to get a proper bed.”  

Last Proposal 

Oikawa Tooru didn’t know from the very beginning that he was going to marry you. For someone who had many partners, he didn’t think that the concept of marriage was even possible for him. For someone like him, who was so unstable and angry.  

But (and however cheesy he thinks it is, he knows it’s true) love changes him. You change him—in all your glory.  

Oikawa Tooru is still unstable and angry. He still cries over his losses and mourns over his mistakes. But what he thought was unlovable, you taught him that he was just human. That he just wasn’t this ball of negativity, that he was loved, so loved by you. 

That thought scares him, though. Because he understands that he doesn’t know himself without you. That you make a part of him—his other half.  

The side that he loves and doesn’t hate about himself.  

Oikawa Tooru has this thought late at night after a rather terrifying horror movie. Though you were known not to fear such films, you had clung onto him the whole time, only to fall asleep snuggled against him after the movie ended. 

That’s when Tooru, against his beating heart, when he stared at your peaceful face, knew that he wanted to put a ring on your finger. That he wanted—no, needed to be with you for the rest of his life. 

By God, he was an impatient man. When he made up his mind, he knew it was final. The next day, he called his best friend (and his best man) and headed to a ring shop. He doesn’t find the one he was looking for, so he leaves and tries again the next day.  

And the day after that. And for a good whole week. Until he found the one, with Iwaizumi cursing him out on the call. It was rather chaotic, but the peace that followed in his heart was worth it. 

Tooru didn’t believe in right timing. After all, he didn’t exactly meet you at the right place, at the right time, or the right way. So, he trusts his gut instincts on when to say the four magical words.  

He decides, after many months, that it is time to do it in the comfort of your home. His home. The place that housed so much. So little. So big. So, everything. The place that he comes back to every time because you’ll always be there, waiting for him, no matter the situation. Because you love him. From the bottom of your heart.  

The place of love.

And he knows that there’s no other place as romantic as his living room, when his hair is all messed up and he’s in the ugliest pair of alien pajamas that he can sport. When your shirt is half wet from the hot shower that you just took, and you’re chowing on some ramen that he had generously cooked for both of you.  

It’s usual. Easy. Routine. Love.  

Tooru, however, the perfectionist he is, cannot find it in himself to be nervous. Not when it comes to you, and there’s something romantic about that. From what you have taught him, love should be aided painlessly, but with flaws. It doesn’t have to be perfect. And it doesn’t have to be showy. It just must be him—raw to the fullest.  

So, he stares at you, stripped to the bone and with such a bursting heart, filled with you, just you. All of you. And then he fiddles with the box in his striped pajamas and beckons you closer to him.  

“Hi,” He whispers, pressing a small kiss to your temple. You giggle. “Hey.” 

“You have a bit of noodle here...” He laughs, brushing away at the corner of your mouth, and you pout, leaning up against him. “My savior, hm?” 

“Always. If... you let me.” 

He nods and he rises from the couch, and you raise a brow in confusion, but you don’t question his antics. Instead, you wrap your fingers around his outstretched ones, and he kisses them ever so softly.  

“(Y/n), you’re too good for me.” He starts but then falters, sighing as he grasps your hand tightly. You weakly smile but pulse your palm three times. 

 I. Love. You.  

And with that, he grins back, already choking up in emotions.  

“I love you, too. More than you will ever know. I will love you through sickness. I will love you when you’re annoying.” You roll your eyes at that, but your eyes are starting to get blurry. 

“I will love you when you are sad, happy, or sick. I will love you when you hate me. I will love you when you are you and through our sickbeds when we’re old and ugly and through death and beyond because not even the universe can stop me from loving you.”  

He doesn’t know why tears are streaming down his cheeks, but without letting you go, he gets down on one knee and clicks open the box with his fingers.  

“I love you (Y/n). Will you marry me?”

First Night Married  

The wedding was rather exhausting, but it was lovely. So lovely—and the concept that you’re now married to the one that you love doesn’t settle in your bones peacefully. It ricochets and you’re jittery, a giggly drunken mess as your husband carries you back (bridal style) to your designated suite.  

You press kisses to his neck and his jaw, tucking your head against him when it all feels too much. When there’s so much emotion, you’re practically imploding.  

“I ordered the pizza that you were craving. It should’ve been delivered by now.” He mumbles, and you perk up at the box that awaits you two at the front of your room.  

When your husband gets there, he unlocks the door with one hand and holds you tighter, compressed against his body, unwilling to let you go as he bends down to grab the pizza. Then he shuts the door behind you two with his leg. 

And the whole time you’re staring at him in awe, which just ultimately raises his ego as he beams and gently places you on the crisp, white bed. “Thank you so much...hubby.” You say, laughing harder when he cringes, but he towers over you, pinning you against the mattress.  

You flush.  

“Of course...wifey.” He mumbles against your skin, placing a smooth kiss on your ring. You reciprocate it back, letting the coolness of his wedding band linger on your lips. And this time, you’re happy to see the redness that shoots up his neck. 

He pulls back awkwardly and stumbles around before patting the vanity next to your shared bed.  

“Come sit here, so I can undo your hair while you eat your pizza.”  

You nod and slip off your heels, placing them next to your husband’s, who cracks his fingers all menacingly when you sit down in the chair and open the fresh box of pizza. Tooru just chuckles when you immediately dive in, grabbing the first slice that you can get your hands on.  

Using his fingers, Tooru nimbly picks apart your hair, pulling out the bobby pins and stretching out the rough strands that were coated in hairspray. You intently watch him work, groaning when he starts to massage your scalp, literally melting into him and into your food. 

Maybe you had died, and this was heaven.

Turning your gaze back to yourself, you find that your red eyes have died down. So had Tooru’s. And you’re thinking this because you both cried today morning, at first look, as you walked down the aisle and during the speeches.  

You grin at the thought of it and munch back into your food, offering some to the man behind you. And when you pull it back, you glare at his foolish face when you realize that he just chomped down the rest of your slice, leaving the crust.  

First Pregnancy

When Tooru gets back home, he’s met with the delicious scent of his favorite meal and the loud dialogue from a dramatic TV show that you like to binge. Grinning, he takes off his shoes and neatly places them by the front door (he’s more careful than ever after you scolded his improperness) 

“Honey! I’m home!” Tooru says, and just like clockwork, you rush out from the kitchen, kiss him on both cheeks, and hug him tight...while also throwing a soft but off-putting insult about his sweaty odor. 

But you don’t this time. Instead, you just embrace him harder, closer, and he quirks a brow at your immense affection. Not that he was complaining, of course. But it was weird. And suspicious. Especially for you.  

“Nothing about my sweat today, hm?” You scoff and punch him gently. “Do you want me to say something? Because I will.” 

He shakes his head rapidly, and you let him go. “Nope. No, thank you, Mrs. Oikawa.” 

You sigh and spin around, trying to hide the flustered beam that grows on your face. “Shut up.”  

“Whatever you say...” He sings, but then he dramatically sniffs the air and relaxes. “Smells good. What’s with the special occasion?” 

He doesn’t expect you to say anything big, maybe something like that you just wanted to cook it, but that twinkle in your eyes stops him in his tracks.  

“You’ll find out soon. Go clean up, dinner should be done by then.” 

When your husband comes back with hair wet and still floppy with his new haircut, he’s rather eager and jumpy as he skips to where you were sitting in the living room, the floor set with all his favorite dishes. He doesn’t spy the gift bag that you’ve hidden behind your back or the way that your fingers pick at your skin, rather nervously.  

“Will you tell me now?”  

You roll your eyes, “Yes, but first eat your food that I’ve worked so hard to make.” He pouts but obliges, sitting next to you as he piles his plate up, moaning and groaning expressively about how good your cooking was. 

But as he does, his eyes glance towards you. Once. Twice. Thrice. Annoyingly. You exhale deeply from your nose before opening your mouth, letting the edges of your face soften from jittery nerves. You're shaking. You don’t know.  

“Tooru.” You say, interrupting his scoop of vegetables. He looks up at you, all starry-eyed, and you have this rushing feeling of emotions. They prick at your eyes, and you swallow thickly.  

“Close your eyes and put out your hands.” 

His face crinkles, but his eyes shut immediately, ears perking up at the ruffling that he hears beside him, “You’re not going to cut off my hands or anything, right?” 

“Maybe.” You mutter, a watery smile overtaking your features as you place the blue pregnancy test in your palms. His hand, by reflex, snaps down on the object.  

 “Guess what it is, Tooru.”  

He whines, “You know I’m bad at stuff like this!” The pads of his fingers brush by the test, and he’s playing with it, twisting and turning it between every crook and cranny.  “Why can’t you just t—” 

He freezes, his eyelids relaxing in shock. “Wait. No way. I—” 

When your husband opens his eyes, he finds two things. He first notices the bright pink test in his hand, two lines staining the white, and his arms shaking. And then he sees you, wiping away your rapid tears with messy hands.  

He jumps up to his feet. “You’re pregnant?! What?! Oh my god! Oh my god!” Crouching down again, he flings his arms around you. “Oh, my baby. Oh gosh.” He coos, choking up as he drowns your face in lighthearted kisses. “We’re going to be parents?!”  

You chuckle and squirm your arms behind yourself and place a sonogram in his hands. “Look at our little babies...” You sob. And he stops breathing.  

“B–babies?” He squeaks. Then there in the black and white photo he sees two little masses, right across from each other. “Twins?!”  

Your husband passes out. 

First Birth

“B—babe? Maybe loosen your g—grip on my hand. I don’t think I’ll be able to s—” 

“Shut up, Oikawa!” You screech, and he stumbles back down, whimpering from your brash tone and the pain that you induce on him. You send another hard glare towards him, and he stops moving altogether. Still as a statue, as you curse loudly and Tooru has to fight the urge to say another (not so) comedic quip to you.  

But he knows that you’re strong enough to actually turn his whole arm into dust, so he decides against it.  

You’ve been in labor for the past twelve hours after your water broke over a game of UNO. The events that followed were rather a blur, but it was chaotic as you were calm and your husband cried, running around the house like a madman.  

“T-tooru...” You weakly gasp, and his heart breaks. Your teeth are gritted, and your face is drenched in sweat, nose sniffling. “It’s okay. I’m right here. You’re doing amazing...” He whispers. You kiss his jaw for comfort as the nurses around start to assist you. 

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay, promise. I’m so sorry, baby. Just listen to my voice. I’ve got you.” You nod, and with a gentle finger, he moves your head so you’re only looking at him. 

“I love you, Tooru.” You cry, the pain starting to get to you. You know you look horrible, disgusting, and a mess, but you don’t understand how your husband, so handsome, looks at you like his entire world. So soft and gentle. And so, loving. 

“You’re going to be such a good father.” You speak tenderly.  

“I hope so.” 

When the two pairs of shocking cries enter the world, you’re subjected to nothing but care as your husband doesn’t leave your side, even after your babies are taken away.

“They’ll have the nurses.” He explains, calming down your heartbeat as he wipes your sweaty face with a rag. Smiling, you brush off his own tears with the pad of your thumb. Warm and grounding.  

“You need me. Let me take care of you.” 

First Day of School 

Tooru wasn’t ready to let his two babies go just yet. Not when they both cling onto him and sob into his lanky legs, begging him not to go to school. “Won’t you miss us at home?” They cry, eyes big and wide, and Tooru just melts.  

“I won’t be here to spike your sets anymore,” His daughter says, shoving her teary face into his knee. His son follows too, “And I can’t watch any more alien shows with you. What if you watch them w—without me?” 

“I would never do that?!” Your husband wails, tugging his two kids into his arms. He then whips his head towards you. You were standing in the kitchen, watching your family with an amused smile and a cup of coffee in your hands.  

“Couldn’t they skip school? I’ll support them! I have enough money to!”  

His two kids agree, only sobbing harder when you shake your head and take another sip. It seems, though, you and your husband have switched places when you gave birth to these two gremlins.

You haven’t cried as much, and now there doesn’t go a day that your husband isn’t sobbing.  

But you suppose he was always dramatic. And always yours. 

“They’re being spoiled too much, Tooru.” You sigh, rounding the countertop with the twins’ lunches to give a half-hearted glare to your husband, who sheepishly smiles.

He knows it’s true.

“But mama!” Your daughter says, and you crouch down and pull her into a hug, wiping away her tears.  

You then turn to your son and do the same, pressing a chaste kiss on both of their foreheads as they melt into you. Looking up at Tooru, there’s a soft smile and a gleam in his eye. He’s so in love. 

“Naughty like your dad, hm?” You tease, making your kids laugh when your husband whines. “Daddy is very naughty.” Your son says after a beat, but then ultimately sighs, exchanging sad looks with his sister. 

“So, we really have to go to school?”  

“Yes, sweetheart.” You brush their hair and coax their father to kneel with you. “Besides, you need to get smarter than me and your dad.” They both beam, and then after a pause, you bluntly say. “Or at least smarter than me. You two are already smarter than your father.” 

Gasping, he clutches his chest. “You’ve been calling Iwa too much!” But he kisses you on the cheek, which turns the twins’ giggling into a bout of disgust rumbles.   

“Can we call Iwa after school then? I miss him.” Your daughter proposes, taking her lunchbox from your hands. Her brother nods along. Both of your kids have taken a great liking to their uncle, unfortunately, to their father.

“I swear you two like him better than me! Your own father!” 

The three of you brush off Tooru’s cries. “Of course. He’ll be very happy to hear that.” Getting up on your feet, you drag your husband’s limp figure up too. “Your bus should be here any minute. Do you guys want to wait outside?” 

“Mhm!” They both sync, and when you lock eyes with the man beside you, he carries both in his arms as you open the front door.

And just as you said, their bus was curving down the lane. Tooru, with a slap from you towards his arms, hesitantly puts them both down.  

They don’t cry. But they do send you both nervous looks. “It’s okay. We’ll be right here when you come back home, okay?” You say, adjusting your son’s uniform. You kick your husband’s leg when you hear sniffling beside you.

“Stop crying. You’ll make them cry too!”  

“R—right! And h—have fun and make a lot of friends!” He whimpers. Tooru brushes at his face before placing a watery kiss on their chubby cheeks, making them both grimace in disgust. They wipe away at their cheeks just as the bus comes screeching to a halt.  

“They just—Do you guys not love me anymore?!” 

You ignore his blubbers and gently push your two kids. “There you guys go. I’ll see you guys later!”  

“Bye!” They scream.  

Then, with their shoulders aligned as if they were going into war, they stomp all the way down to the open doors. And all is calm...excluding the man who throws his arms around you.  

You scowl as you turn back into the house, which proves to be rather difficult as he drapes himself all over you.  

“Tooru!” 

“They don’t love me anymore.”  

You sigh and shake your head, a growing grin on your face. “They do love you. Stop being so dramatic. Look at it on the bright side. We finally get the house to ourselves.” 

You think that you say the right words. You don’t. Because he suddenly smirks, and all you can do is deadpan. “You are right! A house all to ourselves—” 

“No.” He sulks, but something visibly comes to mind that makes you raise a brow. He pulls you into his arms. 

Tooru exhales dramatically, “You won’t even take pity on this young, lost, handsome, foreigner? Oh, what has this world come to?!” 

You freeze, and a wave of nostalgia washes over you. “I—isn’t that what you said when I refused to give you my number the first time we met?” 

He shrugs, “Yeah. But look at you now. Here with me. Your husband. And having two kids. What do you think would’ve happened if you didn’t give in?”  

You don’t think about it. You don’t like to, because you genuinely have no idea, and the thought of it is painful and achy. When you don’t answer, Tooru just hugs you closer.  

“Thank you for being my translator. Thank you for everything.” 

Something shifts in your heart, and you press your forehead against his, closing your eyes as he rocks you. But then, when the silence gets too loud and you’re caught back into your head, you pull back and ask.  

“So do I still need to wear a mask for a face like mine?”  

When you stare into the mirror, you see yourself. Your eyes that blink slowly, fluttering. Your nose that twitches upon your gaze on it. Your cheeks that try not to tug themselves. Your lips are trembling when you chew on them from the inside. You glimpse your teeth when you finally stop and take it in—take in yourself and a deep breath that your lungs cry for.

There you are. In your whole. And god, it’s terrifying. Behind you, the moon peers at you through your open blinds. It blinks back at you. The moon is cold. It is lonely. Depressing. It chokes you. And you must avert your eyes. You don’t really like the moon. You don’t like the way that it only glows because of the sun.

The sun.

You cannot explain its beauty. Oh, the sun. How it glows, so brightly, so radiantly. It nurses life, gives the day something to look forward to. Scares away the dark, the monsters in the shadows. So perfect. The sun.

Your eyes scan the girl on your bed, because you’re hysterical about the dark. You need the glow—that effortless light. The warmth that you seek. And the warmth that you wish to become.

The girl on the bed is on her phone. She’s lain rather weirdly, rather boredly. But you cannot take your eyes off her—but you really cannot blame yourself, because no one else can either. Because she is the sun. She burns and burns. Blindingly. It pains you, twists your heart, and makes your guts scramble.

But still, you stick by her. Because without her, you are nothing. The moon is nothing without its sun.

Your eyes flicker back to yourself, and you’re bubbling in green.

It’s hot today. But the grass sways in appreciation, and the sky gleams blue without the clouds covering it. It’s still a nice day, and the breeze provides some comfort to you as you sit outside with Hikari, sharing a twin popsicle together.

As always, when you break it, you get the one with the least amount on it. And as always, your best friend begs for you to switch with her, and you deny her pleading. Every single time.

You don’t really mind, though; it’s just a small observation you like to point out to yourself.

“Hmmm (Y/n), do you know someone named... er—Nishimura Kaito?”

Her voice snaps you out of your daze and you snap your head back up at her. She’s looking at something on her phone, lips collected to the side.

“No. Why?” You ask, finally tucking the last piece of the sweet treat into your mouth. You know why. And you have to brace yourself, because there’s this squirming in your heart that you don’t like to acknowledge. Your teeth clench.

“He swiped under my story...”

“Oh. What did he say?”

She doesn’t reply to you but instead turns the phone over. The story is this pretty picture of her that you took at the park earlier. She took ones of you, but you looked utterly disgusting, so they’re tucked in the deep depths of your recently deleted.

‘Hi Beautiful.’

You read the words only once before you lift a brow at her, giving her a strained smile. She doesn’t notice it—she never does, thank god—but she turns her device back to herself and stares down at the text again.

“What do I say to this?” Hikari sighs, and you have the tendency to snort because she makes it sound like it’s a crisis.

“No idea. I’m the worst person to ask.”

She doesn’t say anything, just hums before she stops. And her wild smile etches on her face.

“Should I troll him? That would be funny.”

You laugh but you think that you’re hurting. If someone said that to you, you would be over the moon.

But then again, you suppose that if you got that many messages all with the same meaning, you would get bored of it anyways. You would do the same thing if you were her, you guess.

“That’s too mean. Just thank him. Be nice and simple.”

“Boring. Hmph.” She boos, but you see her do it anyway. And from her face, it seems that the guy replied quickly and seemed to hold a conversation that was interesting enough to intrigue your friend, her fingers tapping at her phone quietly. You sigh. And chew on the wooden stick, looking around solemnly, back in your little daze. But it breaks again as you catch two figures, one a little ahead of the other.

“Akaashi! Come back here!”

You could recognize the voice from anywhere—really, the whole school could from how much it bounces down the corridors in passing periods. Bokuto—the infamous volleyball captain. His blubbering provides a bit of entertainment as you watch him chase the person in front of him.

Akaashi Keiji. The setter on the Fukordani Volleyball team. And your classmate in Lit. He sits a little in front of you, towards the left of the room, always diligently taking notes or playing tic-tac-toe in his notebook when the lecture gets too boring.

And you would know because you’ve unfortunately developed a bit of an admiration towards him.

You like the glasses that he perches on his nose, and his bag of pens and highlighters. You like the gentle look that he owns and his annoyance at some of the books that your teacher makes you read, clicking his teeth, and eventually giving up midway through annotating.

He’s cute. Really cute. But you haven’t really talked to him before. Maybe once or twice over metaphors and similes but really nothing else.

You don’t even know if he knows your name, you wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. You don’t exactly talk in that class.

But when Bokuto trips by a bench near you, you can’t help but let out a soft giggle, catching the attention of the dark-haired boy. It’s nothing dramatic—no, but you both exchange looks, one exasperated and the other slightly amused. And then he nods at you.

God, it’s so embarrassing the way that you burst inside, tiny fireworks that patter your heart, roughly to where your breath gets stuck in your throat. But it’s a moment, nevertheless. A moment that you get to share quietly in the confines of your mind.

But then his eyes slide. A little to the right. Where Hikari sits. You crack and unfortunately shatter when her bright eyes notice, and she smiles so brightly at him. You have this sudden urge of walking off, but you suppress it and look away.

“Hi, Akaashi, what’re you doing out here?” She softly says, laughing at Bokuto’s furrowed face. “Could ask you the same...” He retorts, sending her a gentle, tiny smile. He turns his head towards you. You try not to be awkward, because you know that you can be sometimes. Especially next to her.

So, you flicker back and give him a hint of a smile. You pick at your fingernails.

“Hello (L/n).”

You try not to choke. And from the way that your eyes shoot up, you hope that he doesn’t recognize the surprise that overtakes you. But even if he does, he doesn’t comment on it as you greet him back. Timidly at that.

You clench your fingertips against you and tuck your lips, so you don’t grin all ugly. But you really want to, it hurts your cheeks as you pull back the joy.

Hikari clears her throat, looking up at the boy with a coy face, “Did you finish the math homework that Mr. Takashi gave us?”

Akaashi rolls his eyes and scoffs, “God no, I took one look at them and gave up... so, I won’t be able to give you the answers this time.”

She giggles in response, “Yeah? How’d you know that I was going to ask for them?”

At that moment, you notice how quiet Bokuto has gone, his eyes flickering between the two individuals as if it were a volleyball game. There was this proud smirk on his face, mischievous really, and he caught your eye and then looked back.

You could feel his quiet excitement radiating from where you were sitting. And it just makes you feel worse, slowly sinking in on yourself in disappointment. So, you decide to pull out your phone to avoid your arising feelings.

He raises his brows, “You’re pretty obvious, really.”

The rest of the conversation, you’re able to cut out of pure sheer will. You don’t know how it ends—the small, harmless chatter—but before long, you’re nodding them goodbye pitifully and turn your attention back to your phone, unable to find the courage to look at your friend’s face.

You know it’s going to hurt.

“How do you know Akaashi?” She innocently asks, her smile slowly simmering down to a pout once she realizes that you weren’t paying her any regard. “He’s in my Lit class...”

“Oh.” There’s a moment of silence that lingers. You could feel her ogle on you, but you refuse to stop looking at your phone, out of pettiness? You don’t know? But you know that you were being a bitch... yet, yet—

“He’s nice, isn’t he? He’s pretty cute too, hm?”

This makes you jolt and shiver, lungs tightening. “I suppose. I don’t really talk to him—” You look up at her and wince, “So I wouldn’t really know...”

She hums thoughtfully and opens her mouth to say something, but you cut her off, your stomach starting to unravel.

“Hey ‘Kari, I think the sun’s getting to me, my head’s starting to hurt. I’m going to go home. I’ll call you tonight, alright?”

You don’t give her another look as you pack your bag. You politely refuse her concerns for you, and her pleas to walk you back home, knowing well that she lives on the other side of where you call home. Because if you did, then you would live with regret.

You think that you don’t deserve her care. Never did. She’s always too good for someone like you. You’re not a good friend, you know it. And it keeps you up at night.

The next morning, when you see her, you hand her a chocolate bar in apology. You’re so stupid, you think as you watch her light up, letting something so pitiful, something so awful, upset you. She wonders out loud why you didn’t call her last night, and you tell her that you fell asleep early, doing your physics homework.

That part was true—you did fall asleep from exhaustion for a good hour or two—but you don’t tell her that you never were going to call her in the first place, phone placed downstairs and away from you.

She exhales, a chuckle cracking through her faux exasperation, before tugging you along, her slender fingers wrapping themselves around your arm. Just as Hikari finishes the sweet treat, you’ve done laps around the whole school with her, allowing her to greet every single person in the building and hovering around to chat with her.

You say hi once or twice to others, honestly just to roam, but other than that, you stay silent. Or you’re on your phone. Both.

It’s always been like this. It’s a routine that you’ve built. But it’s to say that it doesn’t make you ache. When you look at her, you want to see yourself. All talk, all pretty, all perfect. She’s so smart too—always 100’s on her tests, nothing else. Like it isn’t hard to keep an A.

Like you don’t fight tooth and nail to keep your grade above a 90. Especially in Calculus. You shudder in trauma as you pass by your classroom, giggling with Hikari when she notices.

There are these nice moments that you admire. Just you and her, where she’s just your friend. These happen more often than not.

You don’t feel the way you do every day. You’re not a horrible person every day. And it’s nice, where the volcano in your stomach calms down, and you’re able to breathe.

But that’s until the bell shrills in the air, and that never-ending anxiety piles up on you once more. You’ve always had it, you think. On the first day of school, obviously. Yet sometimes you would have it when you went to sleep, that churning feeling. Or when you woke up. You had it last night with dinner.

Some days, you know why. Some days you don’t. But for now, you know very well it’s because your next class—your first period—was Lit. As it has been for the past few months. And you really don’t want to see his face.

You unwillingly say goodbye to Hikari, and you still walk up the school stairs. Trudging. One step at a time. And by the time you make it, there’s a minute left before the final bell rings and the doors close, shutting in the few stragglers’ faces.

You sit down. Silently. And stare right in front of you, towards the board. There’s this lingering presence, though, one who calmly takes out his book and annoyingly taps his pen against the desk.

One that swivels around once he realizes that his friend isn’t next to him, his face furrowed as he huffs. One that makes eye contact with the side of your face as you push your stubborn agenda at not paying attention to him.

You feel his stare, bright and unwavering, maybe curious as you turn the other way and grab your book, turning pink and apologetic when you accidentally kick your seatmate. She’s a sweet girl, albeit loud, so she brushes you off airily. Gently.

And he’s not looking anymore when you sit properly once more, obviously coming to the fact that his friend was not in class today. Konoha, you think. You’re pretty sure he’s on the volleyball team too, both donning their team shirts on gamedays.

You see him from the corner of your eye, pull out his phone discreetly as the teacher grabs her own copy of the book—Anthem by Ayn Rand—and starts going over the chapter that she gave out for homework.

But you don’t pay attention. Unfortunately amused by the silent furrow that Akaashi carries as he stares at his phone screen, tucking it back into his pocket.

Apparently, Konoha wasn’t going to be here today. And Akaashi isn’t the only one who wishes he were.

Your class was an odd number, which meant that anytime there was group work, you were always swallowed by another group of two; these two girls who were nice enough to reach out to you when you chewed on your cheek in silence.

But today, your class was even. And your teacher notices that too, her eyes counting every pupil in the classroom before she glances and switches to the next slide of her presentation—the assignment of the day. You inwardly groan and slump back into your seat.

“As you all know, to wrap up this unit, you’ll each be writing a literary analysis on Anthem. So, to let you guys have a head start and to avoid last-minute chaos, I’m letting you work with a partner to develop a thematic idea to base your essay on. Your job is to go through the text, pull out relevant evidence, and start thinking about how you’ll analyze it. You and your partner should explore the same theme, but each of you will write your own thesis and essay based on your personal interpretation.”

She pauses, as the students around you try to cram in her word vomit, too much information spilling out from her mouth. But as gruntled moans start to ring out, she just smiles and changes the slide again, presenting her assignment in clearer terms.

But you’re feeling sick to your stomach. You’re sure that there’s sweat gleaming on your head as you look around the classroom. There were already known friend duos. Friend groups.

Which meant if your friend duo wasn’t here, then you could usually partner with someone else who was your friend... leaving someone out to partner with you.

Whoever that poor person is, you feel sorry because they obviously don’t want to be put in that position. And at that thought, it just makes you feel more disgusting, wrapping your hands over your stomach in worry.

You pray that something drastic happens, a fire alarm goes off, so you can avoid this assignment for another day. Maybe Konoha can come back, and you can go back to your usual group. The other two girls. Yes. Pray.

But for the love of God, you hate change.

“You guys may start now...” The teacher drawls, going back to her seat. There’s the shuffling of chairs, the shuffling of chatter all around you, but you don’t make an effort to get up from your seat. Instead, you flip through the book awkwardly. You do it so well that you don’t realize the looming shadow over you.

“Err (L/n)... would you like to be partners?” There’s this bashful voice that you recognize, and looking up, you find yourself surprised.

Arai Souta, a classmate who you’re pretty sure just moved a month ago, and someone that you didn’t expect at all.

He looks down at you with a meek smile and a natural red flush on his neck, accompanied by a wicked stuttering stare that makes you grin as you soften, nodding your head towards an empty chair.

You’re finding yourself enjoying his company a little more than you would’ve imagined. He cracks unfunny jokes that still make you laugh and creates an atmosphere so friendly that you shiver in your skin, eyes crinkling ever so often.

You tell him to call you by your first name, and he tells you the same, pushing up his glasses shyly.

And he’s diligent too—hardworking and doesn’t spare a glance at the rest of the ruckus in the room as you two rack up ideas (your idea to write them all on a sheet of paper) for a thesis within the book.

You’d finished it while you were on a reading whim once after procrastinating even to start the book, so that gave you a bit more advantage on what could be presented.

Soon enough, under a little nudge of confidence, you shyly bring up an idea that you’ve tucked behind your head—something you would love to write an essay about but weren’t sure if your partner would (Hikari always thought that you took stuff too seriously, too metaphorically, especially for a class such as Lit): strict gender roles erasing female identity and enforcing women’s subservience under the guise of societal equality.

Heavy words. Heavy thoughts. But Souta doesn’t think so.

You think you see him tear up. He says it’s from your brilliance because he genuinely doesn’t know how the hell you pulled that out from your ass (his words, not yours). But you think it’s because he’s just pulling your leg, trying to elicit another half-hearted snort from you.

But it works. It makes you laugh as you two crack open the ripped book and delve into another bout of re-reading passages because the other students read the words aloud. Akaashi and his partners are more prevalent as they sit right across from you.

It goes on for about five minutes—that concentration and work ethic, both of you guys pulling out good pieces of text to create two different thesis statements and writing them down on a different sheet of paper for further examination.

Until it doesn’t. And you’re bored of reading Equality’s attempt at stealing light. And he’s bored of cursing out the council.

So, you start to immerse yourselves in rather heavy, weighted, intellectual talks. Like the best flavor milk to ever exist? Strawberry, of course! Or if a genie granted you three wishes, what would they be? 1. Infinite money, 2. Infinite happiness, 3. Everything is to happen my way.

By the time that class ends, you’re left with his thoughts. They’re funny, whimsical, and you two forwardly exchange contact information because, under further terms, this assignment has turned into a full-blown project that you two must present after the essays are written.

He thinks you’re funny and gives you a weird contact name that is totally you. And for the first time in your life, you think that you’re starting to enjoy Lit. It’s refreshing.

You pack slowly—a contrast to his rushed goodbye, because his classroom is across the whole building. You have physics just the corridor next door, and you really don’t want to solve any more coefficients of friction problems with the useless variables that are given to you, so you carefully maneuver your laptop into your bag. Kneeling. Just slowly. Gently.

And calmly enough that Akaashi’s smooth voice eases its way into your bubble.

“I liked your thematic statement.”

Your eyes glance up, and he’s handing you your English notebook with a blank face that makes you smile at him nervously, accepting your possession and compliment gratefully with a small thank you.

You rise back to your feet, and only then do you realize how tall the boy is. It’s attractive, and you have to take a step back, wincing when you hit the table.

“You heard?”

“It was hard ignoring something beautiful as that.” Pause.

And you stop. In your tracks. Just for a second before your senses catch up to you and you’re on fire, nerves tingling, and your throat drying out.

He doesn’t seem to realize your sputter of a thank you, waiting by the door as you both bid goodbye to the teacher. You’re too numb from shock to comprehend that he was walking with you. Side-by-side, jostling with the other students. You brush your arms with his, but it doesn’t burn.

It doesn’t hit you, not yet. You’re still trying to process that he called your statement from earlier beautiful. Though you’re sure that maybe later in bed, you’ll start to get nauseous and weirdly giddy. But for now...

“I think it’s genius—you know, using Ayn Rand’s male chauvinist ideas that are hidden in the story to bring attention to societal equality.” His eyes scamper toward you, then back to the ground as you must stop yourself from combusting.

You’re absolutely floored. And in a state of adoration. Partly because he knew what chauvinism was.

“I—I—thank you! I thought I was the only one that noticed them... I mean the way that Liberty is portrayed! She had so much potential and she... and she was reduced to someone that was just—!”

You freeze and look up and register that you two aren’t walking anymore. Instead, you’re already in front of your physics classroom. And you flush when you realize that you brought Akaashi along with you, tonguing your cheek when you look at him.

“Gosh, I’m sorry, I was just rambling—”

“It’s okay. It was interesting, I liked it.”

You shut up at his comment and lean against the door, letting a few of your classmates by. Sighing, you’re about to nod him goodbye and maybe apologize once more for dragging him all the way to your classroom (you don’t want to subject him to the trauma of physics) before he cuts you off.

“Will you tell me more about it tomorrow?” He asks, laughing at the face that you give. But you can’t help but snort, brows raising, “Wow, are you trying to steal my idea? You’ll just have to hear about it during mine and Souta’s presentation later, I guess.”

“Right. Never mind that I asked.”

You snicker and wave him off, and he rolls his eyes. You think it’s endearing the way he scoffs and murmurs something jokingly underneath his breath before he really looks at you. It’s quiet for a second, only for you to crack the silence, heart twisting when you speak.

“You can call me (Y/n), by the way. I don’t really do that last name... thing.”

He nods. Once. Twice. Then breaks out into a grin and turns around into a flourish that makes you exhale the breath that you were storing.

“Sure. See you, (Y/n).”

The next few days are sort of out in an order of events that are so unusual from your daily woes that you must pinch yourself and wonder if you were dreaming or not.

First, you’re subjected to a bout of friendly back and forth with Souta, a growing dynamic festering as he throws your pens at you, and you make crude jokes back.

At the end of three days, you’re both able to successfully submit your thematic statement, clippings of well-thought-out evidence, and two different but similar thesis statements. It’s a little pitiful—solemn even—when he has to go back to his seat, and you shake your head at him in a snickering fit when he dramatically sighs at you. But it’s nice.

Second, Akaashi’s unrelenting stare is on yours (to be honest, you send glances towards him during your chatter) when you discuss the meaning of Liberty and her actions. And when you discuss Equality and his ironic relationship with his supposed lover. And… really anything that comes to mind.

You find him nodding along at one of your claims before he’s sucked into a discussion of his next tournament with Konoha that you listen into. You soon find out—with little prodding and a tinge of curiosity and boredom—that he and his partner were doing it on the symbolism of fire in the book.

You spend a good five minutes in awe about it as the class waits for the bell to ring.

And finally, third, you’re dragged to a volleyball game on a good Friday night. Irritated as you were because you really wanted to catch up on a new drama, Hikari’s requests were soon complied with by you because there was a promise of cheesecake from the bakery just a few blocks away.

You were not one to say no to free food.

You really never liked school events… maybe sometimes, but you found them boring. Especially when you were stuck by Hikari’s side all the time.

She was fun, yes, but there are times that you catch yourself looking away, looking at the ceiling in weariness or down at the floor as a grouch settles into your skin and suddenly, you’re itching to go back home.

But this time around, you don’t do it as much. Partly because the gym lights were so bright to look up at and you’d rather ignore the chewed gum on the floor, but also because it was entertaining. You feel like you don’t even recognize yourself when you cheer for your school’s team.

Or when you praise Bokuto’s spike. Or gasp at Akaashi’s very meticulous set over the net. You even take it upon yourself to learn new phrases and verbs, so the gameplay makes sense to you.

And you bought good old chips too for you and Hikari to share.

Mostly for you, because she kept running off elsewhere, and you were too lazy to follow her around like a little duckling. But you wouldn’t have it either way, knees tucked up to yourselves as you watch the rally back and forth, occupying the back bleacher.

Soon enough, as if it wasn’t obvious, Fukurodani scores the winning point, and all that ensues is great chaos. And you’re unfortunately hauled in the middle of it as Hikari’s warm hand clasps around your wrist and takes you all the way down the bleachers despite your protests.

“We have to congratulate them!”

“We really don’t.” She rolls her eyes at that before stopping in front of a fellow peer with a black and white uniform, giving him a high-five when he puts his palm out.

“You did really good!” She sings back at him, and he chuckles. It’s warm—her energy—and you try to reciprocate by giving him a strained smile when he looks at you, murmuring something along the lines of encouragement.

But you don’t think you’ve said it loud enough because he just spins right around.

You sigh greatly, trying to gently shake Hikari’s tight grip on you. You’re starting to feel just a bit out of place, and there’s a creeping sense of shallow breaths that overcomes you. Annoyance and stress.

But it all whisps away into cowardice when you’re presented in front of Akaashi, who’s wiping away his sweat with a towel. His eyes catch yours, then they disappear next to you. He waves at you two smallly. You both reciprocate it, one more loudly than the other, before she bounds up to him, a glint in her eye.

You follow along too, stumbling as you give him a shy dimple.

His eyes flicker.

And then you frown when you realize it’s probably because Hikari’s practically on him. She looks back at you, nose scrunched and bright, so you can’t help but melt the small hitch that you carry before she turns around to face the black-haired boy.

“That setter dump was genuinely the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. That was so cool.” He gives her a tiny grin and thanks her, but you notice this red flush on his ears, just hidden behind his messy hair.

Something sour begins to grow, bile perhaps hidden behind your tongue as you stare at her. But when you look back, Akaashi’s gunmetal blue gaze is on yours, and he doesn’t flinch back when you catch his eyes.

“Hey Fujimoto! Did you see my amazing spikes! They were so cool, weren’t they?!”

She gasps, “Yes, of course!” and it knocks you out of your stupor, and you cringe, subconsciously taking a step closer to the setter, tripping practically over your feet.

It’s small—you’re sure that no one would’ve noticed—but to your shame, Akaashi does, and his warm palm lands on your back, steadying you. You don’t dare look at his face, but it hovers—his glow—and you blush furiously, coughing.

“Shit I’m so sorry.”

“No worries…”

Eyeing him from the corner of your eyes, he takes a noticeable step back, and you practically deflate in embarrassment. The atmosphere—despite the warmth that the energy around you exudes—is sticky. Bokuto and Hikari are in some rambling conversation that you have no wish to butt in on, praying that they stop soon before you lose your mind.

But they don’t. And this weird silence is killing you.

“Uh… Akaashi?”

He raises his head and quirks his head to the side. “Hmm?”

You take a deep breath in, “Good job today… you played really well.”

His face heats up, and he’s practically red at his neck. And you figure that you find it cute that he isn’t able to take compliments without turning into a bright tomato.

“Thank you.” Akaashi then pauses. Furrows his brows tightly. And plays with his fingers. “You’re not usually at the volleyball games, are you?”

You sheepishly shake your head, “Nope, this is my first one. It’s not really my forte. But…” Biting your lips, peeling at the skin to reveal bits of blood to your tongue, you soothe over the wounds in such nervousness that you pinch your arms. “But… er—I’m glad I came…?”

The moment those words leave your mouth, you severely regret it. Because Akaashi, in all his glory, just stares at you. He’s frozen, and for a second, you genuinely think that you’ve said the wrong thing, that maybe you were coming off too strong. Way too strong. You’re clumsy, god, and were you stupi—

He laughs. Like actually. He’s laughing—what? It's not loud, but it’s loud for him. His nose crinkles, and you drink it in—his reaction, mouth parted in confusion.

“Uhm—”

“What’s with the question mark?” He quiets down, but there’s mirth dancing on his features, his lashes fluttering, and his lips pulled slightly to the side. He’s absolutely pretty—there’s no other word to describe it. You start to warm under his words.

“You know what I mean. Maybe on second thoughts I should’ve stayed home.” You grumble, huffing softly. You still break out a grin at Akaashi’s raised eyebrow. “So you didn’t like my sets today?”

“Great usage of context clues then?”

“Thanks.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Hikari just places her warm hand on you, peeling you away from the conversation. You’re grateful because you didn’t know what you were going to blurt out.

And that makes you scared because you were getting too ahead of yourself. Suddenly, it feels like you’re pulled underwater, drowning. Too scared. Too comfortable.

“Hey, wanna go now?” She probes, tucking her hair behind her ear. You don’t know what you want to say. Yes? Or. No?

Checking over at Akaashi, he just peers neutrally, his eyes bouncing off of Bokuto after a particularly loud scream. He doesn’t meet your eyes this time—not on purpose, he’s just out of it, in a dreamy daze. You wonder what goes on in his mind. He’s brilliant but else. Cool. Awkward. Reserved.

You like him. God. You think you like him a lot. More than you suppose. It’s weird. You’ve had a few crushes here and there, but you could never tell if they were serious enough to like. They were attractive. Or they were nice. It’s a crisis. Existential crisis.

But for some reason, you feel like you’ve overstepped some boundaries. You need to go back. Behind the invisible line. He’s too good for you to like.

Pretty face with an equally pretty mind—Akaashi glows. You don’t. You won’t ever.

But she does.

A soft, bitter smile crosses your face when you notice Hikari looking at you. It’s tender. This feeling of envy isn’t good—you know that you get too caught up in your head, and you really want to stop. But… Ah. Hikari would be cute.

So, you nod your head—yes, let’s go. Away. Too comfortable. Too scared

You’re like a turtle. Always tucking yourself underneath safety, the way a turtle tucks itself underneath its shell. It’s nice for a while—that oblivious bliss—but sometimes you wish that you could go for more. Maybe reach for the skies.

You obviously don’t.

So, you don’t bat an eye—or at least try not to—when Hikari tells you that she has to meet up with Akaashi after school today because she did not understand today’s math lesson. I could teach it to you! You almost say, but you just stuff your face back into your pillows.

You’re ridiculed, plagued by your own feelings. It’s been a month since you told yourself that you didn’t want him. Tried to convince yourself. Left him for your strawberry cheesecake. Does it work? You would be lying if you said yes.

At school, you still warrant his rare discussions, and you tell yourself that’s because that would be rude to ignore... yet you still find yourself enjoying them. Every last bit, every drop of his words that leaves his mouth. It’s addictive.

The next day at school, you half of a petty mind to ask him how tutoring went. But you don’t, because you don’t even sit next to each other. In front of you, towards the left of the room, you figure that it would be alright to watch him. For your entertainment, can you not even let yourself indulge in that?

Your teacher sits at her desk, scanning the room with a softened gaze, dressed in a long shawl. It’s starting to get colder as the month dips into chilly December. Winter break is soon, and you’re excited. Even though you’re sure that you’re just going to be bed-rotting anyway. But still, it’s nice to dream.

Scrchh.

You’re writing mindlessly—you realize it soon enough, and you quickly erase the string of words without any correlation. You were almost a third of your way done with your essay. Your book stayed open beside you as you looked back at it in reference. It was nice; you liked this quiet atmosphere.

You liked writing. You liked the sounds. And you liked your progress, as the words filtered on the paper. You were never good with words—your lips always puckered and mouthed the vowels wrong.

Writing never did that. You liked it—the way you could say so much, and it could never be enough. Could write a thousand pages, and it wouldn’t even encompass half of what you’re thinking, of what you could record.

Looking forward again, at Akaashi’s empty desk, you wonder where he has gone. Because you think that you would like to write him a letter. It would be delicate, fragile, because you would’ve poured your heart into it. You’re giving him your heart. You would tell him that he’s an enigma that you’re trying to figure out, without getting yourself too settled with him. That Hikari would be perfect for him.

That you’re still falling in love with him no matter how hard you try not to... oops.

Shaking your head, you lowly groan.

And then that’s when you hear it. “Tired of writing already?”

You whip around, and Akaashi is staring at you with a few papers in hand. When the hell did he get there?!

“Yeah, honestly...” You make a show of cracking your fingers to divert him from your loud, beating organ. You could feel it in your throat, it’s on your tongue, and it hurts slightly. He doesn’t say anything, just looks. So, you step up unwillingly... clearing your throat as you look to the side. “Er—do you need something?”

“Yeah. Would you be able to look over this paragraph? It’s been really stumping me, it looks wrong; I need your opinion.”

Ba-dump. What the hell. Straining your head up at him, you wonder if he really knows the effect that he has on you. That would be brutal.

“You? You need my opinion?”

He blinks.

“Yes.” He pauses, “Please. Yes, please.”

Leaning back in your chair, you exhale, “Uhm, sure. L-let me have a look at it...”

Taking his essay from his hands, you’re careful to not even let a sliver of skin brush his or else you would be doomed by dropping his hard work on the dirty floor. Akaashi takes a chair from nearby and pulls it up to your desk. He sits on it, close to you, with one of his cheeks in his hands.

And he’s gazing at you. Intently. You want to puke. This is so not good for you.

The bright white paper envelops you as you succumb to his writing. Your eyes blur as you consume his words, and you think that you’re in a state of awe.

Each letter, each word is placed meticulously. You find out that he makes a mean argument, and that if ever in the future you had to go against him in a supposed literary analysis competition, you would be scared.

You nod at his sentences as if they were able to see you, let them bask in your approval, and then, when you finish what he wanted you to scrutinize, you twist your lips and sigh. You could see where he was coming from, some of his work was, albeit clumsy, for the rest of the paragraph. Thinking, you slowly turn towards Akaashi.

“Do you mind if I write stuff on the side?”

He shakes his head no and puts his head down, perched upright on his hands. He’s still looking at you, though. With a small whisper of a smile. It makes your heart ache.

“Tired of writing, huh?” You tease him.

He chuckles, “Yeah, honestly...”

You go back to whatever you planned to do, with your lips brutalized by your teeth. It doesn’t take very long (most of the time was taken by you pondering) to finish your commentary before you hand it back to him. This time around, the pads of your fingers skim each other ever so slightly.

You still jolt. And hide a grin, just behind your own paper that you’ve pulled up against you. You watch his expression carefully for any signs of distress or a grimace. They don’t. Rather, he hums, tongue snapping against the roof of his mouth. His fingers, slender and long, with the pencil he holds.

You like the number 2 pencil. You like writing. You like reading. And you like watching Akaashi Keiji.

When he was apparently satisfied, he scoots himself even further—closer to you. From here, you could see his long lashes that kiss his face and his gentle eyes. The way his lips dip and the way his cheeks puff slightly.

He was certainly pretty, prettier than most. And you’re so lucky to even be next to him.

“Thank you.” He murmurs, loud enough to lace his gratitude but low enough that it makes you slightly giggle. “No problem. Glad to be of help.”

You thought that he would get up. Go back to Konoha, but he doesn’t. He just stays put. In the drawn seat. Next to you. Really close to you.

“Are you going anywhere for winter break?”

Catching a glimpse of him, you exhale and shake your head, disappointed. Akaashi picks up on it because he shrugs and looks smug. It looks good on him, though.

“Unfortunately, not. What about you? Will you be going anywhere?”

“Same boat as yours.” Akaashi mutters. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. He takes a second to look at you (Ba-dump) before furiously switching back to his paper. Your heart is beating too fast in your chest, throbbing to be released from your ribcage. And then you fathom the idea of Anthem. Liberty and Equality. Like. Love. Akaashi Keiji.

You like his dark hair. You love his dark hair. You scooch forward—

Lean forward and then choke. Because the whole point of this—the whole point of you—was to stop.

You were never supposed to get this close to him. God, you promised yourself.

The moon, the stars, and the sun exist in the same universe. They are bright. They exude copious light. The stars are beautiful—they twinkle in the night sky. They are the stars. The sun booms, so loud and bright. It burns so passionately that if, for a second, you tore your eyes off it, it would only glow brighter in hues of red and orange and yellow.

But the moon illuminates too. But it’s so ugly with its dark, patchy craters. And... you have nothing else to say. But you wonder if Akaashi Keiji stares at the moon. Does he like it? Does he muse?

For the rest of the class period, you are doused in unexplainable anger and sadness. You pick at yourself like vultures at a carcass, stripping away dead meat, the useless parts.

And for the rest of the class period, Akaashi Keiji talks with his pretty mouth. Unusual. You hate change. But you ask yourself if you hate it? His voice? Him? No, of course not. Change with him, whether you’d like to admit it, was okay. It was comfortable. Yes? But it shouldn’t be.

Akaashi Keiji asks you questions with a fervor that you cannot perceive. They are odd questions, so your heart Ba-dumps against you.

“Do you like the beaches or the mountains?”

“What planet would you live on, if you could?”

“Who is one superhero that you dislike?”

“What’s your favorite book?”

You answer each one to your best ability. Hikari isn’t here for you to bounce yourself off, so you are truthful. He makes you think. For a few seconds to a minute. But he still waits patiently for the answer you always give. And then he goes back to himself to let you two work on your essays.

Only to come back for more.

This cycle repeats until the rest of the class. Until the rest of tomorrow’s class. Until the end of finals. Until the start of winter break. Every day’s an odd question—he never fails to ask in the glory of his endearing oddity. Cats or iguanas? Chocolate or cola? Would you rather...

And then one day, he asks a question. Not about you, because god forbid if something is about you. He asks, “Is Hikari coming today? After school for our game?” You nod yes. And then you retract. Back into your shell.

It’s cute. But it just hurts whenever you see him. Or when you see Hikari. Or when you see them both, which is often. You let them be. You let them play with you, even though they don’t realize it. Every chuckle, every giggle, every snort they share, you drink in.

Hikari goes on to call him Keiji. You don’t follow because that’s too intimate for you. Too shiny. Too nice. Too perfect.

The stars and sun glow because they are hot, luminous balls of gas undergoing nuclear fusion. The moon glows because they glow.

You’re not a liar to anyone but yourself. But Akaashi might think otherwise because you’ve just posted several pictures of yourself from Switzerland. It’s beautiful—Switzerland—and you think that you would like to live there someday.

On a good day, you would own a small bakery with whatever the world desires, and you would live in a small cottage right near it. On a bad day, you would become a doctor and live to treat the patients there.

But more on the cottage—it would be warm and would smell like fresh cookies out of the oven. It would house kids, your kids and they would play in the meadow that is so vast and green.

And you would be in love with your husband, who carries you at the crack of midnight and up the stairs purely because you were so exhausted taking care of your small business. He would then carry the kids because they had fallen asleep on the couch.

Your husband would be so in love with you as he declares his proclamations of love, not in a loud way. But in the way he cares. He would write you love letters, read you the books that you liked, and would annotate them. He would wear stupid t-shirts and say stupid things that made you deadpan.

He would have black, unruly hair that would tangle between your fingers when you would kiss him so sweetly, and wear black framed glasses that made him look so adorably sexy. He would have this deep timbre every time he chuckled lowly. Haha—Ba-dump!

He would’ve been a setter in high school and liked to talk about chauvinism with you. And sometimes at night, he likes to look up at the moon. Not the sky. But the moon.

But sometimes he would let a glimmer of sunlight in through the curtains. Even though you hated it...

You furrowed brows and click on the roll of comments on your Instagram post. The first ones come (as always) from Hikari; she was the one who helped you with choosing the pictures and the song to go along with it.

She sends gifs and many flattering and just a tinge of suggestive strings of words. They’re cute, so you reply to them. You can be harsh with her; no need to be fake.

So, you laugh and retort, fingers padding on your phone. Your like count grows steadily, and you watch it the way a cat watches a mouse. Steady and sharp with your heart about to explode. You turn your phone off.

And then on again. Off. On—and this time there’s a like and a comment from Souta. It’s purely silly, and you groan, but you’re smiling as you type something out.

You wait. On. Off. On. Off. On—you go back and check Hikari’s own profile out of anticipation and regret and guilt and envy and all the things in between.

She just posted something last week, and in her typical fashion, it had garnered a lot of attention. Not that you really care—you guess—but you scroll through the people who had liked it. Some names were familiar, others weren’t.

You see Bokuto first and then Akaashi. Keiji to her. Akaashi to you. It makes your insides sting a little, but you must brush it off because you did this to yourself. Taking one big breath, you turn it off again.

And then on.

Akaashi_Keiji has liked your post. And commented.

‘Thought you weren’t going anywhere this break, if I remember correctly’

With shaky hands, you pull up his comment and just stare at it as if it were gold. You shut your phone off again and throw it against your pillow. You wait. You look at the clock. And wait for a few minutes so you could pretend that you didn’t reek of desperation, before opening the app again.

You click on his comment and think.

‘Sighh, you’re right, I wasn’t going to go anywhere. This was some spontaneous trip that my parents planned.

You replied. You were done. Or at least thought so because your phone buzzes. And Akaashi has commented again.

‘Akaashi Keiji: 0 (L/n) (Y/n): 1’ Followed by a fire emoji. And then a dog.

You have no idea what the hell he means. But you giggle into your pillow like you do.

The rest of winter break is filled with boredom, but you decide that you would rather have that than go back to school and suffer. You spend your days with Hikari and missed dramas—sleepovers every week, practically every day. And the days that you aren’t with her, you either do one of two things.

Either reminisce about anything or nothing at all.

Or slowly but steadily finish your Lit presentation with Souta over the phone. You two were to present the day after school starts, so one day you two decide to meet up in a sleepy cafe, five minutes from where you lived.

Unfortunately, and fortunately, you catch sight of Bokuto, who was unsurprisingly followed by Akaashi. He wears a silly shirt and mismatched pants that are so ugly. But it’s absolutely pretty on him.

They make small talk, and Akaashi asks you about Switzerland. But you’re whisked away into another bout of stress and nervousness over your presentation before you’re able to delve deeper into your vacation. Souta nods, and all is done.

Days turn into weeks, and New Year's creeps upon you. You and Hikari visit the shrine in hopes of a good and peaceful year. Someone asks for Hikari’s number, but she rejects the advances like swatting at a fly. Nothing more. Nothing less. Calm. Usual.

The day that school starts is the first day of presentations. You could feel the nerves in the air as some of your fellow classmates dressed in business attire grumble in misery, and others mumble to themselves so rapidly you wonder if they were even talking in Japanese anymore.

But you know that will be you tomorrow, so for today, you let yourself melt mellowly and tiredly into your plastic chair.

Your teacher claps twice and signals for the first duo to come up and present. You look at them, and then their presentation, and then the back of Akaashi’s head. Not to be rude, you look back again...but they’re already done? Huh.

The second group goes, and then the third, and so forth. You’ve lost track, but your teacher, with the ounce of mercy she carries, lets the remaining time left to be allotted to improving your own presentations. This time, you saunter over to Souta and sit down in the empty seat next to him.

He gives you a bright grin that is so infectious that you mirror it back.

“Are you ready to get that hundred on the presentation tomorrow?”

You cough and roll your eyes, pulling out your notecards from your folder. From the corner of your eye, you see Akaashi glance around the classroom, gaze lingering at your seat before he looks up at you. You give him a small, reserved smile before turning your back completely on him to give your full focus on your partner.

“Yeah sure. Do you think we’ll still get that hundred if I puke all over the floor?”

Souta snorts loudly enough that it catches the attention of his friends, all snickering with you as you slap his hands lightly with your notebook. “Stop being so damn loud!”

“Sorry!”

You slap him again, and the conversation twists into something humorous before it settles down. The classroom goes quiet with hushed whispers and a few yawns drowning the room. Once or twice, you notice Souta’s eyes flickering up, just behind you, before he smirks. It’s weird, but he’s weird in his glory, so you don’t say anything about it.

You do give him sly faces though.

At the end of the class period, you feel like you are thoroughly comfortable with your script, and you hope that Souta is too, but judging by the fluency and the confidence of his words, you would say so. Maybe that hundred wasn’t too high to grasp on to, a silver of it on your fingertips.

“(Y/n) I don’t want to go to my next class yet. Can I walk you to yours?”

Packing up your stuff, you nod at Souta and beckon him to your side. As you do, you regret to inform him that the Physics classroom isn’t too far out, so there would be no point in striding next to you.

But he still does. And he cracks a few jokes here and there, rambunctious in his nature, but they are well appreciated by you. So much by the time that you reach your classroom, you panicily tell him by placing your hand on his shoulder; “You have one minute, idiot! Run!”

He does and almost crashes into Akaashi down the hallway. And in your own stupor, you don’t even question his presence as you dip into your own classroom before your physics teacher shuts the door in your face. He was mean like that.

Hikari wolf-whistles when she sees you all dolled up. She’s a little tan from the vacation she took, back yesterday late at night—apologetic about her absence from social media because she lost her phone. Pity.

You blush at her, though. “Aww, you look so cute, (Y/n)!”

“Oh, shut up. You’re being annoying again. That’s why you lost your phone.”

Pouting ensues.

Yet she doesn’t shut up until you tell her that you’re actually going to throw up all over her. Hikari gets the last word in, though, before you two separate earlier than usual upon your request: “Don’t worry, you’ll do just fine, I promise! Good luck!”

“Thanks.” You weakly strain. You try to let her gentle, easing words calm you down, but it doesn’t work. You find yourself starting to struggle to breathe as you enter your first period.

The lights are too bright, and you wonder if you should just pass out so you could alleviate the stress for another day.

You’re the first one there—you think. But you’re proven wrong when Akaashi sits at his desk in silence, reading a book. You recognize the book in his tender hands—how could you not? It was your favorite. At the sound of your footsteps, he looks up and catches your eye. His pupils widen as you just stare.

“Good morning—”

“Is that No Longer Human?” you ask. He blinks and turns the book over to the front page.

“Yes.”

You press on, “Do you like it so far?” You take a step towards him, tilting your head when he chuckles. You flush a little, apologizing for your demanding tone. Akaashi brushes it off.

“It’s depressing. I love it.” He says after a beat. You laugh and agree. Then he gives you a look before handing you something from his bento and nudging it toward you—strawberry milk. You love strawberry milk.

“I—” You stutter, about to refuse it, but he cuts you off with a shrug and pushes it further, almost teetering off the edge of his desk. “Uhm. Hikari told me you were nervous yesterday. So, uh—here you go. To help with your nerves...”

You’re sure you look stupid as hell—like a goblin who can’t stop smiling. But you don’t care because there’s a certain happiness that almost overrides the anxiety tearing you apart within. You want to say something, word vomit and all, but his eyes soften and he whispers, “Breathe.”

You do. Then mumble—if you said it any louder you’d for sure cry—, “Thank you, Akaashi.”

A second later, Souta bursts in. He’s the third person in the classroom. You don’t notice how he freezes, looking at you. Looking at Akaashi. But Akaashi’s eyes glimmer for a second, so you turn back and seize Souta.

You sigh in relief at your partner, who bounds up to you. He’s a little pale, but it suits him, with his red tie that he wears.

“Good morning, Akaashi! Not good morning (Y/n),” he utters, and you slap him on the shoulder for being too loud.

“Morning, Arai.”

You grumble, “Good morning to you, too, Souta.”

He grins with his teeth and says, “Cleaned up nice, have you?!” That earns him another slap, and he practically skips to his seat. You click your tongue in annoyance. You’re about to follow him, stabbing the straw into your milk, but a small, grounded voice holds you back.

“You should call me Keiji.”

“Hm?” You squint down at him. He doesn’t spare you a peep, back to his book, but you think you see his eyes glint at the drink in your hand. A gentle smile plays on his lips.

“Keiji.”

You nod and play it on your tongue for a second, tucking your hair shyly. Keiji to Hikari. Keiji to you now, too.

“Keiji... thank you.” And the turtle stretches from its shell, basking in the moonlight.

Your presentation went as smoothly as it could. You end it with a flourish, and the claps begin. Some are drowsy, disinterested. Others are polite. But Akaashi’s claps are respectfully loud. You catch them. They boom as you and Souta opt to sit next to each other, eager for your score. You both sigh and relax before exchanging a fist bump under the desk.

Someone next to you leans over and says, “That was the best presentation I’ve seen so far. I’d be surprised if you didn’t get a hundred.”

You both flush brightly. Proudly.

But as that relaxation seeps away, boredom floods back. Other presentations follow, but you and Souta pay them no mind. Instead, you decide on a good old game of hot hands.

To your surprise, it’s entertaining enough. Quiet, choking giggles escape as neither of you gets caught, though it’s close a few times.

Souta’s hands are warm, comforting against yours as he stares you down challengingly. You’re amused by the little skirmish but hold steady, fingers aligned with his. Then he opens his mouth.

“Do you and Akaashi have something going on?”

You still, almost pulling your hands from his in shock. “Sorry? What?”

He tilts his head, curls bouncing against his forehead.

“No? I can feel the romantic tension from him. I almost feel like I have to apologize to him whenever I’m near you.”

“Stop being an idiot,” you grouch, but you can’t hide the flush. Souta sees it—the way his eyes widen—but he sneers and leans closer. “You know he’s looking at you.”

“Right now?!”

“Hmm, yeah... gotcha!” Souta flips your hands over and yelps in victory as you moan and kick him in the shins.

You try not to cause a ruckus, but apologies lodge in your throat as a shadow materializes over you. You think it’s the teacher, but when you turn, Akaashi stands there—backpack slung over his shoulder (one look at the clock, and you exchange looks with Souta, hurriedly gathering your stuff)—his fingers in his pocket.

“Akaa—” Souta starts—

“(Y/n), can I walk with you today? I want to get your opinion on the book.”

Souta’s lips pucker as he leans back. You can almost picture that smug grin breaking through his nonchalance, but you don’t care. You’re trying not to burn. Your heart beats too fast; butterflies rush through your stomach. So many damn butterflies.

“Yeah.”

When it’s time to leave, Akaashi and you talk about the book in the hallways. It’s awkward at first, but after a well-placed comment from him on the alienation of the main character, you talk—ramble, really.

So much that you’re out of breath. It feels like your first real conversation with him, but this time you’re red-faced with exhilaration instead of shock. And when he leaves you a little later, you feel solemn.

You thought it would get easier—that feeling—because at this point, he walks you everywhere now. Yes, to physics class, but also to your bus and your seat in class. To all the small places. The little places. Sometimes it’s quiet. Other times, it’s filled with warmth. The brightness of stars. And the cold slap of the moon, forcing you back to reality.

One night, you stare at the sky. It’s dark. No sun. The stars and the moon are out.

You gape at the moonlight. Trace it with your fingers. Hold it in your fist, blocking it from yourself. Then you look beyond, at the dark clouds and twinkling stars.

Suddenly, a realization hits—sharp and sudden, like a train, blood coiling in your veins. The stars don’t shine as brightly. The night sky looks wrong without the moonlight. Cold. Lonely. Depressing. You furrow your brows and ask why. Like a puzzle amiss—the sky is incomplete.

You let go. Of the moon.

And the warmth returns.

Your school hosts a Valentine’s Day dance for the first time ever. And you feel this strange flutter inside... You don’t even know what it is. You don’t indulge it because the one time you did, you imagined a certain someone asking you.

Then, anyone else asking you. You’re a little wretched, but you don’t want to admit it.

You shake your head and watch Hikari field a multitude of confessions. You don’t know if you’re green or red or yellow with envy. Eventually, she settles with one—the captain of the soccer team. He’s cute and makes her giddy. And you’re helplessly filled with a little bit of envy.

You don’t want to go. Hikari makes you go. So here you are, at her house, dressed up, doing your makeup. Your heels sit ready by the door, your hair stunningly done.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, pulse quickening with pride. Maybe happiness. But then you glance at Hikari, and suddenly you can’t look at yourself anymore. Her blue fitted dress is so beautiful, it feels almost outlandish that you’re standing next to her.

You look meek. Ugly. Then your eyes catch the moon through her mirror. You sigh, gathering your purse. You don’t want Akaashi to see you like this tonight, so you decide to hide in the shadows of the dark, right after Hikari ditches you for her date.

Her dad drops you off, not before taking a few pictures of you two on her phone. As you look through the pics with her, you beg her not to post any of them before huffing away at her disappointment. She agrees dimly, but you could tell that she was a little ticked by the way she partially stomps off, leaving you alone on the sidewalk.  

Half of your mind screams at you to leave. You don’t. Instead, you hesitantly step inside, already overwhelmed by the crowd. Red and pink disco lights flood the room as loud music pulses through the air. You recognize the song.

You’re not claustrophobic—yet. Maybe it’ll set in later. For now, you’re filled with fumes of loneliness and anxiety, goosebumps crawling up your skin. You don’t know what to do.

The darkness offers little comfort as you pick at your nails. Maybe you should get a drink. Yeah, that’d be best. You’re a little parched anyway. Busy yourself.

There’s a small table off to the side filled with refreshments. Few students linger there, but you duck down to avoid stares. You feel exposed and raw, but you don’t know why. You wish you did—then maybe you could fix it. Then maybe you’d be back with Hikari’s side, all bright and new. Maybe... maybe you’d have a date.

“(Y/n)?” A loud voice snaps you back.

You look up at Souta’s slick-combed hair, forehead exposed. You don’t realize you’re laughing obnoxiously until he hits you lightly.

“Can you st—”

“What the hell did you do to your hair?”

He grumbles, running fingers through his locks dramatically. “Sorry you don’t understand this level of handsomeness.”

You snort. “Right. Sure.”

Silence. You try to hold back giggles. Souta tries not to mess with your head. Then you remember why you’re here.

“Alright then, Mr. Supposed Handsome—what drink do you recommend?”

His eyes soften as he leans in. “Wow, can’t believe you’re entrusting me with this. You must really like me, pretty.”

You choke. “Pretty? What are you—”

“Yeah. You look pretty nice. God forbid I give a compliment, huh?” He rolls his eyes, ladling what looks like watermelon juice into a cup. “Here you go! The best for the best.”

“Hah, thanks.” You don’t have the heart to tell him you hate watermelon juice, so you take it, squeezing the plastic cup between your fingers.

But someone does.

“(Y/n), you don’t like watermelon juice, right?”

You look beside you in shock. Akaashi stands calmly, holding a cup of strawberry lemonade—you like strawberry lemonade. Turning warm under their gaze, you shrug. “I mean... I don’t mind it, but—”

“You know, (Y/n), if you don’t like it, you should’ve told me,” Souta pouts, mock-hurt but still grinning. He brushes his curls again—you want to deck him. His eyes flicker to your cup and Akaashi’s. “I’ll be leaving you two then. Goodbye, lovebirds.”

Yeah. You’re definitely going to deck him.

Whipping your head to Akaashi, you suddenly realize how pretty he looks. His hair was still unruly but just right, black strands framing his face. His cheeks glow red—probably from the lights—but his eyes are a blue haze you can’t look away from.

He looks deadly in that suit.

Utterly heartbreaking. And you take a step back, unsure what to say.

“Ak—Keiji, I—”

“You like strawberry lemonade, right? I remember you telling me that. Let’s switch.”

“A—are you sure?”

His neutral expression breaks into a soft smile that makes you grin. “Positive.”

For the rest of the night, you sit with Akaashi, swallowed by the edge of the room, backs against the wall. You both revel in the fact you were forced here against your will—Akaashi with Bokuto, you with Hikari. At some point, he asks if you want to dance. Out of boredom, he says. Then there’s mirth; “Unless you can’t dance...” You scoff.  

You take his outstretched arm. Grounding against yours yet delicate, the curve of his palm fits perfectly against yours, as if it were meant to be there. Love was meant to be there.

The tune playing is soft and mellow. He hovers his hand over your waist—fragile, soft—before tugging you a little closer when a peer stumbles by. He acts bashful, but his eyes don’t lie. You don’t either.

You let your arms slither against him—warm and haunting, shy and beautiful. You laugh when he steps on your toe, almost tripping over your feet. It's slow. The way that the environment shifts. And change. Change happens.

Akaashi grins, spins you gently, then tucks your hair behind your ear—intimate without breaking eye contact. He settles a warm hand on your cheek for a second before dropping it back against your figure.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs in your ear.

You tuck your lips and look away slyly. “You’re just saying that...”

His wispy features dip into a frown, lips quivering. “No. I’m saying that because it’s true.” You see him shiver when you play with the hair at his nape. He wraps you closer. “I’m saying that because I see you. You’re absolutely glowing.”

Everything in that room stops.

You freeze.

Akaashi notices, opens his mouth to say something—apologize, you think—but you don’t let him.

You pull him into a tight hug, shoving your neck against the crook of his. His fingers dig into your dress, into your skin. He sways side to side, whispering words so atrocious, so beautiful into your hair. Loud. Soft. Akaashi Keiji loves deeply.

“Thank you, Keiji,” you utter. No tears, but your heart is weeping, sobbing quietly. You hope he can hear it—the way it cries for him.

“I really want to kiss you. But not now. Let me make myself yours first.”

Akaashi sighs contentedly when you nod. You’re choking on words, but he understands.

Serene.

Just you and him. No one else. The moon and the stars in the night sky.

Before Hikari’s wobbly voice interrupts.

“(Y/n), I—I’ve been looking for you. Can we go home?”

Sharp, cold hands tug at you. Her eyes register who you’re with. Mouth parts, but she still holds on. Her nails dig painfully.

“Oh—I, uh—”

You swivel to meet her red eyes and the pearly, iridescent trail on her cheeks. Her lips were smudged with pink lipstick. For the first time, she looks like a real mess.

Something yanks at your heart—something apologetic. You don’t know for whom.

You take her hands in yours.

Looking back at Akaashi, you mumble, “I’ll see you later, Keiji. Take care.”

You feel Hikari stiffen against you as Akaashi peers at you, nodding slowly. Soft, romantic—the way he moves closer, wiping something at the corner of your cheek, floating his nail against your lips.

“Bye, (Y/n),” he says before walking away.

With that, he leaves you love.

Raw adoration.

Yet... with Hikari beside you, you feel wrong. Sorry. You think you’re about to cry—guilt hinting beneath the surface.

Hikari’s house is not far. But it feels like forever in the car with her. She doesn’t speak, not once, but her eyes glisten with so many words. Her mother doesn’t say anything if she picks up on the tension, but she does leave you two be, not asking any questions as you both trudge up to her room.

Her room is packed with memories. Some of them are her family. Some of them are other friends. But most of them are you. When you sit on her bed, you wish that it would swallow you up. There’s a beat of quietness, because a million things are running through your mind. Yet nothing at the same time.

You sigh. She exhales. And then—

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes widen, and harshly she spits, venom in her voice as she clutches at her toy bunny. The one that you gave her. “Why are you sorry?! I was the one who ruined...ruined your moment.”

When you don’t give her a response, she asks you again, “Why are you sorry?”

You don’t know. You really don’t know. You shake your head, shrug, and tuck back into your shell. She steadies her breathing and looks away bitterly. She wipes at her lips.

“He tried to kiss me. Got real mad when I said no.”

Your stomach jolts, and you peer at her through your lashes. She’s not crying as she was before, but her shoulders shake. And hesitantly yet as carefully as you can, you steady her hand in yours. She glances up.

“(Y/n). Did you know I asked out Akaashi?”

You lurch and unclasp your hand unknowingly, but she holds on, tighter. She pulls your arm into her lap.

“When?” You weakly croak.

“A few weeks ago. Do you know what he said to me?”

“What did he say?”

She weaves her fingers through yours. Tight. Fixing.

“He said no because he had his eyes on someone else.”

Your tongue rolls in your mouth. You want to think that you’re surprised because who in the world would reject Hikari? The beauty. The perfection. But then Akaashi’s words from earlier replay in your mind. “I see you.”

“Oh.” Then you wonder. You press into the wound, silently. “I—Do you want him?”

“No. Not at all. I...I want the way that he looks at you.”

“Wha—”

“(Y/n). Do you know how jealous I am of you?” Hikari murmurs. You open your mouth because you’re suddenly starting to see hot flashes of anger. Jealous. Of you? She has everything that she wants in the world, so why would she be jealous?

“Hika—”

“Akaashi stares at you like you’re the only girl in the world! The only person. He looks at you like you’re the moon. I—urgh—fuck! I’m so, so jealous of you. No one fucking looks at me like that. I—”

There’s blood boiling. And you snap.

“You don’t ever get to say that! You got every fucking person wrapped around your damn finger; everyone looks at you like that. Do you even understand how I feel? No one fucking sees me when I’m with you” You gasp for air, heart cracking at her expression. But you keep on going, “It’s like I’m invisible. God-forbid that a boy likes me! Is that so surprising?!”

You don’t even know that you’re crying until your voice cracks in your throat, “I really wish I were you at times. Most of the time. So. You don’t ever get to say that. Just...please.”

She parts her lips, but nothing comes out. She just leans over and pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, emotions pouring out from both sides. You’re both sobbing into each other’s shoulders. But she breathes deeply and utters,

“Most people just want me because I’m Hikari. Akaashi wants you because you’re (Y/n). But also, because you’re you.” She then pulls apart and gives you a wet kiss on your forehead. “I am so happy for you. I swear.”

You know she isn’t lying. You just know.

Akaashi takes you on a date to a little book nook. You both share a strawberry milkshake over fries as you both find each other little reads. He interlocks his pinkies with you. And for someone who’s on their first date, you don’t feel an ounce of nervousness.

Probably because you feel like you’ve done this date a thousand times before. Every day in school. Except this time, it’s brimmed with shy and soft gazes. You would say love, but you’ve realized that you’ve both teetered against the lines of friendship and more. So, no love was there.

At every touch. And every look. And in Akaashi Keiji, when he's with you.

When night falls upon you two, he spreads a fresh picnic blanket on the green grass. Cicadas chirp, and the gentle wind kisses your cheeks. But you both lay on the checkered fabric, staring at the sky. You both hold hands.

The moon is out. A full moon. And you admire its beauty. The way that bathes nature in its moonlight. The way the dark craters give it something special, something alluring. You want to sing your praises to the moon.

The moon that you love. And the stars that you love.

Turning your head to gauge love’s reaction, you find him already looking at you with a soft expression gracing his face. You find that you don’t like to hold out with him.

“Have I told you how pretty you are, Keiji?”

He laughs—grasps you tighter. As if you were going to go away. “I feel like I’m dreaming. Like I'm going to wake up and you don’t exist.”

You feel so warm. So full of adoration. In love.

“Like I would let that happen.” You happily hum. He giggles again and pushes himself up from the ground. He doesn’t waver his gaze, though, still on you as you tilt your head curiously at him. “What happened?” You ask.

“Nothing. I just want to see you.”

Your jaw clenches tightly, and you pull his fist against your lips, kissing his knuckles gently. He closes his eyes.

“(Y/n) ...I’m not very good at words, but I want to try for you. You are so beautiful that it pains me. I think that I’ve always liked you, I’m sure even in the womb, I was thinking about you...”

You snort at his odd words. And he keeps going. No stutter. No waver.

“Did you know what the Greeks believed in? They believed that Zeus halved each human, dividing one soul between two bodies. And as a result, each person yearned for their other half—their soulmate.”

Akaashi exhales and shakes his head.

“I thought it was bullshit when I first read it. But now that I’ve met you...I—”

He pauses at the tears that litter your eyes and uses his fingers to brush them away, bending down over you, brushing the hair out of your face. “I yearn for you (Y/n). I yearn for you like no other. I yearn for my soulmate.”

He hovers over your lips, “Can I kiss you. Will you let me be yours?”

“Yes.” And he doesn’t waste a second, not a moment to capture you into a kiss.

And you feel like everything’s going to be alright.