Summary: Suna loves his childhood friend but apparently lies about it.
Warnings: fluff, Suna Rintarō x oblivious!female!reader, reader is oblivious(again), childhood friends to lovers, lying(not angst) and lots of fluff.
Characters: Suna Rintarō.
A/N: Sorry but it's not clearly proof-read—was kinda busy:p.
If anyone asked, Suna Rintarō would say he didn’t care much about anything.
Volleyball? Fun, but not life and death.
The Miya twins? A necessary evil.
You?…yeah, that one’s harder to lie about.
You were currently sitting cross-legged on the gym floor, eating chips like it was a live volleyball match instead of practice. “You missed that serve again,” you said flatly when Atsumu’s ball slammed into the net for the third time.
Atsumu groaned. “Maybe if Suna wasn’t starin’ at ya like a lovesick raccoon, I’d concentrate better!”
You blinked. “He’s not. He’s always like that. Right, Rin?”
Suna, deadpan, didn’t even look up from his phone. “Right.”
(He was absolutely staring at you.)
Osamu snorted from the sideline. “It’s creepy, actually. Like a cat watchin’ a fishbowl.”
“Shut up,” Suna muttered, tossing a stray volleyball at him.
You only laughed—that warm, effortless sound that hit Suna right in the chest. You never noticed the way his fingers always twitched like he wanted to brush the crumbs off your cheek, or how his eyes softened when you were around.
You’d known him since forever—the kid who used to pull your pigtails in kindergarten, the boy who let you cheat off his math homework in middle school, the lanky teenager who always seemed bored but somehow waited for you after every class.
To you, he was just “Rin.”
To him, you were the one person who made even boring things feel worth showing up for.
“As long as Suna remembers,” the thought flickered quietly as he watched you laugh at something Atsumu said,“he’s liked you.”
“Hey, Rin,” you called suddenly, jolting him from his thoughts. “You’re spacing out again. Thinking about snacks?”
“Yeah,” he lied easily. “Snacks.”
Kita clapped his hands, signaling the end of practice. “Good work, everyone make sure to stretch properly.”
You hopped up from the floor and grabbed his towel before he could. “Wait, I’ll get this washed, you stink.”
“Wow,” he said dryly,“thanks for the compliment.”
“Anytime.” You grinned, waving, and dashed off toward the laundry room before he could say more.
Atsumu appears next to him, grinning like a devil. “Ya gonna keep pretendin’ ya don’t like her forever?”
Suna slanted him a lazy glare. “Who said I do?”
“Bro. You let her call ya ‘stinky.’ That’s love.”
He looked away, muttering something noncommittal. But Atsumu was right—you could say anything and he’d let it slide. You could be evil incarnate, and he’d still follow you around, expression unreadable but heart embarrassingly full.
When you came back, your hair was slightly messy from the rush, shirt loose, a familiar grin on your face. “Told you I’d be quick!”
And just like that, his world felt warm again.
If someone asked Suna when he started liking you, he’d probably say, “Dunno. Maybe few months.”
Because as long as Suna remembers, he’s liked you.
It started sometime in middle school, when you showed up to class with a band-aid on your chin and declared, “Don’t worry, Rin, I fought the slide. The slide lost.”
He’d blinked, deadpan. “You face-planted.”
He’d snorted so quietly you almost missed it. Back then, you used to think Suna never laughed—like his face physically couldn’t manage it. But you’d caught that tiny sound, triumphant, and pointed at him.
“Ha! You do have emotions!”
“Don’t tell anyone, otherwise they will call you insane—which to be fair you are.”
Only to earn a smack on head from you.
That was probably the first time he realized that teasing you felt…easy. Addicting.
You’d do something ridiculous;he’d respond in monotone;you’d laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world—and suddenly, being around you was the best part of his day.
By second year, it got worse.
You’d started showing up to his volleyball games with snacks stuffed in your bag and a ridiculous homemade sign that read “Go Rinnie!! (And The Rest I Guess)” decorated with pink glitter.
Atsumu had spotted it first.
“Holy crap, Suna’s got a fangirl!”
“She’s not—” Suna started, but then you yelled across the court, “Go, Rinnie! Don’t trip!”
The twins never let him live it down.
Osamu had even made a smaller version of your sign and taped it to Suna’s locker for weeks.
You’d thought it was hilarious.
He’d thought his heart might actually combust.
There was one summer memory that replayed in his head more than he’d like to admit.
You and Suna were maybe thirteen, sitting by the playground after dark, licking half melted ice pops. You were talking about the future—the kind of dumb, lazy summer conversation where every dream feels real.
“I’m gonna be famous,” you said confidently, legs swinging.
He gave you a side-eye. “For what, eating chips?”
“For my dashing personality.”
You bumped his shoulder, grinning. “What about you, Rin?”
He shrugged, eyes following a slow-falling firefly. “Dunno. Maybe volleyball.”
“Ooo, pro player Suna Rintarō. You better remember me when you’re rich.”
(He already knew he’d remember you even if he forgot everything else.)
“Yo, Suna!” Osamu called. “Done starin’ at her.”
He snapped out of the memory. You were sitting on the bench now, legs crossed, scrolling through your phone.
You looked up. “Huh? What?”
“Nothing,” Suna said, pretending to fix his elbow pads.
Atsumu leaned over to whisper loudly, “Ya know, if ya stare any harder, she’s gonna start vanishin’.”
Suna shot him a blank look. “I hope you trip in your next serve.”
“Aw, what a great friend ya are!” Atsumu cooed.
Kita walked past, dry as ever. “If you two are done, we’re starting drills.”
Later that evening, you two walked home together like always. You were rambling about how you’d once tried to cook omurice and made “weird scrambled eggs that tasted like betrayal.”
Suna listened with half a smile, hands in his pockets.
“I think I should just stick to eating, not cooking,” you concluded dramatically.
“I think so too,” he said.
You gasped, hitting his arm. “Rin!”
He chuckled—an actual chuckle—and you lit up like it was rare treasure.
“See! You laughed again, just admit that I am funny.”
“I gotta, or you’ll never admit you have feelings.”
He glanced sideways at you. “Maybe I just don’t show them to everyone.”
You said it like a joke, but something in him went quiet.
That night, Suna lay on his bed, scrolling through his phone, the faint buzz of your messages lighting up the screen.
You’d texted a blurry selfie with your pet(If you don't have any just think about a cat, I love cats).
[Name]: Smug Rin has scratched me for the 4th time this week. Thank God he's cute and adorable, otherwise he'd out in the wild learning how to survive right now.
And YES, you named your pet after him—apparently Smug Rin sounded too good to pass up.
He stared at it for a full minute before replying:
[Suna]: He's just like his owner—cute and dumb.
He set the phone down, smirk tugging at his lips—then covered his face with his pillow to hide how dumbly happy he felt.
Atsumu and Osamu were arguing about who was better at running. Ginjima was trying to mediate. Aran was done. Kita was sighing like a tragic Victorian woman.
And Suna—well, Suna was trying to pretend his stomach didn’t twist every time you laughed.
Because today, you weren’t sitting in your usual spot.
You were by the water cooler, chatting with one of the first-years—the setter with the tragic bangs who clearly thought you were cute.
Suna wasn’t the jealous type. He really wasn’t.
He didn’t care about popularity, or looks, or who liked who.
But seeing someone else make you laugh—that soft, knee-weak kind of laugh that used to be his—made his jaw tighten before he even realized.
You waved from across the gym, smiling like nothing was off.
“Need help with your bag?”
You skipped over anyway, reaching for his duffel, and he let you—because apparently his body didn’t know how to say no to you anymore.
Atsumu whistled. “There it is again. The Suna obedience arc.”
Suna shot him a deadly look. “You wanna die?”
“I’m good,” Atsumu said quickly, ducking behind Osamu.
Kita just sighed. “Suna, you might as well confess. The entire team’s tired of pretending not to notice.”
You blinked. “Confess what?”
Suna could feel his pulse in his ears.
Atsumu, Osamu, and Aran all stared at him like it was a live drama.
“Nothing,” Suna said finally, voice cool. “Kita-san’s wrong.”
You shrugged, oblivious, and went right back to complaining about the vending machine being out of your favorite chips.
He wanted to bury himself in the nearest floor tile.
That night, walking home, the air felt heavy—summer humidity, maybe, or the weight of everything he nevar said.
You were rambling about school again, complaining about homework, about how your pet (that looks like him) gives you attitude. “All lazy and judging me.”—your words.
He wasn’t really listening. His mind was stuck on how everyone could see what he felt but you couldn’t.
At the crossing, the light turned red, and you stopped beside him.
He glanced down—you were humming, tapping your foot to a song only you knew. The streetlights made your hair glow a soft gold.
And before he could stop himself, he said it.
“…How do you not get it?”
You tilted your head, confused. “Get what?”
Suna exhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded, like saying this might physically pain him.
“That I like you,” he said simply. “Have for a while.”
Your mouth fell open. “You—huh?”
He sighed, almost fondly. “You’re kinda dumb sometimes, you know that?”
You were staring, eyes wide, cheeks pink. “You’re serious?”
“Wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.”
“Like a guy who likes you too much and doesn’t know what to do about it,” he cut in.
You gaped. “So all this time—”
“Don’t ever tell him that.”
You laughed—half flustered, half shocked—and shoved his shoulder. “You could’ve told me earlier!”
“I did,” he said lazily, leaning closer. “You just never listened.”
Your heart was beating like mad, but you didn’t back away.
He smiled a little—small, tired, real.
He kissed you before you could finish, just a quick, soft press—warm and clumsy, the kind that says finally.
When he pulled back, your face was a masterpiece of mess.
“I’m suing you for emotional damage.”
He smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You can’t. You like me too.”
“See?” he said, completely smug. “Knew it.”
You groaned, covering your face. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet you’re still here,” he murmured, hugging your body before you could turn away.
You peeked at him through your fingers—his eyes soft, mouth quirked into that lazy, smug smile that meant everything and nothing at once.
He squeezed your body gently.
“Guess you’re stuck with me, huh?”
The next day at practice, Atsumu spotted the two of you walking in together—you looking flustered, Suna looking suspiciously more smug than usual.
Atsumu gasped dramatically. “NO WAY—”
Kita just nodded once. “Balance has been restored.”
You flushed crimson. “You guys—!”
Suna just sighed, smirk tugging at his lips. “Kita-san, can we get your blessings?”
Kita blinked—confused. “Sure...?”
You rolled your eyes, laughing, and Suna felt it again—that stupid, grounding warmth that had been there since the very beginning.
As long as Suna remembers, he’s liked you.
Now he doesn’t have to hide it anymore.
If someone had told first-year Suna that a few months after his confession you’d be sitting on his lap eating his fries and stealing his hoodie, he’d probably have shrugged and said, “yeah, sounds about right.”
Because somehow, being with you didn’t feel new.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world — like he’d just stopped pretending.
“Rin, you’re not listening.”
He looked up from his phone, deadpan. “I am.”
You gasped. “I was talking about our future cat!”
Osamu groaned from the opposite of table in the cafeteria. “There they go again.”
Atsumu leaned over dramatically. “Future cat? They’re practically married already.”
You turned red. “We are not married!”
Suna, sipping his juice box, murmured, “Yet.”
“HE SAID YET— HE SAID YET!!”
Kita, passing by, didn’t even pause. “Congratulations in advance. Please remember to invite us.”
You buried your face in your hands. “I hate all of you.”
Suna just rested his chin on your shoulder, smile ghosting your skin. “You love me though.”
He chuckled. “That’s enough.”
After a match that day, you waited for him outside the gym like always.
The evening light hit his face as he walked toward you, hair stickingto his forehead due to the sweat, expression soft.
“Good game,” you said, holding up a drink.
“Thanks.” He took it, brushing his fingers over yours. “You watched the whole thing?”
“Obviously. I’m your number one fan.”
“You were eating half the time.”
He laughed under his breath. “You’re weird.”
You grinned. “And you lowe that.”
He reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear again—the same small, familiar motion that always made your heart skip.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I really do.”
You looked up at him, eyes wide, the teasing gone for a heartbeat.
Then you smiled. “Don’t get all sappy on me, Suna Rintarō.”
You stood there for a moment, hands brushing, the sound of the team shouting in the background, the sunset spilling over the court.
If someone asked him later what his favorite memory was, he’d probably say something boring—a game, a vacation, a lazy afternoon.
But deep down, he’d know it was this—
you, your dumb jokes, him, laughter, light, and that warm feeling that feels like home.
Soooo yep new writing style ig ;).LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!
Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.
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