Tsukishima Kei — Sweetest Secret
(high school era, fluffy, mutual pining)
│ sometimes love is quieter than words, but louder than you think.
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training camp days are long in a way that seeps into your bones.
it’s not just the hours spent on your feet or the constant echo of shoes against the gym floor, it’s the way time stretches, blurs, and somehow keeps moving even when everyone’s exhausted. by the time lunch rolls around, the team is sprawled across benches and the floor, sweat-damp and loud and starving.
you hover near the doorway with the bento boxes stacked neatly in your arms.
you’d helped make all of them this morning. rice measured carefully, portions adjusted, names written in neat marker on the lids. everything uniform, everything practical.
except one.
you swallow and glance down at the box resting on top.
tsukishima kei’s name is written just like the others, clean and simple. it’s what’s inside that’s different. you’d told yourself you wouldn’t do it. you’d stood in the kitchen this morning, hands hovering over the ingredients, heart racing as if someone might burst in and catch you in the act.
but then you’d thought about him.
about how he always stood a little apart, glasses slipping down his nose as he observed everything with that sharp, unreadable gaze. about the way his teasing was precise, almost gentle when it was aimed at you. about how he always thanked you for small things, quietly, like it mattered.
so you’d done it.
you pass out the bentos one by one, keeping your smile small, your movements efficient. a few of the boys cheer when they get theirs, hinata already trying to pry his open before anyone tells him to wash his hands. you laugh softly, relieved. normal. everything feels normal.
then there’s only one left.
you take a breath that’s a little too deep and walk toward him.
tsukishima is sitting against the wall, towel around his neck, phone in his hand. he looks up when your shadow falls over him, brow lifting slightly.
“oh,” he says. “thanks.”
you hold out the bento with both hands. “um. here. tsukishima.”
your fingers brush when he takes it.
it’s brief. barely anything. but it’s enough to make your heart stumble.
you don’t wait.
the moment the box leaves your hands, you turn on your heel, already mumbling something about needing to help clean up, already pretending to be very invested in reorganizing a stack of water bottles that absolutely does not need reorganizing.
behind you, tsukishima watches you go, lips pressing into a thin line.
he opens the box a few minutes later, expecting the usual.
rice. protein. vegetables. functional. thoughtful in a practical way.
instead, he freezes.
the rice is shaped into a neat heart, edges carefully pressed. the side dishes mirror it, tiny hearts cut with a precision that had clearly taken time. even the egg has been folded just so, rounded and soft.
it’s… undeniably cute.
he glances around.
hinata is inhaling his lunch. nishinoya is trying to steal tanaka’s. no one else seems to have noticed anything unusual.
tsukishima looks back down at his bento.
then, slowly, his ears turn pink.
he eats every bite.
when lunch ends, you think you’ve gotten away with it.
you’re wiping down a table, shoulders relaxing just a little now that the worst part is over, when a shadow falls beside you again.
“hey.”
you jump.
tsukishima is standing there, bento box in hand. it’s empty. clean. neatly closed.
your stomach drops.
“i, um—” you start, panic flaring hot and fast. “was there something wrong with—”
“why,” he interrupts calmly, “was mine the only one like that?”
you freeze.
your brain scrambles for an excuse. a joke. anything. but he’s watching you too closely, head tilted slightly, expression unreadable behind his glasses.
you can feel your face heating up.
“i just—” you fidget with the cloth in your hands, voice shrinking. “i thought… it’d be nice.”
there’s a beat of silence.
then tsukishima sighs.
you brace yourself.
instead of teasing, instead of that familiar dry remark you’re half-expecting, he reaches out and gently sets the bento on the table between you.
“i liked it,” he says. “a lot.”
you look up, startled.
his expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it. still composed, still tsukishima, but there’s something warm there now, something careful.
“you didn’t have to run away,” he adds. “i wasn’t going to laugh.”
“i didn’t think you would,” you admit quietly. “i just… didn’t want to make it weird.”
he huffs, almost amused. “you made it obvious.”
your heart leaps. “obvious bad or—”
“obvious cute,” he corrects.
you stare at him, stunned.
tsukishima adjusts his glasses, gaze flicking away for half a second before returning to you. “if that was your way of telling me you like me,” he says, “then i guess i should respond properly.”
he nudges the bento toward you. “i’ll bring it back tomorrow. maybe with something in it this time.”
you blink. “you don’t have to—”
“i want to,” he says simply.
your lips curve into a shy smile before you can stop them.
“…okay.”
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