“I’m,” he started, but seemingly stopped to consider his words. Uncomfortably, you pursed your lips into a pitiful expression. “I’m obsessed with you.”
Your face completely morphed into about five different emotions, one at a time to make him really reconsider his choice of words. Oh no, that doesn’t sound good at all.
“Is that… a threat?” you asked, grimacing and looking around you. The tram stop where he saw you every day was still filled with people, so surely he wasn’t admitting to stalking you now. Right?
He hadn’t considered the fact that you probably never noticed him back, and as you questioned him, he frantically tried to correct it. “No! I just always see you here, and you’re gorgeous.”
It didn’t help his confidence that his friends were snorting behind him, trying to hold their laughter.
You shrugged, still unsure about this random man, but softening as you noticed his friends. “Thank you?”
“I wanted to ask you out.” Somewhat pathetically, in a manner he knew said friends would never let him forget, he clutched his hands together like a beggar. “Please forget I said any of that before.”
You held a hand in front of your mouth to try and shield him from the embarrassment of your laughter. He was funny, in a totally weird way. Should you give him a chance?
“This is my first impression of you,” you reminded him.
“I want to give you more impressions.”
You gave his arm a soft pat. “Maybe speaking just isn’t for everyone. How about you give me your number and I’ll consider texting you?”
Surely the first impression couldn’t have been that bad if it scored him your number by the end of the day?
tenma, GOSHIKI, nishinoya, hinata, atsumu, koganegawa, komori, YAMAMOTO, TANAKA, anyone else it made you think of<3
please stay safe out in public. like my dad always says, don't talk to strangers.
“You two better brace yourselves,” Yamamoto said, arms crossed, eyes shining with smug energy. “I’m about to ruin your entire worldview.”
Tanaka glanced over with a frown. “What’s your damage this time?”
“Is this about Nekoma’s libero?” Nishinoya asked. “Because I’ve already accepted he’s cracked. That’s fine.”
“No, no. It’s not that.” Yamamoto turned, gesturing across the gym. “It’s her.”
You stood at the sidelines, clipboard in hand, scribbling notes with a steady grace that didn’t belong in a noisy, chaotic gym. The sleeves of your red Nekoma jacket were zipped open just enough to show the thin chain of your bracelet glinting under the lights. Your hair swayed gently as you moved, long and effortlessly styled, catching the light in a way that made you look like you’d stepped straight out of a drama.
Tanaka blinked. “Who’s… that?”
“She’s our new manager,” Yamamoto said proudly. “Third year. In Kuroo’s class. He helped get her on the team, but really, she didn’t need the help. She walked in and everyone just listened. No yelling. No chaos. Just…” He gestured vaguely. “Senpai energy.”
You turned at that moment, making eye contact with the three of them briefly. Your eyes were calm, intelligent, and sharp in a way that cut straight through any idiocy. You gave them a soft, polite smile. Not flirty. Not too warm. Just enough to kill them a little.
Tanaka audibly swallowed. “She smiled.”
“She smiled at me,” Nishinoya hissed. “I was slightly more in her line of sight.”
“Are you kidding? She was looking past you.”
“She clearly respects me as a fellow short king.”
“Shut up, Yuu. She doesn’t even know you.”
“She will when I ask her what kind of pen she’s using. It’s called a natural conversation.”
“That’s your plan?”
Yamamoto looked like he was watching a nature documentary about self-destruction. “I warned you.”
“She’s got that cool beauty thing going on,” Tanaka muttered. “Like, lips perfectly lined without trying. You know what I mean?”
“And her hair—” Nishinoya started, breathless.
“Like it floats,” Tanaka finished.
“Like it has better conditioning than my entire soul,” Nishinoya agreed.
You walked past them then, your stride even and composed. There was a soft cherry tint to your lips that made their brains short-circuit. You didn’t say anything, just gave a slight nod as you passed, the edge of your ponytail brushing your shoulder.
Tanaka turned in slow motion. “I think I’m in love.”
“You already are in love—with Kiyoko-san!” Nishinoya barked.
“I can’t help it if I’m emotionally complex!”
“You traitor.”
“She’s just a different kind of angel!”
You didn’t say much as you joined Kiyoko and Yachi by the benches. Kiyoko handed you a bottle of water without a word, her expression calm, unreadable as always. Yachi was nervously adjusting towels on the bench, cheeks pink, eyes flicking back and forth between you two like she couldn’t believe she was standing in the presence of two composed goddesses. (I stand for lesbian yachi)
The three of you stood together for just a second, saying nothing. No wild gestures. No competition. No attention-seeking. Just calm, collected managers radiating unshakable serenity. Three girls in red and black jackets that represent their team, hair neat, eyes focused, a wall of silent strength behind every reckless boy on the court.
And behind you—
Pure chaos.
Tanaka had dropped his water bottle. It bounced off his foot and rolled under a bench, but he didn’t notice. He was staring, slack-jawed.
Nishinoya had one hand over his chest like he’d been shot.
Yamamoto was gripping the railing beside him like he needed support just to keep standing.
The three of them stood frozen, wide-eyed, breathless, staring at you and Kiyoko and Yachi like they’d just seen the final evolution of beauty itself.
“They’re… all together,” Tanaka whispered.
“This is too much,” Nishinoya said, voice breaking.
“It’s like a crossover episode I didn’t know I needed,” Yamamoto whispered reverently.
“They look like they belong on the cover of a shoujo manga,” Tanaka added.
“They look like they’d ignore us in a hallway,” Nishinoya said.
“They already do ignore us,” Yamamoto replied.
Yachi leaned in nervously. “Um, they’re still staring.”
“They’ll stop,” you said quietly.
Kiyoko didn’t even glance back. “Ignore them.”
And you did.
Tanaka sighed.
“I’m never recovering from this.”
── .✦
Omg I really liked that :D I enjoyed writing it, ty for the idea! Keep them coming! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
tricked into a marriage booth with yachi.
wc: 1.4k
perks of being my friend is this, any fic for your imagination 😭 req by @kkenaori
the air in the karasuno high school hallway smelled like cheap chocolate, desperation, and the lingering scent of kageyama’s milk carton. it was a minefield. yachi was currently vibrating at a frequency usually reserved for tectonic plates or hummingbirds on an espresso bender. she was trying to blend into the locker bank, hoping that if she stood still enough, she would simply become part of the school’s infrastructure.
this was a survival tactic. today was valentine’s day, and yachi’s heart was currently doing backflips over a barbed-wire fence. specifically, it was doing backflips for you.
you were currently walking toward the gym, looking entirely too pleasant. it was offensive, really. how dare you have hair that looked that soft? how dare your uniform fit you in a way that made her brain short-circuit into a series of error messages? every time you breathed in her general vicinity, yachi felt like she was being hit by a freight train made of marshmallows and pure, unadulterated longing.
"y/n!" a voice boomed, sounding far too energetic for a school afternoon.
yachi’s eyes widened. it was the chaos trio: tanaka, nishinoya, and hinata. they were huddled together like a group of gremlins plotting the downfall of a kingdom. before she could dive into a nearby trash can to hide, she felt a hand grab her shoulder.
"yachi! just the person we needed!" tanaka grinned, his face looking suspiciously like a mischievous gargoyle.
"wait, no, i have papers to—"
too late. she was swept up in the whirlwind. before she could process the physics of what was happening, she was being shoved into a makeshift wooden structure at the end of the hall. it was the "marriage booth," a local festival staple that the volleyball club had hijacked for their own chaotic purposes.
and then, the door clicked shut behind her.
yachi turned around, her soul nearly leaving her body. there you were. standing in the dim light of the booth, looking confused and ruggedly handsome in a way that made her want to scream into a pillow for forty-eight hours straight.
"oh, hey yachi," you said, your voice smooth as butter on a hot pancake. "did they get you too?"
yachi made a sound that could only be described as a teapot reaching its boiling point. "i—uh—yes! trapped! we are trapped in the box of matrimonial doom! i’m so sorry, y/n! i’ll pay for your therapy! i’ll build you a statue as an apology for this indignity!"
you chuckled, scratching the back of your neck. the sound of your laugh was yachi’s favorite song. she wanted to record it and play it on a loop until her ears fell off. she wanted to bottle the scent of your laundry detergent and sell it as a premium fragrance. she was, quite frankly, a goner. she was a puddle of goo on the floor of your existence.
"it’s fine, really," you said, leaning against the plywood wall. "it’s kind of cozy in here. better than being chased by nishinoya with those heart-shaped stickers."
yachi’s brain was currently processing the phrase 'cozy in here.' cozy. with her.
she felt like she was being cooked in a microwave on the 'popcorn' setting. her thoughts were a chaotic mess of he’s so close and if i accidentally touch his arm i will literally explode into a shower of confetti. she watched you. she couldn't help it. she watched the way your eyes crinkled when you looked at her. she noticed a small stray thread on your sweater and felt an overwhelming urge to jump off a bridge because of how cute it was. she wanted to dedicate her entire life to making sure you never had a stray thread ever again. she wanted to be your personal bodyguard, your chef, your dedicated fan club president, and your wife, all at the same time.
the booth was narrow, and the walls were covered in tacky red streamers that smelled like glue. through the cracks in the wood, you could hear the muffled chaos of the valentine’s festival outside—the "message in a bottle" booth run by the drama club and the smell of sugared crepes from the home ec room.
"they really went all out on the decorations," you observed, pointing at a plastic 'certificate' taped to the wall that declared you and yachi 'officially hitched until the end of the lunch period.'
yachi stared at the paper as if it were a holy relic. "wedded! we are wedded in the eyes of the volleyball club! the paperwork is going to be a nightmare! i don't even have a dowry! would you accept a collection of high-quality mechanical pencil lead and some lukewarm sports drink?"
"i'd take the sports drink," you teased, stepping a bit closer. the booth was small. really small. your shoulders were almost touching hers. yachi’s skin felt like it was being electrified by a million tiny, benevolent lightning bolts.
"you're really quiet today, yachi," you noted, tilting your head.
"my lungs have ceased function!" she squeaked, waving her hands frantically. "i’m currently operating on backup batteries and sheer willpower! the oxygen in this booth is being consumed by my internal screaming!"
you laughed again, and the sound reverberated in the small space, vibrating right through yachi’s ribs. she felt like a frantic kitten being offered a warm bowl of milk. she was desperate to be near you, yet terrified that her very existence might be too loud, too much, or too weird for someone as grounded as you.
"yachi," you said, your tone dropping into something more serious, something that made her knees feel like they were made of overcooked noodles. "look at me."
she looked. she had no choice. your eyes were like gravity, pulling her in until she was orbiting your soul.
"i've been trying to find a way to tell you this without the guys hovering over us," you admitted. your thumb brushed over her knuckles, a sensation so divine yachi thought she might actually transcend this mortal plane and become a constellation. "but being stuck in this booth? it’s actually the best part of my day."
yachi’s heart wasn't just beating; it was performing a drum solo that would put professional musicians to shame. she felt a sudden, fierce wave of bravery. it was the kind of bravery you get right before you jump out of a plane.
"y/n," she started, her voice trembling but determined. "if you were a star, i would spend my entire life building a telescope just to look at you. if you were a book, i would memorize every single comma. i think—i think i’m so far gone for you that i’ve forgotten where the ground is. you’re like... the sun. and i’m just a tiny, very nervous sunflower."
you stared at her, stunned for a heartbeat, before a massive, genuine grin broke across your face.
"a sunflower, huh?" you pulled her hand up, pressing a quick, soft kiss to her knuckles.
yachi’s brain officially evaporated. she was no longer a human girl; she was a collection of happy atoms vibrating in a school blazer.
"then i guess it's a good thing i've always wanted a garden," you murmured.
"i'll grow anything for you!" she blurted out, her face a shade of red that outdid the streamers. "i'll grow prize-winning tomatoes! i'll grow a forest! i'll become a botanical expert by tonight!"
outside, the muffled sounds of hinata cheering and tanaka weeping with joy echoed through the wood, but yachi didn't care. she was too busy trying to memorize the exact temperature of your hand against hers, realizing that the marriage booth was, in fact, the greatest invention in human history.
she leaned her head against your shoulder, a shaky, happy sigh escaping her lips.
"i'm going to make you so many bento boxes that you'll forget what hunger even feels like," she whispered into your sleeve.
"i'm counting on it," you replied, squeezing her hand tight.
the booth door creaked open, spilling light into their private world as the 'priest'—a very teary-eyed sugawara—proclaimed the ceremony finished. but neither of you moved immediately. yachi was exactly where she wanted to be: anchored to the person who made her world stop spinning and start shining.
as you both stepped out into the chaotic, pink-hued hallway, she didn't let go of your hand. instead, she held on with the grip of a drowning person who had just found a very handsome life raft.
"so," you said, swinging your joined hands. "want to go hit the crepe booth? my wife must be hungry."
yachi made a sound like a punctured balloon, her soul floating somewhere near the ceiling. "wife! he said the w-word! yes, crepes! i will buy you every crepe in the prefecture!"
you laughed, pulling her closer as you walked through the crowd, yachi following you with an expression of pure, unadulterated worship.
n: was giggling so hard while writing this that i choked harshly and almost died.
𝒃lurb ﹕ terrified of your cool persona, a shy student views you as peak sophistication - until you start spewing facts. ╱ 𝒘𝒄 # 1.9k
— 𝒂uthor's 𝒏ote ﹕ thank you, thesauruses, and google because i had to search these facts up
requested ☆
to yachi, you're not merely a fellow student. you're a whole geological event. you're a landslide of sophistication that threatens to bury her small, nervous existence under the weight of your sheer.. coolness.
in the frantic theater of yachi’s mind - a place where the lighting is always too bright and the stakes are always life or death - you are the protagonist of a hollywood movie, and she's spent months categorising your movements.
you're the upperclassman who always sits framed by the third window from the left in the library. you're always positioned exactly where the afternoon sun hit the mahogany tables. from yachi’s perspective, you don't just read books; you seem to be absorbing the fundamental mysteries of the universe through your fingertips, and instantly understanding them.
you wear your school uniform over your shoulders like a royal cape. you drink your coffee black - no sugar, no cream, just pure, bitter and impressive like you. (ew i have to add so much sugar and cream to mine bro)
"they're essentially a living, breathing museum exhibit," yachi breathes to kiyoko one afternoon as they hover near the gym entrance. you're walking across the courtyard, your expression fixed in a look of deep, scholarly contemplation as you stare at your phone.
"i am statistically certain," yachi continues, her voice rising to a frantic squeak, "that they spend their weekends visiting minimalist art galleries where the only exhibit is a single white cube, and they probably contemplate the profound nature of silence for six hours at a time."
kiyoko barks a quiet laugh.
"if i accidentally breathe too loudly, the 'yachi-ness' of me would probably cause a rip in the universe. i would spontaneously combust, shimizu-san. i would be a pile of ash on the floor!"
kiyoko offers a small, patient smile, her eyes tracking your form as you pause to look, quite intensely, at a stray cat that arches its back and pads lightly toward you. "i think you’re overthinking the situation. they seem very.. focused. and kind."
"kind? pffft, no. they're the god of all gods, and i am a meagre peasant." yachi insists, her hands wringing at a speed that makes them appear blurry. "in the grand play of life, im not even townsperson B. im the cardboard shrubbery positioned in the deep background of townsperson B’s one word scene. im the prop that falls over when the lead actor coughs!"
kiyoko starts laughing again, and pats yachi on the head.
you're still petting the cat, murmuring to it softly and meowing in the hopes to communicate.
—
for weeks, yachi continues to stalk watch you, always from a distance that she considers 'safe' (approximately ten metres away and behind a solid object).
note: for you americanos, ten metres is abt thirty feet 😒)
she watches you navigate the hallways with a focused, serious expression. she assumes you're drafting a mental thesis on global economics, composing a symphony in your head, or coming up with a cure to cancer.
in reality, you're usually just trying to remember if you've actually turned off your toaster before leaving the house, or wondering if you could technically classify a hot dog as a taco. (they both have shells, right?)
today, a group of students have been tasked with clearing out a dusty, forgotten storage shed behind the gym, and yachi is visibly struggling. she's attempting to move a massive, overflowing box of old, deflated volleyballs and rusted equipment. the cardboard is damp, the weight is uneven, and her knees are knocking together. you two happen to be assigned in the same group, and you approached her with a deliberate, slow pace that she yachi mistakes for regal grace.
"would you like some help with that?" your voice is exactly as she's imagined - low, steady, and terrifyingly calm. the sudden question causes yachi to practically levitate out of her shoes, and the box wobbles dangerously.
"a-ah! no! i mean, yes! i mean, your excellency! i mean, senpai!" yachi executes a bow so violent and sudden she nearly does a somersault into the dirt. "i am profoundly sorry that my heavy, uncoordinated box is occupying the same oxygen as your lungs! blease forgive my existence!"
you blink, startled, momentarily stunned by the sheer velocity of her panic. "oh, uhm, it's just a cardboard box, really. it looks like it’s about to give way at the bottom. here, let me." you reach out and transfer the weight to your own arms. to yachi, this is 'effortless' and 'heroic'. to you, it's a desperate attempt to look helpful because you're too nervous to make eye contact.
as you shift the box, a small, translucent egg shaped keychain tumbles out of yachi’s pocket. it bounces once in the dust and lands before your feet. it's a vintage device with three buttons and a tiny, pixelated creature frozen on the screen.
yachi’s heart stops. time slows down. this is it - the moment of absolute social catastrophe. her childish hobbies are now laid bare on the table before the most sophisticated individual in the prefecture. she braces herself for a look of cold, aristocratic pity and screws her eyes shut.
instead, your eyes dilate significantly. your 'cool' composure doesn't just break; it vanishes entirely. your jaw drops, and a soft, high pitched gasp escapes your throat.
"is that.. a tamagotchi?" you ask. your voice has jumped an entire octave, practically radiating with joy.
yachi blinks open her eyes, her brain struggling to process the sudden shift in your frequency. she's still unsure. "uh.. yes? it-it's just a toy.."
"just a toy?!" you drop to your knees in the dirt, the heavy box forgotten on the ground, and you hovered over the plastic egg like it's a sacred relic.
"this is one of the tamagotchi p's! it's so rare and sought after - the screen contrast is still perfect - you must have kept it out of direct sunlight!"
yachi feels like the world is tilting on its axis. "you.. you like tamagotchis?"
"like them? hitoka-chan - can i call you hitoka-chan? - tamagotchi is a cultural phenomenon!"
you look up at her, and the facade of the 'cool senior' is gone. in their place is a person radiating the kind of chaotic energy usually reserved for hinata after scoring a point.
"did you know," you continue, the words tumbling out of your mouth at lightning speed, "that the name is actually a portmanteau of the japanese word tamago, meaning egg, and the english word watch? that's because it was intended to be worn like a watch! it was created by aki maita! it’s so funny because they’re just clusters of pixels that beep for digital snacks, but they sparked a global obsession!"
yachi’s jaw hits the floor. "i- i truly thought you spent your time thinking about high level philosophy-"
"i mean.. philosophy is fine," you say, waving your hand dismissively as you stand up, dusting off your knees. "buuuut have you ever thought about how weird cows are? they have a stomach with four different compartments! and did you know they have best friends in their herds? if you separate a cow from its preferred companion, their heart rate spikes and they get visibly stressed and sad. how can anyone think when there are sad, lonely cows in the world, hitoka-chan?" you pause, finally catching your breath.
you realise yachi is staring at you with eyes the size of plates, her mouth hanging open in a perfect 'o' shape. (:o)
suddenly, the reality of your behavior crashes down on you. you turn a deep crimson, your hands flying up to cover your face. "oh no," you mutter through your fingers. "i did it again. i started fact dumping. please, i implore you to forget everything i just said. i worked so hard on my mysterious and cool facade this semester. i even practiced looking out the library window for ten minutes every morning to get the melancholy expression right. i even set a timer on my phone!"
a wave of pure, massive relief washes over yachi. the god of sophistication isn't an untouchable entity after all. they're a huge, brilliant, fact obsessed nerd.
they're her kind of person.
"you.. you practice looking out the window?" yachi asks, a genuine giggle finally breaking through her layers of panic.
"every single morning," you admit, peeking through your fingers. "the truth is that im incredibly shy. i don't know how to talk to people without feeling like im vibrating out of my skin. so i just stay quiet and read large books so i don't have to navigate small talk. if i do start talking, i usually just end up talking about animal anatomy or weird history facts until people get confused and leave."
yachi lunges forward, seizing your hands with newfound courage. "i can identify every single font name used on grocery store signs in the entire prefecture! it's my.. my superpower!"
the two of you stare at each other for a long, silent moment, the atmosphere sparkling with the knowledge that you're both exactly the same,beautiful kind of weird.
"wait," you whisper, your eyes shining. "even the fonts they use for the clearance signs at the discount mart?"
"especially those! they're usually a variation of helvetica or impact, but occasionally they use a very poorly spaced comic sans that makes me want to cry!" yachi shouts, her voice full of pride.
"this is incredible," you gasp. "we have an immense amount of data to cross reference. did you know that the inventor of the pringles can has some of his ashes buried in a pringles can?"
"no! but did you know that honey never spoils? they found three thousand year old honey in ancient egyptian tombs and it’s still edible!"
you and yachi both grin widely at each other, still clutching the other's hands.
—
from that day on, the student body observes an evolution in your public persona. you still look 'cool' to the people who don't know you, but you're now accompanied by yachi hitoka at all times. to the rest of the students, it looks like a high level intellectual meeting of the minds. they see two excellent students engaged in constant, rapid fire whispering.
to anyone standing within earshot, however, it's havoc.
you: "technically, strawberries aren't actually berries, but bananas are. also, watermelons are berries. we have been lied to our entire lives by the produce department."
yachi: "now that is terrifying! it’s like how sharks are actually older than trees! sharks have been on earth for around 450 million years, but trees only showed up about 400 million years ago! the sharks were just swimming around a barren wasteland waiting for a forest to happen!"
you: "the ocean is just a giant soup of ancient monsters, hitoka-chan. it’s amazing."
yachi pales. she doesn't like the sound of that..
you still sit by the window in the library. but now, there are two chairs and there are two take away cups of coffee (yours is now mostly milk and sugar, because black coffee actually tasted like 'burnt dirt' as you finally confessed).
one afternoon, as the volleyball team is practicing and you've come to sit with yachi, you lean your head on her shoulder.
"hey, hitoka-chan?"
"yes, senpai?"
"did you know that sea otters hold hands when they sleep so they don't drift away from each other in the current? it's called 'rafting'."
yachi beams, her heart full of a very specific, nerdy kind of happiness. she reaches down and laces her fingers with yours. "i didn't. but I think we should do that too."
yachi cmere so i can hug u
taglist ( to be added OR removed, fill out the tag form )
@leosxrealm
It started with borrowed notes and ended with a study group.
Well—started might be generous. It accidentally evolved into a study group.
You hadn’t been trying to be helpful, exactly. Yachi had asked if she could borrow your English notes one afternoon after class, frazzled and muttering about upcoming quizzes and something about Hinata writing “past tentacle” instead of “past participle.” That part might’ve been a joke. Or maybe it wasn’t.
“I just— I think they need someone who’s not already burned out,” she said, waving her hands while balancing her notebook and a pen. “They listen to me, but it’s like… they hear English and immediately go blank. You’re good at this. Could you maybe... help?”
You’d agreed, mostly because it seemed cruel not to. And that’s how you ended up in the back corner of the library, sitting across from Kageyama Tobio and Hinata Shouyou as they squinted at their textbooks like the words had personally offended them.
At first, it was just the three of you. You tried to keep things light — patient examples, color-coded worksheets, and a rotating snack selection that Hinata always finished by the halfway mark. Kageyama didn’t talk much. But he listened, sharp-eyed and silent, only interrupting to ask dead-serious grammar questions like, “Why does this rule exist if no one uses it?”
(You didn’t have an answer. You never had an answer for that.)
A week later, Yamaguchi drifted over with his usual quiet smile and a question about conditional clauses. The next session, Tsukishima showed up, leaned against the end of the table, and said, “You’re all hopeless. Move over.”
And just like that, it was a group.
You started looking forward to the sessions — not because of the grammar (which remained abysmal across the board), but because it felt easy.
Even Tsukishima, for all his sarcasm, had a rhythm to him. Yachi jotted notes and brought candy. Yamaguchi helped quiz people with a soft, steady voice. Hinata vibrated with caffeine and overconfidence. And Kageyama… Kageyama sat next to you every time, his chair just a little closer than strictly necessary.
He didn’t say much. Not when everyone was there. But he always paid attention. Always lingered a little longer after cleanup. Always walked you partway out, even when the others took a different exit.
You weren’t blind. You noticed it — the way he turned toward you when you talked, how he never interrupted, how his ears turned faintly pink when you gave him a compliment. But he never said anything. And you never asked.
Until the afternoon it all cracked wide open.
It had been a long session. Hinata had gotten into a minor (loud) debate with Tsukishima over the pronunciation of “colonel,” and Yachi had spilled water on someone’s handouts. When the group started packing up, you offered to return a few library books to the front. You weren’t gone long — maybe two or three minutes — but when you came back, the table was already half-empty.
You rounded the bookshelf toward your usual spot—
“—just tell her you like her already,” Hinata was saying.
You froze.
Kageyama let out a low, warning sound. “Hinata.”
“What?” Hinata groaned. “You’re so obvious about it. You sit next to her every time, you remember everything she says, you start blushing if she even looks at you—”
“Hinata.”
“You like her, dude!”
Silence.
Then your voice, flat and confused:
“…Uh. What?”
Hinata looked up like a man just realizing he’d walked into oncoming traffic.
You stood there, clutching your tote bag, eyes wide.
He blinked. “Oh no.”
You blinked back.
Then Hinata ran.
Not a slow backpedal. Not a stammered excuse. He bolted, arms flailing like he thought he could outrun the memory of what he just said. “I’M SORRY!” echoed behind him as he vanished down the hallway.
Kageyama hadn’t moved.
Neither had you.
A heavy silence fell between you, padded only by the distant slam of a library door.
Kageyama shifted, his hands at his sides, stiff and tense.
“…I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” he said quietly.
You let out a slow breath, heart thudding. “Okay.”
“I mean, it’s true,” he added, eyes still locked somewhere near your shoes. “But I wasn’t going to say anything. Not yet.”
You stepped forward, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because?”
“Because I didn’t want to ruin anything.”
His words were simple. But the weight of them hit your chest like a stone.
He finally met your gaze — hesitant, blue eyes clear and unflinching despite the visible tension in his jaw. “I like the group. I like studying with you. I like being around you. A lot.”
Something tightened in your throat.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you said.
“I didn’t plan it,” he rushed out. “I just— you’re good at explaining things. You don’t make me feel stupid. You’re calm. You listen. And I started noticing other stuff, too.”
You tilted your head. “Like what?”
He hesitated. “Your notes. You write neatly, but your margins are always crooked. You tap your pen when you’re thinking but never when you’re reading. You always bring something sweet to the group but pretend you didn’t mean to share.”
Your face grew warm.
“I notice that when you smile after Tsukishima says something rude, it’s because you’re trying not to laugh. And when Hinata stresses you out, you do that thing where you rub the bridge of your nose.”
You stared at him.
“I notice you,” he finished simply.
Silence fell again, but it was a different kind of quiet this time — not strained, not shocked, but soft. Full.
You stepped a little closer.
“…You never made it weird.”
Kageyama blinked. “Huh?”
“I mean, if you liked me this whole time… you didn’t make it weird.” Your voice faltered just slightly. “You were just… present. Thoughtful. I always felt comfortable with you.”
His mouth twitched. “That’s good. Because I felt like I was dying inside.”
You did laugh then, one hand curling around the strap of your bag.
Kageyama looked down, but not away.
“So,” he said cautiously, “do you hate me now?”
You rolled your eyes. “No. I don’t hate you.”
His shoulders loosened a fraction.
You bit the inside of your cheek before you added, “I might like you too.”
His eyes widened.
“I wasn’t planning to,” you added, “but you’re kind. You’re quiet, but you listen better than anyone. And when you’re serious about something, you go all in. I noticed too.”
His breath caught just slightly.
You smiled. “So. Maybe… if you wanted to walk me home sometime, or split snacks before a session, or sit a little closer—”
“You’re literally within arm’s reach,” he said.
“I know,” you said, grinning. “But now it’d be on purpose.”
He blinked. Then, after a moment, he nodded.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
A pause.
“…Want to chase after Hinata and make him cry?”
Kageyama smirked faintly. “A little.”
You laughed again, feeling the last of the nerves melt away.
And when you stepped back into the hallway, your arms brushed.
