˚ ✦ What He Wouldn’t Say ˚ ✦
✧ Pairing: 2nd year Suna Rintarou × 1st year Reader
✧ Genre: Slow-burn, fluff, introspective, slice of life
Suna Rintarou liked watching things unfold.
Not in a nosy way - more like a passive curiosity. Drama, tension, and the dumb things people said when they thought no one was listening. He noticed it all. Stayed quiet. Let it wash over him while he leaned back, half-listening to the world with one earbud in and a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.
He didn’t get involved. Didn’t need to.
But you weren’t background noise.
You were louder than the others. Not in volume, but in presence. Clear, quick, never flustered. The kind of girl who called out missed reps without hesitation, who moved like she was always two steps ahead. High-ranking in class, clipboard always in hand, sleeves rolled up, and attention razor-sharp.
You didn’t flirt. Didn’t linger. You told Osamu to stop throwing sweaty towels around. Told Atsumu to hydrate. You weren’t trying to impress anyone - you were there to get things done.
And you made it known you didn’t do relationships.
"Distractions," you said once. No bitterness. Just a fact.
But he still kept looking.
At first, it was simple. The sound of your pen during drills. The way you bit the inside of your cheek when reading notes. That small crease between your brows when the team’s stats didn’t line up.
Things no one else seemed to notice.
You weren’t soft around the edges. You were sharp and efficient and maddeningly composed. Unbothered by teasing. Unshaken by compliments. When Atsumu made a pass at you (half-joking, always dramatic), you shut it down with a look so flat it made the whole team wince.
Suna liked that. Quietly. From a distance.
And that should’ve been enough.
It started on a Thursday.
The sky was washed-out blue. Warm wind. Lunch break. Suna had his usual spot on the back stairs of the gym, legs stretched, shadows dancing lazily across his knees.
He wasn’t waiting for you.
But then he saw you - down in the courtyard under the sakura tree, bento in your lap, sitting beside Osamu. You laughed at something he said. Light, offhand. Unburdened.
Your chopsticks nudged a piece of karaage into his box like it was a habit.
It shouldn’t have meant anything.
Suna blinked slowly, jaw flexing. His onigiri tasted bland.
You never shared lunch with him.
He didn’t even know you laughed like that.
Practice went on as usual. Tosses, drills, sweat. But everything felt a bit… louder. More off-tempo.
You didn’t act different. Still focused. Still precise. Still barking reminders while keeping the med kit stocked and the towels clean.
But when you passed him a towel, your fingers brushed his by accident.
He moved away a second too fast.
You paused. Not long. But long enough.
Later, while the rest of the team headed out to refill bottles or sneak a break, Suna sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
You finished sorting cones into the storage bin. Quiet. Intentional. Then walked over and stood in front of him, arms folded loosely.
“You’re sulking,” you said.
He looked up, unimpressed. “Not sulking.”
He didn’t say anything else. Neither did you. But you stayed, eyes on him, waiting like you expected something.
“You like Osamu?” he asked finally.
Your brow arched. “He gave me extra karaage. I gave him back two pieces. That’s not flirting.”
You tilted your head, gaze narrowing just slightly. “Would it matter if it wasn’t?”
Suna didn’t move. Barely blinked. His voice was flat, but a beat too late to be casual.
Then he smirked, lazy again. “Just wouldn’t have brought you melonpan if I knew you were that easy.”
Your eyes flicked toward him, half-annoyed, half-surprised. There was a flush under your skin you didn’t try to hide.
But neither of you said more.
Suna didn’t explain what he meant. Didn’t tell you that he thought about you more than he should. That he’d overheard you saying you didn’t want to get distracted and still found himself wishing you’d make an exception.
The next day at lunch, you headed out to the courtyard with your bento in hand, eyes half-focused on your notes.
Suna, already sitting on the low wall beneath the sakura tree. His usual slouch. Phone in one hand. The other resting beside something wrapped in bakery paper.
You considered your options, then quietly sat beside him.
But the melonpan was warm. Fresh. Resting there between you like it belonged. Not handed to you. Not offered. Just there.
But when your hand reached for it—when your fingers brushed the edge of the wrapper—he finally glanced over, just once.
You didn’t thank him.
He didn’t need you to.
You ate beside him in silence.
And when Osamu passed by with his own lunch and a raised brow, you didn’t explain.
Practice felt the same after that.
You still called out plays. Still rolled up sleeves to tape fingers. Still ducked your head when you were scribbling notes mid-drill.
But Suna looked a little longer. Stood a little closer.
Didn’t speak more - but something shifted in the way he lingered behind after practice, waiting until you were done locking up the equipment cabinet before walking out with you.
One evening, after the rest of the team had left and the sun was striping the gym floor gold, he caught you in the hallway.
You were adjusting your backpack, flipping through your schedule.
“Why do you do all this?” he asked suddenly.
“This.” He nodded toward the gym. “The work. The stress. You could just focus on school.”
You studied him for a second, then shrugged. “Because it matters.”
You looked away, a little softer now. “To me.”
He watched you carefully.
“I like being useful,” you added, quieter. “Even if no one sees it.”
But your fingers stopped fidgeting.
And for once, you didn’t walk away first.
Suna didn’t need to chase things. That wasn’t his style.
But for the first time, he thought… maybe he would. Maybe this was worth it.
Even if it never quite finished.