Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shoyo has a seatmate.

Well, technically, everyone in class has a seatmate, it’s not like the desks float in empty space. But Shoyo’s seatmate isn’t just a seatmate. Oh no. His seatmate is... Kenma Kozume.

Kenma, the boy perpetually hunched over his phone, might as well be a rare artifact in a museum: fragile, untouchable, and surrounded by invisible "do not disturb" signs. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t engage, and rarely acknowledges Shoyo’s existence unless absolutely necessary—like a cat that tolerates you only when it’s hungry.

At first, Shoyo thought, This’ll be easy. He’s quiet. Shy, maybe. I’ll break through. I’m friendly. I’m persistent. I’m a guy with a mission. But that was months ago, and if anything, Shoyo was now convinced Kenma hated him.

It wasn’t just the lack of conversation, it was the way Kenma sighed whenever Shoyo tried to chat. The way he gave curt, one-word answers, or just straight-up ignored him. It was like trying to make friends with a brick wall that was, for some reason, wearing a hoodie.

And the worst part? Shoyo couldn’t stop trying. It was like poking a bear and hoping it would hug him instead of maul him.

"Good morning!" Shoyo chirped as he slid into his seat, dropping his bag to the floor with a thud.

Kenma didn’t even look up. He just gave a single, nonchalant grunt, which might have meant “hello” or “please stop existing.” It was hard to tell.

“Did you finish the history homework?” Shoyo asked, leaning into Kenma’s personal space like a friendly, slightly irritating mosquito.

Kenma’s eyes flicked to Shoyo for half a second. “Yeah.”

"Cool, cool,” Shoyo said, nodding. “What game is that? Looks intense.”

“...It’s a farming sim.”

Shoyo blinked. “Oh. Cool! Like… carrots and cows and stuff?”

Kenma didn’t bother replying.

Yep, he definitely hates me, Shoyo thought, slumping back in his chair. His eyes wandered to his other classmates. Kageyama was furiously scribbling on a worksheet. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were bickering over a textbook, and Yachi was nervously arranging her pencils at the speed of light.

Before Shoyo could spiral further into his existential crisis, the door slammed open, and Kuroo strode in with the confidence of someone who thought he was the main character

"Good morning!” Kuroo called, dropping his bag onto Tsukishima’s desk. “Did you guys hear the big news?”

Tsukishima looked up, unimpressed. “What now? Did they finally revoke your library card for being obnoxious?”

“Nope.” Kuroo grinned, unfazed. “We’re getting international exchange students tomorrow. From Canada.”

The room collectively perked up at that, including Shoyo.

“Canada?” Yamaguchi asked. “Why Canada?”

"Why not?" Kuroo replied, shrugging. “They’re coming here to, like, learn about Japanese culture or something. Pretty cool, huh?”

"Wait, so… do they speak English?” Shoyo asked, his eyes widening.

Kuroo snorted. “Of course. They’re Canadian.”

Kageyama frowned, his brows furrowing in confusion. “But… don’t Canadians also speak French?”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes so hard it was almost impressive. “Wow, Kageyama. It’s a miracle you made it out of elementary school.”

“Shut up, four eyes!”

As the two launched into their usual squabble, Shoyo turned back to Kuroo. “What do you think they’re like? Do you think they’ll join the volleyball club?”

“Why don’t you ask Kenma?” Kuroo suggested, smirking as he nudged his friend.

Kenma, who had been quietly minding his own business, finally looked up from his phone. “...What?”

“Hinata’s got questions about the Canadians.”

“I don’t care.”

Shoyo’s face fell. He fiddled with the edge of his desk, trying to hide his disappointment, but it was like Kenma’s indifference had slapped him in the face. It didn’t even make sense, why did it bother him so much? They were classmates, sure, but not friends. Yet, the coldness always left him feeling like he’d done something wrong, even if he hadn’t.

"Kenma, don’t be rude,” Kuroo chided, though he didn’t seem too serious about it.

Kenma shrugged, clearly unbothered.

Shoyo huffed and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. Why does he have to be so mean all the time? He glanced sideways at Kenma, who was completely absorbed in his game again. A part of him wanted to poke Kenma’s shoulder, just to get a reaction. But he held back.

Later that day, Shoyo found himself walking home with Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, Kageyama, and Yachi. They stopped at a small convenience store, the kind with a faded awning and a creaky door, to grab snacks.

As they stood outside, munching on bread rolls and sipping canned coffee, Shoyo sighed dramatically.

“What now?” Kageyama asked, already annoyed.

“I think Kenma hates me.” Shoyo said, staring at his half-eaten melon bread.

Tsukishima snorted. “Well, yeah. Have you met you?”

“Tsukki!” Yamaguchi scolded, though he couldn’t hide his smile.

“I’m serious!” Shoyo insisted. “He never talks to me unless I force him to, and even then, it’s like pulling teeth. I don’t think he even knows my name.”

“Maybe if you shut your mouth for five minutes, he’d actually like you.” Tsukishima said, smirking.

Shoyo gasped. “You take that back!”

“Tsukki, be nice.” Yachi said, frowning.

“Thank you, Yachi,” Shoyo said, lips pouting. “See? Someone gets it.”

Yachi smiled kindly. “I’m sure Kenma doesn’t hate you, Hinata. He’s just… quiet.”

“Yeah,” Yamaguchi agreed. “It’s not personal. He’s like that with everyone.”

“Maybe,” Shoyo said, though he didn’t sound convinced. He stuffed the rest of the melon bread into his mouth and mumbled, “I just hope one of the exchange students is nice.”

“Oh great,” Kageyama said. “Another person to add to the ‘I hate Hinata’ club.”

“HEY!”

The group dissolved into laughter as they continued down the street, the warm glow of the setting sun making everything feel a little less serious.

The next morning, Shoyo walked down the hall toward the classroom, spotting Kenma with his hands in his pockets. He was about to say hi when he noticed Kenma’s eyes flicking toward him, followed by a deep sigh. Kenma picked up the pace and darted into the classroom.

Shoyo stopped in his tracks. Is he really that annoying?

Shoyo didn’t know what Kenma’s problem was, but nothing was going to ruin his day. He followed him inside and took his seat, glancing at Kenma, who was now slouched in his chair, once again absorbed in his game.

Shoyo rolled his eyes. Whatever Kenma’s deal is, I’ve got to stop caring.

The door slid open, and the principal walked in, followed by four unfamiliar faces.

“Good morning, everyone,” the principal said, addressing the class with his usual formal tone. “I’d like to introduce some new students who will be joining us.”

The newcomers stood in a line at the front of the room, each of them carrying an air of confidence that made the room go quiet.

“This is Atsumu Miya, Osamu Miya, Aran Ojiro, and Suna Rintarou,” the principal continued, gesturing to each of them. “They’re exchange students from Canada and will be joining you for the semester. Please make them feel welcome.”

Aran, the boy with dark skin, gave a polite bow. The twins stood out the most—Atsumu, practically glowing with energy, and Osamu, who was a bit more laid-back but still friendly. Suna had a sharp gaze and a half-smirk, like he knew a joke no one else got. They looked like they’d stepped out of a teen drama—confident, cool, and annoyingly attractive.

The class erupted into hushed whispers, everyone craning their necks to get a better look.

Shoyo’s eyes lit up. “Whoa,” he murmured, barely able to contain his excitement. “They look so... cool.”

“Shut up,” Kageyama muttered from beside him.

Shoyo didn’t hear him, too absorbed in the new faces. When Atsumu stepped forward and introduced himself with a loud, enthusiastic “Nice to meet you!” Shoyo heard Tsukishima murmur, “They’re Canadians and they speak Japanese. Wow.”

Shoyo just shrugged. At least they’ll be easy to talk to.

“Please pick your seats,” the principal announced, “There are a few empty spots in the back row.”

Atsumu scanned the room, then locked eyes with Shoyo’s desk. “How ‘bout next to the orange-haired guy?” he asked, flashing a mischievous grin.

Wait, what? Shoyo froze, blinking in disbelief.

Kenma, who had been absorbed in his phone, tensed up, almost in sync with Shoyo’s reaction.

The principal, about to suggest it, stopped himself. “But the two seats beside him are occupied.”

Atsumu grinned wider as he walked to Kenma with a playful look. “You don’t mind swapping seats, do ya? Looks like you’re not too interested in your seatmate.”

Shoyo barely had time to process the words before Kenma’s voice cut through the air, flat and final. “Don’t wanna.”

Shoyo couldn’t believe his ears. Kenma Kozume—king of indifference, ruler of the “I don’t care” kingdom—had just flat-out refused to swap seats.

Shoyo glanced at him, expecting some sort of explanation, but Kenma was already back to his game, his thumbs moving across the screen like nothing had happened. Okay, so he doesn’t want to talk to me. But he also doesn’t want someone else sitting here? What am I, a desk decoration?

Meanwhile, Atsumu shrugged, unfazed. “Guess we’ll just take the back row then.”

As the exchange students found their seats, Atsumu made a point to nudge Shoyo’s desk. “Hey, I’m Atsumu,” he said, extending a hand with a grin that practically sparkled.

Shoyo stared at him, momentarily blinded by the sheer coolness of it all. “Oh! Uh, hi! I’m Hinata Shoyo!” he said, grabbing Atsumu’s hand with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Nice to meet ya, Shoyo-kun!” Atsumu said, giving him a wink. “This is Osamu, my twin. That’s Aran, and Suna.”

Shoyo barely registered the introductions. Twins? Cool! Aran looks like a superhero. And Suna… kinda looks like a cat that knows too much.

Beside him, Kenma shifted slightly in his chair, the movement so small it was almost imperceptible. Shoyo didn’t notice. He was too busy grinning like an idiot as Atsumu took his seat.

The cafeteria was alive with the kind of organized chaos that only high schoolers could create. The smell of curry rice and fried chicken hung in the air, mingling with the clatter of trays and the occasional shout of “Move it!” from the lunch line. Shoyo sat in the middle of it all, his tray a battlefield of rice ball crumbs and a half-eaten sandwich.

Shoyo loved lunchtime. The energy, the noise—it all felt like an extension of the volleyball court.

He was halfway through a rice ball when a now familiar voice broke through the noise.

“Can we sit here?”

Shoyo turned so fast he nearly choked on his rice ball. Atsumu Miya, with his blonde hair and fox-like grin, stood there like he owned the place, one hand on his hip. Behind him, three other boys hovered, each one more intimidating than the last.

“Uh, sure?” Shoyo managed, his voice slightly muffled by the rice ball he hadn’t finished chewing.

Before the words were fully out of his mouth, Atsumu slid into the seat beside him, his tray landing on the table with a thud. The rest of them, Osamu, Suna and Aran, followed.

The shift in energy was immediate. It was like the air itself adjusted to make room for Atsumu’s overwhelming presence. Shoyo blinked at him, then at the others, then back again. “Uh... hi?”

Atsumu grinned wider. “Hi, Shoyo-kun! You don’t mind, do ya? Thought we’d come say hi, y’know, make friends.”

“Friends,” Tsukishima muttered, barely glancing up from his food. “Right. Sure. That’s what this is.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Glasses-kun,” Atsumu said, flashing him a grin. “You look like you could use some new friends.”

Tsukishima’s deadpan expression didn’t waver. “And you look like you could use some better pick-up lines.”

Suna chuckled, his smirk widening as he leaned forward. “I like this guy,” he said, pointing a lazy finger at Tsukishima. “What’s your name?”

“Tsukishima,” he replied, sighing. “Not that you’ll remember it.”

“Don’t worry,” Suna said, resting his chin on his hand. “I’ll remember. You’re too fun to forget.”

The conversation buzzed around Shoyo, but his focus kept drifting. He couldn’t ignore the magnetic energy Atsumu brought to the table. The way he smiled, the way he spoke, it was like he’d already decided he belonged there, and no one could argue otherwise.

“So,” Kageyama asked, his tone unusually blunt, “you’re the exchange students, right? From Canada?”

“Bingo!” Atsumu said, leaning back in his chair.

“But your Japanese is perfect,” Yamaguchi added, tilting his head in curiosity.

“Well, funny story,” Atsumu began, launching into an explanation about their Japanese roots and Canadian upbringing. Shoyo tried to follow, but his attention kept drifting again—to a spot across the cafeteria where Kenma sat with Kuroo.

Kenma wasn’t eating. He was staring.

Shoyo’s stomach did a weird flip. It wasn’t like Kenma to stare at him. Actually, it wasn’t like Kenma to stare at anyone, except maybe his phone. But there he was, his golden eyes fixed on Shoyo like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle.

“...so yeah, we’re basically Canadian, but not really.” Atsumu finished, laughing at his own explanation.

“Like the international Avengers,” Suna added with a smirk, his voice pulling Shoyo back to the present.

“Right,” Shoyo said, forcing a laugh. “That’s... cool.”

“Cooler than you think,” Atsumu said, clapping him on the back. “And now you’re part of the team, Shoyo-kun!”

Shoyo smiled, but it felt half-hearted. He couldn’t stop glancing back at Kenma, who was still watching him. There was something different about the way he looked today. It wasn’t anger exactly, but it wasn’t nothing, either.

And then, suddenly, Kenma stood.

The sound of his chair scraping against the floor cut through the cafeteria noise. Kuroo stood too, trailing after him as Kenma left the room without so much as a glance back.

“Oi, Shoyo!” Atsumu’s voice snapped him back to reality. “What’s up with your friend? He looks like someone stepped on his tail.”

Shoyo hesitated, his gaze lingering on the cafeteria doors. “He’s not my friend,” he said eventually. “We’re just seatmates.”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow. “Really? Doesn’t look that way to me.”

“Shut up,” Shoyo muttered, though his heart wasn’t in it.

Tsukishima smirked. “Maybe he’s jealous.”

“Jealous?” Shoyo repeated, blinking. “Of what?”

“You, obviously,” Tsukishima said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because you’re so popular now.”

“That’s stupid,” Shoyo shot back, frowning. “Kenma doesn’t care about me. If anything, he’d probably throw a party if I left him alone forever.”

But even as he said it, the words felt hollow. The image of Kenma’s stare was burned into his mind, along with the strange, tight feeling it left in his chest.

Days passed, and the arrival of the exchange students felt less like a bizarre interruption and more like they’d always been there, blending seamlessly into the chaos of school life. It was almost suspicious how quickly they fit in, like that one song you hated at first but somehow ended up on every playlist because everyone else loved it.

The Miya twins, Suna, and Aran became fixtures at Shoyo’s lunch table, effortlessly sliding into the roles they were born to play: Atsumu, the chaotic ringleader; Osamu, the enabler; Suna, the sarcastic observer; and Aran, the unwilling parent trying to keep the peace. Together, they formed an unstoppable force of noise and energy, leaving Shoyo starry-eyed and delighted.

Atsumu, in particular, seemed to have made it his personal mission to claim Shoyo’s attention at every opportunity. Whether it was poking fun at Shoyo’s messy handwriting or trying to teach him Canadian slang (most of which sounded suspiciously made-up), he was always hovering, always grinning.

Shoyo, for his part, loved it. The way everyone bounced off each other like a perfectly chaotic sitcom ensemble, it was everything he’d ever wanted. He barely noticed the way his focus had shifted away from his seatmate, Kenma, who now seemed like a distant thought in the back of his mind.

Not that Kenma seemed to care.

If anything, Kenma’s attitude had taken a nosedive from “mildly irritated by Shoyo’s existence” to “actively hostile.” Shoyo wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve the upgrade. Every time he tried to talk to Kenma in class, the boy would either ignore him or respond with a level of sarcasm so cutting it left Shoyo wondering if he should apologize for breathing too loudly.

But it wasn’t just the sarcasm. It was the looks. The side-eye. The way Kenma’s golden eyes followed him during lunch, narrowing every time Atsumu clapped him on the back or leaned in a little too close.

“Oi, Shoyo-kun, what’s this?” Atsumu asked one afternoon, pointing at Shoyo’s notebook during what was supposed to be a study session. The exchange students had taken to “tutoring” Shoyo and his friends in return for crash courses on Japanese slang and culture, though most of their sessions devolved into Atsumu distracting Shoyo with random questions.

“It’s my kanji practice,” Shoyo replied, holding up his notebook proudly.

Atsumu squinted at the messy characters. “Looks like you’re summoning demons, not learning kanji.”

“I worked hard on that!” Shoyo protested, snatching the notebook back.

“Don’t listen to him,” Yachi said with a nervous smile. “It’s… artistic?”

“Yeah, abstract art.” Tsukishima deadpanned.

From his side, Kenma snorted. Shoyo whipped his head around, glaring at his seatmate. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Kenma said without looking up from his phone. “It’s just impressive how someone can be loud and bad at everything simultaneously.”

Shoyo’s jaw dropped. “That’s uncalled for!”

Kenma shrugged, his thumbs tapping lazily at his screen. “Just calling it like I see it.”

Shoyo fumed, but before he could retaliate, Atsumu leaned in, grinning. “Don’t let him get to you, Shoyo-kun. Some people just don’t appreciate your... enthusiasm.”

The way Atsumu said it—low and teasing, with a wink for good measure—made Shoyo’s ears burn. He laughed it off, shoving Atsumu lightly, but he didn’t notice the way Kenma’s hands tightened around his phone.

The days blurred into a routine of study sessions, lunches, and constant chatter. Atsumu’s flirting grew bolder, though Shoyo, in his infinite obliviousness, treated it as nothing more than Atsumu being Atsumu.

But Kenma’s irritability also grew.

“You’re sitting too close to me,” Kenma muttered one morning as Shoyo scooted into his seat.

Shoyo blinked, confused. “But this is my desk—”

“Then your desk is sitting too close to me.” Kenma muttered, pulling out his phone and slouching even further down in his seat.

Even during gym class, Kenma managed to find new ways to be exasperated with him.

“I don’t know how he’s so loud all the time,” Shoyo overheard Kenma telling Kuroo and Yaku on the sidelines. “It’s like he runs on a secret fuel source made of bad decisions and unnecessary enthusiasm.”

Shoyo whipped around. “I heard that!”

Kenma didn’t even look up. “Good. I wasn’t whispering.”

But the breaking point came during lunch.

“Shoyo-kun, you’ve got rice stuck to your cheek,” Atsumu pointed out one afternoon, reaching over to flick it off with a grin.

Kenma didn’t look up from his bento but still managed to deliver a verbal sniper shot. “Wow. Now he’s messy and embarrassing. At least he’s consistent.”

Shoyo fumed, glaring at him. “Do you ever say anything nice?”

Kenma glanced up. “Why bother? It’s not like you’d notice.”

It all boiled over later that day when Shoyo ducked into the bathroom to escape a particularly brutal round of teasing from Suna about his height. He leaned against the sink, splashing water on his face and taking a deep breath.

The door creaked open, and there he was: Kenma Kozume, walking in with the kind of nonchalance that made Shoyo want to scream.

Shoyo stiffened. Great. Just what I need.

Kenma didn’t acknowledge him at first, walking over to the sink and washing his hands with the same slow movements that always made Shoyo feel like he was being judged. The silence stretched uncomfortably, until Shoyo couldn’t take it anymore.

“Okay, what is your problem?” he blurted out, turning to face Kenma.

Kenma’s hands stilled under the stream of water. “What are you talking about?”

“You! You’ve been acting weird ever since Atsumu and the others showed up” Shoyo said, his voice rising. “You’re rude all the time now, well, ruder than usual! Did I do something to you?”

Kenma turned off the tap, grabbing a paper towel and drying his hands with agonizing slowness. When he finally looked at Shoyo, his expression was unreadable, his golden eyes cold.

“You’re overthinking it” Kenma said flatly. “I just don’t like you.”

Shoyo flinched, the words hitting harder than he expected. “What?”

Kenma shrugged. “You’re annoying, Shoyo. Loud, clingy, and always trying to make everything about you. Maybe I was just too polite to say it before.”

“Polite? You call this polite?”

“Just stating facts” Kenma replied, his tone maddeningly calm. “Look at you. You’ve got this little fan club now, hanging on your every word. You don’t even notice how exhausting you are.”

“I—” Shoyo started, but the lump in his throat made it hard to finish. He clenched his fists, his voice trembling. “If I’m so annoying, why don’t you just ignore me completely? Why do you care so much about what I do?”

Kenma froze, his composure slipping for just a moment before he regained it. “I don’t care” he said coolly. “I just can’t escape you. You’re like a bad song stuck on repeat.”

Shoyo felt something crack inside him, anger and hurt bubbling up in equal measure. “You’re such a jerk, you know that? I’ve tried so hard to be nice to you, to make you feel included, and this is how you treat me?”

Kenma didn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Fine” Shoyo said, stepping past him toward the door. “If you hate me so much, I’ll make it easy for you. Don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me. I’m done.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Kenma standing alone in the bathroom.

Chapter Text

Shoyo was determined to act like everything was fine.

Totally fine. Absolutely, one hundred percent, nothing-to-see-here fine.

So what if he hadn’t said a single word to Kenma since The Bathroom Incident? So what if he’d started taking the long way around school to avoid accidentally crossing paths with him? So what if he spent all his free time glued to the exchange students like an emotional support extrovert?

Fine. He was fine.

It had been a week of this new, Kenma-free lifestyle, and honestly, Shoyo wasn’t sure how to feel about it. On one hand, avoiding Kenma meant no sarcastic jabs, no judgmental stares, and no more weird chest-tightening feelings he couldn’t quite name. On the other hand... well, okay, maybe there wasn’t much of a downside.

“Shoyo-kun,” Atsumu’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts, smooth and teasing like he knew exactly where Shoyo’s brain had wandered off to. “You’re spacing out again. What’s up?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing!” Shoyo said quickly, shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth as if it could block any further questioning.

“Spacing out’s just his default,” Tsukishima muttered from across the table, earning a snicker from Suna.

“Oi!” Shoyo protested, mouth still half-full.

Atsumu leaned in with a grin. “Don’t worry, I like a guy who’s always thinking. Keeps things interesting.”

Shoyo choked—spectacularly, catastrophically—on the rice. It felt like he’d inhaled a handful of sandpaper. His throat burned as he hacked and wheezed, tears springing to his eyes. Yamaguchi sprang into action, smacking his back with the force of someone trying to resuscitate a faulty vending machine.

“Shoyo-kun, breathe!” Yachi gasped, looking genuinely alarmed.

Meanwhile, Kageyama just stared at him, eyebrows furrowed like he was trying to calculate how someone could be this incompetent at basic survival. “You’re gonna die if you keep eating like that.” he muttered.

“Relax,” Atsumu said, lazily waving a hand like choking was just Shoyo’s Tuesday routine. “He’s fine. Aren’t ya, Shoyo-kun?”

Shoyo managed to wheeze out a vaguely affirmative sound.

Osamu rolled his eyes. “Tsumu, stop flirtin’ during meals. It’s gross.”

“I’m not flirting!”

“Sure you’re not,” Suna drawled, resting his chin on his hand. “And I’m a math prodigy.”

The table dissolved into laughter, the kind of easy, unproblematic company Shoyo had grown fond of lately. If he ignored the way his gaze occasionally flicked toward the other end of the cafeteria, where Kenma sat with Kuroo, it really was perfect.

“So, volleyball, huh?” Aran asked later, as they made their way toward the gym.

“Yeah!” Shoyo said, his face lighting up. “It’s the best! You should come watch practice today!”

“Volleyball doesn’t seem like a big deal back in Canada,” Osamu remarked, glancing at his twin.

“Nah, it’s all hockey there,” Atsumu said, cracking his knuckles. “But I’m curious. Let’s see how good you really are, Shoyo-kun.”

“You can’t just walk into practice,” Aran pointed out dryly.

“Why not? Exchange students get special privileges, don’t we?” Atsumu said, throwing an arm around Shoyo’s shoulders.

“That’s not how it works,” Yachi said nervously, clutching her books like they might protect her from Atsumu’s wild ideas.

“Doesn’t matter!” Shoyo beamed. “You can still come watch, and maybe even join in for fun!”

“Guess I’ll see if ya live up to all that hype.”

By the time practice rolled around, Shoyo was vibrating with energy. With his friends watching from the sidelines, he felt like a golden retriever let loose in a park, except this time, the sticks were volleyballs, and Shoyo was determined to fetch every single one.

“Where’s Kageyama?” Their coach muttered.

“Bathroom,” Yamaguchi answered.

“Figures. Alright, Kozume, you’re setting for Hinata today.”

The gym went silent. Shoyo froze mid-stretch, his brain scrambling to process what he’d just heard. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Coach said, already distracted by something on his clipboard.

Shoyo blinked, turning to face Kenma, who looked just as thrilled about the idea as he did—which was to say, not at all. Shoyo’s brain scrambled to keep up. Him? And Kenma? Working together? This was a disaster waiting to happen.

“Uh, Coach,” Shoyo began hesitantly. “Can’t I just... not?”

“Not what?”

“Not, um, spike for Kenma?”

The room went even quieter.

Shoyo winced, realizing too late how that sounded. He turned slowly to Kenma, whose golden eyes were locked on him, and for a split second, there was something unreadable in his expression. “Excuse me?” he muttered.

Before Shoyo could dig himself any deeper, Atsumu’s voice rang out. “I can do it!”

All heads turned to Atsumu, who had apparently decided he was part of the team now.

“Atsumu, you can’t just—” Suna began, but Atsumu waved him off with the confidence of someone who had never heard the word no.

Coach pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you even know how to set?”

“How hard can it be?” Atsumu responded, already jogging onto the court.

“Let him try!” Shoyo said, grinning. “He’s got good instincts, I can tell!”

Kenma let out a quiet scoff, the sound barely audible over the buzz of conversation. But Shoyo noticed, and so did Atsumu.

The impromptu experiment turned into an unintentional spectacle. To everyone’s disbelief, and Atsumu’s smug delight, he wasn’t half bad. “You’re amazing!” Shoyo exclaimed, his voice bursting with genuine awe after nailing a tricky spike.

Atsumu winked. “Told ya. Guess I’m just naturally talented.”

Kenma’s quiet scoff grew louder. “You think that’s amazing?” he muttered under his breath.

Atsumu caught it this time, his grin widening. “What’s that, Kozume?”

“Nothing.” Kenma said coolly. But the way his fingers flexed around the ball betrayed his irritation.

“Oh, c’mon,” Atsumu prodded, stepping closer to the net. “Don’t be shy. If you’ve got somethin’ to say, say it.”

“You’re awfully loud for someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

“And you’re awfully quiet for someone who’s supposedly the best.” Atsumu shot back.

The air in the gym grew taut as the two locked gazes, neither backing down. Shoyo, sensing the rising tension, waved his hands nervously. "Hey, hey, no need to—"

Kenma, ignoring him, grabbed another ball and spun it lazily in his hands. "Setting isn’t just tossing a ball. It’s precision. Timing. Knowing your spiker better than they know themselves." His gaze flicked to Shoyo. "Something you can’t fake, no matter how 'naturally talented' you are."

Atsumu’s smirk widened, but his eyes glinted with a competitive spark. "That so? Guess we should let Shoyo-kun decide who’s better, then."

Kenma’s grip tightened on the ball. "I don’t need him to decide. He already knows."

Atsumu laughed, throwing an arm around Shoyo’s shoulders again, much to Kenma’s visible annoyance. "What do you say, Shoyo-kun?"

Shoyo’s brain screeched to a halt. He wanted to say “no one,” but a voice in the back of his mind whispered, Kenma might get mad. And then, louder: Wait. Why do I even care if Kenma gets mad?

“Uh… Atsumu.” Shoyo blurted out before his brain could catch up.

Silence. The kind of silence that made Shoyo wonder if he’d just accidentally confessed to a murder instead of picking a setter.

Kenma blinked at him, his golden eyes narrowing just slightly. “Interesting.” he said, in that calm, infuriatingly unreadable tone that made Shoyo’s stomach twist. Was he being sarcastic? He was being sarcastic, wasn’t he?

“Really?” Atsumu chimed in. “You hear that, Kozume? I’m better.”

Kenma didn’t even flinch, but Shoyo swore he saw his fingers tighten around the ball.

Before this could escalate into World War III: Setter Edition, Coach’s voice rang out. “Alright, enough! Back to practice, unless you want laps.”

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the players, though Kenma’s gaze lingered on Shoyo for a beat too long before he turned away.

Just as Shoyo thought the chaos had finally settled, the gym doors slammed open, and Kageyama burst in, breathless. “Sorry, I was, uh…” He hesitated, his face going slightly pink. “Stomach issues.”

The entire gym stared at him.

“Stomach issues?” Shoyo echoed, incredulous. “What kind of stomach issues take thirty minutes?!”

“Shut up, dumbass,” Kageyama muttered, striding past him toward the court.

Practice resumed, but the weird, heavy feeling between Shoyo and Kenma didn’t go away. The rest of the team, oblivious to the storm brewing, carried on like normal. Atsumu, of course, found every excuse to tease Shoyo, making exaggerated gestures of encouragement every time he landed a spike. Kenma, on the other hand, seemed quieter than usual, though his sets were as precise as ever.

It was like he was channeling all his energy into the ball instead of the passive-aggressive remarks Shoyo had come to expect.

It was... unsettling.

By the time practice wrapped up, Shoyo was drained, not physically (he could spike for hours if they let him), but mentally. He told himself it was just because Atsumu and Kenma had been acting weird, not because of whatever was going on in his own chest. Most of the team had already left by then, but Shoyo decided to stay behind with Kageyama for a few more spikes.

“That’s enough for today.” Kageyama announced after a while, grabbing his bag. “I’m leaving.”

“Already?” Shoyo whined, pouting.

“Yeah. Some of us have lives.” Kageyama said as he head for the door. “Don’t stay too late, dumbass.”

Shoyo stuck his tongue out at him, but Kageyama was already gone.

The gym was quiet now, the kind of quiet that made Shoyo’s footsteps echo a little too loudly as he headed to the locker room. He figured he was the last one there, until he walked in and saw Kenma sitting on one of the benches, scrolling through his phone like he had all the time in the world.

Shoyo froze mid-step. Act natural, he told himself, even though his version of “natural” currently involved walking like a malfunctioning robot. He dumped his bag on the bench and avoided eye contact like his life depended on it. Just pack up and leave. Quick and painless. Like ripping off a—

“Wait.”

Kenma’s voice stopped him. Before Shoyo could even turn, Kenma grabbed his wrist, and Shoyo’s brain short-circuited.

“What do you want now?” Shoyo blurted out, more defensive than he meant. “Did my breathing annoy you again? Or, wait, was it my footsteps this time?”

Kenma didn’t say anything. He just looked at Shoyo, his golden eyes so intense they felt like laser beams cutting right through him.

Shoyo stared back, his pulse hammering. “Seriously, what? You’re just gonna—”

“Shoyo-kun! Where are you?”

Atsumu’s voice rang out from the hallway. Kenma’s grip on Shoyo’s wrist dropped like he’d been caught stealing.

Shoyo yanked his hand back, rubbing his wrist even though Kenma hadn’t really been holding it that hard. “I—I gotta go.” he stammered, grabbing his bag and practically sprinting for the door.

As he walked out, he could hear Atsumu’s voice getting closer. “C’mon, Shoyo-kun, I’m starving! Let’s grab food!”

Shoyo barely heard him. His mind was too busy replaying the moment in the locker room, specifically the way Kenma’s hand felt against his skin. It wasn’t like it had been anything special, but…

Nope. Not thinking about that. Not at all.

Shoyo just wanted to go back to being fine. Because this? This was the opposite of fine.

Today had one job: be peaceful and Kenma-free. Shoyo had mentally prepped for a perfectly ordinary school day filled with nothing but quiet classrooms, a bit of volleyball practice, and zero Kenma-related stress. But life had other plans, because apparently, avoiding Kenma just leads to more Kenma.

It started with their English professor's booming announcement: “We’ll be doing a group activity today! Everyone, check the list for your teams.”

Shoyo winced. Nothing good ever starts with group activity. His mind spiraled into worst-case scenarios. Please don’t put me with Kenma. Anyone but Kenma. I’ll even take Tsukishima and his sarcasm, just not Kenma.

Fate, however, laughed in his face.

“Hinata, Kozume, Yaku, Yamaguchi, and Miya Osamu.” The professor’s voice echoed like the toll of doom.

Yaku waved enthusiastically from across the room, grinning like this was the best thing ever. “This’ll be fun!”

Shoyo wanted to be anywhere but here.

Kenma slumped further into his chair, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Kill me now.”

Osamu popped open a bag of rice crackers without a care in the world. “At least we got snacks,” he said around a mouthful.

Meanwhile, Yamaguchi hovered awkwardly between let’s be productive and can I go home now?

Shoyo forced a grin. We’ve got this, he told himself, even as his instincts screamed otherwise. How hard can it be?

Spoiler: It was, in fact, very hard.

For the first twenty minutes, Shoyo and Kenma didn’t even look at each other like they existed in two entirely different universes, despite sitting a mere three feet apart. Yaku happily took charge, steering their group like an overenthusiastic camp counselor. Yamaguchi nodded along like a nervous intern, and Osamu contributed by handing out snacks.

And Kenma? Kenma didn’t even pretend to care. He was slouched in his seat, scrolling on his phone like this group project was just white noise in the background of his life. Occasionally, he’d let out a half-hearted grunt of acknowledgment when someone tried to include him, but that was the extent of his contribution.

Shoyo, on the other hand, was trying so hard to focus on the worksheet in front of him that he swore the letters were blurring.

Why does he have to be like this? Shoyo thought, stealing a glance at Kenma out of the corner of his eye. The guy was tapping his phone screen like he was playing the world’s most riveting farming simulator. His face was as blank as ever, but his fingers moved with the precision of someone whose crops depended on it.

“Maybe if you actually helped instead of farming turnips…” Shoyo muttered under his breath, just loud enough to feel like he was taking a stand.

Kenma didn’t look up. “It’s radishes.”

Shoyo blinked. He was listening?!

Before he could respond, Yaku clapped his hands, signaling the end of class. “Great work, everyone!” he said cheerfully.

Shoyo packed up his things, determined to escape before Kenma could ruin his mood any further. But then, like an itch he couldn’t stop scratching, he turned back for one last jab. “Nice teamwork, Kozume.”

Kenma shot him a bored glance. “Didn’t hear you winning any awards for helpfulness either.”

“Better than doing nothing!”

“Doing nothing beats listening to a walking speaker.”

The door clicked shut behind Yaku, leaving only Shoyo and Kenma in the now silent classroom. Neither paid attention, too busy hurling petty insults like medieval knights jousting with sarcasm.

“Walking speaker?!” Shoyo shot back. “At least I participate. What do you do? Sit there like some bored statue scrolling TikTok?”

Kenma pocketed his phone. “Great analysis, Sherlock. Got any other groundbreaking observations?”

Shoyo’s retort died in his throat when he grabbed the door handle—and it didn’t budge.

Kenma frowned. “Is it... locked?”

Shoyo’s mind raced, and for a brief, ridiculous moment, he glared at Kenma like it was somehow his fault. “What did you do?”

Kenma blinked, unimpressed. “Me? You’re the one who was flailing around like a maniac.”

Before Shoyo could argue, Yaku’s annoyingly cheerful voice echoed from the hallway. “Yup! You’re locked in!”

Shoyo groaned, slamming his hand against the door. “Yaku! What the hell?”

“We figured you two needed to sort out your... issues.” Yaku called back, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “So, consider this an intervention!”

“Yaku, open the door!”

“No can do, bro! We’re off to get milkshakes!”

“Milkshakes?!”

“Don’t worry,” Yaku continued, clearly enjoying this far too much. “We’ll be back… eventually. Or not. Depends on how the milkshakes are.” His footsteps faded, followed by Yamaguchi’s nervous muttering about this being “a bit much.”

Shoyo gawked at the door. Meanwhile, Kenma sighed and slumped against a desk. “I’m gonna kill Yaku.”

Shoyo, pacing the room like a hamster in a wheel, barely heard him. “Oh God. What if we’re stuck here forever?” He wailed, throwing his arms up in mock despair. “We’ll run out of air. We’ll starve! They’ll find us as skeletons—me clutching a volleyball, and you still glued to TikTok!”

Kenma rolled his eyes. “We’re in a classroom, not a submarine.“

Shoyo pointed a dramatic finger at him. “If I die in here, tell Kageyama he can have my limited-edition volleyball shoes.”

“You act like I’d talk to Kageyama.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the ever-present hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Then, predictably, the bickering started. At first, it was just a few snide comments, muttered insults, the kind of thing that simmered under the surface, barely contained. But soon enough, it escalated into full-blown squabbling.

“You have the personality of a brick wall!” Shoyo snapped, his face flushed with frustration.

“At least I’m not a human megaphone.” Kenma shot back, his voice thick with sarcasm.

“Oh yeah? Well, maybe you should talk less and listen more.”

“I’d rather do that than hear your voice 24/7.”

“Enough with the insults!” Shoyo’s frustration boiled over. His feet shifted, and in the heat of the moment, he took a step back—but his foot caught on the leg of a chair.

It all happened in slow motion.

Shoyo flailed, arms windmilling wildly, but gravity was faster. With a spectacular lack of grace, he toppled forward, directly onto Kenma.

Kenma let out a startled grunt as they both hit the floor in an awkward heap. Shoyo blinked, realizing his hands were braced against Kenma’s chest.

Time froze.

Shoyo’s face turned beet red, his brain short-circuiting as he stared down at Kenma, whose expression hovered somewhere between annoyed and bewildered. Oh my God. This is it. I’m dying. Someone just bury me here.

Kenma opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, the door burst open.

Yaku stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised as he took in the scene. A grin slowly spread across his face. “So, uh… did you two work things out?”

Shoyo scrambled to his feet, waving his arms frantically. “No, no, we—wait, this isn’t what it looks like!”

Kenma sighed, brushing himself off like nothing had happened. Without sparing Yaku a second glance, he walked past him, muttering, “You’re banned from my PS5. Forever.”

Yaku chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “Well, that’s one way to solve it.”

Shoyo, still flustered, stormed out after Kenma, muttering under his breath. “This day was horrible.”

Yaku called after him. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Absolutely not!”

Shoyo stared at his reflection, squinting at the smudges under his eyes. They were so dark he looked like he’d auditioned for a zombie movie, and gotten the part.

He hadn’t slept. Not because of Kenma. Absolutely not. Nuh-uh. It wasn’t because of his stupid, annoyingly smooth voice or the way he had looked all calm and unaffected while Shoyo flailed around like an idiot. And it definitely wasn’t because of how close they’d been when he—

“Ugh, stop!” Shoyo groaned, smacking both palms against his cheeks. The slight sting grounded him for about two seconds before he resumed pacing in his room like a caffeinated squirrel.

Yesterday was behind him. Buried. Ancient history. Sure, Kenma probably hated him more now than ever, but hey, what else was new?

“Shoyo! Someone’s at the door!” his mom called from downstairs.

He jolted, snapping out of his self-assessment. “Coming!” he yelled back, grabbing his bag and bolting for the stairs. He opened the door and was greeted by a familiar mop of sandy blonde hair and an infuriatingly wide grin.

“Morning, Shoyo—whoa, you good?” Atsumu’s expression shifted to concern as he squinted at Shoyo’s face. “You look like ya got hit by a bus.”

Shoyo scowled. “I’m fine. What’re you doing here?”

“Walkin’ you to school.” Atsumu announced cheerfully, slinging an arm around Shoyo’s shoulders. “Let’s go, sunshine!”

Shoyo stiffened like he’d been dunked in ice water. “I don’t remember agreeing to this,” he muttered under his breath.

“Didn’t need to,” Atsumu quipped. “I volunteer as tribute.”

By the time they reached the school gates, Shoyo’s energy had been drained, mostly from trying to dodge Atsumu’s overly friendly shoulder nudges and barrage of questions about what he’d eaten for breakfast.

“Yo, Hinata!” a familiar voice called.

Shoyo turned to see Suna lounging by the entrance, his trademark lollipop in hand. His bored eyes flicked from Shoyo to Atsumu, and a slow smirk spread across his face. “You two finally dating, or what?”

Shoyo froze. “Wh—what?! No!”

Atsumu, ever the instigator, grinned. “Not yet, eh, Shoyo?” he teased, throwing a wink at Suna.

Shoyo flailed, waving his arms like he could physically dispel the chaos. “Stop saying stuff like that! People might actually believe you!”

From the corner of his eye, Shoyo caught a flicker of blonde hair. Kenma stood near the entrance, hood up, phone in hand, not even pretending to acknowledge them. His gaze shifted their way for half a second before disappearing into the building.

Shoyo’s heart did a flip. Not the cool kind, like in sports, more like a graceless, off-balance tumble. Was Kenma mad? Did he care? Why do I care if he cares?

“Shoyo, you good?” Atsumu asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Yeah! Fine!” Shoyo squeaked, practically dragging Atsumu toward the building.

The classroom, unsurprisingly, was its usual whirlwind of chaos. Suna had immediately sprawled out in his seat, propping his feet on his desk like he owned the place. “Alright, listen up.” he announced lazily. “We’re throwing a party.”

“A party?” Yamaguchi’s eyes lit up. “Like, with snacks?”

“Obviously,” Suna said, deadpan. “What do you think we’re gonna do, stare at each other?”

“I’ll pass,” Yachi said quickly, waving her hands. “My parents would never let me go.”

Tsukishima adjusted his glasses, not even bothering to look up. “I’ll pass too. I actually need to study, unlike the rest of you idiots.”

“Same here.” Yamaguchi said with a sigh. “If Tsukki’s not going, I’m not going either.”

Atsumu clicked his tongue, turning his attention to Shoyo and Kageyama. “What about you two? You in?”

Shoyo hesitated, his gaze flicking toward Kenma with his headphones on and seemingly engrossed in his phone. Was he even listening? Probably not. Still, the weight of Kenma’s presence tugged at Shoyo’s thoughts. He forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, I’m in.”

“Sweet!” Atsumu grinned, clapping Shoyo on the back. “Kageyama?”

Kageyama shrugged. “If Hinata’s going, I guess I’ll go too.”

“Perfect,” Suna said, smirking. “Tomorrow night, my place. Bring food, or don’t bother showing up.”

Shoyo nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. As much as he wanted to focus on the party, his thoughts kept circling back to a certain quiet boy with a hoodie and sharp golden eyes.

That night, Shoyo found himself sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. Sleep? Not happening. His brain had other plans, spinning a chaotic reel of thoughts faster than he could process them.

His mind rewound to the first semester, before the exchange students arrived and turned everything upside down. Back when things were, well... not “normal” exactly, but predictable. Kenma ignored him. Shoyo spoke anyway. Simple. Like talking to a decorative houseplant that occasionally sighed in your direction.

But now, with Atsumu and the others always hovering around, Shoyo couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Was it the constant chaos? The extra noise? Or just... Kenma being Kenma?

“Is it me?” Shoyo muttered to himself. “Am I cursed or something? Did I kick a sacred volleyball in a past life? Kenma’s the one with the problem! Not me. Right?”

His self-pity spiral was rudely interrupted by his mother shouting from downstairs. “Shoyo! Someone’s at the door!”

He jumped up, heart racing as he ran the stairs. “Tsumu, I swear—people are gonna think we’re dating at this point—”

He yanked open the door mid-rant but stopped cold. It wasn’t Atsumu. It was Kenma.

“What—why—how—uh, hi?” Shoyo blurted out, voice cracking in five different places.

Kenma stood there, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, holding a familiar notebook in one hand. “You left this.” he said flatly. “Figured you might need it.”

Shoyo blinked. Kenma? Doing something nice? His brain short-circuited. Not that he’d ever say that out loud. He valued his life too much. “Uh, thanks?” Shoyo managed. “Wait, how do you know where I live?”

Kenma shrugged like it was no big deal. “Asked Kageyama.”

“You— you?” Shoyo pointed dramatically. “You talked to Kageyama? Are you feeling okay? Blink twice if you’re being held hostage.”

Kenma rolled his eyes. “Either say thank you or I’m setting this notebook on fire.”

Shoyo clutched the notebook to his chest. He wasn’t about to lose his kanji notes, thank you very much. “You could’ve texted me or, I dunno, waited until tomorrow? It’s literally 10 PM.”

“I don’t have your number.” Kenma looked at him like that should’ve been obvious. “And tomorrow’s Saturday.”

Oh. Right. That was fair. But still, texting would’ve been normal. And Kenma wasn’t normal.

Without thinking, Shoyo darted back inside, grabbed a sticky note, and scribbled his number on it. He slapped it onto Kenma’s hand. “There. Problem solved.”

Kenma looked at the sticky note like it was written in ancient hieroglyphs. “This feels stupid. Just give me your phone.”

Shoyo hesitated but handed it over. Kenma tapped something into it before shoving it back into his hands.

“Uh, thanks. You can go now.” Shoyo said awkwardly. Exchanging numbers with an enemy felt borderline illegal.

Kenma shrugged, turning to leave, but he paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Are you dating Atsumu now?“

Shoyo wanted to say no before rumors started flying, but curiosity burned brighter. He smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “And what if we are? Not like it’s any of your business. You don’t care about my life, do you?”

Kenma’s face remained impassive, but something flickered in his eyes. “You’re right.” he said coolly. “I don’t.”

The words stung more than Shoyo wanted to admit, but he refused to back down. “Right.” he snapped. “Then stop acting like you do.”

Kenma’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets.

Shoyo stood there, heart pounding. It felt like he’d just lost a game he hadn’t realized he was playing.

With a frustrated huff, he slammed the door shut. “Too early to think miracles exist.” he muttered, tossing the notebook onto the nearest chair.

The next day, the party finally arrived. Shoyo had spent all day hyping himself up. Tonight will be fun, he told himself. No overthinking, no distractions, and absolutely no thoughts about a certain golden-eyed hoodie-wearer. For real this time.

Clutching a box of pizza, he made his way to Suna’s apartment. The smell of cheese wafted up, and his stomach growled loudly enough to scare a passing pigeon.

When Suna opened the door, he looked as though hosting this party was his personal nightmare. “You’re late,” he muttered, snatching the pizza from Shoyo’s hands.

“Hi to you too, Mr. Sunshine” Shoyo quipped, stepping inside.

The apartment was exactly what Shoyo expected: dim lighting, random mismatched furniture, and a playlist that sounded like it had been curated by someone with a grudge against society. Suna’s taste in music leaned heavily toward chaotic EDM remixes of nursery rhymes, and right now, an aggressive techno version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star was blasting from the speakers.

Osamu was busy unpacking a bag of snacks at the coffee table, while Atsumu lounged dramatically on the couch, one leg draped over the armrest like he was auditioning for a perfume ad. Kageyama sat stiffly in the corner, staring at his phone.

“Where’s Aran?” Kageyama asked, barely glancing up.

“Tsukishima infected him with guilt,” Suna said, flopping onto a beanbag. “Now he thinks he needs to study. Lame.”

“Wow, peer pressure works in reverse here.” Shoyo muttered.

“Study’s overrated,” Atsumu declared, holding a grape like it was a mic. “You don’t see me studying, and look how great I turned out!”

“You put salt in your coffee this morning,”  Osamu deadpanned.

“That was an accident!” 

“It was the third time this week.”

Before they could launch into one of their classic twin arguments, Shoyo interrupted by grabbing a slice of pizza. “What are we doing first?” he asked, mouth full.

Suna smirked. “Charades. And Kageyama’s going first.”

Kageyama blinked. “What? Why?”

“Because it’s funny.” Suna said, tossing him a card.

It turned out to be a terrible idea. Kageyama interpreted every charade prompt through the lens of volleyball. Asked to mime “giraffe” he immediately assumed the role of a middle blocker reaching for a spike. “It’s so obvious!” he shouted, flapping his arms.

“It’s literally not.” Osamu said, his face buried in his hands.

Meanwhile, Atsumu seized the opportunity to sidle up next to Shoyo. “So,” he said, leaning in. “You ever think about what it’d be like to have a partner who really gets you?”

Shoyo blinked. “You mean like a doubles partner?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu said, smirking. “A dynamic duo. Partners on and off the court.”

Shoyo’s brain short-circuited. “Wait, you want me to play doubles with you? You think Kageyama would let me? I mean, we’d destroy everyone, but still—”

“Wow,” Osamu interrupted, snorting. “He really doesn’t get it.”

“What’s there to get?” Shoyo asked, genuinely puzzled.

Atsumu buried his face in his hands. “Nothing, Shoyo. Nothing at all.”

By the time midnight rolled around, the apartment was pure chaos. Empty pizza boxes were stacked precariously on the coffee table, soda cans were scattered like confetti, and someone (probably Atsumu) had decided to dismantle the couch cushions and construct a fort.

What started as a harmless drinking game with “soda” had somehow escalated into a full-blown alcohol-fueled disaster. Shoyo wasn’t entirely sure who brought the booze, but judging by Suna’s smug expression and the way he casually kept refilling everyone’s cups, he had a pretty good idea.

Kageyama was the first to go down. He had chugged three cups of whatever mysterious concoction Suna handed him and was now slumped in the corner, mumbling incoherently about volleyball formations. “You can’t... you can’t spike like that,” he muttered, pointing an accusatory finger at the wall. “It’s... it’s illegal.”

Osamu lay facedown on the floor, one arm stretched skyward like he was calling to a higher power. “I think I’ve ascended. Someone carry me to heaven.”

Meanwhile, Atsumu had climbed onto the fort, yelling, “I’M THE KING OF THE CASTLE!” before dramatically toppling into a pile of snacks.

And Shoyo? Shoyo was wobbling dangerously, a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose that he didn’t remember owning. His vision was blurry, the room spinning like an out-of-control carousel. He stumbled toward the door, muttering to himself. “I’m..Im going home.”

He made it outside but immediately realized he had no idea where he was. The pavement beneath him seemed to tilt and sway, and he staggered like a drunken flamingo, clutching at a lamppost for support.

“Why… whysh the shtreets moving?” he mumbled at himself.

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out his phone. The screen glared back at him, the letters blurring and swimming. Shoyo squinted hard, scrolling through his contacts. Eventually, he stopped and hit call, convinced he’d picked Atsumu’s name.

The phone rang.

After three rings, a familiar voice answered, slightly groggy and deeply unamused. “Why are you calling me?”

Shoyo froze, his drunken brain trying to process the voice on the other end. It sounded… off. Like Atsumu but not Atsumu. Maybe his ears were broken?

“Why’s yer voish different?” Shoyo slurred suspiciously.

There was a pause. “…Are you drunk?” said the person on the other line.

Shoyo blinked hard, as if that would somehow clear his foggy brain. “Nuh-uh” he muttered, leaning heavily on the lamppost. “Maybe… jush a lil’. But I’m losht. Pleashe pick me up.”

“Why would I do that?”

Shoyo frowned. “Becaush you’re tsumu… and you care aboutsh me.”

The person on the other end sighed. “Where are you?”

Shoyo looked around, squinting at the wobbly world. There was a convenience store in the distance with a flickering neon sign and a very angry-looking pigeon pecking at a trash bag. “Uh… next to a, um, glowy store… and there’sh… a bird.”

There was a long pause on the other end. “That’s not an address.”

Shoyo’s head lolled forward, and he squinted at the convenience store’s sign. Slowly, painstakingly, he read the name aloud, letters dragging out of his mouth like molasses. “F… A… M… I… L… Y… M… A… R… T.”

Another sigh, this one heavier. “Stay there. Don’t move. I’ll get a taxi.”

“I’m not movin’” Shoyo declared proudly, despite his legs wobbling beneath him like overcooked spaghetti.

The call ended, and Shoyo stuffed his phone into his pocket. He slumped down onto the curb, his sunglasses sliding down his nose. The pigeon he’d noticed earlier waddled closer, eyeing him with blatant judgment.

“Sh’up, bird.” Shoyo muttered, waving it off weakly.

Not long after, headlights swept over him, and a cab pulled up to the curb. The figure that emerged was blurry, but Shoyo could just make out their hair and build. It was Atsumu, he was sure of it.

The person crouched down in front of him, steadying Shoyo as he leaned dangerously to the side. “You’re a mess,” the voice said dryly.

Shoyo didn’t care. He latched onto the person’s arm, letting himself be hauled up and guided to the cab. “Yer my besht frien’” he declared, leaning heavily against his savior.

“Shut up.” the voice said after a moment.

Tsumu’s meaner than usual, he thought.

The ride passed in a haze, and before he knew it, Shoyo was being guided up a flight of stairs. The person’s arm was firm around his waist, steadying him as he stumbled over his own feet.

He was gently deposited onto his bed, his shoes tugged off. Shoyo barely noticed as the blankets were pulled over him. His eyes fluttered shut, and just before he drifted off, he murmured, “Thanks, ‘Tsumu…”

The person standing over him didn’t respond, simply turning off the light before leaving the room. 

Chapter Text

Shoyo woke up with a really bad hangover. The kind that made him want to write a strongly worded letter to his past self:

Dear Drunk Shoyo,

Why?

Sincerely, Hungover Shoyo.

He spent a solid ten minutes hunched over the toilet, convinced his entire intestine was about to make its grand escape. “I’m never going to attend any of Suna’s parties again” he croaked, clutching the toilet bowl. “Not even if they have free pizza. Okay, maybe if they have pizza…”

After somehow surviving the bathroom ordeal, Shoyo crawled back into bed and stared at the ceiling. His memories from the night before were a jigsaw puzzle of bad decisions. He remembered Suna yelling “Trust the process!” while pouring questionable liquid into everyone’s cups, Atsumu building what looked like a fortress, and… sunglasses? Where did the sunglasses come from?

What he did remember clearly, however, was someone helping him to bed. Atsumu, probably. That seemed like something Atsumu would do, right?

Feeling like he should at least confirm this, Shoyo grabbed his phone from the nightstand. He squinted at the screen, his eyes still bleary, and opened his call history.

Except… there was no call history. At all.

“Huh?” Shoyo frowned, squinting at the screen. His call log was completely blank. No calls, no missed calls, not even the accidental butt-dial he usually had from Kageyama every other week.

“Did I delete it?” he wondered aloud, scratching his head. That… sounded like something Drunk Shoyo might do. He shrugged, deciding it wasn’t worth stressing over. He’d just thank Atsumu properly when they were back in class.

By the time Monday rolled around, Shoyo was feeling mostly human again. His stomach still churned a little whenever he thought about soda mixed with… whatever Suna had poured into his cup, but at least he didn’t feel like he was dying anymore. Progress.

He slid into his seat in history class, determined to make it through the day without embarrassing himself. The teacher was droning on about something Shoyo was pretty sure he should care about—alliances, betrayals, something about treaties—but he was finding it impossible to focus.

“An alliance born out of necessity” the professor said, scribbling on the board. “Two parties forced to work together despite mutual disdain. And yet, their story is one of the most compelling chapters in history.”

Shoyo blinked. Mutual disdain? Forced to work together? His brain immediately conjured an image of Kenma’s perpetually bored face. Wow. That’s us.

Instinctively, Shoyo glanced over his shoulder, only to lock eyes with Kenma, who was already looking at him.

“What are you looking at?” Shoyo mouthed, his expression a mix of confusion and annoyance.

Kenma tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “You stared first” he mouthed back.

“No, you stared first!” Shoyo whispered, leaning slightly over his desk.

Kenma sighed, looking so unimpressed he could’ve been grading Shoyo on how badly he was losing this argument. “You’re literally staring right now.”

“Well, you’re staring back!”

“Mr. Hinata.”

Shoyo jumped, nearly knocking his notebook off the desk. The teacher was glaring at him, unimpressed. “Care to share your thoughts with the class?”

Shoyo froze. Heat crept up his neck as everyone turned to look at him. Tsukishima smirked, Suna was definitely recording this for later blackmail, and Kageyama was mouthing something that looked suspiciously like dumbass.

“N-nope! Nothing to share!” Shoyo stammered, sinking lower into his seat.

The teacher gave him one last warning glare before turning back to the board. “As I was saying,” he continued, “alliances often form unexpectedly. Sometimes, the strongest connections come from the most unlikely places.”

Shoyo clenched his fists, glaring at his notebook as if it were responsible for this entire disaster. Whatever, he thought bitterly. I’m ignoring Kenma for the rest of the day. Starting now.

Not that he had time to waste on Kenma anyway. He had bigger things to do. Like thanking Atsumu.

The moment history class wrapped up, Shoyo spun around in his seat, pointing at Atsumu with the seriousness of someone declaring war. “Atsumu. We need to talk.”

Atsumu blinked. “Huh? Uh, okay?”

Shoyo didn’t wait for him to process. He grabbed Atsumu’s arm and marched toward the stairwell. Behind them, Kenma’s eyes flicked up from his phone, watching them leave.

Once they were near the stairwell, Shoyo stopped and turned to Atsumu, who was now looking at him with a mix of confusion and mild amusement, like a dog that didn’t understand fetch but was having fun anyway.

“Okay, so, uh…” Shoyo rubbed the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say thank you. For, you know, bringing me home last Saturday night.”

Atsumu tilted his head. “I did?”

“Yeah? You brought me home, right?” Shoyo’s voice wavered slightly, his eyes narrowing. “After I called you?”

Atsumu’s face did a full reboot—blinking, buffering, and scrambling to load a response. Then, with the confidence of a man who had no clue what was happening but was determined to fake it, he plastered on a grin. “Oh! Oh, yeah, totally! That was me”

Shoyo eyed him suspiciously. “Are you sure? You don’t sound—”

“Positive! Crystal clear!” Atsumu cut him off, slapping a hand on his chest for dramatic effect. “You’re welcome, Shoyo-kun. Anytime!”

Before Shoyo could call him out on his suspiciously enthusiastic answer, Atsumu suddenly leaned against the wall, propping one arm above Shoyo’s head in what was clearly supposed to be a suave, cool guy move. It wasn’t.

“So, uhm, Shoyo…” Atsumu began, his voice dropping into a tone he probably thought was irresistible. “Valentine’s is comin’ up. Got a date yet?”

“A date? Like… for a doctor’s appointment?” Shoyo asked, genuinely confused.

Atsumu stared at him, briefly reconsidering his life choices. “No, like… a Valentine’s date. Y’know, someone to hang out with? Eat chocolate?”

“Ohhhh” Shoyo said, nodding in sudden understanding. “Wait, why would I need to do that? Can’t I just buy my own chocolate? It’s on sale after the 14th anyway.”

“Shoyo…” Atsumu sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re killin’ me here.”

“Sorry?” 

“Forget the chocolate, okay? What I’m askin’ is… do ya wanna hang out with me on Valentine’s? Just you ‘n me.”

“Ohhh” Shoyo said again, this time with a look of realization. “Like a bonding thing! Sure, that sounds fun.”

Atsumu grinned triumphantly. “Great! It’s a date, then!”

Before Shoyo could fully process what he’d just agreed to, a shadow passed by them. Shoyo turned his head and immediately froze when he spotted Kenma walking down the hall.

Kenma’s gaze flicked from Shoyo to Atsumu’s self-satisfied smirk, to the arm that was very much still hovering too close to Shoyo.

Panic bubbled up in his chest, and before he could stop himself, he shoved Atsumu backward. “It’s not what you think it is!” he blurted out.

Kenma raised an eyebrow, his expression calm but faintly skeptical. Shoyo froze, a new thought smacking him in the face. Wait… why am I even explaining this?

Kenma’s gaze lingered for half a second longer before he walked away without another word.

Atsumu, still leaning casually against the wall, chuckled as he clapped a hand on Shoyo’s shoulder. “So it’s a date, huh, Shoyo-kun?” he teased, throwing in an exaggerated wink as he strolled off.

Shoyo stood there, his brain doing several loops before catching up. Finally, he sighed, rubbing his temples. “What the hell is even happening with my life right now?” he muttered, dragging himself back to class.

Far down the hall, Kenma glanced back once, his expression unreadable, before disappearing around the corner.

Days passed normally. No disasters, no embarrassments, and most importantly, no weird encounters with Kenma. Shoyo wasn’t sure if the universe had finally decided to give him a break or if he’d unknowingly sold his soul to some volleyball deity. Either way, he wasn’t about to question it.

He went to school, pretended to listen in class, had chaotic lunches with his friends, and gave volleyball practice his usual 110% effort. Even Kenma had been suspiciously quiet, which was either a sign that he’d run out of sarcastic comments or that he was plotting something diabolical. Shoyo hoped it was the former.

But peace, as Shoyo learned, was never meant to last.

Volleyball practice started out normal enough. Everyone sat cross-legged on the gym floor while Coach delivered his usual speech about drills, match strategies, and “how to not embarrass the school.” But as Coach was about to wrap up, he grinned in a way that immediately made everyone suspicious.

“Oh, one last thing” Coach said, clapping his hands together. “We’re heading to a two-week training camp the day after Valentine’s Day!”

The room exploded in cheers.

“Wait, seriously?!” Shoyo yelled, practically bouncing in place. “That means we don’t have to go to class, right?!”

Kuroo grinned. “That’s the spirit, Hinata. Priorities.”

Coach chuckled. “Relax, you’ll get your volleyball fix. And hey, this way, you can all enjoy your Valentine’s dates before the camp starts!”

Dead silence.

Shoyo tilted his head, confused. Huh? Weren’t Valentine’s dates just an excuse to buy cheap chocolate on sale?

“Valentine’s…” Kageyama muttered under his breath, brow furrowing. “Isn’t that the thing with the love letters?”

Tsukishima snorted. “I bet Kageyama doesn’t even know what love is.”

“Of course I do!” Kageyama snapped, his cheeks turning pink. “It’s… it’s when you, uh, really like someone? And you want to… practice tosses with them?”

Yamaguchi coughed into his hand, poorly hiding a laugh, while Tsukishima rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out.

“Wow, romantic” Tsukishima drawled. “That explains why you’ve never had a date.”

Kageyama glared, his ears now fully red. “Like you have, beanpole!”

Before the argument could escalate, Kuroo leaned back casually, smirking. “Alright, let’s hear it. Who here actually has a date on Valentine’s?”

The gym filled with awkward silence. Most of the team avoided eye contact, except Lev, who raised his hand halfway before realizing he didn’t even know what they were talking about. Shoyo, however, perked up immediately. “I do!” he announced.

Every head in the gym snapped toward him.

“With who?” Kuroo asked, already grinning like he knew the answer was going to cause chaos.

“Atsumu!”

A chorus of “What?!” erupted across the gym, followed by varying reactions. Yachi gasped, nearly dropping her clipboard. Kageyama looked like someone had spiked a volleyball directly into his soul, while Tsukishima snorted, muttering, “Of course it’s him.”

Kenma, who had been silent up until now, muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear, “He probably did it out of pity.”

The words hit Shoyo like a light jab to the stomach.

“Hey, that’s harsh” Kuroo said, giving Kenma a pointed look.

Shoyo, however, had heard enough. His grin dropped, replaced by a scowl. “Yeah? Well, at least I have someone who wants to go out with me! What about you, Kenma? Got any friends outside of your Nintendo Switch?”

The air between them grew thick with tension, the kind that made everyone else suddenly very interested in tying their shoes or adjusting their kneepads.

“Alright, break it up!” Coach barked, clearly sensing the mood. “Back to practice!”

The team scrambled into position, though Shoyo’s fists were still clenched at his sides. His face burned, a mix of anger and embarrassment swirling together. Out of pity? Who did Kenma think he was?

Across the net, Kenma wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, he was fiddling with his shoelaces, as if he hadn’t just insulted someone’s entire existence.

“Focus, dumbass!” Kageyama snapped, clapping his hands for the ball.

“I am!” Shoyo barked back, even though it was a blatant lie.

Every movement felt off. His jumps were mistimed, his spikes clumsy. By the time Lev’s spike came rocketing toward him, Shoyo’s brain was still stuck on Kenma’s stupid comment.

“Shoyo, watch out!”

Too late.

The ball struck him square in the face with a resounding smack, sending him stumbling backward.

He hit the court with a thud, groaning as stars danced in his vision. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Kuroo yelling his name, but the only thing Shoyo could think was, This is all Kenma’s fault.

And then, everything went black.

When Shoyo’s eyes fluttered open, the first thing he saw was a blindingly white ceiling. His head felt like it had been used as a target dummy, and there was a faint ringing in his ears.

Oh no, he thought, dread sinking in. Did I die?

He groaned, attempting to sit up, only to freeze when he noticed someone slouched in a chair beside his bed, arms crossed, looking entirely too comfortable.

Shoyo’s breath caught in his throat. He squinted, his vision still blurry, but that mop of blond hair was unmistakable. Is this it? Did Lev’s spike actually kill me? Am I in the afterlife? Because Why else would Kenma, of all people, be here?

Kenma shifted, lazily opening one eye as though sensing Shoyo’s wide-eyed stare. “You’re awake” he said flatly, leaning back in his chair.

Shoyo flinched at the sudden confirmation. “Wha—you—why are you here?!”

Kenma raised an eyebrow. “You passed out. Someone had to make sure you didn’t choke on your own stupidity.”

Shoyo groaned, slapping a hand over his face. “Ugh, kill me now.”

“Lev already tried. Didn’t work.”

Shoyo glared at him through his fingers. “Ha ha. Real funny.”

Kenma’s expression softened slightly as he leaned back in his chair again, studying Shoyo with a quiet intensity that made him squirm. “Does your head hurt?”

Shoyo blinked, caught off guard by the sudden concern. “Uh… a little?”

Kenma hummed, reaching over to grab a small ice pack from the bedside table. He held it out without a word.

Shoyo blinked at him, suspicious. “…What’s your game?”

“I’m not plotting your demise, if that’s what you mean.”

Shoyo snatched the ice pack, muttering, “Could’ve fooled me.” He pressed it to his head with a begrudging, “Thanks, I guess.”

The silence that followed was thick and awkward. Shoyo sneaked glances at Kenma, who looked unusually fidgety. Where was the sarcastic comment? The lazy jab? It was unsettling.

“Why are you here?” Shoyo blurted. “Are you on penalty or something? Did Coach force you to wait for me?” He couldn’t help the edge in his voice; Kenma’s earlier comment still stung.

Kenma blinked, caught off guard. “Uhh, actually—”

Before he could finish, the clinic door slammed open with a dramatic bang.

“SHOYO-KUN!”

Atsumu’s voice rang out, loud enough to make Shoyo jump. He stumbled into the room, his expression a mix of panic and exaggerated concern.

“Atsumu?!” Shoyo squawked, the ice pack slipping from his hand.

Right behind him, Osamu stepped in, looking significantly less frantic but equally exasperated. “For crying out loud, Tsumu, he’s not dying.”

Suna followed with a lazy wave, his phone in hand, while Aran brought up the rear, shaking his head as if to silently apologize for the chaos.

“You’re awake!” Atsumu exclaimed, flinging himself dramatically onto the edge of Shoyo’s bed. “Don’t worry, Shoyo-kun, I’m here now! How bad is it? Can ya still see? Blink twice if you’re concussed!”

Shoyo blinked once, thoroughly confused. “I’m… fine?”

Atsumu gasped, clutching his chest. “Don’t lie to me! You’ve got an ice pack and everything!”

Osamu rolled his eyes, dragging his twin off the bed by the collar. “He said he’s fine, Tsumu. Quit acting like he’s on his deathbed.”

Kenma stood abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor. “I’m leaving.” he muttered, heading for the door.

“Wait—” Shoyo started, but Atsumu flopped back onto the bed, effectively cutting him off.

“Shoyo-kun! Don’t worry” Atsumu said, leaning in way too close. “I’ll take care of you from now on!”

Osamu groaned. “This is embarrassing.”

Suna smirked, leaning against the wall. “I’m just here for the show.”

As the chaos unfolded, Kenma slipped out unnoticed by everyone—except Shoyo, who felt a strange pang as the door clicked shut.

Valentine’s Day came. It wasn’t exactly a holiday Shoyo paid much attention to. Sure, the school was drowning in heart-shaped decorations, and every other student seemed to be holding chocolates, cards, or some other lovey-dovey nonsense, but Shoyo had more important things on his mind.

Specifically, the upcoming training camp.

He was practically vibrating with excitement as he headed to the locker room, already imagining the epic spikes, ridiculous rallies, and the sweet sound of volleyballs hitting the floor. He swung open his locker, ready to toss his bag inside, only to freeze.

Sitting neatly on top of his extra knee pads was a small box of chocolates.

“Huh?” Shoyo blinked, leaning forward like the box might jump up and explain itself. He picked it up, inspected it from every angle, then gave it a light shake for good measure. No ribbon. No glitter. No sparkly, over-the-top decorations like the chocolates girls usually handed out. Just a plain box.

And then he noticed a note tucked underneath it.

I’m sorry.

Shoyo tilted his head, squinting at the two words like they might suddenly make sense if he stared long enough. “Sorry? Sorry for what? Did someone bump into my locker? Borrow my knee pads? Mess up my notes?”

He racked his brain, trying to remember if he’d accidentally made any enemies lately. He didn’t think Kageyama had reached that level of emotional development yet. And he was pretty sure Tsukishima was incapable of regret.

Unless…

His eyes narrowed as a ridiculous thought crossed his mind. “No way” he muttered, his lips twitching upward. Could it be Kenma?

A laugh burst out of him before he could stop it. “Nah, Kenma would rather die than admit defeat. He’d ghost me before he’d say sorry.”

Shaking his head, Shoyo shoved the note and chocolates into his bag, making a mental note to eat them later. “Sweet! Free snacks” he said to himself, slamming the locker shut.

Satisfied, he headed to his classroom, still humming to himself and completely oblivious to the chaos waiting for him.

The moment he slid open the door, he froze. Standing in the center of the room, surrounded by a gaggle of wide-eyed classmates, was Atsumu, holding a bouquet so enormous it looked like he’d raided an entire flower shop, or possibly an entire greenhouse.

“Shoyo-kun!” Atsumu boomed. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Shoyo blinked. Once. Twice. He tilted his head. “Eh? What’s with the bouquet? Did you win an award or something?”

The room went dead silent. Atsumu’s confidence faltered for a brief second, but he quickly recovered, clearing his throat. “Oh, uh… no reason!” he said, thrusting the massive bouquet toward Shoyo. “Just thought you might like ‘em!”

“Oh, cool!” Shoyo said, his grin so genuine it hurt to watch. He accepted the bouquet with both hands, holding it like a trophy. “Thanks, Atsumu! These are really nice! What’s the occasion, though?”

Atsumu visibly panicked, his confidence unraveling. “N-No occasion! Just bein’ nice, you know?”

From the back of the room, Suna snorted. “Just say you like him and get it over with. You’ve been pining for weeks, and it’s honestly painful to watch.”

“SUNA!” Atsumu squawked, his face going an impressive shade of red. “Shut your trap!”

The room exploded into chaos, half the students chanting, “Atsumu likes Shoyo!” while the other half swooned dramatically. One kid even pretended to faint, collapsing onto a desk with a loud groan.

Shoyo, meanwhile, remained blissfully clueless. “Oh, okay!” he chirped, cradling the bouquet. “Thanks again, Atsumu! You’re the best!”

His gaze wandered to the back of the room, where Kenma was slouched in his seat by the window. He was glued to his phone, but the way his fingers tapped the screen was suspiciously aggressive.

Shoyo blinked. Was he mad about something?

He shrugged it off, letting Atsumu pull him toward their desks. After all, tomorrow was the training camp. And that was all that really mattered… right?

The rest of the day was a blur. Shoyo spent most of it doodling volleyballs in his notebook and counting down the hours to the training camp. When the final bell rang, he bolted out of his seat. “Later, guys! See you tomorrow at camp!”

But before he could make it to the door, Atsumu appeared out of nowhere, blocking his path.

“Where d’ya think you’re goin’?” Atsumu asked, his grin almost as wide as it had been that morning, but now with an unmistakable nervous energy.

“Uh… home?” Shoyo tilted his head, confused. “I gotta pack for camp.”

Atsumu shook his head and placed both hands on Shoyo’s shoulders. “Nope. Not yet. We’ve got plans, remember?” 

“Plans?”

“Our… uh…” Atsumu hesitated, his voice dropping to a mumble. “Date.”

“DATE?!” Yachi shrieked from her desk, nearly dropping her pencil.

“Wow” Tsukishima drawled from his desk. “I thought Valentine’s Day couldn’t get any more nauseating, but here we are.”

“Wait.” Shoyo frowned, confused. “What’s a date?”

The room fell silent again, save for the sound of Suna snickering in the back.

“It’s… when two people go out together” Yachi explained gently, her voice trembling like she wasn’t sure if this was a joke or her worst nightmare. “You know… because they like each other.”

“Ohhh.” Shoyo nodded in understanding, then turned back to Atsumu with a bright grin. “Sure! Let’s go on a date!”

Atsumu looked like he might pass out.

Osamu, who had been lingering by the doorway, gave his twin a giant thumbs up. “Nice goin’, lover boy.”

Suna rolled his eyes. “If you’re still not together by the end of today, I’ll kill you, Atsumu. And then I’ll steal the bouquet back and give it to Hinata myself.”

“Whatever!” Atsumu grabbed Shoyo by the wrist, dragging him out of the room. “C’mon, Shoyo-kun, we’ve got places to be!”

As they walked through the bustling corridors, Shoyo glanced around, still buzzing with excitement about his plans—and the camp tomorrow. That excitement faltered for half a second when he spotted Kenma standing by the window, his golden eyes locked on him.

Shoyo’s chest tightened. His heart skipped for reasons he didn’t quite understand. But instead of dwelling on it, he shook his head, dismissing the thought. After all, who was he to deny Atsumu some bonding time?

Outside the school gates, Shoyo swung his arms as they walked. “So where are we going, Tsumu?”

“It’s a surprise” Atsumu replied, grinning in a way that made Shoyo squint at him suspiciously.

They ended up at a movie theater first. Shoyo spent most of the film whispering excitedly to Atsumu about how realistic (or unrealistic) the action scenes were, completely oblivious to the way Atsumu kept sneaking glances at him.

Afterwards, at the arcade, Shoyo destroyed every claw machine in sight, collecting a mountain of plushies.

“This ain’t normal” Atsumu muttered as Shoyo hugged a stuffed penguin. “You’re supposed to win, like, one or two. Not the entire machine.”

“Skill” Shoyo declared with the confidence of a man who had never questioned himself a day in his life.

“Skill, my ass” Atsumu muttered as Shoyo bounded off toward the basketball hoops, determined to break a high score that no one asked him to beat.

By the time they reached the park for ice cream, Shoyo was fully satisfied.

“Today was so much fun!” he said, grinning as he licked his vanilla cone. “Thanks, Tsumu! You’re the best. We should do this more often, you’re such a good friend!”

Atsumu froze mid-lick of his cone. “…Yeah. Friends.”

Shoyo didn’t notice. He was too busy staring at a dog that had just trotted by, its tail wagging so hard it looked like it might take off.

Atsumu stared at him for a long moment, visibly gathering his courage. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Shoyo.”

“Yeah?”

“I like you.”

Shoyo blinked at him, tilting his head. “Huh? I like you too, though!”

“No, Shoyo.” Atsumu ran a hand down his face, looking like he was physically holding himself together. “I like you. As in, I wanna date ya. Hold hands. Be your boyfriend. That kinda like.”

The gears in Shoyo’s head visibly turned. Then stopped. Then turned again with a clunk.

Oh. He blinked.

Then his eyes widened. OH.

Atsumu held his breath as Shoyo’s expression flickered between shock, confusion, and panic.

Shoyo laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Um… I don’t know what to say. No one’s ever… y’know… confessed to me before. I mean, all I really know is volleyball!”

Atsumu let out a soft laugh. “That’s fine, Shoyo-kun. Take your time.”

Shoyo frowned, clearly troubled. “I don’t wanna hurt you, though. Can I… think about it? After camp, I’ll give you an answer!”

Atsumu nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. After camp.”

As they walked home, Shoyo chattered on about camp drills and new spike techniques, completely oblivious to Atsumu trailing behind with the expression of a man who just risked it all and somehow survived.

The morning of the training camp was cold enough to make Shoyo’s teeth chatter as he stumbled downstairs, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He was practically vibrating with excitement. His first training camp! No classes! Two weeks of pure volleyball bliss! Life couldn’t get any better.

“Shoyo!” his mom called from the kitchen as he reached for the doorknob. “Wait a second!”

He froze mid-step, one foot out the door. “What is it, Mom? I’m going to be late!”

She appeared in the hallway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “I just wanted to remind you, did you thank Kenma yet?”

“Kenma? Thank him for what?”

“For bringing you home when you were drunk,” she said matter-of-factly, like it wasn’t the most earth-shattering sentence he’d ever heard.

It took a full three seconds for the words to sink in. “Wait, Kenma?!” Shoyo’s voice pitched into a squawk. “No, no, Atsumu said—” His brain ground to a halt. Atsumu had said he was the one who’d brought Shoyo home.

“I’ve gotta go!” He bolted out the door, his heart pounding with a mix of confusion and mild betrayal.

Kenma? Kenma brought me home? Why would Atsumu lie about that?

By the time he got to the bus, Shoyo was still in a mental spiral. He collapsed into the seat beside Kageyama, staring at the floor with a frown so deep it could rival Tsukishima’s permanent scowl.

“What’s wrong with you?” Kageyama asked, tearing into a piece of bread.

“Nothing” Shoyo said quickly, his voice coming out a little too high-pitched. He glanced toward the back of the bus where Kenma sat with Kuroo. As usual, Kenma was glued to his Switch, his expression blank.

Shoyo stared at him for a moment, then looked away, feeling oddly self-conscious. I’ll thank him later. Or… maybe I won’t. Do I even want to bring this up?

The first day of camp was a whirlwind of serves, spikes, and drills. Shoyo threw himself into practice so completely that by lunchtime, he was too busy stuffing his face to remember his existential crisis.

Shoyo nearly wept tears of joy when he saw the trays of meat, rice, and miso soup. “ Bless the volleyball gods” he whispered, clapping his hands together before digging in like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“It’s just food” Yamaguchi said, amused.

“It’s training camp food” Shoyo said through a mouthful of rice. “It’s different.”

By the time the day ended, Shoyo's entire body aching in ways he didn’t even know were possible.

The room was chaotic as everyone laid out their futons. Laughter and chatter eventually settled into a rhythm, with teammates jostling and swapping spaces. Shoyo, still dazed from the day, was one of the last to pick his spot. He scanned the room, his stomach dropping as he realized the only available space left was beside—

“No.” he blurted, his finger jabbing in Kenma’s direction. “Absolutely not.”

Kenma didn’t even look up from his Switch. “It’s just a futon.”

“No, it’s not just a futon!” Shoyo waved his arms dramatically, glaring at everyone around him. “This is unfair! I call sabotage!”

“Idiot” Kageyama said, “just lie down already.”

Shoyo planted his hands on his hips, glaring at the spot beside Kenma as if it might explode. “What if he strangles me in my sleep?”

Kenma finally glanced up, looking as unimpressed as humanly possible. “You’re just going to sleep. Stop acting like I’m going to murder you.”

“Yeah, well what if you do?! What if I wake up dead tomorrow?”

“You won’t” Kenma deadpanned, already turning his attention back to his game. “If I wanted to strangle you, I’d do it when you’re awake so I can actually hear you complain about it.”

The room erupted into laughter, and Shoyo flushed, scowling as he begrudgingly dragged his futon into place. “Fine,” he muttered, flopping down. “But if anything happens to me, everyone here is a witness.”

Kenma didn’t even respond.

Lights out was called, and the room slowly settled into the muffled rustle of people trying to get comfortable. Shoyo lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to take him. He shifted to his side, then to his other side, then onto his stomach, then back onto his back, then to the other side again.

This futon’s cursed, he thought miserably.

Then he saw it. Kenma was staring at him.

“GAH!” Shoyo yelped, flinching so hard he nearly threw himself off the futon. His heart did an awkward somersault, landing somewhere in his throat. He immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, praying no one else heard.

Kenma blinked. “You’re loud, even when you’re not talking.”

“Why are you staring at me?” Shoyo whispered harshly, his voice barely above a hiss.

“I’m not.”

“You totally were!”

Kenma sighed, the kind of sigh that made Shoyo feel like he was the unreasonable one. Without another word, Kenma stood and padded toward the door.

Shoyo frowned, whisper-yelling after him. “Where are you going?”

Kenma didn’t answer. He slid the door open with a soft thunk and disappeared into the hallway, leaving Shoyo behind, wide-eyed and buzzing with confusion.

What the hell was that? Shoyo thought, glaring at the empty space Kenma had just vacated. His heart was doing that annoying badump thing again, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Before he could overthink it, he threw off his blanket and followed.

The hallway was cool and quiet, the kind of quiet that made Shoyo feel like he was sneaking out for some great forbidden mission. Then, he spotted Kenma standing at the edge of the walkway, gazing at the sky.

“What are you doing out here?” Shoyo demanded, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to look both annoyed and not freezing.

Kenma didn’t look at him. “What are you doing out here?”

“I—” Shoyo paused, caught off guard. “I don’t know! I just think I should be!”

That made Kenma glance at him, his brow lifting slightly in disbelief. “You’re annoying” he said flatly, turning back to the sky.

“Yeah, well. You’re more annoying.”

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant sound of crickets. Shoyo fidgeted, his earlier determination wavering. But then the memory of that morning—his mom’s words, the realization—resurfaced, and he clenched his fists.

“Hey,” he said, breaking the quiet. “About that night.”

Kenma didn’t respond, but Shoyo pressed on. “Why didn’t you tell me it was you who brought me home? And did you delete my phone history? So I wouldn’t know it was you?”

Kenma let out a long, quiet sigh. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters!” Shoyo said, his voice rising before he caught himself. He lowered it to a whisper. “It matters because I want to know why you did it. Why you didn’t just leave me there, or, I don’t know, tell someone else to deal with it?”

Kenma finally looked at him. “Because I didn’t want anything to happen to you” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Shoyo’s breath caught.

Kenma looked away. “You’re reckless, loud, and constantly throwing yourself into situations without thinking. Someone has to look out for you.”

Shoyo stared at him, his mind spiraling. His heart thudded painfully, and he didn’t know whether it was from anger, embarrassment, or the sharp truth in Kenma’s words. It wasn’t like people hadn’t called him reckless before, but hearing it from Kenma… it hit differently.

“I don’t get you” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

Kenma sighed, already looking exasperated. “What now?”

Shoyo’s frustration boiled over, a mix of confusion and something he couldn’t name. “You say you hate me, but then you’ll do these… things—nice things! Like—like bringing me home! And then you turn around and push me away, or say something mean! What is it, huh? Do you hate me, or do you—”

“Why do you care?”

“Because you’re confusing as hell!” Shoyo burst out. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he could feel heat rising to his face. He didn’t even know why he was angry, why he was standing here, arguing with Kenma like they were long-lost friends trying to patch things up. “It’s like you want to mess with my head or something!”

Kenma took a step closer, and suddenly, Shoyo’s heart was pounding for an entirely different reason. “Mess with your head? You’re the one who doesn’t see what’s right in front of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re loud” Kenma said softly, his tone strangely intimate. “You throw yourself at everyone—Atsumu, Kageyama—like you’re desperate to be seen. But you never notice the people who are already looking.”

Shoyo froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “What?”

Kenma sighed again, stepping back, his usual tired mask slipping back into place. “Forget it.” he muttered, heading toward the door.

“What? No—wait!” Shoyo yelped, his arms flailing in a half-formed attempt to grab onto something—Kenma, the moment, he wasn’t sure. “You can’t just say cryptic stuff like that and leave!”

Kenma glanced back at him. “Watch me.”

And with that, he disappeared into the building, leaving Shoyo standing in the middle of the hallway, dumbfounded.

“What the hell” Shoyo muttered, his voice loud in the now-empty space. His heart was still pounding, his mind spinning. He was pretty sure he looked like an idiot, but there was no one around to confirm it.

Already looking?

The words echoed in his head, looping back like an annoying song he couldn’t shake. And for the life of him, he didn’t know what they meant.

Chapter Text

Kenma was acting weird.

Not his usual "I hate Hinata" kind of weird. No, this was something else entirely. This was "I’m going to stop being a dick, but only when it suits me, so don’t get used to it" weird. At first, Shoyo brushed it off. He was too busy doing what he did best: being loud, getting overly excited during drills, and, occasionally, tripping over his own feet. But by the time practice wound down, Kenma’s behavior became impossible to ignore.

It started small.

Kenma sat down. Next to Shoyo. On purpose.

Now, Shoyo didn’t claim to be a mind reader, but he was pretty sure that Kenma Kozume—expert avoider, human cat, and president of the Hinata Is Annoying Club —had no reason to sit anywhere near him unless forced. Yet there he was, plopping down on the bench like they were friends or something.

For a second, Shoyo wondered if Kenma was about to:

1. Accuse him of hogging all the oxygen in the gym.
2. Insist last night’s conversation about “already looking” had just been some sleep-deprived fever dream.
3. Reveal he had been replaced by a Kenma-shaped alien.

But no. Kenma didn’t say anything. Not a single word. Shoyo squinted at him, suspicious. “What are you doing?”

Kenma didn’t look up from his phone. “Sitting.”

“Why here?”

“Why not here?”

Shoyo frowned. The logic was sound, but it felt wrong. “Is this because of last night? Are you… I don’t know, trying to be nice or something?”

Kenma finally glanced at him, and Shoyo wished he hadn’t. The deadpan look he got was so judgmental it could have wilted a plant. “Don’t flatter yourself” Kenma said flatly before turning back to his phone.

Okay. Still rude. Still sarcastic. Definitely still Kenma.

But then Kenma just sat there. For an unnervingly long time.

And it wasn’t just that. The next few scenarios didn’t help either.

Scenario 1

During a water break, Kageyama snatched Shoyo’s water bottle without asking, chugging it like he had been stranded in the desert for three days.

“Hey! That’s mine!” Shoyo yelled.

“You can get another one” Kageyama said, completely unbothered, like he hadn’t just committed a crime.

Shoyo stormed back to the bench, muttering under his breath about theft and how Kageyama would survive in jail, only to freeze when Kenma held out a water bottle.

Shoyo stared at it. Then at Kenma. Then back at the bottle. “Where… where did you get this?” Shoyo asked, cautiously taking it.

“The vending machine.”

“You… got it for me?”

Kenma let out a short sigh, as if the question was too stupid to dignify with an answer. “You’d need it eventually. Now you have it.”

Shoyo blinked. “Oh. Thanks?”

Kenma shrugged, scrolling on his phone like he hadn’t just done something absurdly considerate.

Scenario 2

During duo drills, Shoyo naturally paired up with Kageyama. Because, of course, who else would he partner with? Kageyama was the setter to his spikes, the yin to his yang. But just as they were about to start, Kenma strolled over and, in the most casual voice imaginable, said, “Hey, Kageyama, the coach is looking for you.”

Kageyama paused. “Really?”

Kenma nodded. “Yeah. Something about your tosses.”

Without questioning it, Kageyama walked off, leaving Shoyo standing there, confused. Kenma, meanwhile, picked up a ball and turned to Shoyo. “I’ll set for you.”

Shoyo’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“You need a setter, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but—you hate setting for me!” Shoyo pointed out, bewildered. “You’ve said you hate it!”

Kenma rolled his eyes. “Do you want to stand there talking, or do you want to spike?”

“…Spike?”

“Then stop yelling and get to it.”

Shoyo hesitated for another second before jogging to his position, his brain still trying to process the madness that was Kenma Kozume voluntarily setting for him. The drill went smoothly, too smoothly, and as they finished, Kenma tossed the ball back with a soft mutter: “Your timing was good.”

Shoyo froze mid-step. “Did you just… compliment me?”

Kenma didn’t answer. He just walked away, leaving Shoyo gaping like a fish.

Scenario 3

Later that evening, the team was eating dinner, and Shoyo was recounting one of Lev’s ridiculous missteps during practice (something about tripping over his own shoelaces mid-spike).

“And then—and then he just face-planted! Like, full-on!” Shoyo wheezed, barely managing to finish the story.

To his absolute shock, Kenma laughed. Not a snort. Not a polite huff of air. A real laugh. Shoyo stopped mid-laugh to gape at him. “Are you… are you laughing?”

Kenma immediately wiped the smile off his face, picking up his chopsticks. “No.”

“You were! You totally were!” Shoyo pointed at him, stunned. “Oh my god, are you okay? Are you dying? Do you need help?!”

Kenma glared at him, cheeks faintly pink. “Eat your food and shut up.”

By the end of the day, Shoyo was 100% convinced that Kenma was trying to give him an aneurysm.

Because Kenma was still sarcastic. Still rude. Still Kenma. But now there were these… moments. These strange, disarming moments where Kenma was kind. Nice, even. And Shoyo had no idea what to do with that.

“I don’t get it.” Shoyo muttered to himself that night. He lay on his futon, arms sprawled over the thin blanket as he stared at the ceiling.

“What don’t you get?”

Shoyo jolted, his whole body stiffening. Slowly, he turned his head toward the futon beside him. “You’re awake?”

Kenma shifted slightly, the faint rustle of his blanket the only sound in the room. “Obviously.”

He heard that? Shoyo thought, panic bubbling up in his chest. Why is he still awake? It’s late!

“Well?” Kenma prompted.

“Well, what?”

“What don’t you get?”

Shoyo froze. His brain scrambled for an answer, but instead, all he could think about was how familiar this conversation felt. His mind flashed back to the other night, to when he had said, “I don’t get you,” and Kenma had replied with that cryptic nonsense about “already looking.”

And yet, despite knowing exactly where this was headed, his mouth betrayed him.

“You.”

The word slipped out before he could catch it, hanging in the air like a neon sign flashing EMBARRASSING THING JUST SAID.

Kenma didn’t respond immediately. For a second, Shoyo thought—hoped—that maybe he had fallen back asleep. But then Kenma spoke.

“You don’t need to.”

Shoyo blinked up at the ceiling, his brain short-circuiting. Right. Of course. That kind of answer again. What does that even mean?! But instead of arguing, he just let out a quiet sigh, muttering in his head, Sure, Kenma. Whatever you say. I’ll just lie here and not get it forever.

The room fell silent again, save for the occasional creak of the old floorboards or the distant sound of someone snoring. Shoyo shut his eyes, determined to fall asleep, when—

His foot accidentally brushed against Kenma’s.

Shoyo’s eyes flew open. His whole body tensed like he had just stepped on a landmine. “Sorry!” he blurted, his voice coming out in a flustered whisper. He yanked his foot back like he’d touched lava.

Kenma, however, didn’t even flinch. “It’s fine” he said, calm as ever.

That should have been the end of it. Shoyo thought it was the end of it. But a moment later—

Kenma’s foot brushed against his. It wasn’t hard, just a small, fleeting touch. Shoyo froze, his breath hitching. Was that an accident? No, wait, it had to be an accident. Right?

Except Kenma’s foot didn’t move away this time. Shoyo’s heart did that weird thing again— badump, badump, badump —like it was trying to leap out of his chest and run away screaming. He didn’t know what to do. Or what to think. Or what to say.

Okay. Maybe he doesn’t realize. Maybe he’s half-asleep. Maybe—

Kenma shifted slightly, his foot pressing just a little more firmly against Shoyo’s. Shoyo’s brain officially stopped working. Nope. Not an accident. Not asleep. Oh god, what is this?! What is happening?!

Shoyo didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare breathe. His heart was loud in his ears, and he was pretty sure Kenma could hear it too. But Kenma didn’t say anything. Didn’t pull away. And as the seconds stretched into minutes, Shoyo slowly found himself relaxing. The tension in his body melted away, and the warmth of Kenma’s foot grounded him in a way he couldn’t explain.

By the time sleep finally started to tug at him, Shoyo’s last coherent thought was:

Kenma is so weird.

A few days had passed since The Foot Incident, and still… nothing. Kenma hadn’t said a single word about it. Not a joke, not a snide remark, not even a casual “Hey, remember when our feet touched weirdly?” Nothing.

Kenma was back to treating Shoyo like normal: mild exasperation, passive comments, and the occasional “You’re so dumb it physically hurts me” stare. But then there were the moments. The weird, suspicious, crime-worthy moments. Like when Kenma handed Shoyo a towel before he could grab one. Suspicious.

Or when he passed him a water bottle without being asked. Extremely suspicious.

Or when Shoyo complained that his phone battery was at 2%, and Kenma, without a word, tossed his charger at him like it was no big deal. This was an ongoing case, and Shoyo was the lead detective.

Shoyo side-eyed him over dinner like he was trying to solve a murder mystery, except the only suspect was Kenma, and the crime was whatever the hell was happening. Kenma, meanwhile, scrolled on his phone, completely unbothered.

This is psychological warfare, Shoyo thought, jabbing at his food. He didn’t know what kind of mind games Kenma was playing, but he refused to lose. He was going to crack this case.

And then Lev started talking about ghosts.

“Guys, listen” Lev declared, slamming his hands on the table like he was about to announce the Second Coming of Volleyball Jesus. “I think there’s a ghost at the training camp.”

Tsukishima didn’t even look up from his food. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’M SERIOUS” Lev insisted, eyes wide. “Last night, I was walking back from the bathroom, and I heard this weird creaky noise— ”

“That’s called wind.”

“Let me finish!” Lev huffed. “So I turned my flashlight on, and suddenly, I saw something move in the storage shed.”

Shoyo, mid-bite, paused. “Move?”

“Yes. A shadow. It shifted.”

Tsukishima sighed. “That’s called having bad eyesight.”

“Or,” Yaku said, crossing his arms, “it’s a sign that the ghost is trying to communicate.”

Kuroo smirked, resting his chin on his palm. “So what, are you gonna go ghost-hunting?”

“Maybe I will.”

Shoyo made a hard mental note to stay as far away from these idiots as possible. He already had one supernatural crisis happening (Kenma’s unexplained kindness), and he did not need actual ghosts making his life worse.

“Sounds like a bad idea” he muttered. “No way I’m participating.”

“Aw, come on, Hinata” Kuroo drawled. “Didn’t peg you for a scaredy-cat.”

“I’m not scared! I just don’t want to waste my time looking for something that probably doesn’t exist.”

Tsukishima made a sound of approval. “For once, you’re making sense.”

“Exactly!” Shoyo gestured at him. “It’s—wait. No. Don’t agree with me. That feels wrong.”

Kuroo snickered. “So what I’m hearing is… you’re totally chickening out.”

“I’m not.”

“Then you are chicken.”

Shoyo slammed his chopsticks down. “Fine! I’ll come!”

Kenma, who had been scrolling on his phone the entire time, finally looked up. He stared at Shoyo for a long second before deadpanning: “…Idiot.”

Midnight rolled around, and Shoyo regretted everything. Six idiots sneak across the campgrounds, Yaku leading with his flashlight. “Alright, rule number one: stick together.”

Immediately, Lev tripped over a rock. Yaku smacked him. “What did I just say?”

“Sorry.”

They move deeper into the camp, past the storage sheds. The only sounds are crickets, the occasional rustling leaves, and Kageyama muttering, “This is so stupid” under his breath. “If the coaches catch us, we’re dead,” he grumbled.

Kuroo shrugged. “Then we run.”

Oh yeah, sure, we just outrun fully grown adults with years of coaching experience. No big deal.

Shoyo gripped his flashlight tighter. He should be in his futon right now. He should be sleeping peacefully, dreaming about winning against Kageyama. Instead, he was sneaking through the dark like an idiot, following five other idiots toward possible death.

Then—A rustling noise. Everyone froze.

“…What was that?” Lev whispered.

Silence.

Another rustle, closer this time.

“Lev, I swear to god, if you’re stepping on a branch—” Yaku started.

“I’M NOT” Lev hissed.

Then, a shadow moved. Yaku, fearless leader of this operation, does what any brave, experienced person would do. He turned and screamed. Pure chaos erupted. Lev shrieked. Kageyama yelled. Kuroo laughed like a maniac.

Shoyo didn’t think, he just ran. But because he was Shoyo, disaster followed him like a devoted pet.

He tripped and hit the ground.

Or, he would have. If Kenma hadn’t yanked him upright at the last second, saving him from an incredibly embarrassing face-plant.

For a brief moment, Shoyo just stared at him. Kenma, bathed in the eerie glow of the flashlight, looked completely unbothered. Like he hadn’t just prevented Shoyo from eating dirt in the most humiliating way possible.

“…Are you okay?” Kenma asked.

Shoyo swallowed. “Y-Yeah.”

And then his brain caught. Wait. Where were the others? The distant sound of chaos—Lev shrieking, Yaku cursing, Kuroo laughing hysterically —was quickly fading. Shoyo’s stomach dropped. Oh no. He whipped around, scanning the darkness, but all he saw was more darkness. Oh no no no no no.

He gripped Kenma’s sleeve. “We need to find them.”

Kenma, looking incredibly uninterested in the fact that they’d been abandoned to die, glanced around. “Yeah.”

They moved through the dark, flashlights barely illuminating the narrow path ahead. The campgrounds, once familiar and safe, suddenly felt like the worst place to be at midnight. Every tree looked the same. Every shadow stretched unnaturally. Every little noise sent shivers down Shoyo’s spine.

A branch snapped behind them. Shoyo froze. “…What was that?” he whispered.

Kenma tensed slightly beside him. “Probably just the wind.”

Shoyo was not convinced. “Or it’s a ghost.”

“You don’t even believe in ghosts.”

“I do now.”

Another rustling noise.

Shoyo let out a strangled noise and instantly latched onto Kenma’s sleeve. Kenma sighed but did not shake him off. “…Shoyo—”

“Don’t let go” Shoyo blurted.

Kenma paused. Shoyo immediately regretted it. Oh my god. OH MY GOD. Why did I say that. WHY DID I SAY THAT.

“…I won’t”

Shoyo’s brain short-circuited. What. Kenma had never said anything that sincere in his life. His heart thumped loudly. Badump.

Oh no. Not this again.

He clutched his chest. Maybe I actually have heart problems. Oh god. This is it. I’m dying. I’m dying in the woods because of ghosts and also possibly a rare cardiac condition.

Kenma frowned. “Shoyo?”

Shoyo took a sharp breath. “I’m… I’m okay.”

Kenma squinted at him, then, without warning, reached out and pressed a hand to Shoyo’s chest. Shoyo stopped breathing.

BADUMP BADUMP BADUMP.

Kenma’s hand lingered for a second before he sighed. “…Idiot. You’re fine. You just got scared.”

Shoyo wasn’t sure if that was true. Because right now, looking at Kenma’s serious face, feeling the warmth of his hand still on his chest, Shoyo felt even more like he was dying.

Not from ghosts. Not from heart failure But from whatever the hell Kenma was doing to him.

Shoyo needed to escape.

"We need to go" Shoyo whispered. Maybe if they left this cursed place, his heart would beat normally again. "We need to go right now."

Kenma exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "We’re not going anywhere" he muttered, moving toward a tree stump and sitting down. "It’s too dark, we’ll just get more lost. We should stay here and wait for the others to find us."

Shoyo gawked at him. "Wait, so your big, genius-level plan is to just sit here and accept death?!"

Kenma rolled his eyes. "No, my plan is to wait for the actual competent people to find us instead of wandering aimlessly and making it worse."

"But what if the ghost finds us first?"

Kenma just rolled his eyes, leaning back against the tree. He didn’t look particularly concerned about their situation. Which was insane, because Shoyo was deeply concerned.

Shoyo paced in a tiny, nervous circle before finally groaning in frustration and flopping onto the grass beside Kenma. "Fine. But if we get eaten by something, I’m blaming you."

"Noted."

The minutes stretched on, and the adrenaline slowly began wearing off. The night was cold, but not unbearable. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. Shoyo yawned.

No. Unacceptable. Now was not the time to get comfortable—he needed to stay alert

…He yawned again.

Kenma, who had been scrolling through his phone (because of course he had battery left), glanced at him. "Just sleep" he said.

Shoyo frowned, rubbing his eyes. "No way. What if something happens?"

Kenma tilted his head slightly, as if considering something. Then, with a sigh, he shifted, rolling his shoulders before nodding at himself like he’d made a decision. "Lean on me" he said.

Shoyo blinked at him. "Huh?" Was this another trick? Some weird psychological experiment Kenma was running on him?

"You’re exhausted." Kenma didn’t even look up from his phone. "If you keep sitting like that, you’re gonna fall over and hit your head or something."

Shoyo narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why are you being nice?"

Kenma exhaled through his nose, finally looking at him. "I’m not going to leave you here. Just sleep. I’ll wake you up when they find us."

Shoyo squinted at him. He didn’t trust this. He shouldn’t trust this. But he was tired. And Kenma’s shoulder… looked weirdly comfortable. He hesitated for another second before mumbling, "If you do anything weird, I’ll kill you" and cautiously leaning his head against Kenma’s shoulder.

Kenma didn’t react. Didn’t shove him off. Didn’t make a sarcastic comment. Just kept scrolling through his phone like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Shoyo's body slowly relaxed, warmth seeping into him. Kenma’s shoulder was surprisingly solid. Not bony and awkward like he expected. His eyelids grew heavier, the distant murmurs of the trees and wind fading into the background.

Somewhere in the haze of half-consciousness, Shoyo thought he heard Kenma shift slightly. A murmur too soft to make out.

Or maybe he imagined it. Because before he could figure it out, exhaustion won.

Morning came too soon, and with it, the horrifying consequence of last night’s ghost-hunting escapade.

Laps.

Endless, merciless laps.

Shoyo wheezed, dragging his feet across the field like a man who had witnessed horrors beyond human comprehension. His legs ached, his lungs burned, and his soul screamed . "This is… this is abuse… we should call the authorities…"

"Shut up and run" Yaku snapped, somehow still keeping perfect form despite looking like he wanted to commit a felony.

Lev, meanwhile, had long since abandoned the concept of dignity and was dramatically staggering like a soldier on his last breath. "Why… why did it have to be laps…?"

"Because our coaches are sadists" Kuroo grunted, looking far too amused for someone in the same level of suffering.

As it turned out, the terrifying noises they heard last night? Not ghosts. Not demons. Not vengeful spirits hellbent on haunting them.

It was the coaches. Who had overheard them planning their idiocy and decided to teach them a lesson.

And now here they were.

Even worse, Kenma, who had the stamina of an elderly man on his deathbed, lasted exactly two rounds before dramatically keeling over. "This is it" Kenma muttered from the grass. "I’m done. Just leave me here."

"No one's leaving you" Kuroo said, nudging him with his foot. "But I am gonna start taking bets on how many more meters you last before Yaku murders you.

"Twenty" Lev said, barely able to speak through his wheezing.

"Fifteen." Kageyama countered, sweat dripping down his face.

Yaku’s eye twitched. "Zero. The answer is zero. Get up, Kozume!"

Kenma groaned louder, but somehow survived. Barely.

The rest of the training camp passed in a blur of exhaustion, suffering, and existential regret. With everything going on, Shoyo didn’t have time to dwell on Kenma’s weird, occasional kindness, until the last day, when they were packing up.

That’s when Shoyo decided he was going to confront Kenma. Again.

Because maybe, just maybe, Kenma wanted to be friends? Maybe this was his weird, socially awkward way of saying, Hey, I tolerate you more than I tolerate most people. Let’s be friends. It was the only explanation that made sense. So today, before they left, Shoyo was going to march up to Kenma, look him straight in the eye, and demand answers.

Except that didn’t happen.

Because Shoyo didn’t confront him first.

It started during their final break. Everyone was sprawled around the common area, stretching, chatting, and generally basking in the relief of knowing they were done. 

Then Lev, because he was Lev, opened his mouth. "Alright, everyone" he announced, grinning. "Let’s play a game."

"Hard pass." Tsukishima muttered.

"Shut up, it’ll be fun" Lev ignored him. "We’re gonna play ‘Guess Who Has a Crush’!"

Shoyo, who had been drinking water, choked violently. Kuroo sighed. "We’re really doing this?"

"Yes!" Lev beamed. "Now, everyone, be honest! Who do you think has a crush on who?"

"What are we, twelve?" Kageyama muttered. But of course, it was too late. The chaos had already begun.

"Yamaguchi definitely likes someone" Kuroo smirked.

Yamaguchi went pink. "I—wha—shut up." 

"Kuroo’s just trying to distract us from the fact that he has a crush" Yaku pointed out.

Kuroo gasped dramatically. "How dare—"

"ANYWAY" Lev cut in. "What about Hinata?"

Shoyo, who had successfully made himself as small as possible, froze.

"Oh" Yaku hummed. "That’s a good one. Shoyo, you crushing on anyone?"

Shoyo flailed. "WHAT—NO—WHAT—"

"Aw, come on, you totally are." Yaku teased. "Wait—maybe it’s—" He paused, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Atsumu?"

Shoyo shrieked. "WHY IS MY NAME EVEN IN THIS CONVERSATION—"

"See? Look at him freaking out" Lev laughed. "That’s suspicious."

"It’s NOT."

But it didn’t matter. Because suddenly, everyone was talking over each other, teasing and making ridiculous guesses.

And then, mid-chaos, Kenma stood up and walked away. Shoyo’s brain short-circuited. Wait. Wait wait wait. What? Why was Kenma leaving?

Shoyo barely thought, he just moved. He scrambled up, muttering some excuse as he rushed after Kenma, slipping past conversations and out of the common area. Kenma was just ahead, walking toward the back entrance of the gym. Shoyo followed, heart thumping for reasons he refused to examine.

"Kenma—hey, Kenma, wait!"

Kenma didn’t stop. Didn’t even acknowledge him. Shoyo scowled and picked up his pace, jogging until he caught up—

And then Kenma turned so fast Shoyo nearly ran into him.

Shoyo barely had time to react before he was suddenly cornered, backed up against the wall with Kenma standing too close, eyes dark and unreadable.

Shoyo’s breath caught. Oh. Oh no. Kenma looked… different. Not annoyed. Not bored. Not exasperated. Just… intense.

And worse, he was close. Close enough that Shoyo could see the way his golden eyes reflected the dim lighting, like molten honey catching the sun. No—like the glow of an ultra-rare item drop in a game, shimmering with untouchable, god-tier status. Wait, what?!

Close enough to notice the dark fringe of his lashes, long and unfairly pretty, flickering as he studied Shoyo like he was something puzzling and frustrating all at once. Shoyo swallowed, heart hammering against his ribs.

“Do. You. Like. Atsumu?” Kenma muttered.

Shoyo squinted at him, confused. "Why—why do you keep asking me that? And why are you mad?"

Kenma exhaled sharply, like he was barely holding back some deep, unexplainable frustration. "Just answer the question."

"No" Shoyo huffed, crossing his arms. "I’m tired of you and your confusing antics. Are you…" He hesitated for a second before narrowing his eyes, leaning forward in suspicion. "...Are you jealous?"

Kenma visibly stiffened. "What? What are you—"

Shoyo gasped, pointing at him accusingly. "I knew it!"

Kenma reeled back. "Knew what?"

"You’re the one who put chocolates in my locker with that weird sorry note!"

Silence.

Then, finally, a sigh. "Yes" Kenma muttered. "It’s because you are so oblivious that—"

But Shoyo cut him off with a victorious laugh. "You’re jealous of Atsumu because you wanted to be friends with me!"

Kenma just… stared. He blinked once, twice, mouth slightly open, staring at Shoyo like he had just said the single most absurd thing in the universe. Like his entire operating system had crashed and he was seconds away from uninstalling himself.

Shoyo, meanwhile, was very pleased with himself. "You should’ve just said so! Instead of being all weird about it. Geez."

Kenma closed his eyes briefly, looking like he had aged ten years in the last five minutes. His hand twitched slightly, probably resisting the urge to slam his head into the nearest solid surface. "That’s not—" He inhaled sharply, then shook his head. "You know what? Sure. Whatever."

Shoyo grinned. "See? Was that so hard?"

"...Right" Kenma muttered, turning away. "I’m going back inside before you give me a headache."

Shoyo happily followed, completely unaware that he had just bulldozed past an entirely different conversation.

“Good morning!”

Shoyo burst into the classroom, brimming with energy despite the absolute torture that was training camp. His legs still felt like jelly, his arms screamed from the punishment of endless drills. But none of that mattered because today was a new day! A fresh start! A—

Kenma nodded at him.

Shoyo stopped. Kenma, hood up, face partially buried in his arms, had just acknowledged him. Unprompted. Shoyo felt his entire existence rearrange itself.

Shoyo plopped into his seat, gripping his desk like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

Kenma greeted him first.

Kenma greeted him first. What was he supposed to do with that information?!

His body moved on autopilot for the next few hours, a victim of the mental blue screen of death. During gym, a dodgeball nearly took his head off. During class, he was so out of it that Yamaguchi had to physically nudge him back to reality twice. And at lunch, he was so distracted that he didn’t even notice Atsumu plopping beside him like a dramatic corpse.

"I hate school" Atsumu groaned, face-planting onto the desk like a man who had lost all hope.

Shoyo laughed, nudging him. "You say that every day."

"And every day, I mean it.”

"Fair."

Across from them, Suna scrolled lazily through his phone while Osamu unwrapped his lunch with all the patience of a monk. Aran sat next to Yamaguchi, quietly eating, while Yachi was desperately trying to finish her notes.

Yamaguchi, ever the voice of reason, cleared his throat. "I haven’t asked this yet, but… after this semester, are you guys going back to Canada?"

At that, Aran nodded. "Yeah. We’re just here for the semester."

Shoyo blinked. "Oh. That’s kinda sad."

Atsumu smirked. "Why’s that, Shoyo-kun? Will you miss me?”

Shoyo squinted at him. "No.”

"That was too fast" Suna said.

"Suspiciously fast" Osamu added.

Shoyo gawked at them. "What?! It’s just sad because you guys are part of our friend group now! It’s not like I’m gonna cry or anything!"

Atsumu clutched his chest dramatically. "That hurt, Shoyo-kun."

Osamu sighed. "He’s fragile. You gotta be careful with his delicate heart."

"Atsumu Miya, the most delicate" Suna deadpanned.

Shoyo rolled his eyes, grinning. Honestly, he would miss them. Atsumu could be annoying, sure, but their group’s chaos was… kinda nice. No, not kinda. Real nice.

Atsumu stretched, leaning back. "Anyway, back to more important matters, Shoyo-kun, walk home with me after class?"

Shoyo, mid-bite, gave him a thumbs-up. "Sure."

The rest of the day flew by in its usual whirlwind of chaos—dodgeball in gym (which was basically just survival), Tsukishima launching textbooks at people's heads (definitely attempted murder), and Shoyo barely managing to stay focused in class without his thoughts spiraling back to Kenma greeted him first.

By the time the final bell rang, Shoyo had almost forgotten about Atsumu’s request. That is, until the blond elbowed him lightly. "C’mon, let’s go" Atsumu said with a lazy grin.

Shoyo blinked. "Oh, yeah." He slung his bag over his shoulder and turned toward Kenma. "Later, Kenma!"

Kenma didn't respond. But his fingers twitched slightly over his game console.

Shoyo grinned to himself as he jogged to catch up with Atsumu.

The walk home was peaceful, the setting sun casting a golden hue over everything. Shoyo swung his bag idly, rambling about nothing in particular while Atsumu hummed along, tossing in the occasional comment.

Then, suddenly, Atsumu slowed his steps “So…” Atsumu said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Do you have an answer now?”

Shoyo’s brain screeched to a halt. Right. That.

Crap. He’d totally forgotten about it.

Panic bubbled in his chest, but before he could make a run for it (which, in hindsight, was not a solution at all), he forced himself to focus. He had thought about it. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he just… wasn’t ready.

“I’m really sorry, Tsumu” Shoyo said sincerely. “But I don’t think I’m ready for that… with you.”

Atsumu stayed quiet for a moment, then chuckled softly. “I see.”

Shoyo shifted, feeling an unexpected wave of guilt. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey” Atsumu cut in gently. “You don’t have to explain. You’re honest. That’s what I like about you.”

“You’re… not mad?”

“’Course not.” Atsumu smiled, it was no big deal. “But lemme ask you one thing.”

“Okay?”

“Is it ‘cause you like someone else?”

Shoyo immediately recoiled. “What? No way!”

Atsumu’s lips quirked. “Yeah?”

“Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?”

“Nothin’, nothin’.”

They reached the front of Shoyo’s house. Atsumu exhaled, gaze warm but knowing in a way that made Shoyo deeply uncomfortable.

“Look” Atsumu said, “I still like you. That’s not gonna change. Even if you don’t like me back, I’m still gonna care about you. That’s just how it is.”

Shoyo frowned. “That’s kinda unfair, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. But it’s my choice.”

Shoyo had no idea how to respond to that. So he didn’t. Instead, he just scratched his head. “Well… thanks, I guess?”

Atsumu smirked. “See you tomorrow, Shoyo-kun.”

Shoyo waved as Atsumu walked away. Then, as soon as he was out of sight, Shoyo exhaled loudly and collapsed against his front door. That was stressful. That was so stressful. He had never been more stressed in his life. Why was love so complicated? Why couldn’t things just be simple?

He didn’t like anyone! Not a single person! He was one hundred percent certain of this fact!

Then—like some kind of cursed echo from the depths of hell—a memory surfaced.

"Do. You. Like. Atsumu?"

No. No, no, no, no. That was old news. Kenma had asked him that days ago. Why was his brain bringing it back now? Wasn’t there, like, a time limit on these things?! Some kind of statute of limitations on weird, unnecessary thoughts?!

But it wouldn’t go away.

"Do you like Atsumu?"

Shoyo flinched. Why was it so loud all of a sudden?! It was practically screaming in his head now, as if his subconscious had yanked out a megaphone and was yelling at him in surround sound.

"DO YOU LIKE ATSUMU?"

Shoyo clapped a hand over his mouth. What was this? What was this feeling? Was he dying? Was this the end? Had he contracted some kind of heart disease? 

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. He was not doing this. Not now. Not ever.

It was nothing. It was literally nothing. He and Kenma were friends now. That was all. And friends talked about stuff like that! And that’s why his brain was stuck on it! Because—because Kenma had asked!

Yes. That made sense. That made perfect sense. Shoyo took a deep breath, trying to physically will himself back to normal.

But then— Badump.

Shoyo stiffened. Badump. Badump.

WHY WAS HIS HEART DOING THAT??? Was—was he really sick??

Panic flared in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. It was fine. Maybe, maybe he was just thinking too hard. Maybe his heart was overreacting for no reason. Maybe—

His stomach growled.

…

…Oh.

Ohhhhhhh.

Relief flooded through him.

You absolute idiot, he thought to himself. He wasn’t sick. He wasn’t dying. His heart wasn’t malfunctioning.

He was just hungry.

Shoyo let out a deep, soul-cleansing sigh. Holy crap. He had just almost had a heart attack over hunger pains. Honestly. He was being ridiculous.

With that, he pushed off the door, wiped his brain of every single thing that had just happened, and strolled inside.

Chapter Text

Atsumu Miya was the worst person to reject.

Not because he was bitter. Not because he got awkward. Not because he avoided Shoyo out of heartbreak. But because he refused to act like a rejected man. There was no wounded pride. No distant melancholy. No dramatic “I need time to heal” phase. Nope. Atsumu was thriving. If anything, he was even worse than before.

Shoyo had been prepared for many scenarios after rejecting him. He had braced himself for some emotional distance. Some quiet awkwardness. Maybe a little heartbreak. But Atsumu? Atsumu just doubled down on being a menace.

He still flopped dramatically into the seat next to Shoyo every morning. Still draped himself over Shoyo like a human scarf at random intervals. Still grinned at him like he held the secrets to the universe. But now? Now, there was an added layer of smugness. A knowing gleam in his eyes. An obnoxious level of confidence that screamed: I know something you don’t know.

Like right now.

"Shoyo-kun" Atsumu sighed, draping himself over Shoyo’s desk. "When you rejected me, I didn’t think it was possible, but you actually made me love ya more."

Shoyo immediately threw a notebook at his face. “STOP SAYING THINGS LIKE THAT!"

Atsumu barely dodged, cackling as he dodged a second attack. "Aw, you wound me! C’mon, it’s a little funny!"

"It’s NOT" Shoyo grumbled, stuffing his notebook back in his bag like he could physically shove this entire conversation into a void. "People are gonna think you’re serious!"

"But I am serious."

Shoyo stared at him, horrified. "YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT."

Atsumu just smirked. "Why not? I do like you."

Shoyo groaned, dropping his head onto his desk. This was so unfair. How did he get rejected, and yet Shoyo was the one suffering?! But, even so…

If he were being honest— like, really honest —he didn’t mind. Not really. Atsumu was annoying, sure. And dramatic. And completely insufferable at times. But he was also kind. More than people realized. Underneath the teasing, the ridiculous flirting, the absolute refusal to take anything seriously, he cared. He looked out for Shoyo, made him laugh, pulled him into his orbit like it was the easiest thing in the world.

He still meant what he said when he rejected Atsumu. He wasn’t the person who could like Atsumu back in the way he deserved. He knew that. Atsumu knew that.

And in less than two months, he’d be gone. Shoyo wouldn’t say it out loud, but… that sucked. He was going to miss this. The easy conversations. The jokes. The way Atsumu always managed to turn the world into something just a little bit brighter.

He would miss Atsumu.

And maybe that was why he didn’t push him away. Not completely. So when Atsumu insisted on dragging him up to the rooftop for "a serious conversation" Shoyo didn’t question it. He just sighed and followed.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the rooftop as the wind tugged at their clothes. Atsumu spread himself across the concrete like a man tortured by fate, one arm thrown dramatically over his eyes. Shoyo took one look at him and immediately regretted coming here.

Atsumu groaned. "Shoyo-kun, I am suffering."

Shoyo, already unimpressed, kicked his leg. "What now?"

Atsumu let out a deep, tragic sigh, like he was about to start narrating his villain origin story. "I was rejected."

"That was weeks ago."

"And yet, the pain is fresh."

Shoyo snorted, stretching his arms behind his head. "You don’t look like someone suffering."

Atsumu smirked. "Oh? You been lookin’ at me?"

Shoyo shoved him instantly. "STOP."

Atsumu just laughed, clearly thriving off Shoyo’s misery. Shoyo sighed, shaking his head. "Y’know… I was actually gonna ask you something."

"Oh?" Atsumu perked up. "Whatcha wanna know?"

Shoyo crossed his arms. “Why did you lie about bringing me home when I was drunk?”

Atsumu froze for a second. Then, like the menace he was, he leaned in, voice low and teasing. "What, ya disappointed it wasn’t me?"

"ANSWER THE QUESTION."

Atsumu wheezed, laughing as he leaned back. "Fine, fine! I just—wanted to make a good impression, y’know? I wanted you to think I was reliable. The kinda guy who’d take care of you."

Shoyo blinked. "…You are reliable."

For a second, Atsumu just looked at him, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then he laughed lightly, shaking his head. “Well, thanks for that, Shoyo-kun. But I guess my master plan failed, huh?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause Kenma took me home instead.”

Atsumu froze. His head slowly swiveled toward him. “…Kenma.”

“Yeah?”

“Kenma Kozume.”

“Uh. Yes?”

Atsumu just stared at him. Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter. “You’re tellin’ me… that the guy who acts like he doesn’t give a shit about anything took ya home?” He grinned “Ohhh, this is good.”

Shoyo pointed at him threateningly. “No. It’s not good. Stop looking like that.”

Atsumu smirked, leaning closer. “Shoyo-kun.”

Shoyo took an instinctive step back. “What.”

“Ya sure you don’t like him?”

Shoyo hated how his stomach twisted at that. “NO? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT.”

Atsumu just laughed again. Then, after a moment, he hummed. "If you don’t like anyone else then… would you date me someday?"

Shoyo choked on air. Atsumu snickered as Shoyo coughed aggressively, trying to regain control of his own lungs. "What—why would you—what kind of question is that?!"

"Dunno. Just wonderin’."

Shoyo squinted at him, trying to decipher the exact nature of his crimes. "WELL, STOP WONDERING."

Atsumu just laughed, throwing an arm around Shoyo’s shoulders like he hadn’t just sent him into cardiac arrest. The conversation, thankfully, shifted. They ended up sitting there for a while, talking about dumb things—Atsumu complaining about an upcoming test he hadn’t studied for, Shoyo pretending to care, Atsumu making a dramatic speech about how "school is the real enemy," and Shoyo telling him to shut up and just accept his fate.

By the time the final bell rang, they both trudged back to class, still bickering about whether or not Atsumu should drop out and become a professional con artist ("You can’t drop out, Tsumu!" "What, so you do care about me?" "NO, I just don’t want you scamming old people!").

The last few classes passed in a blur of Shoyo doodling on his notebook instead of taking notes and Atsumu throwing him dumb paper messages that he promptly ignored. He was just about to pack up and speed-run his way out of the classroom when Yachi popped up out of nowhere, nearly making him jump out of his chair.

"Hinata!" she chirped, practically vibrating with energy. "We’re going to that new café near campus. You should come!"

Shoyo blinked at her. "…Why?"

"Because it’ll be fun!" Yachi beamed. "I mean, I did ask Kageyama and the others first, but they’re busy, so—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Shoyo narrowed his eyes. "I'm the second choice?"

"No!" Yachi waved her hands frantically. "You’re, umm. The best choice!"

Shoyo squinted harder. "…Alright. I’ll allow it."

Before he could fully process what he’d just agreed to, a hand landed on his shoulder. "Oi, chibi-chan" Kuroo drawled. "You comin’? Kenma’s coming too."

Shoyo’s brain short-circuited.

Kenma.

Kenma Kozume. 

Kenma Kozume was coming. Shoyo could already feel the temperature of his entire body rising like someone had cranked up the heat. His soul was leaving his body.  His fight-or-flight instincts kicked in immediately. He had to get out of this. He had to make an excuse. "I think I’m busy?" he blurted, even though that was objectively false.

And then, the actual worst thing happened.

"Come" Kenma said, glancing at Shoyo over his game console. "It’s not like you have anything else to do."

Shoyo.exe has stopped working. Kenma wanted him to come.

Kenma asked him to come.

KENMA WANTED HIM TO BE THERE. "Oh" Shoyo said, brain still buffering. "Uh. Okay. Sure."

The walk to the café was a blur. He had no idea how he got there. One moment, he was processing the fact that Kenma invited him, and the next, he was sitting at a table, staring into the void.

The café was nice—cozy, warm, smelled like overpriced coffee. The group settled in, and within five minutes, all hell broke loose.

Tsukishima had barely opened his textbook before Kuroo leaned forward with a smirk. "So," Kuroo drawled, lazily tapping his pen on the table. "What’s a big, strong, honor student like you wasting your youth in a boring study session?"

Tsukishima didn’t even look up. "Go away."

"Aww, don’t be like that" Kuroo teased. "I’m just trying to get to know you better. We have so much in common, you and I."

"We don’t."

"Both middle blockers. Both geniuses. Both—"

"Do you ever shut up?"

Kuroo gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Ouch, that hurt. Yams, did you hear that? He’s so cruel to me."

Yamaguchi, who was used to this bullshit, didn’t even look up. "You probably deserve it."

Shoyo, meanwhile, was losing his mind.

Because Kenma. Kenma was sitting next to him. Like, directly next to him. Close enough that their knees kept brushing under the table, close enough that Shoyo could smell his stupid nice shampoo, close enough that every time Kenma shifted, Shoyo’s brain short-circuited all over again.

Meanwhile, the rest of the table was completely normal. Yachi was diligently writing down notes. Yamaguchi and Kuroo were locked in some kind of chaotic debate about whether or not aliens existed. Tsukishima was ignoring all of them.

And then, Kenma took a sip of his drink. Shoyo froze.

Kenma just lifted his cup, took a sip, and set it down. That was it. That was all he did. And yet, for some horrible, incomprehensible reason, Shoyo could not stop staring.

His brain screamed at him. WHY ARE YOU WATCHING HIM DRINK WATER. WATER IS BORING. STOP LOOKING. STOP LOOKING RIGHT NOW.

Shoyo forced himself to look away.

…But then Kenma tilted his head slightly, sipping again, eyes flicking to his phone. And Shoyo looked. Again.

His soul left his body. NO. NO, NO, NO. THIS WAS NOT NORMAL.

Shoyo aggressively wiped his hands down his face, desperate to physically rub away whatever weird thoughts were trying to crawl into his brain. Kenma was just drinking. Like a regular person. Like he did every single day. But then, for the first time ever, a cursed thought entered Shoyo’s mind.

Has Kenma always been this pretty?

Shoyo froze mid-motion. OH NO, NO, NO. ABORT MISSION. DELETE THIS THOUGHT FROM THE HARD DRIVE IMMEDIATELY.

Shoyo grabbed his own drink and chugged it like his life depended on it.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Tsukishima asked, watching him with thinly veiled disgust.

"NOTHING" Shoyo spluttered, still drinking.

Yamaguchi raised an eyebrow. "You… sure?"

Shoyo wanted to throw himself into traffic. No, this was fine. He just needed to pull himself together. He just needed to not look at Kenma. Easy. Simple. Absolutely achievable. And then, Kenma shifted, stretching his fingers, adjusting his grip on his phone, and Shoyo’s stupid eyes betrayed him again.

Kenma had nice hands.

Shoyo immediately slammed his forehead against the table.

"Okay, what the hell is actually wrong with you?" Kuroo asked, fully concerned now.

Shoyo shot up so fast he nearly headbutted Kenma. "NOTHING. I AM THRIVING. I AM THE PICTURE OF PERFECT HEALTH."

Kenma stared at him. Shoyo stared at the wall.

This was hell. Kenma had nice hands. He had nice eyes. He had nice hair. He had nice everything. And suddenly, Shoyo didn’t know what to do with that information.

BADUMP BADUMP BADUMP.

Shoyo felt himself spiraling. By the time everyone started packing up, he was 90% sure he had lost at least five years of his lifespan.

“Alright, let’s head out, Yamaguchi said, stretching.

“Good call” Kuroo agreed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Oi, Chibi-chan, how are you getting home?”

Shoyo, still internally combusting, barely processed the question. “Uh. Walking?”

“Cool” Kuroo said. “Kenma, walk him home.”

Shoyo short-circuited. “WAIT—WHAT?!”

Kenma, unfazed, pocketed his phone. “Yeah, okay.”

“WAIT, WHAT?!”

Kenma was already standing. Shoyo turned to Kuroo, suspicious. Kuroo just smirked, that same shit-eating grin that meant he was up to no good. “Have fun, lovebirds.”

Shoyo violently choked on air. “WE ARE NOT—”

But Kenma was already heading for the door. Shoyo flailed for a second before scrambling after him, because what else was he supposed to do?!

This was fine. He was fine. It was just a normal walk home. No big deal. No earth-shattering realizations or unwanted heart palpitations happening here. Nope. Not at all.

The night air was cool, crisp, and completely incapable of fixing the disaster happening inside Shoyo’s brain.

The walk home was… silent. Which was weird. Because Shoyo was never silent. He was the designated noise generator in any and all situations. If there was an awkward silence, he filled it. If there was a lack of energy, he provided it. He talked about anything and everything—the weather, volleyball, what he ate for lunch, how Kageyama was the absolute worst.

But right now? Right now, his mouth refused to work. Because Kenma was walking beside him. Because Kenma offered to walk him home.

Shoyo’s hands curled into fists, focusing way too hard on the rhythm of their footsteps against the pavement. He needed to say something normal. Something that wouldn’t make him sound like a total freak.

But before he could, Kenma suddenly said, “Didn’t know you were capable of keeping your mouth shut.”

Shoyo snapped his head toward him, offended. “EXCUSE ME?!”

Kenma gave him a slow, amused glance, like he already knew he was about to get a reaction. “I’m just saying. It’s weird when you’re quiet.”

Shoyo scowled. “Well, don’t you like that? You used to tell me I was annoying and stuff.”

Kenma shrugged. Then, without hesitation, he said, “No. I like hearing your voice.”

Shoyo’s entire existence glitched. Something somersaulted in his chest. He didn’t know what it was, but it was dangerous. It was life-threatening. He gawked at Kenma, and for the first time ever, Kenma looked a little red.

Wait. Was he red? Was he BLUSHING?! Why was he blushing?? Was it hot?? But it wasn’t hot. It was night. And Shoyo was cold.

Before he could process any of that, a sudden gust of wind sent a full-body shiver through him. Kenma sighed. Then—and this is where Shoyo officially lost his mind—he pulled his hoodie over his head.

Shoyo, for absolutely no reason, screamed internally. OH MY GOD. IM NOT READY.

Kenma blinked at him. “What are you saying?”

Shoyo braced himself. He didn’t know for what, but he braced. And then, Kenma held out the hoodie. “Here” he said. “Wear this so you won’t catch a cold.”

Shoyo froze. He looked at the hoodie. He looked at Kenma. He looked at the hoodie again. Because Kenma never shared his hoodie. EVER. The hoodie was sacred. It was a part of him. A Kenma-exclusive piece of clothing. Shoyo had never seen it leave his body. But now Kenma was giving it to him.

Shoyo took it like it might self-destruct in his hands. He pulled it over his head in a daze, the fabric warm, the scent of Kenma’s perfume filling his lungs.

And that was it. That was the final blow. His brain fried. His last two brain cells gave up. Kenma smelled good. His hoodie smelled nice. His hoodie was warm. Shoyo stared straight ahead, dead inside, as they kept walking.

BADUMP. BADUMP. BADUMP. This was too much. This was way too much. He needed to be alone. He needed to go home. He needed to—

“Oh, your house is here,” Kenma said, stopping in front of Shoyo’s gate.

Shoyo almost walked past it.

“Oh. Uh. Right.” Shoyo scrambled to take off the hoodie, nearly strangling himself in the process. “Here, you can—”

“Just give it back tomorrow” Kenma said, already turning away. “Night.”

And just like that, he was gone. Shoyo stood there. In Kenma’s hoodie. Alone. With his thoughts.

…Okay. No big deal. This was fine. This was totally normal. People borrowed clothes from friends all the time. This meant nothing. He took a deep breath. He just needed to calm down. Get inside. Go to bed. Stop thinking about Kenma’s stupid nice-smelling, warm hoodie.

And then, in one of the worst decisions of his life, Shoyo grabbed the hoodie’s collar, buried his nose into it, and inhaled it like a lunatic.

The instant wave of regret hit him like a truck. WHY THE HELL DID I JUST DO THAT. WHY THE ACTUAL HELL DID I JUST DO THAT.

Shoyo yeeted himself inside, ran up the stairs like he was being chased by a demon, and flung himself into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. The hoodie? Gone. Launched across the room like it was cursed. Like it had personally ruined his life and not, you know, his own actions.

He collapsed onto his bed, face-down, gripping his blanket like it could physically hold his sanity together.

Okay. Okay. Just… deep breaths. In. Out. He could fix this. He just needed to reevaluate his life choices.

He thought back. Way back. To the beginning. To when he and Kenma were mortal enemies. Because they were enemies. Right? They used to hate each other. He was so sure of it. Except… Except Shoyo’s brain betrayed him. Instead of remembering all the times they bickered, he remembered something else.

How his eyes always looked for Kenma. How, for some reason, he always saw Kenma. During class, during games, during training camps, Kenma was always there. And Shoyo? He always noticed.

And then, somewhere along the way, Kenma became kind. Which was the problem. That’s when it started happening. The unnecessary heart issues.

He sat up, horrified, gripping his hair as the cursed memories hit him like a montage from a coming-of-age romance movie.

Kenma handing him water before he even asked. Kenma’s foot touching his under the futon. Kenma laughing. Kenma laughing because of him.

Shoyo slapped a hand over his mouth. No. Not happening. He was imagining things. He was delusional.

But… was he?

Shoyo grabbed his pillow and screamed into it like a dramatic lead in a bad teen drama. From downstairs, his mother’s voice rang out. “SHOYO, KEEP IT DOWN!"

Shoyo turned and lay there, staring at the ceiling. He was so screwed. His heart wouldn’t stop racing. His stomach was in knots. His entire body was overheating.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t nothing. 

And then, in a tiny, horrified whisper, the truth finally escaped his lips. “Oh god,” he whispered. “I think I like Kenma."

Holy shit.

Shoyo had not known peace since last night.

He had spent the entire night screaming into his pillow because, apparently, his entire existence was a joke now. His brain refused to function normally. Every single time he closed his eyes, all he could think about was Kenma’s hoodie, Kenma’s voice, Kenma’s stupid soft chuckle. Kenma.

It was hell. It was purgatory. It was some kind of karmic punishment for every single annoying thing he had ever done in his life.

He barely got any sleep. He woke up, got ready for school, and spent an embarrassing amount of time debating whether or not to wear Kenma’s hoodie before ultimately stuffing it into his bag like it was contraband. He tried to act normal during morning classes, but that was nearly impossible when Kenma, the subject of his suffering, was sitting next to him.

Thankfully, by some miracle, Kenma left right after class. Kageyama and the others had also wandered off during the break, leaving Shoyo alone in the classroom, exhausted and slumped over his desk.

“You’re actin’ weird” a voice said lazily.

Shoyo jolted upright. He turned to see Atsumu sliding into the seat beside him with a knowing smirk. Too knowing.

“I—WHAT? NO, I’M NOT.”

Atsumu’s smirk grew. “You’re all fidgety ‘n stuff. Like ya got a crush or somethin’.”

Shoyo stopped breathing. Atsumu blinked. Then, like a predator who had just sniffed out its prey, his entire face lit up. “Oh. Ohhhhh. SHOYO-KUN. WAIT. DO YOU—?!”

Shoyo immediately clamped a hand over his mouth and whispered aggressively “SHUT UP. SHUT UP RIGHT NOW.”

“Oh my GOD.” Atsumu slammed his hands on Shoyo’s desk, vibrating with excitement. “YOU DO, DON’T YOU?!”

Shoyo scrambled for an escape plan but there was none. Atsumu was staring at him like he was the greatest discovery of the century and there was no way out. “I— I DON’T— I MEAN—” Shoyo wheezed. 

Atsumu leaned in, eyes practically sparkling. “C’mon, say it.”

Shoyo clenched his fists, squeezing his eyes shut like he was about to step off a cliff. Then, he whispered. “I like him” he hissed. “I like Kenma, okay?! Are you happy now?!”

Atsumu gasped dramatically, and, to make things worse, he laughed. “So what’re you gonna do?” Atsumu asked, absolutely delighted. “Confess?”

“NO. WHAT. WHY. I CAN’T DO THAT.”

“Why not?”

“BECAUSE HE’LL KNOW.”

Atsumu blinked. “...Yes. That is typically how confessions work.”

Shoyo groaned, slumping over his desk again. “I can’t just tell him. That’s insane. What if he thinks I’m weird?”

Atsumu tapped his chin, pretending to think, but Shoyo knew he was just enjoying his suffering. Then, suddenly, his grin turned evil. “Wanna make him jealous?”

Shoyo lifted his head, squinting. “Huh?”

“Just say the word, Shoyo-kun. I’ll flirt with ya right in front of him.”

Before Shoyo could process that, there was a loud scrape as Osamu dragged his chair between them, like a referee stepping in before a crime was committed. “Don’t listen to him” Osamu muttered. “He just wanna act like your boyfriend because you rejected him.”

Atsumu gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “YOU LITTLE TRAITOR.”

Osamu ignored him completely, turning to Shoyo. “So ya like Kenma, huh?” He hummed. “Guess that jealousy thing does make sense.”

Shoyo turned red. “WHY WOULD YOU SAY IT LIKE THAT?!”

Osamu casually unwrapped a sandwich. “I mean, I’m not wrong.” He took a bite, completely unbothered. “Besides, it’s not a bad plan. We’re goin’ back to Canada in a month anyway. Might as well help you get your man.”

Shoyo gawked at him. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HELP ME?! It’s not like Kenma even likes me!”

Osamu and Atsumu shared a look. Then, Atsumu sighed. “Y’know what,” he said, clapping Shoyo’s back. “I still like ya, even if you’re stupid.”

Before Shoyo could even begin to process that insult, Atsumu suddenly straightened. “Oh, look. Here he comes.”

“HA? WAIT—“

Atsumu didn’t wait. He just moved, throwing an arm around Shoyo’s shoulders. “It’s showtime, Shoyo-kun.”

Shoyo barely had time to panic before Kenma walked into the room, and Atsumu started his evil plan.

“Shoyo-kun” Atsumu sighed dramatically, draping himself over Shoyo’s desk. “D’ya know how lucky I am to have you?”

Shoyo choked. “WHA—?!”

Kenma stopped mid-step. His gaze flicked toward them, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Atsumu, the absolute menace, took this as encouragement and leaned in further, resting his chin on Shoyo’s shoulder. “You’re just so cute” he purred. “I dunno what I’d do without you.”

Shoyo was going to combust. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

Kenma blinked. Then, with no expression whatsoever, walked to his desk and sat on his chair with the force of a man barely holding onto his patience.

Atsumu grinned. “Hey, Kozume.”

Kenma pulled out his phone. “Die.”

Atsumu cackled, clearly thriving, while Shoyo sat there, trembling in the aftermath of whatever the hell had just happened.

And that was only the beginning. The next few days were hell on earth.

Atsumu suddenly had an obsession with being physically way too close. An arm slung around Shoyo’s shoulders? Constant. Whispering directly into his ear? Happening way too often. Feeding him snacks? Became a daily event. Kenma, at first, didn’t react. He kept his usual deadpan expression, barely sparing them a glance. But then—

“Say ‘ahh,’ Shoyo-kun,” Atsumu cooed, holding out a bite of his sandwich.

Shoyo recoiled like he’d been offered poison. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

“C’mon, open up—”

Kenma’s chopsticks snapped in half. Shoyo froze. Atsumu paused. Both of them turned to look at Kenma, who calmly picked up another pair like nothing had happened.

Shoyo stared. Did… did Kenma just break his chopsticks?!

Atsumu, delighted, leaned in again. “Aw, c’mon, don’t be shy—”

Kenma stood up. “Shoyo.”

Shoyo flinched. “YES?!”

Kenma grabbed Shoyo’s drink. Took a sip. And then, while holding eye contact with Atsumu, placed it back in front of Shoyo.

Atsumu’s grin twitched. “Oi, Kozume—”

Kenma reached for his own unopened drink, and, without a word, shoved it toward Shoyo. “You can have mine.”

“WHY ARE WE EXCHANGING DRINKS NOW?!”

Kenma didn’t answer. Atsumu leaned in closer. “You’re actin’ real possessive, Kozume.”

Kenma tilted his head. “And you’re acting real desperate.”

Atsumu cackled. Shoyo died. Just when he thought it couldn’t get worse—it did.

It was break time, and as usual, the classroom was a mess of noise and movement. Someone was playing music on a speaker. A group in the corner was arguing over a card game. And then there was Shoyo, who had made the unfortunate decision of standing near the window, goofing off with Kageyama.

One moment, he was laughing, mid-bicker with Kageyama over something dumb. The next, Yaku smacked Lev upside the head, and Lev flailed so violently that he knocked over an entire bottle of water.

The worst part? It hit Shoyo like a direct attack. Ice-cold water splashed across his chest, soaking through his uniform shirt in seconds.

A collective gasp filled the room.

Shoyo stood there, drenched, his white shirt sticking to him. The fabric clung to his skin, making everything visible—the outline of his torso, his collarbones, the tiny scar from a bike accident when he was six.

“OH, MY SWEET SHIRTLESS ANGEL” Atsumu gasped.

Before Shoyo could even process that sentence, Atsumu’s shirt was OFF. Just fully off. Like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. Shoyo turned so red he was seconds from spontaneous combustion.

“WHAT THE HELL, PUT YOUR SHIRT BACK ON!!” he screeched.

Atsumu, completely unfazed, grinned as he draped his shirt over Shoyo’s shoulders. “Aw, c’mon, it’s my duty as you’re loving, doting, incredibly attractive friend to keep you covered—“

Kenma was suddenly there. Shoyo did not know where he came from. He did not know how long he had been watching. All he knew was that Kenma was now staring. At Atsumu’s shirt on Shoyo.

Then, in the flattest, calmest voice imaginable, he said, "Take that off.”

“WHAT—?!”

Kenma didn’t repeat himself. Instead, he grabbed Atsumu’s shirt, yanked it off, and tossed it away like it was actual trash.

Atsumu’s grin widened. “Ohhh?”

And then, without hesitation, he pulled off his own shirt and shoved it onto Shoyo instead. Shoyo lost all brain function. Kenma was shirtless. Atsumu was shirtless. Shoyo was in crisis.

Kuroo, witnessing the entire thing, wheezed. “I DIDN’T KNOW WE WERE DOING A STRIP SHOW TODAY.”

Lev gasped, eyes sparkling. “ARE WE PLAYING SHIRTS VERSUS SKINS?!”

Yaku, looking disgusted, smacked him. Meanwhile, Shoyo was clutching Kenma’s shirt, shaking.

BADUMP. BADUMP. BADUMP. Fucking heartbeat doing this at the worst possible time.

Kenma, as if nothing had happened, simply adjusted the shirt on Shoyo like this was a completely normal, rational human interaction. Atsumu whistled, looking Kenma up and down. “Damn, Kozume. Didn’t take you for the aggressive type.”

Kenma, completely unfazed, met Atsumu’s gaze and said, “You talk too much.”

Shoyo, overheating both physically and mentally, wanted to jump out the window.

The final straw happened in the gym. Somehow, some way, the entire group had ended up there during a free period, most of them just messing around. Kuroo was attempting to dunk on Lev. Yaku was scolding them for existing. Osamu and Suna were casually loitering, while Atsumu and Shoyo sat on the gym benches, watching the chaos unfold.

Atsumu stretched his arms behind his head and smirked. “Y’know, Shoyo-kun” he said, voice dripping with mischief. “I think you need a hug.”

Shoyo sputtered. “HUH?! NO, I DON’T!”

“Sure you do.” And before Shoyo could run for his life, Atsumu grabbed him and yanked him into his lap.

Shoyo died instantly. “A-A-AH—WHAT THE HELL—”

“Comfy?”

Kenma, who had been minding his own business up until this exact moment, stood up so fast his phone nearly fell out of his hands.

Osamu whistled. “Oh, now ya done it.”

Kenma walked straight over, eyes locked onto Atsumu like he was ready for violence.

Atsumu grinned up at him, arms still wrapped around Shoyo. “Something wrong, Kozume?”

Kenma said nothing. Instead, he grabbed Shoyo’s wrist and yanked him out of Atsumu’s lap. Shoyo squawked.

“Oh-ho-ho” Kuroo cackled from across the gym. “Now we’re talking.”

Kenma, voice calm but dangerously low, said, “Stop touching him.”

Atsumu smirked. “Why? You jealous?”

“Yes.”

The entire gym erupted. Kuroo howled. Suna and Osamu high-fived. Lev screamed, “SPICY!!”

Meanwhile, Shoyo was simply trying to comprehend his entire existence. Kenma was jealous?! Kenma cared?!

Kenma turned to Shoyo, expression unreadable, and said, “Let’s go.”

Shoyo, who still had no working brain cells, just let himself be dragged away as the entire gym erupted into chaos behind them. 

He didn’t even know where they were going. One second, Kenma was claiming him like a feral little goblin, and the next, Shoyo was stumbling after him, dazed, desperately trying not to trip over his own feet as Kenma power-walked them straight out of the gym. Eventually, Kenma stopped near an empty outdoor hallway, away from the noise.

Shoyo, still trying to process his entire existence, blinked rapidly. “Uh. Hi?”

Kenma didn’t answer immediately. His phone was clutched tight in his grip, fingers curled around it like he was trying very hard not to strangle something.

Then, in a quiet and calm voice, he said, “I don’t want you with Atsumu.”

Shoyo’s brain screeched to a halt. He tilted his head, frowning. “I—what?”

Kenma’s golden eyes flickered, full of something Shoyo couldn’t quite place. “I don’t want you with him.”

Shoyo blinked, still lost. “Uh. Okay? But… I’m not with him?”

Kenma exhaled sharply, gaze dead serious. “He’s always touching you.”

Shoyo flailed his arms. “I CAN’T CONTROL HIS LIMBS—”

“He’s always flirting with you.”

“I’M NOT FLIRTING BACK—”“

You sat in his lap.”

“THAT WAS A KIDNAPPING.” Shoyo yelped, fully red in the face. “I DIDN’T SIT, HE GRABBED ME, I HAD NO CHOICE—”

Kenma exhaled through his nose, clearly not buying it. And then, before Shoyo could say anything else, Kenma reached out and tilted Shoyo’s chin up, forcing their eyes to meet.

Shoyo stopped breathing. His entire body locked up, pulse hammering so loud he was sure Kenma could hear it.

“I don’t want you with him,” Kenma repeated.

Shoyo, staring at him with zero brain function, had absolutely no idea what was happening. “I—” His voice cracked. “Okay?”

Kenma blinked, exhaled through his nose, then dropped his hand.

A pause. Then, without meeting Shoyo’s gaze, he shoved his hands into his pockets and muttered, “…I want you with me instead.”

Shoyo.exe has officially crashed. A full seven seconds passed before he managed to get out, “What.”

Kenma frowned. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Shoyo stared at him. Stared at him. Because what the hell was happening?? What did Kenma mean? Why was he saying that like it was the most normal thing in the world??

Shoyo opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. “What?”

Kenma’s lips parted slightly, as if only now realizing Shoyo wasn’t following. He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Shoyo.”

Shoyo jolted. “Yeah?”

Kenma lowered his hand, meeting his gaze again. And this time, his voice was softer. More certain. “I like you.”

Shoyo forgot how to breathe. Kenma… liked him?

Kenma liked him. Kenma liked him. His brain completely short-circuited, flashing through every single moment he had misinterpreted. The chocolates. The hoodie. The stupid “I’m sorry” note. THE NIGHT KENMA TOOK HIM HOME.

Shoyo gasped, pointing at him. “Oh my god.”

“…What.”

Shoyo, physically trembling, yelled, “THE CHOCOLATES WERE A CONFESSION?!”

Kenma groaned. “Yes.”

“AND I THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST TRYING TO BE FRIENDS?!”

Kenma pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Shoyo. I confessed my feelings by putting chocolates in your locker and writing you a cryptic apology note. That was definitely my best plan ever.”

Shoyo stared at him in horror. “Oh my god, I’m stupid.”

“Yeah.”

Shoyo clutched his head. “WAIT. AND THAT NIGHT—WHEN YOU TOOK ME HOME—THAT WAS ALSO BECAUSE YOU LIKE ME?!”

Kenma scowled. “Why else would I take care of your drunk ass?”

Everything made sense now. Every single moment Kenma had acted weirdly nice, secretly jealous, painfully soft— it all clicked in Shoyo’s brain like a goddamn anime montage.

“…I thought you hated me,” Shoyo whispered, unable to stop himself.

Kenma blinked, surprised. Then, slowly, a small chuckle escaped his lips. He shook his head, eyes glinting with something softer. “I never hated you.”

Shoyo froze.

Kenma exhaled, gaze drifting downward, like he was sorting through his thoughts. “I didn’t know how to deal with you” he admitted. “You were loud. And persistent. And you never let me push you away. I told myself you were annoying, but the truth is… I always liked you. I just didn’t understand it.”

Shoyo couldn’t move. Couldn’t even blink. Kenma looked back up at him, “And then Atsumu came along.”

“Huh?”

Kenma’s lips pressed together. “He liked you. Openly. Obviously. And for the first time, I had to admit to myself…”

Shoyo felt lightheaded. “…what?”

Kenma didn’t answer immediately. His lips still pressed together, like he was debating what to say. Then, in the softest voice, he said, “....that I don’t want anyone else looking at you the way I do.”

Shoyo’s heart physically left his body. He grabbed Kenma’s collar, yanking him close. Kenma’s breath hitched. “Shoyo—”

Shoyo glared at him, eyes burning with emotion and an insane amount of delayed understanding. “You SUCK at confessing,” he declared.

Kenma scoffed, half-amused, half-exasperated. “I had to deal with your oblivious ass. You are literally the last person allowed to judge me.”

“I—HEY! That’s not fair! You didn’t even confess properly! You just said, ‘I like you’ like it was a weather report!”

“Would you have preferred a PowerPoint presentation?”

Shoyo threw his hands up. “YES, ACTUALLY! At least then I would’ve understood sooner instead of having a full-body crisis!”

Kenma sighed for the nth time in the past 5 minutes. “You want me to go back and list all the reasons I like you? In chronological order?”

Shoyo narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Do it. Right now.”

Kenma stared at him for a long moment. Then, as if coming to a decision, he muttered, “Forget it. I’m just gonna shut you up.”

“Huh?”

Kenma’s gaze flicked down, then back up. And then, casually, like he wasn’t about to kill Shoyo on the spot, he murmured, “Can I kiss you?”

Shoyo turned into a malfunctioning robot. “Wait—hold on—aren’t we supposed to—I mean—” His voice cracked. “AREN’T WE SUPPOSED TO DATE FIRST?!”

Kenma, unfazed, muttered. “No. I'd rather kiss you now before Atsumu tries to steal first place.”

“WHAT THE HELL, WHY WOULD YOU—“

“Yes or no, Shoyo.”

“Yes.”

The moment the word left his lips, Kenma closed the distance.

It was soft at first. Careful, like Kenma was testing the waters, like he was giving Shoyo the chance to pull away. But Shoyo didn’t pull away. His heart was pounding, but instead of panicking, he leaned in.

And that was all Kenma needed. His hands, which had been hesitating at Shoyo’s collar, slid up to cup his face, tilting him closer. Shoyo felt like he was floating.

When they finally pulled apart, Shoyo was breathless. His face was burning, his heart slamming against his ribs, and Kenma was looking at him like he was the only thing that existed. Shoyo, dazed and still struggling to process reality, whispered, “Holy shit. You actually like me? This isn’t a joke, right?”

Kenma, unimpressed, raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like the kind of person who’d kiss you as a joke?” He huffed. “Only Atsumu has the capability to do that.”

Shoyo let out a strangled laugh, his brain still buffering. But then, another thought slammed into him, and he squinted suspiciously. “Wait. So did you only confess because you got jealous of Atsumu?”

Kenma’s fingers twitched slightly at Shoyo’s collar. He didn’t answer immediately, just held his gaze for a long, unreadable second. Then, quietly, he admitted, “I’ve always been jealous of him.” Kenma looked away, exhaling like he was releasing something heavy from his chest. “But I realized... you weren’t gonna get it unless I said it to your face.”

Something inside Shoyo clicked. Something warm, something inevitable. So this time, he was the one who closed the distance. Kenma inhaled sharply, just for a second, before sighing against him and melting right back into the kiss.

This kiss was different. No hesitation, no confusion. Just warmth, certainty, Kenma’s hands threading into Shoyo’s hair, and the quiet, overwhelming feeling of finally getting it right.

And just like that—Shoyo wasn’t oblivious anymore.

Chapter Text

It had been twenty-four hours since Kenma Kozume—his seatmate, his past arch-nemesis, the bane of his academic existence—became his boyfriend.

And Shoyo still didn’t know what to do with it.

Why hadn’t it come with instructions?! Like a handbook or a tutorial level or at least a pop-up notification that said: Congratulations! You have unlocked Boyfriend Mode! Here are your daily quests and side missions!

But no, there was nothing. Just pure, unfiltered, terrifying real life, and Shoyo had to somehow navigate it without an ounce of preparation. He had no idea what he was doing. Was he supposed to hold Kenma’s hand? Send him good morning texts? Offer him half of his bento like some devoted housewife?! What were the rules?!

Not helping his crisis was the fact that Kenma was an absolute menace who gave no clarifications whatsoever.

Because after dragging Shoyo out of the hallway yesterday (which, by the way, totally ruined his reputation as a free man because everyone saw, and everyone knew, and he would never know peace again), Kenma proceeded to skip class entirely. And since Shoyo had the self-restraint of a moth drawn to an open flame, he obviously followed.

And that was when he learned something horrifying: Kenma was addicted to kissing his lips. Like, actually addicted.

Shoyo barely had time to process his new life update before Kenma had pushed him against the library shelves and kissed him again. And then again. And then again. And when Shoyo had tried to ask why the hell Kenma was making out with him instead of studying kanji, Kenma had just huffed against his mouth and said: “I should’ve done this a long time ago just to make you shut up.”

Shoyo still did not know if that had been a love confession or an insult, but at this point, he did not care.

Because Kenma Kozume, who once called Shoyo the loudest mistake of his life, was now making him shut up by kissing him. What a time to be alive.

And yet, amidst all the kissing, the skipping class, and Kenma casually ruining his entire worldview, Shoyo still had to ask:

“So… what are we now?”

Kenma had only blinked at him. “What do you think?”

Which. Excuse him?! Shoyo didn’t think, okay?! That was the problem! If he had brain cells that actually functioned around Kenma, he wouldn’t be in this crisis!

So, naturally, Shoyo panicked. “Are you still gonna keep being mean to me?”

Kenma had tilted his head slightly, considering. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Wait, really?”

Kenma had shrugged.  “Yeah. But you can keep being mean. I like it.”

Shoyo froze. “You—You what?”

Kenma had given the smallest smirk, eyes glinting with something smug. “I like it when you’re mean to me.”

Shoyo stared at him, scandalized. “KENMA, WHAT THE HELL—”

That had been yesterday. And today, Shoyo was bracing himself. Because today was his first official day of being Kenma’s boyfriend. 

Honestly? That was more concerning than anything else in his life right now. Not the fact that he had failed last week’s math quiz. Not the fact that he still didn’t know how to properly do his laundry. Not even the fact that he still panicked whenever Kenma looked too pretty for his own good.

No, the real problem was going to school and dealing with their classmates. And Shoyo was not ready. So, naturally, he delayed his own doom by checking his bag at the entrance of the classroom, going through his things like a guy on a mission. But then—

Wait. Where the hell was his kanji notebook?

Shoyo froze, going through his bag again. He pulled out books, flipped through pages, desperately searching like his life depended on it. Where was it?! Where did it go?! He distinctly remembered having it yesterday! He had been writing in it!

His brain suddenly screeched to a halt. Kenma. Kenma had been near his desk. Kenma had probably stolen it, because Kenma was a gremlin who hoarded things just to make Shoyo’s life miserable.

With no hesitation, he shoved the classroom door open, stomped inside, and marched straight to Kenma’s desk. “WHERE IS MY KANJI NOTEBOOK?!”

The entire classroom fell silent. Several heads turned. Kenma, who had been peacefully playing on his phone, slowly looked up. Expression blank. “…What?”

Shoyo slammed his hands down on Kenma’s desk. “My notebook, Kozume. It’s gone.”

Kenma blinked, clearly not in the mood for this. “Okay?”

“You took it.”

“Why the hell would I steal your kanji notebook?”

“I don’t know!” Shoyo flailed his arms. “Maybe you wanted to read my deep, intellectual thoughts!”

Kenma stared at him. “You mean the doodles of volleyballs with legs?”

Shoyo gasped. “You DID read it!”

Kenma, looking ten seconds away from leaving the planet, sighed deeply. “No, dumbass. You left it under your chair yesterday.”

Shoyo blinked. Turned his head. And there, on the floor, right under his chair, was his kanji notebook. “Oh” Shoyo coughed. “Well. I take back my accusations.”

Before he could escape with whatever remained of his dignity, a hand landed on his shoulder. “Oi, oi, what’s happening here?" Kuroo drawled, “Didn’t you two run away together yesterday?”

"Yeah!" Atsumu exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air like he had been personally scammed. "Why the hell did I even go through all that effort makin’ him jealous if you two are still actin’ like a divorced couple fightin’ over custody?! Aren’t you officially dating?!"

Shoyo just shrugged. “We are.”

Silence.

Lev, eyes wide with genuine distress, leaned forward. "Then… why are you fighting?"

Shoyo, still unfazed, shrugged again. "I thought he stole my notebook."

Kuroo slowly dragged a hand down his face. “Oh my god, I forgot you two are complete idiots.”

"Fine, fine, whatever" Atsumu waved him off, already over it. "But if you two still aren’t, like, really together yet, can I steal Shoyo away then?"

The moment those words left his mouth, Kenma—without blinking, without thinking—grabbed Shoyo’s wrist and yanked him straight into his lap. Shoyo, a victim of this crime, let out the world’s most undignified squawk. “KENMA—WHAT—"

Kenma, completely unbothered, rested his chin on Shoyo’s shoulder, arms locking around his waist like he was some kind of oversized cat. Then, in the calmest, most casual voice ever, he looked straight at Atsumu and said, “No.”

Osamu let out a low whistle. "Damn, Tsumu. That second lead syndrome is hittin’ you real hard, huh?"

Atsumu, whose entire soul had left his body, stared at them in horror. “OH GOD, THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE?!"

Meanwhile, Suna, who had been filming this entire disaster, hummed thoughtfully. "This is getting posted in 4K."

Atsumu let out a tragic, guttural groan and faceplanted onto his desk. "I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. I DID ALL THE WORK, AND NOW I’M JUST A SIDE CHARACTER."

Aran sighed, looking at him with all the patience of a man who had seen this before. "You’ve always been a side character."

Suna, still recording, smirked. "Might have to edit some sad violin music over this."

And Shoyo, trapped in his boyfriend’s lap, entirely overwhelmed by the absolute circus his life had become, could only stare into the abyss as the entire class lost its goddamn mind.

The chaos didn’t fully die down until lunch. At that point, Shoyo had somehow survived the onslaught of teasing, threats of 4K recordings, and Lev asking, genuinely asking, if this meant he and Kenma were going to start “feeding each other in public like those cringe couples online.”

(Shoyo had yelled. Kenma, in the most alarming turn of events, had not denied it.)

By the time they reached the cafeteria, things had only slightly calmed down. Well, in the sense that people weren’t actively screaming anymore. Instead, they were just… watching.

Because for the first time since the semester started, Kenma was sitting with Shoyo. Not at his usual far-off, isolated corner where he could quietly judge everyone from a distance, no. He was at Shoyo’s table, with Shoyo’s friends, looking about as thrilled as a cat forced into a holiday sweater.

Kuroo smirked, propping his chin on his hand. “Wow, Kenma. Didn’t know you’d make the migration.”

Kenma ignored him, idly stirring his drink. Shoyo, still not used to this, stared at him in open shock. “You’re really sitting here.”

Kenma glanced up. “Yeah.”

“Like… willingly.”

“Yeah.”

Shoyo leaned closer, voice dropping into a whisper. “Are you dying?”

Kenma very deliberately placed his cup down. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” Shoyo panicked, grabbing his sleeve. “You—you can stay! Stay forever! Please!”

Kenma sighed, muttering something about Shoyo being exhausting, but he didn’t move. Shoyo took this as a win. The moment was short-lived, though, because Atsumu suddenly leaned forward, grinning way too wide. “Hey, can I borrow your Shoyo for a sec?”

Kenma turned to look at him. “No.”

“C’mon, Kozume. I ain’t stealin’ him. I just need him for a sec.”

Kenma stared at him. Atsumu stared back. The tension lasted exactly five seconds before Shoyo sighed and tugged on Kenma’s sleeve. “Hey, it’s fine. I’ll be back.”

Kenma did not look pleased, but he let go. “Five minutes.”

And that was how Shoyo found himself dragged away like a kidnapped victim, following Atsumu all the way to the rooftop. 

The wind was cooler up here, the sky, the sounds of campus muffled beneath the hum of the breeze. It was funny, this had always been their spot. For all the time Atsumu spent trying to “woo” him, they never did anything flashy. Just this. Rooftop conversations. Stupid, pointless debates about nothing.

Atsumu leaned against the railing. “Two more weeks, huh. Man, I’m gonna miss this.”

Shoyo tilted his head. “The school?”

“Eh.” Atsumu shrugged. “More like just… Japan, y’know? Volleyball here is nice. The people. You.” He nudged Shoyo with his elbow. “Even the gremlin that stole you from me.”

Shoyo snorted. “Kenma didn’t steal me.”

“Didn’t he, though?”

Shoyo opened his mouth to argue, then paused. Well. Technically, Kenma had claimed him in front of everyone, and technically, he was now Kenma’s, uh. Boyfriend. Or whatever. “…Okay, fine. Maybe a little,” he admitted.

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t awkward. Just… something. Something quiet. Then, in a rare moment of sincerity, Atsumu glanced at him, his usual smirk softening just a little. “Y’know, I’m happy for ya.”

Shoyo blinked. “Huh?”

“With Kenma” Atsumu clarified. “I mean, he’s a pain in the ass, but you like him, yeah?”

Shoyo flushed slightly, looking away. “Yeah.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Shoyo stared at him for a second before exhaling, nudging him lightly. “You’re a good guy, Atsumu.”

“I know.”

Shoyo snorted. “No, but really.” He hesitated, then, softer, “Thanks for being there for me.”

Atsumu was quiet for a second. Then, without looking at him, he reached into his pocket and tossed something at Shoyo. Shoyo fumbled, catching it. He looked down.

It was a keychain. A hideous, obnoxiously glittery one that said #1 ATSUMU FAN in bold letters. Shoyo stared at it, horrified. “Oh my god, what is this.”

“A parting gift” Atsumu grinned. “To remember me by.”

“This is terrible.”

“You love it.”

“I do not.”

Atsumu patted his head. “Uh-huh. Just don’t let Kenma see it, or he might throw it out.”

Shoyo was about to argue when suddenly—

“Too late” a voice said. They both jolted, turning to find Kenma leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching them like he’d been there the whole time.

Kenma, without hesitation, grabbed Shoyo’s wrist, intertwining their fingers as he turned to Atsumu. “Your five minutes are up.”

Atsumu whistled. “Damn, Shoyo-kun. You got yourself a guard dog.”

“I bite.”

“Guess I’ll just have to find a new favorite short guy.”

Shoyo gasped. “HEY—”

Atsumu just laughed, giving them a lazy wave before heading back toward the door. Kenma just watched him go, then tugged on Shoyo’s wrist. “Come on.”

Shoyo huffed but followed, shoving the stupid, ridiculous, weirdly sentimental keychain into his pocket. He didn’t know why, but somehow, it felt important to keep.

The last two weeks of the semester were nothing short of absolute chaos.

Between last-minute projects, volleyball practices, and Atsumu’s unrelenting need to cause problems on purpose, it was a miracle anyone was still alive.

Osamu had officially declared himself “so done” with Atsumu at least twelve times a day, Suna had decided his life’s mission was to record every single one of Kenma and Atsumu’s petty arguments, and Kageyama, who had not been part of any of this, had simply announced one day, “You’re all distracting” before proceeding to sit with them anyway.

Tsukishima, unimpressed, had muttered, “Then sit somewhere else.”

Kageyama had stared at him for exactly ten seconds before sitting back down.

Atsumu had fully embraced his villain arc, which apparently meant tormenting Kenma as much as humanly possible. Not in any actual way no, his greatest weapon was passive-aggression. Every day, without fail, he’d sigh dramatically and say things like: “Man, I can’t believe Shoyo ended up with you.”

And every day, without fail, Kenma would barely look up and hit back with: “Yeah. Tragic. And yet, he’s still here.”

Suna had called it the most embarrassing one-sided rivalry of all time. Aran had sighed and called it a headache. And Shoyo? Shoyo had just learned to ignore them both. That didn’t mean the chaos stopped, though. If anything, it only escalated.

Kenma had started stealing food off Shoyo’s plate, so Atsumu, because he refuses to lose, immediately tried to do the same. This, of course, ended in a chopsticks war.

Lev, for some reason, had tried to join in and somehow ended up launching an entire rice ball across the cafeteria. It had barely missed Yachi, who had promptly curled into herself, clutching her tray like a shield, eyes wide with fear. “Please.” she had whispered. “Please let me leave.”

Shoyo had started to genuinely pity her.

Meanwhile, Yaku had not been as merciful.

Lev, unsuspecting and innocent, had turned to apologize, only to be smacked upside the head. “USE YOUR BRAIN” Yaku had snapped.

“I SAID I’M SORRY—”

“USE IT FASTER.”

And then there was Osamu and Yamaguchi.

For reasons unknown, they had somehow formed an alliance, and no one knew how or why it had happened, only that it was a problem. “I’ll give you five bucks if ya trip Atsumu on the way out” Osamu had muttered once.

To which, Yamaguchi had responded, “I’ll do it for free.”

Shoyo had watched this exchange in mute horror.

And Aran? Aran was trying to keep the group from descending into complete anarchy. But, unfortunately, he had spent too much time around the Miya twins and had absorbed just enough sarcasm to be considered a threat. “Do we have to start a war in the cafeteria?” he had sighed, arms crossed as he gave them a disappointed dad look.

Osamu had shrugged. “War’s already started, man.”

Atsumu, pointing his chopsticks at Kenma, had declared, “This ain’t a war. This is just me lettin’ you know I could’ve been the better boyfriend.”

But the worst part? Kenma and Atsumu had actually started getting along. Not that either of them would admit it. And, much to Shoyo’s absolute dismay, people had started placing bets on it.

“Give ‘em a week before they become best friends” Kuroo had smirked.

“Two weeks, tops” Aran had agreed.

Shoyo had just buried his face in his hands. The past few months had been chaotic enough. And now, with only two weeks left before the semester ended, it was only getting worse.

And, as much as he hated to admit it… this absolute circus had become his circus. And he was going to miss it.

But he wasn’t going to cry. Absolutely not. 

Crying at a dramatic airport farewell was such a main character thing to do, and that wasn’t happening. He was going to be fine. He was going to say goodbye with a perfectly reasonable amount of emotion and send them off like a dignified, mature adult. And yet—

Shoyo was the first one to cry. It was embarrassing.

The moment they all stepped into the airport, the weight of reality crashed down on him like a freight train. And suddenly, it wasn’t just some chaotic semester full of screaming, arguing, and volleyball. Suddenly, it was real. Suddenly, Atsumu, Osamu, Aran, and Suna were leaving. And Shoyo was losing it.

Tears welled up before he could even fight them back, and within seconds, he was wiping aggressively at his face, sniffling like an idiot. His chest felt tight because no amount of mental preparation had ever prepared him for this.

Beside him, Yachi was also on the verge of tears, eyes darting wildly between the boys. Meanwhile, Kageyama looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He kept shuffling awkwardly, watching Shoyo cry with the same level of stress one would have when trying to defuse a bomb.

Yamaguchi sighed and patted his back. “You can just say something nice, you know.”

Kageyama stiffened. Then, in the most robotic voice possible, he said, “This was… fun.”

Tsukishima scoffed, crossing his arms. “God, that was painful.”

“I MEANT IT.”

Atsumu, because he was the worst, grinned. “Aw, Shoyo-kun” he cooed, opening his arms dramatically. “It’s okay, you can hug me.”

Before Shoyo could even consider it, a hand grabbed his wrist and yanked him back. “No.” Kenma said flatly.

Shoyo let out a choked laugh, still half-crying. Atsumu, deeply offended, put a hand over his heart. “Okay, rude. Can I hug you then?”

“Still no.”

Atsumu threw his hands in the air. “Unbelievable.”

Shoyo laughed harder, rubbing aggressively at his eyes. “God, I hate you all.”

But the moment was slipping through his fingers now, just like time, just like everything else. There was no stopping it. The flight announcement echoed overhead, the steady hum of the airport droned on, and one by one, the final goodbyes were happening.

Osamu, for once, didn’t tease. Instead, he reached out, ruffling Shoyo’s hair with something borderline fond in his expression. “Try not to let this one starve, yeah?” he said, nodding at Kenma.

Kenma—who, in past months, would have barely reacted—simply met Osamu’s gaze and shrugged. “He eats off my plate anyway,” 

Osamu snorted. “Yeah, figures.”

Aran smiled at them both, then looked at the others. “Don’t go ghosting us, alright? Keep in touch.”

“Yeah” Suna added, smirking. “I have a lot of footage to post.”

Atsumu exhaled loudly, looking at Shoyo and then at Kenma. “Hurt him,” Atsumu said simply, “and I’ll steal him away from you.”

Kenma didn’t hesitate. “Fuck you.”

“I mean, yeah sure. I’m open for some threesome—”

A hand clamped down on his shoulder immediately. “Okay” Osamu said, dragging him away. “That’s enough. Let’s go home.”

Shoyo laughed through his sniffles, shaking his head as Atsumu was forcibly removed from the conversation. He wanted to say something, something meaningful, something to sum up the entire mess of emotions tangling up inside him.

But he didn’t know how. Luckily, he didn’t have to. Because just before stepping away, Atsumu looked back, eyes glinting with something sincere, and said, “Ya were fun, Shoyo.”

Shoyo swallowed, throat tight. “You too.”

Suna, already halfway toward the gate, waved his phone in the air. “I’ll upload the videos. You’ll be famous by next week.”

“I SWEAR TO GOD—”

The laughter echoed, the teasing lingered, but the moment still came.

One last wave. One last joke. One last ridiculous comment from Atsumu that got cut off as he walked out of sight.

And then, they were gone. The airport suddenly felt too big. Too open. Too quiet. The air felt heavier, the distant chatter of travelers a stark contrast to the absence left behind.

Shoyo exhaled, eyes burning, and turned to look at his friends. Yamaguchi sniffed and quickly wiped at his face. "God, that was emotional."

Tsukishima, standing beside them, simply scoffed. "Whatever. They were loud, anyway." But even as he said it, he didn't leave yet.

Kenma, standing beside Shoyo, tilted his head slightly. “You okay?”

Shoyo thought about it. About the past few months. About the yelling, the laughter, the chaos, the games, the people. Then he smiled, eyes still watery. “Yeah” he said. “I think I am.”

And as they walked out of the airport, hand in hand, Shoyo knew, somehow, that he’d be okay.

Kenma and Shoyo ended up at a random park after that, sitting side by side like they hadn’t just sent half their friends back across the ocean in an embarrassingly emotional farewell.

Kenma still held his hand.

Shoyo wasn’t used to it yet. Not that he didn’t like it. It was just… weird. A few months ago, Kenma had acted like Shoyo’s mere existence was a personal inconvenience. A few months ago, Shoyo had spent an embarrassing amount of time spiraling over why Kenma ignoring him made him irrationally annoyed, why he kept thinking about someone who clearly didn’t think about him back.

(Which, in hindsight, was a massive lie. Kenma had been thinking about him too, he had just been a secretive little bastard about it.)

They’d been idiots. Stupid, ridiculous, enemies-for-no-reason. And somehow, they had both confessed in an equally stupid way. It wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t grand. It was Kenma getting jealous, Shoyo being an oblivious moron, and both of them making out instead of having an actual conversation.

Shoyo kicked at a stray pebble, squinting at him. “So… you really like me?”

Kenma exhaled through his nose, the way one does when realizing they’ve been cursed with a particularly dumb significant other. “Do you actually enjoy asking that, or do you just want me to kiss you to make you shut up?”

Shoyo’s face flamed. “STUPID—THAT’S NOT—”

Kenma hummed, half-lidded eyes watching him in amusement.

Shoyo scowled. He hated him. (No, he didn’t.) He huffed aggressively, glaring at their intertwined fingers. “I just still can’t believe we’re together now. It’s weird.”

Kenma made a soft hmm of agreement, watching the water ripple. “Yeah. Feels fake.”

Shoyo whipped around. “HEY—”

Kenma smirked, like he’d been waiting for that reaction. Shoyo groaned. “You used to act like my existence annoyed you. And now you can’t go a day without me.”

Kenma shifted his grip, lacing their fingers tighter. “You’re still annoying” he admitted.

“EXCUSE ME—”

“But.” Kenma turned to him. “I’d rather be annoyed by you for the rest of my life than deal with anyone else.”

Shoyo froze. Kenma had just dropped a borderline love confession as if he hadn’t just rearranged Shoyo’s entire understanding of the universe. His chest felt too tight. So, naturally, he panicked. “Are you proposing to me right now?” he squawked. “We’re not even of legal age yet! Calm down!”

“Maybe.”

“ARE YOU HOLDING ME HOSTAGE?”

Kenma huffed a soft laugh, leaning in. “Dunno. Feels like you walked into this willingly.”

Shoyo wanted to throw him in the river. Instead, he just groaned, shoving their intertwined hands into his jacket pocket as he scowled at the river.

Kenma watched him sulk, his smirk fading into something softer. Then, with zero warning, he tugged Shoyo forward by the hand, catching his lips in a kiss.

Shoyo barely had time to react—just a startled inhale, the feeling of Kenma’s lips, stealing all the fight right out of him.

Kenma pulled back barely an inch, studying his face. “You’re blushing.”

Shoyo smacked his shoulder. “SHUT UP.”

Kenma hummed, tugging him closer. “No.”

Shoyo groaned. God, he was doomed.

And as the city lights shimmered across the water, as the wind tousled their hair, as Kenma laced their fingers even tighter, Shoyo realized—

Maybe this was how it was always meant to be. Maybe they were always meant to push and pull, argue and bicker, get under each other’s skin. Maybe Kenma had always been the storm Shoyo was meant to run toward.

Maybe they were idiots.

No, they were absolute idiots. But they were each other’s idiots. And really, that was enough.

Epilogue.

9 years later

The thing about Kenma Kozume and Shoyo Hinata’s engagement party was that it should have never been called a party to begin with.

It was supposed to be a simple gathering, or at least that was Kenma’s original idea. Something small. Something manageable. Something that wouldn’t require him to interact with too many people.

But then somehow, they ended up renting out an entire upscale venue, complete with fancy lights, expensive catering, and a guest list that included half of Japan’s volleyball team, models, business owners, and a sports promoter who looked way too pleased with himself.

("Kuroo, this is your fault." Kenma had said earlier.

“Listen, man, I just made a few calls—" 

“Kuroo."

“Okay, fine, a lot of calls.")

And now? Now Kenma was sitting at the main table, sipping champagne with a scowl, watching his fiancé get passed around like some kind of party favor.

“Shoyo-kun, you still have time to rethink this before the wedding. I’m still here.”

Kenma didn’t even have to turn his head to know who had just spoken. He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Atsumu.”

Across the table, Atsumu Miya was looking at Shoyo like a man witnessing a great tragedy. The worst part? This wasn’t even the first time he’d said this tonight.

Tsukishima, lazily sipping his drink beside him, rolled his eyes. “It’s been nine fucking years, and you’re still pining?”

Aran shook his head, adjusting his cufflinks. “Yeah, he even dragged us back to Japan just to play volleyball. I mean, who does that?”

Atsumu gasped, looking personally offended. “Aren’t you even thankful you’re part of the Japan team now?”

Aran deadpanned. “I mean, I am, but I didn’t need a you-shaped reason to do it.”

Shoyo, clearly enjoying himself too much, grinned. “I dunno, Tsumu. You’ve had nine years. Maybe it’s time to move on.”

Atsumu gasped even harder. “Shoyo-kun, how could ya say that to me at our engagement party?!”

Kenma, who had been peacefully drinking and minding his business, finally looked up. “You mean my engagement party?”

“Details.”

“You wanna die?”

“Damn.” Suna smirked. “Kozume’s still jealous after all these years.”

Kenma took another sip of his drink. “I’m not jealous. I’m just confused why we’re still entertaining this idiot’s delusions.”

Atsumu groaned dramatically, collapsing onto the table like he was in deep emotional turmoil. “Can ya let a man grieve, Kozume?! It’s like I lost my one true love.”

Osamu, who had finally arrived after dealing with some last-minute catering issues, took one look at the scene and sighed. “What’d I miss?”

“Atsumu being an idiot.”

“Ah. So just another Tuesday.”

From across the room, Lev, who had somehow ended up in a conversation with a confused waiter, turned, waving enthusiastically. “Hinata!! Did you see? I got mistaken for a foreign movie star again!”

Yaku immediately smacked him upside the head. “Stop embarrassing yourself in public.”

“But it keeps happening!”

Meanwhile, Kageyama, who had been watching the entire exchange with a deep frown, finally sighed. “Hinata. Why are we even here? This doesn’t feel like an engagement party.”

“That’s because it’s not.”

Everyone turned to Kuroo, who had a suspiciously pleased look on his face. Kuroo smirked. “Well, technically, this was supposed to be a formal engagement celebration… but then I figured, ‘Hey, when have you two ever done things normally?’ So instead, I just called everyone you know and told them to show up.”

Kenma put his drink down. “So let me get this straight. We’re here… in this venue… not for a normal engagement party, but because you decided to turn this into some kind of volleyball celebrity crossover episode?”

“Pretty much.”

“I hate you.”

Kuroo clapped a hand on his shoulder, unbothered. “Love you too, buddy.”

The actual engagement portion of the night didn’t happen until much later—somewhere between Suna trying to convince Yamaguchi to switch careers, Atsumu making another plea for Shoyo’s heart, and Yachi having an emotional breakdown over how fast time was moving.

By the time everyone had settled down, glasses were clinking, laughter was buzzing through the venue, and someone (definitely Kuroo) had wrangled them into actually giving a toast.

Kenma sighed, already regretting everything. He could feel Shoyo vibrating with excitement beside him, grinning like an idiot, eyes crinkled in the way that made Kenma’s brain go stupid.

Shoyo nudged him, whispering, “Come on, at least try to look like you want to be here.”

Kenma gave him a look. “I don’t want to be here.”

Shoyo snorted, rolling his eyes. Kenma exhaled, lifting his glass slightly. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

He tapped the side of his glass, glancing at Shoyo. And then, in a rare, quiet moment, Kenma just looked at him. The love of his life. Because he was. And Kenma didn’t know how the hell that happened.

He cleared his throat. “You know… when I first met Shoyo, I didn’t like him.”

Shoyo gasped. The room laughed.

Kenma continued. “I thought he was loud. And annoying. And way too excitable first thing in the morning.”

Shoyo gasped again. “KENMA—”

Kenma ignored him. “But… then he just kept being around. And it was annoying at first. I thought maybe if I ignored him, he’d go away.” He smirked slightly. “But here’s the thing… he never went away. No matter how much I ignored him, no matter how much I tried to pretend I didn’t care, he just stayed.”

The room quieted slightly. Kenma twirled his glass between his fingers, gaze dropping to their intertwined hands.

“And before I even realized it, he became my favorite part of the day.“ He inhaled softly. "I got used to him showing up at my desk. I got used to him calling my name. I got used to him looking at me like I was someone worth looking at."

Shoyo blinked rapidly, eyes wide. Kenma’s voice softened as he tightened his grip around Shoyo’s hand. “Shoyo has this way of making things feel different. Brighter. Like there’s something worth chasing. Like the world is worth being in.”

His chest felt too tight. Shoyo was looking at him like he hung the damn stars in the sky, and Kenma didn’t know what to do with that.

He exhaled. “And before I knew it, he was the first person I wanted to talk to. The first person I wanted to see. The first person who ever made me think… maybe having someone beside you forever isn’t such a bad thing.”

The room was completely silent now. Shoyo looked seconds away from crying.

Kenma took a small sip of his drink, breaking the tension, before smirking slightly. “So, yeah. I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m stuck with him now.”

The room burst into laughter. Shoyo smacked him on the arm, laughing wetly, still blinking too fast, still trying too hard not to cry.

Kenma just looked at him. Shoyo was glowing. And maybe it was the lights, or the champagne, or just the fact that Shoyo always, always radiated something untouchable, but Kenma couldn’t look away.

Atsumu, ever dramatic, sighed loudly. “God, can’t you just kiss already? Make it official or somethin’.”

Shoyo grinned, turning to Kenma like the idea of kissing him was the easiest decision in the world. “Gladly.”

Kenma barely had a second to process before Shoyo’s fingers curled into his collar and pulled him in. 

The world tilted. It wasn’t like this was their first kiss, not even close, but something about it felt different. Maybe it was the champagne lingering on Shoyo’s lips, or the heat of his palm against Kenma’s chest, or the fact that this wasn’t just some casual kiss stolen between moments.

This was them, in front of everyone. This was them, saying this is real, this is forever, this is us.

Kenma didn’t even realize his fingers had curled into Shoyo’s sleeve, pulling him in just a little closer. Shoyo hummed against his mouth, smiling, like he could feel the way Kenma melted into it. And maybe he did.

By the time Shoyo pulled back, Kenma’s ears were red, but his expression was as unimpressed as ever. And then, because of course it couldn’t just end on a normal, romantic note, Shoyo grinned, eyes glinting mischievously. “Ready to get wrecked on our honeymoon?” he teased.

Kenma arched an eyebrow. “You mean you’re ready to get wrecked?”

Shoyo froze. The room went dead silent.

Shoyo stilled for a moment, as if trying to process what he just heard. Then, he whipped around so fast Kenma barely had time to react before a fistful of his collar was yanked forward. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN ME?! I’M THE ONE WHO FUCKS YOU AT NIGHT—"

Atsumu screamed.

Kenma, completely unbothered despite being grabbed, merely arched a brow. “And who was begging last night?”

“I DID NOT BEG—”

“Oh, really? Who was saying ‘Kenma, please— ’”

Atsumu, in the middle of an existential crisis, gripped Kuroo’s sleeve. “Make it stop” he whispered, voice weak.

Kuroo looked like he was about to drop dead on the spot. “OKAY, OKAY, CAN WE STOP BEFORE THIS CONVERSATION GOES PLACES WE CAN’T RECOVER FROM?!”

Lev raised a hand. “Wait, I don’t get it. Who’s—”

Yaku smacked him. “SHUT THE HELL UP.”

Shoyo, ears burning, finally let go of Kenma’s collar, scowling. “I’m so winning this argument later.”

Kenma snorted. “You can try.”

Shoyo huffed, arms crossing tight over his chest, jaw set like he was actually, genuinely going to take this to court. Kenma just sighed, shaking his head as he reached for Shoyo’s hand again, lacing their fingers together. “C’mon, dumbass. Let’s finish the toast.”

Shoyo blinked at him. Then, slowly, his shoulders relaxed, and the fight in his gaze melted into something softer. “Yeah" Shoyo murmured, squeezing his hand. "Let’s."

The room cheered again, glasses clinking, laughter echoing through the night. Kenma barely processed any of it. His world had already narrowed down to one person. The idiot he had somehow agreed to spend the rest of his life with.

The same idiot he used to fight with just for fun, the same idiot who had wormed his way into Kenma’s life and refused to leave, the same idiot who had turned from an annoying seatmate into the most important person he had ever known.

They really hadn’t changed, had they?

Shoyo suddenly nudged him, leaning in close with a teasing grin. “You still suck at confessing, by the way.”

Kenma raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why is that?”

Shoyo snorted. “Kenma. You literally asked me to marry you mid-argument while I was yelling at you about being a jealous bastard.”

Kenma blinked. “And?”

“You—” Shoyo pulled back, looking at him like he was insane. “You deadass said ‘if you love him so much, why don’t you just marry me instead? ’”

Kenma took a slow sip of champagne. “Well. It worked.”

“IT WASN’T EVEN A PROPER PROPOSAL—”

Kenma turned to him. “Shoyo. You cried.”

“I WAS OVERWHELMED.”

“You were in love.”

Shoyo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God, I hate you.”

Kenma huffed out something between a sigh and a laugh, shaking his head. “We are going to be the worst married couple.”

Shoyo grinned. “Good.”

Kenma just kissed him again, because really, at this point, there was no escaping him.

And the truth was, he never wanted to.