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“(Y/N), hurry up!” your sister yells as she heads out of the modest white gates that surrounds your capacious home. You reluctantly sit on one of the steps in front of the humble, carefully-crafted front door. You put on your shoes, and you let out a vexatious sigh. Do you really have to go with her to watch this stupid volleyball match? No, it’s not even an official match — it’s just a practice one! Even if it was, you still would be as uninterested as you are now about this game.
You remind yourself that you have no choice. Both of your parents are off visiting your grandparents for the week, so as much as you don’t want to go, you have to stay with your older sister. For the billionth time that day, you let out an annoyed sigh.
As you ponder about all of the activities you could be doing, like drawing, doing extra credit assignments, or simply watching the new anime you’ve been dying to watch, your sister calls for you again. You leap off of the step you’ve been sitting on and quickly make your way out of the gate in fear that she might actually break her vocal cords if she screams at you once more.
At least it’s a beautiful day.
The suburbs of Tokyo never fail to amaze you. The May blossoms on the cherry blossom tree that proudly stands in front of your large, yellow house softly blows in the wind as you follow your sister to your school for the second time that Friday. You and your sister both attend Metropolitan Nekoma High. The walk there isn’t that long; in fact, your school is only a few street corners away. Tourists are always astonished at how this simple suburb transforms into a bustling urban city with just a few blocks.
In fear that you both are going to be late, your sister starts walking in a faster-than-usual manner. You groan about how you can’t saunter and enjoy the gorgeous view of the different assortment of trees as you usually do.
A little under ten minutes goes by, and you both reach your school’s spacious gym. Ms. Screams-A-Lot strides over to her group of friends who have saved her a seat in the stands. To your complete and utter horror, they forgot to save one for you. They continue to chatter, but their conversation about how cute the players are start to turn into an ongoing drone.
“Sorry, (Y/N). It looks like you have to sit over there. Are you okay with that, or do you want me to sit with you?” your sister asks, eyebrows knitting together. It is evident that she’s genuinely worrying about whether you’ll be okay sitting by yourself.
“I’ll be fine,” you lie. You don’t want to be a bother by depriving your sister of hanging out with her friends.
Great, now I have to sit all the way over here.
You look to the floor as you walk away from the only person you’re comfortable talking to. Because all of the seats in the back are currently in use by a handful of your fellow first-year acquaintances, you unwillingly plop down at an empty seat near the very front.
It’s okay, though. I brought my pho—
Your thought abruptly cuts off as you realize that, oh shoot, you forgot your phone.
Darn it! Now I’m forced to watch this freaking stupid practice match.
You cross your legs, and your right elbow harshly slams onto your knee while you irritatedly rest your chin on your knuckles. Your apparent exasperated face softens once you look over to the practicing players. You sigh once more, but it isn’t a solemn sigh this time. It’s a questioning sigh.
Hm. I have a feeling that this might actually be interesting.
You take your arm off of your now bruised knee and shyly glance at each player carefully, not wanting to make accidental eye contact with any one of them. A single player catches your eye in an instant.
He is setting the brightly-colored volleyball to another player. You notice the way his uninterested, cat-like eyes follow the ball even after he sets it up. He focuses on the ball which slams onto the other side of the court. His concentrating gaze instantly locks with your own.
Your face turns into an ungodly shade of deep vermilion, and you immediately divert your eyes away from the seemingly cold golden ones.
As you instinctively move your line of sight away from the boy’s, you miss how his cat-like eyes light up when makes eye contact with you. He hurriedly diverts his gaze as well and his ears turn scarlet.
He takes a deep breath while shutting his eyes.
“Focus. You need to focus,” he thinks as his eyes slowly open. He reaches down to pick up another ball to toss to one of his teammates, “now that there’s a pretty girl watching you, you need to do your best. You need her to know that you’re a good player.”
He, as always, keeps his cool and continues to toss volleyballs.
During your accidental eye-contact recovery; which is you putting your face into the crevice of your black sweater, you hear the girls behind you start to gush.
“Ahh, look at the spiker! He’s so cool.”
“Yeah, he is! But it’s all ‘cause of the setter. Without him, I don’t think our team could last. He’s the brains of the whole operation, you know.”
So he’s cute and smart.
No. Shut up. It’s not the time nor place to get a pointless crush on some guy who won’t even mean anything in a few hours.
Unbeknownst to you, the mysterious setter is thinking the exact same thing.
“No. Keep your cool. It’s not the time nor place to get a pointless crush on some girl who won’t even mean anything in a few hours.”
“Who even is the setter, anyways?” you hear yourself say out of the blue.
The girls turn their attention to you, in shock that you suddenly burst into their conversation.
OH NO. I DIDN’T MEANT TO SAY THAT OUT LO—
Their shocked faces quickly turn into soft smiles.
“That’s Kozume Kenma. He’s a second year.”
“O-oh. Thank you.”
During the game, you notice how the team isn’t exactly spectacular. They don’t use very flashy moves like the other school, and they don’t particularly try to show off. You don’t know that much about volleyball, but you do know that your school has a solid team. Solid in their own, unique way.
Throughout the match, your gaze always latches onto Kenma. His eyes always latch on to you to see if you’re still watching him. Whenever your eyes meet — which is often, since you both constantly look each other’s way — there are tiny smiles and occasional, but very awkward waves. The rest of the time goes on like this until you hear a familiar voice and a hand squeezing your shoulder.
“Hey (Y/N), ready to go?”
“What? But their practice isn’t over yet!”
“It’s getting late. We’ve been here for a long time.”
You look outside the open gym windows. Because you were so caught up in the match (most particularly the setter), you didn’t notice how the beautiful day transformed into a calming sunset. Your sister looks at you, confused.
“Why are you so suddenly interested in this match? A few hours ago, you were dreading the fact that we were going!”
“Well, it’s just — ugh, I don’t know!” you feel your face heating up for the second time that day. Your sister’s knitted eyebrows soften and you see a smirk spreading onto her face once she realizes why you’re so absorbed in this match.
“Is it that boy you were looking at throughout the game?” she remarks, her voice a noticeably higher than before.
Your face turns abruptly turns into shade of deep red once you hear those words.
“Y-you noticed me looking at him?”
“Of course I did! I’m your sister. Come on, let’s go talk to him!” she says while grabbing your arm.
Your eyes evidently fill with terror as you try to get away from your sister’s strong grasp, words of protest being caught in your throat because you’re in such shock. She begins pulling you outside to the door where the players always exit from. Words finally escape from you once you’re nearing your destination.
“Ohhhh no no no no no no no no. I could barely look at him without feeling embarrassed, and you expect me to talk to him?! You’re unbelievable!”
“It won’t be that bad! I mean, you like him, right?”
“Yeah, I think he’s extremely cute and all, but I don’t want to talk to him! It’s not like anything is going to happen!”
You freeze as you hear the door opening. The numerous players pile out of the gym, and some glance to say hello to you and your sister. You hold your breath when a certain boy walks out. While you’re in your sudden trance, you don’t notice how one of his teammates gives you a double-take. Kenma is promptly stopped by that person.
“Oi, Kenma! Isn’t that the girl you think is really pretty?”
Kenma’s tired eyes turn from his video game up to the very tall boy with gray hair and wild eyes. Upon hearing this, your heart stops dead in its tracks.
“Hm?”
“Look! Right there, the one with the black sweater!”
He looks at you, and your sister nudges you forward. She whispers, telling you to meet her back inside. You hear her footsteps escape into the gym as you try to soak in some confidence. The sounds of cars racing down the urban city streets remind you that you that you’re standing in front of the person who you’ve been interested in ever since you sat down inside the gym. You realize that it’s now or never.
As soon as your conscious gathers courage and motivation to speak, Kenma gives you a shy smile while his right hand goes to scratch the back of his head. All that courage is suddenly lost. You manage to squeak out some words.
“H-hi!”
“Hello.”
His tall friend runs to the other boys who are leaving, and yells about how Kenma is actually talking to a girl. Some of the boys on the team look over to where both of you are standing, and marvel at how the setter seems to be socializing with someone — a girl, that is.
“Sorry about him.”
“Oh, it’s no problem.”
There’s a brief moment of silence where you two just look at each other, observing one other’s faces and emotions. It’s like looking in the mirror, you realize. Both of you are extremely red — more red than any of the reds that have been used by artists for centuries — and too shy to speak.
“My name is [Last] [First], by the way.”
“I’m Kozume Kenma.”
“I know.”
…
“WAIT NO THAT SOUNDED WEIRD I DIDN’T MEAN THAT—”
To your surprise, he just looks at you with soft eyes and smiles a genuine smile. Looking at him makes you feel so warm inside. The kind of warmth that engulfs you as soon as you rush into a cafe during a sudden autumn downpour. Like the warmth that spreads across your whole body when you lay down on the beach after just being in the cold waves. The warmth you feel when you open an oven full of freshly baked pizzas you and your cousins recently baked. It’s sudden, but welcoming.
The world seems to stops once again. You look into his eyes, the ones that are now observing you with close proximity and are wondering how, oh how did he manage to get a girl as pretty as you to even give him a second glance.
“It’s okay.”
Fifteen seconds pass with you two just staring at each other, and his tall friend gets impatient.
“Just give her your number!”
~*~
“When will he hurry up?” you ponder as you wait for Kenma to text you back. You reluctantly walk out of your warm home to sit on one of the steps in front of the humble, carefully-crafted front door. You put on your winter boots, and let out a vexatious sigh. You can’t wait to watch his match. No, it’s not even an official match — it’s just a practice one! Even if it isn’t, you are still excited to watch him play.
As you think about all of the activities you could be doing instead of waiting - like drawing, doing extra credit assignments, or simply watching the new anime you’ve been dying to watch, you finally see the pudding-haired second year walk through the snow-covered gates. You leap off of the step you’ve been sitting on and quickly make your way to him.
It’s a beautiful day.
The suburbs of Tokyo never fail to amaze you. Although there are no more blossoms on the cherry blossom tree, it still proudly stands in front your large, yellow house. You admire it as you both start walking hand in hand to your school for the second time that Friday. You and your boyfriend both attend Metropolitan Nekoma High. The walk there isn’t that long; in fact, your school is only a few street corners away. Tourists are always astonished at how this simple suburb transforms into a bustling urban city with just a few blocks.
In fear that you both are going to be late, he starts walking in a faster-than-usual manner. You groan about how you can’t saunter and enjoy the gorgeous view of the different assortment of trees as you usually do, and he looks at you.
“Hey, (Y/N)-chan?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I love you.”