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Chapter Text

The old sewing machines were already humming before dawn, threads dancing through aged fingers and gleaming needles. Somewhere beneath the gentle whirring, a faint creak stirred in the wooden ceiling above the shop. On the second floor of the old Hoshino tailor house, Minami lay blinking at the pale glow slipping through her rice-paper curtains, listening to the lullaby of cloth being coaxed into shape.

When she rose, her hair fell in soft waves, catching on the collar of her sleep shirt. Bare feet padded down the narrow staircase—each step giving a polite groan under her weight. At the base of the stairs, warm light poured through windows draped in unfinished hems. Jackets hung like quiet guardians along the walls; bolts of fabric leaned in lazy stacks near a calendar that hadn’t been flipped yet.

“Mi~nami!” Her father’s voice carried gently over the busy chatter of her aunties. Hoshino Seiji, broad-shouldered and always with a thread caught in his calloused hands, lifted his eyes from a waistcoat he was pressing.

“Morning, Papa,” she greeted, voice sweet, almost sleepy. Her hair trailed behind her like a silky ribbon as she shuffled to the low dining counter tucked in the corner. An aunt passed her a bowl of rice, another pressed a quick kiss to the crown of her head as she pinned fabric to a mannequin nearby.

“Big day today, hm?” one aunt teased, squinting through reading glasses, needles stuck like tiny swords in the cushion strapped to her wrist.

Minami answered around a mouthful of tamago, cheeks puffed slightly: “Don’t make me nervous, Auntie.”

The shop itself smelled of steam, cotton, and the faint salt of the ocean just beyond the back alley. Sunlight filtered in through where unfinished suits draped like curtains, the sewing machines puffing a steady percussion that matched the gentle clinking of her chopsticks.

When her bowl was clean and her laughter had drifted through every corner, she slipped her schoolbag over her shoulder and paused by the old mirror by the door—a round, slightly tarnished thing, its frame carved with faint chrysanthemum petals. She looked at herself, lips pressing into a soft, expectant line. Then she whispered as if to herself, “My headband—”

Back up the stairs she darted, two at a time, before reappearing with the familiar length of red ribbon. She looped it under the nape of her neck, tying it on top of her head with practiced fingers. It drooped a little, perfectly imperfect, like always.

Her father was waiting with open arms. He hugged her so tightly that the scent of pressed linen and warm tea leaves filled her nose; his chin brushed her ribbon. “Have a great day, Minami,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

At the door, she paused once more. A small photo frame, half-hidden by pinned orders and fabric swatches, caught her eye—a woman smiling in timeless sunlight. Minami lifted her fingers, blew a quiet kiss toward it. The shop chime rang when she slipped outside.

The morning sky spread itself wide in shades of rose and shy blue. Below the stone steps, the pier yawned out into gentle waves that promised spring would come softly this year. Minami wheeled her bike into the lane, balanced her bag against the handlebars, and breathed deeply. The air smelled of salt and plum blossoms.

And as she pushed off, hair and ribbon flying atop her, she felt her chest lift with something secret and sweet. Today, she would see him again—

And suddenly, the ocean wind wasn’t the only thing making her heart race.

Chapter Text

For the first week at Karasuno, Minami Hoshino floated through the halls with a quiet hope tucked beneath the knot of her bright red ribbon. Each morning, she would slip through the gates and crane her neck above the other first-years, her gaze skimming the crowds for a glimpse of a tall, sharp-shouldered boy with hair like pale straw. Kei had sworn to attend Karasuno someday, like how Akiteru did back then. Akiteru’s little brother — surely, he’d be here.

But day after day, nothing.

She’d catch herself standing on tiptoe at the stairwells, rising like a soft wave before settling back down, heart flickering in disappointment. By lunch, she’d slump into her seat, cheek pressed into her palm until her head grew heavy enough to slip— thunk! — straight onto her desk. The dull thud made the girls around her jump; one of them, a small girl with bobbed hair and anxious eyes named Hitoka Yachi, stiffened so suddenly she nearly choked on her rice ball. She peeked at Minami from over her shoulder, but Minami only groaned into the desk, muffled but unmistakably frustrated.

After a while, the days softened again. She didn’t find him, but she found herself instead. One morning, she walked in with the same ribbon tied neat and high, a quiet smile lighting her face. No friends yet — but she didn’t mind. She placed her bento on her desk, opened it with a soft hum, and ate while gazing dreamily out the window to her left. The class grew used to her gentle presence, so bright it was hard not to look up when she stepped through the door.

Some days she still rested her head on her folded arms, but the sighs were gone. Now her smile matched the drifting clouds outside, content in its waiting.

When the final bell rang, Minami pedaled home slowly and free, letting the wind slip its fingers through her hair until her ribbon flopped half-untied. She’d stand up on the pedals, laughing quietly at how light the world felt, then coast to the pier, where the sea murmured secrets through swaying fishing boats. There she’d sit, knees hugged to her chest, as the sun sank orange and pink into the water — until the shadows pulled her back home.

Inside the Hoshino tailor shop, the same hush of old wood and fresh stitches filled the air. Seiji Hoshino tapped his watch with a tiny cluck of disapproval, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

“Minami is late again,” he murmured.

“Oh, let her be, Seiji,” called one of the aunties without lifting her eyes from the pattern she traced onto silk. “She’s at that pier again, dreaming about that tall boy.”

“Mm-hm,” agreed another, a pair of glasses perched on her nose as she hemmed a uniform. “What was his name, again?”

“Kei. Tsukishima Kei,” Seiji supplied, voice softened by memory.

“Oh, right — the Tsukishima boy! They were inseparable, weren’t they?”

A third auntie, standing at a mannequin half-draped in school blazers, cackled under her breath. “Careful, though — didn’t she use to blush for the older one? Akiteru, wasn’t it?”

They all burst into warm laughter, and even Seiji chuckled, low and fond. “She did, once,” he admitted.

The fourth auntie, fingers busy sorting threads, paused to look over her shoulder. “Seiji, have you spoken to Mrs. Tsukishima lately? Must’ve been hard on her, what happened… And she and Mina — they were like sisters, weren’t they?”

He nodded, eyes drifting to the frame of a photograph tucked high on the wall, catching the soft glow of dusk. His late wife, smiling as if the years hadn’t dared to dull her kindness. Mina.

“They moved a few neighborhoods away, nearly three years ago now,” he said. “After Mina… well, I haven’t spoken much to her since.”

“What a pity,” said another auntie softly, pressing a seam with delicate fingers. “Mina was the thread that stitched us all together.”

“You should call her,” the first auntie piped up. “Do it for Minami’s sake. Maybe that boy is out there, waiting for her too.”

Seiji exhaled, a small, quiet sigh pulled right from his ribs. He ran a thumb over his wedding band — still there after all these years — and let his gaze settle on the fading sky outside.

“Maybe. But some things… they’re not so easy to sew back the way they were.”

At the pier, Minami rested her chin on her knees, eyes wide to the evening sea. No promises broken — she knew that. Somewhere in the drifting horizon was him, tall, blonde, and still a little mean. Somewhere, he’d be waiting too

And when she’d finally see him again, she’d smile the way she always did: ribbon tied bright, eyes bright, heart open as the ocean. 

Chapter Text

Minami Hoshino could never remember a time when her mother’s heart didn’t need protecting. Long before she understood what that meant, she simply knew: Mama couldn’t run for long, couldn’t chase her down the path behind their shop, couldn’t lift heavy things. So instead, her mother used her hands for softer magic: making dresses that danced around Minami’s knees, stitching laughter into corners of the shop, and humming lullabies so gentle they never woke her father when he napped at his sewing table.

Mina Hoshino’s weak heart was never hidden — it was simply part of how their little family loved each other: carefully, gratefully, with extra warmth to fill in the spaces where strength might falter.

One winter, when Minami was in the fifth grade, that warmth began to flicker at the edges. She didn’t notice at first how her mother sat longer at the sewing table, breath hitching if she bent too far forward; how Mrs. Tsukishima’s visits grew more frequent, hands always wrapping around Mina’s wrist to check her pulse when she thought no one was looking.

Minami only noticed Akiteru had a girlfriend. It was the single worst thing that had ever happened to her ten-year-old heart.

The Tsukishima family came over for dinner, the whole house bubbling with warm laughter and the soft clatter of chopsticks. Minami hid behind her father’s legs, peeking out just enough to glare at Kei, who blinked back, utterly baffled.

“Oi, Minami-chan, come here.” Akiteru reached down, scooping her up on his shoulders despite her tiny kicks and huffs. She crossed her arms dramatically on his head, pouting so hard her cheeks puffed out.

“You’ve been avoiding us all week,” he teased, bouncing her lightly. “What’d I do, huh?”

She turned her face away with a squeak. “You have a girlfriend now. I hate you.”

Seiji nearly spat out his tea laughing, while Mina hid a cough behind her hand, chest fluttering painfully, but her smile never slipping.

Later that night, when the Tsukishimas had gone home and Minami still sulked on the tatami, Mina lifted her gently into her lap. The oil lamp flickered behind them, shadows stretching soft across the walls filled with fabric rolls and pinned sketches.

“What’s got you so grumpy these days, my Mimi?” Mina murmured, bouncing her knees, smoothing her daughter’s hair down her back.

Minami sniffled. “Akiteru… has a girlfriend…” she wailed, the sound bubbling from deep in her chest.

Mina laughed, but the sound caught halfway — her hand flew to her collarbone, fingertips pressing into the bone as if to catch the stutter in her heartbeat. Her breath rattled out, too sharp, too thin.

“Mama?” Minami peered up, wide-eyed.

Before Mina could reassure her, Seiji was there, firm but gentle as always. He lifted Minami off her mother’s lap and guided Mina to stand, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Shhh. She’s alright, Mimi,” he soothed, even as his eyes flicked to the faint tremor in Mina’s hands. “Go on, get ready for bed now.”

Minami lingered, watching her mother’s slight frame lean against her father’s side. But she obeyed, padding off to her room, her small mind settling back on her heartbreak over Akiteru as she drifted to sleep.

The next days were all wrong.

Mina didn’t come down to the shop floor much. She stayed curled in the sun-dappled bedroom upstairs, stitching slowly in bed, her pulse fluttering under fragile skin. Mrs. Tsukishima sat by her side, voice quiet, weaving old memories between half-finished crochet squares.

Meanwhile, Minami carried on her routine: trudging home from school beside Kei, babbling about classes and teachers, missing how his eyes flicked sideways every so often, wondering if she knew.

Then, one afternoon, they turned the corner to the tailor shop, and Kei saw Minami freeze beside him.

The door stood wide open. One auntie was crying softly against another’s shoulder. Mrs. Tsukishima was there too, her face buried in her hands, shaking.

“What happened?” Minami squeaked, voice high and watery. She stepped forward. “What happened?!”

An auntie reached for her, voice cracking. “Oh, Minami—”

“What happened! Where’s Pa? Where’s Mama? Why is everyone crying?!” Minami’s voice broke as she twisted away, looking for Seiji, for anyone to tell her it was fine.

Akiteru emerged from the back, eyes soft with worry. He crouched, trying to take her hand. “Minami — they took your mama to the hospital. She just needs help breathing, okay? She’s gonna be okay.”

Minami yanked her hand back, tears blurring everything. Her ribbon slipped from her hair and fell to the wooden floor as she bolted out the door.

“Minami—!” Kei didn’t wait for permission — he shot off after her, long legs pounding the same path down the hill toward the pier.

He found her curled at the edge of the dock, sneakers nearly slipping into the gentle water. Her shoulders shook so hard they pulled tiny hiccups from her chest.

“He was supposed to like me…” she whispered to the waves. “Akiteru was supposed to like me…”

Kei caught his breath, dropped to a crouch beside her. “I know that’s not why you’re crying.”

Minami squeezed her eyes shut tightly, then looked at him. Her small fists dug into the old wood. “She can’t leave me. Not yet. What’s gonna happen to her?!” Each word burst out between hiccups she couldn’t swallow down.

Kei’s throat bobbed. Slowly, stiffly, he raised a trembling hand and patted her back, then — unsure and clumsy — wrapped his arm fully around her shoulders, pulling her into his warmth.

“Crybaby,” he muttered, cheeks bright red, hoping the teasing would stop the crying.

It didn’t. But she leaned into him anyway.

They stayed there until the sunset turned the water molten gold. Then Akiteru came, kneeling with gentle words, lifting her easily into his arms while Kei trudged behind.

Mina lingered three more days in the small hospital room. Minami was there for everyone.

The first night, she curled beside her mother’s side, fingers twined with hers, crying so hard she hiccupped until Mina hushed her with kisses to her knuckles.

The next evening, Minami burst in straight from school, chattering about her day, arms waving, voice pitched high. Kei sat on the other side of the bed, arms crossed, as he corrected her exaggerations. Across the bed, Mrs. Tsukishima and Mina watched the pair bicker, their laughter drifting into soft tears as they squeezed each other’s hands.

On the final day, gray rain drummed on the window. Mina crocheted slow, careful granny squares while Minami sat beside her, tongue peeking out as she mimicked each loop.

“That’s so beautiful, Mimi,” Mina whispered, brushing stray strands behind her ear.

Minami beamed, proud of her slightly crooked square.

Mina set aside her hook and shifted Minami to face her. She cupped her cheeks, voice gentle but certain. “Mimi. Do you like the Tsukishimas?”

Minami blinked. “Mhm!”

A laugh bubbled through Mina’s weak chest. She brushed her thumbs over her daughter’s soft skin. “Do you love Kei?”

“Mhm!” Minami repeated, still too young to see the weight behind the question.

Mina’s eyes softened. “Do you know what your name means, my love?”

Minami recited dutifully: “Minami means ‘beautiful waves.’ Hoshino means ‘field of stars.’”

Mina nodded, tears welling despite her smile. “And Tsukishima means ‘moon land.’ The stars are always with the moon, even when it’s alone. And the tides — the waves — they listen to the moon too. So, my Mimi… when he’s lonely, be there with him. Can you do that for Mama?”

Minami tilted her head, puzzled, but nodded with that soft trust only a child could hold. “Okay, Mama.”

Mina pulled her close, their crochet squares slipping to the floor. Please, Kei — please always take care of my Mimi. She begged silently into the hush of the rain.

“I love you so much, my beautiful waves.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

Together, they drifted into a gentle sleep in each other’s arms.

Seiji returned late that evening, arms heavy with groceries he never unpacked. He paused at the door, taking in the sight: Mina dozing, Minami curled against her side. Quietly, he bent down and separated them, lifting Minami into his arms and tucking her onto the small couch in the room. He kissed Mina’s temple, tears slipping silently onto her blanket as he sat vigil at her side until dawn broke, soft and merciful. He sat at Mina’s bedside, fingers trembling as he wrapped hers in both of his.

When Minami stirred awake, she found her father there, hunched, eyes red, still holding her mother’s limp hand.

Sleepy and blinking away the blur, she shuffled closer and rested her cheek on his broad shoulder. “Is she leaving us soon…?” she asked, voice so small it broke him.

He turned, eyes glassy, and nodded. “Yeah, sweetheart. She is.”

Minami crawled onto his lap, tiny fingers wiping tears from his lined cheeks. She rested against his chest, both of them watching the first woman they ever loved drift gently out of reach.

When it rose fully, Mina Hoshino slipped away, leaving behind a house stitched with her love and a little girl who would forever carry her tide to the moon.

Mina passed before dawn, gentle as her namesake breeze. Her stitches outlived her, tucked into every hem Minami would ever wear.

And far away in the quiet pier dawn, the waves rose and fell — drawn always, always to the moon.

Chapter Text

When the hospital’s hush faded into the creak of the old wooden floorboards, Minami stepped back into the tailor shop without her mother for the first time. She stayed pressed behind Seiji’s legs, tiny fingers curled into the hem of his jacket, the way a child might hide from strangers — except this time, it wasn’t shyness, it was the empty hush in her eyes where laughter used to be.

Her father’s sisters, eyes red and gentle, gathered her in a soft circle of murmurs and strokes to her hair. Mrs. Tsukishima and her husband bowed with that deep, respectful hush people use for the newly grieving. And when Seiji let go just enough to reach for Mrs. Tsukishima’s hand, Minami didn’t step forward. She stayed pressed against the back of his knee like an anchor.

“Sweet girl…” Mrs. Tsukishima bent down, hands warm under Minami’s arms as she lifted her. The weight felt like nothing — Minami’s shoulders drooped as Mrs. Tsukishima tucked her face into her shoulder. “My Minami. Brave girl. Your mama is so proud of you.”

Minami didn’t say anything. Just let herself be held, limp as a sleeping doll.

When her mother-in-grief caught Akiteru’s sleeve, she spoke low but firm:
“Akiteru. Take Kei and Minami to the pier, hm? Let them breathe.”

Akiteru nodded at once. He was tall enough now that the top of Minami’s head barely reached his shoulder when she stood beside him. He reached over with an outstretched arm toward them both and grinned.
“C’mon. We’ll get ice cream first.”

At the convenience store, the jingling door and the bright fluorescent buzz made Minami blink, sudden harsh light after so much hush and sobbing. She picked her favorite — strawberry swirl — and Akiteru insisted on paying, tousling Kei’s hair when the younger boy tried to mumble a protest.

By the time they reached the pier, the wind had a bite to it, but Minami swung her legs over the wooden planks anyway, her feet dangling above the gentle slap of waves against the posts. Akiteru sat to the side of the pair — big brother and buffer — with Kei and Minami on his left. Three sticks of ice cream slowly dripping onto the pier.

“No wonder you guys come here so often,” Akiteru murmured, mouth full of vanilla. He squinted out where the sea met the sky, evening light glinting off his lashes. “It’s beautiful.”

Minami paused her licking, blinked at the darkening blue, and said softly, voice tiny and matter-of-fact:
“Beautiful like Mama.”

Akiteru froze just a beat, then chuckled under his breath.  “Exactly, Mini-Mi.”

Beside him, Kei said nothing — just kept eating, jaw working methodically at the melting sweet. Minami leaned over, nudging his shoulder softly.

“Mama said you’re stuck with me forever, Kei.”

She delivered it with a solemn nod, as if passing down a royal decree. Akiteru barked a laugh and nudged Kei in the ribs.

Kei turned slowly, eyebrows low in that sulky way of his, cheeks stuffed with ice cream. He swallowed, gave his older brother a death glare, then muttered — monotone:
“Okay. Fine.”

Minami’s giggle cracked through the salt air. She sat up straight, humming in triumph, her legs swinging wildly.

Akiteru caught Kei’s eye and raised a fist. Kei glared harder but gave a half-hearted fist bump back, their knuckles thudding between them.

“Hey —” Akiteru drawled, looking down at the two heads tucked under his left. “Do you kids remember what your names mean together?”

Kei scowled, licking a pink drip off his knuckle.
“Yeah. Mama never stops reminding me about it. I hate kanji.”

Minami perked up, mouth sticky with strawberry. “Mine means ‘beautiful waves’ and ‘field of stars’!” She beamed at Akiteru, her eyes so big it made something twist behind his ribs. “It means… I’m the stars with the moon, and… um… something about gravity? And the ocean?”

She wilted a little at her uncertainty, shoulders folding in. Akiteru laughed and pinched her cheek until she squealed.

“You’ll get it someday, Minami. Don’t worry. It’s enough that you remember the stars' part. That’s the most important bit.”

Ahead of her, the sea whispered secrets into the pier’s bones. Kei turned away from them both, staring at the line of sun dipping low, mouth set in a thin, quiet line — but his hand, without looking, inched over the planks until it rested on top of hers.

Minami looked down at their tiny hands, mismatched and sticky with melting ice cream, and then up at his stubborn profile. She didn’t say anything, just squeezed once.

Chapter Text

Karasuno’s hallway buzzed like a beehive in spring. First-years clutched stacks of club forms and squealed excitedly while upperclassmen shouted directions over the noise. Somewhere in the din, Minami Hoshino power-walked with a mission: Karasuno Girls Volleyball Club — or bust.

She nearly tripped over a first-year boy crawling to pick up his fallen papers, dodged a squealing pack of basketball hopefuls, and slammed her form on the sign-up desk with both hands.
“Hoshino Minami! Outside hitter — and Hirabi Middle’s ace!”
The upperclassman in charge blinked at her sparkly determination, scribbled her name down, and quietly muttered, “Uh… welcome.”

In the girls’ club room, Minami sat on the bench, pulling her knee pads snug, her old middle school ones with the elastic slightly frayed. She caught her reflection in a small mirror hanging by the lockers — her long brown hair slipped smoothly through her fingers as she gathered it into a ponytail. She fished out her bright red ribbon from her bag, looped it around her ponytail, and then tied it neatly on top. The loose ends flopped once, twice, landing perfectly crooked like always.

She smiled at it — her quiet armor.

Out on the court, though, her heart sank.

Basketballs thudded on the far side of the gym. A coach’s whistle echoed for a layup drill. The girls’ volleyball net sat half-strung, waiting. No sign of a tall blond anywhere.

She stretched on the wooden floor, legs split to either side, reaching forward till her chest touched the floorboards, chin propped on folded arms. Between calf raises and shoulder rolls, her eyes scanned the doors. Nothing but orange-jerseyed basketball players chasing rebounds.

By the end of the week, her hope flickered like a candle in the wind. But Minami Hoshino didn’t lose her shine for long — every day she bounced into the gym, ribbon perfectly tied, bento packed lovingly by her aunts, and a smile wide enough to make the older girls coo.

The sun dipped low behind the Karasuno gym roof, drenching the gym windows in thick, syrupy gold. Inside the girls’ gym, the court floor shone under the fading light — the last squeaks of shoes, sharp laughs, and echoing claps filling the space as practice wrapped for the day.

Minami Hoshino sat cross-legged at the edge of the court, a sheen of sweat on her brow and her chest still rising and falling from drills that had pushed her legs to the limit. Her ribbon, the soft crimson one, drooped loose where her ponytail threatened to unravel. With gentle fingers, she tugged it back up. The loose ends flopped down over her hair like a playful promise: still here.

She caught her reflection in the glossy floor, her own grin reflected back at her — fresh cuts on her knees from diving saves, red marks on her forearms from receiving. Good pain. The kind that reminded her she was home .

Nearby, Michimiya clapped her hands sharply — her “captain's voice” cutting through chatter.
“Alright, team! Before you scatter bags, shoes, and water bottles, let’s move it! And grab your jackets — we’re going next door.”

One of the first-year girls paused mid-sip from her water bottle. “Next door… as in, the boys’ gym?”

Michimiya smirked like she’d just told them they’d be front row at a rock concert.
“Mm-hm. We’re introducing our rookies. Their captain’s a good friend of mine—thought it’d be fun.”

The older girls snickered. Minami blinked once, then hid a tiny, hopeful smile behind her hand.
Next door… maybe… maybe this time…

 The moment the door slid open to the boys’ gym, chaos rushed out like a tide.

A volleyball ricocheted off the net with a thwack!
Hinata screeched, “I SAID SET IT HIGHER, KAGEYAMA!!”
Kageyama screamed back with equal ferocity, “THEN JUMP FASTER!!”
Nishinoya vaulted over a stray ball to fist bump Tanaka, both yelling “YEAH!!” like battle cries.

Daichi, in the middle of trying to manage the circus, turned at Michimiya’s sweet, “DAAIIICHII~!”
His face went from exhausted to politely horrified in half a heartbeat.

“Oh — hey! I didn’t know you were— uh— hi— uh— GIRLS.”

The boys froze. Or at least tried to. Hinata peeked around Kageyama’s shoulder like a meerkat. Tanaka visibly straightened his back and struck a pose, muttering, “Act cool, act cool, act cool—”

Michimiya clasped her hands behind her back, all sweetness and mischief.
“Thought we’d introduce our new blood. Play nice.”

Daichi cleared his throat, trying to look taller and older than he felt.
“Alright — circle up!”

With varying degrees of grumbling, the boys shuffled into a ragged semicircle. On the fringe, unnoticed in the commotion, Yamaguchi and Tsukishima quietly gathered loose balls into a cart — their usual calm corner, far from Hinata’s chaos.

When it was Minami’s turn, she stepped forward, hands folded politely at her front, bowing low.

“I’m Hoshino Minami. Outside hitter — and former ace of Hibari Middle.”

A moment of silence. Then —

“EEEHHHHHH?!”
Hinata’s mouth dropped open so wide that Kageyama nearly elbowed him to close it.
“Hibari?! That school’s a beast!”
Tanaka nudged Nishinoya. “She’s an ace, bro — an ACE.”

Noya’s eyes sparkled. “Instant respect.”

Minami lifted her head, a soft smile in place, eyes bright, and ribbon ends bouncing gently behind her head. For a moment, her eyes flickered across the row of boys — still nothing familiar. She almost deflated, but then—

On the edge of the group, Yamaguchi froze mid-ball drop. His eyes ping-ponged between the red ribbon, the gentle bow, and the unmistakable posture he’d seen a thousand times before. His brain short-circuited.

“...OH NO.”

Without warning, he grabbed the back of Tsukishima’s head — the taller boy leaned slightly forward to drop a ball into the cart — and Yamaguchi dunked him . Face first.

THUD — volleyballs rattled. Tsukishima’s muffled “WHAT THE—?!” rattled deeper.

Yamaguchi slapped a hand over the back of Tsukishima’s head like he was hiding a bomb.
“Shhhh—shhh—don’t—move—just—stay—DOWN—”

Minami’s eyes drifted to the sudden scuffle, brows lifting in gentle confusion.
“Oh! Tadashi? Is that you?”

Yamaguchi’s soul left his body. He squeaked, voice two octaves higher than usual, “H-hi Minami! Yep! Here! Totally normal! HAHA!”

She tilted her head. “You okay? What are you—?”

Inside the cart:
“Yamaguchi, I swear to—”

“SHHHHH—!”

Daichi, who had seen enough tomfoolery for three lifetimes, clapped sharply.
“Okay! Well! Great introductions — thank you! Girls, thank you for dropping by. Boys, behave .”

Minami gave Yamaguchi a little wave, ignoring the suspicious lumps in the ball cart.

“See you around, Tadashi!”

He waved back, sweat visibly dripping down his temple, hand still planted on Tsukishima’s skull.

When she turned away with her teammates, her ribbon trailing after her like a little red exclamation mark, Tsukishima’s head finally popped back up from the sea of volleyballs. His glasses were askew, blond hair sticking up like he’d wrestled a static monster.

Yamaguchi exhaled so hard he nearly collapsed.
“I tried, Tsukki, I tried to warn you—”

Tsukishima didn’t even glare. His eyes tracked the fluttering ends of that ribbon as it disappeared through the gym door. His fingers lifted automatically to adjust his glasses.

“She hasn’t changed,” he muttered, so quietly only Yamaguchi heard.

And just for a moment — under the squeaks, the bickering, the yelling for Hinata to stop chasing Kageyama with a ball — Tsukishima let a tiny, secret smile flicker behind his lenses.

Chapter Text

Karasuno wasn’t a big school. Not in the way the city’s massive academies were — not a maze of endless stairwells and hidden wings. No, it was small enough that if you wanted to find someone, you probably could.

So it almost felt cruel that Tsukishima Kei hadn’t seen her—not once—for nearly a month before the “entrance ceremony”.

It wasn’t as if he’d admit it to himself, but that day when Yamaguchi’s panic failed and her ribbon swayed through the boys’ gym, he’d felt the air knocked clean from his chest. The same way it used to when she’d spike a ball past his block back in elementary school, grin triumphant, sweat sparkling under the gym lights — and then fuss over him losing.

That girl with the ribbon hadn’t changed. Not a thread out of place.

And now that he knew she was here, she was everywhere .

A flicker of her ponytail down the hallway when he left science class a beat too early.
The gentle swish of her laugh behind the library shelves when he slipped in late to avoid the other first-years.
The soft, careful tug she gave her ribbon when she sat at her shoe locker, humming to herself, unaware that five lockers down, Kei paused mid shoe change — a statue in the flow of passing students.

Always there. Always just out of reach.

He never told Yamaguchi. There was no point. Tadashi knew anyway, if the sideways glances were anything to go by — the quiet, “Hey, Tsukki… you good?” that Kei ignored with a withering look.

In some stupid, selfish corner of his heart, he almost liked it this way. The comfort of silence, of pretending that the promise wasn’t frayed. If she never looked back — if she never noticed him — maybe it meant she didn’t need him anymore.

Maybe she was okay now. Maybe he didn’t have to ruin her peace again.

Because he had failed, hadn’t he? The vow whispered into his mother’s scarf: I’ll be there for her. Always. But life had cracked it apart — new neighborhood, new walls, new excuses. The boy who once chased her giggles across the pier now chases distractions instead.

Yet even behind thick lenses and sharper words, that thread tugged. He still found himself standing a few steps behind her, breath caught, heart telling him he was still that boy on the pier beside the crying girl with the ribbon who trusted him to stay.

And Minami Hoshino?

She woke up each day and tied her mother’s ribbon on with steady fingers, knotting it tight enough to keep her hope from slipping.

She would lean her chin against her palm in the cafeteria, watching the trickle of first-year boys shoving each other and hollering about practice. She’d spot the mop of orange hair, that scary one with the shaved head, even Tadashi laughing behind them sometimes — but never the boy she wanted.

Maybe it was silly, she told herself on the bike ride home, the wind nearly tugging her ribbon loose. Maybe the universe had hidden him elsewhere because they were different people now. Maybe he didn’t need to patch up his knee pads at her father’s shop anymore. Maybe he didn’t even remember the pier, the sewing table, or the way her mother used to smile and say, “One day, my stars will follow his moon.”

So she tucked that hope carefully inside herself — folded neat and pressed flat, like her mother’s old pattern paper under glass.

But still, sometimes, the hallway laughter would hush for just a moment. She would feel her heart pause — the hair at her nape lifting. She would look back over her shoulder, expecting to catch a glimpse of glasses glinting in the corridor light, tall and thin and unsmiling.

Nothing. Just a wave of uniforms and chatter, someone brushing by with a muttered “Sorry!”

She would turn back around, push the hair behind her ear, tug at her ribbon to feel something familiar, and walk on. Carrying that ghost of a promise behind her like a trailing shadow.

One school. One gym. One ribbon between them.

And yet, somehow, Tsukishima Kei and Minami Hoshino kept missing each other by inches — bound by the same tide neither of them dared to step into again.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Fifth grade should have been simple: spelling tests, hide-and-seek, bentos under the sun. But for Minami Hoshino and Tsukishima Kei, fifth grade carried a heartbeat that never quite settled. Mina’s mother was gone, a gap that neither her father’s gentle patience nor her aunties’ bustling warmth could ever truly fill. And so Kei—skinny, serious, with eyes too sharp for a boy his age—kept close, tethered by a promise whispered over a hospital bed.

They were a little trio now, with Tadashi tagging along, eyes wide and admiration louder than his voice. But at sunset, it was always Minami and Kei—two silhouettes at the pier, legs dangling above the silvered tide, secrets whispered to the sea.

Kei knew her mind wandered in those moments, wondering what her mother would say if she could see her now, wondering if loss ever got smaller. So he gave her something else to hold: a volleyball.

It started clumsily—her forearms stung, her passes off-target. But each thud of the ball erased a drop of the sorrow she carried. Kei saw it in the way her laughter came quicker, her eyes clearer. He liked seeing her this way: not drowning in memories but rising above them, one spike at a time.

They practiced everywhere—backyards, the dusty corner of the schoolyard, the stretch of sand near the pier when the tide was out. Sometimes Akiteru joined, his voice warm, catching stray balls with ease, praising Minami until her cheeks glowed pink. She loved it. Kei pretended to hate how good she was becoming—he pretended, but he never missed a toss.

The practice match during gym class felt like a culmination of everything they’d built together: boys vs. girls. A silly elementary match—nothing more. Except for them, it was everything.

Minami stood on the opposite side of the makeshift court, hair tied back, red ribbon bright like a flag against her brown hair. Her eyes found Kei’s above the net—steady, challenging. He tsked at her, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just ’cause you’re a girl,” he called.

She stuck out her tongue, feigning innocence. “Good. I’d be insulted if you did.”

The teacher blew the whistle. The game exploded.

Kei’s height gave him an edge; he blocked the first two spikes without breaking a sweat. But Minami adjusted. She dug deep, legs braced, arms ready. Tadashi’s cheers bounced off the walls—sometimes for Kei, sometimes for Minami, as if he couldn’t decide whose side he was on.

And then—match point.

Kei launched a serve, clean and mean. Minami’s sneakers squeaked as she slid into position. The ball kissed her forearms, floated to a teammate, and in an instant, she was airborne—lean body curling around the moment like it was hers alone.

She spiked. Hard.

The ball slammed into Kei’s arms—too strong, too fast. It skidded off, veering wildly into the stands. A gasp, a shout, then a shriek of victory from the girls’ team.

But Minami didn’t join their squeals or high-fives. No—her eyes were on him, her heartbeat drumming in her chest like a second whistle.

She darted across the court, ponytail streaming behind her, red ribbon fluttering like a comet’s tail. She collided with him, giggling, arms thrown tight around his shoulders. Her laugh broke whatever sting might’ve remained.

“We did it!” she squealed, voice muffled in his shoulder.

Kei’s arms wrapped around her back before he could think about it. He tucked his chin over her crown and breathed her in—sun, sweat, something sweet and familiar.

“Yeah,” he murmured, barely louder than the noise of the gym. “You did.”

There was no sting. No embarrassment. No pride wounded.

Let the other boys laugh.

Let the whispers spread that he had “lost to a girl”.

He didn’t care. If it was her? — Minami Hoshino, who beat him?

He was proud. He could lose forever and never mind.

But not all truths were so kind.

Some weeks later, the three of them stood in Karasuno’s packed gymnasium—Akiteru’s pride and joy. Kei’s eyes sparkled every time Akiteru bragged about the team, about Karasuno’s history, about what Kei would do here one day. He’d insisted on coming, dragging Minami and Tadashi along.

They squished together at the edge of the upper bleachers—too small to see over their heads, so they climbed until they could peer down at the court.

Except—there was no sight of Akiteru on the floor. No Akiteru spiking or blocking. Just him—track jacket zipped to his chin—standing among the cheer squad with a plastic clapper and a strained smile.

It hit Kei like a sudden wave.

“He… he’s not playing,” Tadashi whispered, voice small. Minami’s fingers wrapped around the railing, knuckles white.

She turned to Kei, a soft panic in her eyes. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Behind them, classmates whispered, giggled. Snide voices floated to the rafters:

“Ha! Tsukishima’s brother’s just a cheerleader—what a joke.”

Minami’s stomach flipped. She saw it—the way Kei’s jaw tensed until it hurt, how his fingers curled so tight they trembled. She reached for him, brushing her pinky against his wrist—a silent promise: I’m here.

But Kei pulled back, subtle but final. The gap yawned wide as the truth cracked the floor beneath them.

“Let’s go,” he said flatly, already turning.

“Tsukki—wait—” Tadashi fumbled after him, loyal to the end.

Minami stayed frozen, eyes locked on Akiteru across the court. His shoulders were slumped, eyes dark with shame. He couldn’t even wave back.

She wanted to shout, to tell Kei it didn’t matter, that Akiteru was still his hero—but her voice stayed locked behind her teeth.

One promise drowned that night, somewhere in the roar of the cheering crowd and the cold silence of the walk home.

One gym. One promise. One bright red ribbon.

And somehow, Tsukishima Kei and Minami Hoshino began drifting — like the tide pulling gently but relentlessly from the shore.

When the whispers and laughter turned sharp, too sharp to ignore, Kei transferred schools for sixth grade. Yamaguchi, ever loyal, went with him. Their last year of elementary school ended with desks apart, hallways unfamiliar, lunch breaks that no longer included her voice bubbling beside his.

The Tsukishima family still lived close back then, and Kei still found his way to the pier where Minami waited — ribbon bright against the wind, smile softer now, as if she could already feel the distance growing between them.

They sat side by side on sun-warmed planks, sharing awkward silences and half-overlapping stories about schools they no longer shared. Kei’s words piled up behind his teeth, unspoken; Minami’s laughter sometimes cracked around the edges.

Akiteru rarely joined them anymore — guilt was a shadow in every step he took near his brother. Kei, too proud, too bruised, brushed him off with a scoff that hurt more than it protected.

By the time middle school came, the Tsukishimas packed up and moved a few neighborhoods over. Not so far, but far enough that visits faded, pier sunsets belonged to her alone, and the promise — to stay by her side — folded itself quietly in the space between them.

They grew apart before either could gather the courage to pull the other back.

Chapter Text

The girls’ team was done putting up with rogue basketballs to the face.
It only took Michimiya—voice like a warm knife through butter but backbone of iron—to march up to Daichi during lunch and declare, “If one more basketball concusses one of my first-years, I’m stealing your court. Fair?”
Daichi, caught mid-bite of rice, simply surrendered.
So, that Friday afternoon, for the first time, Karasuno’s boys’ volleyball team graciously—if you could call Tanaka’s wailing “Why are we being evicted from our own half?!” gracious—shared their polished, echoing gym with the girls.

The boys had already run drills until their legs burned. Now, they lingered on the upper balcony—an old wooden platform that overlooked the whole court like a secret theater box.

Tsukishima Kei had bolted up there the second he saw the girls filing in. Long legs, calm mask, a bottle of water he pretended to sip every ten seconds just to look busy. He settled against the railing, pretending to watch Hinata argue with Kageyama about sets. He absolutely did not look down at the girl with the red ribbon.

Below, Minami was alive in a way she hadn’t been since spring started.
She bounced on her toes, ponytail swinging, that bright, stubborn ribbon tied snug behind her head like a flag she refused to surrender. She tossed the ball up—higher than the basketball hoop—and cracked it down with a serve that made even Kageyama flinch.

“WOAH! That serve was so clean!” Hinata practically drooled over the railing.
“She’s good and pretty,” Noya breathed, clasping his hands dramatically.
Tanaka squinted. “Wait—she said she was the ace at Hibari? Hibari?! I played those monsters once. It was like being hunted by lions.”

Yamaguchi peered at Tsukki out of the corner of his eye. Tsukishima, for his part, was deeply engrossed in the fascinating geometry of the ceiling beams.

Tanaka’s eyebrows wiggled devilishly. He elbowed Yamaguchi. “Hey, Yams—spill it. What’s the deal with you two the other day, huh? When the girls came to say hi, you looked like you saw a ghost.”
Yamaguchi laughed —too loud. “Ahaha! Well—uh—about that—”
His eyes darted to Tsukki. Tsukki shifted. He sensed betrayal on the horizon.
Yamaguchi caved instantly. “That’s Hoshino Minami.”
Tanaka: “And??”
Yamaguchi cleared his throat dramatically. “Tsukki’s childhood friend. And… his one-sided crush back in elementary and middle school.”
Silence. Then—
“WHATTTT?!!” Tanaka shrieked, smacking the railing.
Yamaguchi, nodding like a scholar: “She destroyed him in volleyball once. Utterly humiliated him. That’s when it hit him.”
Tanaka clasped Tsukki’s shoulder with the brotherhood of idiots. “Didn’t know you were into that. Respect.”
Tsukishima’s ears went red to the tips. “It wasn’t one-sided. I just—like—appreciated her dedication—SHUT UP—”

WHAM.
A volleyball—beautiful, perfectly timed by some cosmic mischief—whipped across the gym and clocked Tsukishima right on the side of his blond head.

Gym. Goes. Dead. Silent.
Down on the court, Minami stood frozen mid-step. Her eyes went wide, then wider.
For a split second, the gym faded—the squeaks, the bouncing balls, the chatter—everything.
All she saw was him. That tall, familiar, annoyingly perfect posture. Glasses askew now, clutching the side of his head like he just got betrayed by gravity itself.

Her heart leapt so hard she almost forgot to breathe.
“KEI-KUNNNN!!” she shouted—half warning, half disbelief, all instinct.

BONK. Another bounce off the railing for good measure. Tsukki crumpled forward with a low, defeated groan, dramatically pressing both palms to the new dent in his pride.

 Yamaguchi, who was halfway between horror and secondhand joy, squeaked, “Oh my god oh my god oh my god—”

 Asahi caught the rogue ball, palming it awkwardly before gently lobbing it back down to Minami.
She bowed low, cheeks pink. “Thank you!!”
Then she looked up—right at him.

Tsukishima Kei, still cradling his skull, risked a glance.
There she was—beaming up at him like she’d found the sun after a storm. Eyes squeezed shut from the force of her smile, both hands waving with all the energy in the world.
“Kei!! Are you okay???”

Time hiccuped.
He should’ve been annoyed. Mortified, even.
But the grin cracked through anyway—quiet, crooked, shy. He raised one hand—just one—and waved back, the other still pressed to his bruised pride.

She saw it.
The real smile.
Her heart squeezed so tight she nearly forgot to breathe.

Minami turned back to her teammates, ball tucked under her arm, whispering to herself with a victorious little pump of her fist—
“Yes! I knew it! He’s here. He’s really here.”

And up on the balcony, Tsukishima Kei—bump on his head and all—thought, almost dazedly,
She seriously hasn’t changed at all.

The sun was dipping low behind the rooftops of Miyagi, casting an orange glow across the school as practice wrapped up. Tall lamps flickered on one by one, casting long beams of golden light over the damp pavement.

Kei Tsukishima stood leaning against the railing outside the boys’ changing room, arms crossed and eyes pointed vaguely up at the lamps, waiting for Yamaguchi to finish changing. 

But the door next to him creaked open first.

“KEIIIII!”

A familiar voice cut through the cool night air, warm and bright like summer sunlight on ocean waves.

Tsukishima turned his head lazily. “Oh… hey, Mi.” There she was— Minami Hoshino , hair pulled into a high ponytail, her signature red ribbon fluttering as she jogged toward him. Yamaguchi stepped out of the boys’ locker room just in time to get pulled into a human sandwich. She launched into a conjoined hug, wrapping one arm around Tsukki’s neck and the other around Yamaguchi, pulling both boys down to her height with a soft laugh. 

Her head nestled between them, she beamed, “MY BOYSS!! SO YOU HAVE  BEEN IN KARASUNO THIS ENTIRE TIME!”

Tsukishima scoffed but didn’t pull away. Yamaguchi chuckled, a little flustered. Minami finally let go, spinning in place with her hands still on their shoulders.

“Hey, how about you come over for dinner?! Or just stop by! My dad would be so happy to see you guys again!”

“Ah, I’ll have to pass,” Yamaguchi said with a sheepish smile. “My parents really need me home early tonight.”

She waved him off with a bright smile, rising on her toes. “It’s okay! See you tomorrow, Tadashi!” Kei lifted a hand as well, watching his best friend disappear into the shadows of the lamps.

She reached for his hand—casual, familiar—and tugged. “C’mon, Kei. It’s been way too long.”

Minami’s house hadn’t changed. Not really.

The smell of freshly sewn fabric and ironed cotton lingered around the entrance. The downstairs was still a fully functioning tailoring shop, cluttered with sewing machines, fabric bolts, and dress forms.

Minami threw the door open. “I’m home!!”

“Welcome back, Minami!!” came the chorus of her aunts, busy at work behind the counters and sewing tables.

Minami stepped in, kicking off her shoes without looking back, but left the door open. Kei paused at the threshold. He hadn’t been here in years. Three, maybe more. He ducked slightly under the frame as he stepped inside, instinctively crouching—still too tall for the short-ceilinged doorway.

“Guess who I have here, Dad!” she called dramatically, stepping aside to reveal Tsukishima. She did jazz hands next to him, eyes closed and smiling wide like a magician revealing her final act. 

Seiji Hoshino walked down the last step of the stairs, then lit up. “Oh, Kei! Look at you! All grown and tall. You kids used to run around here like little cyclones.”

Just as Kei offered a small bow, more footsteps sounded from the staircase. He blinked in surprise.

Akiteru. And his mom.

“I was just giving them a refresher tour of the house,” Seiji explained with Akiteru chuckling as he reached the last step. Tsukki’s mom smiled warmly, waving. 

Minami’s eyes lit up. “AKIIIII!”

She darted into Akiteru’s arms, nearly knocking him backward with her hug. “You’ve gotten so tall since I last saw you,” he said, ruffling her hair. Tsukishima rolled his eyes and ducked down, moving his shoes to the side, muttering something under his breath.

“Still so skinny, Kei,” one of the aunts teased as she passed with a tray of fabric samples.

Minami turned from Aki to Tsukki and furrowed her brow playfully. “Hey... while we weren’t in touch, were you making sure to eat enough?”

Tsukki scoffed. “I’m fine.”

“Hmph.” She puffed her cheeks. “I used to feed you myself, remember?”

Laughter bubbled up from the group.

Minami’s eyes softened as she approached Mrs. Tsukishima and pulled her into a hug, and the woman cupped Minami’s cheek when they parted. “You’ve grown up beautifully, my Minami.”

Seiji clapped Kei’s back, a welcome with the weight of the past behind it.

“DINNER’S READY!” he called toward the kitchen, and the family shuffled toward the table.

Minami’s room was small but cozy—the walls were soft and warm, shelves crammed with ribbons and volleyball medals. A few crocheted stuffed animals leaned against neatly folded blankets. Granny squares formed a patch on the window where the breeze fluttered through. Tsukishima sat at the tiny table in the center of the room as Minami brought over two steaming bowls.

“Eat,” she commanded.

“I’m not a baby anymore, Mi.”

“I don’t care.” She picked up her chopsticks and loaded a perfect bite. “Now... say ‘ah.’”

Tsukki leaned forward, muttering, “You’re so pushy.” Still, he opened his mouth just enough, and she popped the food in, using her other hand to gently guide his chin so it didn’t fall.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he mumbled, chewing.

She grinned, scooping a bite for herself. “I’ve earned it. I’ve waited years to boss you around again.”

They ate and teased until Tsukishima leaned back with a sigh and got up to stretch. Without a word, he flopped onto her bed. Minami, now racing to finish her food, shoved the last few bites into her mouth, chopsticks scraping the bowl. She hopped up and joined him, plopping next to him with a satisfied groan.

Tsuki turned his head toward her. “So... how’s it been? Without your mom?”

She blinked, still chewing. “Tsk... you know how it went. You were there.”

She swallowed hard and sat up, brushing stray strands behind her ear. “I’ve been okay. Don’t worry about me.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just watched her quietly.

Then she turned around with a smirk. “How have you been all this time, skinny jeans?”

He let out a low chuckle, looking up at her from the bed. “Taller than you.”

“Barely,” she snorted, flicking his forehead lightly.

They both laughed.

From the dining room, the soft clinking of glasses and family chatter echoed up the stairs. In the warm, golden light of her room, surrounded by ribbons, fabrics, and old memories, it felt like they’d slipped back into a time before things changed.

And in here, just the two of them.

The stars had finally found their moon again.

And the moon—however quiet—was glowing.

Only now, they weren’t kids anymore.

Chapter Text

The Hoshino home glowed gently behind them, light spilling from the upstairs windows like soft lanterns into the quiet street. The neighborhood had fallen into the peaceful hush of nighttime. The distant chirp of crickets filled the gaps between laughter and the shuffle of goodbyes.

At the doorstep, Minami stood under the porch light, barefoot, hugging herself lightly against the cool air. Her red ribbon, now a little loose from the day’s practice, fluttered gently in the breeze.

“Thanks for dinner,” Tsukishima’s mom said warmly, waving to the aunts who were tidying up in the tailor shop below.

Akiteru gave Minami’s dad a friendly wave and a pat on the back. “Feels like old times, huh?”

Minami stepped forward, waving with both hands, her smile radiant and eyes squinting in delight. “See you guys! Get home safe!”

“Night, Mi,” Tsukki said simply, his tone flat but soft.

She beamed even brighter, raising a hand like a salute. “Night, Kei!”

They turned and started walking. Behind them, Minami stepped back inside, the door closing with a soft click.

The floor creaked beneath Minami’s socked feet as she padded back into the shop, her arms swinging loosely at her sides. Her dad was already back at his old stitching desk, glasses low on his nose as he leaned into his work, needle dancing in the fabric with careful rhythm.

He glanced up as she walked by.

“Your mom would’ve loved to see you guys back together again,” he said casually, but his voice carried something more—a deep fondness, maybe even wistfulness.

Minami leaned on the doorway, watching him work, her voice soft and slow. “He’s like this string that connects me to Mom… I don’t know how I’d live without him. I’d just have to stick him by my side for the rest of my life.”

Her dad didn’t miss a beat.

“So marry him.”

There was a pause—then a snort, followed by laughter that only grew as she turned and headed up the stairs, each giggle echoing behind her.

“Good one, Dad. Night!”

“Goodness me…” he muttered with a small, knowing smile, threading the needle again as her laughter faded above him. Puppy love had bloomed right under his roof, and he’d stitched it into their story without even trying.

The Hoshizora sky stretched above the Tsukishimas as they walked, dotted with stars and kissed by a crescent moon that glowed faintly behind a veil of clouds. The streets were empty, dimly lit by old-fashioned lamps that buzzed faintly in the quiet.

Tsukki walked with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched just slightly. Akiteru ambled ahead, hands behind his head, whistling lazily.

His mom walked beside him in silence… until she gently slipped an arm around his and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“How was that, honey?” she asked, her voice hushed and warm. “Seeing Minami again? You two were inseparable back then.”

Tsukishima didn’t look at her, eyes fixed on the pavement. “It…  was nice.”

She smiled at the flat answer, long used to the way her son wrapped feeling behind still words.

“Remember…” she murmured, “Aunty Mina and I named her the way we did for a reason.”

Tsukki blinked but said nothing.

“You’re the moon that sets her tides…” she continued gently, “and she’s the stars that keep your night from being lonely.”

Tsukishima visibly cringed. “Ugh. You sound like my kanji teacher.”

His mom giggled, playfully swatting his arm. “Shut up, you sentimental punk,” she teased, and then interlocked her arm with his like she used to when he was small.

Tsukishima walked in silence for a few more steps, the soft sound of gravel beneath their shoes.

But even though he grimaced at the poetry, the words lingered.

The moon that sets her tides.

The stars that kept his night from being lonely.

Chapter Text

It was the middle of summer, and both Kei and Minami were five.

She sat cross-legged on the floor of the Tsukishima living room, sweat glistening on her nose and cheeks as she devoured a plate of rice balls like it was the best meal of her life. And maybe to her, it was. She made a soft, delighted hum after every bite, lips smeared in grains of rice, sesame seeds clinging to her chin. Her ponytail drooped slightly at the base of her neck, and her socks were halfway peeled off—evidence of how quickly she’d kicked off her sandals upon entering, like she always did.

Tsukishima Kei sat beside her, much quieter. Also five. He was chewing slowly, eyes half-lidded, watching her from the corner of his vision as she shoveled another bite in with puffed-out cheeks and a dramatic “mmmmm!” that made his mother laugh in the kitchen.

She had been over so many times by now that she barely knocked anymore.

“Mi,” he said, voice dry and even, almost too mature for a five-year-old. “Do you want to marry into my family one day?”

She paused, blinking at him with wide eyes, face still full of food. He didn’t even look up from his rice ball. Just kept chewing, deadpan.

She tilted her head, considering it for all of half a second.

“My mom will make sure you get as many bento boxes as you want,” he added, voice flat.

“Okay!!” she squealed, muffled through her full cheeks, raising a sticky hand in the air as if sealing the deal right there.

Tsukishima’s expression didn’t change. He kept eating.

Their moms burst into laughter from the other room. Minami laughed too, wiping her hands on her shorts and immediately reaching for another rice ball. She didn’t remember this moment for long, but Kei did.

He always did.

Because even then—five years old, hair too long for his ears and his shirts too big for his frame—he remembered the way her voice filled a room like sunlight pouring through sliding doors. How it drowned out the noise in his head and replaced it with something softer.

He didn’t know what that meant then. He just knew she made his house feel warmer.

And he wanted her to keep showing up.

Years passed.

They were eleven when he moved schools, right at the start of sixth grade. He didn’t say much about it to her, because that wasn’t the kind of thing he liked talking about. But the truth was, even if they went to different schools now, they still lived close enough to run into each other—sometimes on the way home, sometimes at the sweets shop.

That day was warm too, late spring. The kind of warm that stuck to your skin and made your backpack straps feel heavier. Tsukishima was walking home when he saw her turn the corner, ribbon tied neatly atop her head.

“KEI!” she called, waving at him like she hadn’t seen him in years, even though it had only been a week. “I finally landed that float serve! It didn’t even spin—it just wobbled and dropped straight down! Coach said I looked like a real spiker!”

He didn’t respond right away. Just watched her talk, his hands in his pockets, his face unreadable. Her voice was loud, animated, bouncing with every step she took.

She kept talking—about volleyball, about school, about a manga she started reading that reminded her of him—but Tsukishima wasn’t really listening to her words.

He was listening to her voice.

Familiar. Bright. Loud in a way only he got to hear. It wasn’t annoying. It wasn’t background noise.

It was his favorite sound.

They passed the small sweets shop at the corner—the one they used to bet on with test scores. Whoever scored higher got to choose the ice cream flavor. She always picked the same one. Strawberry.

And just before they reached the pier, he said it.

“Oh, yeah, I meant to say earlier...” He bent down a little as he walked, just enough to meet her eye, his head tilted slightly like he was inspecting her face. “I like you.”

Deadpan. As usual. Like he was stating a fact.

Then he kept walking.

Silence trailed after his words like wind behind a passing car.

“E-EHHH?!?” Minami’s shriek cracked the moment wide open. She stumbled behind him, nearly tripping over her own shoes as she fumbled for words. “W-W-What are you even—?!”

She was flustered, red in the face, sputtering like her brain had short-circuited.

Then, out of nowhere, she laughed. And ran up behind him, throwing her arms around his neck and messing up his already messy hair with her knuckles.

“I know you do, dummy,” she giggled. “I like you too. You’re my best friend, Kei!”

Best friend.

She let go before he could say anything, skipping ahead with that grin she always wore when she thought she was winning at something.

“Come on, let’s race to the pier!”

He stood there a second too long. Something in his chest pulled taut—like someone had plucked a string and then let it snap.

Best friend.

Right.

He jogged after her slowly, not bothering to catch up fully. “Wait for me,” he muttered, eyes on her swinging arms. “Your dad says to always walk together. It’s dangerous.”

She turned, smiled over her shoulder, and slowed her pace.

He didn’t say another word.

But that night, when he lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, blanket up to his chin, he whispered into the dark:

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

By the time they were thirteen, things had changed.

The Tsukishimas moved neighborhoods—this time far enough that after-school meetings became rare. The visits to her shop thinned out, like chalk fading in the rain.

She had joined the volleyball team at her middle school and was always at practice or asleep, according to her dad.

Kei still found excuses to stop by. A jersey that needed sewing. A knee pad that had unraveled. The pretense was thin, but he kept using it.

He stepped into the shop with a jersey in hand, the sleeve slightly torn. Her dad greeted him with a warm smile, glasses slipping down his nose like always.

“Kei-kun. Jersey again?”

“Yeah... if it’s not too much.”

The old man chuckled, already reaching for his measuring tape. “You kids grow fast. Just like your brother.”

Kei stood silently, eyes drifting toward the staircase that led to her room.

“Is... Minami around?”

“She’s at practice again. Volleyball, every day now.”

He nodded once, jaw tight. “Right.”

He didn’t stay long after that. Eventually, he stopped going in altogether. Just walked past sometimes. Paused. Then kept going.

It was the winter of their third year in middle school when it really hit him.

He was walking his bike home after a long, silent practice. It was snowing—the quiet kind, the kind that muffled everything into stillness. His scarf was pulled up over his mouth, and his gloves were stuffed into his pockets instead of on his hands.

He passed the shop again.

Through the frosted window, he saw her.

She was sitting at the counter, sleeves pushed up, needle in hand. Her brows were furrowed in focus, lip tucked between her teeth as she stitched something by the soft yellow light of the lamp beside her. She was smiling faintly. Not at anything in particular—just content.

She looked like she didn’t need him anymore.

And for the first time, that realization felt like getting the wind knocked out of him.

And now they are fifteen. First years. Both at Karasuno.

She searched for him in the halls sometimes, yet he couldn’t tell even when she would stand near the gym doors, pretending to check her phone, clearly hoping he’d pass by.

But he never did.

Because he was at the pier.

After practice, with the moon above him and salt air in his lungs, he’d sit on the edge and let the water do the talking. That had become his version of her. He didn’t know if she still came here.

What he didn’t know was that she did—just earlier.

She came after school, while the sky was still pale blue and the sun dappled the planks in gold. She came when the boats were docked, quiet and swaying, her hands gripping the edge of the dock while she talked out loud to no one.

She left just before he arrived.

Every time.

They never overlapped.

He always came too late.

That’s what it felt like, being Tsukishima Kei.

Always late.

Always behind her.

And always listening to her voice in his head, wondering if she’d ever hear his.

Chapter Text

It had been a few weeks since they quietly reunited over dinner—the kind where nobody said what really needed to be said, but where the silences had softened just enough to let warmth seep back in.

They didn’t hang out much during school hours—Minami was always surrounded by her teammates or chatting with Yachi, and Tsukishima, as always, kept to himself, drifting like the edge of a cloud through every hallway. But after school, it was different.

They always found each other then.

Sometimes it was only for a little while—sitting by the gym after practice, eating whatever his mom packed or sipping canned coffee while waiting for the cold to settle into their muscles. Other times it was longer. Wandering through the narrow streets of town. Laughing quietly over old memories neither had forgotten. Falling into that familiar rhythm they used to live in, like returning to the steps of a dance they’d paused mid-song.

And on weekends, the Tsukishimas started showing up at the Hoshino shop more often—dinners and idle family banter turning into long nights of conversation over coffee and warm lighting, their parents seated comfortably near the sewing machines, reminiscing, laughing, refilling each other’s cups like no time had passed at all.

But for Kei and Minami, something had passed. Something had been lost, or maybe left unspoken for too long. It buzzed faintly beneath the way they stood beside each other. Beneath the way she smiled when he handed her something without asking. Beneath the way he lingered after dropping her home, just in case she turned around.

Tonight was one of those nights—after dinner, after their parents gently waved them off while remaining seated in the shop for yet another round of debriefing with familiar smiles and knowing eyes. They didn’t head to the pier this time. Instead, they took the winding trail just outside of town, walking side by side until the hill rose beneath their feet, the slope gentle but steady.

At the top, a railing stood guard over the highest natural point in town. It wasn’t a tourist spot or anything you’d find in a brochure. But people came here anyway. To think. To breathe. To watch the lights blink on, one by one, like stars falling in reverse.

Tsukishima leaned his back against the metal guardrail, arms folded loosely on top of it. His eyes were tilted skyward, taking in the stretch of navy above him. His breath fogged faintly in the cool wind.

Next to him, Minami leaned forward, elbows planted on the rail, chin resting in her palm. The breeze caught the ends of her hair, brushing them gently against her cheek.

It was peaceful. Quiet.

But his chest was a mess.

For weeks, something had been gnawing at him. And he hadn’t told anyone. Not Yamaguchi. Not his brother. Not even himself.

The question came out low, quiet, like he was afraid of the sound of it. “Mi…”

“Hm?”

“When did you fall in love with volleyball?”

She turned her head slightly, side-eyeing him with a thoughtful squint. “What’s with the sudden question?”

He shrugged, but his eyes didn’t move from the sky. “I’ve just been thinking about it lately. Trying to figure out if I even… love it. Volleyball.”

She hummed for a moment, then turned her gaze back to the town lights below.

“Probably… that time I beat you. In that practice match back in elementary school. Remember? You kept trying to block me and I kept getting through.” She grinned. “It felt good. Not just because I won, but because it made me feel like I was strong . Like I belonged on the court.”

Kei let out a small breath of something close to a laugh. Of course she’d say that.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah… I remember.”

He turned to look at her fully, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“…That’s funny,” he said quietly. “Because that’s the moment I fell in love with you .”

Minami blinked. There was silence.

Her eyes widened for just a second—and then she burst out laughing.

“Wait wait wait—” she grabbed the rail and bent over dramatically. “You only started liking me after I absolutely smoked you? Not when I bandaged your knees when you fell from your bike? Or when I cried because you got lost on the school trip? That didn’t do it for you?

He rolled his eyes, looking away. “That’s not what I meant.”

She giggled again. And smiled. Like always.

He froze.

There it was again.

That laugh. That smile. Like she always did when things got too real—when he tried to cross that invisible line between what they were and what he wanted them to be.

She was doing it again.

Friendzoning everything. Pushing his heart back with that cute, careless laugh.

“Mm-hm, sure sounds like it,” she teased. “So all those years of me walking you home, forcing you to eat vegetables, and letting you copy my kanji homework meant nothing—”

“I mean I really saw you then, okay?” he cut in, his voice more serious now. “It hit me. That match—how strong you were, how much you’d grown. You were fearless. And I realized… I didn’t just like being around you.”

She quieted.

“I liked you, ” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Like… really liked you.”

Minami looked at him. The teasing smile on her lips faltered, just slightly. Her fingers tightened around the rail.

“…You said something like that back then, too,” she murmured. “That you liked me.”

He nodded once. Silent.

“I thought you meant it as a friend,” she said softly, “because you didn’t say anything more after that. You didn’t act any different.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then, almost offhandedly:

“Did you mean it like this?”

“…Yeah.”

She exhaled. A soft sound. And then, with no bitterness — just a blunt honesty:

“Then why did you leave?”

He blinked at her. The words sat heavy in the air.

She didn’t look back. Just folded her arms back on the rail. She shook her head, trying to smile but failing.

“You just disappeared. No warning. No goodbye. I didn’t even get a reason. I spent months wondering what I did wrong.”

“I was just… confused. Hurt. After my brother—”

“But I was there for you, Kei,” she blurted with frustration,  her tone slightly raised. “I was right there, Kei. I was always there.”

He stared at her, stunned.

That was it. That was what shattered him.

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“Friends leave sometimes. I get it,” she whispered. “But if you really loved me—if I was more than that to you—then why did you leave? Why didn’t you wait for me at the pier? Why didn’t you answer when I looked for you?”

She wasn’t yelling. She wasn’t angry.

She was hurting .

She didn’t wait for him to speak.

“I’m not mad,” she added gently. “It’s just… hard to believe something means that much to someone, and they still choose to walk away.”

She looked down at her feet, brushing a tear quickly off her cheek with the back of her hand.

“I should go.”

“Wait, Mi—”

She took a small step back, already turning.

His lips parted to speak— “I—”

“Stop.”
She turned to face him, her eyes glassy, glimmering with the kind of pain that had been buried for too long.

“Stop confessing to me like this.”

Her voice cracked just a little.

“Stop saying it,” she whispered. “Don’t say you love me unless you really, really mean it.”

“Because love doesn’t just disappear. And neither do people who feel it.”

“…Mi.” His voice was small now, raw.

“I’m not saying never,” she said quietly. “But right now… I don’t know what to do with this.”

A beat.

“Goodnight, Kei.”

And with that, she left—just like he once had.

The stars above were silent witnesses to everything.

And Tsukishima Kei just stood there—still, quiet, with the wind brushing past him and her scent still lingering beside him. Like a ghost of what once was.

Chapter Text

They didn’t speak.

Not after the hilltop.

Not after the way she walked off with teary eyes and the kind of silence that hurt more than yelling ever could.

Even when their families met for their regular weekend dinners, Minami and Tsukishima found ways to quietly disappear from each other’s orbit. She’d claim extra practice, spending hours in the gym even if it meant practicing serves alone until the lights dimmed.

And Tsukishima... he didn’t hide the same way. When the Tsukishimas were invited over, he came. He stayed quiet, nodded at the aunts, listened to Akiteru talk, and then slipped out when no one was looking. Down the streets, hands shoved into his pockets. Until he found himself at the pier again—his quiet place. Her quiet place. But she hadn’t been there in weeks.

The air between them had cooled, sharp like winter air sneaking under your collar. And yet—he couldn't let it go.

It hurt—all of it.

But he couldn’t let it stay that way.

So he started bringing her bento boxes again.

It had been years since his mother made them for Minami. Back in elementary, it was tradition. Now, it was hope. He asked without looking her in the eye, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. But his mother’s face lit up.

“For Minami-chan? It’s been a while. Of course.”

So each morning, Tsukishima would wake early, take two neatly wrapped bento boxes off the kitchen counter, and leave hers in her shoe locker at school before anyone else arrived. Then he’d hide, waiting quietly at the end of the lockers, just close enough to hear her footsteps echo in the shoe area. They were always light, a little hurried. Her locker creaked open.

Then—

“Huh? What’s this…?”

A soft sigh followed. Not annoyed—not exactly. But Tsukishima flinched, wondering if she sighed because she knew it was from him. If it reminded her of the night he made everything worse between them.

He peeked from his shoulder.

She was walking down the hall, bento in hand, a soft smile playing at her lips.

She didn’t see him, but that didn’t matter. Because he saw her smile.

And it hit him in the gut.

He crouched down, gripping his own hair with one hand, head bowed.

“What are you doing Kei, seriously,” he muttered, eyes squeezed shut, the ghost of her voice still echoing in his ears.

He did it again the next morning.

And the next.

Minami never said a word. But she took the bento every time.

Minami knew it was him.

Every box. Every morning.

And part of her hated that she didn’t dare to say anything. But guilt sat heavy in her chest, just like it did the night she walked away from him on that hill.

So she planned something.

A gift. A way to say thank you. Maybe sorry. Maybe something more.

Gift shopping took longer than she thought it would. She paced the aisles with furrowed brows, gym bag still hanging off her shoulder. Her eyes landed on a plain black shoe bag with bold white letters: Volleyball Freak.

She held it up, amused.

Then her gaze flicked sideways. To a more childish bag. Dinosaurs. Bright green and blue, and a little ridiculous.

She stared.

Then, slowly, a grin tugged at her lips.

Memories surged. Their childhood. His quiet obsession with dinosaurs. The way he used to correct her when she misnamed one. The way he never really laughed, but smirked when she teased him about it.

She bought both.

That night, the sewing machine whirred softly under the warm light of the desk lamp. Her sewing glasses slid down her nose, hair pulled back hastily, pins sticking out of a fabric cushion beside her. She was bent in deep focus, carefully cutting the little dinosaurs off one bag and stitching them onto the other. 

It was late. The whole house was asleep.

Or so she thought.

Seiji, her father, shuffled down the stairs, rubbing his eyes, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. He paused in the doorway, blinking at the gentle light coming from her sewing table.

He saw her hunched over, lips pressed in focus, needle in hand.

“Minami?” her father asked groggily, squinting toward the light. “What are you still doing up?”

“I’m making a gift,” she mumbled. “For Kei.”

He shuffled over, peering over her shoulder. “For Kei, huh? That’s new.”

She didn’t answer.

He lingered a moment, then spoke gently. “You’ve been avoiding dinner when they come over. I didn’t want to pry, but… everything okay between you two?”

She hesitated. Her stitching slowed.

Then she placed the needle down and took off her glasses.

“It’s nothing, Dad. I’ve just been really busy with practice.”

“Kei’s on the volleyball team too, isn’t he? His practices don’t run that late.”

She snapped, softly but sharply—a teenage reflex, the kind that hides everything just to protect what little control you feel like you have.

“Maybe he has more time. I don’t know. Ask him .”

There was a pause. Then her father stepped forward and rested a warm, familiar hand on her back.

“You don’t have to tell me everything. But I know you miss him. And I think he misses you too.”

She stared down at the half-stitched dinosaur.

“How about this,” he said, voice softer. “When they come over for dinner this weekend, you join us. It’s Akiteru’s last weekend in town for a while. And I think you deserve the chance to say goodbye for now.”

Minami froze.

Akiteru’s last weekend?

Her chest tightened.

She didn’t want to admit it, but some part of her—the part still clinging to her younger self—had been waiting for this moment. Waiting to grow up just enough to catch Akiteru’s attention. To be something more than the little girl with the ribbon and the loud voice. That maybe, now that she was older, Akiteru would see her differently. Not as the  little girl who used to follow him around, but someone worth noticing.

And yet…

Her eyes drifted back to the bag.

To the little dinosaurs she was carefully sewing on.

The gift for Kei . The boy who always knew about her crush on his brother and never once held it against her. The boy who, despite unreciprocated, still chose to love her. To wait.

She didn’t love him that way. Not yet.

But maybe she could try.

Maybe it was time to let something new grow in the space where old crushes used to sit.

She dropped her head into her hands.

“Ugh,” she groaned. “Why are feelings so stupid ?”

But she finished the bag.

And it was cute. Messy in places. But unmistakably her .

The weekend came. But so did the match.

A practice game against a neighboring school. One that ran longer than expected.

By the time Minami walked home, the sky had already turned deep blue. The streetlights hummed above her. Her legs ached. Her heart felt heavier than her gym bag.

She stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind her as she slipped off her shoes from her tired feet.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” she said, barely above a whisper. Her eyes stayed low. Her voice dry with guilt.

Her dad didn’t scold her. He just walked over, placed a hand behind her head, and pulled her into his chest.

“It’s alright, Minami. You’ll catch him at Christmas when he visits again.”

She nodded, eyes burning, and trudged upstairs.

She flopped onto her bed.

And then she saw it. Her eyes flicked to the corner.

The gift bag.

Her heart jumped.

She might’ve missed Akiteru.

But Kei… Kei might still be there.

She grabbed the bag, bolted downstairs, and fumbled with her shoes.

The aunties blinked as she rushed past.

Seiji just smiled.

But it wasn’t a casual smile.

It was the kind that said I know. I’ve always known. And I hope you figure it out soon too.

There she was again—running through the streets of Miyagi, heart pounding, gift clenched in her fist. Her legs burned. Her chest ached. Her mind spun in circles of what am I doing what am I doing — 

She slowed as she reached the Tsukishima house. Her breath caught in her chest.

And there he was.

Leaning against the front wall, black cap pulled low, arms crossed like he’d been waiting.

She stopped.

He looked up.

“You’re late,” he said flatly. “Akiteru left a while ago. He asked me to wait out here in case you came.”

He turned to go back inside.

That’s it ?

That’s all?

That’s what she ran all this way for?

That's all he had to say after having dumped everything on her under that starry sky? Every unsaid thing from years of silence. Every buried feeling. And now?

 He acted like none of it mattered. 

She felt something twist in her chest.

Her shoulders trembled. Fingers curled tight around the gift bag.

He turned to glance over his shoulder—just as she spoke.

“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped, voice breaking.

He paused.

“I didn’t come for Aki.”

She stepped forward. Swung the bag against his chest harder than she intended. 

It hit with a soft thump and slid to the ground, revealing a black strap and part of the stitched letters: Volleyball freak. A tiny green dinosaur peeked out beneath it.

“I came to give you this. Jerk.”

Her voice cracked at the end.

And just like that, she turned.

And ran.

Her tears spilled freely now, blurring her vision. Her breath hitched with every stride.

Behind her, Tsukishima stood frozen.

Then he slowly knelt down. Picked up the bag.

Inside was a note:

hi kei! thanks for all those bento boxes :) meet me at the pier sometime? (to make up for the dinners I bailed on). I hope you'll accept my peace offering, volleyball dinosaur freak :p

He read it twice.

He looked up from where she’d stood only seconds ago, breath caught in his throat.

And without another thought, he ran.

Toward the pier.

Toward her.

Toward the moment that might finally make everything right.

Chapter Text

She had been running for so long that the pain in her chest no longer came from her lungs.

Past her house. Past the pier. Past the streetlamps that flickered to life like stars in the pavement. Her legs moved on their own, but her body didn’t feel like hers. Her breaths were sobs, sloppily wiped away with her sleeve. The spring wind stung her face, but it wasn’t what made her cry.

She stumbled to a stop near an old bus stop, the one her and Kei used to meet at when their moms would let them walk to the store together as kids. She knelt down slowly, folding into herself. Her arms wrapped around her knees and her face buried into the crook of her elbow as feeling poured out of her in wails and hiccups.

And then, footsteps.

She looked up, breath catching. Her eyes were swollen and glassy, nose red, cheeks wet.

“Akiteru?” she whispered, barely able to speak without hiccuping. “You’re still here?”

He stood there, slightly out of breath but smiling warmly. “I had to come back. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

He extended a hand toward her.

"You're basically family."

She stared at it for a moment, her fingers trembling as they hovered just above his. Then, slowly, she took it with a sniffle, and he gently helped her up.

"Come on," he said, a gentle grin spreading across his face. "Let’s go to the  convenience store down the road. Like old times."

A tiny smile pulled at her lips despite everything. That familiar warmth of Akiteru’s presence—the kind that soothed like a blanket pulled over tired shoulders—eased something inside her.

"Are we… walking?" she asked, glancing around for his usual bike or car.

"Yeah, sorry," he chuckled. "I came by bus this time."

She smiled again, small but real. That cracked something warm between them.

They ended up at the convenience store. It was indeed just like old times.

Two warm buns in hand—one red bean, one pork—split in half and swapped so each had a taste of both. The scent of soy and steam curled up in the cool night air as they walked in silence, heading toward the very place where things between her and Kei began to fray.

The hilltop.

The guardrails still stood, overlooking the sleeping town like sentinels of memory. The lights from the buildings below twinkled gently, the stars above echoing them.

They stood there in silence, chewing slowly. The only sound was the occasional sniffle from Minami.

Then Akiteru broke the silence.

“Do you know why I call you Mina now?”

She blinked, finishing the last bite of her bun.

“Because… it’s my mom’s name?”

He let out a soft chuckle, eyes on the horizon. “Yeah… But also because your mom wanted you to be just like her.”

Minami glanced at him, lips parting slightly.

“And after all this time I’ve known you… I think you did it.”

She blinked slowly.

Akiteru continued, voice growing gentler.

“Don’t get me wrong—your mom wanted you to be your own person. To chase your own dreams and find your way. But the way you live? The way you love, care, give so much of yourself to people without expecting anything back?—Mina, that’s her. She’s in you. She’s always been in you.”

Her eyes misted over again. That ache in her chest swelled like it had when she was younger, crying quietly into her pillow at night, just wishing someone would tell her she was doing enough. That she hadn’t failed at being her mother’s daughter.

She laughed softly through her tears. “Where is this going, Aki?”

He turned to face her with a warm smile.

“There’s something I always admired about your mom,” he said. “She knew what was best. Always. And from the moment you and Kei were born, she believed there was something between the two of you.”

Her heart seized at the sound of his name.

He looked up at the sky.

“That’s why she named you that way. Your names... they fit like constellations.”

The words struck something in her—the quiet, romantic notion that their fates had been written into each other without either of them aware.

“I don’t have any doubts about the two of you,” he added. “Take that however you want, but I know—you love each other.”

“I—” She tried to argue. But he held up a hand.

“I know what you’re going to say. But Mina, if you didn’t love him... would you really have cried over him in the middle of the street?”

Her voice caught. She looked away, arms folded around herself.

He was right.

Even if it wasn’t the kind of love she thought she’d wanted... It was love. The slow, aching kind. The kind that had grown from childhood into something more, something deeper. Something scarier.

Akiteru spoke softer now.

“All I’m asking is that you try. Kei’s stubborn. But you... you’re written into his story. He’s the moon that sets your tides. And you’re the stars that accompany his lonely sky.”

They walked in silence after that.

But everything he said echoed through her.

Outside her house, he paused. He turned to face her fully and waved gently.

She nodded, giving a small bow of thanks before walking to the door.

But halfway there, she stopped.

Turned.

“Akiteru,” she called softly.

He looked up, hand mid-wave.

“...I like you.”

His eyes widened slightly.

But then—he smiled.

He walked forward, ruffled her hair, and adjusted her ribbon gently.

“I do too, Mina,” he said.

Then, softer.

“I do too.”

And he walked into the night.

Tsukishima had run everywhere.

Back to the pier. Her street. Even doubled back to the school.

No Minami.

He kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk, hands stuffed in his pockets, his chest tight with panic. Maybe she went home already. Maybe she didn’t want to see him at all.

He turned the corner toward her street—and froze.

There she was.

Standing in front of her house with Akiteru.

He saw Akiteru pat her head.

He ducked behind the side of a wall before they could see him, breath caught painfully in his throat.

She was safe.

But...

It wasn’t him she ran to.

It was Akiteru.

All this time, all these years, and she still chose his brother. Kei’s hand clenched over his chest.

Of course. Of course she did.

He turned and walked the other way, each step echoing hollow on the pavement.

Minami shut the door behind her. It clicked into place with a soft finality.

And then she slid down against it.

Her knees gave out. Her arms curled around her legs. Her chest heaved, but her throat couldn’t form a single word.

Her lips trembled.

She had said it.

She’d finally said it out loud—“I like you.”

And he... he’d said it back.

But not the way she wanted.

Not the way she needed.

It wasn’t a confession. It was kindness. A pat on the head.

She had been friendzoned.

By her first love.

The words that once tasted sweet now stung bitter.

She buried her face in her arms as the ache poured out of her in sobs that only the walls of her home could hear.

Chapter Text

Monday came, but Minami did not.

His heart felt emptier after what happened over the weekend—like something had shifted inside him. And somewhere deep within, today felt off. Kei tried not to show it—he trained, he practiced, he existed—but every serve felt off, every block too slow.

Midway through practice, Michimiya approached him, her brows furrowed with concern. "Hey, Tsukishima—have you seen Minami today? She didn’t show up for school. We tried calling, but no answer."

His eyes widened.

She wasn’t at school?

A cold weight dropped in his stomach. By the time practice officially ended and the sun hovered just above the horizon, his chest felt tight with worry. His feet carried him faster than his thoughts could form.

He ran.

Down the streets and through the alleys, feet pounding against pavement as the light bled into orange and the shadows grew long. He stopped only when the familiar sign of the Hoshino tailor shop came into view. The bell above the door rang as he pushed it open.

"Is Mi here today?" he asked, breathless, chest heaving.

Mr. Hoshino looked up from behind the counter, pushing his glasses up as a wrinkle of concern formed between his brows.

"No, we sent her off to school this morning. Why? Was she not in school today?"

Kei hesitated, swallowing thickly. "No, it’s nothing. Thank you, Mr. Hoshino."

He closed the door behind him and ran again.

Inside, the aunties stood from their chairs, trying to catch a glimpse of him through the window.

"What if she’s missing?" one of them fretted.

Mr. Hoshino didn’t even look up this time. He just resumed his sewing, a slow smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

"He’ll find her," he said simply. "Just like he always does."

The pier greeted him with the sound of waves brushing gently against the wooden beams.

And there she was.

Her legs dangled off the edge of the dock, palms flat at her sides, her school uniform crisp even as the wind tousled her hair. The crimson ribbon on her head danced like a flame in the fading light. The sea in front of  her caught the hues of the sun, bright oranges and soft pinks rippling gently across its surface. It was one of those breezy days that whispered the end of spring and hinted at summer’s arrival.

Kei approached slowly. The wood creaked beneath his feet, but Minami didn’t turn around.

Without a word, he slipped off his gym bag and took out a zip-up hoodie. Quietly, gently, he draped it over her shoulders and sat beside her.

“You’ll get cold, Mi.” His voice was low, careful. “Have you been out here all day?”

She didn’t answer right away. She just adjusted the hoodie higher around her frame and leaned her head onto his shoulder.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, yes—but not with tension. With unspoken truths. With time. With ache.

The waves brushed against the dock. Gulls called faintly in the distance. Boats bobbed lazily on their ropes.

“You said you loved me back then,” Minami whispered, her head still on his shoulder.

He didn’t move.

“But then you left.”

She wasn’t accusing him. Her voice wasn’t cold or sharp. It was soft—an echo of a conversation they never finished, spoken like a memory she was finally ready to touch.

“Maybe you had your reasons,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s not something I’ll ever understand. But part of me thought... if I really mattered to you, you would’ve stayed.”

Kei opened his mouth. Closed it. There was no excuse that could make it better. And she knew that.

“I’m not saying I don’t love you,” she continued.

He looked down at her, barely breathing.

“I just…” Her voice trembled. “I can’t seem to believe that you love me. I don’t know how to.”

She sat up slowly and turned to face him.

“But I’m trying. I want to try.”

Her eyes were full. Of confusion. Of guilt. Of fear. Of the kind of love that’s still trying to figure itself out.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, his gaze lifted to her ribbon. The wind was beginning to pull it loose. Gently, he reached out, fingers brushing her hair as he re-tied the bow—slowly, carefully, as if handling something sacred.

When he was done, he met her eyes.

“I’ll wait for you to believe it.”

The wind blew a little harder, carrying the scent of salt and sea.

Minami blinked at him, her heart twisting.

“Why are you still here?” she asked, her voice cracking.

He didn’t respond.

She shook her head.

“You said you loved me, and I laughed like it was nothing. I friendzoned you twice and still thought you’d just… what—wait?” Her hands clenched in her lap. “You shouldn’t love someone like me, Kei,” she whispered. “Not when I’m still full of someone else’s ghost.”

The sun dipped lower. A last glimmer of gold stretched across the horizon.

Kei’s voice came soft, steady.

“Then I’ll wait for it to fade. Even ghosts disappear eventually.”

Her breath hitched.

She looked up at him slowly, her eyes glassy, shoulders sagging under the weight of everything she couldn’t say. Guilt pulled at every feature of her face—as if she didn’t deserve such a boy, not after everything she’d done to him. 

There was no sarcasm in his face. No mask. Just truth.

“You’re so—” Her chest heaved as tears started to fall. “So stupid.”

She hit his chest weakly, fists landing without weight, not to hurt—but to release something too heavy to carry.

Because in that moment, what she felt wasn’t just heartbreak.

It was realization.

Because for the first time, she knew what it felt like to love someone deeply and be turned away with a kind smile. She had been friendzoned by her first love—and it stung in places she didn’t know could ache.

And suddenly, it made everything Kei had ever felt crystal clear. How much it must’ve hurt him all those years ago, to say those words with every ounce of his boyish, fragile heart and be laughed off—twice. How long he must’ve waited. How much he must’ve hoped. How heavy it must’ve been to carry that love alone.

And yet he was still here.

Still waiting.

And she wept because now she understood.

“You’re stupid and unfair and kind and I don’t know what to do with you.”

The wind picked up again, her ribbon fluttering wildly.

In one swift movement, Kei caught her hand before it hit him again and lowered it gently.

His other hand reached for the ribbon just as it tried to take flight—securing it—and in doing so, he tilted her chin up.

He kissed her.

Soft.

Deliberate.

Quiet.

Her eyes widened. Her breath froze.

As a tear rolled down her cheek, she closed her eyes.

And she kissed him back.

It was like waves meeting the shore after a long storm. It wasn’t fireworks—it was relief. A coming home. A silent promise in the language of pressed lips and trembling hearts.

The pier trembled slightly beneath them as waves crashed harder against its base. Boats rocked gently in the rising tide.

Above them, stars bloomed into the sky one by one as the sun dipped below the horizon completely.

And the moon, quiet and watching, rose to light the beautiful waves below, casting its glow gently—upon the boy who waited.

And the girl who finally, finally turned to meet him.

Chapter Text

The moon had risen high now, a quiet guardian above the sleepy town. The streets glistened from yesterday’s rain, catching the soft golden glow of each street lamp they passed. Their shoes scuffed against the pavement in a gentle rhythm, muted by puddles and uneven concrete. The evening was warm, but Minami still wore his jacket—Kei’s jacket—draped over her shoulders like a protective cloak.

Kei trailed a few steps behind her, hands buried in his pockets, one earbud in. He wasn’t saying much.

Minami, however…

Was wailing.

Not with the intensity of heartbreak or confusion like before—but like a child who’d just realized how big their feelings were. Her head tilted toward the sky as she sobbed loudly and dramatically, arms flailing every now and then as her oversized sleeves flopped with her movements.

"I missed you soooo much, Kei!" she wailed, voice cracking with every syllable.

He smirked, shaking his head, not even trying to hide the small laugh that escaped him.

“You’re the stupidest person ever and I missed you and— hic —I got rejected by Aki and I-I rejected you twice —twice!— hic hic hic! — And now I know how much it hurts! How could you even— hic —even stand me?!

Kei let out a quiet chuckle, the back of his hand rising to cover his mouth. He slowed his steps just a little, letting her walk ahead.

She came to a sudden halt, turning to face him with puffy eyes and an exaggerated pout, her hands in tight little fists.

“You’re laughing at me,” she accused, her lip trembling.

His smirk faltered, caught in the moment. “No—pfft—I mean…”

Minami sniffled hard. "You laughed! And you — hic —you stole my first kiss and now you’re laughing at me!”

Tsukishima’s steps slowed. His smirk vanished as he turned his head slightly away, suddenly painfully aware of the heat crawling up the back of his neck. His hand reached awkwardly to scratch at the nape, his eyes refusing to meet hers now. 

“I didn’t steal it. You kissed me back. Voluntarily.”

“I was emotionally compromised!” she cried, spinning back around to continue walking, wailing anew.

Behind her, Kei just watched.

The corner of his lips curved again, this time slower. Softer.

In his earbud, one of his favorite songs played. A song from the playlist. Her playlist.

He never told her he made it, not really. But he always had it queued. Songs that reminded him of her laugh, her voice, the smell of her hair after practice, the curve of her frown when he annoyed her just right. He played it every time she was around.

Minami used to scold him about it. “Seriously? Take those out when I’m talking to you.”

And he’d just shrug and say, “I can still hear you, it’s fine.”

It was like his secret soundtrack for their life. His small rebellion against reality’s silence. If real life could cue music like movies did—he’d want this music. For them .

As she cried in front of him—tears streaking her cheeks, nose pink from cold and emotion, hair disheveled by wind and waves—he found himself simply... watching her.

Mouth parted slightly. Eyes wide in quiet awe.

The street lamps behind her gave her hair a haloed glow. The hoodie swallowed her, sleeves too long. Her shoulders hunched. Her steps dramatic. She was a mess.

But somehow, to him, she had never looked more perfect.

His heart blushed.

He didn’t say a word—he wouldn’t dare call her cute , not when she was crying like that—but the thought settled in his chest like a secret he’d keep forever.

He was so lost in the moment, he didn’t realize she had stopped crying and was just glaring at him through glassy eyes again.

“What?” she muttered, sniffling and wiping her face with the sleeve of  his jacket.

He blinked. “Huh?”

“You’re staring,” she grumbled.

He looked away quickly, flushing, and cleared his throat. “Tch. Whatever.”

They started walking again. She sniffled every few seconds. He let her. She felt like home. All this time, through every up and down—they hadn’t lost this. Not really.

He let out a soft breath and called, “Hey, crybaby. Lower your volume before the neighbors come out and file a noise complaint.”

She spun around without missing a beat. “You’re the worst, Kei!” she cried. 

He laughed again, this time louder.

Minami pouted harder. “You’re literally evil. You’re a criminal. A kiss-thief and a big jerk.”

“Yeah?” he said, catching up beside her now. “Well, you’re loud.”

“You’re smug.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re impossible!”

Kei smirked. “But you missed me.”

“…Shut up,” she muttered, tugging the hoodie closer around her.

They walked in silence for a moment. The street lamps flickered gently above them. The playlist continued playing in his ear.

He glanced sideways at her, taking her in once more.

No, they weren’t official. Nothing was labeled. But tonight, she was walking beside him again.

And something in his chest whispered that she would keep doing so.

That their bond wasn’t going anywhere.

And that was more than enough for now.

As the moon hung above them, casting silver light over the dewy pavement, Tsukishima Kei looked over at Minami Hoshino—his crying, chaotic wave of a girl—and thought:

Yeah. I’ll wait as long as it takes.

Chapter Text

Karasuno’s gym was louder than usual.

It was late June now, and though the boys’ team had already wrapped up their Inter-High preliminaries—losing to Aoba Johsai in the third round—the girls were just about to begin theirs. With only one week of training before their own matches began, the girls were given priority access to the gym, their practices stretching from afternoon into evening. The boys helped where they could: running drills, keeping score, or loitering on the second-floor balcony with half-lidded eyes, pretending not to be watching.

It was somewhere between those quiet transitions—the sound of sneakers squeaking away, whistles fading out, and the girls beginning to jog in—that Minami arrived.

Late. And breathless.

She came skidding in from the back door, panting and flushed, her gym bag bouncing at her side. Dropping down against the wall, she unzipped her bag with shaking fingers and began rifling through it in a panic. Her hair, uncharacteristically down, stuck to her forehead with sweat.

“What’s wrong?” one of the girls asked, jogging up with concern. “You good?”

Minami froze for half a second, then looked up with wide, almost teary eyes.
“…It’s my ribbon,” she whispered, voice breathless. “I—I can’t find my ribbon.”

There was a chorus of small gasps and “oh no’s” from her teammates as they gathered around. One of them pulled her own spare hair tie from her wrist and handed it over, but Minami only smiled faintly as she took it.

“Thanks. I’ll use this for now. But would you guys mind… helping me look later? I really need it. It’s important.”

The other girls nodded, albeit a little confused. They didn’t know the story behind that ribbon—not really. But Kei Tsukishima, seated on the floor just a little ways away lacing his shoes, did.

He glanced up at the commotion and felt his entire body tense.

That ribbon…

It was in his gym bag.
Still there from that day.

The kiss. The wind. Her laugh. The way it flew off and how he’d caught it and shoved it quickly into his bag without thinking—too stunned to speak, too embarrassed to give it back.

Now he sat frozen, cheeks warm as he tried to look anywhere but her. He couldn’t just hand it over in front of everyone. Not now. Not like this. Not when the memory still echoed every time he closed his eyes.

"Kei!" Minami suddenly called, snapping him out of it. "Have you seen my ribbon? I swear I just—"

He panicked. Without looking up, he rolled a half-used tape toward her across the gym floor. “Use that,” he mumbled, barely hiding the flush in his ears. “I dunno. Figure something out.”

She squinted at him, scoffing. “Helpful,” she muttered sarcastically as she took the hair tie instead, pulling her hair back into its usual ponytail—now missing the red that had always been there.

He watched her jog onto the court.

And when her back was turned…

Kei inched closer.

He tugged open his gym bag, eyes darting left and right, and quietly pulled out the ribbon. He didn’t smooth it or make a show of it. He just placed it gently inside her bag and zipped it closed like nothing had happened.

He thought no one noticed.

But Yamaguchi, standing at the scoreboard tallying points, definitely noticed.

His eyes narrowed. Why does Kei have her ribbon?

The practice ended around sunset, the orange sky casting golden shadows across the gym as people began packing up. Girls talked and laughed as they cleaned the floor, reset equipment, and rehydrated. Minami lingered, a bit slower, still worried.

“I really don’t know where it could’ve gone,” she muttered, searching around the benches. “I feel like I’ve checked everywhere already…”

From his spot near the doors, Yamaguchi threw a glance at Kei, who stood frozen in fake distraction. He coughed, once, intentionally.

Everyone turned.

“…Maybe check your gym bag again?” Tsukishima suggested, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Properly this time.”

Minami sighed dramatically. “Kei, I already looked like five times.”

“Sure, like that’s ever enough when it comes to yo—”

But his voice stopped as her hand reached into her bag and came back holding…

The ribbon.

Her red ribbon.

She stared at it, eyes wide. “Wh—What? Huh? I-I swear it wasn’t here before…”

The other girls laughed as she scratched the back of her head sheepishly. “Sorry, must’ve been my bad eyes…”

They let it go. One patted her back, another ruffled her hair. One by one, they said goodbye and filed out the doors.

But Minami didn’t smile.

Even after she tied it into her hair again, she looked… guilty. Like she still believed it had been her fault.

Kei frowned.

Yamaguchi threw him a look that said: See what you did?

They began walking out together, just the three of them now. The sky had deepened to soft violet, the street quiet but warm. Yamaguchi lagged behind slightly, watching Minami drag her feet beside Kei.

“I seriously didn’t see it in there,” she said with a tired pout. “I wonder how I missed it…”

“Yeah, about that—” Yamaguchi started, glancing back toward Kei.

Before he could continue, Kei cupped a hand over Yamaguchi’s mouth in one swift motion.

“Don’t,” Kei warned flatly, eyes narrowed.

Minami raised an eyebrow at their bickering but chuckled softly, letting it go.

They kept walking until they reached the usual street corner—Yamaguchi’s stop. He raised an eyebrow again at Kei before turning off with a muttered “Good luck.”

Now alone, Kei and Minami walked side by side. Quiet again.

She seemed out of it. Her steps were small, her ribbon swinging loosely.

Kei sighed through his nose. “Mi, I—”

She suddenly gasped, pointing a finger at him.

“That night!” she cried. “When we… you know… I didn’t have my ribbon when we walked home!”

Kei flinched. “What about it?”

“That means you had it! And you put it into my bag!”

He looked away with a defeated huff, lips pouting in a sulk. “…Maybe.”

She slapped his arm lightly.

“OW—?!” he winced, clutching his shoulder. “What the heck?!”

But when he turned, she was smiling. Bright and teasing. Her ribbon dancing in the breeze.

“Oh, so now you’re smiling,” he muttered. “After being Miss Grumpy Pants the whole walk home. Guess slapping me really did it for you. Got it.”

She giggled, spinning on her heel. “Nope. I’m happy because now I know I looked properly. And you’re the one who made everyone search for no reason. So technically—” she shrugged dramatically, “—not my fault.”

And with a twirl of her finger, she bounded up the steps to her front door.

“ Night, thief! ” she called, winking.

Kei stared after her, utterly dumbfounded.

His fault? Well… okay, yeah. It was his fault. But she didn’t have to say it like that.

Still.

He walked away with a flutter in his chest and a small, almost secret smirk tugging at his lips.

(Which he would never, ever admit.)

Chapter Text

It started with a gentle command.

Kei’s mom had seen the schedule taped on the fridge, noticed the faint bruises on Minami’s arms when she stopped by, how her appetite dipped when she was tired, how she smiled through it anyway. That was enough.

“Kei. It’s your job to make sure she eats properly this week.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t question it. He simply adjusted his schedule.

That Monday, instead of tucking the bento into her shoe locker like he usually did, Tsukishima walked it straight to her classroom.

There was a commotion at first. Squeals, whispers, a chorus of “No way—Tsukishima?” echoing through the desks as Minami blinked up at him with a mouthful of mochi, stunned. He only rolled his eyes and sat beside her desk without saying a word.

He set the bento down. “Eat it properly.”

Minami blinked, then grinned—wide and cheeky. “You’re eating with me?”

“I’m not hungry,” he muttered, eyes glued to the window—but he stayed. And every now and then, when she offered him bites of egg roll or bits of fried tofu, he accepted them like it was no big deal. Letting her feed him with chopsticks, totally unaffected. Except for the part where he very obviously chewed slower after.

He lingered after practice that week.

The same Tsukishima Kei who used to dart out of the gym the second drills ended now stayed behind to help. Even when Daichi asked him twice—“You sure?”—he only muttered something vague and went to fetch another cart of volleyballs.

Minami was pushing herself to the edge. Relentless in her dedication. Each serve, each spike, each stretch—sharp and clean and full of something bigger than pressure. She burned with it.

Tsukishima watched from across the court, caught in a daze.

The way she received that serve—smooth, balanced, and powerful—he was pulled back to when he first saw her. Elementary  school. When she beat him in that practice match.

Back then, she was in a white shirt and black shorts and knee pads just like now. Ribbons wrapped around twin ponytails bouncing as she moved. Nothing had changed, except—everything had.

She was still just as fiery. But that passion? It had aged beautifully. Like light sharpened by time.

And yet.

She always stayed behind after everyone left. Refusing to stop.

“Go ahead without me,” she’d call out, wiping sweat off her forehead, gym bag still untouched.

“Whatever,” he’d say.

But he never really left.

From his window at home, Kei would watch.

Flicking the curtain aside. Waiting.

An hour would pass. No sign of her.

He’d sigh, grab a hoodie, and head out.

Every time, he’d find her in the same spot—laid out like a corpse in the gym. Her gym bag acting as a pillow. Hair clinging to her temples. Looking like she’d passed out mid-sentence.

“You’re gonna catch a cold sleeping here,” he muttered once.

Then, without ceremony, he’d yank her gym bag from under her head.

“OW?!” she squeaked, sitting up groggily, eyes squinting in confusion.

And there he’d be, kneeling in front of her, back facing her—unbothered.

He jerked his chin. “Get on.”

She smiled sleepily and climbed on with no hesitation, arms draped around his neck.

“You’re heavy,” he muttered, standing up and adjusting his grip under her thighs.

She just snuggled closer, resting her head against his shoulder, voice teasing. “You love it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

But yeah—he did. He loved this. Every second of it.

For the rest of the week, it became their thing.

Minami would go too hard in practice, and Tsukishima would always find her. Piggyback her home. Sometimes she’d chatter, sometimes she’d pass out completely with her face buried into the crook of his neck.

He’d carry her through the sleepy streets like she was weightless.

Helped her take her shoes off. Tucked her into bed like it was the most normal thing.

On the final night of that long week, he was carrying her again. The last walk home before her game.

She was half-asleep, arms looped loosely around his neck. Street lamps cast soft golden halos onto the pavement. The air was gentle and warm.

“Thanks, Kei-kun,” she whispered against his shoulder, voice drowsy, a soft smile on her lips.

Then, without warning, she tightened her arms into a hug around his neck.

He froze a little.

His heart flipped.

“…Sure,” he whispered, barely audible. His eyes darted away, a flush creeping up his neck and ears.

The rest of the walk, she held him like that. Quiet. Grateful. Loved.

And he held her right back—arms steady, heartbeat louder than ever.

Tomorrow, she’d step onto the court for her first official match as Karasuno’s first-year ace.

And Kei Tsukishima—her walking bento delivery boy, her reluctant shoulder to cry on, her nighttime piggyback ride—would be in the crowd.

Watching.

Just like always.

Only this time, he’d be cheering, too.

Quietly.

For her.

Always.

Chapter Text

The whistle blew.

Karasuno’s girls huddled in tight formation, their palms layered atop one another, sweat and excitement vibrating off them in waves. Minami stood at the center, her red ribbon tied tightly around her ponytail, eyes focused and lit with fire. Her jersey clung to her shoulders—#7, the new ace. The gym buzzed with nervous energy, the polished court gleaming faintly under the lights. It was their first match of the Inter-High preliminaries, and Karasuno was ready to rise again.

Set One.

The opposing team served fast and low, but Karasuno's libero read it clean. Minami was already sliding into formation. The ball was received crisply, popped up by their setter—who glanced at her without needing to say a word.

Minami was already in the air.

A synchronized attack with the middle blocker—Minami curved in from the right, twisting her arm for an inside-angle spike just beyond the blockers’ fingertips.

Point. Karasuno.

Tsukishima smirked from the stands. Her timing was perfect.

As the match progressed, the opponents gained traction. They studied Karasuno’s tempo, began placing blocks more accurately, and even managed a few clean dumps just over the net. Karasuno dropped the first set 21–25.

Minami barely blinked.

Back in the huddle, breathless but steady, she clapped her hands and called: “We’ve read them now. Reset. We’re starting fresh. Don’t let them set the pace.”

The second set was all grit.

Minami rotated into the back row, and when their ace couldn’t spike, she received like a wall. A sharp drive from the outside hitter aimed for the seam—Minami dove low, forearms locked, and popped it high. Karasuno rebuilt fast, returned with a cross shot.

Then came a rally— longer than any they'd played yet. Minami’s hair swayed with every dig, her voice calling out reads, shifting the defense. A perfect setup came her way.

She soared—and faked the spike. The decoy drew both blockers, and their middle sent a clean tip behind the defense.

25–22. Karasuno.

Tsukishima gave a small clap. That was her volleyball brain in action. That was his ace.

Final set. Tiebreaker.

It was brutal.

Long volleys. Off-speed serves. Tight line shots. Both teams clawed their way up the scoreboard point by point. Karasuno would push to match point, then the opponents would respond. 15–15. 20–20. Then 25–25.

Minami rotated into the back again, hands on her knees, chest heaving. The gym echoed with squeaks of sneakers, the slap of palms, the occasional barked command.

That’s when it happened.

They scored a point—Karasuno pushed ahead with a strategic quick in the middle—and the team cheered. Minami jogged back into position when she felt it.

A flutter against her neck.

She reached back and—

Her ribbon was gone.

In a second, her stomach dropped. Her hair fell loose down her back. Panic rose in her throat, irrational but real. She needed it tied. Needed it to feel like herself.

The opposing team was already prepping. She crouched, frantic, scanning the floor.

Suddenly—
A hand raised a “T” from the scorer's table.
The referee nodded.
Timeout.

Confused murmurs rose around the gym. The girls turned—

And there he was.

Jogging across the court in his Karasuno jacket, face unreadable, blond hair tousled.

Tsukishima Kei.

Minami’s eyes went wide.

He stopped behind her, kneeled down, picking up the red ribbon that had fallen just off the court. She was bent forward, panting lightly, head down. Without a word, he gathered her hair, twisted it up neatly, and retied the ribbon with a snug, practiced loop.

Her breath caught.

"...Thanks," she whispered, not looking up.

He gave the ribbon one last tug, ensuring it was tight.

“Don’t lose again,” he said softly.

Then he stood and turned, walking back with a nonchalant pace, but his ears were pink. He gave a lazy thumbs-up to the ref.

Minami giggled, cheeks flushed, and threw a thumb up as well.

The whistle blew. Match point.

They served. The opponent received clean, going for a pipe attack.

But Minami read it.
She slid back, arm extended—received it perfectly to their setter.

"Back set!" the call rang out.

Minami didn’t even think.

She sprinted in from the back, leapt into the air with every muscle tightening, and hammered it through the seam of the double block.

A clean, sharp thud.

The ball sliced the court.
Point. Karasuno.

Game.

Set: 27–25. Karasuno wins.

Cheers erupted, the girls flooded the court, Minami at the center, flushed and breathless, her ribbon bouncing behind her. The bench ran in. Their coach wiped their eyes. The girls clung to each other, screaming. Even the ref cracked a small smile.

In the stands, Tsukishima sat down, earbud in one ear, watching her laugh and jump around like a little kid. He didn’t smile outwardly—but the corners of his lips curled, and he shook his head.

She really was a movie.

And this moment—this music in his ear, this image burned into his mind—he’d play it over and over, for years to come.

Chapter Text

The second game was over.

Their second round ended with a loss, but somehow, that wasn't what stuck.

Because that first game—they won.

And not just won. They played.

Sweat-drenched, heart-thrashing, volleyball-worshiping kind of play. The kind that reminded the third-years of why they joined in the first place. That high they hadn’t tasted in what felt like years.

As the Karasuno girls team trickled out of the gym after their short team meeting, their footsteps were light. Hair tied up, jerseys stained with hard-earned exhaustion, their voices loud with laughter. They were giddy, not just about the scoreboard, but the feeling they got when they locked eyes across the court and trusted each other.

Outside, the Karasuno boys’ team was already by the bus, milling around in their warm-up jackets, waiting.

A sort of mini tunnel formed as the girls jogged out. High-fives were exchanged without hesitation—Yachi practically bounced in her shoes seeing how happy Minami looked. Yamaguchi grinned like a proud parent, even Hinata (who had about three versions of “YOU WERE SO COOL!!!” ready to shout) had to be held back by Kageyama. Coach Ukai and Takeda-sensei clapped politely from the side, giving nods of approval.

The girls boarded the bus one by one.

All except one.

Tsukishima had been slowly making his way toward the bus door, eyes trailing back toward the gym every few steps. He scanned once. Then again. His brows pinched slightly like he was trying to act indifferent. He wasn’t worried or anything—maybe a little curious. And then—

“KEI-KUNNNNNN!!!”

The world briefly slowed.

She came flying out of the gym, bag slung crooked over one shoulder, shoes still half untied. But her face—her face was glowing like the sun had set just to follow her smile.

His eyes widened. His mouth parted just slightly. In one ear, his phone still played that soft playlist he’d quietly compiled for her—guitar strums and breathy vocals suddenly syncing perfectly with the image of her running toward him in real time.

And then—thud.

Minami jumped.

Her arms hooked around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist, her laugh muffled against his shoulder as they spun just slightly from the impact. He let out a low breath of surprise, but his arms steadied around her easily, and he found himself softly rocking them side to side while holding her. Not because he had to, but because it felt right.

When she finally dropped back down to the ground, she was already talking.

“DID YOU SEE ALL MY DECOYS?? And my cross shot? And that float serve I’ve been working on??? OH! And that time-out you called— ” she pointed at him with both fingers dramatically, “ —you totally saved my life. MVP move. ”

They were halfway into the bus before she even paused to take a breath.

Tsukishima just sighed through his nose and followed, brushing the back of his hand across his mouth to hide the smirk threatening to form.

She was still talking.

They sat next to each other, second row from the back. She talked at him with the energy of ten espressos, animated hand gestures flying past his line of sight.

“ I mean, when I hit that one sharp angle— remember? You saw it, right? Did you see how it curved? I felt like I was flying. Also—oh man—they totally weren’t expecting me to tip it, did you see their libero?? She was so mad—*”

He let her go on. He didn’t interrupt. Just watched, occasionally nodding, arms crossed, legs stretched out like he wasn’t dying on the inside from how cute she looked reenacting her own spikes.

Somewhere around the fifteenth “did you see when I—” he noticed her tone starting to shift. Softer edges. Her voice slowed. And then… a yawn.

She didn’t stop talking. She just… yawned again, right in the middle of a sentence.

“—and then I swear she totally tripped on her own— yaawwwwn —feet—”

Tsukishima’s eyes shifted sideways.

Another yawn.

He pressed his tongue into his cheek and looked forward, pretending not to notice.

Until—

Her head fell.

Right onto his shoulder.

Light. Warm. Her hair slightly damp from shower sweat and leftover energy. He didn’t flinch. Just blinked once, and then—slowly, almost cautiously—shifted his arm so his elbow rested against hers and his shoulder tucked in just a bit closer.

She murmured something incoherent. A sleepy hum. Then nothing.

His lips twitched.

Finally, he allowed a smile. Small. But real.

She’d fallen asleep against him before. But this—this felt different. It felt earned. Like a tiny reward for a week of quiet efforts and unspoken care.

He reached into his pocket and gently pulled out the second earbud. Slipped it into her ear.

The playlist continued playing.

And for the rest of the ride home, Tsukishima stared out the window with his heart full, a sleeping Minami curled into him, and a quiet thought running in the back of his head:

You did good, Mi.

Really good.

Chapter Text

The last two weeks of July stretched long, sticky, and distant.

With Minami at her summer training camp in Sendai and Tsukishima stationed up in Tokyo for the boys training camp. The only thing tethering them to each other were the occasional texted photos of bento boxes and blurry images of volleyball courts with captions like “3 more drills and I’m passing out lol” or “do you think my knee looks like a dinosaur” (that one came from her, of course).

They were both exhausted in their own corners, but quietly—achingly—missing the other. Tsukishima would never admit it aloud, but when he saw her name light up his phone, even just to say “today’s curry reminded me of your moms,” he always paused his music and stared just a little longer than necessary at her texts.

When August came, they finally returned home.

Their reunion wasn’t some dramatic movie scene. Just two tired athletes with duffel bags slung over their shoulders, bumping into each other at the school gym by accident while checking the open practice schedule.

“Oh,” Minami had blinked. “You got taller.”

“You look like you haven’t slept in two weeks,” Tsukishima replied, deadpan.

And that was that. A quiet smile traded for a longer one, as if to say I missed you in a language only they understood.

Though school was out, the volleyball schedule was far from paused. With the Spring Tournament Qualifying Rounds for the Miyagi Prefecture  set for later that August, both the boys and girls teams had ramped up practices. And this time—it wasn’t just him supporting her, or her standing in the crowd for him. They were helping each other now.

Whether it was Tsukishima blocking for her spikes or Minami tossing for his jump serves, they drilled together in the sun-soaked gym, drenched in sweat and satisfaction. They timed their neighborhood runs to the sunset, racing past convenience stores and corner parks, their sneakers pounding against the concrete in rhythm.

Their tutors had prepared summer make-up work in case they advanced past qualifiers once school resumed, so in the evenings, Tsukishima had his nose buried in textbooks while Minami sat cross-legged across from him, holding chopsticks lazily in one hand.

“Open,” she’d say, wiggling a piece of tamagoyaki in front of his face.

“I’m reading.”

“Open.”

A sigh. Then a begrudging chew. Then another bite. Then quiet companionship.

It didn’t matter whose room they were in—Minami’s ceiling with glow-in-the-dark stars, or Tsukishima’s shelves stacked with dinosaur figurines and cleaned trophies—they were just there . With each other. As they’d always been. As they always would be.

More often than not, Tsukishima was still studying long after Minami had curled up on the bed behind him, dead asleep. Sometimes, she’d mumble things in her sleep. Sometimes, she’d kick him when she rolled over. He never minded.

One particularly humid evening, after a long jog around the neighborhood and some speed drills at the nearby park, they sat together on a bench in front of the convenience store. The cicadas were buzzing like a broken cassette, and the dull hum of streetlights pulsed overhead.

Minami was already yawning as she held her melting popsicle lazily, elbow resting on the back of the bench. Her legs were stretched out and crossed over his, her eyes blinking slower and slower with each passing minute.

Tsukishima glanced sideways just as her head tilted against his shoulder, soft and warm.

“Mi, your ice cream, it’s gonna me—” He paused, then sighed. “Whatever.”

He gently pried the sticky dessert from her limp hand, lobbed it into the nearby bin, and took a final bite of his own. When he looked back, she was still slumped on him, completely knocked out.

Carefully, he shifted and slipped out from beneath her, crouching down in front of her with a slight bend in his knees. The sudden loss of her human pillow startled her awake, blinking in confusion.

“Up,” he said simply, tapping his shoulder.

A lazy, content grin spread across her sleepy face. Wordlessly, she crawled onto his back, arms draped around his shoulders and legs curling loosely around his waist. Her face squished softly against the curve of his neck, breath tickling his collar.

As he walked, her voice came in a sleepy murmur.

“I guess you really do love me after all,” she mumbled, lifting one hand to smack his chest weakly.

He huffed, but his lips twitched upward. “Brat.”

She adjusted herself, tightening her hold a little. Then, quieter, more tenderly—

“Kei.”

“Hmm?”

No response.

Just the sound of her soft breathing turning into tiny, rhythmic snores near his ear.

Tsukishima chuckled under his breath and rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

By the time he got to her house, the aunties were in the kitchen, sipping tea and playing cards. They greeted him with knowing smiles and waved him toward the stairs.

Her dad stood at the top, waiting quietly. “Thanks for bringing her home.”

Tsukishima nodded once. “She passed out after ice cream again.”

“Ice cream,” her father said, chuckling.

In her room, the familiar scent of lavender and fabric softener wrapped around him like a blanket. Kei knelt beside her bed and slowly, carefully unhooked her arms. She murmured something incoherent in her sleep but didn’t wake. He pulled the blanket over her shoulders and tucked the edges around her with all the precision he gave to blocking practice.

He stood.

Paused.

There was something stupidly comforting about the way she looked at peace like this.

Then, begrudgingly… brushed her bangs off her forehead.

And walked out.

If he had to do this a thousand more times, he would.

And he would never admit it.

Chapter Text

It was two days before the Miyagi Prefecture Spring Tournament Qualifying Rounds, and the Hoshino household was buzzing with more than just pre-tournament jitters—it was Minami’s birthday.

The evening sun dipped below the rooftops, casting warm orange light into the Hoshino home as the smells of grilled meat and simmered vegetables wafted from the kitchen. Laughter and the clatter of dishes filled the air—a familiar and beloved chaos. The Hoshinos had invited the Tsukishimas over for a small, intimate birthday dinner. It was something they used to  do every year, more tradition than obligation.

The Tsukishimas had arrived early, as always. Kei and Minami retreated upstairs to her room without much fanfare, a ritual they both knew too well. Downstairs, the aunties and Mrs. Tsukishima clattered game pieces and swapped gossip with playful jabs about neighborhood rumors, while Mr. Hoshino and Mr. Tsukishima hovered in the kitchen, arguing over boiling temperatures and whose stir-fry sauce reigned supreme.

The whole house was warm. Not just from the cooking, but from the familiarity. The kind of warmth that lingered in the corners of a room, tucked into every sound of laughter and every glance across the table.

"Kids! It’s time to eat!" Seiji called.

Minami padded down the stairs with a bounce in her step, excitement bubbling in her chest. But she stopped, abruptly, halfway down. Her fingers tightened on the railing.

At the front door stood Akiteru. Holding a white cake box. Smiling.

Her breath caught. She hadn’t seen him since... well, since he gently turned her down earlier that year. The ghost of that day flickered behind her eyes.

And yet there he was, smiling softly, opening his arms with that same tilted-head warmth he always had for her. There was a beat of silence, like time suspended. Then she smiled, eyes glinting with the start of tears, and ran down the stairs, flinging herself into his arms. He caught her easily, letting out a laugh as her feet lifted slightly off the ground.

Kei walked past them like nothing, his expression unreadable, his hands in his hoodie pocket as he went to sit at the table. But Akiteru noticed. He saw the flicker in his brother's eyes as Minami squealed into his shoulder, her feet off the ground, her face tucked into Akiteru's collar.

"Papa said you wouldn’t be in town until Christmas," she said, chin tucked into his shoulder.

He ruffled her hair like old times. "Did you really think I'd miss your birthday?"

He set her down and handed her a gift bag. Her eyes widened at the sight, but before her fingers could curl around the handle, one of the aunties swooped in, teasing.

"Ah ah ah, no peeking! We open gifts after dinner, remember?"

Minami groaned dramatically, slumping her shoulders in playful defeat. Akiteru chuckled, placing a hand on her back as they walked to the table.

"You still pout like you're ten," he said, and she laughed. Kei barely glanced up as his older brother ruffled his hair too, but he noticed the way his hand lingered.

As the table filled with food, laughter, and chatter, Kei's eyes flicked to the gift table. Everybody  had added something—colorfully wrapped, neatly ribboned.

Except him.

He shifted in his seat, hand tightening around the tiny box in his pocket. He opened it slowly, just a peek.

Inside: a rose-shaped arrangement of crimson silk ribbons. Fifteen individual pieces. A delicate pearl at its center. He stared at it for a moment, then shut it and returned it to his pocket.

His gaze floated to Minami, laughing in the kitchen light, her eyes glimmering as she arranged plates of food with care.

Kei's mind drifted.

One day early July,  they were walking home after practice, Minami had asked if they could stop by the fabric store. He’d blinked, confused. Her entire house was practically made of fabric.

But he said yes.

She made a beeline to the silks, stroking large sheets of cloth, her eyes lingering too long on a particular crimson roll. He watched her count silently on her fingers, then look away. After a pause, she said, "Okay, let's go," and turned on her heel without buying anything.

She never said it. But he saw the weight of it in her silence.

When he was in Tokyo for summer camp, he couldn’t forget that moment.

One afternoon, after drills with Bokuto, Kuroo, and Akaashi, Kei had rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, "Do you guys know any gift shops around here?"

Kuroo smirked. "A gift shop? For Kei Tsukishima ? What are you planning, man? I've got one in mind, but only guys with girlfriends go there."

"Tsukipoo's got a girlfriend?!" Bokuto shouted.

Kei rolled his eyes. "Forget it."

Akaashi, mercifully, stepped in. "There's one not far. Let's go."

When they arrived, Kei's eyes immediately locked onto a glass case. Inside it, nestled on velvet, was the rose: deep red silk ribbon petals with a pearl at the center, boxed neatly with fifteen individual strips included.

He stared.

"You know there's loose ribbon here too, right? Cheaper," Akaashi noted.

But Kei ignored him, quietly asking the staff to open the case. 

The others watched in disbelief as Kei bought the most elegant thing in the shop. For the rest of camp, they teased him relentlessly. But he didn’t care.

Since coming back, he'd been hiding it in his drawer, opening it now and then, admiring it in secret. Wondering if she’d think it was too much. Too weird. Too... something.

Back in the present, the table buzzed with chatter as Minami opened her gifts one by one. She smiled, laughed, hugged everyone. Her gratitude was endless. But eventually, every gift had been unwrapped.

Every eye turned to Kei.

He blinked.

"Huh? Oh, right. My gift..."

Minami glanced at the now-empty gift table. Her smile faltered for a breath, but she caught herself.

"It’s okay, Kei," she said brightly. "We can just get ice cream whenever I want. On you."

Laughter bubbled around the table.

But Akiteru looked at his brother. At his hands. Fidgeting again.

Kei let out a long sigh.

"No, Mi... I actually do have a gift for you."

He stood and walked to her seat, then pulled the small box from his hoodie. He opened it.

Gasps.

Minami's breath hitched. Her fingers curled over her knees.

Fifteen ruby red silk ribbons, arranged into a perfect rose. A single pearl glowing at the center.

Her eyes shimmered with disbelief. "Is... is this for me?"

He nodded once.

Minami looked up at him, tears already gathering. Her mouth opened, no sound coming out.

She took the box gently and placed it on the table.

Then she stood.

And leapt.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her chin tucked against his collar. She tiptoed slightly to close the height gap.

His arms slowly rose, encircling her waist. His heartbeat echoed in his ears.

The aunties gasped and leaned to peek into the box. Her dad laughed aloud. Akiteru grinned and gave Kei two thumbs up. His mom clapped, eyes misty. Even Mr. Tsukishima blinked in amazement.

Minami pulled away, still beaming.

"How did you know I needed ribbons? Fifteen is more than enough," she said, wiping under her eye.

"Your drawer with all your ribbons looked empty."

Her eyes sparkled. "No shop here has anything like this. Did you... order this?"

He scratched the back of his head. "I got it when I went to Tokyo. At a gift shop."

More gasps.

"Tokyo?!"

"How much?" Minami asked.

Kei looked away. "Like, 5,600 yen."

Mr. Hoshino coughed, nearly dropping his coffee. "What?!"

His dad blinked. "You spent how much—!?"

Akiteru whistled. "Pricey."

Minami, unbothered, sat up and turned to her dad. "But Pa,  look at it !"

Her father gently touched the petal. "This is... real silk."

"I know, isn’t it amazing? Shaped like a rose, too."

She turned to Kei. "Why didn’t you put it on the gift table? I would’ve opened it first."

He shrugged. "I didn’t think you’d like it."

"What? Kei, I love it."

She hugged him again.

This time, the room was filled with soft awws.

"It’s so beautiful. Thank you, Kei," she whispered against his ear.

He turned his head, hiding the way his ears flushed pink.

"D-Don’t lose those," he muttered, trying to sound annoyed.

She chuckled. And before she let go, she pressed a soft kiss into his hair.

He froze.

Wide-eyed. Heart stopped.

A willing kiss. From her.

She let go like it was nothing, grinning as she scooped up her gifts.

"I’ll go put these upstairs real quick!"

She skipped past him, leaving a flustered Kei standing there, mouth slightly parted.

The adults all stared at him with knowing smiles.

He sank back into his seat, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open.

His cheeks were red.

And somewhere in her chest, something warm bloomed.

“Best gift ever,” she whispered to herself.

And maybe—just maybe—she was starting to love him in a different way than she used to.

Chapter Text

The gym was too quiet for the last point of a game.

Karasuno’s girls’ volleyball team had held on with gritted teeth and burning legs, but their rhythm had been cracked somewhere in the second set. Minami’s back-row spikes—so reliable for most of the season—had been shut down repeatedly. The opposing team had studied them. They’d adjusted. And by the time the final point landed with a dull echo on Karasuno’s side, it was over.

They lost.

The moment Karasuno’s girls’ team missed their last chance to push through, the gym filled with the roar of the opposing team’s celebration. But for Minami Hoshino, everything fell to a muffled hum. 

The floor felt heavier beneath her feet.

She stood frozen.

Some of her teammates dropped to their knees in exhaustion. Others staggered upright, hands on their thighs, gasping in the thick heat of the gym. But Minami just stood there at the back of the court, heart pounding louder than the cheers echoing off the walls. The ribbon in her hair—the one Kei had given her—felt heavier now, as if it were soaking in all the weight she couldn’t voice.

The court around her blurred. She hadn’t realized her breath was caught until it felt like her lungs had locked. She blinked at the floor, but it kept slipping in and out of focus.

They’d lost.

She hadn’t brought them to victory. She hadn’t helped the seniors shine in their last game.

The third-years—the ones this match meant the world to—stood with tears brimming in their eyes. One by one, they straightened, pulling the others up with bittersweet smiles. They pulled everyone in for a final group huddle, laughing and crying at the same time.

“It was a good game, guys,” Michimiya  managed, her voice cracking. “Thank you for having us.”

That was all it took.

The second-years began to cry. The first-years clung to each other. Minami smiled faintly through the blur in her eyes, not quite joining the circle. She hovered at the edge, clapping and laughing weakly when the coach threw himself into the group hug, toppling them over like a pile of kittens. Giggles mingled with tears. The seniors wiped their faces with the backs of their hands, trying to cheer up the younger players even as their own hands shook.

And still, Minami couldn’t cry.

Smiling faintly, the guilt had nested deep in her gut. Her hands twitched at her sides. She kept replaying the final set, every misstep, every point lost.

They bowed to the audience—drenched in sweat and heartbreak—then jogged off the court. Minami trailed behind, a few paces slower than the rest, her hands balled tight around her towel.

From the bleachers, Tsukishima Kei noticed everything. The tight grip of her fingers on her jersey, her trembling lower lip, her shameful posture. He took one look at her face and saw right through it

Outside the gym, the boys’ team was waiting.

The air was cooler now, wind brushing the sweat from her neck like ghost fingers. Minami spotted Kei almost instantly. He wasn’t saying much, but Yamaguchi was talking animatedly beside him—probably teasing him about something. Minami forced herself to look cheerful as she passed by, her gaze brushing against his before dropping to the concrete.

He held out an arm toward her, palm down and face turned slightly.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and a little sharp. “Long face—hurry up. It’s time to go.”

Minami blinked. She hadn’t realized she was lagging. She jogged up to him and muttered, “Sorry,” too softly for him to hear.

The bus ride home was… different. Nothing like the last one.

No celebratory cheers. No over-analysis of points. Just quiet. Heavy quiet. On the left side, Yamaguchi leaned against the window, and Tsukki sat beside him, arms folded, legs long.

Minami sat in the same row as Kei but across the aisle. Yamaguchi had taken the window seat next to Kei, and was now passed out with his jacket over his face.

Kei glanced sideways at Minami.

She had her earbuds in and her forehead leaning against the window. Her palm cradled her cheek, and every few minutes, she would subtly wipe at her eyes. She didn’t sob. She didn’t even sniffle. Just wiped a tear like she was brushing away a strand of hair.

He stared for a while. Then turned away.

He didn’t know what to say—not when the girls had lost and the boys were moving on to the Spring Tournament Qualifiers in October. It felt weird. Like he had somehow gained something she had just lost. And Kei didn’t do feelings well. Especially not around her.

Especially not now.

When they arrived back in town, it was raining.

The soft drizzle blurred the streetlights into golden halos. The boys and girls parted ways with quiet goodbyes, umbrellas popping open one by one.

Tsukishima had one, too.

He waited for her again, holding the umbrella slightly tilted as they walked side by side. Minami clutched her gym bag, earbud still in, her expression unreadable. She stood far enough from him that she was nearly at the edge of the umbrella’s reach—but he kept angling it toward her anyway.

The silence was thick.

​​“Good game, Mi,” he said finally, voice low.

“Huh? Oh… yeah. Thanks.” She forced a tiny smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“And… congrats, by the way.”

“Hm?” he turned to her.

“On the win.” Her voice was small. Forced. “You guys played great. Spring qualifiers… that’s huge.”

“…Yeah.” He looked away, the umbrella shifting as he adjusted his grip. “Thanks.”

He hated how it sounded. Distant. Off. Like he was thanking a stranger, not the girl who’d fallen asleep on his back more than once this past month. But something about her now—so quiet, so far from his reach even when she was right there—made his throat catch.

They reached the door to her house.

He turned to face her fully, causing her to blink up in confusion.

“Mi.”

“Yes?” Her voice cracked slightly.

He stared down at her, sharp eyes narrowing.
“I swear, if you cry— I already told you that you did a good job. There’s no need to—”

“Thanks, Kei,” she interrupted, gently. Her voice was warm, but so, so tired.

He blinked.

“Thanks for being with me. For walking me home. For the ribbons, and the bentos, and carrying me home when I fell asleep… and just… thank you.” Her smile was quiet but sincere—so sincere it knocked the air out of him. Her smile hit deeper than any tears could have.

For a moment, he forgot how to reply.

“Don’t get used to this,” he mumbled, stepping forward.

He pulled her into a hug—awkward, halfway, stiff. Minami laughed weakly and hugged him back. 

The hug was tentative—her arms barely wrapped around his lower back, her chin resting near the bend of his elbow. His arms came around her gently but protectively, one hand pressing lightly against her back. It wasn’t tight. It wasn’t romantic.

But it meant something.

It meant I see you, and you’re still here, and you don’t have to carry it alone, even if neither of them could say that out loud.

She wanted to cry. Gosh, she wanted to cry right there. But she held it back. Not yet. Not in front of him. Not this time.

Not because she didn’t want to. But because she was starting to care about what she looked like to him. She wanted to be someone he could admire. Not the same old crybaby he grew up with, but someone stronger—someone becoming her own.

She was starting to fall in love with him.

That was the cruel irony of it all. She held back because she loved him. Because his words were starting to  mean too much.

And he, in all his clumsy affection, had no idea.

She patted his back softly and stepped away. “Goodnight,” she whispered with a faint smile.

“Mm.” He raised a hand in farewell, watching her go.

She closed the door gently.

And then slid down the inside of it, hands over her mouth, and cried so hard she couldn’t breathe.

Outside, Kei walked slowly back through the rain, confused.

She didn’t cry in front of him like usual. Didn’t fall apart the way she always did. She was always so… unfiltered. Always wore her heart on her sleeve. She was usually such a crybaby. He would’ve wiped those tears a hundred times over if it meant she’d smile again.

But tonight—she had smiled for him instead.

What was different now?

Somewhere deep inside, Kei felt a strange ache. Something was shifting between them. Something real.

In Minami’s heart, she knew.

She wasn’t the same girl anymore. Kei’s words stuck with her. She didn’t want to be the child he remembered. She wanted to grow. She wanted to understand herself before she poured herself out onto him like a baby.

She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

She wanted to learn what made her feel so heavy—what the game had meant to her, why she still carried that guilt. And when she was ready, she wanted to share it with him calmly, openly.

Minami was changing. Becoming.

And deep down, she hoped—no, needed —to know if Kei would still love her, even if she wasn’t the same little girl he used to tease. Even if she wasn’t the crybaby he once called adorable under his breath when no one was looking.

But she wanted to try.

Just like she promised to Akiteru that she would.

Chapter Text

By October, the air had already turned crisp, the mornings sharp enough to paint frost at the edges of windows. The boys’ team had advanced into the Spring Tournament qualifiers, the gym still buzzing with victory after every practice. The girls, on the other hand as we remember, hadn’t made it past their own qualifying rounds. Minami knew the sting of that loss still tugged at her chest sometimes, but it wasn’t unbearable anymore. Mostly because in the weeks since, her heart had been preoccupied with something else. Something—or rather, someone—far more distracting.

Tsukishima Kei.

Somewhere between August and October, she stopped being able to look at him properly. Not without feeling like she might combust. Suddenly she was hyperaware of every brush of his hand when he passed her a pencil, the quiet footsteps when he trailed a few paces behind her walking home, the way his voice dipped lower when he spoke only to her. It was ridiculous. She had known him all her life, and yet now—even the simplest gesture, like adjusting the umbrella over her head when it rained—made her heart pound like she’d just finished sprinting laps.

And Kei, with his usual dry composure, carried on as if nothing had changed. Which only made her spiral harder.

She loved when he walked her home, always letting her duck under his umbrella while he angled himself slightly into the rain. She would sneak glances when she thought he wasn’t looking, watching the droplets roll down his hair, the collar of his uniform damp, while she stayed completely dry. But instead of thanking him, or even smiling, she found herself shrinking away—still close enough to stay shielded, but far enough she thought maybe he wouldn’t notice her flushed cheeks. She was wrong, of course. Kei always noticed.

And he noticed again that evening.

She had been so quiet the whole walk home, eyes glued to the pavement, heart hammering in her ears. By the time they reached her gate, the silence was unbearable. He let out a sharp sigh, exasperated.

Before she could retreat inside, he raised a hand. She flinched, startled, and finally looked up at him.

“Good job at practice,” Kei said flatly, one brow arched, his other hand tucked into his pocket. His palm hovered between them, expectant. A high five.

“O-oh, thanks,” she stammered, reaching for it while her gaze darted off to the side. But just as her hand neared his—

“Hey—!” she gasped when he caught her wrist instead, pulling her forward just enough that when she turned her head back, his face was only inches away.

Her breath hitched. She froze, staring up at him, her cheeks blazing pink. His lips tugged into the faintest smirk.

“So your eyes are fine then,” he murmured, almost teasing.

“W-what?!” she sputtered, snapping out of her daze and yanking her hand back to her chest. “Of course they are! Why wouldn’t they be?!”

Kei scoffed, rocking back on his heels. “I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been acting like looking me in the eye will trigger some kind of… allergic reaction.”

Heat prickled her face again. He was right. She had been avoiding his eyes—like it was safer that way. Like if she looked too long, something might give her away.

“You’re right… I’m sorry,” she muttered, staring at the ground.

“Then let’s try again.”

He lifted his hand once more, palm out. “Good job at practice today, Minami.”

She blinked up at him, caught off guard by how… sincere it sounded this time. Slowly, she smiled, scrunching her nose in playful defeat before stepping closer. This time she held his gaze steady, refusing to look away, and pressed her palm firmly to his.

“Why, thank you, Kei,” she said dramatically.

Their hands stayed there, pressed together, longer than a normal high five. Neither of them moved, their eyes locked in some unspoken exchange that made her chest feel like it might burst.

Then, in one swift motion, Kei slid his fingers against hers, prying them apart until his hand slipped between hers, weaving their fingers together.

Her heart nearly stopped.

She opened her mouth, ready to say something— anything —but her throat closed. Instead she cleared her throat abruptly, yanked her hand back, and fumbled for her door with trembling fingers.

Kei tilted his head at her retreat, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Thanks for walking me home,” she mumbled quickly through the small gap of her front gate before shutting it behind her.

He chuckled under his breath as he walked away, glancing down at his own hand and shaking his head slightly—though she didn’t see it.

By the time Minami made it upstairs, she was a mess. She burst into her room, slammed the door shut, and collapsed onto her bed face-first, muffling a shriek into her pillow.

Her heart wouldn’t stop racing. Her skin felt fever-hot, her hands trembling. She rolled onto her back, clutching her chest, trying to catch her breath, but it only made the memory replay sharper. His face. His smirk. The way his fingers had slid into hers so deliberately.

Her aunties downstairs had exchanged knowing smiles when they caught Kei leaving through the window. But Minami didn’t care. Not when her mind was spiraling like this.

She sat up abruptly, ruffling her hair with both hands in frustrated delight. “Ughhh, what am I going to do with you, Tsukishima Kei!” she groaned aloud.

Her face flamed even hotter. She squeezed her hands into fists before loosening them and staring at her palm—the same one that had just been pressed against his. She always held Kei’s hand growing up, always ran to him as a kid and clung to him without thinking. So why… why did it feel so different now?

She pointed accusingly at her own hand. “You. You’re real dangerous, you know that?” she scolded.

Biting her lip, she slowly reenacted the moment: raising her hand, pretending to high five, then hesitantly spreading her fingers apart. She interlocked them with her own other hand, mimicking the way he had done it. Her cheeks burned instantly at the memory of his warmth.

With a squeal, she dropped back onto her bed, kicking her feet and burying her face in her blanket, laughter bubbling out of her like she couldn’t contain it. Her smile hurt, it was so wide.

Clutching her hands close to her chest, she whispered into the dark, voice trembling with giddy disbelief:

“He really  likes me huh.”

And with that thought, she squealed again, rolling around in her sheets, hopelessly lost in the dizzying, all-consuming feeling of first love.