Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The sky had been clear for so many days in a row that I had almost stopped checking it.

Or at least, that was what I told myself as I scribbled the last unfinished sentence into my English notebook when the bell rang. I slammed the notebook shut, my chair scraping loudly against the floor as the classroom erupted into post-class chaos.

Third year. September. And somehow, I was still counting bells like my life depended on them. I shoved my notebook into my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and was out the door before our teacher could finish reminding us about the homework I absolutely would forget existed by dinner. The hallway was packed—third-years pretending not to be stressed, first-years moving in packs like startled birds, and second-years stuck somewhere in between. I navigated through them with practiced ease, my feet moving on autopilot as I took the stairs two at a time.

At the end of the corridor, I slowed. A deliberate pause right at the corner. I peered my head around the corner to make sure no one was coming around it, then bolted down the corridor. A year ago, I would've crashed straight into someone. Probably a tall, annoyingly handsome someone with messy bedhead hair and a grin that would burn itself into my eyes.

"Growth," I exhaled smugly, sprinting faster.

September meant half a year had already passed, half a year since the snow, and with it came the quiet, terrifying realization that my time in high school was slowly coming to an end—just like it had for the third years before us. Matches had stacked on top of one another. New first-years arrived, old teammates graduated, and somewhere between all of it, Nekoma Girls had won the spring tournament —and with it, a seeded place in the Inter-High Nationals this winter.

Which meant expectations.

Which meant pressure.

Which meant me—Kamada Aiko—now officially preparing for the last tournament as captain of the Nekoma Girls Volleyball team.

I pushed the gym doors open, breathless but buzzing, the familiar smell of polished wood and volleyball resin washing over me like a second home. The gym was quiet for now, sunlight slanting through the high windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air.

Not for long.

We had a practice match against Fukurodani today, and if the gym wasn't properly prepared before everyone arrived, I would never hear the end of it. Mostly from myself...

I dropped my bag by the bench and clapped my hands once, the sound echoing sharply. "Okay," I muttered to myself, rolling up my sleeves. "Captain mode."

A year ago, the title would've made me panic. It would've dragged me back to Okinawa, to the team I'd abandoned and the version of myself who had believed leaving meant she could erase everything that hurt. But Tokyo changed me, or perhaps, I changed myself. Back then, I could barely say what I wanted out loud, scared of what my father would say. I hid from people, from feelings, from myself. Volleyball had felt like a ghost—something I loved but wasn't allowed to touch. Everything hurt too much. Losing my mom. Watching my dad fall apart. Pretending I was fine when I wasn't. But the people around me had helped me learn what it meant to accept my feelings instead of denying everything, to understand what truly mattered, and to face pain the right way instead of letting it hollow me out.

So here's to Aiko 2.0.

I checked the clock. There was still time before everyone arrived. Good. Because there was something else I hadn't had time to think about all day. Or maybe—someone I'd been thinking about too much. A flash of messy black hair. A lazy grin. Sharp eyes that saw too much and teased anyway. Someone who had been the center of my chaos and somehow, impossibly, had become my calm.

Kuroo Tetsurou.

My stomach did a stupid little flip, and I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "Get it together." I had bigger things to focus on than the fact that my boyfriend—boyfriend still felt weird—was probably finishing his classes right about now, completely unaware that just thinking about him made me lose basic control of my organs.

I changed quickly, tied my hair up, and headed toward the equipment room with the keys jingling in my hand. The closet was dim, cramped, and aggressively overfilled. Gymnastics mats leaned against one wall. Cones had been shoved into a crooked tower. Volleyball poles occupied the narrowest possible section of the floor. And the net, naturally, was shoved onto the highest shelf like it had been exiled there on purpose.

"Why?" I whispered, staring at it. "Who is this for? Lev?"

I squeezed past the stacked gymnastics mats and stretched onto my toes. My fingers barely brushed the edge of the net.

"Almost there."

"A little more—"

Something pinched my waist. I shrieked, and my elbow jerked backward, knocking into a stack of cones.

Thunk.

"OW—ow, ow—!" The noise was followed by a curse and the sound of something plastic rolling across the floor.

I spun around.

Kuroo stood hunched in the cramped space, one hand pressed to the top of his head while a cone lay beside his foot like evidence at a crime scene.

"You scared me, idiot!" I called out, but a huge smile broke across my face before I had the chance to stop it.

He straightened carefully and examined his palm as if checking for blood. "That," he said with deep offence, "is how you greet your boyfriend after three days apart?"

"You pinched me in a dark closet!" I jabbed a finger at his chest, which was unfortunately almost right at eye level.

"I touched your waist," he said easily, grin creeping back like the cone hadn't just tried to murder him.

"You attacked me from behind."

"I was being romantic."

"You got hit by a cone."

His expression tightened. "You know, most girlfriends apologize when they concuss their partners."

"Most boyfriends announce their presence using words."

"I did."

"No, you didn't."

"I said 'surprise' in my heart."

I stared at him. He stared back. "That might be the stupidest thing you've said all month."

"It's only the first week of September. Give me time."

I turned away before he could see how much I wanted to laugh. "What are you even doing here?"

"Visiting my old school."

"In the equipment closet?"

"Very nostalgic place."

"For what? Dust?"

He stepped closer, and suddenly the already cramped room felt even smaller. "For almost kissing you."

My fingers stopped halfway toward the shelf. He leaned against the stack of mats, wearing that lazy, infuriating grin he had somehow perfected since starting university. I hated how good he looked. His hair was still impossible, although it had grown slightly longer at the back. He wore a black university sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up, exposing his forearms in a way that felt entirely unnecessary.

"You're staring," he said.

"I'm deciding whether the cone did enough damage."

"Liar."

"Delusional."

"Cute."

"Stop flirting."

"Can't."

"Medical condition?"

"Terminal."

I turned back and finally managed to grab the edge of the net, but before I could think too hard about how I was going to get it down, the net shifted, wobbling dangerously.

"Careful—" Kuroo said, pushing himself off the mats. His hands settled around my waist as his chest pressed lightly against my back. "You good, Lucky Charm?" he murmured near my ear.

My heart kicked stupidly against my ribs. "Yeah," I said, clearing my throat. "I've got it."

I twisted slightly to glare at him and realized how close his face was. That was a mistake. His hands remained at my waist. Mine had somehow ended up gripping the front of his sweatshirt. His eyes dropped to my mouth for the briefest second before lifting again.

Then his smile changed. "You know," he said quietly, "this feels familiar." He lifted his arm, planting his hand against the shelf beside my head, the familiar weight of him suddenly everywhere. The memory of that day hit me almost instantly. When he'd stood just like this, and I'd been completely oblivious to what was written all over his face. Except now, I wasn't unaware anymore. He leaned in, closer than before, his breath brushing my lips, warm and deliberate. "There was something," he said quietly, eyes searching mine, "I wanted to do so badly back then."

My fingers tightened in his shirt. "If you're trying to recreate your failed confession—"

His grip tightened around my waist. Before I could finish, he lifted me.

"Tetsu—!"

He set me down on the stack of mats as if I weighed nothing. My knees fell on either side of him, and every coherent thought abandoned me. Kuroo stepped between them, one hand still at my waist, the other braced beside me. "This," he said as he leaned in for a kiss.

Before I could comment on how ridiculous this entire situation was, Kuroo did it again, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that was slow enough to make my head spin and familiar enough to make my chest ache in the best way. His thumb brushed beneath the hem of my shirt, barely touching the skin at my waist. The contact sent a shiver through me that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold room.

I kissed him back, because apparently I had learned nothing about maintaining authority in my own gym. "I don't have time for this," I whispered against his mouth.

He didn't pull away. If anything, his grin widened. "Good thing," he said lightly, "you're always way too early for your own good."

"Because I'm responsible."

"Because you're controlling."

"Captain."

"Dictator."

I slid my hands into his hair and pulled him back in before he could say anything worse. He made a pleased sound that immediately annoyed me.

So, I pulled away.

Kuroo blinked. Then frowned. "Hey."

I pushed against his shoulders and hopped down from the mats. "You came to watch the match, didn't you?"

"I came to see you."

"The match is included."

"I was hoping for a private warm-up."

I shoved one end of the net into his chest. He caught it automatically. "Congratulations. You're helping."

He looked down at the net, then back at me. "Helping?"

"Yes."

"I graduated."

"And yet you still know how poles work."

"I came here as a supportive boyfriend."

"You came here to distract me in a closet."

"Support can take many forms."

"Carry the net, Tetsu."

He clicked his tongue dramatically. "Tch, Cruel. Lucky Charm, you're abusing your power."

"And you're procrastinating."

He sighed with theatrical suffering but followed me out. "For the record," Kuroo said as we walked toward the court, "I came early because I wanted time alone with you."

My chest warmed instantly, but I kept my face turned forward. "That sounds like poor planning."

"You missed me."

"I saw you three days ago."

"Not a denial."

I adjusted my grip on the net. "You're annoying."

"You missed that, too."

Unfortunately, I had.

Dating Kuroo was nothing like volleyball. There were no clean rules. No rotations. No signals told me exactly where to stand or what would happen next. Everything he did made my heart leap in a way that was entirely new—and entirely overwhelming. I could handle grief, I could navigate fear, I could protect my heart when it was being threatened—but happiness? Pleasure? Excitement? I didn't even know what the guidelines were. Yet Kuroo seemed to know everything. He seemed entirely comfortable with the small touches, the teasing, the quiet looks that carried too much meaning. He knew when to lean closer, when to step back, and when to make me laugh before I could spiral.

I had never had anyone do all these things for me, so naturally, I overanalyzed. Was it flirting? Was it affection? Or was it something completely else that I was unaware of? I clearly couldn't tell, having many times misread the room way too late after the moment had already passed. My experience was too limited; my understanding was still forming, like clay in my hands that hadn't yet been molded into shape. Was I supposed to text more often? Was holding hands in public normal or embarrassing? How long was too long to kiss someone?

I could analyze an opponent's attack pattern in five rallies. My own boyfriend remained a tactical nightmare. And that, maybe, was what terrified me most. That he already knew everything—everything I didn't.

The practice match came faster than I'd expected. The Nekoma gym was already buzzing with noise—balls bouncing, sneakers squeaking, voices carrying across the gym. I'd barely finished straightening the net when the door burst open.

"I swear I'm going to bury him under the school!" Mio stormed inside like an approaching natural disaster.

Classes had gotten mixed this year. Mio, Yamamoto, and Izumi were in 3-1 while Kenma and I were stuck in 3-2. Being separated from Mio sucked—but at least she sprinted to me every break with the latest gossip.

"Who?" I asked, opening my arms just in time for her to reach me.

She threw her arms around me in a quick squeeze, barely lasting a second before pulling away. She then shot me a look of such murderous fury that I immediately knew I should probably have asked a different question. "Tora."

"That explains nothing."

"He stole my pudding."

"That explains everything." My sarcasm earned me an offended look, as though the theft of a pudding was somehow the most serious crime imaginable.

"I wrote my name on it!"

"With what?" Kuroo asked.

Mio turned around, and her rage vanished instantly. "Oh! Kuroo-senpai!" She walked over and tilted her head. "You look older."

Kuroo stared at her. "You cut your hair."

She touched the ends of her shorter bob proudly. "Thank you for noticing."

"I didn't say it looked good."

Her mouth dropped open. I smacked his arm.

He grinned. "It looks good."

Mio narrowed her eyes. "University made you meaner."

"Impossible."

"Also," she continued, pointing between us, "why are you here? Don't you have important college things to do? Study supply and demand? Wear a blazer? Manipulate the economy?"

"I'm studying sports business, not becoming a cartoon villain."

"Same thing."

I snorted. Mio's eyes moved between us. Then narrowed. "Wait."

"No," I said immediately.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Why is your hair like that?"

My hands flew to my ponytail. Kuroo looked away suspiciously.

Mio gasped. "You were in the equipment closet!"

"I was getting the net!"

"With him?"

"He was helping."

"Oh, I bet he was."

Kuroo lifted a hand. "For legal reasons, I'd like to confirm the net is now safely installed."

Mio gagged dramatically. "You two are disgusting."

"You were just begging Yamamoto to share a straw with you last week," I reminded her.

"That was different. I was thirsty."

"For him?" Kuroo asked.

Mio picked up a volleyball and threw it at his head.

He ducked.

The gym doors flew open again before the ball could hit the wall. "Aikoooo!" Bokuto charged inside like someone had launched him from a cannon. He reached me in seconds, wrapped both arms around me, and lifted me off the floor.

"Bokuto-san?!"

"You're alive!"

"I saw you last weekend!"

"That was ages ago!" He spun me once before setting me down. Behind him, Kuroo cleared his throat.

Deliberately.

Bokuto turned. "Oh. Kuroo."

"Oh," Kuroo repeated flatly. "Bokuto."

I looked between them and smiled. "Wow, Tetsu. I haven't seen that face since the winter tournament."

"I don't have a face."

"You definitely have a face," Mio said. "It's doing something ugly right now."

Kuroo crossed his arms. Bokuto threw an arm around my shoulders. Kuroo's eye twitched.

Mio pointed. "There! It did it again."

Bokuto looked delighted. "Kuroo, don't worry. Aiko and I are only the best of friends." He teased his friend knowingly.

"Those words somehow made it worse."

I laughed, amused. "What are you doing here?"

His entire face lit up. "I got a B!"

"In what?" Mio asked.

"My exam!"

"What subject?"

Bokuto blinked. Then looked upward like the answer might be written on the ceiling. "University."

Kuroo rubbed his forehead. "You don't know which exam you passed?"

"I know what it was about."

"What was it about?"

"Sports."

"That narrows it down beautifully."

Bokuto ignored him and pumped both fists into the air. "The important thing is that I passed, which means I don't have to spend the whole week studying, which means more volleyball!"

"You know, passing one exam doesn't remove academics from university," Kuroo said.

"Negative thinking."

"It's reality."

"Exactly. Negative."

I patted Bokuto's arm. "Congratulations."

His expression softened for half a second. Then he flexed. "Brains. Muscles. Volleyball. Triple threat."

"Four," Mio corrected. "You forgot volume."

"QUADRUPLE THREAT!"

Kuroo winced. "Why are you here?"

Bokuto grinned. "Fukurodani's playing. I felt sentimental."

"You graduated from Fukurodani six months ago."

"And I miss them!"

"You visit every other week."

"I miss them quickly." Bokuto turned toward me again. "Also, I came to see my bestie use the attacks I taught her."

Kuroo's brow lifted. Bokuto nodded proudly. "Since Aiko is thinking about applying to my university, I have to keep an eye out."

Kuroo looked at me. I suddenly became very interested in adjusting the net.

"You are?" he asked.

"I'm considering it..."

"You didn't tell me."

"I haven't decided."

Bokuto leaned toward him and whispered loudly, "You know she wants to focus on volleyball."

"I can hear you," I said.

"That's because I'm not hiding it."

Kuroo's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, thoughtful rather than upset. Before he could ask anything else, Coach Hano's voice sliced across the gym. "Unless the graduates intend to re-enroll, I suggest they clear the court!"

Bokuto jumped. Kuroo raised both hands innocently. "Yes, Coach."

"You don't play for Nekoma anymore, Kuroo."

"Old habits."

Coach looked at Bokuto. He saluted.

She sighed. "Warm-ups, girls!"

I shot one last look over my shoulder before we were herded away, leaving the boys behind with their teasing smirks and half-finished banter. We huddled together near the sidelines, shoulders brushing as voices overlapped—the coach guided us through the usual pep talk.

"Connect!" We called out as we straightened, stepping forward as one to greet Fukurodani. The whistle blew, and just like that, we leapt into motion.

Our team wasn't the same as last year. We were missing our three incredible third-years—their voices, their habits, the way they used to anchor us when things got rough. In their place stood a wave of new faces, eager to prove themselves. After our run at Nationals, the club had been flooded with applicants. Some wanted to play for a strong team. Some had watched our matches. Some had seen the article about me and decided they wanted to know what kind of team could survive that much public disaster. New girls who wanted to wear Nekoma's colors, and who wanted to fight for this court just like we did.

Different didn't mean weaker.

NEKOMA GIRLS VOLLEYBALL TEAM MAIN ROSTER:

Aiko Kamada - Nekoma Girls Volleyball Team Captain and right Wing Spiker, (Third Year) number 1

Mio Nishimoto - Middle Blocker, (Third Year) number 2

Izumi Satou - Libero, (Third Year) number 3

Chinatsu Onaga - Left Wing Spiker, (Second Year) number 4

Yuki Toyama - Middle Blocker, (Second Year) number 5

Yoshiko Sakamoto - Setter, (Second Year) number 6

COACH:

Ayame Hano - Former Nekoma High School graduate and former Nekoma Boys Volleyball Club Manager.

The game started with a bang and—maybe it was the crowd, larger than I expected for an ordinary practice game, maybe it was just one particular pair of eyes watching from the sidelines, or maybe I had simply reached a point where the court no longer felt like somewhere I had to prove I belonged—I knew I belonged.

From the first rally, we pushed hard, controlling the pace like we owned the court. The sound of the ball echoed loudly against the polished floor, shoes squeaking in fast, confident bursts. We moved differently than last year—faster, cleaner, like we trusted each other without needing to think.

Fukurodani's new setter pushed the tempo quickly, sending a high ball toward the left. Chinatsu received it cleanly, but the pass drifted slightly off-centre.

"Yoshiko!"

"I've got it!" She sprinted beneath it and sent a high set toward me.

Two blockers closed. I saw their shoulders. Their hands. The narrow gap near the line. I decided to swing late. The ball tore between their outside hands and the antenna.

Point.

"YES!" Kuroo exploded from the sideline.

"THAT WAS MY MOVE!" Bokuto shouted

"It was not!" I shouted back.

"It had my spirit!"

Kuroo grabbed the back of Bokuto's sweatshirt and pulled him down before Coach could throw him out.

I stepped back for my serve, fingers tightening around the ball. Time for a curve serve. I tossed high, snapped my wrist, and watched it slice through the air before dropping just inside the back line.

Their receiver didn't move until it was too late.

"Nice!" Mio shouted.

Chinatsu and Yoshiko were flawless when the ball stayed on our side. Chinatsu chased a tough receive, barely keeping it alive, and Yoshiko set cleanly—perfect height, perfect timing. Chinatsu came in strong and cracked the ball straight through the block.

Point, ours.

The scoreboard flashed 10–5, and the energy in the gym spiked.

My legs carried me like the wind as the rally continued, instinct taking over. For the first time, I got to use the shots Bokuto had drilled into me over and over during the summer.

"Right side!" I called. I began my approach early, then deliberately slowed my final step. The blockers jumped too soon. By the time they started descending, I was still rising.

I swung through the empty space above their hands and drove the ball into the corner.

The sideline erupted. Bokuto leapt to his feet. "THAT ONE WAS DEFINITELY MINE!"

Kuroo pulled him back down again. "Sit before Hano kills both of us."

"She should be thanking me!"

"For what?"

"Creating greatness!"

Mio came up beside me at the net, breathing hard but grinning. "He's going to claim every point you score."

"He once claimed he invented cross-court spikes."

"He probably thinks he invented jumping."

"He tried to teach me landing."

"Did it work?"

I glanced toward the sideline. Bokuto was demonstrating something to Kuroo using both arms and nearly elbowing him in the face. "No."

Fukurodani ran a synchronized attack on the next play. Their setter's eyes flicked left. But the position of her shoulders gave her away.

Mio saw it too.

"Right!" We called.

She moved instantly, with Yuki closing beside her. Their hands pressed over the net just as Fukurodani's opposite swung. The ball slammed into the block and dropped straight back onto their court.

The gym exploded. Mio landed and screamed. Yuki stared at her own hands. "I did it!"

"You did!" Mio grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "You beautiful giant!"

"I'm shorter than you!"

"Emotionally giant!"

Mio had changed, too. Before Hinna left, she'd taught her how to read hitters—to watch shoulders, approach angles, the smallest tells. Now Mio moved with confidence, eyes sharp, body already reacting before the ball crossed the net.

Fukurodani clawed back a few points, tightening the gap. The rallies grew longer, heavier. Sweat burned down my spine, lungs working overtime—but none of us slowed.

.

Kuroo sat beside Bokuto, watching Aiko's first set unfold, hand tapping impatiently as thoughts swirled in his head. Dinner tonight. At his place. Something he'd sort of—or maybe on purpose—forgot to mention to her. Not to stress her before the big game, mostly... but also because she hadn't met his grandparents yet. Properly. As his girlfriend.

He kept his eyes on the court, watching her improve by the second. "Honestly," he murmured, "I'm glad I didn't try to go professional."

Beside him, Bokuto looked offended. "Wrong."

Kuroo glanced at him. "It's my life."

"Still wrong."

"I didn't say I hate volleyball."

"You could've been amazing." Bokuto made a doubtful sound.

Kuroo ignored him and looked back toward Aiko. "But she might actually do it," he said.

"Go pro?"

"Yeah."

Bokuto grinned. "Obviously."

Kuroo allowed himself a small, private smile. He had assumed volleyball remained her dream, but Aiko had spent so long fighting simply to play that neither of them had discussed what happened after high school. She had almost abandoned volleyball completely, and now—through methods that were maybe not just—he had slowly reintroduced her to it. Even if it had taken a bet and some forged papers in the process.

Their futures were beginning to move, and for the first time, Kuroo realized they might not automatically move in the same direction.

"Are you upset she's looking at my university?" Bokuto asked.

"I heard."

"You sound weird."

"I'm thinking."

Bokuto leaned back, suddenly more serious. "It's good for athletes. The schedule's flexible. Coaches talk to clubs. She'd get support."

"I know."

"She'd be good there."

"I know."

Bokuto studied him. "You don't want her to go?"

Kuroo watched Aiko laugh as Mio said something near the bench. "That's not it."

"Then what?"

Kuroo exhaled slowly. "I think I'm realizing she's going somewhere else."

The answer should've frightened him. Instead, it filled him with pride so sharp it almost hurt. His thoughts drifted back to dinner, what the evening might bring, when her laughter on the court snapped him back.

She had her hands on her hips, surveying her team, the look on her face proud. And in that moment, he felt the tug in his chest he always got from volleyball—the same thrill, the same longing. The game flowed smoothly, effortlessly, almost. Their team had become one of the most feared amongst Tokyo high schools, and it was easy to see why. All the hard work they'd poured in, every late night Aiko could have spent studying or talking with him, instead spent analyzing games, planning, and preparing. Always with a strategy.

By the time the clean 2–0 match ended, Aiko was already on the move, smiling at the second-years, giving pointers, guiding the new setter through her sometimes chaotic ideas until everyone got it right. The court buzzed with energy, her leadership obvious in every step, every correction.

"Showers! Stretch properly first. Next practice is just around the corner, and I don't want anyone arriving with legs made of concrete." Coach called, and the girls waved their goodbyes to Fukurodani.

Kuroo leaned back beside Bokuto, hands folded, eyes still on Aiko for a moment longer. He let himself soak it in.

.

"Aiko-senpai! Your boyfriend urged me to tell you to hurry up!" Nozomi-chan, our tiny but fearless first-year, popped into the shower room, wagging a finger at me like a drill sergeant.

"Okay, okay!" I huffed, hands on my hips. The audacity of this guy... seriously.

Once I was done, I said my goodbyes to the girls and stepped out. There stood Kuroo at the club room entrance, arms crossed, leaning casually... while Bokuto was practically bouncing beside him, clearly mid-argument over something.

"No fair! I thought it was set in stone that we all hang out after this!" Bokuto exclaimed, stomping the floor like a toddler denied candy.

"You thought that." Kuroo said.

"I cleared my schedule."

"You passed one exam."

"Exactly! Free man!" He pointed at himself.

Kuroo just clapped a hand on his shoulder, smirking. "Call Akaashi. His literature exam can wait until tomorrow."

"Why can't we hang out?" I asked, stepping up, mostly glancing at Kuroo.

"SEE! Aiko's miserable at the news! Tell him he's being selfish." Bokuto stomped again, throwing his hands into the air. His dramatic flair made me laugh despite myself.

Kuroo's confident grin wavered slightly. "Uh... well. Captain here and I... have plans." He paused, clearly struggling under Bokuto's glare.

My eyebrows rose. "Plans?"

"At... my place." His face went slightly red as he added, almost whispering: "With my grandparents."

"We what?!" I shrieked, clapping a hand over my mouth and realizing how loud I'd been. My small school skirt and knit sweater suddenly felt scandalously inadequate. "And you didn't even let me shower properly! I... I'm not appropriate! Old people would think I'm some–" My voice climbed another octave as embarrassment flooded me, and I buried my face in my hands.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Kuroo said, throwing an arm around me and tugging me close. "They're not that old. Kenma's played proper games with my grandad before."

I shook my head furiously, wishing for a cancel button, knowing full well there wasn't one. It would be rude now, anyway.

Bokuto, undeterred, beamed. "Can I come?"

"Yes!" – No!" Kuroo and I said at the same time, glaring at Bokuto.

"But they love me! I'm irresistible!" Bokuto flopped dramatically onto a nearby bench, spreading his arms wide like a conquering hero. He was addressing Kuroo's answer.

"It's dinner with my girlfriend, and you always..." Kuroo started, but Bokuto cut him off.

"...eat all the candy they offer me?" he suggested hopefully, grinning.

"No, you clown, you're loud, chaotic, and basically impossible to ignore!" He rolled his eyes.

I snorted behind Kuroo, amusement tugging at my lips. "He's right, you know. You are impossible to ignore."

Bokuto gasped. "Impossible to ignore? That's basically like... a compliment, right?!"

"Sure, if you want it to be," Kuroo said dryly, rolling his eyes.

"Then it's official! I'm coming, and I'll be a charming, helpful presence! I'll give grandad pointers! And—oh!—I can teach your grandma proper spike technique!" Bokuto grinned as if he'd just solved the world's problems.

I buried my face in my hands, shoulders shaking as I tried to hold back a laugh. "Y-You cannot be serious. Teaching elders how to play volleyball?"

Kuroo leaned closer to Bokuto, lowering his voice with a smug grin. "I bet my grandad could outplay you in a two-on-two."

Bokuto's eyes lit up instantly. "He's on!"

"God, no—absolutely not!" I grabbed Kuroo's arm and yanked him toward the exit. "Let's get out of here, Tetsu!" I waved a quick goodbye over my shoulder as Bokuto made himself comfortable on the bench, already on his phone.

"AKAASHI!" he shouted into the call. "IMPORTANT QUESTION. HOW GOOD ARE YOU AT BEATING OLD MEN IN VOLLEYBALL?"

The moment we were far enough away that Bokuto's voice faded into the background, I slowed my steps and shot Kuroo a look. "So," I said, tone deceptively calm. "Care to explain why I'm finding out now that I'm having dinner with your grandparents?"

He glanced down at me, already smiling like he knew he was in trouble. "I was going to tell you..."

"When?" I pressed. "After we rang the doorbell?"

"...Maybe," he admitted.

I crossed my arms, huffing. "You know I would've still come. You didn't have to ambush me."

"I wasn't ambushing you," he said quickly, then paused. "Okay, maybe a little. But I didn't want you stressing before the game."

"And now I'm stressing after the game," I shot back.

He laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry. Probably should've mentioned it earlier."

"Probably," I echoed, unimpressed.

He bumped his shoulder lightly against mine. "I'm really sorry."

I eyed him. "That apology felt kind of half-assed."

"Hey," he protested. "It was at least three-quarters assed."

I sighed, but my grip on his sleeve tightened anyway. "What are they like? Are they strict? Do they hate noise? Do I bow? Do I bring something? Do they expect me to call them something fancy?"

He chuckled. "You're spiralling."

"I am preparing," I corrected. "There's a difference."

"They're nice," he said calmly. "My grandma talks a lot. My grandad likes shogi and yelling at the TV. You'll be fine."

"That doesn't help at all."

He squeezed my hand gently. "You don't have to impress anyone. Just be you."

I looked at him, then sighed again. "I hate when you're reasonable."

He grinned. "You love it."

"Occasionally tolerate it," I muttered.

We turned the corner, his house already coming into view. My stomach fluttered, nerves buzzing under my skin—but his hand was still warm in mine, steady.

Too late to back out now.

The door barely had time to slide open. "Oh!" Kuroo's grandmother exclaimed, hands clasped together as her eyes lit up.

I began to bow.

"So, this is Aiko-san!"

Before I could finish, she took both of my hands and pulled me upright. "H-hello. Thank you for inviting me." I said, voice a little too high.

"Of course! Come in, come in. Any girl who has put up with our Tetsurou deserves a full meal," she ushered me inside like I belonged there.

"Grandma," Kuroo sighed behind me.

She ignored him and ushered me inside. At the sound of us entering, his grandfather pushed himself up from the armchair in the living room, unfolding to his full height. And he was tall. Ridiculously tall. My gaze climbed almost instinctively before I glanced back at him. Oh. So that's where he got it from.

"Well," his grandfather said, looking me over with a broad grin. "She's cute."

"Grandpa." Kuroo sighed immediately.

"What? She is."

"Aiko!" Ayame appeared from the hallway. She hugged me immediately. "You came!"

"I was kidnapped," I murmured into her ear mid-hug, making her laugh silently.

She looked at Kuroo. "He didn't tell you until today, did he?"

"About thirty minutes ago."

Ayame smacked his arm.

"Traitor." Kuroo muttered.

His grandmother took my coat. "Sit, dear. Dinner's nearly ready. Tetsurou, help your grandfather."

"I just got here." He seemed to want to stay near me.

"And yet your arms still work." She pushed, making him fall in line.

I liked her immediately.

Dinner started with questions. So many questions.

"How long have you played volleyball?"

"Why did you move to Tokyo?"

"Are you eating enough?"

"How did you and Tetsurou meet?" This one I particularly did not like recalling to them.

I answered as best I could, cheeks burning, hands folded neatly in my lap. When they asked what I planned to do after high school, I hesitated only a second before saying it, out loud for the first time.

"I want to play professionally," I said. "Volleyball."

The table went quiet—then immediately erupted.

"That's wonderful!"

"See? I told you!"

"Tetsurou, did you hear that?"

Tetsu glanced at me, eyes bright, pride unmistakable. I looked away quickly, embarrassed but smiling. I was meaning to tell him first, but Bokuto kind of ruined that surprise today.

Ayame leaned forward. "She's amazing. I've watched her play—she's scary good."

Grandma nodded decisively. "Good. Women should be terrifying when necessary."

Grandpa studied me thoughtfully. "Good taste runs in the family."

Grandma smacked his arm with her chopsticks. "Behave."

Kuroo covered his face. "I'm never bringing anyone here again."

"You only brought one girl," Ayame said.

"That's because he intends to keep this one," Grandma replied.

My entire face caught fire. Kuroo choked on his drink. Grandpa laughed so hard he started coughing.

The conversation eventually shifted toward Kuroo. His classes. Business studies. His interest in sports promotion and working with volleyball organizations after graduation. I watched him speak about it with a kind of careful excitement. His family seemed very proud. I felt something warm settle in my chest as I watched him accept it all with an awkward grin, scratching the back of his neck.

When Grandma asked gently, "And he treats you well, yes?"—clearly remembering certain past incidents—I nodded immediately.

"He does," I said. "Really well."

Kuroo glanced at me, clearly touched by what I had said.

By the time dinner ended, my nerves were completely gone. I liked them, just like I liked his sister and dad. And judging by the way Grandma packed leftovers "just in case," and his grandfather insisted I return for shogi, it seemed they liked me, too.

We ended up in his room almost naturally, the way things tended to happen with Kuroo. I hovered near the doorway for a second too long before sitting on the edge of his bed.

"They really like you," he said, leaning back against his desk, arms crossed loosely.

I smiled. "They're... really sweet. Your grandma is so nice."

He laughed, walking over to me and sitting down. "Unless you're Ayame."

There was a pause. Like something was hovering between us that neither of us knew how to reach for. I wanted to sit closer. Wanted to lean into him the way I had earlier, the way that felt natural in short bursts—but now, in the quiet of his room, I suddenly didn't know how much space I was allowed to cross. What was too much? What was expected? What was normal?

So, I stayed where I was.

Kuroo noticed, I think. He always noticed things. But instead of moving closer, he shifted his weight, giving me space. Like he was afraid of stepping over a line I hadn't drawn out loud. Dinner replayed in my head.

"They sounded really proud." I said quietly.

He shrugged, eyes drifting away for a moment. "Yeah. I guess." Then, softer, "It's nice to hear it sometimes."

I nodded, glancing at him, wishing I knew how to say everything I felt without making it heavy.

Another pause.

Then, almost casually—too casually—he said, "You could stay over. If you want. I'm sure nobody would mind."

My heart jumped. Not because I didn't want to. Because I did. Because the idea of staying, of being close, of not having to leave yet—it all sounded warm and tempting and dangerously new. But the rules were blurry.

"I—" I hesitated, fingers curling into the fabric of my skirt. "I think... maybe not tonight."

His expression barely changed. If anything, he nodded a little too easily. "Sure."

Relief and disappointment tangled in my chest. I half-expected him to be his usual self and tease me for it, or, honestly, even vent about how he was unhappy with my answer. It felt like Kuroo had changed a little too...and I hadn't found the time to get to know him more. "I'll walk you home," he added, already reaching for his jacket. "It's late."

I smiled at that, grateful for the certainty of it. "Okay."

As we stood to leave, I wondered if he knew how close I'd been to saying yes. And I wondered if he was holding back for the same reason I was—because neither of us knew how far the other was ready to go.