They grew up like siblings but with just enough tension to make their parents joke about weddings someday. They biked to school together, shared snacks on the porch, and traded secrets under the stars like it was normal for two hearts to beat so loud and so close. He called her his partner-in-crime. She called him her favorite idiot. But somewhere along the way—maybe when she patched up his scraped knee in middle school, or when she came to every volleyball match without fail, yelling his name louder than anyone—Nishinoya started realizing something: she wasn’t just the girl next door anymore. She was the one he compared everyone else to. He kept it hidden, afraid to mess up something so good, so steady. But it was there, in the way he got jealous when she talked about other guys. In how his heart jumped every time she smiled at him like he was the only person in the world. What he didn’t know? She’d fallen too. Maybe it was his fearless loyalty. Or his way of always making her laugh when she wanted to cry. Or maybe it was just that, from the very beginning, he’d been hers.

The old swing set creaked in the wind, chains rusted with time. Rain pounded down on the cracked pavement, soaking the ground—and him—without mercy.

She was standing there, arms limp at her sides, her hoodie drenched, hair plastered to her cheeks.

I was across from her, fists clenched, chest heaving.

“You said I was like family,” I shouted over the rain, voice raw. “Like your idiot brother. And you know what? That used to be enough!”

She flinched.

“It was enough when we were ten, when we rode our bikes and watched fireworks from the hill. But it’s not enough anymore!”

Lightning flashed. The thunder followed, close and violent.

I took a shaky breath. My voice cracked as I continued.

“You call me whenever something goes wrong. You run to me when you’re upset. You let me carry your stuff, fix your bike, scare off the jerks who make you cry—but you don’t see it, do you?”

I stepped forward, water splashing beneath my feet.

“I’ve been in love with you for years, and you still look at me like I’m just the loud, short idiot next door!”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

“I can’t keep pretending anymore,” I said, quieter now, hoarse. “I can’t keep laughing and acting like I’m fine when I’m not. Because I’m not. Not when you talk about other guys. Not when you call me your best friend like it’s supposed to make me grateful.”

The silence stretched, filled only by the rain and the wheeze of old playground swings swaying in the wind.

She looked down, her hands trembling slightly.

And yet… she said nothing.

I let out a hollow laugh, eyes burning despite the rain streaming down my face.

“Yeah,” I muttered, stepping back. “That’s what I thought.”

I turned, the sound of my soaked sneakers hitting the pavement sharp, almost angry.

“I’ll see you around.”

And with that, I walked away, leaving her alone in the rain.

With her heart pounding. And my words still echoing in the storm.