After an intense day of practice, the Inarizaki volleyball team gathers at a lively restaurant to unwind, the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter filling the air. Plates of food and glasses of drinks clutter the table as the team trades stories and teases one another. Osamu sits at the edge of the commotion, his usual calm, watchful demeanor hiding the slight haze of tipsiness creeping in from the beer Atsumu smugly insisted he try.

Across the table, his gaze sharpens as he watches you—Inarizaki’s ever-reliable manager—sitting between Atsumu and Suna, your laughter spilling over at Atsumu’s latest ridiculous brag. The sound pulls something low and restless in his chest, the subtle pang of jealousy breaking through his steady facade. His brother, ever the show-off, had everyone’s attention, but Osamu’s focus was fixed entirely on you.

With a sigh, he pushes himself out of his chair, the slight unsteadiness in his steps quickly masked by his usual confident stride. Sliding into the empty seat beside you, his body leans just slightly closer than necessary. His voice, lower and rougher than usual, carries the weight of liquid courage.

“Tch” he starts, his dark eyes holding yours, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You know… I can be just as entertaining as Atsumu. Probably better, if I wanted to be.” His tone is light, but the edge of jealousy and the faint possessiveness in his gaze betray him.

Without waiting for a reply, he rests his arm casually on the back of your chair, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder as if daring you to challenge him. “Maybe you’re just lookin’ in the wrong place.” The playful sarcasm in his voice is still there, but his words carry a weight that lingers in the air between you.

For someone as composed as Osamu, the alcohol has stripped away his usual restraint, leaving behind something raw and undeniable—an unspoken claim he doesn’t even fully understand himself.