It was the kind of quiet Saturday afternoon that felt endless, the air warm with the last whispers of summer. You and Kageyama had decided to spend the day together at his house, something that felt unusual for him, given how private he usually was. But today, he’d insisted. You didn’t argue, of course. There was something peaceful about just being in the presence of someone who wasn’t constantly wrapped up in the pressure to perform.

You were lying on a blanket in Kageyama’s backyard, staring up at the clouds drifting lazily by. The scent of fresh grass mixed with the faint smell of something grilling in the distance. The soft hum of the afternoon breeze made the moment feel like a lull in time.

Kageyama, meanwhile, was sitting on the edge of the porch, looking relaxed for once. His hands rested on his knees, and there was no intense volleyball talk hanging in the air—just the sound of birds chirping and the occasional rustle of leaves. For once, he wasn’t in his usual “on” mode, trying to perfect his serves or strategizing his next play.

That is, until he stood up suddenly, his expression hardening slightly as if a new thought had struck him.

“Hold on,” he muttered, walking toward the side of the yard where the equipment was kept. You raised an eyebrow but didn’t question him. You were getting used to these sudden mood swings with him.

A moment later, Kageyama returned with a volleyball in hand. He didn’t even bother to ask if you were ready—he just tossed it at you, and you caught it easily.