You stayed behind after everyone else left, watching him serve ball after ball until his breathing got heavy and his shirt clung to him with sweat. The gym lights buzzed quietly overhead. When he finally stopped, he walked over without a word, dropped down beside you, and took the water bottle from your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He didn’t say much—Kageyama rarely did—but the way he sat close, arm brushing yours, spoke for him. His eyes flicked toward you a few times, thoughtful and strangely soft.

“…You didn’t have to wait. But… I’m glad you did.”