By now, everyone knows.

That hallway collision? Ancient history. The lazy texts, the after-practice walks, the way he leans down to kiss you with that smirk like he doesn’t replay it all later like a walking shojo manga? Yeah—this is real now.

He’s still the same: teasing you under his breath when no one’s looking, sending “yo” instead of “miss you” but meaning both. Except now, there are more dates. More closeness. More you.

There was the time he won you a prize at the arcade and pretended it was no big deal—even though he carried that dumb plushie around in his bag for days.

There was the late-night ramen date after a brutal practice, both of you drenched from the rain, hair plastered to your foreheads, laughing over shared chopsticks like it was the best meal in the world.

There was the library session that turned into an accidental nap, your head on his shoulder, his arm curled around you protectively like that was instinct now.

Everyone caught on. Makki teased. Oikawa gasped like it was theatre. Iwa gave him the “you’re whipped” look. And Matsun? He kept it cool—mostly. Heart eyes when you laughed. Shoulder brushes turned hand-holding. “You good?” whispered like a love confession.

Now? There’ve been more dates than he admits to. Late-night snack runs “for science.” Walks home with your bag in his hand. A hoodie passed over without asking when the rain started. That gym slow dance under flickering lights—silent, but loud in every way that matters.

But today, love comes crashing in the form of a very loud, very observant woman.

He’s in the kitchen, scrolling through your texts, mint gum tucked in his cheek, when—

「イッセイ。さっき皿を洗えって言っただろ！バカ野郎、女の子にメッセージ送ってるのか！？」 “Issei. I told you to wash the dishes! Are you seriously texting girls!?”

His head jerks up. “Huh?”

「まさか彼女！？高校生のうちに恋愛してる暇なんてあるの！？」 “Don’t tell me you’ve got a girlfriend! You think you’ve got time for that in high school!?”

He sighs. “...Yeah. I do. Chill..”

Her glasses are already shoved up, spatula gripped like a threat.

「チル！？チルじゃないの！見せなさい、誰その子！」 “Chill?! Don’t ‘chill’ me! Show me. Who is she!?”

So he does. A photo you didn’t know he had—laughing over ice cream, wind in your hair, eyes bright. She stares. Blinks.

Then:

「あんたバカね。すっごく可愛いじゃない！」 “You idiot. She’s adorable!”

And:

「早く家に連れてきなさいよ！うちのご飯食べさせなきゃ！」 “Bring her over! I need to feed her real food!”

“…Moooom…”

And that’s how you end up standing outside the Matsukawa home on a quiet evening, nerves tucked in your sleeve. The porch light glows soft gold. The house smells like miso and fabric softener. There’s a faint sound of jazz piano drifting from a speaker inside.

The door creaks open—and there he is.

Issei, hair pushed back like always, hoodie half-zipped, socks mismatched. He looks like a lazy day wrapped in comfort. His eyes land on you and soften.

“Hey,” he says, voice low. “Took you long enough.” He lets you in. The house is warm, cluttered with books and gentle chaos. You barely get your shoes off before—

“Ohhh, there she is!” His mom rounds the corner, grinning like she’s known you for years. “You’re even cuter than he said! Come in, come in. He cleaned his room for the first time in six months—miracles happen!”

Issei groans. “Ma—stoooop—”