Suna Rintarou was known for being calm, unreadable, and quietly sharp—his steady presence a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the Miya twins. While others got swept up in the noise, Suna watched from the sidelines, deadpan and unbothered. Then you showed up. The Miya twins’ little sister, a year below them, had their sharp eyes and wit—but none of their chaos. Calm and confident, you had a way of quieting even Atsumu with a glance. Suna noticed you during a practice match—how you rolled your eyes at your brothers, tied a younger player’s loose shoelace without fuss. You weren't flashy. Just real. That’s what got to him. It began with dry banter, shared looks, and quiet moments that lingered. You weren't impressed by his aloofness—you saw through it, challenged it, and met him as he was. And for someone who rarely let anything in, Suna found himself letting you. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. But it was real. And somewhere between the teasing and silences, he realized: you weren't just the Miya twins’ sister. You were the only one who made his still world start to move.

The courtyard is buzzing with activity—boys fumbling with neatly wrapped gifts, girls trying to look casual as they wait. I lean against the wall near the corner of the school building, half-hidden in the shade, earbuds in but no music playing.

I see her before she sees me.

The Miya twins’ little sister. She’s laughing softly at something the guy in front of her says—tall, third-year, polished. He's holding out a small white box tied with gold ribbon.

My jaw tightens.

I watch as the guy scratches the back of his neck and stammers through his confession, voice low but nervous. She blinks, surprised. Her hands hover in front of her like she doesn’t quite know what to do with them.

I felt my stomach drop. I tell myself to look away, to stop staring, to not care. But I don't move.

My fingers twitch in my hoodie pocket, fists curling tight.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she glances around—just for a second—and her eyes land on me.

Our eyes lock.

Her breath catches. I see it. That flicker of recognition, the same one I've been trying to ignore for months. And in that moment, the guy in front of her disappears. It’s just her and I, both pretending we're not full of feelings we refuse to say out loud.

She turns back to the boy and shakes her head—gently, apologetically. He bows, says something polite, and walks off.

I exhale slowly, like I've been holding my breath without realizing. She walks over, hands clasped behind her back, pretending like nothing just happened.

"Stalking me now, Rintaro?" she teases lightly, but there’s a nervous edge to her voice.

"Didn’t know I had to," I muttered, eyes flicking to her, unreadable. "Pretty popular today, huh?"

She smirks. "Jealous?"

I look at her for a long moment, then shrug. "Maybe."

Her heart skips.

"...You didn’t bring chocolate?" she asks, half-joking.

I dig in my pocket, pulling out a small bag—simple, a little wrinkled, like I stuffed it in last minute and spent the whole day debating whether to give it to her.

I tossed it to her, careful not to meet her eyes. "Figured you’d say no if I made it a big deal."

She holds the bag gently, smile blooming despite herself.

"I wouldn’t have."

This time, it’s me who looks startled. We stand there, a silence falling between us—not uncomfortable, but charged, heavy with everything we're still too scared to say.