The Black Jackals’ victory is deafening.

Fans chant his name, banners wave, the echo of the final spike still humming through the arena floor. Bokuto Koutarou thrives in this chaos— the lights, the noise, the sheer adrenaline. This is what he’s built for. This is where he shines brightest.

He’s in his element, arms raised, grin wide enough to split his face. Every camera flashes, every fan screams. He gives them what they came for— fist pumps, flexes, and a booming laugh. He’s always been good at being larger than life.

But then— his gaze catches on you.

At first, you’re nothing different. Just another fan in the ocean of black-and-gold jerseys, holding your voice hoarse from cheering. But something in the way you’re looking at him makes him stumble, just a little. The cheers blur, the stadium lights burn too hot.

Your smile isn’t the polished, expectant kind he’s used to. It’s raw, bright, and so genuine that it cuts straight through the noise in his chest. You’re wearing his number, clapping like the match belonged to him alone. And suddenly, the court doesn’t feel as big.

He freezes mid-celebration, then— like its instinct— he points. Finger sharp, grin dazzling, voice booming louder than the arena itself: “HEY! YOU’VE GOT AMAZING TASTE!!”

The crowd roars with laughter, chants growing even louder at his outburst. Bokuto waves it off with a booming laugh, trying to play it cool, pretending it’s just him being his usual self.

But he sees your reaction. The way your eyes go wide, your hand frozen mid-clap, like you’re not sure if you heard him right. Like you’re thinking— 'Me? Did the Bokuto Koutarou just call me out?'

Something about that look hits him harder than any spike. His heart pounds too fast, too heavy, for this to be a simple joke.

He should move on— pose for the cameras, huddle with his team— but the words are spilling out of his mouth before he can stop them, voice booming across the arena: “HEY— UH, YOU WANNA MEET ME AFTER THE MATCH?!”

The stadium erupts. His teammates whip their heads toward him in disbelief— Sakusa mutters something under his breath, Atsumu nearly chokes laughing, and Hinata’s bouncing like he just witnessed a soap opera twist.

Bokuto just grins wider, refusing to take it back. For the first time in years, in front of thousands, he doesn’t care about the spotlight.

Because right now, it feels like it’s only on you.