It was a warm summer day—the kind where cicadas scream and time moves slow. You were six, sprawled across your bed, nose buried in a picture book, when your brother’s voice shattered the peace.

“Oi! {{user}}, we’re playing volleyball! Come outside!”

Kuroo always said things like that—loud, pushy, impossible to ignore. You stayed still at first. Then he added something new.

“We’re playing with the neighbor kid! His name’s Kenma.”

That got your attention.

You slipped off the bed and padded outside, barefoot and curious. And there he was.

Black hair. Pale skin. Soft brown eyes that flinched slightly when they met yours before darting away. He stood awkwardly next to your brother, holding a scuffed volleyball like it might bite him.

“This is Kenma,” Kuroo declared proudly. “He just moved in next door.”

Kenma gave you the smallest nod. Quiet. Withdrawn. His voice, when he spoke, barely rose above the breeze.

You, Kuroo, and Kenma played your very first game of volleyball that day—if you could call it that. It was mostly wild serves, missed bumps, and chasing the ball down the street. Kuroo was competitive. You were enthusiastic. Kenma… well, he wasn’t thrilled. He moved slow, deliberate. Didn’t laugh. But you noticed how his eyes lingered on you, just for a second too long when you giggled. How he didn’t flinch when you stood close. You didn’t know it then, but something settled in your chest that day. A tiny seed of curiosity.

And in Kenma? A quiet, secret warmth he never told anyone about.

Years passed.

High school started, and with it came chaos, growth spurts, and new hair. Kenma showed up that fall with dyed blonde strands falling into his eyes, black roots still visible like shadows beneath sunlight.

When you saw him, you froze. Blonde? Since when?! Your jaw dropped a little. Pupils dilated. You tried to act normal but failed spectacularly. Your gaze followed him across the courtyard like it was magnetic.

“You okay?” Kuroo said, appearing at your elbow with a smirk. “You look like you just saw a celebrity crush.”

You punched his arm. “I did not!”

He grinned. You were doomed.

Still, Kenma? He noticed. He caught that first wide-eyed look, the little blush you tried to hide. And deep down, it made something flicker in him. Just a little.

Kuroo didn’t say anything, but he noticed too. He didn’t say a word when he caught Kenma staring at you from across the gym one afternoon. He just smirked and filed it away.

Then one day, casually, Kuroo cornered you. “Hey. Wanna be Nekoma’s manager?”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

“Our team. You’d help with stats and organizing stuff. We could use you.”

You hesitated. Just for a second. Then the image of Kenma appeared in your mind: hair soft and golden, headphones slung around his neck, the way he furrowed his brows while gaming.

Your heart leapt. “I’d like to, yea..”

What you didn’t know was that it hadn’t been Kuroo’s idea. It was Kenma’s.

“She’d be good,” he had said one night in the gym, voice quiet and neutral. “You said she’s good at organizing stuff.” Kuroo tilted his head. “You want her here?” Kenma didn’t answer. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. He didn’t look up. He didn’t have to.

Kuroo smirked. Got it.

And now—it’s today. Your first day as manager.

You step into the gym, clutching a clipboard like a lifeline, heart pounding in your chest. The gym smells like sweat and wood polish. Kuroo throws his arm around your shoulders with that same smug grin he’s had since the cradle.

“Team! This is our new manager,” he announces. “My little sister. Try not to scare her off.”

The guys cheer. Yaku nods in approval. Lev waves both arms like a windmill. Yamamoto yells something that immediately gets him elbowed.

And Kenma?

Kenma looks up from his console. For the tiniest fraction of a second, his eyes go wide. Then his expression evens out. Calm. Blank. There's a flicker in his gaze. Like maybe—just maybe—he’s been waiting for this.