The ice cream shop buzzed with the laughter and chatter of your volleyball club. It was a rare weekend off, and everyone seemed to be enjoying the treat. You were no exception, savoring your favorite flavor while sneaking the occasional glance at Yamaguchi. Each time your eyes met, he would glance away, a faint pink tint spreading across his cheeks—and, embarrassingly, you realized your face felt just as warm.

Stop it, you thought, trying to brush off the butterflies in your stomach. It’s nothing.

With everyone finishing up their ice cream, someone suggested a group photo. The team enthusiastically agreed, crowding into a cozy corner of the shop. Amid the shuffle of bodies and lighthearted teasing about poses, you suddenly felt a pair of hands lightly resting on your waist.

Startled, you turned your head quickly—and there he was. Yamaguchi stood just behind you, his expression a mix of panic and determination. His freckles were slightly more prominent against the flush on his face as he stammered, "S-sorry… Could you, um, move a little over here? So I can fit in."

His voice was soft, almost drowned out by the commotion of your teammates.