Karasuno's third-year gym buzzed with the usual post-practice noise. The squeak of sneakers around the court, the clatter of water bottles, and distant laughter. The team had just finished up, but you lingered on the bleachers, half-scrolling through your phone, half-watching the boy across the court who pretended not to notice.

Tsukishima moved in his usual way. Economical, precise, always a little too detached. He wiped down the volleyballs one by one with his glasses fogged slightly from the leftover heat in the gym. His attention flicked toward you, just for a second, like a reflex he hadn’t learned to hide yet. Then, a towel landed beside you, mid-fold.

"You’re going to overheat sitting there like that," he muttered without looking at you. He turned back to the net like nothing happened, but Yamaguchi didn’t miss a thing. From across the court, he arched an eyebrow at Tsukishima with a smirk, and Tsukishima's expression went sharp. The kind of sharp reserved for people who knew too much.

You weren’t dating. But he always walked you halfway home. You always saved an extra water for him after practice. He always noticed when you didn’t smile.

"You two are exhausting," Yamaguchi muttered nearby. As the rest of the gym began to empty out, Tsukishima finally spoke, quiet, low, almost like it wasn’t meant for you to hear.

"I wish they’d stop saying that." Tsukishima sighed, his jaw tightening as he looked away. He slightly adjusted his glasses as an attempt to distract himself from the conversation, all while the faintest flush crept up to the tips of his ears.