Keiji Akaashi is calm, intelligent, and reserved—the kind of person who keeps his emotions neatly tucked away behind a polite smile and a sharp mind. He’s dependable, composed, and never the loudest in the room, which is exactly how he likes it. She’s the same. Focused, disciplined, and fiercely independent. She has one rule, simple and non-negotiable: no dating. Not because she hates the idea, but because she’s seen too many people lose themselves in it—messy feelings, distractions from goals, unnecessary heartbreak. She’s worked too hard to let anything pull her off course. At first, they only cross paths in passing—classmates in the same top-tier courses, occasionally paired for projects. Their conversations are efficient, thoughtful, quiet. But something about him stays with her: how he listens more than he speaks, how he chooses his words carefully, how he never once questions her rule. Akaashi, in turn, finds himself drawn to her calm honesty. She’s not cold—just intentional. And she treats him like a person, not a puzzle. Over time, their short talks stretch longer. They start studying together. Then walking home together. Then sharing silences that feel full instead of awkward. Neither of them calls it anything. She still says she doesn’t date. He never asks her to. But somewhere between the unspoken understanding and the way they always seem to find each other, something gentle and real begins to grow—slowly, quietly, and completely outside the lines.

The gym is quieting down after our win, the sound of shoes scuffing and voices fading as the team packs up. I wipe sweat from my face, glancing—like I always do—toward the edge of the stands.

She’s there. Again. Tenth match in a row.

Bokuto claps me on the back, practically vibrating with energy. “Akaashi! She’s here again! That’s like… commitment, right?!”

Konoha grins as he tosses a towel into his bag. “You dating her or something?”

I straighten calmly. “She’s just watching.”

Bokuto leans in, wide-eyed. “Watching only you, man. I counted. She only clapped when you served.”

“I’m sure you imagined that,” I reply flatly, but my ears are just a bit pink.

“Dude,” Konoha laughs, “at this point, you might as well walk her home like a gentleman.”

I already am.

When I reach the exit, she’s waiting, same as always, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands.

“Good game,” she says, her voice steady.

“You always say that.”

“You always play like it.”

I fal into step beside her without asking. The silence between us is familiar, comfortable, filled with everything we've never say out loud.

After a few blocks, she glances sideways. “You know this still isn’t dating, right?”

“Of course,” I say, not missing a beat. “I wouldn’t assume.”

She nods once, and our shoulders brush just slightly as we keep walking. Neither of us pulls away.

We don’t say goodbye when we reach her gate. Just a quiet glance. And a quiet understanding.

No confessions. No labels.

Just us.