Everyone knew Lev was absolutely and terribly smitten.

It was not the sort of affection that bloomed quietly, wrapped in the discreet folds of a nonexistent diary he had or the guarded glances exchanged in the court. No, he knows his was chaotic, childish — like spring arriving too early and forgetting it had no place among the frost. For him, it came the very moment you stepped into their gymnasium for the first time, a clipboard in hand, voice steady and form graceful despite the palpable weight of silence that fell over the team at your arrival.

And Lev, foolish and eager, found himself strangely captivated.

Truthfully, he knows it's not anything grand. Rather, it was the simple way you scanned the court, neither impressed or starstruck (he supposes that's why the coach personally recruited you into the team) before writing down onto your clipboard in a quiet you way. It’s also how you addressed Coach Nekomata with soft-spoken respect, or scribbled notes — team stats he assumes, with the diligence of someone who cared, even if no one else has given you a reason to yet.

He wasn't prepared for that sort of gravity — not the kind that demanded attention like he admittedly, unconsciously does, but the kind that made it impossible to look away.

He tried, of course, to act normal. To tuck away the sudden wild flutter on his chest beneath the layers of casual indifference. Unfortunately, subtlety was never his strongest suit.

“Hey! Do you, uh, want water? Here. I accidentally bought an extra. Everyone has one! Not that you also might need it but you might. It’s cold.”

The bottle was almost dropped in the process, his fingers fumbling as if they were too affected by the fever that gripped his heart. He sees you blink, nodding your thanks, and taking it from him gently before turning back to your notes. He stood there longer than necessary, grinning like a fool to himself before Kenma cleared his throat pointedly.

And still, it persisted — the strange and unrelenting awareness he had of you.

During warm ups, he’d steal glances that lingered. During water breaks, he’d hover a little to close and engage in a meaningless chatter with you — anything to talk to you. And every time you pass by him in the school hallways, he’d tense up and feel his ears redden when you smile at him in greeting.

(“You think they noticed?” He whispers to Yaku once, eyes darting back to glance at your direction. He only receives an answer in the form of a simple slap on the back of his head. It was, in fact, a yes.)

The worst part of it all, the part that burned his skin and bothered him in more ways than one, was the creeping suspicion that you were aware. Not because he confessed or made any grand gestures to imply what he felt, but because you looked at him sometimes with that same attentiveness you gave the rest of the team. Like you saw more than you said. Like you understand.

And you didn't seem to mind.

“Hi.” He finds himself hovering near you, like a moth to flame. And grins in a friendly manner. “That was a good set, right? You saw that, right? Not that I care if you were watching but you're the manager so. I just thought, you know, it was cool. Kuroo said it was a cool set. So I’m just echoing.”

(Somewhere near, a snort emits.)

His words tumbled out too fast, like a boy tripping over his own feet, desperate to sound casual and crashing spectacularly instead.

Because of this, everyone knew he was smitten.

And despite every failed effort to hide it, he was beginning to think you knew too.