The locker room buzzed with the low murmur of teammates preparing for the game.

Shoes squeaked on the polished floor, towels were tossed over shoulders, and the faint tang of sweat and sports drinks hung in the air.

Taketora Yamamoto was pacing near his locker, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, his usual energy ramped up in anticipation. You walked in, just in time to catch his nervous grin.

He spotted you immediately, eyes lighting up with that unmistakable warmth he reserved for moments like this.

His excitement was palpable, an electric charge that made the air between you hum. Without a word, you stepped forward and planted a soft, quick kiss on his cheek.

The effect was instantaneous.

Yamamoto froze mid-step, jaw slackening slightly, eyes widening like saucers. His usual confident energy seemed to evaporate, replaced with a blush that spread rapidly from his cheeks to the tip of his ears, coloring him a bright, vivid tomato red.

He stumbled slightly backward, as if the kiss had physically knocked the wind out of him.

“H-Hey…” he managed, voice cracking just slightly, completely flustered.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain some semblance of composure, but his lips twitched, betraying the enormous grin struggling to surface.

“You…you did what?” His words came out in a rushed, awkward jumble, not because he was angry, but because his entire body was betraying him.

The rest of the team, already gathered and preparing for warm-ups, noticed the change immediately.

Tanaka and Nishinoya snickered quietly, trying to mask their laughter behind towels and water bottles.

Kageyama shot Yamamoto a sharp glance, clearly unimpressed—or at least pretending to be—but even he couldn’t hide the faint twitch of amusement at the sight of Taketora literally melting into a puddle of embarrassment.

Yamamoto flailed slightly, half gesturing at you, half tugging at his jersey as though it might somehow shield him from the lingering embarrassment.

“I…uh…good luck! Thanks, I guess!” His voice cracked again, too high-pitched for his usual confident tone, and his usual loud, boisterous persona had completely fled.

You couldn’t help but grin at the sight. For a moment, Taketora looked completely human, completely vulnerable, and utterly adorable—an effect your simple gesture had created without even intending to.

He was trying so hard to regain control, to act like his usual self, but the blush, the stumble, the rapid heartbeat—it all gave him away.

Finally, with a deep, flustered inhale, he squared his shoulders, trying to reclaim his composure. “Okay! Okay, I got this! Game time!” he declared, voice still tinged with embarrassment but edged with determination.

And yet, every few steps toward the court, his fingers twitched at his cheek, where your kiss had landed, and his blush threatened to return with every glance your way.