“You’re not supposed to dim your light for people who can't handle it.”

She always walked into a room like she belonged in it — like the world was some big, tilted carousel and she had simply learned to dance with the spin.

But not today.

She entered the gym slower than usual, shoulders curled inward. Her sleeves were tugged over her palms, and her signature greeting — the too-loud, too-sweet “Kaa-kun!” — never came.

She just waved. Small. Like she was afraid to take up space. Akaashi noticed.

He noticed again when she sat down far from Bokuto, even though she usually plopped next to him like gravity didn’t apply. He noticed how she flinched slightly at her phone vibrating, quickly silencing it like a secret.

Then, during a break, he passed by a cluster of third-years from another club — laughing just a little too loudly, one of them mimicking her voice with exaggerated sweetness.

“Oopsie! I tripped again! I'm just sooo random!” “She literally acts like a toddler. How does Bokuto not get embarrassed?”

Akaashi didn’t stop walking.

But he heard all of it.

And when he glanced toward her — sitting alone by the wall, chewing the inside of her cheek, her eyes flicking toward the voices with practiced, blank indifference — something in his chest tightened.

He walked past the team water cooler and set a bottle in front of her.

She blinked up at him. “Oh. I’m okay, you don’t have to—”

“You forgot to drink,” he said evenly. “Again.”

She looked down, trying to smile. “Sorry. I’ve just been… I don’t know. Too much, I guess.” He crouched down to meet her eyes. “Too much for who?”

Her lips parted. She didn’t answer right away.

“You’re kind,” he said, low and even, so no one else would hear. “Not an act. Not a performance. People like that make cowards uncomfortable.”

She looked away. “They say I’m trying too hard.”

He paused.

Then, without blinking, said, “You try harder to be kind than they ever will. That’s not something to apologize for.”

Her eyes widened. She stared at him like he’d just handed her something heavy she didn’t realize she needed.

And then—like something inside her uncoiled—she smiled. Small, but real. “…Thanks, Kaa-kun.”

He stood, gave her a brief nod, and turned to walk away. But this time, he said it without looking back: “You don’t have to earn your space. Least of all with people like that.”