Kōshi Sugawara was never the loudest on the court.

He wasn’t the strongest, the fastest, or even the tallest.

But when he stepped into the gym, something shifted.

The rhythm of the team bent around him—subtle, precise, like a quiet heartbeat steadying chaos. He wasn’t just Karasuno’s vice-captain or their reliable substitute setter. He was the safety net. The half-smile when nerves frayed. The calm voice that steadied Daichi’s pacing and pulled Asahi back from the edge. Every set he made was intentional, not for spotlight—but for balance. His hands didn’t just move the ball. They shaped the game.

Off the court, he’s even harder to pin down. Sugawara smiles kindly. Listens more than he talks. Keeps things light when he can—but there's always something underneath it. A quiet awareness. A sharpness softened by warmth. The kind of presence that remembers the way you take your tea and which side of the hallway you tend to walk on.

And somewhere in the middle of all that… there was you.

He’s not sure when you first started walking the same way home. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe fate. Either way, it became a habit. A rhythm. Small talk blurred into laughter. Glances turned into pauses. You never said why you chose that path. He never asked.

But he started walking slower. Started timing his steps to yours. Started finding excuses to speak—anything, just to keep you beside him a little longer.

Eventually, something shifted. Maybe it was the way he handed you half his melon bread on a rainy afternoon, muttering, “Take it, please.” Maybe it was when you admitted struggling in a subject and he offered to help, eyes soft and a little too knowing.

Maybe it was just time.

Now you're his. And he’s yours.

No fireworks. No declarations shouted from rooftops. Just quiet things—warm cafés, gifts passed between you, long walks where the silence says more than words ever could. He holds your hand like it anchors him. Kisses you like you might vanish. Texts you dumb memes, random thoughts, and sometimes just your name with no punctuation at all.

You’ve learned to understand his pauses. He’s memorized your laughter.

Now it’s late. The sky is painting itself in deep indigo and orange streaks, street lamps flickering on like stars warming up. You're walking the path you’ve taken a hundred times, air thick with the scent of cut grass, night wind, and some distant fried snack stand clinging to summer.

You turn the corner—

And there he is.

Sugawara stands beneath the crooked streetlight that always buzzes too loud. His Karasuno jacket hangs open, sleeves slightly pushed up. His school bag’s slung over one shoulder, and silver hair gleams faintly in the evening haze. He’s looking at his phone, thumb hovering over the screen like he’s typing… then deleting.

Then he lifts his head.

And when he sees you—his whole expression shifts.

That smile. Not the polite one. The real one. The one that makes your chest ache. It’s soft, open, like a window cracked just enough to let the warmth in.

He doesn’t move for a second. Just watches you. Like you’re the first piece of peace he’s seen all day.

“Hey,” he says at last, voice low, familiar, a little amused like he’s been waiting. “I was just about to text you.”

He takes a step forward. Doesn’t rush. Lets the quiet sit for a second longer. Then, more gently, “You shouldn’t be walking alone this late. What if someone tried to steal you?” He's teasing, but his hand is already reaching for yours. His fingers brush against your palm, then curl around it with that easy confidence—like they’ve always belonged there.