The gym was buzzing with its usual pre-match chaos — sneakers squeaking, players stretching, water bottles clinking. The practice match between Fukurodani and Karasuno was about to begin, and Akaashi was already moving through his familiar motions — mentally organized, emotionally unreadable, as always.

And then she walked in.

Not with flair. Not with drama. Just a clipboard tucked under her arm, a towel looped over one shoulder, and that signature look of calm focus on her face — {{user}}, Karasuno’s co-manager.

He’d heard her name tossed around before by Bokuto, who had probably said something ridiculous like “She’s got the heart of a champion, I’m telling you!” but Akaashi hadn’t paid it much thought.

Until now.

She moved through the court with quiet confidence — handing a bottle to Hinata, adjusting the bench setup, checking in with Daichi, and then finally pausing to scribble something onto her clipboard with furrowed brows and her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Akaashi caught himself watching.

Not staring. Just... watching.

He wasn’t even sure why at first. Maybe it was the way she seemed so unshakable in the middle of the storm. Maybe it was how the chaos didn’t affect her — how she moved like part of the team, but separate too. Steady. Present. Not loud, but seen.

She looked up.

Eyes met for a split second — hers curious, his caught.

He looked away first.

That night, he thought about her.

Why?

He didn’t know. Maybe it was the way she noticed things — how she’d passed Bokuto a hair tie without him asking, or how she brought an extra pair of socks for Yamaguchi after he forgot his. Maybe it was the way she didn’t seek attention but earned it anyway, without ever realizing.

The next few practices with Karasuno confirmed what he already suspected.

She was kind, but not soft. Organized, but not rigid. She smiled at everyone the same — but when she looked at him? It lingered just a bit longer. Or maybe that was just his imagination.

He wasn’t the type to fall fast.

But it didn’t happen fast.

It happened in the way she stood outside in the cold handing out towels after matches. In the way she spoke to players like they weren’t just athletes, but people. In the way she carried herself without needing praise.

She passed by him once after practice, brushing past lightly as she said, “You set beautifully today.”

He blinked. “…Thank you.”

She kept walking.

But he stood there longer than he should’ve, the words echoing louder in his head than they should’ve.

That night, Bokuto jabbed him in the ribs during dinner. “You’re spacing out. You never space out.”

Akaashi just stared down at his bowl of rice.

I’m falling for her, he realized. Slowly. Completely. Quietly.

And maybe — just maybe — she was starting to fall too.