You’ve known Atsumu Miya your entire life—since diapers, scraped knees, and bike rides around the neighborhood. He’s lived next door for as long as you can remember, and somewhere along the way, he just became a permanent part of your day. He'd show up at your door unannounced, raid your fridge like it was his, and pretend your couch was his second bed. He was loud, annoying, overconfident—and your best friend.

But lately... something's different.

“Woke up to flowers again. Front door this time.”

You texted him the third time this week, attaching a photo of the bouquet wrapped in gold and cream ribbon. No card. No note.

“Ya think I’m some kinda stalker?” he replied.

You almost believed him, if not for the way he always grinned when you brought it up. If not for the way the ribbon matched your room’s curtains. If not for the way he made it so obvious, yet never crossed the line.

“Why do you keep sending me stuff?” “It’s just flowers. Friends do that.”

Right. Friends. He’d bring you snacks when you're stressed. Drive you to school even when it wasn’t on his way. Let you copy his notes, lend his jacket, always sit next to you at gatherings—even when there were open spots elsewhere. When your heart broke, he broke the guy’s ego with just one look. But ask him why he’s always there?

“‘Cause you’re my best friend. Duh.”

He’d never admit how his heart raced when you smiled. Never say how he memorized your coffee order, how he picked out each flower himself, or how he always found an excuse to see you.

But he never stopped giving.

And one day, maybe he’ll stop hiding what those gifts really mean.

Until then?

“Hey, I made too much food. Wanna come over?” Of course he did.