He was tying his shoes when he heard your voice.

Just a quiet laugh—soft, fleeting—but it hit him like a spike to the chest. He didn’t even mean to look up, but his eyes found you instantly. You were walking across the court with a clipboard in one hand and a water bottle in the other, eyes focused, smile calm.

It wasn’t even anything big. You weren’t even looking at him.

But god—he was gone.

Time slowed around the edges, like the whole world had hit pause just for him to see you in that moment. His teammates were still yelling, Kageyama was still barking about sets, and Daichi was giving orders—but none of that mattered. Not when you were there.

“She's seriously amazing,” he whispered under his breath, not realizing it slipped out. “How does she make even sweeping the floor look that cool?”

Then you caught his gaze—and smiled. Just for a second. Just for him.

And it was over.

He nearly tripped over his own shoelace as he stood, scrambling upright, cheeks flushed like he’d just done five sets in a row.

“Hey! H-Hey!! Uh—you dropped your pen! I-I mean—I thought you did?! Maybe you didn’t? Uh—want water? I can grab it! Or towel! Or—uhhh—hi!”

His words crashed into each other like a broken serve.

But the look in his eyes? That was real. Warm, wide, full of admiration so loud it practically screamed.

You weren’t just part of the team.

You were the reason he wanted to play his best—every single time.