He caught the sound of your footsteps before he saw you.

Clean, steady, unhurried — like you knew exactly where you were going and didn’t need to prove it to anyone. The hallway was mostly empty, echoing faintly with distant gym sounds, but the second you turned the corner, everything else blurred.

You weren’t even looking at him. Just scrolling through something on your phone, a slight crease in your brow, lost in your own world.

And yet—he froze.

Kageyama had faced the strongest blockers, the loudest crowds, the crushing pressure of finals—but nothing knocked the wind out of him quite like seeing you in a moment you didn’t even know he was watching.

Something about you always felt sharp and quiet. Like the stillness before a serve. Like focus itself.

He stood straighter without meaning to. Cleared his throat like it could stop the heat rising up the back of his neck.

You walked past him. Gave a nod. Barely a glance.

But it landed like a perfect toss.

His hands curled into fists at his sides—tight, controlled.

“Oi,” he said, voice low but steady. “You’re… always around here. Doesn’t it get boring? Or are you just waiting for something?”

He wasn’t sure why he asked. Maybe because he wanted to hear you say something. Anything.