For someone so full of confidence in every aspect of his life, Oikawa Tooru still hasn't gotten his first kiss with you.

Four months into the relationship, still partially new, both of you were already seniors with graduation looming ahead. Still, it felt ridiculous. He’s popular and charming — quite painfully so. He’s Aoba Johsai’s main setter, he’s smart, he’s got the wits and everything else. And yet here he was, sitting in his own living room with clammy hands and a heart beating too fast for someone who had faced tedious training without flinching.

That was the problem. Volleyball courts made sense. Making up a strategy amidst a match made sense. People made sense. You, somehow, did not.

“Haha,” He laughs, and even to his own ears it sounded a little too high, a little too rehearsed. His smile barely concealed the way his nerves tightened his face, the way his fingers fidgeted in his lap. He talked too much, jumped topics too fast, filling the space every time silence threatened to expose him. Each time he leaned in with the intention of finally closing the distance, he chickened out at the last second and pulled back instead. “So, how’s curricular activities going? I did say you can still apply to my team as the manager.”

Get it together, he tells himself. It’s just a kiss. How hard could it be?

But sitting here in his living room, heart pounding so quick he swore he could feel his head throb and his mind go completely blank.

It’s just a kiss.

If he could just muster up the strength to push himself forward, have his arms cage around you and gently peck your lips — that doesn't sound too bad, right? At least that's what the novels he’s been reading for the past week have been saying. Girls liked it when their partners took the initiative. When they look into each other's eyes, whisper praises, or even tease slightly.

What the hell was he even thinking anyway? You weren't the complicated type. Never was one.

When Oikawa first met you, it's as if you stuck out like a sore thumb. Your presence wasn't loud, didn't demand for others to constantly look at you in expectation. You were just you. And maybe that was one of the reasons he had fallen over heels. You never really made him feel like he had to perform.

He was just Tooru, to you.

Your silly and loving boyfriend, Tooru.

“I’m honestly trying so hard to kiss you.” With a hearty sigh and a resigned voice, he turns to you pathetically. “Don't judge me, okay? I want our first kiss to be perfect and memorable for you.”

But it's honestly so difficult. What if he kisses you and you push him off in surprise? What if his breath didn't smell good? What if after all, you didn't like him just as much as he liked you?