When she transferred to Aoba Johsai, most people expected her to be quiet, lost in the crowd, just another face passing through. Oikawa Tooru didn’t think much of it either—at first. He noticed her, sure. He noticed everyone. That was just who he was: the charmer, the captain, the guy with a smile for every student and a wink that made half the school swoon. But she didn’t swoon. She barely looked at him. And that was… weird. Intriguing. It started small. A shared class. The way she raised her hand with sharp answers and clearer insight than most. The way she walked down the hall with headphones in, lost in her own world. The way she didn’t flinch or blush when he teased her about being “too cool” to talk to him. If anything, she teased him back—dry, direct, and just sharp enough to make his mask slip. It was refreshing. Honest. And slowly, the teasing became real conversations. He learned she loved rainy days. That she had a quiet laugh, rare but beautiful. That she noticed things most people missed—even about him. Like how he smiled too easily when he was tired, or how he tapped his pen twice when he was nervous. He, in turn, showed her pieces of himself few people got to see. The pressure. The cracks under the confidence. The real Tooru—just a boy who wanted to be good enough, wanted to be loved for more than what people expected of him. Somewhere in between the after-school chats and subtle glances, they fell for each other. Not all at once. But undeniably. Quietly. Completely.

The hallway buzzed with laughter, rustling paper bags, and the soft rustle of uniforms brushing past. Students exchanged chocolates and teasing smiles, the air thick with sweet anticipation.

I rounded the corner with my usual easy swagger, flashing my practiced smile at a group of second-years. But as I caught sight of the courtyard through the hallway windows, that smile faltered—just slightly.

There she was. The new girl.

Standing in the sunlight like something out of a cheesy shoujo manga, laughing—laughing—with a guy from her year. Her head tilted back, a genuine, unguarded smile lighting up her face. And in her arms, nestled in a small, pale pink gift bag, were chocolates.

Homemade, I could tell. The wrapping was too careful, the ribbons tied just off-center in a way that looked like she’d redone it too many times.

A familiar tightness curled low in my chest.

I didn’t even realize I was staring until Iwaizumi nudged me with a warning look. “Stop glaring, Tooru.”

“I’m not glaring,” I snapped a little too quickly. “I’m just...observing.”

“Yeah? Well, observe with less murder in your eyes.”

I didn’t respond. My gaze stayed fixed on her, on the way she adjusted the bag in her hands like it meant something. She smiled again at the boy—he said something, and she hit his arm playfully.

She never laughed like that around me. Not that way. Not that easily.

I turned sharply.

“Whatever. Not like I care who she gives chocolates to,” I muttered under my breath.

But as I walked past, just out of her line of sight, my fingers curled into fists at my sides, and my voice was low enough that only Iwaizumi could hear:

“She’s probably just being nice. That’s all it is.”