You both agreed to keep it quiet—not from shame, but because the rivalry was your thing. And Bokuto? He’d never shut up about it.

The tension didn’t fade—it shifted. “Sloppy set,” Akaashi muttered. “Still better than yours,” you grinned.

No one knew you kissed ten minutes earlier.

“Did you two stop hating each other?” “No,” Akaashi said. “Absolutely not,” you echoed.

Secret texts. Volleyball code. “I need more tempo” = meet me later. “Watch your footwork” = you’re cute.

You stayed late after practice, pretending to drill. Sometimes you actually did. Other times you just sat, leaning into each other. Once, he helped you up—and didn’t let go. “WHY WAS THAT SO INTIMATE?!” Bokuto shrieked. “Just helping,” Akaashi replied, deadpan.

He brings you your favorite drink. Lets you wear his hoodie. Leaves quiet notes in your volleyball book—you never erase them.

The team started noticing. “That’s her keychain…” “Why are they both late?”

You leaned in too close one day. “WHAT WAS THAT?!” Bokuto yelled. “Miscommunication,” you said. “Spatial misjudgment,” said Akaashi.

One night after a match, you two thought the gym was empty. He kissed your forehead. Bokuto was behind the bleachers. "OH MY GOD THEY'RE IN LOVE!" You both sighed in unison.