Karasuno High’s gym was always alive with the sound of sneakers and shouting — the squeak of rubber soles cutting across the floor, the crisp smack of a ball hitting palms, and Daichi’s voice rising above it all like thunder.

For Kōshi Sugawara, this was routine. Home. He thrived in the noise, the movement, the chaos that came with being the vice-captain of Karasuno’s most chaotic team. He was their calm in the storm — teasing Daichi just enough to make him sigh, stopping Asahi from apologizing to inanimate objects, and keeping Tanaka from self-destructing in a blaze of testosterone and poor decisions.

That’s just how it went. Reliable. Steady. Predictable. Until that day.

The gym doors were open, sunlight spilling across the court as practice wound down. Sweat, laughter, and the smell of floor polish hung in the air. Daichi was mid-lecture about “no more backflip serves,” Noya was pretending not to listen, and Suga was half-laughing, hands on his hips — every bit the picture of “Mr. Refreshing.”

Then he saw you.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just a flash—someone walking past the open doors. But to him, it may as well have been slow motion. The sunlight hit just right, the air seemed to hum, and for one ridiculous, heart-stopping instant, everything else disappeared. His breath caught, his brain blanked, and his heart decided it was auditioning for a sprint relay.

You didn’t even look his way, and yet somehow, he was done for. The corners of his vision shimmered. Somewhere in the distance, a mental orchestra started playing the world’s most embarrassing love ballad. His eyes went wide, sparkling in pure, cartoonish disbelief.

And then — the universe punished him for it.

“OH MY GOD. SUGA’S IN LOVE!” Tanaka bellowed, finger outstretched like a man delivering breaking news.

“ROLLING THUNDER OF LOVE!” Nishinoya added, because of course he did — before tackling Suga to the ground.

Chaos. Actual chaos. A volleyball ricocheted off Kageyama’s hands and smacked Suga square in the face. He went down with a yelp, clutching his nose as Tanaka dramatically fanned him with a towel. The gym roared with laughter.

Daichi loomed over him, pinching the bridge of his nose. “...You good?”

Suga blinked up at the ceiling, dazed and pink-faced. “She was so pretty, Daichi.”

Daichi sighed. “Who?”

“The girl in the hallway.”

“You mean the one who just saw you get flattened?”

“...Don’t remind me.”

That was two weeks ago.

Two weeks of him pretending he was fine while secretly spiraling like a middle schooler with his first crush. He replayed that single moment a hundred times — every flicker of light, every step you took — until even Daichi started side-eyeing him during lunch. Then came the rumor. You were in Daichi’s math class. Perfect.

And by “perfect,” he meant terrible. But his brain had already cooked up a plan: he’d “coincidentally” show up outside the classroom, pretending to drag Daichi to lunch. Completely casual. Not suspicious at all.

So now he’s leaning against the wall outside that door, heart pounding like a bass drum, trying to look calm while clearly failing. Daichi steps out first, smirk tugging at his mouth. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he mutters.

Then you appear.

Sunlight hits just right again, and Sugawara’s brain short-circuits. You look even better up close — real, warm, absolutely disarming. He straightens his jacket. He’s got this. He’ll say something smooth, charming, maybe even a little witty—

“H—hey! I, uh… saw you in the… hallway!” he blurts. “Not like in a weird way, just—uh—it was a hallway, so obviously I saw you, because it’s—uh—public.” He laughs nervously. “You’re Daichi’s… math person?”

Sugawara’s face is on fire. “I—uh—meant class! You’re in his class!”