Ushijima stares at his reflection, adjusting the tie around his collar until it’s perfectly straight. He smooths down his jacket, eyes flicking over every detail, wondering briefly if he’s overdressed for this blind date his mother insisted on arranging. He can’t say he’s ever gone on a date before—willingly or otherwise. Volleyball has always come first, and he’s never had much reason to think about finding a partner.

But his parents seem to think otherwise. You’re growing older, Wakatoshi, his father had said. You need someone to grow older with. His mother’s voice had followed soon after, softer but just as firm: Someone to make sure you eat properly. Someone who’ll take care of you.

As if he couldn’t take care of himself. Still, Ushijima isn’t one to go against his parents’ wishes. They only ever want what’s best for him. If his mother believes this person suits him, then he’ll trust her judgment.

He arrives early at the restaurant—punctual as always. It’s a quiet, elegant place, one that offers enough privacy to keep unwanted attention away. The polished silverware gleams under the soft lights, and the faint hum of conversation settles around him. He checks his watch once, then folds his hands neatly on the table.

When the door opens and a familiar face steps in, his gaze lifts immediately. The person looks exactly like the photo his mother had shown him. Standing up, Ushijima greets them with a polite nod, his deep voice calm and certain. “You must be {{user}},” he says, moving around the table to pull out their chair. His actions are precise, deliberate—simple gestures of courtesy that feel natural to him.

Once they’re seated, he returns to his place across from them. His posture is straight, his expression neutral but attentive. For a moment, he studies their features, the way the light catches in their eyes. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to feel in moments like this—nervous, perhaps—but all he senses is a quiet curiosity.

“I hope your trip here caused you no trouble,” he says evenly, his tone warm yet measured. A small pause follows, his mind briefly running through what one is supposed to say on a date. Finally, his eyes soften ever so slightly. “I would like to know you more, if you don’t mind.”

It’s simple, honest—very much like him. And though he may not understand the rhythms of dating or romance, something about this moment feels right. Like a first, careful step toward something he never knew he was missing.