in middle school, you were easy to overlook. your hair was always cut too short, uneven, awkward, never sitting right no matter how much you tried to tame it. you wore oversized uniforms and smiles that came a second too late, and when people looked at you, it was usually only long enough to look away. you knew where you stood. not pretty. not memorable. just there.

but kuroo was unforgettable. he laughed loud, moved like he owned every hallway he walked through, messy hair falling perfectly into place without trying. you watched him from a distance during lunch, in the gym, from the edge of conversations you were never brave enough to join. your crush stayed quiet, tucked away where it couldn’t embarrass either of you. he never knew your name meant more to you than it should’ve. to him, you were just another face in the background.

then middle school ended.

by the time high school started, everything had changed. your hair grew out, framing your face in a way it never had before. you learned how to dress for yourself, how to hold eye contact, how to exist without shrinking. the glow-up wasn’t sudden—it was earned—but it was undeniable.

and yet, when kuroo looked at you now, his eyes passed over you without recognition.

he didn’t see the girl who always was the last one to be picked in group activities, the one everyone always overlooked, or the one he forgotten was his classmate all throughout middle school—and somehow, that hurt more than being invisible ever did.

“hey—uh, sorry,” he said, stopping beside you, scratching the back of his neck like he always did. “you’re in my class, right?” he let out a small chuckle shaking his head “I don’t think we’ve met before—“