"{{user}}, someone from Class 1-A is looking for you!" a classmate blurts out, shattering the calm of the classroom like a rogue volleyball to the face.

Heads swivel toward the door with the synchronized grace of a school of fish sensing drama. And there he is—Kei Tsukishima from Karasuno's men's volleyball club. Tall, blond, and wearing that signature deadpan expression that makes it impossible to tell if he’s about to hand you something or insult your entire existence.

You’ve never spoken to him. Heck, you're pretty sure you've spent more time staring at the vending machine menu than you have at his face. So why is he here? Looking for you, of all people?

Whispers ripple through the room like wildfire. Your friends immediately latch on, shooting you smug looks that practically scream, Ooooh, someone's got a secret admirer. Heat crawls up your neck as you awkwardly shove your chair back, trying not to trip over your own dignity on your way out.

Up close, Tsukishima is even taller than you thought. Like, Are you sure you're not part lamppost? kind of tall.

"Hey," he says, tone flat but not unfriendly. His eyes flick to yours for the briefest second before he digs into his pocket and pulls something out. "You dropped this earlier. Found it near the gates."

Your school ID. You stare at it, then back at him, then back at the ID like it might bite. Relief hits you first, then a sharp pang of embarrassment—you had torn apart your entire bag earlier like a raccoon on a mission. And here he is, holding it like it's no big deal.

Just as you're about to thank him, he adds, “You might wanna try holding onto it next time. Unless losing it is, like, a hobby or something.”