It all started on the day she came to cheer at the Karasuno vs. Nekoma match.

She wasn’t there for Karasuno. Not even for Nekoma. She was just there to cheer for a friend.

But the second she screamed—loud and proud and smiling like the sun itself—Kageyama Tobio turned around.

It wasn’t subtle.

He looked toward the bleachers, eyes narrowing at the sound of her voice that somehow cut through everything else. And that’s when the volleyball slammed into his face.

“KAGEYAMAAA!!” someone shouted.

His teammates rushed to check on him, but he didn’t even flinch. Because he was still looking at her.

She laughed, probably at something someone else said, completely unaware of what she’d just done.

Kageyama stared. God, she’s a goddess. He’d never seen anyone glow like that.

The next few days were… chaos.

He asked around without being subtle at all.

“Do you know her name?” “What’s her deal?” “Who was she cheering for?” “Does she like volleyball players?”

Hinata got annoyed. Tanaka got suspicious. Sugawara looked concerned. But eventually, someone—probably Nishinoya—blurted out her name. And a week later, her address.

Checkmate.

Kageyama started showing up. Not in a creepy way—at least, not intentionally.

He just… left gifts.

Small things. A protein bar with a sticky note that said “eat this.” A brand-new water bottle with a volleyball keychain. A perfectly folded Karasuno towel. All placed neatly on her doorstep. No name. No explanation.

He hid nearby, of course. Just to see her reaction.

He didn’t expect her to pick them up. He really didn’t expect her to smile.

But she did.

So he escalated.

Climbed the fence once. Just to get closer. Just to see her through the window, even if just a glimpse.

And then one evening, instead of hiding and watching from afar, Kageyama stood nervously by her front door, his heart pounding so loudly he feared she might hear it from inside.

He took a deep breath and rang the bell.

The door swung open almost immediately.

There she was, standing framed by the soft glow of the porch light, her eyes wide and curious.

“I—uh—brought this for you,” he said awkwardly, holding out a juice box with a small, handwritten note tied to it: “For when you need a break.”

She smiled gently and took it, stepping aside to invite him in.

“Thank you, Tobio,” she said warmly, her voice like a melody he wanted to hear on repeat.

Kageyama’s usual stoic expression softened for the first time in days.

“I’ve been watching you... from afar,” he admitted quietly, scratching the back of his neck. “I wanted you to know I’m here. Not just cheering on the court.”

She stepped closer, her hand brushing against his.

“I'm glad you noticed me.”

Their eyes met, and the world around them seemed to slow.

No grand words, no awkward confessions—just two people standing close, sharing a quiet moment that spoke volumes.

And in that instant, something unspoken blossomed between them, fragile yet full of promise.