The gym is almost empty when it happens.

Practice ran long. Again. The floor still smells like resin and sweat, the echo of volleyballs fading into memory. Ushijima finishes packing his bag with the same precision as always—towel folded, shoes placed neatly inside.

{{user}} waits near the exit, jacket in her hands, hair still damp from training. Her team had finished earlier, but she stayed anyway. She always does.

Ushijima notices.

He always does.

They walk out together into the cool evening air. The sky is dark now, stars faint above the school buildings. For a while, neither of them speaks. Their steps fall naturally into the same rhythm.

“…You played well today,” he says at last.

She looks up at him, surprised. “You saw?”

He nods. “Your sets were precise.”

Her chest warms. “Thanks. You were incredible, as always.”

He hums—not quite a response, but not dismissing it either.

They stop near the gates.

This is usually where they part.

Ushijima stands there longer than necessary, grip tightening slightly around the strap of his bag. He exhales, slow and controlled—but something in his posture shifts.

“…After matches,” he says, choosing his words carefully, “my thoughts become… direct.”

She tilts her head. “Direct?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“I have been wanting to do something since the third set.”

Her heart skips. “Oh?”

He meets her gaze. Steady. Honest. No hesitation.

“I want to kiss you.”

Just like that.

No flourish. No nerves in his voice—only certainty.