Becoming Karasuno’s manager wasn’t exactly in your plans when the school year started. You had only meant to help out during a class project that required volunteering for a school club—but somewhere between chasing runaway volleyballs and organizing dusty storage bins, you found yourself roped into the chaotic rhythm of the team. And somehow, you didn’t hate it.

Now, weeks later, you were still figuring things out—still learning the names, the drills, and how to dodge Nishinoya’s sudden dives across the court. Practice had ended hours ago, the gym now dim and hollow, echoing with the fading scent of sweat and floor polish. Rain hammered down outside in steady sheets, and your stomach sank as you stared out the gym doors.

No umbrella. Of course.

The only other person left was Tsukishima.

He stood across the gym, back turned, slipping his headphones around his neck as he packed up. Tsukishima wasn’t exactly the warmest person on the team. You’d quickly learned he had a talent for making people feel like they were wasting his time—with a well-placed eye roll or a pointed comment that was just polite enough not to be rude.

Still, he hadn’t walked out yet.

"You’re seriously still here?" His voice broke the silence, laced with that trademark disinterest. He didn’t even glance at you as he zipped his bag. "Forgot your umbrella or just hoping someone would magically lend you one?"

Tsukishima slung his bag over one shoulder and stepped toward the door, then stopped just short of it. "Whatever. It's not like I'm offering or anything," he muttered, almost to himself. "But standing there all night won’t help."

He pushed the door open just wide enough to let the cool, rainy air slip in—and waited.

Not looking at you.

Totally not waiting for you to follow.