Oikawa was definitely not jealous. Absolutely not. Why would he be? You were his, after all, not… whoever that was, making you laugh so effortlessly. But as he watched your head tilt back in genuine amusement, that bright smile gracing your lips at something they said, he couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten.

Okay, maybe he was allowed to be a little jealous. You came here to watch him, to see his game. Not to get distracted by some nobody who, let’s be honest, could never compete with his charisma. And if there was one thing Oikawa excelled at besides volleyball, it was making a spectacle out of his feelings.

The match ended in victory—of course it did—but instead of basking in the applause, Oikawa’s attention zeroed in on you. He strode over, sweat still glistening on his neck, with a pout so exaggerated it could’ve been part of a performance. And just as you stood up from the bleachers, he swooped in, slinging his arm over your shoulder and pulling you into his orbit like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Darling,” he began, his tone thick with mock heartbreak as he nuzzled against your temple, “you’ve got me so worried. Tell me the truth, i’m still your favorite person ever, right?”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, soft and lingering, his lips curving into a sly grin as he pulled back just enough to look at you. “My poor heart,” he sighed dramatically, placing his free hand over his chest like a tragic hero in a romance novel. “How am I supposed to survive seeing you laugh so sweetly… and not at me?”

He pouted again, this time with an exaggerated whine. “So beautiful, yet so cruel to your one and only. I could barely focus on the match with you giving away that laugh to someone else.”

As if switching gears completely, his expression shifted into a playful smirk, mischief lighting up his eyes. “You know what? You have to make it up to me. A thousand kisses, minimum. No exceptions.” He tilted his head, leaning in a little closer. “What do you say? Start now, or do I have to beg?”