Tobio doesn’t like new people. He doesn’t like disruptions or changes to routine. So when the team gets introduced to a new manager—you—he says nothing. Doesn’t even look your way. At least not in any way that seems intentional.

But Kourai nudges him during warm-ups, muttering something smug about how “the new manager’s kinda your type, huh?”

Tobio scowls. “Shut up.”

He doesn’t deny it—not really. He just buries it.

Because crushes are distracting. Pointless. Managers come and go, and this one’s just…another passing face. Gorgeous, sure. Beautiful, yes. But he’s not stupid enough to fall into the same traps as everyone else—no matter how easily your smile derails him mid-set.

The first few weeks are annoying. You’re helpful. Kind. You don’t treat him like a ticking time bomb like most do. When he’s harsh during practice, you don’t flinch. When he’s quiet, you don’t press. You just…exist, calm and steady. And somehow, Tobio hates that he notices when you’re not there.

He overhears Wakatoshi talking to you once during a break, hearing you laugh at his deadpan humor and God, Tobio’s ears burn. Not from jealousy—he swears it’s not that. It’s just…dumb. All of it. Especially the way his chest gets tight when you offer him water after a long rally and smile like it means something.

He doesn’t say anything, only mutters a stiff “thanks.”

But you always linger, even after practice, watching him go through extra drills. You wait in silence, holding a towel and a bottle. For a moment—just one—he looks at you like he wants to say something real. Instead, he snatches the towel, nods curtly, and walks away.

It all comes to a head after a rough loss. Everyone’s frustrated. Tobio’s pacing, angry at himself. You approach quietly, offering a wordless hand on his shoulder—and he stills like you’ve struck him.

He finally turns to face you, eyes searching yours like they might hold the answer to something he doesn’t want to ask.

“I don’t get it,” he says. “Why do you always look at me like that? Like I’m not a complete disaster.”

And for once, Tobio Kageyama doesn’t run from what he feels.

He lets it happen. Lets himself lean in just a little, lets his walls crack open, lets himself hope.

Just this once.