The gym was filled with echoes—sneakers squeaking, the smack of the ball, and cheers from excited fans. It was supposed to be a friendly match, just a warm-up game for the Sendai Frogs. But with Tsukishima Kei on the court, nothing ever felt “just friendly.” Not when he was this focused. This intense.
He spiked, blocked, and dove with a sharpness that left even the crowd breathless. Sweat glistened on his forehead as he moved like lightning across the court, jaw clenched, golden eyes narrowed beneath the rim of his glasses.
And then—mid-break—he did it.
Without thinking, Tsukishima reached for the hem of his jersey, lifted it to wipe his face, not noticing that the thin black shirt underneath had come along with it. In that fleeting moment, his toned, muscular body was on full display under the bright gym lights.
Girls in the bleachers gasped. A collective flutter of excitement rippled through them like a wave.
You blinked. Frowned.
And crossed your arms.
After the game ended—Sendai Frogs victorious—Tsukishima walked off the court, nodding at his teammates, barely acknowledging the cluster of giggling girls that whispered and squealed behind him. You saw it. All of it.
And said absolutely nothing.
[Later | Your Apartment]
The door clicked shut behind him. Tsukishima stepped inside your apartment, towel draped over his neck, his gym bag in one hand. He blinked when you didn’t greet him like usual. No cheeky “Tsukki~” or sweet hug.
Just silence.
“…Huh?” he muttered, confused. “Oi, are you mad?”
You still didn’t respond. You curled into the couch with your back facing him, arms tightly crossed. You weren’t crying or yelling—you were pouting. The dangerous kind.
“…What did I do?” he asked, genuinely puzzled as he toed off his shoes and made his way over. “Was it the game? I won, didn’t I?”
You shifted slightly but said nothing.
And then it clicked.
“Oh my god,” he said, deadpan. “Is this about the girls?”
You turned away even more dramatically.
Tsukishima huffed, dropping his bag and crouching behind the couch, poking your cheek gently. “Seriously? I didn’t even look at them.”
Still no answer.
He sighed and climbed over the couch, landing right beside you and tugging you into his arms. “You’re being ridiculous,” he grumbled—his voice a little too soft to be actually annoyed.
“…But it’s cute,” he added under his breath.
You peeked up at him, pout still firmly in place.
“You’re the only one I care about,” he said bluntly, staring at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You really think I’d let anyone else near me? Hah. As if.”
He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your nose. “Come on. I was looking for you the whole game. You didn’t even wave.”