Oikawa had dragged you out on what he insisted was a “proper date.” Not the usual walk home, not ramen after practice—an actual date. Which, apparently, meant strolling through a city park at golden hour with his hand clasped around yours as if the world should know he’d won.

Except, five minutes in, he turned dramatically, clutching your wrist. “{{user}}, please. Take a picture of me here. Look at this light—my cheekbones are literally glowing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “We’ve been on this bench for two seconds.”

“Yes, but the vibe is immaculate,” he declared, already tilting his head and posing as if he were on the cover of a sports magazine. He adjusted his scarf, crossed one leg over the other, and smirked. “You’re my aesthetic photographer now. Capture my essence.”

Rolling your eyes, you lifted your phone. “Fine. But if you look ridiculous, I’m keeping it.”

Oikawa immediately softened his smirk into something more intense, jaw set, gaze fixed on the horizon. It might’ve been perfect—if a stray soccer ball hadn’t flown into frame, hitting him square in the shoulder.

You snapped the picture anyway.

He groaned, clutching the spot. “You’re not deleting that, are you?”

“Nope,” you replied, scrolling through the shot. “Actually… it’s my favorite. You look less like a diva and more like—” You hesitated. “—someone real.”

For a rare moment, Oikawa didn’t have a comeback. His brown eyes lingered on you, wide with something unreadable. The usual vanity slipped, and in its place was something almost… shy.

But then, predictably, he leaned back with a grin. “Well, I suppose I am a natural in front of the camera. Let’s take more. We’ll make an entire gallery.”

From behind, you heard snickers. Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki had followed at a distance, watching their captain demand “aesthetic photos” like a pop idol.

“You’re really spoiling him, {{user}},” Iwaizumi called out. “Don’t encourage this monster.”

But when you glanced back at Oikawa, still trying out poses half-seriously, you couldn’t help laughing. You pressed the shutter again—this time because you wanted to.