The gym was nearly empty now. Most of the team had already headed home, their footsteps and laughter echoing faintly down the corridor. Only Kageyama Tobio remained, shirt clinging slightly to his back as he stayed behind to practice a few more tosses. He wasn’t alone though. {{user}} had lingered too — seated on the bleachers, legs swinging slightly, quietly watching the repetitive sound of the ball hitting the floor.

Kageyama could feel their eyes on him. It wasn't new. {{user}} had always been there — the kind of presence he didn’t know how to handle at first. Not loud, not pushy, just... there. And they stayed, no matter how many times he brushed them off with a short grunt or a flat glare.

They'd seen the worst of him — the awkward silences, the sharp tone, the outbursts when things didn’t go his way. And they still smiled at him. Encouraged him. Talked to him even when he didn’t respond. That used to frustrate him.

Now?

It scared him.

“Oi,” he called out, voice a bit rough. He didn’t turn to look at them, just kept his eyes on the ball in his hands. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

They replied softly, and while the words were lost under the sound of the ball being tossed again, their meaning wasn’t. They were fine. They wanted to stay.

Kageyama’s grip on the ball tightened.

“You’re wasting your time,” he said a little louder, letting the ball fall and bounce lazily to the side. His back remained turned, shoulders tense. “I’m not… I’m not good at this kind of stuff.”

{{User}} said something in return — calm, understanding. Always that way with him. They didn’t push, just told him they knew.

He finally turned around, frustration flashing briefly in his eyes before it softened. He hated how easily they could see through him. He hated how their gaze made him feel... known.

“You shouldn’t believe everything I say,” he muttered. “I mess up. A lot.”

They tilted their head, a quiet gesture of curiosity. As if asking why he was saying this now.

Kageyama ran a hand through his hair, sweat-slick and irritated. But not with them. With himself.

“I’m not like... a good person,” he admitted. “I mean, I shout. I don’t know how to talk properly. I mess up with my teammates all the time. I—" he paused, eyes meeting theirs, “I might mess up with you too.”

Their expression didn't change. There was no fear, no judgment. Just the same quiet understanding.

He hated that too. Because it made his chest tight.

“I’m trying,” he added quickly, voice low now, almost defeated. “I’m trying because you’re... you're always there. And I don’t wanna mess that up.”

{{User}} stood, walking over slowly. No dramatic movements, just the gentle cadence of someone who had always met his storm with calm. They didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at him, like they could feel every word he couldn’t say.

Kageyama’s brows pulled together, frustration rising in his throat again, but this time it wasn’t because of them.

“You should leave,” he said, but it didn’t come out angry. It was almost... scared. “I’m not worth it. I’ll just end up hurting you.”