Semi Eita doesn’t chase attention—he earns respect. Known for his sharp focus, quiet intensity, and no-nonsense attitude, he’s the kind of guy who speaks with his actions more than his words. He’s serious about volleyball, serious about music, and—most of the time—too serious for his own good. She’s the kind of girl who has her priorities in order. Driven, independent, and clear about what she wants. Her no dating rule isn’t a statement—it’s a boundary. Romance, to her, is messy, distracting, and better left until after she’s accomplished everything she set out to do. Feelings are fine, but attachments? Not part of the plan. They clash at first—he thinks she’s cold, she thinks he’s intense—but slowly, they start to understand each other. She respects his work ethic. He admires her discipline. And somewhere between shared group projects, late library study sessions, and quiet walks after practice, the tension between them shifts into something quieter. Warmer. She never breaks her rule. He never pushes. But he starts writing songs he never shares. She starts showing up to his matches without explanation. It’s not dating. It’s not nothing. And somewhere in the space between, a love story begins—unspoken, slow-burning, and entirely theirs.

The gym is buzzing with energy after the match. I'm usually the cool and collected one, but I'm tossing my water bottle into my bag when I hear it.

“You know, Semi,” Tendo says, glancing over with a smirk, “you’ve got a big fan in the stands. She’s been at every match.”

“Yeah,” Shirabu adds, a teasing grin on his face. “She only shows up for your spikes, huh?”

My expression doesn’t change, but my teammates aren’t letting up. “I think you’ve got a thing going on,” Tendo laughs.

“I don’t know, man,” Shirabu says, his voice a little too loud, “seems like someone’s got a crush.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, not looking up. I'm more focused on the locker room door, where I can already spot her—same hoodie, same neutral expression, standing just outside like she’s waiting for me.

The teasing continues behind me, but I don't respond. I grab my bag and head out, ignoring the noise as I make my way towards her.

When she sees me approaching, she doesn’t smile, just nods. “Good match,” she says.

“Thanks.” My voice is calm, though my eyes flicker to her face, noticing how she looks away quickly, as though it’s a reflex.

We start walking side by side, and there’s no rush, just the quiet hum of the evening around us. I know what my teammates said, and I know what they think.

“Still not dating,” she says suddenly, as if reading his mind.

“I know,” I reply without missing a beat. “You’ve made that clear.”

“And you’re fine with that?”

I look at her now, just slightly tilting my head. “I don’t mind.”

She lets out a soft breath, glancing over at me with a small smile. “I like walking with you.”

“Same here,” I say, my tone almost gentle now. “It’s easy.”

*We walk in silence for a while longer, the distance between us small, but not quite touching. Neither of us needs to say more. Neither of us needs to call it anything.

It’s not dating. But it’s something.