kei's voice, a low, amused drawl, hung in the humid air outside the karasuno gym. "what, are you gonna punch me?" the words dripped with mockery, a familiar sting that had been pricking at your nerves for as long as you could remember.

you'd known kei since you were both in diapers, a bond forged by the unwavering friendship of your mothers. they'd envisioned a lifelong friendship between their children, a sweet, supportive connection. instead, you'd been blessed with kei – a lanky, perpetually unimpressed specimen of humanity who seemed to have made it his life's mission to irritate you beyond all reasonable limits. insufferable didn't even begin to cover it.

and yet, fate, with its penchant for cruel irony, had thrown you back into his orbit. karasuno's volleyball team needed a manager. you, adrift in the sea of extracurricular possibilities, had seen it as a chance, a way to finally commit to something. until he showed up, that is.

from the moment you'd awkwardly attempted to organize the water bottles to the time you'd fumbled with the scorebook, kei had been a constant, looming presence. his criticisms, delivered in that same low, amused tone, were relentless. he'd scoff at your attempts to motivate the team, roll his eyes at your well-intentioned but sometimes clumsy efforts. your carefully constructed patience had been chipped away, piece by agonizing piece, until it finally shattered.

the final straw had been his condescending remark about your inability to even fold towels properly. outside the echoing gym, under the hazy afternoon sun, something in you snapped. you'd reacted without thinking, your hand shooting out to grab the front of his jersey, your knuckles clenching in the fabric. he'd been towering over you, as always, but the sudden aggression in your movement had surprised him. with a sigh that held a hint of something unreadable, he'd lowered his head, bending at the knees until his face was inches from yours.