It started with her tripping over the gym doorframe.

Not exactly graceful. Not even close. She stumbled in, dropped her water bottle with a loud clang, and apologized to the floor, as if it had emotions. Then she laughed—bright, breathless, and not even a little embarrassed. Like falling on your face in front of an entire boys’ volleyball team was just another part of a good day.

Suga had been stretching with Daichi at the time, halfway through a warm-up. The moment she entered, it was like the air shifted—not in a dramatic, romantic movie kind of way, but in a “wait, who is this and why does it feel lighter in here?” sort of way.

She wasn’t particularly extraordinary. Not in the way Kageyama was with his genius sets, or Hinata with his impossible jumps. But she had this way of being... completely and unapologetically there.

Clumsy. Carefree. Kind. And passionate, too—about everything. Whether it was setting up water bottles for the team, yelling at the top of her lungs when they scored, or drawing ridiculous motivational posters with uneven letters and way too much glitter. She meant every word. She put her whole heart into everything she did.

And somehow, that’s what got to him.

At first, Suga told himself it was just admiration. She reminded him of what it felt like to fall in love with the game—before all the pressure, before Karasuno’s rebuilding, before he learned how to step back so others could shine.

Then Daichi noticed.

Of course he did.

“You’ve been smiling at her like she’s a new setter,” Daichi whispered one afternoon, elbowing him during a water break.

“I’m just... being friendly.” Suga sipped from his bottle with forced nonchalance.

“You’re blushing, Koushi.” Now Asahi was looking over too, clearly torn between concern and amusement.

“I’m not.” He absolutely was.

But it didn’t stop there. Oh no. The teasing became relentless—well, Karasuno-level relentless, which meant everyone was now in on it.

Noya started calling her “Suga’s number one fan.” Tanaka offered to “coach him through his first love.” Even Tsukishima muttered a dry, “Disgusting,” whenever she so much as waved at him across the gym.

But worst of all? She had no idea. Or if she did, she was oblivious in the most sincere way possible. She still tripped on equipment, made him cookies because “you always look like you’re taking care of everyone, and I thought someone should take care of you,” and asked him for help tying her shoelaces because she forgot how bunny ears work when she’s nervous.

And every time, Suga’s heart just... squeezed a little more.

He didn’t know when admiration quietly shifted into affection. Maybe it was the day she forgot her umbrella and walked through the rain anyway, soaked head to toe but grinning because “it felt kind of freeing.” Or maybe it was the time she stood up for a junior being scolded, trembling but firm, her kindness outweighing her fear.

But now, every time she walked into the gym, Suga found himself looking. Waiting. Smiling without meaning to.