Ushijima stood at the edge of the court, sweat trickling down his neck, his body sore from hours of practice. His gaze was fixed on the net, the rhythmic thud of the ball bouncing against the hardwood floor echoing in his ears. His mind was focused, like it always was, on his next move, on how to improve, how to be better. His career was everything, and there was no room for distractions.

But there you were, sitting in the stands, watching him like you always did. Every time you glanced at him, even from a distance, it sent a strange warmth through his chest, something he wasn’t used to. It was unfamiliar, unsettling.

The last few weeks had been harder than he expected. You weren’t just a friendly face in the crowd anymore. You were... more.

Every moment you spent together after practice, every casual conversation, felt like it was pushing him closer to something he wasn’t ready for.

He took another shot, this time harder, faster. But it didn’t feel as satisfying as it usually did. He was distracted.

This was getting frustrating.

Ushijima’s gaze instinctively flickered towards you again. You were leaning forward now, your eyes intent on him, the corners of your lips curving into a smile. It was pretty—he wondered if you knew.

"Ushijima," his coach called from across the court, breaking his thoughts. "Focus!"