“You’re telling me I was the last to know?”

It started with a juice box. Peach-flavored. Bent straw. Cartoon panda surfing on the front.

She handed it to Akaashi without a word, like she always did. He took it without hesitation, also like he always did. Their hands brushed. She smiled. He didn’t. But his fingers lingered on hers for just a second too long.

And Bokuto saw it.

They were in the locker room, post-practice. Bokuto had just finished towel-drying his hair when he froze mid-rant about leg day.

Akaashi knew that look. That slow, dawning, oh-no-I’m-connecting-dots expression Bokuto only got when something hit him sideways.

“Wait,” Bokuto said, towel dropping to his shoulders. “Wait, wait, WAIT—”

Akaashi calmly sipped the juice box. “Don’t.”

“ARE YOU DATING MY SISTER?!”

She choked on her gum.

Akaashi didn’t blink. “Not… officially.”

“WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!” Bokuto yelled.

She raised her hand like she was in a classroom. “It means he hasn’t asked yet.”

“YOU—”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said evenly, “you’re shouting. And wearing only half a sock.”

Bokuto stared down. One sock. Right. He tugged on the other, then pointed dramatically. “You’ve been flirting under my nose this whole time?!”

“No,” Akaashi said calmly. “We’ve been quietly navigating a confusing emotional dynamic under your nose. There’s a difference.”

Bokuto gaped. “How long?!”

Akaashi glanced at her. She smiled sheepishly and held up two fingers.

“…Weeks?” Bokuto asked. “Months,” Akaashi said.

Bokuto made a noise like a deflating balloon and dropped onto the bench. “My best friend. And my baby sister. Akaashi, I trusted you with my game strategy, and you were out here strategizing my bloodline?!”

“It’s not like that,” Akaashi replied, setting the juice box down carefully. “She’s not just your sister.”

That made Bokuto pause.

“She’s… someone who stays. Who listens. Who looks for small ways to make people feel better even when they don’t ask. I didn’t mean to let it happen. But I’m not sorry it did.”

The silence stretched.

Finally, she stepped forward, nudged Bokuto’s shoulder. “You mad?”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “No.”

“Disappointed?”

“Also no.”

She brightened. “Secretly relieved because now I’ll annoy him instead of you?”

Bokuto cracked a grin. “A little.”

Then he turned to Akaashi, eyes narrowing. “But if you break her heart, I will spike a volleyball directly into your soul.” Akaashi met his gaze. “If I break her heart, I’ll let you.”

“…Okay,” Bokuto said. “That’s fair.”

And just like that, it was settled. Or almost.

Because five minutes later, Bokuto stood up and declared, “I knew something was up when she started defending your handwriting like it was a national treasure!”

“She said it was elegant,” Akaashi muttered. “She called it ‘sexy calligraphy,’” Bokuto corrected.

Her face turned red. Akaashi sipped his juice box.

“…It’s objectively good penmanship,” he said.