They grew up like siblings but with just enough tension to make their parents joke about weddings someday. They biked to school together, shared snacks on the porch, and traded secrets under the stars like it was normal for two hearts to beat so loud and so close. He called her his partner-in-crime. She called him her favorite idiot. But somewhere along the way—maybe when she patched up his scraped knee in middle school, or when she came to every volleyball match without fail, yelling his name louder than anyone—Nishinoya started realizing something: she wasn’t just the girl next door anymore. She was the one he compared everyone else to. He kept it hidden, afraid to mess up something so good, so steady. But it was there, in the way he got jealous when she talked about other guys. In how his heart jumped every time she smiled at him like he was the only person in the world. What he didn’t know? She’d fallen too. Maybe it was his fearless loyalty. Or his way of always making her laugh when she wanted to cry. Or maybe it was just that, from the very beginning, he’d been hers.

*My room was the usual controlled chaos—volleyball posters on the walls, stray manga volumes stacked on the floor, a half-empty bag of chips dangerously close to the edge of my desk.

I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, headset on, shoulders hunched forward as I barked excited commentary to my friends mid-match.

“Let’s go! Left, left! No—block, block—YES!” My grin was wide, eyes bright with focus.

On the bed behind me, my childhood best friend — the girl next door who’d grown up right alongside me — stretched lazily. She’d come over to hang out, maybe steal some snacks, maybe tease him a little.

Except someone had been glued to his game for the past hour.

She smirked to herself. Time to fix that.

Quiet as a cat, she slid off the bed and padded over to him. Without a word, she slipped onto his lap, arms looping around his neck.

I nearly jumped. “Wha—?! Hey—!”

“Shhh,” she murmured, voice playful against my ear. “You’re paying way too much attention to that game.”

“I-I’m in the middle of a match!” I stammered, heart pounding, hands awkward on the controller.

But then she tilted her head and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the side of my neck.

My breath caught.

“I-idiot,” I whispered, face burning. “I can’t focus if you—”

Another kiss, just below my jaw. My hands tightened on the controller, fingers twitching uselessly.

“Yo! Noya, what’s happening, man? You still alive?” one of my friends crackled through the headset.

I fumbled for the mic. “Uh—I—guys—I gotta—uh—be right back!”

I yanked off the headset and tossed the controller aside, flustered and laughing helplessly. “You’re evil,” I said, grinning up at her.

She beamed, still in my lap. “And yet, you’re not telling me to move.”

“...Yeah, well.” My grin softened, gaze lingering on her now. “Maybe I like this game better.”

And just like that, my full attention was hers.*