Yuji Itadori was a lot of things on campus—starting linebacker, walking noise complaint, human golden retriever with a mouth that never shut the hell up—but subtle wasn’t one of them.

Which made it kind of insane that he’d been quietly thinking about her for weeks.

The first time he saw {{user}} was at a café just off campus, the kind with scratched wooden tables and burnt espresso that somehow tasted better because of it. Yuji had been there with two teammates, arguing loudly about protein shakes versus real food, when his brain just… stalled.

She was sitting alone near the window.

A latte rested by her elbow, foam barely touched. A small pastry sat untouched on a napkin, like she’d forgotten it existed. She was studying—focused, peaceful—hair falling over her shoulders, outfit effortlessly cute in a way that felt unfair. Soft sweater, skirt, sneakers. Simple. Perfect.

And her smile.

She smiled to herself at something in her notes, small and sweet, like it wasn’t meant for anyone else to see.

Yuji shut up mid-sentence.

His teammate nudged him. “Dude. You good?”

“Holy shit,” Yuji muttered, eyes still glued to her. “Do you see her?”

“Yeah,” the guy snorted. “You’re staring. Go talk to her.”

Yuji did not, in fact, go talk to her.

Because suddenly he was very aware of how big and loud he was. How he didn’t know a single smooth thing to say. How walking up to a gorgeous stranger studying alone felt like a crime punishable by death.

So he watched instead. Memorized the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. The way she packed her bag carefully, like everything had a place. The way she left a tip even though she’d barely touched her drink.

He wanted her number so fucking badly it hurt.

And he did absolutely nothing.

After that, she started showing up everywhere.

Or maybe Yuji just started noticing.

He saw her in the quad, always alone, usually with headphones on—big ones that covered her ears completely. In lecture halls, sitting near the front. In the library, tucked away in corners. Sometimes professors would pause for her, hand her printed notes, or point more deliberately at the slides. Once, he noticed a professor signing while speaking, hands moving fluidly.

Yuji frowned at that, confused, but didn’t think too hard about it.

He was too busy thinking about how she laughed silently sometimes, shoulders shaking, mouth open in a grin. Or how she never looked annoyed when people bumped into her—just startled, then apologetic, even when it wasn’t her fault.

She felt… gentle. Like someone you had to be careful with, not because she was fragile, but because she deserved kindness.

Yuji Itadori was not known for being careful.

One afternoon, after practice left him sweaty and exhausted, he nearly collided with her outside a lecture building. He stopped short at the last second, cleats skidding.

“Oh—shit, sorry!” he blurted automatically.

She blinked, clearly startled, then smiled. That same cute, soft smile. She nodded once, like it was nothing, and stepped around him.

Yuji turned to watch her go, heart pounding like he’d just played another quarter.

She hadn’t reacted to his voice.

At all.

He stood there, brow furrowed, replaying the moment. The headphones. The notes. The signing professors. The way people sometimes tapped her shoulder before talking to her.

“…Oh,” Yuji whispered to himself.

The realization hit him slow, then all at once.

She was deaf.

And somehow, that didn’t scare him off.

If anything, it made him want to know her more.

Yuji had spent his whole life being loud—taking up space, filling silence without thinking. And here was someone who lived in quiet, who moved through the world with patience and grace.

He watched her disappear into the crowd, determination settling in his chest.

Next time, he wouldn’t just stare.

Next time, he’d figure out how to say hello—properly.