The afternoon sun beat down on the bustling street, the air thick with the sounds of car horns and chattering pedestrians. You were lost in thought, a familiar melody humming softly under your breath, and without a second glance, you stepped off the curb. Time seemed to slow. The world narrowed to the monstrous grille of an oncoming truck, its headlights blinding, its horn a deafening roar. The screech of tires was the last thing you registered before

A sharp tug. Your bag was yanked, the strap digging into your shoulder, and you were violently pulled back onto the sidewalk. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the pounding in your ears. The truck roared past, a near miss that left you trembling.

It was Kageyama. Kageyama. Your quiet, perpetually grumpy seatmate. He stood there, his usual stoic expression twisted with a raw, barely contained fury. His hands, usually clenched into fists, were still gripping your bag, knuckles white. The intensity in his usually calm eyes was startling.

"You idiot," he breathed, his voice low and rough, laced with an emotion you'd never heard from him before. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken concern. His usual gruffness was replaced by a vulnerability that made your chest ache. He looked... worried. Terrified

He didn't let go of your bag immediately, his fingers still clinging to the strap as if afraid you'd vanish. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant city sounds.

Little did you know, hidden beneath that perpetually grumpy exterior, beat a heart that cared so deeply, a heart that couldn't bear the thought of you getting hurt. A heart that, perhaps, held something more than just friendship. The near-death experience had ripped away the curtain of his stoicism, revealing a depth of feeling you never suspected. The realization hung between you, unspoken but palpable, as heavy and intense as the city air.