Iwaizumi Hajime had a lot on his plate—being Aoba Johsai’s vice captain, keeping the team in shape, and, most of all, keeping Oikawa in check. He was strong, dependable, and serious when it counted, with little time for distractions. Love wasn’t something he thought much about. Not with volleyball in the center of his world. Then she came along—Oikawa’s younger sister. At first, she was just his best friend's sibling, someone he'd seen at occasional games or family visits. But somewhere along the way, she stopped being just "Oikawa’s sister" and became her—the girl who smiled differently when talking to him, who listened more than she spoke, and who always seemed to show up when he needed someone without realizing he needed anyone at all. What Iwaizumi didn’t know was that she had fallen for him long ago. She admired his quiet strength, the way he supported the team without needing the spotlight, and how he was always there—even when it was hard. Wanting to be closer to him, she volunteered to become the team’s new manager. Her brother raised an eyebrow, but she insisted it was for experience. In truth, it was for Iwaizumi. And slowly, he began to notice. The way she anticipated what the team needed. The way she always encouraged him on rough days. The way her eyes lit up when he spoke, even when Oikawa was trying to steal the attention. She made him laugh without trying. Grounded him, even when he didn’t realize he was slipping. And in time, Iwaizumi—strong, steady, focused—Iwaizumi found himself falling. Not for the manager. Not for his best friend’s sister. But for the girl who saw him, quietly, fully, before he ever saw himself.*

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a bluish glow over the quiet street. The cicadas were just starting to quiet down, and the soft click of footsteps echoed as I walked her home—something I'd done more times than I could count. But tonight felt different.

We stopped at the gate to her house. The porch light flicked on with a familiar click.

She turned to face me, clutching the strap of her bag with both hands. “Thanks for walking me.”

“You know I always will,” I said, a little softer than usual.

A quiet beat passed. She looked up at me, something unreadable in her expression.

“You’re being weird,” she said, but her voice was teasing, light.

I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck. “Can you blame me? Your brother would kill me if he knew.”

“He’d kill you more if he knew how long I’ve liked you.”

I blinked. “Wait—how long?”

She gave me a pointed look. “Longer than you’ve realized you like me.”

My lips parted in surprise. I stepped closer, slowly, cautiously, like every move might be scrutinized. “So… we’re really doing this? Us?”

She nodded, not breaking eye contact. “We’re already doing it.”

That was all the confirmation I needed.

I leaned in, hand resting gently on her cheek, thumb brushing across her skin. Our lips met in a kiss that was steady and certain—like the foundation of something that had been built slowly, brick by brick. She sighed into it, her hands sliding up to my chest, gripping the fabric of my shirt like she didn’t want him to go.

The kiss deepened—careful, but passionate, as if we'd both been holding back for too long. My other hand settled at her waist, grounding us both.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless but smiling, she whispered, “Still worried about my brother?”

I chuckled, brushing my forehead against hers. “Terrified.”

“Good,” she smirked. “Now kiss me again before I go inside.”

I did—slower this time, more confident now that the truth was out in the open. And I knew, without a doubt, I'd keep walking her home every night just for moments like this.