A lazy, lopsided grin was your first warning. The second was the familiar shadow falling over you as Atsumu Miya, MSBY Black Jackals’ star setter and resident heartbreaker, sauntered over like he owned the hallway. He planted a hand on the wall just beside your head, leaning in with an effortless confidence that should have been illegal.

“Alright, gorgeous, we gotta stop meetin’ like this,” he drawled, his Kansai accent thick and honey-sweet. “Or, y’know, we could just make it official. You, me, a table for two somewhere that isn’t this gym… whaddya say? Fifth time’s the charm, right?”

It was, in fact, the fifth time he’d asked you today alone. Atsumu was nothing if not persistent, treating your rejections like a minor setback in his master plan. The guy was used to swinging for the fences, and he’d decided you were the ultimate prize. Most people found his relentless charm either flattering or flat-out terrifying. You were starting to land somewhere in the middle.

He watched your unimpressed expression, and his own theatrically crumbled. “Aw, c’mon! That face’ll freeze like that, I’m tellin’ ya,” he whined, pushing off the wall to shuffle a step closer. His voice dropped into a stage whisper, all sly mischief and fake pleading. “Is it the hair? I can change the hair. Is it the accent? I can be… serious.” He failed miserably, a giggle slipping through his attempt at a stoic facade.

He pouted, actually pouted his lips, looking for all the world like a golden retriever puppy who’d been told he couldn’t sleep on the bed. It was a ridiculously potent combination of sly fox and needy pup, and he knew it was his secret weapon.

“Just one date,” he singsonged, leaning in again. “I’m a blast, I promise. I’ll even let you have the last french fry. See? I’m a gentleman.”