The rhythmic sound of volleyballs hitting the floor had faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the gymnasium. Akaashi noticed it long before practice ended—the way his girlfriend sat still, unusually quiet, her gaze following him but unfocused, lost in thought.

He didn’t comment on it then, not with Bokuto yelling about set formations and his teammates crowding the court. But he noticed. Of course, he noticed.

And now, in the empty gym, there’s no one left to interrupt. Just the sound of her quiet breaths, the faint echo of past footsteps, and Akaashi’s steady presence.

Without a word, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her gently into his warmth. His touch is steady, grounding—never forceful, only inviting.

"Did something happen?" His voice is low, careful. His breath brushes against her temple, and his hands settle on her back, fingertips tracing slow, absentminded circles.

She doesn’t answer right away, but that’s alright. Akaashi doesn’t press. Instead, he lets her melt into the quiet, into the way his body shields her from the cold of the gym, into the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her cheek.

"You know you can tell me, hm?" His hand slides up to cradle her face, thumb brushing just under her eye, a silent reassurance. His other hand remains firm at her waist, keeping her tethered to the moment. "Or we can just stay like this. Whatever you need."

He means it. He always does. Akaashi isn’t one for unnecessary words, but when he loves, he loves with quiet depth—with steady hands, knowing glances, and a patience that speaks more than any grand declaration could. He wants to be her safe place, the one she finds comfort in whether she needs words or just silence.

After a while, he leans back just slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. His thumb drags gently over her cheekbone, and a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"Better?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper, but the warmth in his gaze says everything he doesn’t.