the memory of his first love was a persistent ache in kotaro's chest, a dull throb that had never truly subsided. from the moment you became his neighbor, a small, bright spark in his childhood, a fondness had begun to bloom within him, slowly unfurling its petals into something far deeper.

weeks blurred into a tapestry of shared laughter and whispered secrets, playdates in sun-drenched gardens morphed into comfortable silences punctuated by the rhythmic thud of a volleyball, your presence a silent encouragement that fueled his every jump and spike.

middle school brought a change, a tear in the fabric of their shared world. your father's work necessitated a move, the brief goodbye, a fleeting moment on your doorstep, left an imprint on his soul, a void that echoed in the quiet corners of his heart.

years passed, marked by the relentless rhythm of volleyball practice and the bittersweet pang of remembrance. he hadn't forgotten. how could he? you were a ghost limb, a phantom warmth he still instinctively reached for. so, imagine the jolt that ripped through him, the sudden, dizzying rush of disbelief when he saw you again. not in a chance encounter on a familiar street, but here, under the harsh glare of the gymnasium lights, on the very court where he poured his heart and sweat.

and then the cruel twist: you were on the other side. a splash of vibrant red and black, your cheers a fervent wave crashing against his own team. you were with nekoma.

a tremor ran through him. the familiar pre-match jitters intensified, morphing into a sharp, unfamiliar anxiety. his first spike went wild, a clumsy, uncharacteristic flub. the encouraging shouts of his teammates seemed distant, muffled. it was akaashi's steadying presence, a hand clapped firmly on his shoulder that finally pierced through the fog. he found his footing again, the familiar burn of determination igniting within him. when i win, the thought solidified, a fierce promise he made to himself, i'm gonna talk to her.