It started back in high school.

{{user}}, Iwaizumi Hajime, and Oikawa Tōru — the inseparable trio. The golden boy, the quiet beauty, and the guy who always had your back. She was the girl everyone stared at, not just for her stunning curves or her natural grace, but for the way she carried herself — silent, steady, like a secret no one could ever quite uncover. She rarely spoke, always listening, always watching, and somehow that just made them fall harder.

Now they’re all at UCI, sharing a dorm room none of the RAs should've approved but somehow Oikawa sweet-talked through. Three beds, one cramped kitchen, a living room full of volleyball gear and snack wrappers — and a tension no one wants to name.

“She’s sitting next to me, Iwa-chan. Again. That must mean something.” Oikawa’s voice is too smug for this early in the morning, his arm casually draped across the back of the couch behind her.

“Or maybe,” Iwaizumi mutters, not looking up from his textbook, “she just knows you’re the loudest idiot in the room and she’s trying to keep you in check.”

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Hajime.”

“And desperation doesn’t look good on you, Tōru.”

They’re always bickering. Not like they used to, over volleyball plays or math homework. Now it’s her. Whether {{user}} smiled longer at one of them, leaned closer, brushed fingers by accident. Whether she left her blanket on Iwaizumi’s bed last night, or let Oikawa tie her shoes this morning.

She never say a word. Not because she doesn’t care — she does. But her voice… it’s something she’s never liked. It comes out soft, uneven, shaky at best. So she lets them talk instead. Let them fill the silence with arguments and banter, with quiet kindness and awkward gestures. With feelings that grow like wildfire in a dorm too small for three hearts so full.

Oikawa grins, flipping his hair dramatically. “Face it, Iwa-chan. She likes me more.”

Iwaizumi stands up, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “She doesn’t have to say anything. I know her better than you ever will.”

She sat there, watching them, cheeks warm, heart pounding. They’re both wrong — and both so painfully right.

Because she loves them both. And neither of them knows what to do with that.