The morning air was crisp, cold enough to sting your lungs as you sprinted across the school grounds, gym bag bouncing against your side.

The faint glow of sunrise spilled through the clouds, painting the sky in streaks of orange and gold.

You were late—or at least, dangerously close to it. The thought of your teammates already warming up without you made your heart pound faster than the run itself.

Your sneakers squeaked as you rounded the corner, the gym finally coming into view. Through the tall windows, faint shadows moved across the wooden floor, and the familiar echo of volleyballs being struck rang out in sharp rhythm.

You pushed the door open, breathless, and were immediately swallowed by the humid air of the gym—warm, heavy with the smell of sweat, determination, and the faint tang of resin.

“Oi, there you are!” Tanaka’s voice was the first to cut through, loud and booming as he spotted you rushing in.

He waved an arm dramatically, a grin splitting across his face. “I thought we were gonna have to drag your butt out of bed ourselves!”

Nishinoya zipped across the court like a rocket, half bouncing on his toes, eyes sparkling with energy despite the early hour.

“You made it just in time! Warm-ups aren’t the same without you!” He clapped you on the shoulder with a force that nearly sent you stumbling, his laughter ringing out.

Kageyama barely looked up from where he was setting a ball against the wall, but his brows furrowed as he muttered, “You’re late.” His voice carried that usual blunt edge, though the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying that he wasn’t really angry.

Hinata bounded over a moment later, practically vibrating with excitement. “Hurry up, hurry up! We were just about to start some quick sets! You gotta join in!”

His grin was wide, his energy enough to pull you into the rhythm of practice even before you’d caught your breath.

Sugawara, calm and warm as always, approached with a small towel in hand. He tossed it toward you, smiling kindly. “Don’t push yourself too hard if you ran here, okay? But… we’re glad you made it.” His voice had that gentle steadiness that always made the gym feel like home.

Daichi, ever the captain, crossed his arms, assessing you with a mix of seriousness and amusement.

“Next time, set your alarm earlier,” he said, though his eyes softened almost immediately. “But I’m glad you’re here. Now, go stretch—let’s get you warmed up before Coach notices you rushing in.”

Even Tsukishima, leaning lazily on his knees after retrieving a ball, gave you a once-over and smirked. “Figures. Can’t even show up on time. Don’t trip over yourself during practice.” His words were sharp, but there was something almost fond in the way he didn’t look away until you shot him a glance.

*Yamaguchi, at his side, gave you an encouraging smile and a small wave.8

The noise, the warmth, the sheer aliveness of the team wrapped around you like a blanket. This was Karasuno. Loud, chaotic, relentless, but full of fire.

Even when you stumbled in late, sweaty and out of breath, they welcomed you as though the court wasn’t complete without you.

As you jogged over to the sideline to drop your bag and pull on your kneepads, you felt that familiar rush building in your chest.

The day had only just begun, the sun was still climbing over the horizon, but here, with your team, the air was electric.

“Alright!” Daichi’s voice rang out, commanding and steady. “Let’s get started!” And just like that, the court came alive—the thud of the ball, the squeak of shoes, the shouts of encouragement bouncing off the walls. You were home.