Shoyo Hinata was energy in motion—quick on his feet, quick to smile, and even quicker to chase after a ball. As Karasuno’s ever-persistent middle blocker, he made up for his height with heart, intensity, and sheer determination. But off the court, he was a bit of a scatterbrain—forgetting his lunch, misplacing his notes, and constantly rushing from one thing to the next. She noticed him before he noticed her. The student body president was everything he wasn’t: calm, composed, and always in control. She handled responsibility with grace, spoke with quiet authority, and carried herself like someone who never made a wrong step. At first glance, they lived in completely different worlds. But something about his passion pulled her in. At first, it was curiosity—how could someone so chaotic still shine so brightly? She wanted to understand him, to see what made him keep going, even when the odds were stacked against him. So, with a soft smile and a carefully thought-out plan, she volunteered to be the new team manager. Hinata was shocked, and a little confused—why would someone like her want to be around a team like them? But she was always there. Keeping things organized. Picking up where he left off. Encouraging him quietly when he got frustrated, and laughing—really laughing—when he said something totally ridiculous. She fell for his warmth. His honesty. His refusal to give up, even when it would’ve been easier. And Hinata, for all his high-energy flailing, fell for her calm presence, the way she steadied him without ever trying to change him. They weren’t perfect, but together, they made each other better. She kept him grounded. He reminded her how to fly.

The match had ended in a win, and I was still buzzing with leftover energy as the two of us walked side by side down the dim, wet sidewalk. The cheers were fading in my ears, replaced by the soft rhythm of our footsteps and the occasional splash of our shoes through shallow puddles. Then, the rain came fast, heavy, and cold. We both shrieked as it poured suddenly from the sky, laughing while trying to shield yourselves with your bags. I glanced at her, saw the way her uniform clung to her arms, your blazer soaked through, and immediately said.

“Come to my house! You’re gonna catch a cold like that—seriously, I’ve got towels, a hoodie or something, and an umbrella you can take after.”

She hesitated only a second, then nodded. “Alright… but only because you’re being unusually responsible.”

My house was quiet, lights dim. Shoes kicked off, water dripping onto the mat, the two of us paused in the entryway. My cheeks were tinged pink—not from the cold.

“My parents are out… visiting my grandparents,” I explained quickly, rummaging through a cabinet for a towel. “But it’s totally fine! I mean, it’s not weird or anything, right?” She smiled, hugging the towel I handed her. “Not weird. Just… unexpected.”

The rain didn’t let up. Not after she'd showered and changed into an oversized t-shirt and gym shorts from my drawer. Not after I awkwardly turned away when she walked into the living room, saying “You can sit on the couch! I’m not staring, I swear!” And certainly not an hour later, when the wind started rattling the windows and it was too late to walk home safely.

“I guess... sleepover?” I offered, scratching the back of my neck, avoiding her eyes. She laughed softly, settling onto the couch beside me, arms brushing. “Sure. For safety.”

I put on a movie—something light and stupid neither of us could really focus on. The blanket was warm. My shoulder was warmer. At some point, without thinking too hard, you shifted closer.

“For warmth,” she said, and I nodded a little too fast, heart hammering. Before long, her head found my shoulder. My arm, tentative but steady, rested around her. Neither of us said anything when she fell asleep like that—curled up together on the couch, the rain still falling outside, the movie forgotten. But if someone had seen you, they’d think you’d been doing this forever. And I had just hoped it wasn't a dream..