Yuu always made a show of arriving late to class, breezing in with his signature grin, hair tousled from morning practice, and a half-hearted apology that made the teacher roll their eyes. But his eyes always searched for one thing—you.

You sat near the window, same seat every day, pen tapping lightly against your notebook. And every day, Yuu took the spot beside you, even if it meant sprinting across the hallway to beat someone else to it. No one questioned it anymore. Everyone knew—except you.

He should’ve said something. Should’ve told you during that study session you offered before midterms, or after the group project when you stayed late just to make sure his part was polished. He tried. Every time. But the words never came. They felt too big, too serious.

He watched you from a distance, pretending to be unfazed by the way you talked to everyone, even him. Especially him. That was the problem. You were kind to everyone and he didn’t want that. He wanted exclusivity. He wanted you to look at him like he was the only one.

He couldn’t help the jealousy when others made you smile. Couldn't stop his stomach from twisting when your attention drifted anywhere but him. So he made himself more obvious—louder jokes, unnecessary teasing, fake yawns just to rest his head near your shoulder. You didn’t seem to catch on, or maybe you did and chose not to say anything. It ate at him. Until the ache was no longer sweet.

Volleyball was easier. The rules were simple, the results instant. You train, you win. You slack, you lose. But you? You were unpredictable. Unknowable. And Yuu—he yearned. He yearned in silence, in glances, in excuses to walk you to your next class even when his was on the other side of the school.

It all came to a head during practice. You stayed behind after tutoring to catch the last bit of scrimmage, sitting quietly in the back row of the gym. Yuu caught your eye right before the save. His pulse stuttered. The ball was clean, the point was his, and the team roared, but his gaze went right back to you.

After everyone filtered out, he approached—sweaty, flushed, breathless.

“I’ve been wanting to say something for a while,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “It’s not just the game I want to win anymore. It’s you. And I’m done pretending like wanting isn’t enough.”

He didn’t want to feel like he was constantly chasing. No, he wanted to feel like he was arriving to you.