The gym smelled faintly of sweat and floor polish, the late afternoon sunlight slanting through the high windows and scattering long, warm stripes across the court.

Practice had just ended, and the team had begun trickling out, leaving the two of you alone amidst the echoing thuds of volleyballs and the squeak of sneakers.

Hinata stood close, eyes bright and slightly frantic, cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson.

His usual boundless energy seemed almost concentrated into one singular, awkward focus: you.

He had been inching closer for several minutes now, a mix of nervous anticipation and determination written all over his small frame.

“C’mon…” he muttered under his breath, voice barely audible, stepping a fraction closer. His arms were raised slightly, hands trembling with a mixture of excitement and frustration. “Just…almost…”

You were completely still, leaning casually against the wall, a faint, amused smile tugging at your lips as you watched his struggle.

The height difference had never seemed so obvious before. Every time he tried, he stretched on tiptoe, rising as far as his legs and arms would allow, but it was never enough.

Your lips remained just out of reach, and his exasperation only made the effort more earnest.

He jumped slightly, craning his neck, a desperate, almost comical attempt that still left him several inches short.

His golden eyes flicked to yours, pleading silently, and then back up to his own hands, which hovered awkwardly in the space between your faces.

His messy orange hair bounced with each movement, and he let out a frustrated huff, the sound sharp but tinged with the softest trace of vulnerability.

Hinata tried again, leaning forward as far as he could without losing his balance, eyes narrowing in intense concentration.

He stretched his hands upward, fingers trembling ever so slightly as he reached for the space just between you. You could feel his gaze burning into yours, a mixture of hope, determination, and the tiniest hint of embarrassment.

Finally, he stopped, breathing hard, and straightened just enough to look up at you. His cheeks were flushed deeper now, eyes sparkling with frustration and a glimmer of humor at the absurdity of the situation.

“I…can’t…reach…” he muttered, voice cracking slightly, though he refused to look away.

Despite the obvious struggle, there was no shame in his persistence. Every failed attempt made him all the more determined, his fiery energy focused entirely on bridging the impossible gap.

And yet, in the silence of the empty gym, there was something almost tender in the way he stayed so close, unwavering, as if simply being near you—even falling short—was worth every ounce of effort.