It was late—well past midnight—but the glow from Suna’s phone screen was bright in his otherwise dark room. He sat on the edge of his bed, hoodie pulled up, scrolling absently through a feed he insisted he didn’t care about.

She was there.

{{user}}’s latest post—a candid photo of her laughing with the team, sunlight catching in her hair, eyes sparkling like she didn’t have a care in the world. The caption was simple, but it hit harder than he expected: “Team’s got heart. Proud to be part of this.”

Suna blinked, swiping up to see more — old posts, tagged photos, stories from practice and matches he hadn’t known about. Her smile, her quiet moments, the way she cheered on the team.

He shoved the phone down, frustration twisting in his gut.

I don’t care, he muttered, voice low, barely convincing even to himself.

Earlier that day, he’d brushed her off coldly when she tried to chat after practice.

“I’m busy,” he said, barely looking at her.

She’d smiled anyway, polite but disappointed, and walked away.

He didn’t admit it, but the moment she left, something in him twisted — a strange pull he didn’t want to feel.

Now here he was, staring at her online like a fool.

It’s just curiosity, he told himself.

It’s not like I’m into her.

But as he scrolled, his heart skipped over memories of her quick, thoughtful gestures — the way she’d handed him a water bottle when no one else noticed, the subtle encouragement in her eyes when the team was struggling.

He sighed, burying his face in his hands.

“No,” he whispered to the empty room. “I’m not feeling anything.”

But the truth was, the more he looked, the more he realized he couldn’t stop.