You're My Angel

by CookieGirl29

Summary:

A series of events throughout college life that led you to fall in love with hunky angel Iwaizumi (I suck at summaries, might update later)

Notes:

This is my first time writing a fanfic and it had to be Iwa-chan who's been on my mind so so much every night. I thought up a bunch of cute scenarios and had to write them. My OG character's personality is 85% based on me. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Hello New Friend

You met Iwaizumi in your second year of college. You had flown all the way from Japan to California for school—because why not make life harder by throwing jet lag and culture shock into the academic mix? Your first year was spent studying, bonding with your extroverted housemates (thank God for them), and doing extrovert things like touching grass and attending social events. Without them, your introverted self would’ve been mistaken for a ghost haunting the library and your bedroom.

Your first class of the new semester was anatomy at 9 AM sharp. You showed up just in time, internally screaming but externally calm. You’d woken up early to get dressed in your signature “cute but casual” look and spent a ridiculous amount of time rehearsing your introduction like it was a TED Talk. Your English was good, but social anxiety? That beast didn’t care. You were determined not to let your voice betray you.

Introductions began from the other side of the room, students slowly filing to the front one by one. Thankfully and unfortunately, it was a large class, so you had time to mentally rehearse for the 472nd time. Then, one particular student got up, and your brain immediately blue-screened. He was handsome. Not in a soft boyband way, but in a “has definitely punched a wall and felt nothing” way. His serious face had just the tiniest flicker of nervousness, which honestly made him even more attractive. And then he spoke—and dear God, his voice. It was like hot butter on warm toast.

“Good morning, my name is Hajime Iwaizumi. I’m from Japan, and I’m in my second year studying sports medicine and athletic training. I also play on the school’s secondary volleyball team. I look forward to learning with all of you.”

Your soul did a cartwheel. A Japanese student? In the same class?? Could it really be that easy?! You knew there were probably other Japanese students at this oversized college town disguised as a university, but none had popped up in your program. This felt like fate—anime-style.

Iwaizumi gave a polite nod and returned to his seat, and somehow, that single moment deactivated 50% of your nerves. When your turn finally came, your hands were icy and traitorous, but you weren’t having a full mental breakdown anymore, so that was progress. You stood, found Iwaizumi’s eyes, and offered a small smile.

“My name is Fuyou Ozaki. I’m also from Japan—”

Then, like a polite little robot, you remembered to acknowledge the rest of the class. “This is my second year of my dual degree in biology and computer science.”

…AND THAT WAS IT. Anxiety brain struck again. You had this poetic, witty, charming intro lined up in your mind like a runway show, and instead you delivered… the clearance rack. All those mirror rehearsals? For nothing. In your mild panic, you looked at Iwaizumi again—and he was already looking at you. With a wide, encouraging smile that made it feel like maybe, just maybe, you didn’t sound like a malfunctioning toaster. You gave a polite bow and returned to your seat, wishing the floor would open and consume you out of sheer secondhand embarrassment.

But it really was that simple. At the end of class, Iwaizumi came over to talk. You walked out together, chatting in Japanese and bonding instantly over how good it felt to find someone from back home. That moment, awkward introductions and all, was the beginning of a friendship that would shape some of the best, brightest, and funniest memories of your college years.

Chapter 2: Happy Birthday

Things started changing on Iwaizumi’s birthday. You’d met last fall, and after a year of classes, awkward conversations, and mutual bitching in Japanese, you were officially Friends™. You only had one class together that semester, but his dorm was on your route, so you developed a solid little routine: morning walks to campus if your schedules aligned, library study sessions, and shared suffering. The next semester had your schedules going in totally different directions, but you still made time for each other—because let’s be real, he was the only person who felt like “home” in this foreign land. Your friendship ran on sarcasm, snacks, and weaponized Japanese. You spoke in your native tongue like it was a CIA code language, especially when you needed to roast someone without consequences.

Outside school, food was your love language. You tried new restaurants, swapped stories from back home, and talked about your futures like you weren’t both mentally fried noodles from studying and internships. Over the past year, you’d learned a lot about Iwaizumi: He loved volleyball, his best friends were sacred, his birthday was in three days, and his favorite food was agedashi tofu—because apparently, he’s classy like that. It was summer break, which for you meant a horrifying combo of summer classes and an internship, and for him, a full-time internship that ate up his evenings. A big birthday celebration was impossible. But you still wanted to do something special, so you planned a lunch picnic and decided to cook agedashi tofu yourself. He deserved it, and anyway, homemade tofu > takeout tofu. Science.

On the big day, you showed up with your lovingly prepared bento boxes and sunshine-level enthusiasm. Iwaizumi? He was late. Not in a “five minutes late” kind of way. In a “sprinting through the park like a drama protagonist” kind of way. He reached you, panting like a man who’d just outrun his GPA.

“I’m so sorry! Today’s been insane—I can’t stay long, everything’s a mess.”

“Iwa-kun, chill. You showed up. That’s more than most people do on group projects. I’m not mad.”

“I just—ugh. I thought I could finish everything in time. I feel bad making you waste your lunch break.”

“You’re not wasting anything. Here—” You handed him the bento like you were passing off a sacred artifact. “Take it. Eat it when you can. And hey, if you're free this weekend, maybe we can actually celebrate then.”

He looked like a kicked puppy holding your lunch box, but before he could spiral further into his guilt pit, his phone buzzed. Work called. You saved him the agony with a quick, strategic hug—more of a stealth hug, really. Blink and you’d miss it. Before he could react, you stepped back, grabbed his shoulders and said, “Happy birthday, Hajime.”

Time froze. Like, literally. He stared at you with wide eyes like you’d just proposed marriage or announced the apocalypse. You didn’t give him time to reboot—just spun him around and gave him a gentle push toward his workplace.

“Go. We’ll talk later. Bye!”

What followed was a masterclass in overthinking. The rest of your day was spent in a fog of "what ifs." What if he didn’t like hugs? What if he wasn’t ready for first-name basis? What if you had just emotionally drop-kicked him with affection he wasn’t prepared for? Your brain, ever the drama queen, spiraled like it was auditioning for a soap opera. The hug. The name. The *hug and the name*. Truly a bold combo move.

You zoned out so hard in class you don’t even remember leaving the building. You were practically possessed, wandering through campus on autopilot. Until—

“Fuyou!”

Your entire body tensed like someone had shouted “FIRE.” It was after 8:30 PM and campus was creepily empty. You spun around, ready to karate chop a raccoon or something, only to see… Iwaizumi. In his internship outfit. Looking ridiculously good and somehow even more tired.

“I thought you’d be at your dorm by now. Or passed out at your desk.” You smiled, but concern snuck into your voice like an uninvited guest. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to walk you home.” Straight-faced. Like this was a perfectly normal thing to say.

“Wait—you came straight here from work? What was today, a war zone?”

“Basically. But we finally made progress. Things should calm down now, and the internship ends soon.”

“Okay, well we’ll pass your dorm before my place, so I’m walking you home. You look like you’ve fought three deadlines and a patient with anger issues.”

“Nope. I insist. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t make sure you got home safely?”

“Stubborn creature.” You muttered, but his smirk said he heard you. You both walked in comfortable silence for a while, until he broke it softly:

“Thank you. For lunch. It was amazing. How’d you know agedashi tofu was my favorite?”

You raised an eyebrow and grinned. “You told me! Remember our first dinner out? You went on a full-on rant about how everyone thinks Japanese food is just sushi and ramen, and how you were dying for decent agedashi tofu.”

You even mimicked his grumpy voice: “‘Have these people never heard of anything else?!’”

He laughed, clearly impressed you remembered. The truth was, he hadn’t had proper home-cooked Japanese food in two years. Dorms didn’t allow for much culinary creativity, and takeout was expensive. Meanwhile, your off-campus setup meant you had a kitchen, but almost no time to actually use it. This was the first time you’d cooked for him. The first time he’d eaten his favorite food in forever. And it clearly meant something.

You chatted about school and work until—surprise—you were suddenly a block away from your house. Oops. Time flies when you’re emotionally bonding.

“Do you have plans this weekend?” he blurted, clearly trying to beat his own hesitation to the punch.

“Not really. Just finishing up some reading and pretending to be productive. Why?”

“We’ve got a match this weekend—co-ed intramural volleyball. Nothing fancy. But we go out for food after. Want to come? You can skip the match if you’re busy and just join us for dinner.”

You were quiet for a moment, and he immediately panicked inside. *Oh no, she’s gonna say no, I pushed too hard, abort mission—*

“I’d love to. It’s been forever since I watched a game. Do I need a ticket or anything?”

He blinked. “O-oh, no! It’s super casual. No tickets. Just show up.”

“Perfect. Text me the details.”

He nodded, somehow looking like both a smug volleyball captain and a flustered puppy. Finally at your doorstep, you turned to him.

“Thanks for walking me home, Iwa-kun.”

He smiled. “It’s nothing. And... please, call me Hajime.”

Then—plot twist—*he hugged you.* Not a quick “friend hug.” A proper, warm, soul-hug. Your face smooshed against his chest, and suddenly the tofu wasn’t the softest thing involved today.

“Thank you, Fuyou-chan.”

No fancy speech. Just the name. Just the hug. But it said everything: thanks for remembering, for caring, for being the person he could count on. He pulled away way too soon for your liking, wished you a good night, and headed off toward the dorms—walking back the way you’d both just come.

He’d called you by your first name and asked you to do the same. A small shift. But it felt like a big step forward. And you couldn’t help but wonder—what was this going to mean for your future with Iwaizumi Hajime?

Chapter 3: Oya Oya?

Done. Finally finished with the assignments due next week. And ahead of schedule too—it was only Friday night. Iwaizumi’s game was tomorrow evening at 6 sharp. He’d already texted you the gym location and mentioned he’d be there by 4 to warm up and go over strategy with his team. You told him you'd be using Sunday for required reading, and tomorrow morning you'd knock out some chores before getting ready. But for now: shower, skincare, and sleep. In that order. So off you go, moving fast because your housemate always showered at night, and you weren’t in the mood to argue over bathroom rights. Back in your room, you set up your desk (also your vanity table), fired up your laptop to catch up on your favorite show, and started your routine. Pore strip: on. Episode: loaded. Hair: damp. You grabbed the blow dryer and got to work, not even hearing the frantic pinging of your phone thanks to the roar of hot air and the mediocre theme song playing in the background. Only when your hair was halfway dry and you reached for your rollers did you notice the glow of your phone screen.

It was Kuroo. Of course it was Kuroo.

Oi kittie kat
I’m visiting Kenma for the weekend and we miss you.
FaceTime us.
Tell Kenma to stop ignoring me. He’s playing one of your favorite games.
It’s Friday night right? Are you at home?
Are you partying??? BE CAREFUL KITTIE
Seriously tho you alive??
Chibi-chan
Chibi
KITTIE KAT
KITTEN
ANSWER ME
CHIBI-CHAN

You giggled at his absurdity before pausing your show and starting a FaceTime call on your laptop. Kenma answered. His expression said, *I regret every life choice that led to befriending this man.* You'd only ever seen that face aimed at Kuroo.

“KYANMAAAA!!! SHE’S DEAD! WE’VE LOST OUR SWEET KITTIE TO THE BURGER ENTHUSIASTS!!! I KNEW IT!!! WE NEVER SHOULD HAVE LET HER GOOOOO!!!”

You burst out laughing. His voice kept going higher and higher, rivaling Bokuto's dramatics. Your laugh finally cut through the chaos, and even Kenma cracked a smile. He shifted the phone so both of them were in frame, now squeezed side by side on the couch.

“KITTIE I WAS SO WORRIED I THOUGHT—”

“Stop yelling in my ear. She can hear you just fine.” Kenma shoved Kuroo’s face away like he was swatting a fly, then turned back to you with an eye roll. You smiled fondly at the both of them. Kenma’s hair was longer now—less pudding, more Kenma. Kuroo looked the same… at least through a screen. God, you missed them.

“You keep calling me *chibi*, but I’m literally taller than Kenma. That nickname is for Shoyo. Speaking of whom, how’d the last practice match go?” You grabbed a roller and started sectioning your hair.

“Really? We haven’t seen each other in months and *Chibi-chan* here is asking about Shoyo first? Don’t you love us anymore?”

“We text and send voice notes all the time Tetsu. Besides, I’m asking *Kenma* about the match. Wait your turn, brat. Go on, Kenma.”

Kenma, unfazed, launched into a detailed match rundown—how Karasuno’s first years were shaping up, Yamamoto’s development as captain, Lev and Inuoka’s continued chaos, and more. Then it was Kuroo’s turn. He gave you updates about college, extracurriculars, Bokuto’s latest antics, and how Akaashi was doing as Fukurodani’s new captain. Meanwhile, you peeled off your pore mask with the kind of dramatic suffering that rivaled *The Princess Diaries*.

You thought back to the day you met Kenma. You’d just moved into the neighborhood, and his parents had welcomed your family. He’d shyly waved hello before hiding behind his dad. Not much of a talker—until you noticed his twitching thumbs.

“You play video games?”

That was all it took. He’d lit up and you bonded instantly over gaming and tech, helped by your dad’s job in IT. Two years later, Kuroo moved in across the street. He started tagging along, dragging Kenma to volleyball, trying to rope you in too. You preferred cheering from the sidelines or geeking out in the computer lab. When you all graduated, you knew you’d miss them. But you didn’t expect to miss them *this* much.

“So what are your weekend plans?” Kuroo asked, suddenly all business. “And don’t lie. I know I asked if you were partying, but are you just hermitting?”

“No, mom, I’m not hermitting,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I finished my work tonight and wanted to chill, but I’m going to a volleyball game tomorrow evening. Then out for food with the team.”

“You have friends on the volleyball team? Since when? Kenma, the betrayal. She replaced us.”

Kenma nodded solemnly. He was already plotting how to use this information for maximum mischief.

“I didn’t replace anyone!” you protested. “It’s not the main team. It’s co-ed, intramural, just-for-fun type stuff. I’m friends with one guy—he invited me. That’s it.”

“Oya oya? Does our Kittie Kat have a *crush*?” Kuroo asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Excuse you—where did *that* come from? He’s just a friend. From Japan. Miyagi, actually. We had a class together last semester, got close, and now we meet for food sometimes. He invited me to the game after he had to cancel plans on his birthday.”

You paused, suddenly aware of the *look* they were giving you. Matching smirks. Oh no. Not this. Even Kenma looked like he’d just opened a fresh can of gossip.

“I do *not* have a crush,” you said firmly.

“You were smiling when you talked about him,” Kuroo pointed out.

“You always sound like you’re smiling when you mention him,” Kenma added.

“That’s because he’s my friend!” you protested. “We speak Japanese together, we both miss home—God, stop making it weird!”

“Mmmhm. So what did you do for his birthday?” Kuroo asked, already too smug for his own good. “You always did something for us. What about your special ‘friend’?”

“…I made him a bento.”

“A *bento*?”

“Like… a normal lunchbox?”

“Yeah, because nothing says ‘just friends’ like a lovingly packed birthday lunch,” Kenma said, deadpan.

You groaned. “I’ve made you guys lunchboxes a million times! This was nothing special.”

“Right, because nothing says ‘totally casual’ like feeding someone on their birthday *after* they had to leave early for work.”

“And then he walked you home?” Kenma added. “Cute. Very cute. Did you two hold hands, or keep it PG?”

“It was a hug. That’s it!”

“Ah. A hug,” Kuroo said mockingly. “Classic start-of-rom-com behavior. Very subtle.”

“We’re just friends, okay? Can you *not* make it a thing?”

“We’ll stop making it a thing,” Kenma replied, “when you stop acting like it’s not a thing.”

“Is the roller thing new?” Kuroo asked. “You prepping for your first date already?”

“It’s just my hair. I do this when I have the time!”

“Sure. Just like every chill, platonic friend gets glammed up to watch someone play intramural volleyball.”

“You guys are *so* annoying. This is why I’m replacing you with new volleyball dorks.”

“As if,” Kuroo smirked. “Besides, if he doesn’t realize how lucky he is after that bento, he’s an idiot.”

“Or he’s playing it cool,” Kenma said softly. “But I’m calling it now—you’re getting invited to something more romantic next. Watch.”

“You two are ridiculous. Also, I forgot how *gossipy* you bitches are. You sound like girls.”

“Yeah, and that’s why you never needed girl friends,” Kuroo shot back. “You’ve got us.”

“Alright, I’m done with my skincare, it’s too late to watch anything, and I need sleep or this face mask was for nothing. *And don’t say anything about tomorrow.*” You pointed at the screen, narrowing your eyes.

They grinned but, thankfully, let it go. After saying goodnight and promising to FaceTime the next time Kuroo was in town, you ended the call and sighed. You missed your dummy friends so much. They were loud (at least Kuroo was) and nosy, but they were also your biggest blessing—and you were grateful every day that they loved you enough to keep in touch like this.

But they were wrong about Iwaizumi. You *did not* have a crush. No sir. Not at all.

…You just thought it was important to look presentable, that’s all. You weren’t a glam queen by any means, but you liked to take care of your skin. You got dressed up for outings. Minimal effort. Just… a step above the sleep-deprived caffeine zombies that stalked the library at 2 a.m. You considered picking out an outfit for tomorrow, but figured you'd have time in the morning. Besides, that tickle in your tummy? Just anticipation. Definitely not butterflies. Absolutely not.

Chapter 4: Seijoh's Ace

Kuroo and Kenma were wrong — you weren’t dressing up because of a crush on Iwaizumi. He’d invited you as a friend to watch the game and hang out with the team, which meant meeting new people and stepping into a more personal part of his life. You’d think your volleyball dummies would get that, but of course they couldn’t resist trolling you.

Anyway, back to the real issue: what to wear. You told your friends it wasn’t a big deal, so why were you overthinking it? You tried on high-waisted army green shorts and an off-white crochet top — cute, but maybe better for a beach day. It showed a bit too much for your vibe, so you swapped it for a loose white tank top. Perfect. You did a side braid, left a few strands out, and debated makeup. Since the girls wouldn’t be too dolled up and you rarely wore any anyway, you settled on mascara and tinted lip balm. One spritz of perfume, your usual braided bracelet, and you were ready.

Almost 5 o’clock now — time to go. You grabbed your go-to light brown crossbody, made sure your wallet, keys, and phone were inside, and headed for the door. But first: selfie time. Shoes on, bag over the shoulder, pose in the mirror, snap. You sent it to the group chat with the caption: “Volley vibes on point.” On the way out, you grabbed a quick bite — finishing the berry and granola parfait from this morning — just as the replies to your selfie started rolling in. It was around 9am in Japan tomorrow so no surprise there.

“Kitten is game day ready”

“You said this guy played volleyball in Miyagi? You never told us his name and if you’re going to be hanging out with him more then we need to know who he is. And his school.” Kenma could be surprisingly protective. He was probably thinking about all the times boys from your school — or other schools during matches — had tried hitting on you. Back then, Kuroo and the Nekoma guys would step in, and Kenma would quietly usher you away if someone got too pushy. But this time, he couldn’t be there to do that.

“His name is Iwaizumi Hajime, he went to Aoba Johsai and he was a wing spiker.”

“Serving looks and aces I see” You can hear the teasing lilt in Kuroo’s voice and see the wiggle of his brows.

“???”

“We’ve heard of him, he was the ace of his team. I’ll talk to Shoyo and see if we should be worried.”

It was time to go, so you texted the group chat a quick goodbye. Their replies came almost instantly— “Have fun!” “Don’t get scouted 😏” —and with a smile, you slipped out the door.

The evening heat hit you immediately, warm and lingering even though the sun had begun to dip. You were glad you’d gone with the white tank and shorts; the light fabric let the breeze through just enough to keep you comfortable. The air smelled faintly of grass and hot pavement, and cicadas buzzed in the distance as you made your way toward campus. It wasn’t a long walk—fifteen minutes, maybe—but enough to let your mind wander. You were curious. Would Iwaizumi play like he used to in high school? All intense and sharp, focused version of him that came alive on the court?

You realized, suddenly, that you were excited—not just for the game, but to see this part of his life. It meant something that he’d invited you.

Reaching campus, you pulled up the map on your phone. You vaguely remembered the gym from the campus tour during freshman orientation, but that felt like ages ago. After a few wrong turns and checking your location three separate times, you headed toward a large brick building you hoped was the gym. As you got closer, the familiar sound of squeaking sneakers on polished hardwood floors drifted through the open windows.

The sound made you pause.

It brought back a rush of memories—of high school match days, of taping fingers, filling water bottles, shouting encouragement from the sidelines. You’d helped out the boys’ team sometimes, since they didn’t have a proper manager. Those were good days.

With a small smile, you moved closer. Just as you reached the doors, you caught the tail end of a conversation inside.

"—on your angel friend,” someone said in a teasing voice.

“I will crush your face if you don’t shut up.” That was unmistakably Iwaizumi and you were a bit alarmed by how ready your friend sounded to commit a felony. Then immediately feel weird for hovering by the gym doors like some accidental hallway goblin. Okay. No eavesdropping. You weren’t raised like that. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and made your footsteps intentionally louder on the concrete floor, announcing your presence the way any respectable not-sneaky person would. Then you rounded the corner and pushed open the gym doors with your most innocent hey-I-definitely-didn’t-hear-anything-weird face.
"Hey!" you chirped, maybe a little too brightly.

Three heads turned toward you. One of the guys—tall, curly hair, absolutely guilty expression—was mid-sip from a water bottle and nearly choked. Iwaizumi stood off to the side, arms crossed, jaw tight. He looked like he was about to launch someone into orbit. Probably Curly.

“Perfect timing,” Iwaizumi said, voice flat. He was trying not to look as annoyed as he clearly was, but he still looked like someone had just told him pineapple belongs on ramen. His eyes softened when he saw you, though only slightly.

“Oh? Did I interrupt something?” you asked, pretending not to know a thing, but letting just enough suspicion into your tone to keep them sweating.

“Nope,” Curly said, coughing a little. “Just talking strategy.”

“Strategy for what, exactly?” you asked sweetly, eyes narrowing in mock interest. “Crushing someone’s face?”

Iwaizumi shot the guy a murderous glare. “Ignore them. I’m already regretting this,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched in a betrayed almost-smile.

“Too late. You invited me and I’m here. I'm part of this chaos now.” And with that, you stepped fully into the gym, pretending not to feel numerous sets of eyes on you—some curious, some impressed, one clearly terrified for his own face.

Honestly? Not a bad start to the night.

But you wanted to break the tension so you said, “Wasn’t totally sure I’d find this place, but the smell of gym socks and floor polish really guided me home.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “That’s the smell of greatness, thank you.”

“Mm, greatness smells a lot like teenage sweat and questionable life choices,” you quipped, then took a moment to look around. The court looked freshly waxed, a few people were already warming up, and the rest were giving you curious glances—some subtle, others not even trying to hide it.

You leaned toward Iwaizumi and said under your breath, “Should I be worried? Or is the staring part of the welcome package?”

“They’re just weird,” he said simply.

“That’s comforting.”

“Want to sit on the bench during warm-ups? I promise no one will make you run laps.”

You grinned. “What an honor.”

As you walked with him toward the court, you passed by the guy who’d definitely said something earlier. He gave you a polite nod, but you didn’t think much of it. You returned the gesture with a smile, completely oblivious to the fact that he’d just called you Iwaizumi’s angel friend five minutes ago—or that your arrival at the exact moment had nearly started a brawl.
But that was probably for the best.

You waved and said a collective hello to the other players that they returned, and then took a good look around after taking a seat. The gymnasium wasn’t nearly as full or lively as it used to be back in high school tournaments. The bleachers were half-pulled out, maybe only two or three spectators scattered across them—likely other students waiting for their friends to finish or just passing time before dinner. A couple of referees stood near the net, chatting idly, clipboards in hand. The gym lights buzzed faintly overhead, the kind of sound you stop hearing after a few minutes but notice immediately when you first walk in.

The air smelled of clean wood floors, old sports tape, and the lingering hint of muscle spray. A few volleyballs rolled lazily across the floor during warm-ups, and the energy was more casual pick-up game than cutthroat competition. If you didn’t know before, it would be obvious now: this was not the main team. This was the backup crew—the side team. Co-ed, under-coached, probably under-practiced, but undeniably full of personality.

The team needed to finish their warmups so you assumed that you’d be properly introduced to them at the end of the game. There were seven players total, and they looked like a walking collage of vibes:

Iwaizumi – Even in a more relaxed setting, he still carried himself like a pro. His warm-up was all business: focused, efficient, and slightly intimidating. Despite the team’s casual nature, he clearly couldn’t turn off the part of him that used to be the ace. He tied his shoes with the intensity of someone preparing for war, not rec league volleyball.

Curly-Haired Guy (Liam) – The one who’d been teasing Iwaizumi earlier. About 6 feet tall, lean, with perpetual “chaotic good” energy. His warm-up mostly involved laughing too hard at his own jokes and spiking the ball a little too dramatically in drills. Absolutely the team clown, and probably the reason they stretch for so long—because he won’t shut up. His looks aside, he reminded you of Lev.

Short Libero Girl (Mina) – A whirlwind of speed and sass. Maybe 5’3” on a tall day, rocking neon athletic tape on both knees. She seemed like the type to talk back to the ref and still somehow charm her way out of a penalty.

Tall Outside Hitter (Bea) – A quiet powerhouse. Long legs, soft face, absolute cannon of a spike. She looked like she spent half her time playing and the other half politely apologizing for hitting too hard. Bea had a resting kind expression that didn’t match the violence of her attacks.

Buzzcut Guy (Dev) – Built like a rugby player, always yelling "Mine!" three seconds too early. Not the most coordinated, but he gave everything 110%, which occasionally caused chaos but was always entertaining. Might be on the team purely because no one had the heart to say no.

Redhead Girl (Callie) – Mid-set warm-up, she was already chewing gum and somehow dancing. Had a loud, bright laugh and zero volume control. She joked with everyone—even the refs—and probably called Iwaizumi “coach” just to see him twitch. Her serve was wicked, though.

The Last Guy (Jun) – The designated chill. Hoodie half-off one shoulder, hands in pockets until the very last second before warm-up drills. Didn’t say much, but when he moved, it was smooth and precise. Low-key athletic with “mystery man” vibes. Probably always shows up late but knows exactly what he’s doing as the setter.

Together, the group looked like they had wandered in from seven separate volleyball anime subplots. But somehow, it worked.

And standing there on the sidelines, watching them all warm up and banter with each other like they’d been doing this for years, you couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t the main team. It wasn’t meant to be serious.
But it felt real.
And maybe even a little fun.

 

As warmups wrapped and the other team filtered in through the side entrance, Iwaizumi grabbed a towel from the bench and wiped the sweat from his face, pretending he was just cooling off—but really, he needed something to do. Something that didn’t involve glancing toward the bench every five seconds where she sat, chatting casually with Liam and Mina.

He told himself he was glad she came. Of course, he was. He’d invited her. But now that she was actually here, standing just off the court with strands of her hair falling perfectly around her face and that easy smile like this wasn’t even a big deal—

Yeah. He was feeling it.

And not the usual pre-game nerves. He’d played in packed gyms before. He’d stood under pressure, under lights, with people shouting and the shrill squealing of Oikawa’s loud fangirls. None of that ever made his palms sweat. But her standing ten feet away, in that simple white tank and army green shorts like it was just another casual Tuesday? That was making his heart do annoying, unnecessary things.

You’ve seen her a hundred times. Get it together you moron.

He didn’t even know why he was this keyed up. Maybe because this wasn’t high school anymore, and this wasn’t just some random friend stopping by. This was her—someone who had gotten to know him outside of volleyball—and now she was getting a look inside it. A version of him that was quieter, rougher around the edges, more intense. She wasn’t here cheering for Shittykawa, she was here to cheer him on. When they talked about volleyball she had told him she had friends in high school who played on the team and she loved watching them so he knew she would appreciate it even if he wasn’t playing.

He rubbed the back of his neck and tried not to stare. Meanwhile, she was laughing at something Mina said. Then she waved off Liam’s dramatic bow and said something that made both of them pause. Mina turned to her with raised brows.

“You helped manage a team before?” Mina asked, tilting her head. “Wait, like actually managed?”

“Not officially, I wasn’t part of the club because I had my own,” she replied with a shrug. “But yeah, my high school team didn’t have a manager, and I helped out when I could. Tape, water, towels, schedules, emergency hair ties—you name it.”

“No way,” Liam said, clearly impressed. “That’s like, a whole skill set.”

She smiled sheepishly. “If you guys need help, I don’t mind at all. That way you guys can actually rest and catch your breath during breaks.”

Mina turned to Liam. “She’s hired.”

Liam gave a mock salute. “Welcome to the team, Coach Assistant Honorary Manager.”

From where he stood, Iwaizumi could barely hear what they were saying, but when he saw Mina hand her a clipboard and a roll of athletic tape, he blinked in disbelief.

Oh no. No no no no—

Now she was involved.

Which, sure, was cool, and yeah, it was really great she was comfortable enough to jump in—but also?? She was going to be right there. On the bench. The whole game. Sitting five feet from him. Possibly watching him yell at Dev for missing another block or getting overly competitive during a casual co-ed game. he wasn’t used to having a girl’s attention on him during games. If any girl ever came for him, he didn’t know of it, and he never had strong enough feelings for any girl at school to feel nervous about being watched. The girls usually came for Oikawa, and as much as it pissed him off when he jokingly pointed it out, it was true that the girls’ attention was not on Iwaizumi. No more than for any other player that wasn’t the Great King.

He groaned softly into his towel.

He could already picture her teasing him about it later. Maybe repeating something he said on the court in a mocking voice. No, she would definitely do that because she had done it before. Maybe laughing at the fact that he still got fired up over something that didn’t even count for anything.

This was a mistake. I should’ve told her to come after. Or just meet for dinner. Or—

Then he looked up—and caught her making a neat pile of extra knee pads and water bottles, already settling into the manager role like it was second nature. She was talking with Bea now, nodding thoughtfully, all business.

Iwaizumi’s stomach twisted in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Okay… maybe it wasn’t a mistake.
But he was definitely not making it through this game without accidentally falling a little harder in love.

 

The game had only just started, and already chaos was well underway.

Dev nearly collided with Bea during the first serve receive—both of them yelling “Mine!” at the same time and then mutually deciding it was no one’s ball. Mina screamed “What are we, a middle school team?” while dramatically diving for it anyway and somehow keeping it in play.

Liam tried to finesse a float serve and ended up lobbing a gentle balloon straight into the net. “It was a distraction tactic,” he shouted. “They’ll never expect the second one!”

Jun, as usual, played like he was bored and ethereal, casually saving every shanked pass with a level of ease that made everyone else look like they were playing a different sport.

From the bench, you jotted something down on the clipboard, suppressing a grin as Callie ran by and shouted, “Please don’t write down my mistakes. I have a fragile ego.”

“I’m only tracking hydration,” you said.

“Liar!”

Still, despite the chaos, the team had decent chemistry—and they were doing better than the scoreboard showed. Everyone was holding their own.

Well. Almost everyone. Iwaizumi was... off.

Not in a completely falling apart way, but in a "why is Seijoh's former ace shanking serve receives and mistiming blocks by half a second?" kind of way. His spikes were too strong, too flat, or just plain mistimed. His serves weren’t landing like they usually did. And his reaction time—normally laser-sharp—felt dulled by hesitation.

You watched, confused. He wasn’t playing terribly, just... not like himself. You’d never seen him in high school, but you had heard back then that Seijoh was a strong team, and to be their ace, he would’ve been excellent at almost everything. Right now, he looked distracted. Tense in a way that didn’t make sense. Was he tired? Injured? During the timeout halfway through the set, the team jogged back to the bench for water. Most of them were still joking and jostling each other.

“You okay?” Mina asked Iwaizumi, handing him a towel. “You look like you're trying to fight invisible ghosts out there.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact.

You handed him a water bottle. “Oi, Iwaizumi,” you said, casually but loud enough for a few teammates to hear. “I didn’t give up my Saturday evening to watch you suck. I came to see Seijoh’s famous ace.”

That got a few chuckles from the bench.

You smirked. “Now get it together and show them what you’ve got.”

For a split second, Iwaizumi blinked at you like you’d short-circuited his brain. Then—slowly—he exhaled through his nose, half a laugh slipping out. The corners of his mouth lifted.

“Got it, Manager-san,” he said, shaking out his arms and nodding to himself as he stepped back onto the court.

“Good. Or I’m revoking your water privileges.”

Liam gasped. “Brutal. I like her.”

Back on court, Iwaizumi squared his shoulders. His hands flexed, loosening up. His jaw unclenched. Somehow, her calling him out in front of the team had made it worse—but also better. The pressure wasn’t gone, but it felt different now. Lighter. Familiar. Like it used to be in high school when his teammates would call each other out when they messed up for whatever reason.

Yeah. This? This he could work with.

The next rally started—and Iwaizumi nailed the timing on a textbook-perfect block, slamming the ball straight down at the net with a satisfying thwack that echoed off the gym walls.

“That’s more like it!” Mina shouted.

From the bench, you held up a thumbs-up and gave him a mock-serious nod. “Acceptable.”

His ears turned slightly pink. But for the first time all evening, he grinned. With Iwaizumi back on form, the team hit their stride.

The next few rallies were clean, or at least clean enough by the standards of a co-ed rec team where half the players fueled themselves with cafeteria chicken nuggets and iced coffee. Bea landed a powerful cross shot that made even the other team’s front row flinch. Mina pulled off a pancake save so dramatic the referee actually clapped under his breath. Dev got one solid block and then immediately celebrated like he’d just won the Olympics, nearly clotheslining Liam in the process.

“Bro, it was one block,” Liam wheezed, ducking a flying arm.

“One glorious block!” Dev shouted back.

Meanwhile, you’d slipped comfortably into your impromptu manager role—handing out water, keeping track of rotation subs, and reminding Callie not to flirt with the opposing libero in the middle of the set.

“Sorry! He looks like a cinnamon roll!” she protested.

“No excuses,” you said. “You’ve got a serve in ten.”

By the last few points, the team had pulled ahead, and Iwaizumi was fully dialed in. The sharpness was back—his timing, his reads, even that signature slam-a-spike-like-he’s-got-something-to-prove energy. The final point came with a satisfying block at the net between him and Bea, and as the ball hit the floor, the whole team erupted into a chorus of chaotic victory noises.

Not quite polished. Not exactly dignified. But definitely triumphant.

“Let’s GOOOO!” Liam howled, throwing a high five in the air and spinning in a circle until he got dizzy and sat down on the floor.

“That was actually fun,” Jun said, almost smiling. “Weird.”

“I need five liters of water and a nap,” Mina muttered, collapsing onto the bench.

Callie made finger guns at the losing team’s libero. “Good game, cinnamon roll!”

The opposing team gave a few half-hearted claps and started packing up. No hard feelings—it was clear no one was taking this match too seriously. Which was probably why it had been so much fun. You helped collect stray balls, tossing them into the bin while the rest of the team slouched around, catching their breath and unstrapping knee pads. Iwaizumi came over, towel around his neck, still slightly flushed from the game. “Thanks for helping out,” he said, a little quieter than usual.

You glanced over, still scribbling down a few stats Mina asked for. “Anytime. You got your act together in the end, so I guess I won’t write you up.”

He snorted. “Generous.”

You nudged him with your elbow. “Nice block at the end. Seijoh would’ve been proud.”

That made him pause, just for a second. Then he gave a small, sincere nod. “Means a lot. Coming from you.”

Before that could linger too long and turn into a moment, Liam jogged by shirtless and yelled, “Let’s go, sweaty people! We’re gonna be late for dinner if we don’t rinse the gym smell off!”

That broke the spell. Everyone started moving, collecting their bags and bottles and making their way toward the locker rooms. Callie chucked a towel at Dev, who yelped and accused her of assault. Mina tried to organize them into pairs for speed-changing. Bea just sighed and trudged toward the door like someone used to this level of chaos.

As the team filtered toward the changing rooms, you trailed behind, laughing to yourself and brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear. Iwaizumi slowed to match your pace.

“We’re grabbing food at that Korean place near campus,” he said. “You still coming?”

“Of course,” you replied. “I didn’t manage you guys through that circus to just go home.”

He smirked. “Just checking.”

“Though fair warning,” you added, “if anyone starts dancing on tables, I’m totally joining.”

“You assume someone won’t,” he muttered, eyeing Liam ahead of them.

You both reached the locker room hallway—his to the left, yours just a bit further down the right. Iwaizumi lingered for a second, then said, “Thanks again. Really.”

“Anytime, ace,” you said with a wink.

He turned away quickly, but you didn’t miss the small, crooked smile on his face as he disappeared into the guys’ room. You didn’t need to change so you just leaned back against the wall, exhaling quietly.

Yeah. That had been a good game.

And maybe… the night was only going to get better.

Chapter 5: Shenanigans With A Side Of Dinner

As you were leaning against the wall outside the restrooms waiting for the team to come back out after freshening up, you checked your phone to find texts in your groupchat:

Kuroo:
“So? Did he trip and fall into love yet? Did you trip and fall into a bench?”

Kenma:
“Was it fun? Did you survive being around people for more than 90 minutes?”

You grinned down at your phone and typed out a quick reply to both:

“Game was fun. Team is chaos. Liam reminds me of Lev—tall, loud, mildly feral. Tell him when you see him.”
“Also no, I didn’t trip into anything. But Iwaizumi blocked a ball so hard I think the floor filed a complaint.”

Kenma replied with a thumbs-up emoji. Kuroo sent back:
"Send pics. Of the team. Not your weird crush."

You didn’t dignify that one with a response.

Once everyone was no longer drenched in sweat and in fresh clothes, they regrouped where you were waiting. The vibe was light and buzzing with post-win energy—plus the promise of food.

“Alright,” Mina said, clapping her hands once, “since we’ve been operating like a gremlin horde all evening, let’s do formal intros so our guest doesn’t think we’re just names shouted mid-rally.”

“Speak for yourself,” Liam added. “I’m a delight.”

“You tripped over the ball cart,” Bea pointed out.

“Still counts as charming.”

They formed a loose semi-circle around you, clearly waiting. You straightened up, laughing.

“I’m Fuyou. Iwaizumi invited me, so blame him if I’m weird.”

“I take full responsibility,” Iwaizumi said dryly from behind you.

“My best friends were on the school volleyball team and I used to help manage them sometimes,” you continued, “so this was right in my comfort zone. All that chaos felt like home.”

That earned a few chuckles.

Mina stepped forward first. “Mina. Libero. Height doesn’t matter when you have attitude and caffeine. My superpower is yelling loud enough to shame people into better defense.”

Next was Liam, of course, giving a two-handed wave like you were on a talk show. “Liam. Outside hitter. Comic relief. Probably the reason we need a team therapist.”

Bea raised a hand with a calm smile. “Bea. Outside. I don’t say much, but I hit hard. I apologize a lot. I’m trying.”

“I’m Dev. Middle blocker,” said a broad-shouldered guy with a buzzcut and a Band-Aid already peeling off his elbow. “I yell a lot but it’s mostly passion, not volume control issues. Probably.”

“Callie. I’m the one with the good hair and better jokes,” she said with a wink. “Also a server from hell, thank you very much.”

“Jun,” said the last one, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. “Setter. Don’t ask me questions.”

“Can I ask why you always look like you’re about to drop the hottest indie album of the year?” Callie asked sweetly.

Jun stared at her. “No.”

You laughed as Mina gestured toward the street. “Alright, introductions done. Let’s walk. Dinner awaits, and my blood sugar is personally attacking me.”

 

The restaurant wasn’t far—just a few blocks off campus—but the walk took longer than it should’ve, mostly because Liam tried to reenact dramatic volleyball slow-motion moments using street signs and garbage cans.

“Jun, set me! I’m going to spike this trash can lid into greatness!”

“I will end you,” Jun replied.

“Guys,” Mina said, exasperated, “if we get kicked out of a public sidewalk before we even reach the restaurant, I’m quitting this team.”

“Can’t quit,” Callie said. “You’re team mom.”

“I’m team dad.”

“Nope. Iwaizumi’s the dad. Bea’s the mom. You’re the weird wine aunt.”

Mina stopped walking. “I accept that.”

Through all the chaos, Iwaizumi had somehow ended up walking beside you, bag slung over one shoulder, his expression somewhere between tired and amused.

“Is this always how it is?” you asked.

“This is them trying to behave,” he replied. “Dev once tried to block a bird mid-flight.”

“…Did he succeed?”

“Sadly, yes.”

You let out a laugh at that and then walked in quiet companionship with Iwaizumi for a minute before asking him, “Makes you miss your team, doesn’t it?”
You’d kept your voice soft but Iwaizumi flinched as if you’d pinched him. He relaxed in a second before a sheepish look took over his expression. “Is my face that easy to read?”

“Not at all, I wasn’t even looking at you. It’s just that they remind me of my team and boys’ teams are usually chaotic. So I thought maybe you were missing yours too.”

“I do miss them, yeah. When I joined the team, we didn’t have a setter, and when Jun first set the ball for me… I just wanted to go home. And by the way, I don’t remember telling you I was an ace. Did your volleyball friends tell you?”

“Yeah. I was talking to them yesterday and mentioned that I was coming to watch your game and that’s when they asked who you were. When I told them, they recognized you.”

Iwaizumi never struck you as the type to be openly emotional or physically affectionate—especially with people he wasn’t particularly close to so the immediate change in subject was not surprising to you. And while the two of you were growing into good friends, you hadn’t quite reached the point where that kind of vulnerability felt natural. Still, he’d said enough. Just enough to acknowledge the quiet, mutual understanding between you—an unspoken bond of shared pain. The rest of the walk passed in silence, the two of you watching the rest of the team act like goofballs ahead of you.

 

The Korean BBQ place was packed just enough to be lively, but not so full you had to shout to be heard. You guys managed to snag a corner booth and two extra chairs, forming a squished semi-circle. You made the mistake of pausing to figure out where to sit—only to be steered (not gently) by Mina and Callie directly into the seat next to Iwaizumi.

Totally subtle.

Totally not planned.

You, of course, noticed none of this.

Iwaizumi sat down next to you, jaw tight with forced indifference. His teammates, however, did not let him off easy.

“So,” Liam said, dramatically pouring water into your glass like a fancy waiter, “are you two dating or are we all just watching the slowest mutual pining in recorded history?”

You blinked. “I—what?”

Iwaizumi deadpanned, “He’s not allowed near knives.”

“I’m just asking! For the vibe.”

“You’ll catch these vibes with a chair to the face,” Mina muttered.

Once food was ordered, the table came alive. Grills hissed, meat sizzled, and banter flew fast and furious. You found yourself laughing more than eating, though you managed both.

At one point, Liam said something dumb—again—and Mina responded with:

“Don’t just assume that when I’m angry, I’m hormonal. Otherwise, when you’re sleeping, I’ll just assume you’re dead and bury you in the backyard.”

Callie gasped. “Put that on a shirt.”

“That is a shirt,” Bea said. “Somewhere. In hell.”

Later, when Dev tried to say something serious, lay out a plan of sorts, Liam cut in towards the end with wide eyes and a disbelieving, “You’re mad.”

Dev didn’t miss a beat. “Thank goodness. If I wasn’t, this’d probably never work.”

You almost choked on your rice. This man did not just quote Captain Jack Sparrow out of the blue.

Somewhere in the meal there was a lull with everyone bringing their attention to the food they’d neglected for conversation, when Jun finally broke his silence by staring across the room at a couple mid-argument. He whispered under his breath: “From the look on her face? Some pretty dissatisfying sex. That looks like six minutes of under-the-covers missionary disappointment.”

He was probably talking to himself but half the table shrieked. Bea, who had been mid-sip, was now coughing spluttering with water coming out of her nose.

Iwaizumi looked up from his food. “Jun, what the hell?” while you patted Bea on the back and grabbed her some tissues trying to control your laughter.

Jun shrugged and took a sip of his soda. “Just an observation.”

 

Amidst all the table noise, you found a few quiet moments with Iwaizumi. Conversations where the world fell away a bit.

“How long have you known these guys?” you asked during a lull.

“Only since joining the team,” he said. “But it’s like living with an entire sitcom cast.”

“They seem to really like you Team Dad.”

He gave you a side glance. “I’m the only one who remembers to bring snacks and ibuprofen.”

You leaned a little closer, smirking. “That’s it? Not your winning personality?”

“Unclear.”

You nudged his knee under the table—casual, thoughtless—and he looked like he briefly forgot how to breathe.

Later, when Mina asked if you were coming to their next game, you nodded. “If you’ll have me as manager again. Even if you don’t, I’ll still be there.”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said. “You’re already better than Liam, and he’s been here for three semesters.”

“Rude,” Liam said, his voice dripping with mock offense. “I’m the backbone of this team’s comedic timing. You’ve been trying my patience like an unpaid intern all night woman.”

Mina looked him right in the eyes with a deadpan expression and replied with a deep and dramatic voice, “I have licked the fire and danced in the ashes of every bridge I ever burned, I fear no hell from you, you sycophantic imbecile.”

“Wow,” Bea said. “Write that on my tombstone.”

Before the conversation could go further, Iwaizumi glanced at you and asked, “Are you sure it won’t be too much? You’ve already got enough on your plate as it is.” Ah, ever the responsible one, that man.

Mina blinked. “What do you mean?”

Iwaizumi sighed. “She’s a double major, with classes, work-study, and an internship. When the fall semester starts, it’ll be just as crazy, if not more.”

“Double major?!” Liam’s voice trailed off, half in awe, half in panic. “That’s awesome—and awful at the same time! Wha—”

“What are you majoring in?” Callie cut him off before his rambling went any further.

“Comp Sci and Bio,” you answered casually. “And don’t worry, I can make time for the games. It’s not like you guys play every week.”

Callie’s eyes lit up, a grin spreading across her face. “Yeah! If Miss Manager says she can do it, she can do it! If she can handle all that extra work, she can definitely handle whatever you throw at her!”

And somewhere before dessert, when the grill flared a bit too high and Liam jumped back yelling, “WHAT from the bottom of my heart THE FUCK—” you added, perfectly deadpan:

“Hey guys, does anyone know what the fuck?”

The table fell apart laughing, even Jun cracked a smile, and Iwaizumi chuckled, shaking his head.

“Does anyone want dessert? Or should we call it a night?”
Everyone murmured or shook their heads to signal they were done. You glanced at the dessert menu, tempted but hesitant—no one else seemed interested, so you didn’t want to say anything. But the options looked too good to resist. So, with a slight blush, you raised your hand—just up to your shoulder, part of you hoping it would go unnoticed. Of course, it didn’t.

Liam and Dev both shot their hands into the air, shouting in unison, “DESSERT FOR THE LADY!!”

The waitress came over to them, raising an eyebrow at their enthusiasm. “Hey, keep it down,” she said, but Iwaizumi, ever the calm one, simply nodded and asked, “Could we see the dessert menu, please?”

The mood settled back into easy chatter, and you couldn’t help but smile. It was a night off well spent.

 

After dinner, they split off in pairs or groups to head home or hit the nearby karaoke bar. Iwaizumi offered to walk you back, and you didn’t hesitate to accept. The night was warm and surprisingly quiet for a Saturday night in a college town. Streetlamps hummed above. Your feet tapped in soft rhythm with his as you strolled side by side.

“You good?” you asked.

He nodded. “It was a good night.”

“Even with the teasing?”

He glanced sideways at you, a corner of his mouth lifting. “They’ll live. I’m used to it.”

You smiled. “Thanks for inviting me. This was so much fun.”

“Thanks for showing up.”

You walked in silence for a bit more. Then, as you reached your front door, you stopped.

“Next time,” you said, “I want to see you block a bird.”

He laughed, low and warm. “Deal.”

You lingered there a second longer than necessary with the door already unlocked.

“Goodnight, Hajime.”

“Night.”

And with one last glance—one that seemed like he wanted to say something else but didn’t—he turned and started down the steps of your house. When he was at the sidewalk he turned around to make sure you got inside before starting his walk home. Now you were part of a group, you’d been welcomed as a friend and manager to a group kind, albeit eccentric, group of volleyball players. Experiences with Iwaizumi were starting to feel more and more like home.

Chapter 6: Group Chat Initiation

Summary:

Texts later that night

Liam:
Okay but for real, I'm still alive right? Iwaizumi didn't kill me after everyone left, right?
unless this is the afterlife group chat… in which case, can ghosts add new members? Asking for a friend.

Dev:
bro if this is the afterlife I want ghost pizza
and ur definitely dead he just hasn't admitted it yet. You’re texting from the shadow realm

Mina:
Liam’s ghost is haunting the group chat like: “i just wanted to toast the new manager 😔”

Callie:
Imagine your last words being "Let’s toast to our new manager 😎"
Gone but never forgotten

Bea:
Liam I’m making your grave aesthetic. Moss, fairy lights, tasteful plaque that says “Killed by Love (and Iwaizumi’s fist)”

Liam:
you guys are so supportive 🥲
if I am dead, someone please make sure she knows I was rooting for them. I’ll be haunting their wedding and want credit

Dev:
LMAOOO
"Iwaizumi and Miss Manager, sponsored by the spiritual endorsement of Liam's ghost"

Mina:
wait wait I can see it now:
"Do you, Hajime Iwaizumi, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded—"
"I DO—AND LIAM WOULD HAVE WANTED THIS"

Callie:
STOPPP 😂
he's gonna snap soon, I can feel it
but also
coach man
do it. add her
let’s see how fast your tough guy act crumbles when she’s in the chat

Bea:
Bet he changes his profile pic to a sunset selfie of them within 3 business days

Dev:
Nah, 2 business days if she calls him "Haji" in here once

Iwaizumi:
…

Iwaizumi:
Shut up.
I’m adding her now so behave.

Jun:
wait

Iwaizumi:
what now?

Dev:
OH MY
IM SCARED NOW
COACH MAN R U SCARED TOO
JUN HAS ENTERED THE CHAT

Jun:
[📷 sent one image]
you’re welcome

 

The photo made Iwaizumi pause mid-brush, toothbrush hanging from his mouth. One glance, and—Pfft!
A full-on spit take. Toothpaste foam splattered across the bathroom mirror like some tragic comedy skit.

The image was simple, but it hit him like a sucker punch. It was of you and him during the break, caught in a candid moment. You had that teasing smile—the one that always made his pulse do something stupid—your amber eyes wide and focused entirely on him. He was mid-laugh, head dipped slightly, eyes shut. Relaxed. Happy.
Jun had clearly edited it—softened the background, blurred out the chaos—but somehow, miraculously, none of the others had photobombed. It looked… intimate.

Too intimate.

He stared for longer than he’d admit, chest tight and jaw clenched. Then, as if he were sneaking contraband, he saved it to his phone. Quick. Quiet. Like he was doing something he shouldn’t be.

 

Bea:
JUN
JUNNNNNN
YOU DID NOT JUST DROP THIS CASUALLY—

Dev:
OH MY GOD THIS PHOTO
you enhanced the soft couple vibes

Callie:
jun. sweet quiet jun. you are the biggest agent of chaos i’ve ever met
IWAIZUMI LOOKS LIKE HE’S IN LOVE 😭

Liam:
she’s looking at him like he hung the stars
and he’s just out here smiling like a man who doesn’t know he’s already married

Mina:
I’m sorry but this is not just a “friendship” pic
this is the cover photo for a “how we fell in love during training camp” documentary

Dev:
this is the moment in the movie where the best friend starts crying because they realize the leads are soulmates and they’ve been blind the whole time

Bea:
zoom in on the way he’s looking down
zoom in on her smile
tell me they’re “just friends” again. I dare you.

Callie:
nah he SAVED that photo i just know it
that’s not a “haha funny team moment” save
that’s a lockscreen save

Liam:
it’s over for him. he’s IN IT
he’s past the point of no return

Iwaizumi:
This is harassment.

Jun:
this is art

Iwaizumi:
I expected better from you Jun

Mina:
this is proof you’re in denial
go ask her out before we all explode

Iwaizumi:
that’s enough, I’m adding her now

Callie:
EHEHEHEHE

 

[New Chat Member Added: Fuyou]

 

Liam:
*rises from the ghost realm*
Welcome… to the chaos Miss Manager 😌

Manager Girl:
uhhhh
hi? 👀
i just got a notif saying I’ve been added to “Team Squad (Chaos Edition)” and now I’m scared??

Callie:
NOOO DON’T BE SCARED
WE’RE NORMAL
mostly

Liam:
Hiiiiii 👋 I’m the one who almost died tonight (emotionally and nearly physically). Welcome 😇

Dev:
He toasted to you and Coach Man almost buried him under the table. It was almost romantic, in a Shakespearean tragedy kinda way.

Manager Girl:
omg what did I just walk into 😂
also “Coach Man”? Is that a nickname or an alter ego I don’t know about?

Mina:
It’s both.
He becomes Coach Man when the volley players are involved.

Bea:
Welcome welcome! You're already cooler than all of us, but you’ll have to survive the group chat to truly earn your stripes 💪

Manager Girl:
So hazing is still a thing. Got it.
Also, Hajime… you didn’t warn me this was a cult.

Iwaizumi:
I tried.
You just ignored the “they’re a menace” warning.

Manager Girl:
Well now I’m here. Can’t back out now.
Let the chaos begin 😌

Chapter 7: Kitchen Confessions

After being added to the group chat last night, you woke up to a wave of follow requests from everyone on the team. Even Jun. You hadn’t expected that. He was so reserved, you figured it would take weeks—maybe months—before he let you anywhere near his fortress of solitude.

But he followed you without hesitation. And somehow, that simple gesture made you emotional.

You’d always thrived in small groups. Being part of a volleyball team again felt like slipping into your old self, like stepping into a familiar rhythm. It reminded you of your days with Nekoma: chaotic, comforting, real. Iwaizumi and volleyball were your comfort zone. Meeting new people? That was the edge of it. And this team was the perfect balance. You could focus on your studies, enjoy the sport you loved, and finally start to socialize in a way that didn’t feel forced or exhausting.

You liked your classmates. You liked your two housemates. But you weren’t especially close to any of them. Your housemates were great when your paths crossed—usually in the kitchen or while tackling chores—but you were all on different schedules and majors, and they were barely home anymore.

Except for Phoebe.

Phoebe was a 33-year-old PhD candidate who somehow made stress look stylish. You adored her. She was the kind of person you hoped to grow into—funny, grounded, brutally realistic, and still somehow nurturing. You loved calling her "Pheebs" like in Friends , which cracked you up every time because she was the absolute opposite of the show's bubbly, eccentric character. Phoebe had a calming presence. Always asked how you were doing. Always noticed when something was off. She had slowly, unintentionally become an older sister figure. A very busy, slightly unavailable one—but a sister nonetheless.

Tonight, the two of you were cleaning up the house together when the conversation took a familiar turn.

“I want to ask you something personal,” you said, looking over from the living room. “But you can totally tell me to shut up if it’s too much.”

She looked up from the kitchen floor. “Go ahead.”

“You and Eli have been together for over a year but don’t live together. Is he always traveling or…?”

She smiled, not bothered by the question. “Nah, it’s okay. We actually did live together when I first started my PhD. We’d been dating for a few months by then. It worked, even with our schedules being hell. But last year he got a long-term project a few hours away. We made the decision to live separately until it’s done. He comes back whenever he can. We’ve been together almost four years now, and I’ll graduate in a year, so... we’ll be fine.”

You grinned. “You’re an inspiration. Long distance is harder than cracking nuts.”

She laughed, soft and airy, and returned to scrubbing. “So, how’re you doing? We haven’t had a proper talk in a while. Still terribly homesick? You seem like you’ve settled in, but really—how are you spending your time? Do you have any friends now?”

“Yeah. I’ve been friendly with classmates, but the closest person I’ve gotten to know is this guy from my anatomy class last year. He’s Japanese too, so the homesickness has been easier to deal with. We hang out, complain about life. He’s awesome—I wish I’d known him back in Tokyo too, just so I could’ve spent more time with him.”

Phoebe raised a brow but said nothing. You didn’t see it so you kept talking.

“He invited me to one of his volleyball games. That’s how I met the team. They asked me to be their manager. Everyone’s a little chaotic, but honestly? They feel like a found family. It reminds me of high school again. We had dinner after the game and... he walked me home.”

“You sound like you’re close,” she said carefully.

You nodded. “We’ve been friends for about a year, but we’ve gotten closer these past few weeks. Ever since his birthday... it’s like we’re doing the same things we always did, but it feels... different.”

“Different how?”

You hesitated.

“Do you like him?” she asked gently.

“Well yeah, of course I like him. He’s great, and he’s my friend—”

“No, baby.” She turned, giving you a knowing look. “I mean do you like him. As in... want to jump his bones, then gaze into his eyes, then jump him again.”

You groaned, dropping onto the couch dramatically. “Not you too!”

Phoebe grinned.

“Why does everyone keep saying that? Can’t a girl and a guy just be good friends? We’re both far from home, of course we’d get close. My two best friends back home are both boys and no one ever said anything like this about them.”

“The fact that everyone keeps saying it is a sign.”

“My best friends say it. That’s all.” Of course you didn’t know the teasing Iwaizumi had to endure from his teammates.

“So… two people is now ‘everyone’?” she teased. “Also, you’re 19, right? You told me you’ve never dated anyone. I know a crush when I see one. I was in high school mastering French kissing when you were still in diapers.”

You sighed dramatically. “Yeah, and I respect your ancient wisdom, O Wise One, but I’m telling you—this isn’t like that.”

Phoebe laughed. “Fine, fine. I’ll drop it. But while we’re being honest... is there anyone you are interested in? Anyone you’d even want to get to know that way? Or are you planning to remain a college-era virgin who avoids parties like they’re cursed?”

“I don’t like parties. They’re loud, full of horny drunk people, and no one’s actually fun to talk to.” You leaned back with a shrug. “As for the rest... my virginity goes to a boyfriend worth remembering. Doesn’t have to be ‘The One,’ but definitely someone worth the time. And no one’s caught my attention.”

She gave you a sly look. “Except for your new friend. What’s his name?”

“Iwaizumi,” you mumbled. “And he’s... serious, but goofy when he wants to be. He cares about his friends. He’s incredibly responsible. He’s just... great.”

“Is he hot?”

You paused. “...Very.”

“Sounds like he checks all your boxes.”

“It doesn’t matter. It can’t be him.”

“Why not?” she asked, genuinely curious. “College isn’t forever. If it doesn’t work out, you go your separate ways. You already have different housing and majors. You won’t be stuck running into him forever.”

“But that’s the problem!” you said, frustrated with yourself. “I don’t want to lose him. Not in any way, his friendship is precious to me.” Your voice softened. “Losing a friend hurts worse than a breakup. And I don’t think he feels the same. So none of this matters anyway.”

Phoebe was quiet for a beat, focused on the counter. Then, gently:

“I get it. I really do. And you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. I just didn’t want you to close the door on something real just because you're scared of a ‘what if.’ You're doing great—with school, and now with your social life. But if you ever do want something more... I just hope you’re not using your schedule as an excuse to avoid it.”

You exhaled. “Iwaizumi will make someone really happy one day. But it won’t be me. And... I think that’s how it should be. We’re both busy, and I think we like it that way. Dating just isn’t on the table for either of us.”

“Alright,” Phoebe said, letting it go with a small nod. “Just promise me you’ll keep your heart open, not locked up. That’s all.”

You didn’t reply. You just nodded back.

“Anyway,” she said, changing gears. “Aaliyah’s moving out next year too, before I am in fact, so we need to start hunting for new housemates unless you want to pay triple rent. I was thinking of posting on the forums...”

The rest of the conversation shifted toward logistics—bills, forums, weird roommate stories from her undergrad days—but her words stuck with you. You knew that Iwaizumi held a special place in your heart. He was your comfort in a foreign place. But it felt too precious to risk. Too important.

Because if something did happen—if it fell apart—you’d lose more than just some silly temporary crush.
You’d lose your home away from home.

And that just wasn’t a risk you were ready to take.

Chapter 8: Finals & Feelings

The end of the semester smelled like burnt coffee, dry erase markers, and stress.

The library was always too full, the kitchen was always out of clean mugs, and your group chat had shifted from chaotic memes and volleyball jokes to full-on study war cries.

Dev:
WHO TF INVENTED 8AM EXAMS I JUST WANNA TALK

Liam:
i haven’t seen the sun in 2 days
also pretty sure i forgot how to spell "muscle" halfway through bio

Bea:
You mean you ever knew how to spell it???

Callie:
SHUT UP AND SEND ME YOUR ANATOMY NOTES

It had become a running joke that no one on the team was okay—and that included you.

You were currently half-buried under a pile of textbooks and flashcards in the common room of the athletic center, surrounded by the sound of scribbling pens and the occasional frustrated sighs of fellow overachievers. Someone had brought snacks, someone else had brought a portable speaker (which got banned after ten minutes), and someone had definitely cried at least once.

But you liked being in the middle of the mayhem.

Even when you weren’t managing the team, you were around—helping with prep, organizing schedules, occasionally being the one to run and grab lunch orders when practice ran long. Somehow, your role as "manager" had expanded beyond volleyball logistics.

You were the emotional support gremlin now. Apparently, every team needed one. You weren’t close to everyone in the exact same way. Dev and Liam treated you like a sibling. Callie had declared you her “study rival” and refused to let you work without sending at least three memes per hour. Mina had roped you into co-running a secret playlist war for the warm-ups.

And Iwaizumi?

Well, Iwaizumi just... was.

Solid. Constant. Grumbly, sleep-deprived, and still the most dependable person you’d ever met.

He didn’t talk much during study sessions unless he had something useful to say. But he always brought enough food for two. You never asked if the extra banana bread was for you, but it always ended up on your side of the table.

“You need to drink water,” he muttered one afternoon, nudging a bottle toward you without looking up from his notes.

“I did,” you lied, definitely dehydrated.

He glanced up, unamused. “That was yesterday.”

“I drink some water every day.”

“Coffee doesn’t count.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

Still, you took the bottle and drank it.

That was the thing about Iwaizumi. He didn’t hover, he didn’t nag. But somehow, he was always there, just enough to keep you from running on fumes.

The others noticed it too, of course.

Callie had once whispered, “Is this your shared custody arrangement or what?” after Iwaizumi had handed you a granola bar mid-conversation without even breaking stride. You’d rolled your eyes and thrown the wrapper at her.

But it wasn’t like that.
You were just... comfortable with each other.

It had taken months to get here—months of showing up, helping out, checking in. You were proud of that. You hadn’t expected to find a community again, not so far from Tokyo. But you had.

It didn’t erase the homesickness, but it softened it.

As the first snow fell outside and the countdown to winter break began, you found yourself more embedded in this group than you’d ever planned to be. There were inside jokes now. Shared playlists. Nicknames.

A new little home inside a campus you used to feel lost in.

And sure, there were moments—quiet, in-between ones—when you’d catch yourself watching Iwaizumi from across the gym or study hall, wondering what made him so easy to trust.

But then he’d shove a protein bar at you without looking and mutter, “You skipped lunch again,” and the moment would pass.

Just like that.

 

It was nearly 9PM by the time practice wrapped. The gym had emptied slowly, the rest of the team peeling off into the night with waves and half-hearted complaints about exams, essays, and frostbite. Tonight was the last practice until after winter break. You lingered behind, gathering stray cones and folding the extra towels while Iwaizumi reset the net for tomorrow morning.

Neither of you spoke much—never needed to. The silence was familiar by now. Comfortable.

You walked over to the benches and noticed his bag was still open, gear spilling out like it always did. He was weirdly meticulous about training drills and schedules, but his gym bag looked like a laundry basket that had survived a small explosion.

You crouched and started packing it properly—shoes in a separate mesh pouch, water bottle tightened and zipped, towel rolled instead of crammed. The little things. You didn’t even think about it anymore.

“I was gonna do that,” came his voice, casual, from behind you.

“I know,” you said, not looking up. “But we both know you wouldn’t do it right.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Unbelievable.”

You zipped the bag closed and stood up to find him watching you, one brow raised, arms crossed. He didn’t look tired, exactly, but there was a faint sag to his shoulders. The kind that came with long days and longer weeks.

“You’ve been staying late every night,” you said. “Studying, training, helping people.”

“Yeah,” he replied, like that explained everything.

You tilted your head. “Have you been sleeping?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just looked away for a second and scratched the back of his neck. “… Enough.”

“So no, then.”

You reached into your own bag and pulled out a small container—Tupperware, cracked at one corner, steam still faintly clinging to the lid.

“Here,” you said, holding it out. “From dinner. You didn’t eat earlier.”

He stared at it for a second, like it was a math problem. “You made this?”

You nodded. “Leftovers. Chicken karaage and rice. And don’t look at me like I poisoned it, Iwaizumi.”

He gave a quiet, breathy laugh but didn’t move to take it just yet. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

Another pause. Then he took it, not roughly but not gently either—just a little too quick, like it made him uncomfortable.

“You always look after everyone, I wanted to take care of you.”

You watched as he sat down on the bench and opened the lid, steam puffing out. The smell of garlic and ginger hit the air. He didn’t say thank you, just put his hands together saying a quiet ‘thanks for the food’ and started eating slowly. Thoughtfully. Like a homecooked meal it meant a lot to him. You sat down next to him and leaned against the wall, pulling your hoodie tighter as the gym’s heating system clicked off for the night. For a while, the only sounds were the soft thump of the chopsticks against plastic and the hum of the vending machine near the locker rooms.

Then, finally:

“I’m flying back to Japan the day after exams.”

You turned your head to look at him.

“Oh?”

He nodded, still chewing. “Just for a few weeks. Back before the semester starts.”

Something in your chest twitched. Not pain, not panic. Just… that quiet ache that reminded you this wasn’t permanent. That this—this team, this place—was borrowed time.

“That’s nice,” you said, voice light. “You’ll get real food again.”

He gave a small nod. “Yeah. Looking forward to it.”

You didn’t ask if he’d miss any of this. You didn’t say you’d miss him either. But you sat there a little longer than necessary. Didn’t move until he finished the food and handed the container back, silently.

You tucked it away and stood, brushing invisible dust from your legs.

“You need to sleep,” you said, nudging his knee with your shoe. “Don’t make me start leaving chamomile tea on your doorstep.”

He grumbled something that might’ve been “I’m fine,” but you were already walking toward the exit.

“Text me when you get back,” you said, over your shoulder.

“I will.”

He didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t either. But the echo of the empty gym followed you both out into the night.

 

By the time you got home, the house smelled like something cozy—lavender tea and vanilla candles—and the low hum of a movie played softly from the living room. You toed off your shoes at the door, letting the warmth settle around your shoulders. Your limbs felt heavy from the long day, but your brain was still buzzing—volleyball schedules, finals flashcards, Iwaizumi’s offhand “I’m going home.”

You padded softly down the hall and peeked into the living room.

Phoebe was curled into the corner of the couch, blanket over her legs, her hair tied up in a lazy bun. Her laptop sat open beside her, but her eyes were on the screen—some old movie with muted colors and dramatic violins. Next to her was someone you instantly recognized, though you’d never officially met him.

Eli.

Tall, broad-shouldered, still in a work shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He had that casual-but-polished look about him—someone who probably said things like "circle back" and "touch base" all day but somehow didn’t make it sound annoying.

He glanced up when he saw you and paused the movie.

“Oh hey,” Phoebe said, perking up. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Practice ran late. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting.” She patted the arm of the couch beside her. “Come say hi properly.”

You stepped a little further into the room, self-conscious in your oversized hoodie and scuffed sneakers.

“This is Eli,” Phoebe said, giving his knee a light tap. “Eli, this is my youngest and most emotionally well-adjusted roommate.”

Eli smiled, warm but a little guarded. “Finally, good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot.”

“Uh oh,” you said, giving a small, polite laugh. “Hopefully not too much.”

“She talks about you like you’re a little sister,” Eli replied. “But the competent kind.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes. “It’s true. She runs the volleyball team like a ninja secretary.”

“I don’t know what that means,” you said, smiling, “but I’ll take it.”

Eli leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “You play?”

You shook your head. “I’m the manager. Used to help manage the team in high school, but now I mostly wrangle college students and hand out towels.”

“That’s a full-time job on its own,” he said. “Respect.”

You nodded once, a bit awkwardly. “Thanks. Anyway, I’ll leave you two to it. Just wanted to say hi.”

“You sure?” Phoebe asked. “We’re just watching The English Patient and mocking how unnecessarily long it is.”

You hesitated, then smiled. “Tempting, but I should shower before I permanently become part of this hoodie.”

“You’re welcome to be gross here,” she called as you retreated toward the stairs.

You waved over your shoulder, still smiling. “Night.”

“Night, kiddo.”

“Goodnight,” Eli added.

You climbed the stairs slowly, the sounds of the movie resuming behind you. There was something nice about the quiet domesticity of it—Phoebe curled on the couch, Eli next to her, the world outside dim and cold, but the inside glowing warm.

You closed your bedroom door and exhaled.

Tomorrow would be another long day. More classes, more studying, more stress. But for now, the house was quiet, your legs were sore, and you had nowhere to be but here. You peeled off your hoodie and sat on the edge of your bed, rubbing your hands together to warm them.

Just a few more weeks until the semester ended.
Just a few more weeks until winter.
Just a few more weeks of this rhythm you were starting to love.

And somehow, that felt like enough.

For now.

Chapter 9: Winter Without Snow

Winter break came quietly.

No parties, no flight home, no mad dash to the airport.

Just a Tuesday morning where the campus emptied out like water down a drain. The dorms thinned, the library cleared, and suddenly, the cafeteria staff knew you by name again.

You’d had your meeting with your academic advisor two days earlier, tucked in just before the break. Nothing dramatic, just a cold office and an even colder cup of coffee. But the news had surprised you: All the internships, lab hours, extracurriculars, and transfer credits from Tokyo were adding up faster than expected. You were on track to finish early—at least in terms of coursework.

“Your fifth year could be mostly electives, or even just part-time,” your advisor had said. “Use it wisely. You’ve earned it.”

You hadn’t decided how you felt about that yet.

More time for research? For travel? For volleyball? For… life?

You didn’t know.
But you knew you wouldn’t be going home this winter.

 

It was slow in the break. The sidewalks were wet but not white. It was California after all, no snow. Your roommates had left a week ago—Aaliyah to visit her parents, Phoebe to spend New Year's with Eli’s family. The house was yours now. Quiet and lonely. You fell into a strange rhythm: sleep in, study a little and think of what to do with the extra time your advisor said you’d have, cook real meals, walk without rushing. You even finished two novels you’d been "definitely about to read" since last spring.

You met up with Callie once for bubble tea and Bea for a walk around the frozen pond near campus. Dev had texted about a “movie night or cry night or both,” and you still hadn’t answered yet. Maybe you’ll tell him to plan after New Year when the rest of the team would be back.

But mostly, you kept to yourself. You didn’t mind the solitude. Not really. Except for sometimes—just a flicker—when your phone buzzed and you hoped it was someone in particular.

 

Iwaizumi [Dec 24, 8:42 PM]:
Hope you’re not freezing out there.
Japan’s unusually warm this year. 15 degrees today.

This was the first text he’d sent you since he went back to Miyagi. Not including the text he sent you to let you know he’d landed safely.

You:
Lucky. I saw the sun once this week and I think I hallucinated it.
Have a good Christmas!

Iwaizumi [Dec 25]:
You too. Thanks again for the food before I left.
Let me know if you need anything from here.

You didn’t need anything, exactly. But you still texted him a few days later when you saw a clip of a volleyball match from Tokyo that reminded you of his form.
He replied quickly.
He always did.

 

December 25th
2:12 PM

The idea started with a message in the team chat, but the real plan was born in a private side conversation.

Callie:
ok but real talk
why are we NOT all crashing your place for Christmas
you literally have a whole house to yourself and no supervision 😭

You:
I have two empty bedrooms, a fridge full of leftover Japanese snacks, and zero other plans
bring waffles and chaos

By 3PM, your quiet house had transformed.

The living room smelled like burnt sugar and something vaguely spicy (thanks to Dev experimenting with chili powder in hot chocolate). Callie had kicked off her boots the second she entered and was now wrapped in one of Phoebe’s throw blankets like she owned the place. Bea had taken over the playlist and alternated between lo-fi Christmas remixes and chaotic trap carols.

You wore fuzzy socks and sweatpants. Callie wore a “Slay Belle” sweater and glitter under her eyes. Dev was still in his coat, apron over it, armed with a waffle iron and a deep distrust of your kitchen. Bea had brought nothing but her phone, which she kept using to document “the downfall of festive society” for Instagram.

It wasn’t traditional. But it was so… them.

In the kitchen, you and Dev managed to make waffles without starting a fire, though it was close.
“You need a new spatula,” he muttered, trying to flip one without tearing it in half.

“You’re using it wrong,” you said, reaching over to help. “You have to—wait, no—don’t—”

Splatter.

“Yep,” he said, deadpan. “That’s on you now.”

You both burst out laughing as Bea shouted from the living room, “Y’all better not burn down the house, this is rent-controlled!”

Once the food was made and the drinks were poured (sparkling cider in Phoebe’s stolen wine glasses), you all piled into the living room. Callie insisted on a couch pillow fort. You dragged out every blanket in the house. Dev took over the corner near the heater like an old man settling into retirement. There were sugar cookies shaped like volleyballs, one cookie vaguely resembling Iwaizumi’s scowl, and one very suspiciously shaped one that Bea refused to explain. You played Heads Up, Uno Flip, and eventually devolved into a five-minute debate about whether The Grinch was a misunderstood millennial icon or just emotionally repressed.

“We should do this every year,” Callie declared, balancing her sparkling cider on her head and immediately regretting it.

“You mean crash my house while everyone else is gone?” you said, amused.

“Yes,” Bea replied, stealing your blanket and wrapping herself tighter. “Exactly that.”

Later, with your playlist low and the room warm from too many bodies and too much sugar, someone brought up the team group chat.

“Pics or it didn’t happen,” Callie said, already holding up her phone.

You took group selfies—one serious, one blurry, one where Dev had cookie frosting on his cheek and Bea was pointing at it like she was announcing the discovery of a new planet.

Then the videos:

🎥 Callie dancing with your coat rack like it owed her money.
🎥 Dev narrating the process of making “disaster waffles” like a Food Network host in emotional crisis.
🎥 You and Bea harmonizing badly to All I Want for Christmas Is You while trying not to drop a mug of cider.

The messages were instant.

Liam:
dev looks one domestic breakdown away from being my new wife

Mina:
IWAIZUMI EYEBROW COOKIE 😭😭😭

Iwaizumi:
…what the hell is that

Callie:
that’s YOU, king 😌 edible and judgmental

Bea:
you’re welcome for the blessed content
merry chaosmas

Manager Girl:
next year we’ll livestream it
donations will go toward group therapy

The notifications kept lighting up your phone long after the waffles were cold and the music had stopped. And even though it wasn’t the Christmas you used to know—no snow, no Tokyo lights, no noisy Kuroo—it felt… warm. Right. Like something new was taking root.

As Bea dozed off on your couch, Callie scrolled through your fridge like she paid rent here, and Dev quietly washed dishes in the kitchen without being asked, you realized: You weren’t just managing a volleyball team. You were becoming part of something that mattered.

 

January 1st
10:47 AM in Tokyo | 5:47 PM in California

The apartment was quiet, except for the kettle beginning to hiss on the stove.
You were still in your pajamas—flannel pants and Kenma’s faded Nekoma hoodie—curled up on the couch with your laptop balanced on your knees. Outside, the sky was already darkening, but the screen in front of you was bright with two familiar faces.

Kuroo, messy-haired and grinning, holding a cup of tea.

Kenma, barely awake, blanket around his shoulders and a cat tail flicking somewhere in the corner of his screen.

“I was gonna say ‘Happy New Year,’” you said, smiling, “but it looks like Kenma hasn’t made it into the new year yet.”

“I’m here,” Kenma mumbled, eyes only half open. “Barely.”

“He’s been horizontal all day,” Kuroo added, smirking. “I think this is the most vertical he’s been since midnight.”

Kenma flicked him off with the enthusiasm of someone who did not care enough to aim properly. You laughed, the sound echoing softly through your empty living room.

“How was your New Year’s?” Kuroo asked. “Did you do anything?”

“Not really,” you said, tucking your legs under you. “Made noodles. Watched a fireworks livestream. Had a drink. Just… quiet.”

“That’s so tragic,” Kuroo replied, mock-offended. “You should’ve at least called us at midnight your time. I would’ve lit sparklers in my pajamas.”

“She didn’t want to interrupt your romantic New Year’s Eve dinner,” Kenma deadpanned.

“Oh right,” you said, teasing. “How’s the girlfriend?”

Kuroo made a face. “She’s with her parents for the weekend. So it was just me and Kenma, like old times.”

“Old times meaning—what—us in middle school, eating too many rice crackers and watching the countdown with our faces two inches from the screen?”

Kenma gave the tiniest smile, barely visible through the haze of blanket and hair.

“I still remember the one year we tried to make our own toshikoshi soba,” you added.

Kuroo barked out a laugh. “Disaster. We almost set the stove on fire.”

“You put the seaweed in too early,” Kenma said.

“You were the one who dropped soy sauce on the cat!”

“It was a tiny splash.”

“You screamed like you were being chased by a ghost,” Kuroo said, nearly wheezing.

The memory hit you suddenly and vividly—
Three kids crowded around a too-small stove in Kuroo’s kitchen, steam curling into the air, Kenma’s cat darting between your legs, someone knocking over a water bottle and someone else yelling “get the ladle, get the LADLE—”
It had smelled like home. Soy sauce and winter air. The warm sound of laughter bouncing off wooden floors and glass windows fogged up from the cold.

You felt it in your chest even now, like muscle memory.

“God, I miss that,” you said quietly, more to yourself than them.

“I do too,” Kuroo replied, his voice softer now. “It’s not the same without you.”

You nodded, blinking hard once. “I know.”

A pause settled over the call—comfortable, but weighty. The kind of silence you could only have with people who had known you since you were small and strange and still figuring things out.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” Kuroo said suddenly.

You looked up. “For what?”

“For everything,” he shrugged. “Going out there. Sticking with it. Becoming a terrifying volleyball manager in your free time.”

“I heard you’ve started bossing around tall men,” Kenma added.

You snorted. “Lies…but they deserve it.”

Kuroo smiled. “Still. You’re doing good. I’m glad.”

You looked at them both—your oldest friends, your constants. “I miss you guys.”

“We’ll see each other soon,” Kenma said. “We always do.”

You nodded, biting your cheek to keep from getting too sentimental.

“Okay,” Kuroo said, sitting up straighter. “One last thing before we go.”

“Oh no,” you groaned. “Is this the thing where you make me yell the New Year’s chant even though no one else can hear me?”

“Tradition,” he said, grinning. “You’re not skipping it just because you’re across the ocean.”

“Kenma doesn’t do it anymore,” you pointed out.

Kenma was already lowering his screen. “Exactly.”

“Too bad,” Kuroo said. “On the count of three…”

You sighed dramatically, but your smile tugged at the corners of your mouth anyway.

“…One, two, three—”

“AKEMASHITE OMEDETOU!”

Kuroo shouted it. You half-mumbled it through laughter. Kenma groaned offscreen. And for just a second, it felt like you were home again. You closed your laptop slowly, the ghost of a smile still lingering on your lips.

The house was quiet again, but it didn’t feel quite so empty this time. Your tea had gone cold. The candles had burned low. Outside, a neighbor somewhere set off a single late firework, the sound sharp and sudden in the night. You took your mug of tea and settled on the couch in your living room, pulling your knees up to your chest, blanket around your shoulders, letting the silence settle. It was strange—how something as simple as a video call could make you feel full and a little hollow at the same time. Like opening a box of memories you didn’t know you still carried so close to the surface.

You missed them. You always would.

But tonight, it didn’t ache.

Tonight, it just reminded you of where you’d come from. And how far you’d managed to go.

Break was half over already. The next semester loomed. But for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel behind. Or out of place. Or desperate to prove something. You were here. You had your space. You had people waiting for you on the other side of winter.
That was enough.

Chapter 10: Back Again

There was a knock on the door—two sharp raps followed by a hesitant one, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure if they were early or just forgot the rhythm.

You opened the door to find Iwaizumi standing there, the winter wind still clinging to his jacket. A large, very stuffed duffel bag was slung over one shoulder, a small suitcase next to his leg and a plastic convenience store bag hung from his wrist, the hand stuffed in his coat pocket. His usually spiky hair was a little tousled, cheeks and nose tinged red from the cold, and his breath curled in front of him in soft puffs.

“Hey,” he said, a little out of breath, a little smile tugging at his mouth. “I brought snacks. And something dumb.”

He looked annoyingly good—like he had no right showing up at your door with that hopeful, puppy-dog expression and that adorable smile. His eyes were warm and bright despite the cold, and even though he looked a bit travel-worn, he still somehow managed to make a wind-chapped face look like a deliberate aesthetic choice.

Your lips pulled into a smile without your permission and you breathed out an involuntary, “Hajime?” before you snapped out of it and blinked completely stunned. “Wait—what? I thought you were just heading back to campus?”

“I was. Took a detour.”

“A detour to my house?”

He shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah. What, you busy?”

You looked down at yourself and winced. The ratty shorts, the old sweatshirt with a suspicious curry stain near the collar, your greasy hair in a tight bun that made you resemble Gollum. Fantastic.

“Uh,” you said, stepping aside. “No—just doing one last clean before the roommates come back and judge my existence.”

He stepped in with a grunt of thanks, immediately kicking off his shoes. “You clean?”

“I know. Scary,” you said, shutting the door behind him. “It’s not like, deep cleaning. Just hiding evidence that I ate cookies for dinner three nights in a row and haven’t taken the recycling out since December.”

“Impressive,” he deadpanned. “Truly heroic.”

You led him toward the living room, waving at the half-folded blanket on the couch and a mug that had long-since cooled on the coffee table. “Make yourself at home. Sorry the place smells like microwaved leftovers.”

He dropped his duffel and parked his suitcase beside the couch and set the plastic bag carefully on the table. “You kidding? After a week of my aunt’s endless osechi and Shittykawa’s sad attempt at mulled wine, this is heaven.”

You snorted. “Wait– mulled wine?”

“Oh yeah,” Iwaizumi said, flopping onto the couch like he belonged there. “My friend got it in his head that he was going to host some kind of grown-up holiday dinner. Said it was ‘continental’ or something. It was literally just him burning cloves in a pot and pouring red wine into it like he was summoning a demon.”

You laughed, already picturing it.

“He also forgot to check if the wine was dry or sweet,” Iwaizumi added, looking pained. “So we ended up drinking grape juice with spice water. Makki nearly spit it on my mom’s rug.”

“Oh my God.”

“Mattsun drank the whole thing anyway and told Shittykawa it was ‘soul-cleansing.’ Which made him cry. Twice.”

You clutched your stomach as you dropped onto the armchair opposite him. “Why do I feel like I missed the most archaic gathering of the year?”

“Because you did,” he said.

Iwaizumi then reached into the convenience store bag and pulled out a few brightly packaged snacks. Pocky, senbei, matcha KitKats and something in a tin with cartoon peaches on it.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” he said, setting the haul on the table, “so I went with ‘things I like and hope you do too.’”

“I do love KitKats, of all kinds. So much that Kuroo started calling me KittieKat when we were kids. Still does.” You picked up the peach tin, inspecting it. “This one looks dangerously cute.”

“It is. And stupid sweet. You’ll hate it,” he said, though he looked quietly pleased when you smiled anyway.

“And this,” he added, digging into the duffel bag, “was supposed to be a surprise but I can’t carry it around anymore.”

He pulled out a soft bundle wrapped packed in plastic and tossed it into your lap. It was squishy, warm, and as you unfolded it, you realized what it was. A blanket hoodie. Absolutely massive, absurdly soft, and covered in tiny cartoon onigiri with blushing smiling faces and dramatic anime sparkles.

You stared at it, mouth handing open and sparkles in your eyes. “Is this… from you?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Kind of. Technically, it’s from the guys too. Group effort. Shittykawa said it was the ‘essence of comfort and friendship,’ whatever that means. He made me pack it even though it took up half my suitcase. And my mom approved of it, especially after I told her about you cooking for me.”

You held it up in front of you, already snorting at the ridiculous design trying to ignore the loud thumping of your heart at him telling his mom and friends about you. “They really saw this and thought of me?”

“I said it looked dumb. Makki said you’d live in it. Mattsun said—and I quote—‘If she doesn’t wear it, I will.’ So, majority vote. I didn’t stand a chance when mom butted in too.”

You stood up, already pulling it over your head. Dirty clothes be damned, you could wash it later. It was huge—hanging past your knees, sleeves too long, and warm enough to make you immediately consider turning off the heat. Your face was the happiest Iwaizumi had ever seen you, with sparkles in your eyes, smile so wide it crinkled your eyes and showed your teeth.

“You love it,” he said.

“I do,” you admitted. “I almost hate how much I do. It’s like being hugged by a riceball.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that. They’ll try to brand it and start a company.”

You laughed, settling back into the chair tucking your legs inside the hoodie, now ten times cozier and looking like a blanket mountain. Iwaizumi leaned back against the couch like he was starting to relax, legs stretched out in front of him, hands loosely clasped in his lap.

“So…” you said, tugging the sleeve down over your hand. “Was the trip good? Besides the chaos of your friends?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. It was nice. Lots of family. My mom kept asking if I was eating enough so I told her about you and she looked ready to cry with relief. My cousin asked if I was dating anyone. My grandma asked if I’d gotten taller.”

You raised a brow. “Have you?”

“Not since high school. But I lied and said yes.”

“Bold.”

He gave a small smile. “Alright, your turn to spill. How was your winter break?”

“There’s not much to tell, it was pretty quiet. Phoebe went home early so I had the place to myself. You already saw the pictures from the impromptu Christmas with the volleyball soldiers left behind. Tried to bake something from TikTok. Burned it, and then ate it anyway.”

“And you didn’t save me any?”

“It was a lump of charcoal and regret, Iwaizumi.”

He laughed at that. “We lit a cake on fire, too. But that one was intentional.”

You opened your mouth to ask, but stopped. “Actually, no. I don’t need the details. I’m choosing peace today.”

He smirked. “Coward.”

You raised your pointer finger like a philosopher and corrected him: “Survivor.”

He laughed—a real one, low and genuine—and for a moment, the room felt lighter. “You’re braver than me. My family had me bouncing between like, five different New Year’s visits. Everyone wanted to interrogate me like I was the last sushi on earth.”

“Sounds like a marathon.”

“More like a triathlon with dumb hurdles.” He threw a pillow at you. “Speaking of idiots—Shittykawa got kicked out of one of the gatherings.”

You frowned, curious. “Wait, who’s Shittykawa? You already mentioned him and I refuse to believe that’s his actual name.”

Iwaizumi smirked, clearly amused. “That’s what I call him.” He gave you a sideways glance and shrugged. “You don’t know his real name. Guess you’ll never know.”

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, tell meeee.” You whined, incessantly poking his bicep through his hoodie.

“Not a chance.” He laughed. “Anyway, Shittykawa thought it’d be a brilliant idea to start an indoor snowball fight. Inside someone’s grandmother’s house.”

You blinked, imagining the chaos. “No way.”

“Oh, way.” Iwaizumi shook his head. “People were in fancy clothes, decorations everywhere, and here he is, flinging snowballs like a maniac. They finally kicked him out before he turned the fancy tea set into target practice.”

You chuckled. “Sounds like a disaster.”

“Classic Shittykawa.” He rolled his eyes and grinned. “Then we have Mattsun.”

You raised an eyebrow. Another friend

Iwaizumi’s smirk softened a little. “He slept through half the day, missed the whole mess. But the rest of the time? Loud, chaotic, and full of bad decisions.”

You smiled, watching him shake his head. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It was.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly, it was weird not seeing you for a couple weeks.”

Your heart skipped a beat, caught off guard by the sudden change in his tone. He glanced up quickly, like he didn’t want to admit it.

“I mean—you’re quieter than the rest of them. And more fun.” He gave you a small smile, eyes flicking your way. “My ears are just grateful.”

You looked at him, warmth blooming in your chest, the kind that settled low and slow—like something unspoken had finally brushed the surface.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Then, Iwaizumi blinked, cleared his throat lightly, was about to say something when the front door creaked open.
“I’m back!” a voice called. “Please tell me someone took the trash out—”

Phoebe stepped in, one boot halfway off, scarf lopsided, and then she paused mid-step.

Her eyes landed on Iwaizumi.

“Uh. Hi?”

“Hello,” he offered.

“You must be Iwaizumi,” she said, eyes narrowing just a little. “The friend.”

He glanced at you, amused. “You told her about me?”

You grinned. “Not everything.”

“Great,” he muttered. “Off to a fantastic start.”

“Welcome home Pheebs!”

Phoebe slowly nodded, lips twitching like she was deciding whether or not to mess with him further.

Then: “Do you want tea, or are you also judging the state of the kitchen?” oh right, you’d gotten right down to talking and forgotten your manners and hadn’t offered him anything.

“The kitchen is intact and very clean thank you very much!” you exclaimed dramatically.

“I’d love some tea,” he said, sitting up straighter, like this was a diplomatic mission now.

Phoebe pointed to the blanket hoodie. “Nice riceballs.”

You held up your arm like you were showing off designer couture. “Courtesy of Hajime’s mom and his favorite idiots.”

Iwaizumi sighed, fond but exasperated. “It’s gonna be a long semester.”

“Your friend just came back straight from the airport I’m assuming,” Phoebe said, pointing at his suitcase, “brings you presents, and you haven’t offered him anything?”

Your smile dropped immediately. You gasped like a scandalized southern belle.

Oh no.

What would your mother think?! You were raised with better manners than this! And he—he brought snacks, thoughtful gifts, a hoodie with riceballs on it—and you hadn’t even offered him water?? Or tea? Or a chair? Okay, he made himself comfortable on the couch, but still!

“Oh my god,” you muttered, already scrambling off the couch. “Oh my god, Hajime—I’m so sorry—do you want something? I have tea, and, uh—coffee? Snacks? Did you eat? I can heat something up. Or make something. Unless you’re allergic. Are you allergic? Wait, sit down, you’re probably freezing—why didn’t I get you a —?”

“Whoa, hey—” Iwaizumi reached out and gently grabbed your wrist before you could make a full-blown dash to the kitchen. “Breathe.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, frozen halfway between panic and guilt. He was trying not to laugh. His shaking shoulders and twitching lips indicating he was failing miserably, but trying. Your arms were flailing during your panic which made you look more ridiculous with the way the long hoodie sleeves were flapping.

“I’m fine,” he said, calm and amused. “Seriously. I’m not dying. I’ve been here like… twenty minutes. You offered me your blanket, which honestly, was very generous.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m spiraling.”

“I can see that.” His grip on your wrist eased, but his hand lingered, warm and steady. “You’re good. Really. Just being here was enough.”

You blinked. “That’s a really corny thing to say.”

“I know. You were just that excited to see me.” He smirked, finally letting go. “But you didn’t offer me tea, so I figured I had to emotionally manipulate you somehow.”

“Wow.”

Phoebe, still standing in the hallway, asked, “Is he always this smooth?”

“He is not, ” you and Iwaizumi said at the same time.

That finally made both of you laugh—sharp and breathy, your nerves deflating all at once.
“I’ll make tea,” you said, heading to the kitchen with renewed purpose. “And maybe a snack. Or five.”

Iwaizumi leaned back on the couch, watching you go with the smallest smile tugging at his lips.
“I’m not picky,” he called after you. “But I’m emotionally fragile, so… bring good snacks.”

Phoebe disappeared behind you into her bedroom with a dramatic sigh, muttering something you didn’t catch. The thump of dropping her bag followed. You and Iwaizumi were left in the quiet of the kitchen, still warmed by laughter but now softer, a little slower. He was leaning against the counter, watching you—eyes flicking briefly to the sleeves of the hoodie still draped over your hands, then back to your face. You didn’t say anything at first. Neither did he. Then, finally:

“I missed this,” he said, not quite looking at you.

You glanced over. “The riceball couture? Or the part where my roommate started her version of a background check on you?”

A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t bite at the joke. “Nah,” he said. “Just… being here.”

That made your chest pull a little tighter.

“Miyagi was good,” he went on. “But everything was so loud and fast paced. Family, food, friends—I don’t know. It’s a lot sometimes.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It was nice. But not calm and quiet like this.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, not right away. So instead, you leaned into the silence, letting it settle comfortably between you. “I’m glad you came over,” you said finally, quieter than you meant to. “You could’ve gone straight back to your place.”

“I know.”

You looked up at him. “But you didn’t.”

His gaze met yours then, steady. “Didn’t want to.”

And there it was—something small and unspoken, heavier than the conversation had started, but not uncomfortable.

You felt your heart skip once, stupidly.

He shifted his weight, tried to smooth it over with a more casual tone. “Besides, someone had to deliver the world’s ugliest hoodie.”

“I will throw my Pocky at you.”

“You’d never,” he said, confidently.

You opened your mouth to argue, but Phoebe sauntered into the kitchen before you could. “Okay, who wants chamomile and who wants my unholy peppermint-ginger hybrid?”

You struck a pose, blanket hoodie swishing dramatically. “I’ll take the unholy one.”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “Bold.”

“You’re just scared.”

He watched you with something like a smirk, but his eyes were softer than before—like he was still holding on to the quiet part of the conversation, even if he wouldn’t say it again.

Tea with Phoebe turned out better than expected—surprisingly smooth, considering her talent for grilling people like she was hosting a daytime talk show. She poked at Iwaizumi with pointed questions and thinly veiled sarcasm, clearly testing him, but he met every jab with calm, deadpan responses that only made her and you grin wider. The banter between them settled into something oddly natural, the kind of rhythm that only happens when two personalities collide just right. You mostly sat back and watched, letting their dynamic play out with amusement, heart tugging a little at how easily Iwaizumi fit into the space that usually felt so lived-in and familiar. Something about Iwaizumi seemed different. He seemed a little more… open? Free? Maybe he was just relaxed in a way that you hadn’t seen because you met him during college.

Eventually, he stood to leave, tugging his coat on with a reluctant sigh and grabbing his bag. “I’ll have to tell the guys I delivered the hoodie,” he said, adjusting the strap on his duffel. “And that you didn’t burn it immediately.”

You laughed and followed him to the door, pulling it open just enough to let in the sharp cold and not enough to lose the heat inside. He hesitated, just for a second.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said.

You nodded. “Don’t wait until your next international flight to drop by.”

“I won’t.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t. Instead, he gave a short wave and stepped into the night, beginning the short walk back to his dorm building.

You closed the door slowly behind him, your hand lingering on the knob. The silence that followed was full of something. Not quite longing, but close. That strange ache that comes when someone leaves and somehow takes the warmth of the room with them. But your heart felt full, knowing he’s come to see you literally as soon as he possibly could. And that he was back now. Finally.

“You like him,” Phoebe said from behind you, her voice maddeningly casual.

You turned, deadpan. “Wow Pheebs. Real subtle.”

She was leaning against the kitchen doorway, holding her mug and smirking like a knowing little gremlin. “I approve, by the way. Guy’s got a good ‘emotionally constipated but loyal’ vibe. And he is very hot. Just like you said”

You rolled your eyes and walked past her. “Thank you for the analysis, Dr. Phil.”

“Anytime.”

Up in your room you took off the blanket hoodie and went to take a shower and change into fresh pajamas, then you put the hoodie back on and collapsed on your bed still wearing the hoodie, the sleeves flopping uselessly over your hands. You arranged the snacks on the beside and above your head, then grabbed your phone.

The lighting was awful, your wet hair slipping out of the hoodie looked tragic, and you were pretty sure your face was still flushed from secondhand embarrassment and your shower—but you snapped a selfie anyway: hoodie front and center, snacks arranged around your head like a halo, peace sign raised in front of your face to hide the lower half and your eyes closed from smiling wide.

[sent to: kitten mafia 🧪💥 (kuroo, kenma)]
📸 proof of life. i'm now a riceball.

Kuroo:
🔥🔥🔥

Kenma:
do you think it comes in black
Asking for myself

You smiled to yourself, set your phone down, and finally let your body sink fully into the bed—warm, soft, and a little more full than it had been an hour ago.

Kuroo:
you’ve ascended

You:
it probably does but you’d hate how soft it is
like wearing a hug
he also brought snacks from home, so i win today

Kuroo:
iwaizumi spoiling you? damn.
kenma you ever bring me snacks?

Kenma:
i told you once that you looked tired. that counts.

You:
it really doesn’t

You smiled, setting your phone down on the nightstand. The hoodie was warm, the matcha Kit-Kat already halfway unwrapped, and for the first time in weeks, even though you were still alone, your room felt less empty.

Outside, the winter wind scraped along the windows. Inside, you were full of sugar, wrapped in a riceball hug, and surrounded—if only by text—by the people who knew you best.

Chapter 11: The What If

His dorm room was still exactly how he left it—slightly stale, a little too quiet, and carrying that faint, unfamiliar echo of post-travel emptiness. Iwaizumi dropped his duffel and suitcase near the door, toed off his shoes, and rolled his shoulders taking off his coat as he made his way to the bed. Unpacking could wait. He needed five minutes to just exist without the need to do anything.

He flopped down with a low grunt, pulled out his phone, and idly opened his messages.

There it was.

Fuyou 🌼🌸:

📸 proof of life + hoodie delivery complete. i'm now a riceball.
You can send this to your friends and tell them I feel spiritually bonded to a riceball.
Also tell them thanks a bunch, I love it more than anything I own.

Iwaizumi stared at the attached photo—a slightly blurry shot of her in the blanket hoodie, she looked like she’d been swallowed by a cartoon onigiri, oversized sleeves dangling as she made a peace sign. Her eyes were closed with her wide-toothed smile with Pocky stuck between her teeth.

He huffed out a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Great,” he muttered. “Now they’ll never shut up.”

Still grinning, he forwarded the message to the groupchat:

📲 Seijoh4 🏐💪
(Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Mattsukawa, Hanamaki)

Iwaizumi:

📸 proof of life + hoodie delivery complete. i'm now a riceball.

You can send this to your friends and tell them I feel spiritually bonded to a riceball
Also tell them thanks a bunch, I love it more than anything I own

 

Iwaizumi:

There. She said she loves it. You can all shut up now.

 

Makki:

OH MY GOD SHE ACTUALLY WORE IT????

 

Mattsun:

Spiritually bonded to a riceball is the highest compliment I've ever received

 

Shittykawa:

Excuse me why does she look cute in it?? I wore that once and I looked like a soggy burrito

 

Makki:

Because you are a soggy burrito

 

Shittykawa:

Wait wait Iwa-chan do you like her

 

Makki:

He delivered the hoodie in person after a transpacific flight. He’s in LOVE

 

Mattsun:

Can confirm. Love. Deep. Tragic. Endgame.

 

Iwaizumi:

I swear to god—

 

Mattsun:

Swearing = deflection = confirmed feelings

 

Shittykawa:

Did you tell her your real name yet or are you still making her call you "Shittykawa’s Handler"

 

Makki:

LMFAOOO she probably thinks his name is just "Hey, asshole"

 

Iwaizumi:

I hate all of you.

 

Shittykawa:

You love us. But not like you love her 💖

 

Mattsun:

Get some sleep, loverboy.

 

Iwaizumi set his phone down on his chest and stared at the ceiling, the smirk from earlier still ghosting at the edge of his mouth.

Idiots. Every last one of them. But they weren’t wrong.

~ Flashback ~

It had started during the Christmas break, a couple days after the actual holiday. Iwaizumi had been lounging on the couch back home, groupchat notifications from the college team lighting up his phone—photos and videos pouring in from the impromptu hangout at your place. Callie had recorded Bea struggling to cut through a frozen pie with a butter knife. Dev was in the background trying to untangle a string of lights from your ceiling fan. And in the middle of it all: you, blurry and laughing, wearing reindeer antlers.

He hadn’t meant to smile, but he did. Quietly. That kind of half-laugh that slips out when you're not thinking. Just watching the way everyone looked so at ease in your space—how you looked like the calm at the center of the storm. He hadn’t even realized he was smiling like a fool at his screen until Oikawa leaned over and said way too loudly,

“Awww, Iwa-chan’s in love.”

The others pounced instantly. And he never should’ve let them scroll through the pictures.

“You’re smiling, that’s not normal.”
“Hold on, who’s that? And that? And that moron on the ceiling looks fun.”
“You’ve been hiding her?”
“That’s not your cousin, right?”

He’d grumbled something noncommittal, tried to change the subject, but it was over. They’d caught the name. Got the details out of him—piece by piece, in the same way they’d worn him down during practice drills for years. Not with force, but with sheer persistence.

And then came the real talk. The quieter stuff.
“You light up when she texts you, man.”
“You’re not usually like this with people.”
“Don’t overthink it. Just don’t shut her out.”
“This girl fed you home food in the land of the BigMacs, she’s not just another teammate. If she matters, let her know.”

 

At the time, he’d grunted, rolled his eyes, and pretended to fall asleep. But now, lying here in the quiet of his dorm room, warm from the tea and the hoodie photo and the faint echo of her laugh, it hit differently.

She had looked happy to see him. Like really happy. Not polite-happy or classmate-happy—just… glad. And he’d felt it too. That click, that ease. Like something soft and familiar slotting back into place.

He let out a breath, one hand tucked behind his head, the other still resting over his chest where his phone had been. Whatever this thing was between them—this friendship, this slow, steady pull—he didn’t want to mess it up. Not by being guarded. Not by acting like she was just one of the guys.

She wasn’t. She was… something different. A white flower in a field of noise. 🌸 Special.

He smiled to himself, eyes fluttering shut.

Yeah. He’d let the walls down. A little. For her.

 

The first day of the new semester always felt weird—like life was hitting the restart button but forgot to give anyone instructions.

Iwaizumi tugged on his jacket, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and gave himself a quick once-over in the mirror. Nothing fancy—just jeans, a hoodie layered under his coat, and the usual sleep-deprived look college gifted everyone for free. And his hair was the usual. He swiped up his phone and checked the time.

She’ll be arriving soon soon.

He double-checked the contents of his bag—not because he was nervous or anything, just… making sure. Pens, laptop, charger, water bottle, notebook. Okay. No reason to stall.

Outside, the morning air was crisp but not biting, the kind of cold that woke you up gently instead of smacking you in the face. Students were already starting to trickle onto the sidewalks in small, yawning clusters.

And there she was.

Waiting just outside his building, hands stuffed into the pockets of her coat, eyes scanning the path ahead like she was people-watching but not really seeing anyone. Her hair was always tied one way or the other and today it was pulled back loosely, flyaways catching the morning light. Oversized sweatshirt layered under her jacket. Sneakers that had seen better days, and no makeup.

She wasn’t dressed up, not even close.

But somehow, she still looked cute as hell.

He watched her for a second longer than he meant to, something easing in his chest. Then he cleared his throat and stepped out to meet her. “Morning,” he said, sliding up beside her.

She turned, smiling like she hadn’t just made his morning better by existing. “Good morning, Hajime.”

“Morning. You sleep okay?”

“I mean, if you count anxiety dreams about forgetting how to read? Totally fine.”

He huffed a laugh. “Solid start to the semester.”

“Right? You?”

“I slept like a rock.”

“Ugh. Athletic privilege.”

He glanced at her sideways, smirking. “You ready?”

“Not even a little.”

He tilted his head toward the sidewalk. “Too bad. Let’s go.”

And just like that, they fell into step like they always did—shoulders almost brushing, their pace naturally synced, even without trying.

“So,” you said, adjusting your backpack strap, “what’s your schedule look like this semester?”

Iwaizumi exhaled through his nose. “Pain.”

“That’s not a class.”

“It might as well be.” He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his phone, and opened his calendar. “Three science courses, and a professor who hates joy.”

“Sounds like a party.”

“Only if the party ends in tears and caffeine addiction.”

You let out a laugh and nudged his arm with your elbow. “Okay, but what times?”

“Most of my classes are morning or early afternoon. Mondays and Thursdays are the worst. I’ve got back-to-back lectures from 9 to 4.”

“Brutal.”

“I brought this on myself,” he muttered. “What about you?”

You tilted your head, already pulling up your own schedule. “Not awful. Two morning lectures, one evening class on Tuesdays, and my bio lab on Wednesdays.”

He looked over at you. “Oh yeah? Which building?”

“East Hall, third floor.” You sighed dramatically. “I’ll be the one in the goggles, looking like she regrets every life decision.”

He snorted. “I can picture it now. A tragic science goblin in her natural habitat.”

“Excuse you—I will be a knight in shining goggles. I’ll have you know I’m very heroic when handling pipettes.”

“Oh, my mistake.” He looked unreasonably amused. “A true lab warrior.”

You grinned. “I fight for the weak and under-labeled test tubes.”

There was a beat of silence after that—quiet, but comfortable. Footsteps echoing on the sidewalk, the occasional hum of a car passing by, early morning sunlight stretching long shadows between buildings.

Then you added, more casually, “So I had a talk with my advisor before winter break.”

He gave you a side glance, urging you to continue.

“He said that my credits are piling up nicely, with the classes, internships, work study and transfer credits from Tokyo. And that if I increase my pace, I can graduate a year early.”

“You’d graduate in three years instead of four?”

“No, I’d graduate in four instead of five or five and a half. Dual major, remember, its gonna take a bit longer. But I could also just keep my pace and I’d have more time on my hands. During the week and weekends. More time for other things like research or extra curriculars.”

“That sounds like a nice change, you wont be driving yourself up a wall for another two and a half years. Or you could be done a whole year sooner and finally go home. That’s a tough choice. Any idea what you’re going to do?”

“I’ve given it some thought and I’m gonna take my time with the degree. With the spare time I have I think I’ll enjoy what college has to offer. You know I haven’t explored this place? I’m not talking about the campus, I mean the town here and the surrounding areas. I’d be able to cook more often, which is also advantageous for you and no you cant object, and maybe go to more events. I can also decide exactly what career path I want to take and see if I need to do anything else for it.”

“Sounds like you’ve got the whole thing figured out.”

“I’ve had all winter to think about it. Just me and my thoughts and the patterns on the ceiling. I just have to tell my advisor now and we’ll come up with a plan. There’s also the roommate search.”

“Roommate search?”

“Phoebe and Aaliyah are both graduating in the spring and I need to find new people to take over their rooms. I called dibs on the master bedroom downstairs so that’s a win. But I need to find two people now. They’ve posted on forums and started spreading the word but I’ll have to do interviews to decide. There will also be a fresh batch of freshmen coming so I’m sure there will be plenty of options. I’m hopeful but I’m also scared–don’t want to end up with nightmare roommates.”

“Yeah, no offense,” he said, “but you’d absolutely be the one who ends up living with a pyramid-scheme crystal dealer and a guy who brings his unlicensed emotional support raccoon to the kitchen at 3 a.m.”

You stared at him. “That feels… uncomfortably specific.”

He shrugged. “College is wild.”

You huffed a laugh and leaned your head briefly against his arm before walking again. “Well, if that does happen, I’ll be crashing on your couch for the rest of the semester.”

There was a beat of silence, soft and easy. Then—

“…Or,” he said slowly, almost casually, “I could save you the trouble. Also I don’t have a couch.”

You glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t look at you right away—just kept his eyes ahead, hands deep in his jacket pockets, like the words had come out without him planning them.

“I mean…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve got one more year after this too. And you have to let university housing know if you’ll be living in the dorms or off campus every semester.”

You blinked. “Okay…”

He finally looked over at you, expression unreadable but not tense. Just… careful.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, tone light, “if the raccoon guy doesn’t work out, and you’re okay with it, maybe I could put in an application. I’m going to be working full time during the summer at the training center and I’ll continue working there till graduation so money won’t be an issue.”

Your steps faltered just enough for him to notice. You stared.

“Wait. Are you saying—”

“I’ll bring my own dishes,” he added, still suspiciously neutral. “And I don’t leave hair in the drain.”

You narrowed your eyes, a slow grin pulling at your lips. “This is your way of asking to move in?”

He shrugged, noncommittal. “Depends. Would I pass the interview?”

You pretended to consider it, tapping your chin trying to lighten the mood. “Hmm… Do you play the bongos?”

“No.”

“Do you reheat fish in the microwave?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Do you practice monologues in the mirror at 2 a.m.?”

“…Only to maintain the dramatic tension in my life.”

You snorted, then smiled—warm, real. “You’d pass.”

He smiled back, a little softer than before.

“Well,” he said, nudging you with his elbow, “keep me in mind. In case the freshmen all turn out to be terrifying.”

“Deal,” you said. And maybe your chest felt a little tight again, but not in a bad way.

Maybe… in a hopeful way.

 

By the time you got home, your hoodie smelled faintly like gym sweat, floor polish, and whatever weird cologne Dev had decided to wear to practice. Your feet hurt, your water bottle was almost empty, and the contents of your tote bag looked like a paper tornado had blown through.

Practice had been chaotic as expected.

Trying to get a team of seven volleyball players to focus on drills after winter break was like trying to herd caffeinated toddlers. Everyone was talking over each other, swapping break stories, asking who kissed who on New Year’s Eve. You’d gotten maybe 45 minutes of actual practice out of a two-hour session.

Honestly, you deserved a raise. And a nap. You tossed your bag by the door and flopped down onto the couch face-first with a groan.

“Rough day, champ?” Phoebe’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

You grunted into the couch cushion. “I hate all athletes.”

“Sure you do.”

There was the sound of mugs clinking and water boiling. A few minutes later, Phoebe wandered into the living room and set a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table next to you. You sat up with a grateful sigh, pulling your legs under you.

She flopped into the armchair across from you, one leg tossed lazily over the other. “Okay. Spill it.”

You blinked at her. “What?”

“You’ve had that I’m emotionally constipated but trying to be casual about it look all week. What’s going on?”

You snorted into your tea. “I do not.”

“You do,” she said, not missing a beat. “So. Who is it? Is it Kuroo again? Did he dye his hair a new cursed color?”

“No, thank god.” You hesitated. “It’s… Iwaizumi.”

Phoebe raised a brow but didn’t say anything.

You swirled your tea, watching the steam rise. “We were talking earlier this morning—just walking to class together—and I mentioned how you and Aaliyah are graduating and that I’m starting to look for new roommates.”

“And?”

“And he… kind of hinted that he might want to move in.”

Phoebe blinked. Then leaned forward. “Wait—what?”

You lifted a hand, defensive. “He wasn’t weird about it! He didn’t like, demand a room. It was subtle. He just said that he could move out of the dorms at the end of any semester and if I end up with nightmare freshmen, maybe I could consider him. He will graduate summer of next year.”

Phoebe narrowed her eyes. “That sounds a lot like 'I want to move in but I’m trying not to scare you.'”

“I know.”

You pressed your hands to your cheeks, still warm from the memory of it. “And the thing is… I don’t hate the idea. I mean, I like being around him. He’s clean, responsible, non-threatening. He doesn't play the bongos or hoard bones or talk to mirrors—”

“You almost dated a theatre major once, that was your own fault.”

“Dark times,” you muttered.

Phoebe tapped a finger against her mug. “So what’s holding you back?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know. I guess I’m wondering if it’s too comfortable, you know? Like… what if it gets weird? Or worse—what if he starts dating someone and then I’m just the sad roommate who stocks the fridge and pretends she’s cool with it?”

Phoebe was quiet for a moment, then said, “Let me ask you something.”

You looked up.

“Do you like living with people who don’t care about you?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Because that’s what most roommates are. You’re lucky if they clean the sink or refill the Brita. You and me and Aaliyah are different. Yes we are closer with each other than with her but she’s a good roommate. But Iwaizumi? He actually gives a shit. He brings you riceball hoodies and remembers your tea preferences and shows up just to be around you. That’s rare, even with friends.”

You swallowed.

“And yeah,” she added, “maybe it could get weird. Or maybe it won’t. Maybe it turns out to be the most functional living situation you’ve ever had.”

You were quiet for a beat.

Then you whispered, “What if I like him too much?”

Phoebe gave you a knowing look. “Then maybe that’s not a bad thing either.”

Phoebe didn’t push, just waited with her tea cradled in both hands like she had all night. She knew you weren’t in denial, you were too smart for that. The reasons you’d given her for not dating Iwaizumi were the same reasons you wouldn’t even admit liking him out loud. And that fear was now fueling your hesitation to let him move in with you.

You exhaled slowly. “I’ve heard stories, you know? About friends moving in together and things falling apart. It even happens with couples.”

“Mm,” she hummed. “That’s fair. Happens.”

“And Iwaizumi is… important to me.” You glanced down at your tea. “I don’t want to mess that up.”

There. You’d said it.

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “Because you like him.”

You hesitated. “I mean, yeah. But I just–.” You flopped back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “He’s… Iwaizumi. He’s one of the first people I actually feel like I can just be around. No filter. No effort. People like him don’t grow on trees, they’re so rare. We walk together in the morning and text at night and I tell him things I don’t even say to you—no offense.”

“None taken. I’ve seen you crying over his hoodie. I get it.”

You groaned into a pillow. “Shut up.”

Phoebe grinned, but she quieted again as you continued.

“I just—yes, I’d have the master bedroom. I’d have my own space and bathroom and all that. But the kitchen? The living room? The fridge? That’s still shared space—with him. And another person I haven’t even met yet.”

“And that freaks you out?”

“It does. What if it makes things weird? What if we get on each other’s nerves? Or I see a side of him I don’t like? What if he sees one in me?”

You paused, voice softening.

“What if living together ruins everything?”

Phoebe studied you for a moment, thoughtful.

“Okay,” she said eventually. “But hear me out. What if it doesn’t?”

You looked at her.

“What if you’re both actually great at coexisting? What if it makes your friendship stronger? Or makes things… clearer?”

You bit your lip.

Phoebe leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. “Look, I can’t promise it’ll go perfectly. Nobody can. But I do think the way you two are? You communicate. You make space for each other. You actually like being around him—which, honestly, is more than most people can say about their roommates.”

She gave you a small, dry smile.

“And if it gets messy? If it doesn’t work out? You’ll deal with it. You’re not a helpless child. And he’s not heartless. You’re both mature enough to navigate such a situation.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just sat there, holding your now-lukewarm mug, feeling the full weight of it—how much this person mattered to you. How scared you were to risk that. How selfish it felt to want more, but how scary it was to get more.

Phoebe stood, stretched, and patted your shoulder.

“Just think about it. You don’t have to decide tonight. You have a few months to make your decision. But if you’re this worried about losing him… maybe that’s because you’ve already let him in more than you realized.”

And with that, she wandered off to bed, leaving you alone with your thoughts in the quiet hum of the house. You sat there a little longer, staring at your tea. The hoodie you were wearing bunched around your sleeves. You didn’t feel ready to decide. But you were definitely thinking about it.

Chapter 12: If Not Now

Early March
Winter never fully left.
It just… softened.

The bitter cold had ebbed into something almost pleasant. Your breath still clouded in the air, but your scarf was more of an accessory now than a necessity. Somewhere between midterms and March, life had slipped into a rhythm that felt—if not perfect—then at least right.

You were still juggling classes and your ever-growing to-do list as team manager, but in the spaces between all that, you’d started making more time for yourself. Not in a productivity-hustle-self-care way. Just… small joys. Quiet, deliberate ones.

Afternoon walks before practice or lab, wrapped in a too-big coat, earbuds in, then tucked into the corner of that off-campus café with the crooked tables and honey-lavender tea. New habits: a running list of little bookstores and thrift shops to visit. A collection of oddly shaped mugs you had your eye on. A growing album on your phone labeled “things I don’t want to forget.” Sometimes you took the longer route home just to pass the pond trail. Sometimes you paused outside a bakery just to smell the sugar in the air. Once, you bought a giant iced matcha and sat in the middle of a grassy hill on campus, sunglasses on, earbuds in, pretending you were in a coming-of-age movie montage.
You texted Phoebe a selfie captioned: “Main character moment. The soundtrack is Lana Del Rey and I am absolutely too powerful.”
You also sent it to the kitten mafia groupchat but didn’t post it anywhere.
You didn’t need to.

 

Iwaizumi was around, of course. Still steady, still a little gruff, still chronically responsible. You’d both fallen into a pattern so natural that you didn’t even think about it anymore.

He’d show up outside your house some mornings with a second coffee in hand—always your usual, always slightly too hot. You’d sit on the gym bleachers after practice and go over notes, stats, and whatever nonsense the team had pulled that day. You’d walk back from campus together sometimes, your boots scuffing the sidewalk, arguing about the best granola bar flavors or which of the teammates had the worst form that week.
(“It’s Dev,” he said once, deadpan. “He spikes like he’s asking the ball for permission.”)

The volleyball team had returned to its usual self. Practice was less about drills now and more about polishing plays and rebuilding trust. The group was tighter than before, bonded by winter break shenanigans and new inside jokes. Dev had invented a victory dance so embarrassing, you considered banning celebrations entirely. Somehow, through it all, Iwaizumi had become the unofficial glue. Not that he’d admit it. But the others listened when he spoke. They looked to him when things got tense. And every time he stayed late after practice to help clean up cones or refill water bottles, you noticed. Even if you never said anything.

You were both busy. You had different schedules, different circles. But you always found your way back to each other. A text. A walk. A laugh in passing. His hoodie still hung from your desk chair. You still carried an extra granola bar.
It wasn’t dramatic or grand. But it was constant. And it was in that quiet, just before spring fully arrived, that you started to realize how different things would feel if that constancy suddenly vanished.

~

You kicked your boots off at the door, flinching at how soaked your socks were underneath. The walk home from practice hadn’t looked so bad until you hit the sidewalk puddle that had disguised itself as solid ground.

The house was quiet.

The light was on in the kitchen, Phoebe’s Spotify playlist drifting out softly — something acoustic and a little moody, as usual. The smell of garlic and something buttery filled the space, and for a second, you just stood there in the entryway, fogging up the front mirror.

“I smell carbs,” you called out, tugging off your damp scarf.

“You smell magic,” Phoebe replied. “It’s a butter miso pasta thing. You want some?”

“Always.”

You padded into the kitchen, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up. Phoebe was stirring something in a pan with one hand and texting with the other. You watched her for a moment, listening to the soft sizzle of pasta in the pan, the gentle clink of a spatula against a pot.

It was peaceful. Familiar.

But… quiet. Too quiet.

You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the counter. “Is it weird that I miss the noise?”

Phoebe blinked over at you. “Noise?”

“Like… practice noise. Or team chaos. Or...”
You hesitated. “Iwaizumi sarcasm.”

Phoebe snorted. “You mean stability wrapped in muscle?”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t deny it. Instead, you picked at a frayed string on your sleeve. “He’s just… around. A lot. And now today he wasn’t.”

Phoebe tilted her head, eyeing you.

You cleared your throat. “He had an interview or something. I think. I dunno. It’s not a big deal.”

“Mmm. Totally not a big deal,” she said, already reaching for a second plate. “So tell me why you’re making that face.”

“What face?”

“The I’m overthinking and maybe emotionally spiralling but also possibly hungry face.”

You hesitated. Then, finally, you pulled out a chair and sat. “I passed the bulletin board outside the dining hall today,” you said slowly. “There were roommate flyers. A bunch of them.”

Phoebe paused mid-scoop. “…And?”

“And I felt sick.”

She set the spoon down. Turned fully toward you.

“I want to offer him the room,” you admitted. “I really, really do. But what if it’s a terrible idea? I like our rhythm. I don’t want to break it.”

Phoebe slid a plate in front of you, then leaned against the counter with her arms crossed. “Okay. Let me ask you something.”

You looked up at her.

“If he didn’t move in,” she said, “and someone else took that room—some random freshman, or worse, a dude who microwaves fish—how would you feel?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. “…I’d hate it.”

Phoebe gave a slow nod. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

You stared at your plate, appetite suddenly a little unsteady.

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” you said softly. “He’s—he’s important to me.”

“I know,” Phoebe said gently. “And he knows, too. You don’t have to have it all figured out yet. Just… don’t make a decision out of fear.”

You swallowed hard.

Outside, a breeze rattled the window. The last bits of snow clung to the edges of the porch.
And in your pocket, your phone buzzed—
📲 Hajime:
Granola thief alert. Bring backup snacks tomorrow.

You smiled despite yourself.

 

The next day passed in a blur of lectures and lab goggles and lunch eaten half-warm between classes. You kept telling yourself you weren’t nervous, but your phone said otherwise: four almost-texts to Iwaizumi in your drafts, none of which you sent.

You didn’t want to have the conversation over text.
You didn’t want to spring it on him.
You didn’t want to make it weird.

But the deadline was looming. And he had to decide. And you needed to be brave.
He met you outside your building, as usual — hoodie half-zipped, earbuds slung around his neck, expression unreadable in the afternoon sun.
“Survived lab?” he asked.

“Barely. I almost knighted someone in the chest with my pipette.”

“Chivalry’s not dead, then.”

You snorted and fell into step beside him.

It was a quiet walk. Familiar. And you kept staring at the sidewalk like it might rearrange into words for you. But finally, as you turned the corner toward the park path, you said—
“I’ve been thinking about something.”

He glanced sideways. “Sounds serious.”

“It’s not. I mean—it is. A little.” You blew out a breath. “You remember how Phoebe and Aaliyah are graduating?”

“Yeah. You still looking for roommates?”

You nodded. “Technically. But… only kind of.”

His brow furrowed, just a bit.

You forced yourself to keep talking. “I was scared to say it before. Like—really scared. Because you’re important to me, and the last thing I want is to make things weird or mess anything up. But…”

You glanced over, heart thudding. “If you still want to move in… the room’s yours.”

Iwaizumi stopped walking.

Not like, dramatically—but enough that you almost kept going without realizing it. You turned, pulse skittering, and found him watching you with something unreadable in his expression.

Then—quietly—
“I still want to.”

Your shoulders dropped in relief so fast, you almost laughed.

“I mean, unless you’re planning to ban granola bars or install pastel throw pillows everywhere,” he added, lips twitching.

“I make no promises,” you said, grinning now.

He looked at you a moment longer, then nodded once, sharp and certain. “Then yeah. Let’s do it.”

 

~

 

The email pinged just after dinner.
Subject: Spring Semester Move-Out Deadline – March 31.

Iwaizumi stared at it longer than necessary.
Move out.
He set his phone down. Picked it up again. Thought of her.

Of the way she handed him coffee in the mornings without asking.
Of the riceball blanket hoodie she still wore half the week.
Of her laughing as she "taxed" his granola bar after practice like it was tradition.
And then, quietly, undeniably:
I want to stay with you.

 

He stood in his dorm, phone still in hand, staring at the confirmation email he'd just sent in: Spring Move-Out Request – Approved.

His room looked different already. Or maybe he just saw it differently now. The bed he hadn’t made in two days. The desk with a half-finished protein shake. His lifting gloves tossed over the back of the chair.

All of it temporary.

He was leaving.
And not just anywhere—to your house.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, exhaled, and let himself think what he hadn’t said out loud.

He’d wanted this since winter break.

Since before that, maybe. When he got back from Japan, and she was standing at her front door in mismatched clothes with a curry stain on her sweatshirt, grinning like she didn’t even realize how much he’d missed her—

Yeah. That’s when he knew.

His friends had teased him relentlessly over break. Oikawa had nearly dropped his phone when Iwaizumi admitted he had a friend in college he actually liked.
“Oh my god,” Oikawa had gasped. “Does she know you’re emotionally constipated, or is that a surprise for later?”

Makki and Mattsun had just looked at each other and gone, “He’s so doomed.”

He was. He knew it.

But still—he hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t said a word. Because she hadn’t offered. And he wasn’t going to risk what they had by asking for more than she was ready to give.

But today… she had offered.
And he’d said yes. Without hesitation.

Because the truth was, he liked their rhythm. He liked her voice echoing from the kitchen when she was ranting about lab. He liked that she texted him when she found a weird new mug. He liked that she knew when he was tired without asking.
He liked her.
More than he knew how to say.
He leaned back on his bed, phone still resting on his chest. And after weeks, he felt like he could breathe easier.

~

May arrived faster than you expected.

Volleyball practice had wound down again, this time because of finals and deadlines that seemed to spring up overnight. Iwaizumi had cut back his hours at the athletic center to make room for studying, and between that and the part-time work he’d done over the past few months, he’d saved up a decent cushion.

But now the real countdown had begun: graduation was right around the corner.

The house had become a warzone of cardboard boxes and packing tape. Every shared space—living room, kitchen, hallway—was in disorder. Only your room had managed to maintain some semblance of control, and even that was a paper-strewn battlefield of textbooks, highlighters, and half-finished to-do lists. Aaliyah would move out the day after the ceremony. Phoebe would stay through the end of May before moving in with Eli completely. And right after that, Iwaizumi would be moving in.

After you'd both agreed on the idea, you'd invited him to come see the two rooms that would be available—yours and Aaliyah’s. He’d picked yours almost immediately. It was a little bigger, had two windows that filled the space with soft natural light, and came with a double closet that had “no-nonsense organization” written all over it. A perfect fit.
He'd also helped with the roommate search. You agreed to make decisions together, but ultimately, the final say was his—since he’d be the one sharing the first floor (and the bathroom) with whoever moved in. Eventually, you found someone. A second-year named Cal, who desperately needed to escape his current nightmare of a roommate. He was soft-spoken, kind, and pinged so hard on your gaydar that you didn’t even need to clock the way his ears turned red every time Iwaizumi spoke. Or looked at him. Or simply existed.
Near the end of the interview, Iwaizumi had to leave for work, so you asked Cal to stick around for a few final questions. He looked nervous until you clarified: you just wanted to make sure he was comfortable living with someone like Iwaizumi—someone a little intense, very private, and very easy to admire from across a shared kitchen.
You hadn’t talked much to Iwaizumi about his dating history, so you couldn’t say with absolute certainty which way he leaned. Quiet people had a way of flying under the radar. But Cal had been relieved. He smiled and assured you that he wasn’t harboring any hopes.

“He’s very... straight,” he’d said, a little sheepishly. “And very... sharp-jawed.”

Fair points, and you supposed his gaydar was more accurate than yours. You let out a breathy, “He is indeed,” before giving him a secretive smile and wink. His responding smile told you you’d be good friends if he moved in.

Later, when you asked Iwaizumi if he was okay with Cal, he’d simply nodded and said, “He’s respectful. I like that.”

And that was that. Roommates confirmed. The countdown began.
Your fourth year was shaping up to be… interesting.

Chapter 13: Before The Next Door Opens

You didn’t go to the ceremony.

Phoebe had insisted you didn’t have to — said sitting through speeches in the sun wasn’t your thing anyway (sitting in the sun wasn’t your thing at all), and that she’d rather save the real celebration for later. Still, you helped her get ready in the morning, zipping up her dress, then her gown and pinning her cap to her curls while she grumbled about the whole “academic theater” of it all.

“I feel like I’m in a graduation-themed musical,” she muttered, squinting at herself in the mirror.

“You’d kill it in a musical,” you said, handing her her favorite lipstick. “But this is more of a ‘curtain call to the chaos’ vibe.”

“Oh god, don’t make me cry before I leave the house.” She blinked up at you, tearing up anyway.

You pulled her into a hug, careful of the cap. “You’re going to be so good out there.”

“I better be.” Her voice cracked a little. “I have a mortgage now.”

You both laughed, and Eli honked from the driveway, yelling something about being late.

She turned at the door and gave you one last look. “Don’t forget to feed my basil plant.”

“I’m renaming it in your honor.”

“If it dies, I’ll haunt you.”

 

~

 

The day passed in a blur, and it wasn’t until later that evening that you found yourself at Eli’s apartment with both of them — post-ceremony and post-dinner with Phoebe’s family — sitting on the floor eating leftover cake with spoons and drinking juice from mismatched mugs.

Eli had printed out one of her graduation photos and taped it to the fridge under a paper banner that read THE BREADWINNER HAS ENTERED THE CHAT.

Phoebe looked exhausted but radiant, legs stretched out in leggings and her gown now draped across a chair. She was still wearing her tassel like an earring. You snapped a photo and sent it to Iwaizumi and Aaliyah separately.

📸 queen behavior, in her post-doc era.

Aaliyah texted back a string of clapping emojis. Iwaizumi replied:
Make sure she hydrates. She’s been yelling about capitalism all day.

“Iwaizumi sends his love,” you said aloud, smirking.

Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Tell him to send a gift basket.”

“He is the gift basket.”

Eli coughed and dramatically looked away.
You didn’t deny it.

~

 

Back at the house, you wandered into Phoebe’s room later that night while she packed the last of her books. The bed was stripped, posters taken down, walls looking bare in a way that made your chest hurt.

She caught your expression and smiled softly.

“It’s weird, huh?”

You nodded. “The house won’t be the same.”

“It’s not supposed to be.” She sat on the edge of her desk, hands in her lap. “But you’re gonna be okay. You and Iwaizumi — you’ve built something stable.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“I know. But it’s true.” She tilted her head. “You’ll keep things steady. And he’ll be the grumpy backbone. It’ll work.”

You hesitated. “What if it doesn’t?”

“Then you’ll figure it out.” She reached forward and took your hand. “But I think it will. I’ve watched you both for months now. You make room for each other. That’s rare.”

You swallowed hard, blinking quickly. “You’re not allowed to be so wise now that you’re leaving.”

Phoebe gave you a watery smile. “Too late. I'm a college graduate now. I have wisdom and debt.”

You laughed, then hugged her tightly.

“Come visit whenever. If I’m gonna live with Iwaizumi and a cute homosexual hunk then I’ll need to see you often,” you whispered.

“Duh. I have to make sure Cal hasn’t turned the kitchen into a Pinterest shrine.”

You stayed there a little longer, just the two of you, the house creaking softly around you. The end of an era — but the beginning of something else, too.

Chapter 14: Boxes and Beach Threats

Iwaizumi didn’t bring much when he moved in—at least, not by volume. Just two sturdy suitcases, a couple of boxes filled with neatly packed books, and a stack of protein bars that made you raise an eyebrow. Did this guy ever eat actual food?

“That’s a little serial killer of you,” you said, watching him line them up inside the pantry with military precision. “No furniture?”

He shrugged, “Dorm rooms come with furniture, and you’re not supposed to take that. Besides, you left the room furnished, so I figured if it ain’t broke, don’t break my back moving more.”

You smiled. The truth was, you had left your old room furnished, mostly because you were upgrading. Phoebe’s room—soon to be yours—was partially furnished when she’d moved in and was still in good shape. It came with a wide desk built into the wall, a dresser, a mirror, and the most comfortable bed frame in the house (something you had tested extensively before committing). All you'd brought in were your linens, decorations, books, and the storage bins full of your organized chaos. Still, Iwaizumi’s arrival marked the real shift—Phoebe hadn’t even left yet, but the future felt a little more solid now that he was here. The house buzzed with that just-moved-in energy: open boxes, music playing from your phone speaker in the corner, and the smell of old dust getting stirred up with every shift of furniture.

You helped him unpack, shelving his books while he sorted clothes into the closet with laser focus. “Put those muscles to good use, would you?” you said at one point, gesturing toward a stack of your own boxes that you needed moved downstairs.

He snorted. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I know,” you replied sweetly, already dragging a tote of winter blankets across the floor. “You’d never lift this much cardboard for just anyone.”

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered, hoisting your box like it weighed nothing. That was mighty attractive. It’s a good thing you couldn’t see any of his muscles or you would’ve had to dramatically fling yourself onto the nearest surface like a Victorian maiden overcome with the scandal of it all. Probably with one hand pressed to your forehead and one fanning yourself. Honestly, the fact that he made lifting a 30-pound box look like a minor inconvenience was rude. Downright disrespectful.

Downstairs, the two of you started arranging your new room—Phoebe’s old one—together. You pulled things off walls, carefully removing old command hooks and faded Polaroids that had curled at the edges. The scent of Phoebe’s favorite linen spray still lingered faintly, mingling with the dust kicked up from shifting furniture. The house was definitely in need of a deep clean again. You wiped down surfaces, swept beneath the bed frame, and peeled off the remnants of posters that had long since lost their hold.

Your desk found a new home beside the window where the light came in soft and golden in the afternoons. You spent a few minutes testing angles—deciding where the sun wouldn’t hit your screen directly—and finally settled on a corner that gave you a view of the yard. Your bookshelf was restocked next, lined with worn paperbacks, colorful notebooks, and a few small trinkets from back home.

Iwaizumi helped move the heavier things. The mattress was adjusted. A new rug laid down. Blankets were refolded at the foot of the bed. Slowly, the room changed—Phoebe’s personality peeled away in layers until it was yours again. Familiar things settled into new spaces. Your water bottle back on the nightstand. A tote of fuzzy socks shoved under the bed. Your favorite hoodie draped over the back of your chair.

Outside the open window, a breeze blew in, rustling the curtains just enough to make the room feel alive. And with the sound of boxes being shuffled and the creak of old floorboards under Iwaizumi’s steps, the space that once felt like someone else's started to feel like the beginning of something new—something entirely yours.

 

~

 

A few days later, Cal arrived—arms full of cardboard boxes and nerves.
“This box is heavier than my student debt,” Cal groaned, dragging it over the threshold.

“That’s because you packed it like Jenga with trauma,” you said, collapsing onto the couch.

Iwaizumi walked past, shirt sticking to his back, muttering, “This is why I own three things total.”

Hours later, surrounded by a wasteland of boxes, all three of you sprawled on the living room rug with greasy takeout cartons and no motivation to move. Phoebe was gone now. Her room was empty, save for the last traces of her—scuff marks on the wall where she’d hung picture frames, a stubborn bit of washi tape clinging to the inside of the closet, the ghost of her perfume still lingering in the hallway. The house felt different without her presence, a little quieter, a little emptier—but not for long.

You and Iwaizumi were already settled in by then. Phoebe’s room was fully yours now, soft with your favorite lighting and cluttered in the way that made it feel lived-in. His room was clean and warm and orderly—books lined neatly, laundry basket always exactly where it should be. The fridge was shared chaos, the hallway now lined with shoes that didn’t match, and your mornings had slowly found their rhythm again.

And now, you were making space for one more.

Cal’s move-in wasn’t smooth—his roommate had packed a few of his things by accident, so half his stuff was still in limbo. But the three of you made the best of it. You dragged suitcases and boxes through the door, played an upbeat playlist through the house speakers, and took turns deciding where furniture should go. Iwaizumi helped assemble a shelf with the kind of focused intensity that made you and Cal exchange a few amused looks. You, in turn, helped fold and stack clothes, unwrapped kitchenware, and reorganized the shared bathroom for the third time.

By the time everything was in—more or less—the sun had already dipped low, painting the living room in streaks of gold and pink. The three of you collapsed on the floor, backs leaning against the couch or walls, surrounded by leftover bubble wrap and opened boxes. Takeout containers littered the coffee table. Cal had ordered for everyone as a thank-you, and you’d all eaten too much too quickly to realize how hungry you were. It was quiet in that post-move haze, the kind of silence that came with satisfied exhaustion and the warmth of something new settling into place.

There was laughter, too—Cal cracking dry jokes in between bites of curry, Iwaizumi sharing an absolutely unhinged story about someone getting stuck in the net during volleyball drills that week, you half-asleep but trying to keep up. And somewhere in the middle of that comfort and conversation, the topic of summer came up.

“So, Cal,” Iwaizumi asked, poking at his noodles. “Any big summer plans?”

“Avoiding heatstroke and pretending I don’t have summer classes.”

“Relatable,” you said. You mentioned work-study—again. And how you had no intention of suffering through the peak of California heat.

“Actually, wait.” Cal sat up. “Have either of you been to the beach lately?”

“I live at the beach when I’m not working,” Iwaizumi replied.

You paused. “I haven’t gone. Like… ever.” You’d said it like a joke, casual and offhanded, but both Cal and Iwaizumi froze at your confession.

Silence. In the three years you’d lived here, you’d never once gone to the beach.

Their reactions were immediate and identical: shocked outrage. Both men turned to you, expressions caught between horror and disbelief.

“You’ve lived here for three years,” Cal said.

“And the beach is twenty minutes away,” Iwaizumi added.

You shrugged. “I’m like a winter fruit—I rot in the sun. That’s why I sign up for more work-study. I need the cold.” Which was fair. And true. And apparently not good enough for either of them.

“This is a tragedy,” Cal muttered.

“We’re going,” Iwaizumi said, already reaching for his phone. “You don’t get to live in California and not touch the ocean.”

Plans were made right there on the floor—half-sarcastic, half-enthusiastic. Something about sunscreen, umbrellas, “real” California experiences. Iwaizumi even pulled out his phone and sent a message to the volleyball team group chat to rally backup for a beach day.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye, your stomach doing an uncomfortable little flip. Because of course you weren’t worried about the heat. You were worried about him ! And more specifically: him shirtless, in all his tan, muscular, post-volleyball glory, surrounded by sunlight and sea breeze and the threat of you making a complete fool of yourself by tripping over your own feet and falling straight into the Pacific Ocean.

Great.

Just fantastic.

 

~

 

🏐 Spikes & Shenanigans 🏖️

Iwaizumi:
Beach day. This weekend. You’re all coming.

Dev:
👀 Are we kidnapping someone or is this recreational?

Callie:
I smell a story.

Iwaizumi:
[Fuyou’s "I’m like a winter fruit" quote]
She’s never been to the beach here. Fixing that.

Bea:
WHAT

Callie:
This is a crime against nature.

Dev:
I volunteer to bring sunscreen and emotional support popsicles

Bea:
If anyone doesn’t cannonball into the ocean I will scream

Manager Girl:
i haven’t even agreed to this yet

Callie:
Too late. We’re dragging your pale winter-fruit self to the shore

Manager Girl:
god help me

Dev:
He will not. But Iwaizumi will. With his Big Beach Dad energy. 🏖️💪

Iwaizumi:
I’m not a beach dad.

Bea:
Sir. You bring emergency water bottles everywhere. You are.

Mina:
Wait, does this mean he’s gonna wear the bucket hat? 😭

Liam:
Oh my god. He totally owns a bucket hat.

Jun:
Bet it’s olive green and he calls it “practical.”

Callie:
This man is gonna build a SHADE FORT and yell at us to stay hydrated like we’re on a survival show.

Iwaizumi:
Hydration is important.

Manager Girl:
and you said you basically live at the beach when you're not working

Dev:
This man is gonna show up with SPF 100 and a whistle.

Bea:
He’s gonna blow it every time someone forgets to reapply sunscreen. “That’s a sunburn waiting to happen, Liam!”

Liam:
Respectfully, Iwaizumi yelling at me to take care of myself might fix my entire life.

Mina:
Can we get him a “Beach Dad” shirt??? With like… embroidered text. Classy. Navy blue.

Jun:
No, no—get one that says “Cooler Captain.”

Callie:
STOP. He’s definitely gonna bring a cooler. I know it.

Iwaizumi:
It’s going to be hot. We’ll need snacks and drinks.

Manager Girl:
you just proved everyone’s point.

Dev:
Don’t forget the aloe vera. Or the waterproof band-aids. Or the electrolyte packets.

Bea:
He’s probably got a checklist already.

Iwaizumi:
I hate this groupchat.

Manager Girl:
you’ve said that three times just this month. you’re still here.

Callie:
Because he LOVES US

Liam:
And we love our overly prepared Beach Dad.

Mina:
Okay but genuinely, I feel safer already knowing he’s gonna be in charge.

Jun:
Can’t wait for the part where he grills everyone a protein-packed lunch and says, “Gotta refuel.”

Dev:
I’m gonna cry. Can we go tomorrow??

Manager Girl:
no pls i need to emotionally prepare for the fact that I will melt

Bea:
Let’s not ignore the real concern here though.

Bea:
Miss Manager, you are literally going to evaporate in the sun.

Liam:
She’s going to step onto the sand, hiss like a vampire, and burst into flames.

Mina:
I give her 7 minutes before she starts bargaining for someone’s towel as a makeshift sun tent.

Manager Girl:
I NEED a shady spot or I will perish. do you want my ghost haunting the volleyball court next season??

Jun:
You’d be the most dramatic ghost ever. “ooOoOo it’s too hot, oooOoO someone left a sticky Gatorade bottle in the gym oOoOo.”

Dev:
You’d haunt the hydration station and reorganize it from beyond the grave.

Callie:
Or possess the scoreboard to spell out passive-aggressive reminders. “CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES.”

Manager Girl:
all of this is valid. so someone better bring an umbrella or a beach tent or you’ll be dragging my corpse back to campus.

Iwaizumi:
Cal and I’ll bring both.

Mina:
😭😭😭 Beach Dad to the rescue.

Dev:
You spoil her too much, Iwaizumi.

Bea:
That’s because she has main character allergies. The sun, cardio, surprise group activities…

Liam:
She only thrives in 65°F and below with tea in hand and a book within reach.

Manager Girl:
EXACTLY. thank you. someone gets it.

Jun:
And yet you voluntarily signed up to be the manager of the sweatiest sport known to mankind.

Manager Girl:
no one ever said I made good life choices.

 

~

 

That next night, while folding laundry and trying not to hyperventilate, you ended up sprawled across your bed, face buried in one of your clean t-shirts.

“He’s gonna be shirtless,” you groaned.

Phoebe, perched by the mirror and fussing with her hair, paused. “Sorry, what?”

“Shirtless,” you repeated dramatically. “Topless. Torso out. Tan. Muscles. In the sun. Near me. In public.”

Phoebe burst into laughter so loud it startled Eli in the next room. “You’ve managed to avoid this for almost an entire school year and now your worst nightmare is coming true?” she teased, leaning forward on her elbows. “What are you gonna do? Wear blinders?”

“I might. I should. Or sunglasses so dark I can’t see his biceps.”

“You’re the most dramatic person alive,” Phoebe said gleefully. “Also, this is hilarious. You’re having an actual meltdown over your friend existing with shoulders.”

“His shoulders are unfair,” you muttered, still face-down. “It’s so rude.”

Phoebe just cackled again. “You’re going to combust. I can’t wait. Please take pictures. I need to frame your downfall.”

You groaned again and rolled over. “I hate you.”

“You absolutely do not.”

You didn’t. But you do feel mildly doomed.

Because as much as you adored winter, and shade, and being wrapped in hoodies and comfort... you’re was going to the beach. With Iwaizumi. And no matter how much sunscreen or emotional preparation you applied, there was no SPF strong enough to protect you from that.

 

The group chat may have started as a joke, but by the next afternoon, logistics were in full swing. Iwaizumi, efficient as always, blocked off a weekend day based on everyone’s availability and sent a detailed message with arrival time, carpool plans, sunscreen reminders, and a warning that if anyone showed up without water, he was prepared to parent them into the ocean.

You, Cal, and Iwaizumi would drive down together. Cal offered to borrow a cooler from a friend, and Iwaizumi promised to prep the snacks, and you were in charge of bringing the speaker, towels, and a playlist that wouldn’t make anyone’s ears bleed. A few quick runs to the grocery store, a borrowed beach umbrella from Eli, and a half-hearted argument over who was sitting where in Cal’s car later—everything was set.

 

~

 

Two days before the beach trip, Cal dragged you out of the house under the guise of “errands,” which turned out to be code for “forcing you to find a swimsuit and outfit you don’t hate.” You hit three stores before finding anything worth considering, and Cal treated each dressing room pit stop like he was personally producing a runway show. He waited outside the stall, offering fashion advice with the conviction of a Project Runway finalist and absolutely zero shame.

“Nope. That color is doing you dirty.”
“Okay, I know you hate this cut but look at your legs? I’d kill for your legs.”
“Now that one makes you look like you own a yacht and have emotional stability. That’s the one.”

He didn’t pressure. He didn’t let you spiral. He just stood guard with his iced tea, kept things light, and made you laugh every time you started getting self-conscious. This was an excellent bonding experience for the both of you and it definitely eased your nerves a bit. If you had a cute outfit and swimsuit then that was one less thing to worry about. Eventually, you found something—simple but flattering, something that made you feel cute and not like you’re being pushed into someone else’s body. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t try too hard. But it was you. Paired with a big sun hat, a light linen cover-up, and oversized sunglasses, you started to feel like maybe you wouldn’t combust the moment your toes touched the sand.

“Well,” Cal said as they headed to checkout, “if Iwaizumi doesn’t short-circuit when he sees you, I’ll personally throw him in the ocean.”

You elbowed him. “I’m not trying to short-circuit him.”

“You’re trying to live. I respect that. But a little accidental short-circuiting wouldn’t kill anyone. Besides, he’s gonna be doing that to you, so don’t you think its fair play?”

 

~

 

Later that night, flopped on your bed with the new outfit folded neatly nearby and anxiety crawling up your spine, you texted Phoebe.

You:
i’m going to make such a fool of myself at the beach i can feel it in my bones

Phoebe 😈💋:
okay explain. is this about ur coordination? your aversion to heat? your scandalous amount of exposed skin???

You:
yes
all of the above
and also iwaizumi is going to be shirtless and what if i walk into the ocean on purpose and never come back

Phoebe 😈💋:
so what i’m hearing is: you are experiencing completely normal thirst and also being painfully hot in every way. congrats.

You:
phoebe i’m serious

Phoebe 😈💋:
so am i. you’re hot. he’s hot. go be hot together on the beach.

You:
what if i trip in the sand and die

Phoebe 😈💋:
then you’ll die as a legend
an icon
a girl who looked fantastic and collapsed under the weight of her own drama*
i’ll put it on your tombstone

You:
you’re the worst

Phoebe 😈💋:
and yet you come to me every time you need comfort. you’re welcome.

You:
i hate that you’re right

Phoebe 😈💋:
wear the damn outfit. let the boy look. it’s summer, baby.

Chapter 15: Sunburn & Soft Things

Summary:

Beach day! We've also got a new character, his name is Eero (pronounced Air-oh)

The sun was already climbing higher by the time you all arrived at the beach, the breeze rolling in soft and salty, tugging at loose hair and hems. You’d picked a spot near a cluster of dunes, just far enough from the crowds but close enough to the bathrooms—Cal’s request, which everyone had later applauded for like he was a genius.

There were coolers dragged through the sand, bags of snacks and sunscreen, and a patchy quilt of towels and blankets that would later be claimed like territory. You were still pulling your sunglasses on when the first of the volleyball crew arrived, calling greetings before they were even within range.

“Miss Manager!” Callie was the first to rush over, dropping her bag and launching herself into a half-tackle hug. “You made it!”

“I was forced.”

“Semantics.”

Behind her came Bea, Dev, Liam, Jun, and Mina, all in various states of beach-readiness—sunglasses on, drinks in hand, flip-flops already full of sand.

Then the introductions started.

“This is Cal,” you said, gesturing to your new roommate, who was already halfway hiding behind Iwaizumi. “He’s not on the team, but he lives with us now, so—adjacent?”

“Honorary benchwarmer,” Bea said, sticking her hand out with a wide grin.

“Beachwarmer,” Dev corrected. “Since this is a test of loyalty.”

“Test of survival,” Cal muttered, squinting at the sun like it had personally offended him.

“You’ll fit right in,” Jun said approvingly.

Mina gave him a once-over and smiled. “Welcome to the circus.”

Iwaizumi just patted Cal on the back once, as if to say brace yourself , then moved to help set up the umbrella he’d insisted on bringing (“for shade,” he said, shooting you a knowing look). You pretended not to notice. Cal looked over at you as towels were claimed and snacks were debated. “Are they always like this?”

You snorted. “This is them dialed down. You haven’t seen post-practice hunger yet.”

“Terrifying.”

“Accurate. But they’re really great. You’ll love them.”

He was still a little wide-eyed, but you could tell he wasn’t overwhelmed. Just taking it all in, as everyone started settling in like it was just another day in their chaotic, sunscreen-scented lives.

And so began the day.

 

~

 

The volleyball net went up with the usual amount of arguing with the addition of sand-kicking, half the team bickering over rules before they even picked sides. You opted out of the first game, claiming sun fatigue, and Cal did the same under the excuse of sunscreen logistics (“SPF 100 does not apply itself”). The two of you set up under the umbrella Iwaizumi brought—your shady throne—armed with drinks, snacks, and sunglasses you hadn’t planned on taking off for the next four hours. You had your sunglasses on. You were shaded, hydrated, and—if you were being generous—emotionally stable. That all lasted exactly five seconds.

Because then Iwaizumi took off his shirt.

It wasn’t a dramatic moment. No slow-motion scene out of a teen drama. He just tugged it off like it was nothing, shoved it into his bag, and jogged over to the makeshift court. But it didn’t matter how casual it was—you still went absolutely, internally, feral . He wasn’t even doing anything yet. He was just standing there. Existing . With the kind of back that should be studied in art history classes. With those shoulders —broad and golden in the light, shifting slightly as he stretched one arm across his chest, and what the hell , was he ripped under that hoodie all winter?! Did he just carry around that body like it was casual? Like it wasn’t an act of war?
You forgot how to drink for a second and had to very calmly set your cup down before you choked on iced tea and died tragically in front of the whole team.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath.

Cal raised an eyebrow, barely turning his head from where he was adjusting his beach towel. “What?”

You didn’t take your eyes off the war crime happening across the sand. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Cal followed your gaze—and immediately let out a low whistle. “ Ohhh. ”

“Right?! I’ve been living with that. In close quarters .”

“You’ve been living with that in hoodies and joggers. That’s a betrayal.”

“He just whipped it off . Like that. Like it was nothing.” You turned to call with wide eyes, but because they were hidden by your sunglasses, you just looked deadpan to him.
“I cannot die until I sink my teeth into those shoulders.”

Cal cackled, nearly spitting out his drink. The two of you leaned back under the umbrella like old gossiping aunties, you sent out a few texts to Phoebe to update her, watching Iwaizumi spike a volleyball hard enough to make Dev throw himself into the sand in defeat. It was like a National Geographic documentary. And then the locals began to circle. Its not that Iwaizumi was the only attractive person in your group. Dev and Liam and Jun were rocking their athletic builds too, but the tan, sexy foreigner vibes dominated the makeshift court and attracted plastic princesses.

Girls. Plural. Three of them at first, walking by in their teeny bikinis with their ponytails high and their intentions higher. One lingered just a bit too long when she asked if she could “borrow” the volleyball. Another outright complimented his arm veins.

"Arm veins," you said flatly.

“To be fair,” Cal said, “they are impressive.”

You sighed. “I feel like I’m watching a mating ritual.”

One of the girls giggled loudly. “Do you work out, or do you just, like, look like that?”

Cal gave you a look. “She cannot be serious.”

“Oh, she’s very serious. She's ready to die about those forearms.”

Meanwhile, across the beach, one of the volleyball girls from another group had walked up to Iwaizumi—grinning wide, twisting a strand of hair around her finger, and very clearly not interested in volleyball. You watched her lean in as she talked to him. He scratched the back of his neck, clearly awkward, but he didn’t look away.

“She’s trying to flirt,” you said flatly.

“Godspeed,” Cal muttered, sipping his drink. “That’s the face of a man who can bench-press a fridge but cannot emotionally process compliments.”

“I hate how accurate that is.”

And while Iwaizumi didn’t entertain them exactly—he was polite, borderline awkward, if anything—he didn’t stop the game to tell them to scram either. It wasn’t like he could help it. He just looked like that .

But karma, as always, played fair.

Because not long after, it was hot enough that you finally took off your linen cover-up, revealing the swimsuit Cal had convinced you to buy after an exhausting shopping trip full of mirror pep talks and dramatic twirls. It wasn’t skimpy. It was flattering, comfortable, and fit like a glove. You felt good in it.

Apparently, so did everyone else.

Two guys came up—definitely not from your group—and complimented you as you were walking back from the cooler. One of them made a (bad) joke about “needing sunblock help,” and the other asked your name a little too smoothly. Cal was standing next to you when it happened. His eyebrow raised, and he whispered out the corner of his mouth, “Wow. The himbos are out today.”

You kept a straight face, barely. “They think I’m helpless because I’m wearing jewelry on the beach.”

“You are wearing jewelry on the beach.”

“It’s just a necklace, it’s not like I’m wearing giant hoop earrings.”

Meanwhile, you could feel a few eyes from the volleyball game drift toward you. You didn’t look back. Instead, you brushed off the guys gently, casually walked back toward your towel like nothing happened, and muttered to Cal, “Do I look like I need sunblock help?”

“No,” he said. “You look like the final boss of beachcore.”

“Good.”

You settled back under the umbrella. He tossed you a frozen grape like it was a reward. The game went on. The sun got higher. The sand got hotter. But underneath the layers of teasing and sunscreen, something quiet hummed.

Maybe it was the way Iwaizumi kept glancing your way to check on you. Or the way your heart did something stupid every time he smiled—soft and crooked and golden in the sun.

 

~

 

You had just come back from rinsing sand off your hands when you heard your name called over the sound of seagulls and crashing waves.

“Fuyou! Hey! I didn’t know you were coming out here today!”

You turned and immediately grinned. “No way—Eero?”

Your lab partner from first year—Eero—stood a few feet away in bright board shorts, sandals, and a smug grin. His coppery hair was still damp from a swim making it almost dark brown, and he looked genuinely surprised to see you. You hadn't realized how tall he was until now, standing there like the human embodiment of sunshine and extra credit.

“What are the odds?” he asked, walking over and giving you a quick side-hug before stepping back, but still standing fairly close. “You always turned down beach invites and avoided the sun like it personally offended you.”

“It has. Deeply,” you said, deadpan. “But my friends staged a full intervention. There were threats. And snacks.”

He laughed. “Fair enough. You look sexy as hell, by the way. Love the suit.”

You blushed and your hand twitched at the hem of your linen cover-up—which was still off, heaven help you—and you gave a sheepish smile. “Thanks. You look like someone who doesn’t burn.”

“I’m biracial and genetically smug about it.”

You snorted, and the two of you slipped easily into conversation, catching up about classes, summer courses, and whether the new professor actually enjoyed grading or just derived power from it. He was warm and funny as ever and had been one of your best academic partners without ever making things weird. A true gem.

Across the sand, however, someone else was absolutely not chill.

Iwaizumi had been playing beach volleyball—shirtless, of course, and effortlessly powerful—but his usual laser focus had started to wobble. First, he’d mistimed a pass. Then he missed a dig. Then came the long, slow head-turn toward where you were talking with Eero, standing too close, smiling and laughing and looking like you didn’t have a care in the world.

He heard someone whistle next to him.

“Eyes on the ball, Iwaizumi,” Dev teased, raising a brow.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, barely registering that the serve had already gone out.

Liam jogged past him to retrieve the ball and clapped him on the shoulder. “Relax, man. She’s allowed to have friends.”

“She’s been managing for a year,” Jun added from the net. “Of course she knows other people. You’re not the only orbit she moves in.”

“I know that,” Iwaizumi muttered again, watching from the corner of his eye as you laughed at something Eero said. He couldn't even hear what, but the way your eyes crinkled at the corners got him right in the chest.
Dev let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Bro. You’re gonna sprain something if you keep clenching like that.”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi said, too tired to sound convincing.

They let the moment pass, and eventually, Bea called from the shade, holding up a cooler and a box of takeout. “Lunch break! We’ve got sandwiches, rolls, rice, and everyone’s preferred level of hydration!”

“No spicy rolls for Liam,” Mina added helpfully. “He cried last time.”

“I did not cry—”

“You wheezed, dude.”

While the team started migrating toward the food and umbrellas, Iwaizumi lingered near the net for a moment, hands on his hips, breathing slow and heavy. He glanced back across the sand. You were still talking to Eero, animated, bright. And while he knew— he knew —he had no right to be irritated, it didn’t stop the heat curling under his skin.

He wasn’t mad. Not really.

But he also wasn’t neutral.

Still, when he saw you wave goodbye to Eero as the guy returned to his own friends, Iwaizumi finally relaxed. Just a little. Just enough to follow the others to where lunch was being set out.

The game was over for now. But whatever he was feeling?

It definitely wasn’t.

 

~

 

You returned to the group just as the coolers were being cracked open and the smell of sesame oil, soy sauce, and ocean salt hit you all at once. The little campsite under the umbrellas had grown into a colorful sprawl of towels, lunch boxes, folding chairs, and at least three different types of sunscreen scattered across a shared mat. Cal sat on the edge of a striped towel, legs stretched out and slightly sunburnt, already peeling open a container of watermelon slices. He looked up at your arrival and grinned.

“Welcome back, sun-charmed one.”

You dropped next to him, still drying your hands on your cover-up. “It was only like fifteen minutes.”

“That’s fifteen minutes more than you’ve spent voluntarily near UV rays since we’ve met you.” Mina chimed in.

“She's evolving,” Bea called from across the circle. “Beach day has changed her.”

“I’m monitoring her for heatstroke,” Dev added, twisting the cap off a water bottle dramatically. “She’s pale, sarcastic, and suspicious of fun. It’s like watching a bat learn to sunbathe.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, nudging Cal’s knee as he handed you a sandwich from the pile.

Liam, sprawled on a faded towel in his tank top and shorts, squinted at you from under his cap. “So. Who’s your friend?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Back there. You and that guy talking near the showers.”

“Oh that’s Eero. He’s just my old lab partner from first year.”

Jun tilted his head. “Lab partner who looks like that? And you’re just friends ?”

You glanced at Iwaizumi, instinctively. He was seated on the other side of the circle, towel slung low on his hips, sunglasses pushed into his hair, arms resting along his knees. Calm. Casual.

Too casual.

He wasn’t looking at you—but he wasn’t looking at his food either.

“Eero’s really nice,” you said softly after a beat, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck. “We worked together a lot. He was the first person I talked to in my class when school started and he was really sweet. One of my first college friends.”

“Is he single?” Mina asked innocently, leaning over a fruit container.

You snorted. “Doesn’t matter. He’s not my type.”

“Oh?” Bea grinned. “What is your type, then?”

“Introverts who cook,” you deadpanned. “And who don’t ask invasive questions over lunch.”

That got a wave of laughter around the circle—even Cal chuckled, mouth full of chicken and rice.

“I dunno,” Dev said, mock-pondering. “He was smiling at you kind of a lot.”

“And you were smiling back,” Mina added.

“You’re all so annoying.” you muttered, sipping your drink.

“You love it,” Jun said.

“I tolerate it.”

From the side, Cal leaned closer and whispered, “They always do this?”

“Only when they sense gossip,” you muttered back. “They’re like bloodhounds.”

He snorted and nudged your elbow. “Well, for the record, you handled that well.”

You smiled, a little crooked. “Thanks.”

But across the circle, someone else wasn’t smiling.

Iwaizumi’s jaw was a little too tight now. He hadn’t said anything—hadn’t joined in on the teasing, hadn’t laughed. But his grip on his chopsticks had stiffened. You weren’t looking at him anymore, but he was definitely looking at you. At you and Cal. At your heads close together. At the easy rhythm of your side conversation.

“She’s got friends outside the team, you know,” Dev said lightly, elbowing Iwaizumi in the ribs, catching his line of sight.

“I know,” Iwaizumi muttered.

“You always get that look when she talks to someone who isn’t you.”

“I do not.”

Dev raised an eyebrow. “You absolutely do. Only its worse right now than ever before since she was talking to that other guy.”

Bea leaned over and offered him a bite of her spicy shrimp roll. “Just eat something, Beach Dad.” She said loud enough to get the others’ attention to indicate a change in subject.

“I’m not—”

“You literally reminded all of us to reapply sunscreen,” Liam said.

“You carry wet wipes in your bag,” Jun added.

“You own a cooler,” Mina chimed in.

“Two coolers,” Dev corrected.

Iwaizumi groaned under his breath that he didn’t own any coolers and took a bite of rice like it was punishment.

Across the circle, you caught the tail end of the exchange but didn’t press. You passed Cal a slice of watermelon and took one for yourself, watching the ocean glint beyond the tents. The light hit just right—like the world had stopped trying to be perfect, and was just soft and alive instead.

You didn’t know Iwaizumi was watching that moment, too. Didn’t see the way his gaze drifted over your shoulders, still damp with ocean spray. How it paused at the soft curve of your smile. Or the way he sighed—very quietly—before setting his food down and pushing up to his feet.

“Game break’s over,” he said, tossing the volleyball lightly in his hands. “Let’s play one more.”

 

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the beach shifted from gold to bronze, soft light spilling like syrup across the sand. Shadows stretched behind umbrellas and folding chairs, and the edges of the towels began to curl where the breeze caught them. The volleyball game picked up again—laughter rising over the rhythmic thump of the ball, feet skimming over warm, packed sand.

There were moments of chaos—mistimed jumps, exaggerated dives, mock groans of defeat—but also stretches of easy coordination, the kind that only came from familiarity. The team moved like parts of the same machine, attuned to each other’s pacing, unspoken calls, and preferred angles. Still, now and then, eyes lingered longer than necessary. Feet slowed at the edges of the circle. Glances were exchanged, then carefully ignored. Eventually, the ball was left to rest beside the cooler. Someone started collecting trash, someone else began folding towels, and the once-chaotic sprawl of the campsite slowly began to shrink. The scent of the sea grew cooler, saltier, carried on a rising breeze as evening fell. Music drifted from someone’s speaker—low, nostalgic, more background than soundtrack.

You helped fold a chair, brushing sand from the hinges with quiet focus. Mina looped her arms around Bea’s waist for a moment before they turned toward the path, bare feet kicking up little clouds of sand as they went. Jun offered a silent peace sign from behind his sunglasses, and Dev responded with a lazy salute. Liam was the last to gather his things, pausing to watch the tide pull at the edges of the shore like it didn’t want to leave either. Iwaizumi stood nearby, still and unreadable, a towel draped across his neck. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

As the group trickled away—some in pairs, others alone—the beach returned to stillness. Only footprints remained in the sand, already beginning to fade with the tide. A cooler handle clicked into place. A final glance was cast over the empty stretch of shore.

Then, silence.

The sky had gone lavender. The sun dipped fully behind the horizon. And the beach was left only with the hush of waves and the memory of a day well-spent.

 

~

 

The house was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of pipes as Cal showered upstairs. The scent of the ocean still clung faintly to your skin, mingling oddly with the leftover fruit you and Iwaizumi were putting away. You moved around the kitchen with easy familiarity, barefoot and a little sun-tired, sorting containers, wiping down the counter. Iwaizumi was next to you, silent and focused—too focused—on drying a clean lid that didn’t really need that much attention. He hadn’t said much since the drive home. Not in a way that seemed angry or annoyed—just… quiet.

You slid the last fruit container across the counter toward him, watching him out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t move to take it.

“You okay?” you asked, lightly.

His eyes flicked up. “Yeah. Just tired.”

You nodded once, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “Long day.”

“Yeah.”

A pause stretched between you. Not uncomfortable, but noticeable. He still hadn’t put the container away.

“You didn’t eat much,” you said, voice low.

He shrugged. “Wasn’t hungry.”

“That’s not like you.” He’s usually just as starved as the others after volleyball, but today he ate like he was sick.

“I guess I was distracted.”

You turned to face him now, arms folded casually. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but… you weren’t just quiet. You were frowning all through lunch, afterwards too. And it wasn’t the sun.”

He sighed—quiet, controlled. Not defensive.

“I’m fine.”

You watched him for a moment, then reached over to take the container and tuck it into the fridge yourself. “Alright, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you said softly. “I’m not trying to pry. I just… I noticed. That’s all.”

For a beat, it was silent again—just the low hum of the fridge and the soft clink of the dish you set in the sink. Then:

“It’s not you,” he said, low.

You blinked. “I didn’t think it was.”

He hesitated again, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not anything serious, really. Just... stuff. People.”

You tilted your head, but didn’t speak.

He glanced at you, then looked away. “Didn’t love how some people were acting at the beach.”

That caught your attention. “You mean—like Cal?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Not Cal.” You’re so confused.

He paused. “Just—some of the people around you.”

You frowned, confused. “Like...?”

“Eero,” he muttered, reluctantly. “And the other strangers. It’s not a big deal.”

You leaned against the counter. “You mean people flirting?”

His silence said enough.

Something in your chest warmed—gentle, teasing. “You jealous, Hajime?”

“I’m saying I didn’t like it,” he said flatly, not meeting your eyes. “I’m not used to that kind of thing getting to me. It usually doesn’t.” He even looked genuinely annoyed at himself for admitting it.

You didn’t tease him for it—not really. “I don’t think that’s weird,” you said instead. “Sometimes people just rub you the wrong way.”

He let out a soft breath. “It’s not that deep.”

You nodded once. “Okay.” You didn’t press. You just turned to rinse off a fork, giving him space to breathe. After a second, he picked up the fruit container and slid it into the fridge next to the rest, closing the door with a soft click.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry,” he said finally. “You always notice when I’m off, don’t you?”

You shrugged. “You do the same for me.”

That got the faintest twitch of a smile.

“Just let me know if you want to talk next time. Or vent. Or just… frown at the wall while I throw snacks at you.”

He let out a short breath—half a laugh. “Noted.”

You smiled and handed him the last empty container. “For future reference, you don’t have to tell me what’s bothering you, but I would like to know if there’s something I can do to help. Besides, you can die of bottled emotions and I refuse to clean that mess off the tile.”

“Thanks. That’s comforting.”

He didn’t open up any more than that—but he didn’t retreat either. And when your fingers brushed his as you passed the last dish to him, he didn’t pull away.

That was enough.

Chapter 16: Extra

Fuyou[4:02 PM] :
“IS THIS WHAT A RAGING BONER FEELS LIKE?!?!?!”

Phoebe threw her head back and cackled louder than she ever had before–a full-bodied laugh that shook her shoulders and made Eli peek around the fridge door with a raised eyebrow. Eli was wondered whether or not he should be concerned, but his love was laughing and enjoying her friend’s antics so he supposed he should be happy. Phoebe had told him numerous times in the last two years how you had become something of a younger sister to her which was the only reason he had made the effort to get to know you in the few times he had met you.

“Fuyou again?” he asked from the kitchen where he was plating up lunch for them. Phoebe usually laughed so hard at your dramatic reactions or responses.

“Yeah,” she breathed out, trying to calm her laughs. “She went to the beach today with the volleyball team and her new roommates and she FINALLY saw Iwaizumi shirtless. And she’s losing it. Profoundly.”

“She likes him?”

“Yeah and she’s only recently let herself admit it and even then it was only to me as a hypothetical question. She doesn’t want to screw anything up, and she has limited dating experience so its understandable. But its equal parts frustrating and amusing watching them dance around each other. She’s young and I don’t think she’s ever felt this way about someone so this is new territory.”

“And how does he feel about her?” Taking a seat at the dining table he started asking her questions, now fully invested in the drama. This was good drama, there wasn’t any screaming or fighting or Phoebe stressing. It was harmless and entertaining and if you and Phoebe were going to stay close friends then maybe he should at least be aware of what’s going on. Especially if Phoebe was so involved. Also, he loved listening to gossip. It was his guilty pleasure.

“I’m 90% sure he feels the same but I don’t know what his history or reasons are for not pursuing her. He seems the stoic, rough around the edges type so maybe he needs to process his emotions a bit longer before he can do something. So far he’s become her best friend here and moved in. which is good but it doesn’t help the uncertainty for their future.”

“Aren’t you going to answer her?” he gestured towards Phoebe’s phone since she hadn’t touched it since reading your text in the notifications bar. Just as he asked, her phone pinged again.

“I will, later. I want her to get her initial freakout done and then try and enjoy her time there, not spend it sat in some corner texting me about how dehydrated she is because of the sun and the drool she’s let out because of his unfair physique.”

Eli let out a few chuckles in response. You were only 21, and while you were very intelligent and mature enough for your age, he supposes that first love or at least first serious feelings definitely would bring out a teenage giddiness. Especially inexperienced and sweet girls like you.

Later that evening, as Phoebe finished loading the dishwasher, she finally paid attention to her phone and immediately started giggling at the string of texts you had sent her. She poured herself a glass of wine and went to the bedroom, ready to enjoy this fully before turning in for the night.

Fuyou [4:04 PM]:
I HAVE MY FIRST LADY BONER
OMG IGNORE I SAID THAT
FUYOU.EXE. HAS STOPPED WORKING
I WANNA DIE
BUT I ALSO CANNOT DIE UNTIL I SINK MY TEETH INTO THOSE SHOULDERS OH GOD HELP ME

Fuyou [6:04 PM]:
I literally saw Heaven today
Except it was shirtless
And glaring at me
From under mirrored sunglasses
While holding a volleyball like he wanted to spike it directly into my soul

Fuyou [6:06 PM]:
Okay but like. Before lunch he was still HIM
He gave me that dumb crooked half-smile when I came back from the showers
like the one where he tilts his head a little??
I think I short-circuited
I forgot how to sip from my straw for 3.5 seconds

Fuyou [6:08 PM]:
BUT THEN
Lunchtime hit
and he just got... quiet
super quiet
and his jaw was all tense and he barely ate anything

Fuyou [7:23 PM]:
I asked him about it later and he was like
“I don’t like how strange guys kept bothering you”
and like.
???
Sir. Are you… mad-protective now???

Fuyou [7:27 PM]:
Also
I ran into Eero
REMEMBER EERO??? From freshman year?
We caught up for like ten minutes, nothing flirty or anything
and everyone started grilling me???
and Iwaizumi got... extra frowny

Fuyou [8:12 PM]:
Phoebe.
Am I dying.
Is this what dying in confusion feels like.
I’ve never had this many butterflies.
They’re unionizing and punching my tummy.

Phoebe [8:40 PM]:
as you should
this is exactly the kind of unhinged energy I was waiting for
please continue
I’m drinking wine and enjoying this like it’s a Netflix original

Fuyou [8:42 PM]:
Not Netflix
HBO
High budget
Emotional depth
Slow burn
Tension you could cut with a beach umbrella pole

Phoebe [8:43 PM]:
YES.
HBO limited series. 8 episodes.
Season 2 optional if the chemistry is too good to waste.
Iwaizumi is 100% that broody male lead who says like 3 words per episode but they hit you like a truck

Fuyou [8:45 PM]:
STOP
WHY IS THAT SO ACCURATE
he didn’t even SAY anything during lunch
he just sat there
and brooded
and glared
OOF

Phoebe [8:46 PM]:
you said he glared at you
but also smiled earlier
like that’s range
that’s romantic drama RANGE
also I told you to SEND PICS??
I want visual evidence of your descent into thirst

Fuyou [8:47 PM]:
ugh fine

[1 image sent]
[1 image sent]
[1 image sent]
[1 image sent]
[1 video sent – 7 seconds: Liam yelling, volleyball soaring, and you screaming in the background]

Phoebe [8:49 PM]:
HELLOOOOO BEACH BABE???
this lighting? the hair?? the side profile???
bestie you look like a coming-of-age drama protagonist who just learned to feel joy for the first time
I’m so proud
also that suit is doing unspeakable things for your legs

Fuyou [8:50 PM]:
omg STOP
I’m shy now. Cal is my hero for the clothes and pics

Phoebe [8:54 PM]:
god I love love
also just so you know
you’re handling this very well
you’re allowed to freak out a little but you’re not spiraling
and he clearly notices you
don’t let the silence fool you
he’s watching
and thinking

Fuyou [8:56 PM]:
…do you think he likes me?

Phoebe [8:57 PM]
I think
he doesn’t know how to not like you
and I think that scares him a little

Fuyou [8:59 PM]:
ok well
I’m gonna cry into my stuffed owl now
Thanx

Phoebe [9:00 PM]:
that’s what she’s there for
her name is Susan and she supports healthy emotional development

Fuyou [9:00 PM]:
her name is Biscuit and she’s a queen, thanx

Phoebe [9:01 PM]:
my apologies to Biscuit
may she guard your heart and also your thirst

Fuyou [9:17 PM]:
she does both
also
thank you
I feel better

Phoebe [9:22 PM]:
always, baby
text me tomorrow if he says a single word to you
I don’t care if it’s “hey”
I want the transcript

Fuyou [9:35 PM]:
noted
goodnight, chaos witch

Phoebe [9:40 PM]:
goodnight, pining disaster
sweet dreams of volleyball thighs

 

~

 

Phoebe finally locked her phone and set it on the nightstand. Eli was already tucked beneath the sheets beside her, eyes closed, one arm behind his head.

“She okay?” he murmured, voice low with sleep.

“She’s okay,” Phoebe said, settling down against his side. “She had a full-on meltdown about tan lines and emotional repression.”

“So, Tuesday,” Eli said, smiling softly.

“She’s so in it, Eli. Like, first-real-crush-love kind of in it. It’s adorable and painful.”

“And Iwaizumi? Any development there?”

Phoebe tilted her head, thinking back to the half-smiles, the quiet tension in Fuyou’s texts. “He’s in it too. He just hasn’t admitted it yet. But he will.”

“Mm. Then good,” Eli said, pulling her a little closer. “You love her like a little sister. I trust your radar.”

Phoebe exhaled, content. “She’s got a good heart. She’s just not used to giving it away yet.”

Outside, the city lights blinked quietly. Inside, everything was warm and still. And somewhere else, across campus, a stuffed owl named Biscuit stood noble and proud on a pillow, watching over the beginnings of something that hadn’t quite become love—but was definitely on its way.

 

~

 

You cuddled with your little owl plushie for a few minutes, simply enjoying its softness in your arms. But it made you miss the person that gifted it to you in the first place. You buried your face in it hoping to catch a whiff of him on it but it was of no use. It had been three years since he gave it to you so the scent of his cologne had obviously faded. Still, you felt comforted in a way only one of his hugs could. So you decided to tell him. You hadn’t properly talked to him since the last time he came to see you, a few days before you left Tokyo. Your communication hadn’t ceased entirely, but had dwindled down to liking social media posts, birthday wishes and sharing memes.

Picking up your phone again, you took a selfie with the owl plushie, face still smooshed in it, and sent it to him. With a short message of how you missed him a lot, and the owl was doing exactly what he’d said it would do: comfort you the way his hugs did. It would take a while for him to respond, it always did with how little he checked his phone and how busy he was, but he would. So for now, you put your phone away, turned off your bedside lamp, and let yourself drift off to sleep.

Chapter 17: The Quiet Way You Care

Iwaizumi opened the front door to the faint crackle of oil still hissing in the kitchen. The air was warm with the scent of dashi broth, soy, and fried tofu—light and earthy, comforting in a way that hit straight in the chest.

He didn’t have to guess.

You was cooking it again. The same dish from last year. Agedashi tofu. His favorite.

He stood in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, fingers still on the doorknob, duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The athletic center had been loud and busy today, the birthday wishes from coworkers well-meaning but exhausting. But here—here, in the dim light of the house that smelled like care—everything was quiet.

He exhaled slowly.

There were no decorations. No card. No candles. Just a small pot on the stove, and you were humming something under your breath as you carefully spooned broth in a deep plate on the counter. Nothing flashy. Just... consistent. Quiet and thoughtful. Like you .

He dropped his bag by the wall and toed off his shoes without a word. The food was already plated when he stepped into the kitchen, steam curling upward from the bowl. The tofu was golden, crisp-edged and soft in the center, floating in warm broth with daikon and a few sprigs of scallion, exactly how he liked it. You turned, still in your sweatpants and t-shirt, still damp-haired from a recent shower. You smiled when you saw him.

He almost smiled back but then felt it land. All at once.

You remembered.

You had remembered again. Not because he reminded you. Not because anyone told you. But because you cared. Because you wanted to take care of him. Wanted him to know that he mattered to you and to enjoy his birthday that he was spending far from home and his closest friends and family.

And that was when the thought hit. He didn’t know your birthday.

His stomach dropped. His head spun and he couldn’t breathe. He sat down too quickly, too heavily. The chair creaked under him. His hands were suddenly too warm, too large. He rested them on his thighs to keep them still, but his fingers twitched anyway.
When was it?

He tried to think back. Remember. But there was no memory of cake or candles. No decorations, no offhanded mention of a party, no texts with emojis. No dinner plans. No pictures on your door. No—

Nothing.

And that meant—

It already happened. It had come and gone. Without a word.

You had cooked for him. Twice now. Delicious, perfect, meaningful meals. And he had... missed yours. Completely.

No acknowledgment. No gift. No card. Not even a goddamn "Happy Birthday."

How could he not have asked? How could he have gone a full year without asking?
His throat went tight. Embarrassment bloomed hard in his chest, sharper than guilt, heavier than shame. It made his hands curl slowly into fists in his lap.

And you had said nothing.

Of course you hadn’t! You wouldn’t. You didn’t like being the center of attention. You always deflected when things turned personal. Gave truthful answers but always vague, rarely ever in-depth. Only sometimes with him when you were alone or talking of home. He should’ve seen it. Should’ve noticed.
The thought of you quietly celebrating alone—or worse, not celebrating at all—while still doing this for him made something in his chest twist violently.

You’d cared enough to cook. To remember.

And he—

He looked down at the plate in front of him. His vision blurred for half a second, not from tears, but from the weight. So much so that he didn’t even register something warm on his face.

He didn't deserve this.

“Hajime?” your voice broke through the spiral, light with concern.

He looked up. You were leaning over him slightly with your hands cupping his face, brows knit, eyes sharp. Worry creeping into your voice.

“You’re pale,” you said gently. “You’re not about to pass out, right? Did something happen?”

And for a second, he almost lied. Almost brushed it off. But the guilt had lodged in his ribs now, immovable and heavy. He swallowed hard, looked at you—really looked at you—and forced the words out.

“I... I don’t know your birthday.”

He hated how shaky it sounded. Stupid. Flat. Hollow compared to the way it echoed in his chest.

You blinked, surprised.

He went on before you could answer. “I—I never asked when it was. And now it’s been a year. You made this again. You remembered. And I...” His voice caught. He clenched his jaw.

“I didn’t even know it passed.”

Silence. The worst kind. The heavy, open-ended kind that lets guilt fester.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, throat dry. “I’m really—shit, I’m really sorry. You do this for me, and I didn’t even think to ask. That’s—”

His voice cracked, just barely. “That’s not okay.”

He stared at the bowl, shame wrapping cold fingers around the back of his neck. For all his quietness, for all the ways he’d tried to show up—carrying your groceries, walking you home, remembering the way you liked your tea—he’d missed this. Something so important. Something that mattered. He knew he was a bit socially awkward, especially around girls, but had he not even had enough sense, enough decency, to ask you about your birthday? When he’d walked you home last year on his birthday there had been a lull in conversation. More than once, he could’ve asked that one simple question.

The knowledge of his mistake sank deeper than anything you could say next. But you didn’t say anything just yet. You sat in the seat next to him. The table was small and round, so you sat close without letting go of his face. He didn’t know what to expect from you. What you would say or do next but your gentle touch was reassuring.

You let out a breath, your shoulders dropping in relief that he wasn’t sick or in serious trouble. “Hajime.” You said so softly, it felt like a punch to his heart. Why were you so kind? He might feel better if you were a little upset or if you teased him for it the way he had when you had once forgotten to offer him tea when he got back from Japan. That was different though, both of you had been excited to see each other and catch up but this was bigger.

He still wouldn’t look at you, keeping his eyes on the plate of tofu in front of him. But you repeated his name and your hands gentle, but firm, guided his face to the side to look at you. When he finally worked up the courage to lift his eyes to yours, what he saw was your usual kind eyes and gentle smile, with the very unexpected addition of amusement. What on earth…?

“Please breathe, I spent my birthday with you so please don’t be so hard on yourself.” You were full smiling now, still gentle and no longer worried.

Wait, what?

“I don’t remember that.” He was still hesitating but the cold sweat of panic was starting to wear off.

“I’ll tell you all about it, but first take a deep breath for me.”

So he did. Then he took another. And another until his shoulders were no longer tense. All the while your hands stayed on his cheeks, grounding him and letting him know that you weren’t angry with him. It helped even more that your thumbs were softly rubbing his cheekbones.

When you were convinced he was no longer on the verge of hyperventilating you removed your hands from his face and handed him his chopsticks. Both of you putting your hands together and saying a quiet thanks for the food before digging in. The good thing about his freakout was that it gave the food enough time to cool down to the perfect temperature. It was still hot but not to the point where you need to blow on it and still burn your tongue. It was, of course, delicious—made just the way he liked it, with quiet care and steady hands, from someone who meant more to him than he could admit.

After a few bites, you got up to fetch drinks. Water for him and melon soda for you. You even knew his dietary preferences, that he stayed away from unhealthy or artificially processed or sugary things (most of the time, at least). Then you spoke, very casually as if he hadn’t just been having the beginning of a meltdown over your birthday.

“First of all, as a fellow college student, I recommend you keep your meltdowns and breakdowns reserved for deadlines, exams and job interviews.” Your eyes flicked up to him, expectant, with cheeks full of tofu and it managed to make his lips twitch into a small smile without his permission.
“Secondly, my birthday was that one Sunday in January that we spent together in town.”

Now he remembered it.

 

The two of you had spent a lot of time together the last year but never a full day. It was quiet study sessions in the library, volleyball practice and walking home afterwards. Group dinners and groupchats, getting food together, trying new restaurants just the two of you. But never a whole day. Except that one day. It was a cold, cold Sunday. Cloudy but not gloomy, a surprisingly bright day for when the sun wasn’t out.
He’d woken up with nothing on his agenda. He didn’t have to work and was all caught up on his assignments and there was no volleyball practice. A whole day to himself. Those were so rare that he had no idea what to do with himself, so he did the first thing that came to his mind: he texted you, asking you what your plans were for the day. With any luck, he could join you, or get some ideas for what he could do.

Coincidentally, you also had nothing to do that day but you had already decided to stay home, in bed, wearing the riceball blanket hoodie and watching rom-coms while finishing off the last of the matcha KitKats he’d brought you. He’d suggested you both go out, even if it was just to walk around campus or town. He didn’t have to convince you, you loved walking around outside in the cold but you didn’t like doing it alone. So when a friend offered to go with you without complaining about the weather you snatched up the opportunity and told him you’d meet him outside his dorm at noon. You’d looked sad when he came down to join you, eyes were sleepy and red rimmed. Happy to see him and excited to spend the day together but there was a muted sadness surrounding you. When you both got to the café, he couldn’t help himself and asked if you were alright, if something had happened to upset you. The expression on your face immediately went a bit tight and you quickly forced a small smile before opening your mouth to brush him off. To tell him you were fine, just sleep deprived or any other excuse.

But you hesitated. Looked him in the eyes and dropped the act. With a sigh and your hands wrapped around your coffee cup, you told him. Once that dam broke, it all came spilling out. You didn’t cry but he could understand that your tears were dried up and you were homesick in a way even he couldn’t help with. You’d told him that you missed Kuroo and Kenma, and it bothered you how you had missed Kenma’s last year in high school, his volleyball matches, his graduation. You wondered how the rest of your juniors were doing and how much you missed them. Your friends from other schools that you’d see during training camps and during holidays. How your video calls with both of them were even more infrequent and separate because Kuroo was busier in his later years of college and with his girlfriend, Kenma settling in to early college life.

Now he had even more going on and it was a miracle he even had the time to answer your texts let alone call you for your birthday the night before. You didn’t tell Iwaizumi it was your birthday, just that you’d video called both your friends separately. It wasn’t the first time the realization had dawned on you how you’d all gone your own ways, but it was the first time it hit you so hard that it made you cry. The homesickness after that call had suffocated you and brought tears to your eyes with such force you couldn’t stop the sobs that followed.

Never one to easily share your fears and insecurities–even with your two best friends– it had surprised you when you had confided in Iwaizumi that you were afraid this was how you would lose your friends. You’d grown up with those boys and then the rest of the volleyball team, and one of the best things about being friends with boys was that they always remained your friends even if you lost touch for a while but you were scared. What if by the time you went back home, even for a break, you wouldn’t get to see them. Or worse, what if they wouldn’t want to see you even if they had the time or what if–

He’d cut off your ramblings by reaching across the table and placing his hands on yours. Even though your hands were wrapped around your warm mug they were still shaking a bit. The soft reassurance in his eyes grounded you and helped you breathe again. Iwaizumi was a man of few words, but when he was sure you were done sharing, he’d comforted you. Telling you that friends like that never truly abandon you. They had called you despite their busy schedules, that this was just a few years of your life when you needed to be in different places but you’ll be home one day, back in Tokyo and you’ll get to see them again. All the while his hands didn’t leave yours, his eyes boring into yours, which made his words even more impactful.

He knew how you felt. With him in California, Oikawa in Argentina, and both Mattsun and Makki still in Miyagi, he knew how it felt to miss your friends and especially miss seeing them every day. To wonder how your juniors were doing and not being able to go and check on them. When he was done, he was proud to see that he had managed to bring a smile to your face. It was small but genuine. He’d pat himself on the back later for cheering you up. “This too shall pass,” he’d said, with the quiet certainty of someone who carried an old soul in a young body.
“Yeah but what the fuck.” And with that you’d broken the tension and moved past the topic. Now you were both laughing and searching the menu for what to order for lunch. Which he had insisted on paying for, and the rest of the day had been spent walking around town, buying yourself one of the big weird mugs you had your eye on, and just enjoying each other’s company until it started getting dark. You’d gotten takeout and walked home, but it was late enough that he didn’t stay. He’d given you a long, warm hug, arms wrapped tight around you and told you everything was going to be fine. And in his embrace, you’d felt it down to your bones that, yes, everything will be alright.

 

“I remember that but why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday? We could’ve done something more fun like bowling or a movie.”

You looked at him like you knew he was going to say something like that. “If you remember that day then you’ll recall that I wasn’t exactly in the mood for anything too fun.” It was true, the food and company were what you had needed for the day you were having then. “Besides, we did what I always do on my birthday. I spent it with my friends, enjoy their company and good food. Even got a cool new mug.”

You put down your chopsticks and took his hand in both of yours and gave him an earnest look. The emotion in your eyes so raw it made him want to look away.
“I didn’t tell you it was my birthday because I knew you’d try to do something more that day or another day and I never really celebrate my birthday. I was going to spend my 21st birthday in bed, homesick, depressed and alone. Even Phoebe wasn’t around. But you were there for me and not just for my birthday. You took care of me, cheered me up and paid for lunch . And just a few days before that you brought me gifts and snacks from home. It was a great birthday and I couldn’t have asked for anything better. You always take such good care of me Hajime.”

The words hit him like warm water over frozen skin—slow, steady, and almost too much to bear. He could tell you didn’t say it just to make him feel better. There was no performance in your voice or pity. Just truth. And something softer that he’d barely let himself hope for. He had been enough. That knowledge sank into him with a weight that nearly buckled him.

The coil of guilt in his chest loosened completely. Even the ache in his jaw—the one he hadn’t noticed from how hard he’d been clenching it—eased as your words settled in. It had been eating him alive, the thought that he’d missed something important. That he’d let you feel alone on a day that should’ve mattered. But you weren’t blaming him. You hadn’t felt let down. If anything, you were remembering that day as something kind. Something good.

Something that could have been hard for you but he had helped made bearable. You hadn’t needed a big gesture. Just needed his company and care. And without knowing it, he’d shown up for you in all the quiet ways he always tried to. Just being there. Relief bloomed slowly in his chest, heavy and overwhelming.

He wanted to close his eyes. To sit in the warmth of it, to let the storm of shame and self-reproach pass quietly now that it had nowhere left to go. He’d done right by you, even if he hadn’t known it at the time.

And you’d said his name so softly, like it belonged to someone worth trusting. He wasn’t used to that. And God, did it undo him.

Without thinking about it, he got halfway out of his chair, leaned over to you and pressed his lips to your forehead. He missed the way your eyes widened, and he whispered, “Happy belated birthday, Fuyou-chan.” He sat back down and saw your eyes were a bit misty but you had the big smile on your face. Letting out a little laugh, you wiped your eyes before looking back at him and saying a soft, “Happy birthday, Hajime.”

Both of you smiled at each other before you heard the front door open and in came Cal looking like he ran all the way home being chased by hellhounds. After exchanging greetings you invited him to dinner and told him it was a special occasion before he could turn you down for any reason. He wished Iwaizumi a happy birthday and patted him on the back before settling in with you guys digging into the tofu you brought out for him.

The three of you ate together, laughter gradually replacing the heavy quiet that had filled the room earlier. Cal cracked jokes between bites, and you matched his energy with playful jabs, both of you trying to outdo each other like usual. Iwaizumi didn’t say much. He sat back, letting the sound of your voices wash over him, the warmth of the meal and the company sinking deep into his bones.

The tofu was soft. The broth was rich. The moment simple. But to him, it felt like something he’d keep tucked away forever.
Later, after the dishes were cleaned and Cal had gone up to his room, the house settled into quiet again. You moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, humming under your breath, your back to him as you wiped down the counter. He watched you for a moment longer than he meant to, heart steady now, full in a way he didn’t fully understand yet.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You turned. He didn’t say anything else—just met your eyes and gave you a small nod.

Thank you.

You smiled. And just like that, the last of the weight he’d been carrying lifted.

Notes:

I know it feels like these guys are taking forever (and yes, they are), but this is going to be a slow burn because I have so much more I want to write for these two before they finally get together
So please bear with me and I'll make this as entertaining as possible.

Notes:

I made a boo boo, I posted chapters 8 and 9 wrong. Read chapter 7, then 9, then 8 and then 10. I'll fix it at some point