ATTEMPT 1

    Chuuya paces behind the back of the school like a woman awaiting execution.

    Back and forth. 

    Back and forth. 

    Back and forth. 

    Gravel crunches beneath her sneakers with every sharp turn she makes, volleyball jacket hanging loosely off her shoulders while the cool evening wind brushes against the sweat-damp skin of her neck. The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, painting everything gold and orange, but Chuuya barely notices it. Anxiety coils tighter and tighter inside her chest with every passing second. 

    Fuck. 

    Why is she so nervous? She’s Chuuya Nakahara. Captain of the girls’ volleyball team. Third year. Feared by underclassmen and respected by practically every athlete in the school. She can spike a ball hard enough to bruise someone’s arms through their sleeves, yell loud enough to silence an entire gymnasium, and stare down referees twice her size without blinking. 

    So why the hell is one cute first year making her feel like she’s going to throw up?

    Practice had ended less than thirty minutes ago. Chuuya had practically sprinted to the showers afterward, scrubbing herself down so quickly she nearly slipped and busted her ass on the tile floor. She’d spent an embarrassing amount of time afterward trying to make herself look presentable. Which, honestly, is difficult when she’s still wearing her volleyball shorts beneath her skirt and smells faintly like sports drink and sweat no matter how much body spray she uses.

    Still, this is important.

    Because today—today—Chuuya is finally going to confess.

    A love confession.

    To Atsushi Nakajima.

    Just thinking the name makes Chuuya stop pacing for half a second before immediately resuming twice as fast. 

    Atsushi fucking Nakajima. Cute, sweet, beautiful Atsushi Nakajima with her long silver hair and soft voice and stupidly gorgeous eyes.

    Chuuya has been completely, utterly doomed ever since first semester.

    They’d shared an English class together back then, Atsushi somehow ending up in a third year class despite being a first year. Chuuya remembers spotting her on the very first day: sitting beside her by coincidence, posture stiff with nerves, fingers absentmindedly twirling strands of silver hair around polished pink nails. 

    God, even back then she’d been pretty. 

    At first Atsushi barely spoke above a whisper. Every answer she gave in class came out soft and careful, her eyes darting around nervously afterward like she expected someone to laugh at her. Nobody did. Mostly because Chuuya would’ve killed them if they so much as giggled in Atsushi’s direction. 

    But slowly, little by little, Atsushi opened up.

    She started smiling more.

    Started talking to Chuuya before class.

    Started lingering after the bell rang.

    One day she admitted, cheeks pink with embarrassment, that she wanted to join the student council after first semester ended. “I know it’s difficult to get in,” Atsushi had murmured shyly, eyes fixed on her notebook. “But I really want to try.”

    Chuuya had admired that immediately. Atsushi always worked hard. Quietly. Earnestly. It made something warm bloom inside Chuuya’s chest.

    “Well, if student council doesn’t work out,” Chuuya had said back then, leaning back in her chair with a grin, “you should just join my club.” She’d flexed her arm after saying it, making Atsushi laugh. And fuck. That laugh. Light and airy and beautiful. The sound had hit Chuuya so hard she’d nearly forgotten how to form coherent sentences afterward.

    Now the second semester has started, and they no longer share classes together, but they still see each other. In the mornings, between classes, passing through hallways crowded with students. Those moments become the highlight of Chuuya’s entire day. Atsushi’s face always brightens the second she notices her.

    “Good morning, Chuuya-san!”

    Every single time. 

    Warm and sweet and genuine.

    Sometimes she waves too enthusiastically and nearly drops the papers in her hands. Sometimes she jogs over just to talk for a minute or two before student council duties drag her away again. 

    Chuuya treasures every second of it.

    Which is exactly why she’s standing behind the school right now trying not to pass out.

    Because she can’t keep bottling this up forever.

    Kouyou had told her that the best confessions are straightforward. No dramatic poetry. No weird gifts. No overcomplicated speeches. Just honesty. So that’s what Chuuya plans to do. A simple and direct “i like you, please go out with me”.

    That’s it.

    Easy.

    Probably.

    Maybe.

    Fuck.

    What if Atsushi says no? 

    The thought nearly makes Chuuya choke on air. 

    What if Atsushi isn’t into girls at all? What if Chuuya completely misunderstood every blush and smile from first semester? What if Atsushi has only been nice because she’s polite? What if this ruins everything between them? What if Atsushi stops smiling at her in the hallways? What if—

    The scrape of footsteps against gravel abruptly cuts through her spiraling thoughts.

    Chuuya whips her head up.

    And promptly forgets how to breathe.

    Atsushi Nakajima walks toward her through the golden evening sunlight like something out of a fucking romance movie. Her school skirt sways gently around her thighs while the breeze catches the oversized beige cardigan slipping off her shoulders, exposing the special student council uniform beneath. Long silver hair streaked with black dances around her waist, shimmering beneath the sunset.

    And then there are her eyes

    God.

    Those eyes…

    Gold melting into purple so beautifully it almost hurts to look at them.

    They brighten instantly the second they land on Chuuya.

    Then Atsushi smiles, soft glossy lips curling upward.

    Chuuya’s brain immediately short-circuits. 

    She’s so cute. So pretty. So unfairly beautiful.

    Meanwhile Chuuya looks like she crawled straight out of volleyball practice. 

    Her ginger hair is tied up in a messy bun with strands escaping everywhere. She’s wearing chapstick she stole from Kouyou fifteen minutes ago in a desperate attempt to “look prettier,” despite barely knowing how makeup works. And no matter how hard she scrubbed in the shower, she still smells faintly like sweat and salt. 

    Why the hell did she think this was a good idea?

    “Chuuya-san!” Atsushi calls happily. Her voice alone nearly knocks Chuuya flat. “I was so happy to get your text saying you wanted to talk!” Atsushi hurries closer. “I’ve been so busy with student council duties lately that we haven’t really gotten the chance to talk this semester.” She laughs sheepishly. “I’m very sorry, please forgive me.” 

    Then she bows slightly.

    Silvery hair spills down her shoulders like silk.

    Chuuya wants to bury her entire face in it.

    Holy shit.

    Holy shit.

    This is actually happening.

    She’s really about to confess.

    “Don’t—girl, the hell are you doing?!” Chuuya blurts immediately, horrified by the sight of Atsushi apologizing to her. “Don’t apologize for something you can’t control!” 

    Atsushi straightens at once, blinking in surprise. The first year towers over Chuuya slightly, and from this close Chuuya can see every tiny detail of her face: the soft shimmer of lip gloss, the silver lashes framing those impossible eyes, the faint dusting of pink warming her cheeks. It’s too much. Way too much.

    Chuuya wants to collapse directly at her feet.

    “W-We’ve both been busy,” Chuuya continues quickly, stumbling over her words. “So don’t even bother apologizing!”

    Atsushi still looks guilty. 

    “I know, but still…” Her fingers curl tighter around the folder in her hands. “I could’ve at least stopped by to say hi after your volleyball practices…”

    “And risk getting your ear screamed off by that crazy ass student council president?” Chuuya snorts.

    The reaction is immediate. Atsushi flounders like a startled fish.

    “A-Ah, Kunikida-san won’t get too upset!” she insists, though her voice loses confidence halfway through the sentence. “...I think? I mean… he’s been pretty lenient on me so maybe—?” 

    “Yeah, don’t even try testing how far you can go before getting in trouble,” Chuuya says, crossing her arms. “You’ll only dig yourself into a hole you won’t be able to climb out of.”

    She expects Atsushi to nod. Instead, there’s suddenly this strange little twinkle in the younger girl’s eyes. Atsushi lowers her head slightly, silver hair sliding over her shoulders like water while her fingers reach up to toy with the ends of it. A blush spreads softly across her pale cheeks.

    “Hmmm…” Atsushi hums shyly. “But Chuuya-san will help me out of the hole… right?”

    Chuuya’s heart immediately attempts to launch itself out of her ribcage. 

    “YEAH!!!” The word explodes out of her mouth without hesitation. “I-I’LL ALWAYS HELP YA IF YER EVER IN A BIND!”

    She’s practically yelling. Again. But Atsushi doesn’t recoil from the volume like most people do. Instead, her smile only grows softer. More fond. Her fingers continue winding strands of silver hair around themselves prettily while the sunset paints gold across her skin.

    “I know,” Atsushi says quietly. Her eyes drift downward bashfully. “That’s why you’re very precious to me, ya know?”

    Something inside Chuuya fucking combusts.

    Precious. 

    Atsushi just called her precious. 

    PRECIOUS!!!

    The word echoes through Chuuya’s skull over and over again while every coherent thought immediately catches fire and dies.

    Atsushi looks too cute standing there all shy and sweet beneath the sunset. Her glossy lips part slightly as she smiles, and suddenly Chuuya can’t stop imagining what it would feel like to kiss her. Really kiss her. Hands tangled in silver hair. Atsushi making soft little noises against her mouth. Maybe whining a bit if Chuuya kissed her hard enough and pinned her against the wall—

    Oh my god.

    Chuuya’s face burns so violently she thinks she might actually burst into flames.

    The love inside her swells bigger and bigger until it completely overrides common sense. 

    “I NEED TO TELL YOU SOMETHING IMPORTANT!!!”

    Atsushi startles before blinking at her curiously. “Ah!” Realization suddenly brightens her expression. “That must be why you wanted to talk back here!” Atsushi clasps her hands together in front of herself, eyes sparkling with interest. “Then go on ahead, Chuuya-san! I’m all ears.”

    Fuck.

    Fuck fuck fuck.

    Why does she have to look at her like that?

    There’s no judgment in Atsushi’s expression.

    No impatience.

    No annoyance.

    Just warmth.

    Curiosity.

    Excitement.

    Chuuya feels like she’s going to explode right there on the gravel.

    “I-I just wanted to tell you that—”

    Atsushi watches her attentively. Chuuya’s eyes dart to Atsushi’s. God, they’re beautiful.

    “T-That I—”

    Then her gaze drops lower to the smooth slope of Atsushi’s nose.

    “I—”

    Lower still, to the glossy sheen coating Atsushi’s plump lips. Chuuya’s brain short-circuits again. She wants to kiss those lips so fucking bad.

    And then somehow her eyes drift even lower—

    —to the slender column of Atsushi’s throat.

    The pale skin there looks so soft Chuuya nearly loses her damn mind.

    She wants to kiss there too.

    Maybe bite a little.

    Leave marks.

    For fucks sake!

    Say it, Chuuya!

    SAY IT!!!

    In one loud desperate outburst, Chuuya finally shouts.

    “I WANT YOU TO JOIN MY CLUB!!!”

    Silence. Absolute silence. Even the wind seems to stop moving.

    The words echo across the empty space behind the school while Chuuya stares at Atsushi in dawning horror.

    No. 

    No no no…

    That’s not what she meant to say.

    Why the hell did she say that?!

    Did… did she seriously just ask Atsushi to join the volleyball club instead of asking her out?

    Where the fuck did that even come from?!

    Sweat beads down the back of Chuuya’s neck as embarrassment crashes over her like a tidal wave. 

    Slowly—very slowly—she glances back up at Atsushi.

    The first year looks sheepishly surprised.

    “Your…club?” Atsushi repeats carefully. “The volleyball team?”

    God, maybe she did mishear. Please let her have misheard.

    But no.

    Chuuya’s stupid mouth absolutely betrayed her.

    And now she has to commit to the bit or risk dying instantly.

    “...Yeah,” Chuuya forces out weakly. She crosses her arms tightly over her chest, trying to preserve what little dignity she has left.

    It’s not working.

    “Oh.”

    Atsushi’s expression softens immediately with guilt. Then she bows again. “I’m sorry, Chuuya-san, but I’m already committed to the student council.” She straightens afterward, eyes filled with such sincere regret that Chuuya almost wants to scream.

    Don’t look guilty! You didn’t do anything wrong!

    “...Right,” Chuuya chokes out awkwardly. Her hand flies up to cover her mouth while she coughs. “Right, yeah, of course.”

    Kill her.

    Someone please kill her immediately.

    Before she can embarrass herself even further, a sharp ding suddenly cuts through the air. Atsushi blinks before quickly pulling her phone from her cardigan pocket. The second she reads the screen, disappointment twists across her face.

    “Ahh…” she sighs softly. “I’m really, really sorry to cut this short, Chuuya-san, but Kunikida-san is wondering where I am…”

    Honestly? Thank fucking god.

    Chuuya grabs onto the escape route immediately.

    “No yeah, I get it, don’t worry,” she says quickly, waving her hand dismissively. “Go—go help that Kunikida guy before he blows a fuse.” 

    Atsushi nods hurriedly, but before Chuuya can fully process what’s happening, the younger girl suddenly steps closer. Close enough for Chuuya to smell her shampoo. Close enough to count every individual eyelash—

    Atsushi reaches up gently and fixes Chuuya’s volleyball jacket where it had been slipping off her shoulder.Her fingers brush against Chuuya’s collarbone for barely half a second. Chuuya stops functioning.

    “There,” Atsushi says softly. Her smile returns, warm enough to melt steel. “On it! Let’s talk again soon, okay, Chuuya-san?”

    Then she’s gone. Running off across the gravel with silver hair flying beautifully behind her in soft shimmering wisps.

    Chuuya stares after her.

    And stares.

    And stares.

    Then suddenly—

    “Hhhhhhhh—!” A strangled gasp tears out of her lungs as she grabs both sides of her head.

    She’s an idiot. A COMPLETE AND UTTER FOOL! There’s no way she actually asked Atsushi to join the volleyball club instead of confessing like a normal fucking person!! What kind of disease does she have?!?!

    Seething with rage at herself, Chuuya spins around and stomps toward the locker room. Her footsteps are loud and violent against the pavement while she sulks furiously the entire way back.

    “Stupid,” she mutters under her breath.

    Kick.

    “So fucking stupid.”

    Kick.

    “I had ONE job!”

    By the time she kicks open the locker room doors, Chuuya is fully prepared to spend the rest of her life throwing herself into the ocean.

ATTEMPT 2

    In Chuuya’s defense, she hadn’t planned on being late for history class.

    It just…happened. 

    One second she’d been leaning against the sink counter in the boys’ restroom, listening to Albatross ramble excitedly about some new motorcycle engine he’d been testing out, and the next thing she knew the warning bell rang through the halls. 

    “Oh, you’re fucked,” Albatross had laughed immediately.

    “Shut the hell up,” Chuuya snapped back while hopping off the bathroom counter.

    Then chaos erupted, because apparently the second-year boys using the restroom had only just realized there was a girl hanging out casually beside the sinks.

    “EH?!”

    “NAKAHARA-SENPAI?!”

    “WHY ARE YOU IN HERE?!”

    Chuuya didn’t even bother answering.

    She just darted past them with a muttered “move,” weaving through terrified boys while Albatross cackled loud enough to shake the mirrors.

    Honestly, Chuuya wouldn’t call herself a troublemaker. Not really. She’s not one of those students who intentionally tries to make the school’s life miserable or skip class for fun or start fights in the hallway. Somehow, though—somehow—she always ends up in situations that make her look like a troublemaker. 

    Which is bullshit, because she isn’t one.

    She attends class, raises her hand politely, only talks when the teacher allows discussion, kKeeps her opinions to herself while teachers are facing her (Now, if the teacher turns their back and Chuuya runs her mouth a little, that’s none of anyone’s business), and sure, maybe she’s spent the last two years resisting the urge to knock Dazai’s annoying ass unconscious every time he opens his mouth, but restraint should count for something. The point is: Chuuya does not intentionally break rules.

    Which is exactly why this entire situation is so humiliating.

    The hallway is nearly empty now, most students already inside their classrooms while Chuuya rushes toward the history wing at full speed, bag bouncing against her hip.

    Then—

    WHAM.

    “Oof—!”

    Someone slams directly into her.

    Folders explode everywhere.

    Papers scatter across the floor like frightened birds.

    And suddenly Chuuya’s on the ground, knees stinging from impact while the other person lands beside her with a startled noise.

    “Shit, shit, shit! Sorry man, I—”

    Chuuya looks up.

    And her brain immediately blue screens.

    “Eh?! Atsushi?!”

    Atsushi stares back at her just as wide-eyed.

    For a second the younger girl looks completely frazzled, silver-and-black hair falling messily around her shoulders from the collision. Her sunset-colored eyes blink rapidly in confusion. Then recognition settles in and Atsushi smiles. Big, bright, and beautiful.

    “Chuuya-san! It’s you!” 

    That smile hits Chuuya like a fucking truck. For the briefest moment, being late to class suddenly feels completely worth it.

    Atsushi quickly kneels properly on the floor and starts gathering the folders scattered around them. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention—”

    “No, no, that’s my fault,” Chuuya interrupts immediately.

    Panic finally kicks back into her system and she hurriedly crouches down beside Atsushi to help collect the papers.

    God, she smells nice—something soft and clean and vaguely floral.

    Chuuya tries not to think about it too hard.

    Their hands brush accidentally while reaching for the same folder and Chuuya nearly drops dead on the spot. Meanwhile Atsushi simply laughs quietly. “Thank you for helping me,” she says warmly.

    Chuuya clears her throat roughly. “Yeah, no problem.” She quickly taps the bottom edges of the folders against the floor, straightening the papers neatly with a sharp click. 

    When she looks back up at Atsushi, there’s suddenly something suspicious flickering behind her pretty eyes. 

    “What are you doing out of class?” Atsushi asks softly. “The bell already rang…” 

    Chuuya feels her soul leave her body.

    No. No no no. The LAST thing she needs is Atsushi thinking she’s some delinquent slacker!

    “Ah, it was an accident, I swear!” Chuuya blurts immediately, words coming out way too aggressively. “Albatross held me up in the boys’ restroom talking about motorcycle engines!” The explanation leaves her mouth in a hurry.

    Silence follows.

    Atsushi blinks slowly.

    “...The boys’ restroom?”

    Ah. Right. That sounds horrible.

    Most girls probably don’t casually mention hanging around in the boys’ bathroom, especially not while discussing motorcycle parts.

    Chuuya waves her hand dismissively before Atsushi can misunderstand further. “Don’t think too hard about it,” she mutters with a click of her tongue. “Nobody really cares when I’m in there.”

    And still, despite her explanation, Atsushi’s face twists with discomfort. “They don’t mess with you for being in their space?” she asks carefully.

    Chuuya barks out a laugh immediately. The idea is genuinely ridiculous. “They’d have to have a death wish to mess with me!” Which is true. Most students avoid provoking Chuuya Nakahara the same way people avoid poking sleeping wolves with sticks.

    Atsushi, however, doesn’t laugh. Instead, her brows knit together tighter. “So I have nothing to worry about?”

    Chuuya blinks. Her heartbeat suddenly thunders loud enough to rattle her ribcage.

    Atsushi looks…concerned. Actually concerned. For her. Concerned for Chuuya.

    The realization hits like a volleyball directly to the chest. Chuuya’s mouth immediately dries up.

    “...You’re worried about me?” she nearly chokes out.

    Atsushi’s entire face flushes pink. “O-Of course!” she blurts, clutching the folders tighter against her chest with a scandalized expression. “As your friend and—and a member of the student council, it’s my duty to make sure you’re not being harassed by other students!”

    Friend. 

    Okay.

    Sure.

    …That hurts a little, actually.

    But before Chuuya can spiral too deeply into despair, Atsushi’s expression shifts into something thoughtful. “But…” she murmurs slowly. Her gaze drifts away. “I kinda feel like I should scold you for being in the boys’ restroom in the first place… and for missing class…” Atsushi’s shoulders hunch toward her ears awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

    Meanwhile Chuuya’s brain completely derails. 

    Scold her? Atsushi doesn’t want to scold her? Oh, absolutely the fuck not. There is no way Chuuya is letting this opportunity pass her by, she would rather DIE.

    “Oh?” Chuuya grins immediately, leaning forward slightly. “And will ya do it? Scold me, I mean?”

    Atsushi startles. Her blush deepens instantly.

    “Eh—?”

    She hurriedly pushes herself upright onto her feet, clearly trying to regain composure. Chuuya follows after her, knees grateful to finally escape the hard floor tiles.

    “Hmmm…” Atsushi hums nervously, avoiding eye contact. “It feels weird to scold my senpai…”

    Chuuya waves the folders in her hands dramatically. “C’moooon, do it!” She encourages loudly. “Give me your best lecture, student council member Atsushi-chan~!”

    Atsushi pouts. Actually pouts. Her cheeks puff slightly while she stares at Chuuya like she’s being unreasonable. It’s the cutest thing Chuuya has ever seen in her entire fucking life.

    For a brief moment Atsushi taps her foot against the ground, clearly debating whether or not to indulge her. Then finally—

    “Fine!”

    Atsushi tucks the folders securely beneath one arm before suddenly pointing at Chuuya. And holy shit. Her face goes serious. Almost intimidating.

    “Chuuya-san,” Atsushi says firmly, “for being in the boys’ restroom and missing the bell, I’m administering you with a warning! Now get back to class!”

    The hallway falls strangely dramatic all at once. An invisible breeze seems to sweep through the corridor, lifting Atsushi’s silver hair around her shoulders while the fluorescent lights gleam against her pretty eyes. Her lips purse with determination, expression full of righteous student council justice. 

    Chuuya’s heart skips an entire beat.

    God.

    She’s adorable!

    “...Cute,” Chuuya mumbles before she can stop herself.

    Silence.

    Atsushi’s face immediately erupts bright red. “Cute?!”

    Oh shit.

    Ohhhhh shit.

    She said that out loud.

    She actually called Atsushi cute directly to her face.

    Chuuya’s soul briefly exits her body—

    Wait. 

    Maybe this can still work in her favor. She completely fucked up her last confession attempt, sure, but maybe this is fate giving her another shot!

    Round two, baby. This time she’ll do it right.

    “Ah—I mean?!” Chuuya stumbles over herself, completely caught off guard by Atsushi’s beauty before violently shaking her head to regain focus. “Yes!” Chuuya shouts suddenly. “Cute! I said cute! To you! As a compliment!”

    Atsushi looks even more scandalized somehow. 

    “Eh?! Chuuya-san, are you teasing me—?”

    “NO I’M NOT TEASING YOU!” Chuuya practically yells the words while shoving the folders she’d helped pick up directly into Atsushi’s chest.

    A couple classroom doors nearby crack open slightly from the noise. Neither girl notices.

    Chuuya inhales sharply. Okay. Okay. Focus. She can do this, she just needs to say the words properly.

    “And—AND CUTE GIRLS—”

    Should be dating me, like you, Atsushi. 

    God, she wants to say it so bad.

    Instead, her stupid idiot mouth betrays her again.

    “—SHOULD BE ON MY VOLLEYBALL TEAM!”

    Dead fucking silence.

    The words echo through the hallway like a public execution.

    Chuuya stops breathing.

    …Fuck. 

    She messed it up.

    Again.

    FUCK!!!

    Embarrassment floods her body instantly, hot and suffocating and familiar like an old enemy returning for round two. 

    Across from her, Atsushi stares in complete stunned confusion. Honestly? Fair. Chuuya herself is also confused and stunned by her own dumbass words.

    “...Chuuya-san?” Atsushi finally says carefully. Her feet shift awkwardly against the floor. “...I already said I couldn’t, ya know? With my student council duties?”

    As she speaks, she gently takes the folders from Chuuya’s outstretched hands and adds them back to the stack beneath her arm. 

    “Oh yeah…” she mutters hollowly. “How could I forget…” 

    God, she wants the floor to open up and consume her. What kind of curse causes a person to accidentally recruit the girl they’re trying to flirt with every single time?

    Atsushi still looks worried, which somehow makes this worse.

    “But…” Atsushi starts hesitantly. Chuuya braces for impact. “But I’m really happy you keep wanting me around.”

    Oh.

    Oh no.

    That soft little confession lands directly in Chuuya’s chest. 

    Atsushi smiles shyly afterward, fingers brushing through the ends of her silver hair again. “And maybe someday, when I’m less busy…” she says quietly, “I could come help out during practice?”

    Chuuya stares at her.

    Then immediately falls in love all over again.

ATTEMPT 3

    Volleyball practice today is nothing short of awful. 

    Chuuya’s frustration festers inside her like something alive, hot and ugly and impossible to ignore. Every missed receive feels personal. Every failed spike makes her jaw clench harder. By the time one of the first years completely fumbles an easy set, Chuuya finally snaps. 

    “Get your shit together!”

    The shout cracks through the gymnasium so sharply the entire team freezes. The poor first year girl recoils immediately, clutching the volleyball tightly to her chest while embarrassment flashes across her face.

    And Chuuya knows, realistically, this isn’t how a good captain acts. A good captain corrects mistakes calmly. Gives advice. Encourages improvement. Supports the team instead of terrifying them into silence, but every time Chuuya opens her mouth today, anger spills out instead.

    Because she’s frustrated. No—worse than frustrated.

    Miserable.

    It’s been weeks since the second failed confession. Weeks since Chuuya accidentally told Atsushi to join the volleyball team instead of confessing like a normal fucking person. And now everything feels weird and wrong.

    Atsushi doesn’t avoid her exactly, but it’s damn close. Whenever they pass each other in the hallways now, Atsushi always gets this look on her face first—hopeful and expectant, like she’s bracing herself for Chuuya to launch into another recruitment speech. Which is insane,because Atsushi’s already drowning in schoolwork and student council duties. Chuuya knows that and yet somehow she’s accidentally created this image of herself as the aggressive volleyball captain constantly trying to poach Atsushi into joining the team.

    Meanwhile what Chuuya actually wants is: 

    Holdhands. 

    Go on dates. 

    Maybe kiss a little.

    Maybe a lot.

    Instead she’s trapped in her own personal hell.

    Their greetings are shorter now. Their goodbyes fleeting. Every interaction slips through Chuuya’s fingers like air before she can hold onto it properly.

    And because of that, her teammates are unfortunately catching the full force of her mood.

    Practice ends in tense silence. The second the dismissal whistle blows, the underclassmen practically flee the gym. Chuuya can hear their nervous whispering while they hurry toward the school gates.

    “Captain’s really scary today…”

    “Did something happen?”

    “Maybe she fought with Dazai-san again—”

    Chuuya scowls harder. Beside her, Kouyou sighs. As the team filters out of the gymnasium, Kouyou falls into step beside Chuuya easily, her bag hanging over one shoulder while Chuuya trudges forward with her own shoulders hunched near her ears.

    Unfortunately for Chuuya, Kouyou is one of the few people alive completely immune to her bad attitude. 

    “As cute as it is seeing you snap at the benchwarmers—”

    “Stop calling them that—!” The protest leaves Chuuya immediately. Her hackles rise at once. Sure, some of the girls barely get court time during official matches, but hearing Kouyou dismiss them so casually still pisses her off.

    Kouyou steamrolls right over the interruption anyway.

    “You shouldn’t take your anger out on them,” she continues smoothly, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “Not when they haven’t actually done anything deserving of it.”

    Damn her. Kouyou always tells the truth, and hearing the truth feels like getting thumbtacks shoved directly into Chuuya’s ears.

    “...I can do whatever the fuck I want,” Chuuya grumbles bitterly. “I’m their captain.”

    The words come out childish. Petulant. Especially with the way her lower lip pushes outward into an annoyed pout afterward. Chuuya hates it, but she can’t stop herself.

    Kouyou only hums thoughtfully beside her while they walk toward the school gates together, evening sunlight stretching long shadows across the pavement. “Yes,” Kouyou says calmly. “But that kind of attitude isn’t what inspired your teammates to name you captain.”

    That one hits directly in the chest. Chuuya kicks a loose rock across the sidewalk hard enough for it to skip violently across the concrete. Shame bubbles unpleasantly in her stomach. Because Kouyou’s right.Again. Chuuya became captain because people trusted her. Because she worked hard. Because she protected her teammates and stayed passionate and made volleyball fun even during exhausting practices. She’s supposed to be dependable. Supposed to act like a proper senior everyone can rely on, Not whatever the hell this is.

    But every time she thinks about Atsushi lately, frustration swells inside her until she feels like screaming.

    Or crying.

    Or both.

    Chuuya elects to stay silent, unsure how to respond without every word turning sharp and ugly on her tongue.

    A sigh leaves Kouyou at Chuuya’s stubborn silence. “It seems your failed attempts at confessing have rendered you useless to your own teammates…” Kouyou muses dramatically. “What a pity…”

    Anger immediately detonates inside Chuuya’s chest. “EH?! EXCUSE ME?!” she snaps, face burning red. “I’LL SWAP YOUR ASS OUT WITH HIGUCHI!” The threat comes out with enough venom to make a couple nearby students glance over nervously while passing the sidewalk.

    Kouyou merely glances down at her with mild amusement. “You wouldn’t,” she says calmly. “I’m a much better setter than she is.”

    Which— Okay. True. Annoyingly true. But Chuuya absolutely refuses to give Kouyou the satisfaction of hearing that out loud.

    Instead she clicks her tongue sharply and looks away with a scowl. Kouyou continues without mercy.

    “But if that uptight attitude of yours keeps up,” she says smoothly, “I imagine it’s only a matter of time before the others arrange to have you replaced instead.”

    That shuts Chuuya up immediately, because that one actually hurts. The reminder of her own behavior sinks heavy into her chest, shame washing over her so fast it nearly makes her nauseous. Her shoulders slump. The anger fizzles away almost instantly afterward, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and frustration and the awful ache sitting permanently in her chest these days.

    “I don’t know what to do, Kouyou,” Chuuya finally mutters. Her voice sounds smaller than she wants it to. Every ounce of fight drains out of her as she drags a hand through her messy ginger hair. “Every time I think I’m finally about to tell Atsushi how I feel,” she groans miserably, “something completely different falls outta my mouth! It’s so fucking frustrating!”

    Kouyou laughs immediately.

    Not even subtle laughter either.

    Full blown amusement.

    She lifts a hand elegantly to cover her smile while Chuuya glares daggers at her.

    “And somehow,” Kouyou hums, shoulders shaking slightly, “it always circles back to volleyball~”

    “Ugh, don’t remind me…”

    Chuuya wants to walk directly into traffic. Honestly, at this point she’s starting to sound less like a girl with a crush and more like a cult leader aggressively recruiting new members.

    Kouyou studies her thoughtfully for a moment afterward. Then suddenly says, “Chuuya, if you’re truly having this much trouble saying your feelings out loud, why not write them down instead?”

    Chuuya stares at her blankly. 

    Kouyou continues casually.

    “Put your confession in a letter and give it to Nakajima-san.”

    The suggestion is so horrifying Chuuya almost stops walking entirely.

    A letter?

    A confession letter?!

    What is this, some shoujo manga?!

    The glare she sends Kouyou could probably crack concrete.

    Kouyou, unfortunately, interprets it perfectly and only shrugs. “What?” she says innocently. “It’s an extremely popular confession method around here.”

    Chuuya groans loudly, dragging both hands down her face. “...Atsushi deserves something better than words scribbled on some crumpled paper,” she mutters bitterly.

    The second the embarrassingly sincere sentence leaves her mouth, Kouyou makes an exaggerated gagging noise. “Awww,” she coos mockingly. “You’re so lovesick it makes me want to puke.”

    “Shut up already!”

    Kouyou laughs again.

    Chuuya hates her.

    A little.

    Maybe.

    By the time they finally reach the school gates, the sky has shifted fully into warm evening colors, orange sunlight stretching across the pavement beneath their feet. Chuuya sighs and reaches automatically into her bag pocket for her bus pass.

    Her fingers touch nothing.

    She pauses, then digs deeper.

    Still nothing.

    “…Huh?”

    Frowning, Chuuya slips her bag off her shoulder and crouches onto the sidewalk, rummaging through it more aggressively.

    Pens. A half-crushed sports drink. Wrappers. Notebook.

    But no bus pass. 

    “…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

    Kouyou pauses nearby, watching her calmly.

    “Forget something?”

    Chuuya scowls up at her. “Yeah,” she grumbles. “Left my damn bus pass in my locker. Need to go grab it.”

    Kouyou nods once in understanding. “Alright then. I won’t bother waiting.”

    She starts walking through the gates, long hair swaying behind her gracefully.

    But before fully leaving, Kouyou glances back over her shoulder one last time. “Chuuya,” she calls.

    “Hm?” 

    “Think about what I said regarding your anger.” Chuuya grimaces immediately. “The last thing we need,” Kouyou continues, “is your teammates turning against you because you don’t know how to handle your sudden bouts of aggression.”

    Ugh.

    The way she phrases it makes Chuuya sound like some barely domesticated attack dog. Her pride bristles instantly.

    Still…Kouyou isn’t wrong. Again.

    Under her breath, Chuuya mutters a reluctant, “…Noted.”

    Kouyou smiles faintly at that before disappearing fully through the gates. 

    Left alone now, Chuuya exhales heavily and swings her bag back over her shoulder. Then she turns on her heel and starts making the trek back toward the locker rooms.

    When Chuuya arrives at the locker rooms, it’s quiet. Completely, blessedly quiet. No shouting underclassmen. No collapsing volleyballs. No Kouyou lecturing her like she’s some emotionally unstable disaster waiting to happen. Just the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the faint echo of her own footsteps.

    Everyone has already left for the day, which means Chuuya can finally walk through the aisles of lockers without getting ambushed by some overly enthusiastic teammate trying to spark a conversation while she’s actively trying to escape her own life.

    Peace at last—

    Then she walks deeper in and something shifts. At first it’s subtle. Just a sound. A faint sniffle. Then another. Then the soft, rhythmic tap of something hitting metal.

    Chuuya slows. Her brows furrow slightly.

    …Is someone still here?

    She tries to ignore it at first. Honestly, she really does. If someone wants to have a breakdown in a locker room, that’s not her problem. She has her own emotional dysfunction to handle, thank you very much. But with every step she takes toward her own locker aisle, the sound grows clearer.

    Sniffling. Soft tapping. Like nervous fingers drumming against metal doors.

    Chuuya’s curiosity prickles despite herself. 

    She turns the corner into her aisle—

    And freezes.

    Completely.

    Brain-emptying, soul-leaving-the-body freezing.

    Because right in front of her is Atsushi.

    Drenched.

    Soaked from head to toe like she’d fallen directly into a pool and decided to walk into a locker room anyway. 

    Her school uniform hangs open and dripping over the side of a locker door, heavy with water. The fabric clings to the metal, leaving dark wet patches on everything it touches. Atsushi herself is—

    No fucking way. 

    Atsushi is wearing nothing but lacy black underwear. A delicate bra. Matching panties. Clinging slightly to damp skin that still glistens with moisture. Her silver-and-black hair is plastered to her shoulders and neck, droplets sliding down the strands and falling onto her collarbones. She’s holding a makeshift paper fan in shaking hands, fanning the wet uniform that hangs limply from the open door of her locker. 

    Her shoulders tremble with every small movement. And she’s crying. Not loud sobs. Just quiet tears slipping down her flushed cheeks, catching on her jaw before dropping from her chin.

    Chuuya makes a horrible choked noise—somewhere between shock, embarrassment, and immediate catastrophic attraction.

    At the sound, Atsushi’s head snaps upward. Their eyes lock.

    And the absolute horror that floods Atsushi’s expression nearly kills Chuuya on impact.

    “—Oh my gosh, Chuuya-san!”

    Atsushi immediately scrambles to cover herself, arms wrapping tightly around her body as if she can somehow hide all at once. The movement only makes everything worse. Because now Chuuya notices the soft curve of her waist. The trembling line of her thighs. The way her chest rises sharply beneath the lace with every panicked breath—

    Chuuya’s face bursts into flames. “ATSUSHI?!” she practically screeches. Her voice echoes violently off the lockers. “W-What are you—?! Why are you—?!” Words completely abandon her. Her eyes dart helplessly over Atsushi’s body despite knowing she absolutely should not be looking.

    She needs to look away. Immediately. For both their sakes.

    But Atsushi suddenly crumples tighter into herself as she falls to the floor, knees pulling toward her chest as another sob breaks loose.

    “I’m sorry,” Atsushi chokes out miserably. “I’m so sorry, please—don’t look, don’t—” Her words dissolve into crying.

    And just like that, Chuuya’s brain violently snaps back into functioning.

    Right. Now is not the time to be a massive fucking lesbian disaster. Atsushi’s upset. Humiliated. Crying.

    Chuuya immediately whirls around so fast she nearly gives herself whiplash. “I—shit—!” She drops heavily onto the bench separating the locker aisles, back firmly turned toward Atsushi while her entire body trembles from adrenaline. “No! No, this isn’t your fault, it’s mine, I—” Her hands clench hard into the fabric of her volleyball shorts. God. Her face feels like it’s on fire. “Sorry for looking!” Chuuya blurts desperately.

    Behind her, Atsushi sniffles softly. Then, very quietly she whispers, “…It’s okay.”

    No it’s not. It absolutely is not okay. Chuuya accidentally walked in on the girl she’s hopelessly in love with half naked and crying in the locker room. Nothing about this is okay.

    But Chuuya no longer trusts herself to open her mouth without saying something horrifyingly inappropriate, so she forces herself to stay facing forward. Even if the image of Atsushi soaked through and trembling is now permanently burned into her brain forever. Behind her, the soft rustling of fabric continues.

    “This is the worst…” The sadness in her voice twists painfully in Chuuya’s chest. “Again…” Atsushi mumbles. “I’m so sorry you have to see me like this, Chuuya-san…”

    Again?

    Chuuya’s brows knit together immediately.

    Despite every instinct screaming at her to turn around and comfort Atsushi properly, she stays firmly planted on the bench. She does not trust herself to touch Atsushi right now. Not when Atsushi’s vulnerable. Not when Chuuya’s heart is trying to punch directly through her ribs. So instead she stares stubbornly ahead at the opposite row of lockers and asks carefully, “…What happened?”

    Silence.

    Atsushi doesn’t answer right away.

    Chuuya awkwardly gestures vaguely behind herself toward the dripping uniform hanging from the locker.

    “I mean…your clothes…” she mutters. “Why’re they…?” The sentence fizzles out awkwardly. Hopefully Atsushi understands what she’s trying to ask, because Chuuya’s brain is currently operating at approximately three percent capacity.

    Atsushi’s voice is still quiet when she answers, but there’s something different buried in it now—like every word has to push past something stuck in her throat. “Just a silly prank.” She inhales sharply. The sound echoes in the metal lockers like it’s too loud for how small she’s trying to make herself. “I just need to wait for my clothes to dry and then I’ll leave.”

    Chuuya lifts her head slightly at that.

    “…Can’t you just change into your gym uniform?”

    A pause.

    Then Atsushi lets out a small, strained breath.

    “They took it from my locker.” That makes Chuuya freeze. “I don’t know how they did it but…” Atsushi’s voice wavers, then she forces a tiny laugh that sounds completely wrong. “This is a really good prank. They um…really got me.”

    Something sharp twists in Chuuya’s chest. This isn’t a prank. Not even close. It’s targeted. Mean. Calculated. Pathetic bullying aimed straight at the softest person she knows.

    Atsushi says it like she’s trying to convince herself more than Chuuya, but Chuuya can’t swallow it without choking.

    “A prank? Atsushi, this is the textbook definition of bullying,” she snaps before she can stop herself. The words hit the air hard. She hears Atsushi flinch behind her. “Who did this? Got names?”

    Atsushi makes a small distressed sound, like she’s been caught in something she doesn’t want to escalate.

    “No! No, it’s not bullying, it’s just—” she hesitates, searching. “Um…payback, maybe?”

    Chuuya turns her head slightly despite herself. 

    “Payback for what?”

    “For…the last couple of write-ups I had to hand over to the teachers…”

    Her voice shrinks on the last word. Uncertain. Careful. Like she’s afraid even explaining it will make it worse. 

    And that uncertainty—

    That alone cracks something in Chuuya’s chest.

    Because Atsushi sounds like she still thinks she might deserve it.

    Chuuya scoffs, sharp and disgusted. “Seriously? What a bunch of petty bitches.”

    A beat. Atsushi shifts behind her. “Um I wouldn’t call them petty…” she says softly, then adds even quieter, almost to herself, “…or um…bitches.”

    That gets Chuuya. A startled laugh bursts out of her before she can stop it.

    “Hah! Well, I definitely wouldn’t call them outstanding students, that’s for damn sure.”

    Atsushi lets out a small breathy laugh too. “It’s why they got write-ups, after all.”

    The joke slips out easier this time. A little more stable. A little more like her. And Chuuya feels her shoulders loosen just slightly, tension easing from her spine now that Atsushi’s voice isn’t shaking as badly.

    Still turned away, she exhales slowly.

    “…Yeah,” she mutters. “Sounds like it.”

    A pause settles between them. Not as suffocating as before. But still awkward. Still fragile.

    Chuuya hesitates, then adds gruffly, “Look… you shouldn’t just sit here like this.”

    Behind her, Atsushi shifts again. “I don’t have a choice,” she says quietly.

    Chuuya clicks her tongue. “Yeah, you do.”

    She reaches into her bag without looking, fumbling around blindly until she finds the school uniform she wore to school today. Chuuya is of…a smaller stature than Atsushi, but having clothes is better than not having clothes, isn’t it? 

    She holds the crumpled articles of clothing out behind her without turning.

    “Here,” she says flatly. “Wear this home and give it back to me tomorrow.”

    Atsushi hesitates. “…Chuuya-san? That's—that's your school uniform?”

    Chuuya can feel her ears heat up at the reminder that she’s giving the girl she loves, her own clothes to wear. 

    “Clearly,” Chuuya snaps, embarrassment making her tongue click with defensiveness. “Just take it!” 

    A soft rustle. 

    Then the clothes are gently taken from her hand.

    “Thank you…”

    Chuuya stares forward hard at the lockers in front of her, refusing to look back, because if she does, she’s going to see Atsushi again and she’s already dangerously close to losing all functioning brain cells. Instead she mutters, trying for normal and landing somewhere closer to grumpy concern. “I’m still gonna ask who did this later.”

    Atsushi makes a small sound of protest. “Chuuya-san…”

    “What? I am.”

    Another pause. Then, quieter this time, Atsushi says, “You’re really kind.” 

    As Chuuya tries to think of a response to that, the sound of clothes rustling against skin fills her ears. 

    Fabric shifts.

    Soft material lifting.

    Atsushi moving.

    Chuuya can hear it all too clearly—the way Chuuya’s shirt is pulled up and over Atsushi’s head, the faint drag of dry cotton against wet shoulders, the soft little inhale Atsushi makes as she threads her arms through sleeves that cling slightly just from her skin still being damp. Not soaked anymore, just…wet enough for everything to stick for a second longer than it should. 

    Then the faint sound of buttons being fastened. Fingers fumbling. Careful. Slightly shaky. And underneath it all, the rustle of Atsushi stepping into the skirt, pulling it up over skin that still glistens faintly with leftover water, fabric sliding against damp thighs before settling into place.

    Chuuya stiffens so hard she nearly stops existing.

    God.

    That’s worse.

    That’s somehow worse.

    Her brain is already doing something deeply illegal with the information.

    She feels like she might get a nosebleed from sheer psychological damage alone—

    “You can look now. I’m covered.”

    Chuuya jolts so violently she nearly falls off the bench.

    No.

    No, no, no.

    Looking is a terrible idea.

    A catastrophic idea.

    A self-destructive, life-ruining idea.

    She’s horny enough as it is, ok?!

    “I—Th-That’s fine!” she blurts immediately, staring at the lockers like they personally betrayed her. “I actually need to check my locker for—”

    “Please? I need help with the tie…”

    Chuuya freezes completely.

    Oh god. 

    That tone.

    That’s not fair—that’s emotional manipulation!

    She squeezes her eyes shut so hard she sees color burst behind her eyelids like a malfunctioning festival.

    This is fine.

    This is absolutely not fine.

    Inhaling sharply like she’s about to jump into freezing water, Chuuya steels herself. “…Okay. Fine. Just—don’t move.”

    She turns around.

    And immediately regrets every life decision she’s ever made.

    Atsushi stands there in Chuuya’s uniform.

   Which should be normal.

    Should be fine—Is absolutely not fine.

    The shirt is dry, but her skin beneath it still holds a faint sheen of moisture, like she only just finished drying off. The fabric settles against her properly but not perfectly, the faintest cling at her collar and sleeves where damp skin makes it settle differently.

    And the skirt? The skirt is a problem.

    Not because of anything inappropriate happening.

    Because Chuuya’s brain is the problem.

    It sits higher on Atsushi’s frame than it ever would on Chuuya, emphasizing how different their bodies are without meaning to. Nothing is actually exposed incorrectly, nothing is wrong, but Chuuya’s thoughts are absolutely screaming anyway.

    Her brain tries to leave her body again.

    She forcibly drags it back by sheer willpower.

    “Ah—Chuuya-san! Your nose!”

    It takes Chuuya a second to process that. Then she realizes Atsushi is pointing at her face in alarm.

    Chuuya reaches up. 

    Fingers come away red.

     “…Oh.”

    Right.

    Cool.

    Fantastic.

    That’s happening.

    “That’s—fine!” she says quickly, immediately pinching her nose shut with one hand. With the other she waves Atsushi off like she’s handling a minor emergency. “I’m okay! Just—give me a second!”

    She stumbles back, rummaging through her bag with frantic urgency.

    Tissues.

    Tissues.

    Where are the—

    Ah.

    Got them. 

    She shoves them up her nose in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, standing back up a moment later looking like an absolute disaster: two tissue plugs stuffed in her nostrils, face red, hair messy, dignity nonexistent. Perfect. Normal. Nothing suspicious here! 

    “I didn’t know you get nosebleeds,” Atsushi says, tilting her head slightly.

    Chuuya immediately steps forward to focus on literally anything else, grabbing Atsushi’s tie.

    “Me neither…” she mutters, voice muffled.

    Atsushi raises a brow. “What did you say?”

    “Nothing!” Chuuya snaps too fast, already fumbling with the tie like it’s a life-or-death mission. “Now stay still!”

    Atsushi listens quietly, staying rigidly still from the lingering aftershocks of the cold water while Chuuya wraps the tie carefully around the collar of the school uniform. Chuuya keeps her eyes locked there. Only there. The collar. The tie. The neat folds of fabric beneath her fingers.

    Because if her gaze dips even slightly lower, she’ll immediately be greeted by the sinful sight of the shirt stretching across Atsushi’s chest and Chuuya genuinely does not think she’d survive that.

    Just thinking about it makes her swallow nervously.

    Still, her fingers work quickly. Years of tying school ties absentmindedly before early morning practices makes the motion second nature. Fold. Pull. Tighten. A neat bow settles beneath Atsushi’s chin.

    Chuuya immediately steps backward like physical distance alone can save her now. “There,” she announces loudly, still trying very hard not to stare directly at Atsushi’s face for too long. “Done!” Her voice echoes awkwardly through the empty locker room. “Now you can go home and throw those clothes in your washer and dryer.”

    Silence follows.

    From the corner of her eye, Chuuya notices Atsushi staring down at her. Not confused. Not embarrassed. Something else.

    A faint blush dusts Atsushi’s cheeks again, soft pink against pale skin.

    “You…how…?” Her voice trails off.

    That finally gets Chuuya to look up properly.

    And immediately her heartbeat stumbles. 

    There’s something in the air between them now. Something fragile. Warm. Atsushi’s fingers clutch lightly at the hem of the skirt—Chuuya’s skirt—and her shoulders tremble faintly with something that definitely isn’t from the cold anymore.

    Hope sparks alive inside Chuuya’s chest so suddenly it almost hurts.

    “What?” she asks softly before she can stop herself.

    Then, without thinking, she takes a small step closer. Atsushi doesn’t back away. If anything, she seems to lean into the closeness instead, gaze dropping shyly before flickering back downward through silver lashes.

    “…How can I repay you?”

    The question lands like a direct hit.

    In any romance drama ever made, this would be the moment. The perfect moment. Two girls alone after school. Emotions running high. Uniforms exchanged. Blushing. Standing way too close. This is where the confession happens. This is where the protagonist says something smooth and romantic and finally gets the girl.

    Chuuya inhales sharply.

    You can join me on a date. 

    That’s all she has to say. Simple and easy.

    Chuuya opens her mouth.

    “You can join me on the volleyball court.”

    Absolute, devastating silence follows. 

    And Chuuya immediately feels the metaphorical door slam shut directly in her face.

    …What the hell?

    Why?

    WHY DOES SHE KEEP SAYING THAT?!

    Atsushi blinks. The blush on her face fades almost instantly, replaced by something closer to confusion. “…Um, Chuuya?” she says carefully. “You know why I have to refuse…right?”

    Chuuya ducks her head immediately, grinding her teeth hard enough for her jaw to ache. “Yeah,” she mutters bitterly. “Student council duties. Got it.”

    “Is the volleyball club short on members?”

    “Ah—no!”

    “Then why do you keep asking me to join?”

    Because I keep trying to ask you out and my mouth betrays me every single goddamn time.

    The answer pounds violently inside Chuuya’s skull, but, like always, the wrong words crawl out instead. 

    “Just…” she mutters stiffly, refusing to meet Atsushi’s eyes. “Thought you’d make a good teammate.”

    A pause.

    Then Atsushi asks quietly, “That’s all? There’s…nothing else to it?”

    Yes. Of course there is. There’s so much more to it, Chuuya feels like she’s drowning in it.

    But her throat locks up, and after a horrible moment of silence, she shakes her head. “No.”

    The change in Atsushi’s expression is immediate. Not dramatic. Not heartbroken. Just…flat, like something quietly folded in on itself. “Oh.”

    The single syllable absolutely destroys Chuuya.

    Atsushi bends down to gather her still-damp clothes from the locker door, carefully stuffing them into her school bag before slinging it over her shoulder. Then she looks back toward Chuuya with a strained little smile. “Thank you for letting me borrow your uniform,” she says politely. “I’ll give it back tomorrow.”

    And before Chuuya can think of anything—anything—to fix this—Atsushi leaves.

    Just like that.

    The locker room door swings shut behind her with a soft click. Chuuya stands there staring after her, pride in ruins, dignity dead on arrival, tissues shoved up her nose like some kind of idiot cartoon character. Silence fills the locker room.

    One second passes.

    Two.

    Then—

    “GOD DAMNIT!”

    The scream tears out of her violently. Chuuya spins and slams her foot directly into Atsushi’s locker door.

    BANG.

    The metal rattles loudly.

    Still furious, she kicks the nearby bench hard enough for it to screech across the floor and topple sideways. Another kick hits the second bench. Then she slams another locker shut just because it had been left open wrong. Every movement burns with frustration. At herself. At her stupid mouth. At whatever cosmic force keeps sabotaging her every time she tries to confess.

    Eventually the anger burns itself out, leaving behind nothing but miserable disappointment.

    Breathing hard, Chuuya drags a hand down her face before finally trudging toward her own locker.

    She punches in the combination aggressively.

    The locker swings open.

    And sitting right there inside—mocking her existence—is her bus pass.

    Chuuya stares at it for a long moment.

    Then snatches it violently from the shelf and slams the locker shut hard enough for the metal to shake.

ATTEMPT 4

    Chuuya doesn’t know how this even managed to happen, but somehow—in some way—she’s been given the perfect opportunity to show off in front of Atsushi. 

    Not that she’s thinking about that much.

    …Okay, maybe a little.

    The student council is sitting on the bleachers overlooking the volleyball court, talking amongst themselves while Katai, the school photographer, snaps picture after picture of the girls’ volleyball practice match. Apparently, the student council is helping promote the various sports clubs around the school, and what better way to do that than by taking photos of students in their element?

    Not that the girls’ volleyball team needs more players. They’re already at perfect capacity. Still, Chuuya would be lying if she said it didn’t feed her ego a little to know people were interested in a club she captains.

    So she leaves the student council to their work—even that disgusting secretary Dazai.

    The mackerel is sprawled across an entire section of bleachers like he owns the place, somehow managing to irritate Chuuya without even opening his mouth.

    No.

    What matters is Atsushi.

    Atsushi, who is helping Katai figure out which angles look best. Atsushi, who keeps leaning over to inspect the camera screen. Atsushi, who is currently watching the volleyball match.

    Watching Chuuya.

    The thought alone makes her chest feel strangely light.

    Then Kouyou calls her name.

    Chuuya’s attention snaps back to the court immediately.

    A perfect set rises into the air.

    A grin stretches across Chuuya’s face. Without hesitation, she breaks into a sprint. She jumps. The gym seems to freeze for a split second. Then—

    SLAM!!!

    Her palm collides with the volleyball with enough force to make her arm sting.

    The ball rockets over the net. A loud crack echoes through the gymnasium as it strikes the floor near the edge of the court, landing just inside the boundary line and completely out of reach of the libero diving toward it. The whistle blows.

    Point.

    The gym erupts with noise.

    Chuuya lands smoothly and pumps a fist. “Hell yeah!”

    Kouyou is already approaching, hand raised. Chuuya slaps it immediately. “Perfect set!” she says with a toothy grin.

    “Perfect spike,” Kouyou replies coolly.

    The praise doesn’t stop there.

    “Nice kill, Captain!”

    “That was insane!”

    “Did you see where she aimed it?”

    “There was no way anyone was getting that!”

    Chuuya soaks it all in. The compliments settle warmly in her chest, but none of them are the ones she actually wants to hear.

    Trying—and failing—to act casual—Chuuya glances toward the bleachers. 

    And immediately forgets how breathing works.

    Atsushi is staring. Her mouth hangs slightly open. Her heterochromatic eyes are wide. A faint blush dusts her cheeks. Completely and utterly impressed. Chuuya knows that look. She’s seen it before whenever Atsushi gets excited about something. Except this time? That expression is directed at her. At Chuuya.

    A ridiculous surge of triumph swells inside her chest.

    Good!

    She hopes Atsushi saw every second of it. Every jump, point, and spike.

    Heat immediately creeps into Chuuya’s ears afterward, because now her stupid brain decides to betray her. Suddenly she’s imagining Atsushi cheering for her from the sidelines. Imagining Atsushi smiling brightly and saying she played amazing. Imagining Atsushi congratulating her afterward in that soft voice of hers.

    …Maybe even calling her cool.

    Chuuya shakes her head violently. 

   Focus. Volleyball first, gay panic later. The last thing she needs is to get distracted because Atsushi thinks she’s impressive, even if that thought alone makes her want to run laps around the entire gym.

    Rolling her shoulders, Chuuya steps back into position. The side Chuuya is playing for is already preparing their next serve. Fine. 

    If Atsushi is going to keep watching? Then Chuuya will just have to give her something worth watching.

    A competitive grin spreads across her face.

    The whistle blows.

    And Chuuya launches herself back into the game.

    Point after point, Chuuya throws herself across the court. She dives for impossible saves. Returns spikes that should've hit the floor. Throws herself into every play with enough enthusiasm to make Kouyou mutter something about showing off beneath her breath. Chuuya ignores her. Mostly because Kouyou is right. If Atsushi is watching, then Chuuya is going to make sure she sees everything. The match drags on for another twenty minutes before the final whistle finally sounds.

    Chuuya's side wins. Naturally. Her legs ache pleasantly from constant movement. Sweat clings to her skin. Her wrists are already beginning to show faint purple bruising from repeated receives. It's perfect. The kind of ache that reminds her she played well. The kind that makes victory feel real.

    The second the teams finish lining up and exchanging thanks, Chuuya claps her hands loudly. "Alright, over here!" The girls immediately gather around the bench. Kouyou joins her side. Together they begin breaking down the match. "You," Chuuya points toward one of the first years. "Your receives got way better halfway through. Keep that up." The girl beams.

    Another player earns praise for her serving. Another gets corrected on her footwork. Another gets advice on positioning. The entire time Kouyou quietly fills in details Chuuya misses, offering calm observations whenever Chuuya gets too distracted ranting about aggressive offense. Eventually the lecture ends.

    "Water break," Chuuya announces. "Ten minutes."

    The team practically collapses toward their bottles.

    Mission accomplished.

    While the exhausted volleyball players begin gulping down water and stretching sore muscles, Chuuya wipes sweat from her forehead and glances toward the bleachers. Atsushi is already looking at her. A soft smile rests on her face.

    Immediately, Chuuya starts walking over. Not too fast. Not too slow. Normal speed. Totally normal.

    "...Didja get any cool shots?" Chuuya asks once she reaches the bleachers.

    Atsushi brightens instantly. "Yes!" The enthusiasm in her voice nearly kills Chuuya on the spot. "Katai-san was able to get several pictures during your spikes and serves!" Atsushi exclaims excitedly. "Gah, Chuuya-san, you looked like you were having so much fun!"

    Chuuya practically swells with pride. Her chest puffs out. "Volleyball's the perfect sport for me," she declares confidently. "And—if you haven't noticed already—I completely dominate at it."

    A pleased giggle escapes Atsushi. Chuuya's heart immediately attempts to leave her body. "Yeah," Atsushi laughs. "You got that right!"

    Then Atsushi turns toward Katai, who remains hidden beneath his blanket despite sitting in public. "Wanna see some of the pictures we took?" 

    Chuuya opens her mouth.

    Absolutely. One hundred percent. She'd gladly spend twenty minutes leaning over Atsushi's shoulder looking at photographs if it meant standing close to her—

    "At-su-shiiiii~" 

    God damnit. 

    Chuuya immediately grimaces. 

    Dazai…

    The bastard lounges across the bleachers like a dying cat. His dark eyes flick between Atsushi and Chuuya. "Didn't you know we're not supposed to share photos with people outside the student council and photography club until after they've been selected for editing?"

    Atsushi blinks. "Huh? Really?"

    To Chuuya's surprise, Katai answers. "Yeah." A hand emerges from beneath the blanket. "That way club captains don't develop expectations for specific photos."

    Atsushi visibly deflates. "...We can't just show her one?"

    The disappointment in her voice is enough to make Chuuya feel weirdly guilty. "It's all good, Atsushi." She waves dismissively. Then, before she can think better of it, she places a sweaty hand on Atsushi's shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "I'll wait for the big surprise." Atsushi smiles.

    Dazai immediately ruins everything, as he so often does. 

    "Of course you will!" he sings. "We don't need you making our precious Atsushi bend over backwards to appease you, Chuuyaaaa." 

    "I'm not making her do anything!!!" Chuuya snaps.

    "It was all in your tone of voice." 

    "It was not."

    "Oh, but it was."

    "It wasn't!"

    "You walked over here and immediately started eyeing the camera."

    "I was not eyeing the camera!"

    "You practically begged for access to the photos."

    "Like hell I did!"

    Dazai leans forward. Then his eyes narrow mischievously. "Then why exactly are you over here, hm?"

    Chuuya freezes.

    Because she wanted to see Atsushi. Talk to Atsushi. Stand near Atsushi. Listen to Atsushi laugh. Maybe get one of those pretty smiles directed at her. 

     But she’d rather be caught dead than admit all of this in front of the student council, let alone Dazai. 

    "I—I wanted..."

    Her brain immediately abandons her.

    Dazai rolls his eyes.

    "Yeah, yeah. Take your time—"

    WHACK!

    Atsushi smacks him upside the head, hard enough that Dazai tumbles sideways off the bleachers. The entire gym falls silent. Chuuya stares, mouth hanging open. Atsushi stands there looking equally surprised by her own actions. "Dazai-san, enough!" Holy shit. Atsushi just hit him.

    Something inside Chuuya falls hopelessly deeper in love. 

    "Sorry," Atsushi says awkwardly, turning back toward Chuuya. "Just ignore Dazai-san and whatever it is he's um...trying to do." 

    On the floor, Dazai groans dramatically. "I'm trying to save my beautiful kouhai from being corrupted by that disgusting slippery slug!"

    Chuuya immediately rounds on him.

    "Seriously, shut the fuck up—!"

    Before she can climb the bleachers and commit murder, a hand wraps around hers. Warm, soft, and small. Chuuya short-circuits. Atsushi is holding her hand. 

    "Let's go over here instead," Atsushi says quickly. 

    And then she starts guiding Chuuya away from the bleachers. Chuuya follows without resistance. Without thought or dignity. Her face burns. Her heart pounds. And if she looks completely, utterly smitten while allowing herself to be led away by the hand? Well...Nobody has to mention it.

    Far enough away that the student council can't easily listen in, Atsushi finally releases Chuuya's hand. The loss of contact is immediate. Devastating and tragic. Chuuya mourns it for approximately half a second before Atsushi suddenly bows at the waist.

    “I'm so sorry about Dazai-san's behavior!” she blurts. “He's usually pretty tolerable...” The grumbling at the end makes Chuuya bark out a laugh.

    Tolerable. That's certainly one word for him. The only reason Dazai is acting like such a pain in the ass right now is because Chuuya is standing here. The bastard hates her almost as much as she hates him. Still, she doesn't tell Atsushi that. Atsushi will figure it out eventually.

    “It's fine,” Chuuya says with a shrug. Then her expression softens slightly. “I just didn't want ya thinking I was trying to take advantage of you...” The words leave a sour taste in her mouth.

    Immediately, Atsushi's eyes widen. And then, To Chuuya's complete confusion, a blush spreads across her cheeks. Slow and delicate, like watercolor bleeding across paper. 

    Atsushi averts her gaze and begins nervously twisting the ends of her silver hair around her fingers. “I know you'd never take advantage of me, Chuuya-san.” The sincerity nearly knocks Chuuya flat.

    Then Atsushi glances back up.

    Her eyes flick downward.

    Toward Chuuya's lips.

    “...And I wouldn't mind it if you did take advantage of me.”

    Chuuya's brain explodes.

    Absolutely detonates. Gone. Reduced to smoke—Because what the hell is that supposed to mean?!

    The shy way Atsushi says it doesn't help. The embarrassed smile. The hesitant voice. The way she almost whispers it. Images immediately flood Chuuya's mind. Dangerous images, the kind where Chuuya is manhandling Atsushi into whatever position she wants as she grabs a fistfull of Atsushi’s hair, pulling a soft pitiful whine from her lips—

    “AH—STILL!” Chuuya practically shouts. Atsushi jumps. “So—I would never do that!” The words come out far louder than intended.

    And for a brief second, Chuuya catches what looks suspiciously like disappointment flickering across Atsushi's face.

    Holy shit. 

    Wait. 

    Hold on. 

    Did Atsushi mean that the way Chuuya thought she meant it?

    Or is Chuuya just the world's biggest pervert? 

    Hope begins fluttering wildly inside her chest. 

    She needs to confess: NOW!

    Chuuya takes a deep breath, straightens her posture. Attempts to look cool and confident.

    “But...” she begins. Atsushi looks at her expectantly. “If ya really want me to take advantage of you...”

    Chuuya steps forward. Atsushi doesn't step back. Her blush deepens. Her eyes widen. The distance between them shrinks. This is it. This is finally it—

    “You should join the volleyball team!”

    Chuuya feels her soul leave her body.

    Fucking damnit.

    A loud groan tears from her throat. She doubles over, dragging both hands down her face.

    Why? Why does this keep happening?!

    Across from her, Atsushi is staring, absolutely confused. “Volleyball looks fun,” Atsushi says carefully, “but again...”

    “Yes,” Chuuya interrupts immediately. She points dramatically. “I know. Student council duties. Got it.”

    Atsushi tilts her head. "If you understand, then why do you keep asking me to join?"

    Because I'm trying to ask you on a date.

    Because I think about you constantly.

    Because every time you smile at me I forget my own name.

    Because I'm in love with you.

    But nothing comes out. 

    Kouyou's voice echoes across the gymnasium. "Break's over! Back on the court!"

    Chuuya has never been so grateful to hear volleyball-related instructions in her life. She immediately latches onto the escape route. With a pained grimace, she raises a hand. "Sorry. Duty calls."

    Atsushi smiles. Small and polite. Not disappointed or excited. Just polite.

    The sight somehow hurts more than either option would've.

    "Good luck with practice, Chuuya-san."

    Chuuya nods.

    Then begins backing away.

    "Yeah."

    Then turns around and heads toward the court. Every step feels heavier than the last. By the time she reaches her teammates, her pride is in shambles. Her dignity has been buried.

    …At this point Chuuya is beginning to suspect the universe actively hates her. 

ATTEMPT 5

    Okay, so, as it turns out, Chuuya is at her wit's end.

    No matter what she does, every attempt to confess to Atsushi ends in disaster.

    She tries being smooth.

    Volleyball.

    She tries being romantic.

    Volleyball.

    She tries taking advantage of an emotionally charged moment.

    Volleyball.

    At this point she's beginning to suspect she's been cursed by some ancient volleyball spirit dedicated entirely to ruining her love life. Which is bullshit, because lately Chuuya has started noticing things.

    The way Atsushi blushes around her. The way she grabs Chuuya's hand without thinking. The way she looks disappointed whenever Chuuya accidentally redirects another confession into recruitment propaganda. It almost feels like Atsushi might actually like her back.

    And if Chuuya can't say her feelings out loud?

    Fine.

    She'll write them.

    That's right—she's actually taking Kouyou's advice.

    A love letter, one filled with romance and poetry and all that disgustingly sappy shit. Unfortunately, when Chuuya had approached Kouyou for assistance, the taller girl had laughed herself breathless then patted Chuuya's head like she was a child and told her to figure it out herself. Traitor.

    So that's how Chuuya finds herself hunched over her bedroom desk at midnight; Twenty volleyball improvement notes sit finished beside her, each one tailored specifically to a teammate.

    Meanwhile Atsushi's letter remains blank.

    Hours pass.

    Paper after paper gets crumpled.

    "I like you."

    Trash.

    "You are beautiful."

    Trash.

    "Your smile makes me feel weird."

    Definitely trash.

    Eventually her floor becomes buried beneath failed attempts.

    By two in the morning her hand hurts. By three her eyes burn. By four she's pretty sure she's hallucinating. But finally—

    She writes something she doesn't immediately hate. Something honest. Something worthy of Atsushi. 

    With trembling fingers, Chuuya folds the letter carefully, then stuffs it into her backpack alongside the volleyball notes. Perfect. Mission accomplished.

    The second her head hits the pillow, she passes out.

    The next morning is a complete fuckfest.

    She wakes up late. Very late.

    The moment she stumbles downstairs, Verlaine is already waiting.

    "You're exhausted."

    "I'm fine."

    "You stayed up all night again."

    "I'm literally fine—"

    "You need a proper sleep schedule."

    "I'm gonna miss school!" Verlaine continues lecturing her anyway, something about discipline, healthy habits, and responsibility, but Chuuya hears none of it. In the end, she grabs her bag and flees as fast as she can before Verlaine can drag her back inside the house. 

    By the time she reaches school she's already sweating.

    Her first thought isn't class. It's Atsushi. The letter. The confession.

    Holy shit.

    The confession!

    Heart pounding, she ducks into the hallway containing the first-year lockers. Nobody is around. Good. Quickly she digs through her backpack, finds the folded paper, then carefully slides it through the vent in Atsushi's locker. There. Done. Mission complete.

    Now all she has to do is wait.

    …

    Waiting is somehow worse. 

    Every second feels like torture. Her anxiety spirals completely out of control.

    By lunch she's snapped at Tachihara for asking how practice went. Unfortunately Gin was standing right beside him and had t listen to her flay her boyfriend inside out. 

    By early afternoon she accidentally shoulder-checks Hirotsu hard enough to knock the teacher's papers everywhere. The older man fell, the papers scattered everywhere. Chuuya immediately helps collect them. That does not stop Hirotsu from giving her the most disappointed look she's ever received.

    Then things somehow get worse.

    Because Hirotsu reports her behavior.

    Which leads to Principal Mori. Which leads to Chuuya accidentally telling the principal to "stop staring at me like that." The meeting did not go well. Thankfully she escapes with only a warning.

    Still…

    By the final bell she's ready to crawl into a hole and die.

    The entire day has been a disaster—And she still doesn't know Atsushi's answer.

    Oh fuck it. 

    She's getting her answer face-to-face.

    Minutes pass. Students leave. The hallway grows quieter.

    Then—Atsushi appears.

    Immediately Chuuya knows something is wrong.

    Because the moment Atsushi spots her?  Her expression hardens. Cold. Hurt. Angry.

    Chuuya freezes. Her stomach drops.

    "Atsushi—?" Before she can ask what happened, Atsushi reaches into her cardigan pocket and throws a folded piece of paper directly at Chuuya's chest.

    "STOP GETTING MY HOPES UP, CHUUYA-SAN!"

    The words hit harder than any volleyball ever could. Then Atsushi turns and storms away toward the student council room, leaving Chuuya standing there. Speechless. Heartbroken. Completely confused.

    Slowly she looks down. The paper has fallen to the floor. With shaking fingers she picks it up. Unfolds it.

    And immediately wishes she hadn't.

    Because it isn't her confession. 

    It's a volleyball note. One she'd written the night before. A practice improvement sheet. Advice on receives and footwork corrections.

    Volleyball.

    Again.

   "Oh..."

    The sound barely leaves her throat. Of course. Of fucking course. In her rush this morning she'd put the wrong note into Atsushi's locker. Not a confession, not a love letter, but another goddamn volleyball recruitment document.

    Her fingers curl around the paper so tightly it nearly tears. Her throat closes. Her eyes burn. For one awful moment she thinks she might actually cry right there in the hallway. And all Chuuya can think about is Atsushi's face. The hurt. The disappointment. The anger. She'd gotten her hopes up just to crush them again because Chuuya couldn't even hand over the right piece of paper. 

    A shaky breath leaves her. She sniffs hard. Forces the tears back.

    Then pulls out her phone. Her fingers hover over the screen. Finally she types:

    Can't make practice today.

    Sorry.

    Almost immediately Kouyou responds.

    You confessed?

    Chuuya stares then slowly types back:

    Somehow I confessed volleyball again.

    Several seconds pass. Then:

    That's honestly impressive.

    Chuuya nearly throws her phone down the hallway. Instead she stuffs it into her pocket. Turns toward the school exit.

    And begins the long walk home with her heart feeling heavier than it ever has before.

ATTEMPT + 1

    Chuuya’s been avoiding Atsushi for at least a week. 

    Yes, she knows it's cowardly. Yes, she knows it's pathetic. And yes, she knows it's very unlike her. But every single time she catches sight of Atsushi at the opposite end of a hallway, she's painfully reminded of that expression. The one Atsushi wore when she saw Chuuya waiting beside her locker. Hurt, angry, sad…like Chuuya had genuinely broken something. The memory alone makes Chuuya's stomach twist into knots.

    So...She's avoiding her.

    Which honestly hurts almost as much, because she misses her.

    God, she misses her so much.

    "This is for her own good!" Chuuya cries dramatically from where she's curled into a miserable little ball on the floor.

    The maintenance closet is dimly lit and cramped. Most students avoid it because the entire school is convinced it's haunted. Every time someone passes by, strange moaning noises can supposedly be heard coming from inside…little do they know the sounds usually belong to Doc and Piano making out in the far corner…not that anyone needs to know that.

    Currently the pair are absent, leaving only Chuuya and Albatross occupying the space.

    Above her, Albatross takes a slow hit from a watermelon-scented vape before staring down at her through dark sunglasses.

    "You've said that already."

    Chuuya immediately slams both fists against the floor.

    "WELL I'M GONNA SAY IT AGAIN! THIS IS FOR HER OWN GOOOOD—" A sharp kick lands in her side. "OW!"

    "Dude, shut the fuck up!" Albatross hisses. "You're the one who wanted to skip class and hide in here. You're one more dramatic speech away from blowing our cover."

    Chuuya glares up at him. Albatross zips his lips.The bastard has a point…unfortunately. 

    "I know!" Chuuya groans. Albatross drops down beside her and offers his vape. She waves it away immediately. Not today. Today she wants to suffer naturally. "I know, alright?" she mutters. Her head falls back against the wall with a dull thunk. "I just miss her so much, Albatross..." The confession comes out pitiful, even to her own ears. "I miss her smile."

    Albatross groans.

    "I miss her eyes."

    "Please stop."

    "Her cute laugh."

    "Chuuya."

    "Her long hair."

    "Oh my God."

    "Her little nose."

    "CHUUYA."

    "The way she says my name—" Albatross throws a crumpled candy wrapper directly at her forehead. It bounces off.

    "Stop talking about her like she's a country away!" he shouts. "She's literally still at our school!"

    Chuuya rubs her forehead. "Doesn't feel like it."

    "Only because you're avoiding her."

    "..."

    "That wasn't rhetorical."

    Chuuya curls tighter into herself. "It's for—"

    "Her own good, yeah, got it." The words leave Albatross automatically, like he's heard them a hundred times…because he has. "Seriously," he continues. "Are we gonna spend this entire class period moping, or are we gonna discuss the fact that Lippmann apparently caught Mori and Fukuzawa dry-humping each other in the teacher parking lot?"

    Normally that would've gotten a reaction.

    Today?

    Nothing.

    Chuuya doesn't even lift her head.

    Albatross stares.

    Waits.

    Gets absolutely nothing.

    Then sighs heavily.

    "Okay." Another vape hit. "I guess we're moping."

    Just as Albatross says those words, the sound of running suddenly echoes down the hallway outside the maintenance closet. Both he and Chuuya immediately freeze.

    The footsteps are fast. Panicked. Getting closer. Without thinking, both of them clap hands over their mouths and stare toward the door. The running gets louder. Louder. Then—

    BANG!

    The maintenance closet door flies open. A figure practically throws herself inside before slamming it shut behind her. She immediately presses her back against the door, chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath.

    "Hey, get outta here—" The words die on Chuuya's tongue. 

    Her brain stops working.

    Because standing in front of her is Atsushi.

    For one horrible second Chuuya doesn't recognize her.

    Atsushi's cardigan sleeve has been ripped nearly to the elbow. One of the front buttons is missing entirely. Her long legs tremble so violently she can barely stay standing. Her arms are wrapped tightly around herself, defensive and scared. Her beautiful silver hair has been cut. Jagged. Uneven. The strands that used to fall down her back now barely brush her shoulders. A dark bruise blooms beneath her right eye.

    Chuuya feels something inside her snap.

    Atsushi finally notices them. Her eyes widen. Recognition floods her expression. "A-Ah—"

    Before she can speak, more footsteps thunder down the hallway. All three of them go still.

    "Come on! Nakajima went this way!"

    "We gotta catch her before she tells a teacher!"

    A burst of laughter follows. Cruel and mean, the kind that makes Chuuya's stomach churn.

    "We could always just say someone else beat her up."

    "Seriously! They'll believe a whole group over one girl."

    "Totally."

    Another voice giggles.

    "I still wanna rip that stupid cardigan to shreds."

    Silence fills the closet. Chuuya can barely hear herself breathing. The girls continue running past. 

    And suddenly every memory from the locker room comes rushing back. The soaked uniform. The missing gym clothes. The tears. The excuses.

    It's just a prank.

    Payback.

    They really got me.

    So these are the girls who first bullied Atsushi weeks ago. 

    Anger boils low in Chuuya's stomach. Hot and simmering. 

    Beside her, Albatross has gone completely silent.

    Across from them, Atsushi stares back. Tears begin gathering in her eyes. One slips down her bruised cheek. Then another. "Please..." Her voice barely exists. "Please don't tell..." The words come out broken. Ashamed,  Like she's the one who should be embarrassed.

    Chuuya's chest hurts. God. Why is she apologizing?

    Before Chuuya can say anything, Albatross suddenly pushes himself to his feet.

    "Give me your cardigan."

    Both girls blink.

    "What?" Atsushi asks.

    "And your skirt." Albatross points vaguely. "Socks too."

    Now Chuuya is glaring. "What the hell are you talking about?"

    Albatross rolls his eyes. "Let's just trade clothes."

    "HAH?!"

    Atsushi looks equally confused. 

    Albatross sighs dramatically.

    "If I run down the hallway wearing her clothes, those idiots will chase me instead." 

    Understanding finally clicks.

    "Oh."

    Albatross flashes a grin. "I've done it before."

    Chuuya shoots him a look. "What?"

    "To escape one of Kunikida's write-ups."

    "YOU’RE JOKING!" Atsushi exclaims.

    Meanwhile, Albatross just shrugs his shoulders. "It worked."

    Chuuya pinches the bridge of her nose. Of course it did.

    Meanwhile Atsushi looks hopeful for the first time since entering the closet.

    "...Will that really work?"

    The desperation in her voice makes Chuuya's stomach twist.

    Albatross gives her a thumbs-up. "Absolutely." Then he points at the wall. "Now strip while me and Chuuya look away."

    Chuuya immediately whips around. "Watch your damn mouth, Albatross!” 

    She hears him snort, and tsill—Both of them turn toward the wall. 

    A few seconds later the sound of rustling fabric fills the closet. Clothes hit the floor. Someone clears their throat awkwardly. A sock slides across the tile. Then another. Chuuya keeps her eyes firmly glued to the wall. Absolutely glued. She is not thinking about Atsushi changing. Not at all.

    Eventually the sounds stop.

    "Okay."

    Albatross sounds satisfied.

    "You can look now."

    Chuuya turns—and immediately regrets it. Not because of anything inappropriate.

    Atsushi just…looks ridiculously small.

    Albatross's pants are far too long. The hems bunch around her ankles while the waistband hangs loose around her hips.The oversized shirt nearly swallows her whole. Under normal circumstances Chuuya would've found it unbearably cute. Current circumstances make it heartbreaking.

    Across from her, Albatross adjusts the damaged cardigan. The skirt somehow fits, which is a sentence Chuuya never thought she'd think. "There." He grins. "Perfect disguise."

    "You look perfect…" Chuuya informs him dryly.

    "That's the point~"

    Before she can argue further, Albatross moves toward the door. His hand settles on the handle. Then he pauses. His grin softens. "You two wait until the coast is clear." His eyes flick toward Atsushi. "Then get her to the nurse."

    Atsushi lowers her gaze.

    "...Okay."

    Albatross looks back at Chuuya. "And maybe stay with her." Chuuya stiffens. "You've got a lot to talk about."

    Heat immediately crawls up her neck. Before she can deny it, Albatross opens the door—and runs.

    "There she is!" someone shrieks.

    "GET HER!"

    Footsteps immediately explode through the hallway. Dozens of them. They chase after him without hesitation. The noise grows distant. Farther. Farther. Until eventually silence returns. The maintenance closet becomes still.

    Quiet.

    Only two people remain.

    Chuuya and Atsushi.

    Chuuya doesn't dare dwell on the awkwardness of the situation, not when Atsushi is still trembling. Not when one side of her body is clearly being favored every time she shifts her weight. Not when tear tracks are still drying across her bruised cheeks.

    The nurse. They need the nurse.

    Everything else can wait.

    "...C'mon," Chuuya mumbles. Before she can overthink it, her hand settles against the small of Atsushi's back. Gentle and careful. Like she's afraid Atsushi might break apart if handled too roughly.

    Atsushi visibly startles at the contact, then slowly relaxes. The tension leaves her shoulders by the smallest amount.

    Together they move toward the door. Chuuya opens it with her free hand while keeping herself positioned between Atsushi and the hallway…Just in case.

    Atsushi follows closely, close enough that their shoulders brush every few steps. Close enough that Chuuya can feel the slight tremor running through her. Under any other circumstance Chuuya would've been ecstatic. Now all she feels is a fierce pulse of protectiveness. Anyone who tries touching Atsushi again is getting launched through a wall.

    The hallway feels strangely quiet. Neither girl speaks. Not because they don't want to, but because they want to far too much.

    Chuuya has questions. Hundreds of them. Why was this happening? How long had it been happening? Why hadn't Atsushi told anyone? Why had she been forced to deal with this alone?

    Meanwhile she can practically feel Atsushi's own unspoken question hanging in the air between them. 

    Why have you been avoiding me?

    The question follows them all the way down the hallway.

    Neither girl says it. Neither girl is brave enough, so they simply stay close. One seeking safety the other offering it.

    Eventually they reach the nurse's office. The second the door opens, Nurse Yosano looks up. Her expression immediately hardens.

    "Atsushi."

    Within seconds they're ushered inside. Atsushi is guided onto one of the cots while Chuuya claims a nearby chair without hesitation. She isn't leaving. not a chance. Yosano crouches beside Atsushi and gently tilts her chin. The bruise beneath her eye is impossible to miss.

    "Can you tell me exactly what happened?"

    Atsushi hesitates. Her gaze immediately flickers toward Chuuya, eyes full of uncertainty and exposed nerves. 

    As though she’s looking for the strength to speak. 

    The realization makes Chuuya's chest ache.

    She gives a small nod.

    Atsushi swallows then nods back.

    "I was delivering papers to Tsujimura's class when..." Her voice wavers. "When a couple girls cornered me beneath the stairwell." Yosano's expression darkens. Atsushi quietly begins listing names. 

    Every single one makes Chuuya's jaw tighten further.

    "They've messed with me before," Atsushi continues softly. "Just...pranks, I guess." Chuuya immediately rolls her eyes. Pranks. Still, she bites her tongue for Atsushi's sake. "But I didn't realize how..." Atsushi's voice catches. Her hands twist in her lap. "How much they hated me." The words shatter halfway through. Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. One after another.

    Before Chuuya can stop herself, she's already moving. Her sleeve is pulled down over her hand. Then she reaches over and gently wipes the tears away. Atsushi jolts. Their eyes meet. For one terrible second Chuuya worries she's overstepped, but Atsushi doesn't pull away. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't tell her to stop.

    Instead she lowers her gaze. "...Sorry."

    Chuuya feels something hot flare inside her chest. "Stop apologizing." The words come out sharper than intended. "You haven't done anything wrong!"

    An unimpressed silence fills the room.

    Chuuya slowly turns.

    Yosano is staring directly at her.

    "If you can't watch your tone," the nurse says sweetly, which somehow makes it more threatening, "I'm going to send you back to class, Nakahara-kun."

    Chuuya immediately shrinks. Her shoulders hunch.

    "...yes ma’am."

    Atsushi's lips quirk upward. It's tiny, brief, gone almost immediately—but Chuuya sees it. "She's fine," Atsushi says softly. "Please let her stay."

    Yosano's eyebrow lifts. For a second she simply stares between them. Then an amused smile pulls at her lips. "Right." Chuuya immediately knows that smile means trouble. "Now," Yosano continues, completely unfazed, "please continue."

    Atsushi nods. She takes a shaky breath.

    "They were upset with me before because they were late to class and I had them written up," she explains quietly. "So I assumed that's why they cornered me." Her fingers twist together. "I was wrong." The room grows quiet. Atsushi lowers her eyes. "One of them was jealous that I was working closely with Dazai-san on the student council."

    Instantly, Chuuya's eye twitches.

    All of this, the bruises, tears, cut hair, and ruined cardigan, because some jealous idiot wanted attention from that stupid mackerel! What the hell kind of reason was that?!

    Atsushi gestures weakly toward herself. "So they..." Her voice trails away. She doesn't need to finish. The evidence is sitting right there.

    Yosano's expression hardens.

    "I see." For a moment her smile disappears completely, then she nods. "Thank you for telling me." Something reassuring enters her voice. "I promise they will be punished for this."

    Relief flickers across Atsushi's face. 

    Yosano spends another few minutes checking over the rest of her injuries. The bruise on Atsushi’s face A scraped knee. A few shallow scratches. Then she examines the uneven remains of Atsushi's hair. The nurse's mouth presses into a thin line. Eventually she stands. "I'm going to make a few calls."

    And just like that, she's gone. 

    Leaving the two of them alone. Again.

    The silence feels different this time. Not awkward or nervous, but tense. Chuuya's blood feels hot beneath her skin. Her hands curl into fists, her nails cutting into the skin of her palms until she can feel the telltale signs of half crescents. 

    All she can think about are those girls. About Atsushi crying. About herself being too stupid to notice how bad things had gotten. About how she'd been busy hiding from her feelings while Atsushi had been suffering alone. The frustration makes her tremble.

    She doesn't even realize she's shaking until something warm settles atop her hand.

    Chuuya startles. 

    Looks down.

    Atsushi's hand rests over hers.

    Immediately the trembling stops

    Slowly Chuuya lifts her gaze. Atsushi is smiling, something real and soft despite everything that has happened to her. "It's okay, Chuuya-san." Her thumb brushes lightly against Chuuya's knuckles. "I'm okay."

    The reassurance is so absurd that Chuuya can't help laughing. A broken little laugh escapes her.

    "I should be the one reassuring you after everything—." The words get stuck in her throat  She can't even finish the sentence. "You really are impossible, huh?"

    Atsushi tilts her head. "What do you mean?"

    "You're too sweet." Chuuya swallows. "Too kind." Her grip tightens slightly. "Too caring for this shit."

    Before she can stop herself, she lifts Atsushi's hand and presses it against her face.

    Both of her hands cradle it carefully, like something precious. Her eyes slide closed. She doesn't kiss her. Doesn't dare—just lets her lips rest against warm skin, against veins and bone and life. "I'm sorry," Chuuya whispers, her voice cracking. "I'm sorry this happened to you." The confession slips free before she can stop it. "You deserve so much better than this."

    Silence. Then—

    "...I'm not sorry it happened."

    Chuuya's eyes snap open.

    "What?"

    Atsushi is blushing. Pink spreads across her cheeks. Her sunset-colored eyes shine with something warm and achingly familiar, something that makes Chuuya's heart squeeze painfully inside her chest. A bittersweet smile curves her lips; the sight nearly kills Chuuya. 

    Atsushi laughs softly, apparently enjoying her confusion.

    "Why should I be sorry if it got you to finally stop avoiding me?"

    Chuuya freezes, guilt rising heavy and fast in her gut. 

    "I—I wasn't—"

    "You were."

    No hesitation or mercy is given. Atsushi points it out with terrifying accuracy. 

    "You've been avoiding me for a week."

    "..."

    "I noticed."

    "..."

    "It was really mean."

    Every word lands like a punch. 

    Atsushi sighs. "Before everything happened today, I actually planned on yelling at you after volleyball practice."

    Chuuya blinks. "You did?"

    "Mhm." Atsushi smiles sheepishly. "But..." She trails off. "I think I get it now."

    The words make Chuuya's stomach drop.

    "...Get what?"

    Atsushi's smile widens. The look in her eyes is devastating.

    "What you were really trying to ask me."

    Chuuya stops breathing entirely.

    Atsushi giggles at her reaction, like Chuuya’s head isn’t imploding right as they speak. 

    "You were just really nervous." The smile becomes fond. "So nervous that nothing except volleyball came out." The words strike with terrifying accuracy.

    Chuuya opens her mouth—closes it. Opens it again—nothing comes out. Because Atsushi is right.

    Eventually she manages a weak nod. "...Yeah." Heat floods her face. "I was nervous." Her voice sounds so small and pathetic to her own ears. "I kept trying, but I couldn't get the words out."

    Atsushi’s expression softens as she leans forward on the cot, slowly closing the distance between them. Chuuya forgets how to breathe. Forgets how to blink. Atsushi’s hand remains trapped between Chuuya’s. Then Atsushi places her other hand over theirs. Holding on—-not letting go.

    Her smile becomes impossibly gentle. She leans closer. Close enough that Chuuya can feel her breath against her cheeks. Close enough that her heart starts trying to escape through her ribs.

    “Then do it now.” The whisper is barely audible. “Confess to me.”

    Chuuya nearly combusts. “I—I can’t!” Her voice cracks. “I’ll mess it up again!”

    Atsushi doesn’t laugh. Instead she lowers her head and presses a soft kiss against Chuuya’s clasped hands.

    Chuuya’s entire body locks up. Her heart skips so hard it physically hurts.

    Then Atsushi looks up at her through lowered lashes.

    “You won’t.” 

    A stuttering breath leaves Chuuya’s lungs.

    Focus. She forces herself to focus. Not on her own panic. Not on the way her heart is trying to punch through her ribs. Not on the fact that she’s wanted this moment for months and somehow, impossibly, it’s actually happening.

    Instead, she looks at Atsushi. Really looks at her. At those enormous purple-and-gold eyes staring back at her with unwavering patience. At the slight crinkle between her brows as she waits. At the dark bruise beneath her eye, ugly against skin that deserves nothing but kindness. At the blush stretching from ear to ear. 

    And her lips.

   God, her lips.

    Pretty. Soft-looking. Curved into a smile so warm that Chuuya feels like she’s standing in sunlight.

    Atsushi is looking at her like she’s holding her heart in her hands.

    Chuuya cannot mess this up, not this time.

    “I—I like you,” she blurts. The words nearly come out wrong. She can practically feel the volleyball-related disaster waiting at the tip of her tongue, ready to ruin everything. Somehow she forces it back down. “I like you,” she repeats, voice shaking. “A lot.”

    Atsushi’s eyes soften. The sight gives Chuuya enough courage to continue.

   “Be…” She swallows hard. “Be my girlfriend?”

    The question comes out awkward and stiff, sounding like she’s reading directly from a script she memorized five minutes ago. For one horrifying second, Chuuya wonders if she somehow ruined it anyway.

    Then Atsushi’s smile grows.

    “Sure.”

    One word.

    One tiny word.

    Chuuya’s entire world explodes. Her heart immediately doubles its pace. Maybe triples. She can hear blood rushing in her ears. 

    Across from her, Atsushi ducks her head slightly, suddenly looking shy.

    “…Kiss me?”

    Chuuya nearly dies. Actually dies. Her soul leaves her body and ascends directly into heaven.

    Instead of collapsing, however, she nods so quickly her neck almost snaps.

    “Yes.” The answer comes out as a gasp. 

    “Yes, yes I will.”

    Atsushi laughs. The sound nearly kills her a second time. Then both of them lean forward simultaneously. Neither girl waits. Neither girl hesitates.They meet in the middle.

    Chuuya’s lips crash into Atsushi’s And—

    Oh.

    Oh.

    She’s soft, softer than Chuuya ever imagined. Every daydream, every fantasy, every embarrassing scenario she’d created while lying awake at night pales in comparison to reality. Reality is better. So much better.

    Atsushi makes a surprised little noise against her mouth. Chuuya thinks she might pass out. Then Atsushi tilts her head. The kiss deepens.

    And Chuuya completely forgets how breathing works—Not that she cares! Oxygen is overrated. 

    She has Atsushi. Atsushi Nakajima. Her girlfriend. The girl she’s been trying—and repeatedly failing—to confess to since the beginning of the semester. The girl who somehow likes her back. The realization makes Chuuya dizzy.

   She doesn’t want the kiss to end.

    Ever.

    Unfortunately, fate has other plans.

    “THIS OFFICE IS NOT A PLACE TO MAKE OUT!”

    The shout detonates through the room. Both girls practically jump out of their skin. They break apart so quickly it’s almost painful.

   Chuuya immediately turns bright red. Atsushi somehow becomes even redder. Both of them avoid eye contact while desperately trying to remember how lungs work. 

    Across the room, Yosano stands in the doorway with her arms crossed. “If you two have enough energy to eat face,” she says dryly, “then you have enough energy to go back to class.” Neither girl responds. Mostly because they’re too busy dying of embarrassment. Yosano rolls her eyes.

    Then, with an incredibly dramatic flip of her hair, she turns and leaves again. The door closes behind her. Silence follows. For a few moments, neither Chuuya nor Atsushi says anything.

    They just sit there laughing awkwardly. Still blushing. Still holding hands, neither willing to let go.

    Eventually Atsushi glances over. Her lips look slightly swollen from kissing. The sight nearly restarts Chuuya’s heart attack. “…I’ll see you after practice today?” Atsushi asks quietly.

    Chuuya doesn’t answer. Words have failed her enough times already.

    Instead she leans forward and steals one more quick kiss.

    Atsushi squeaks.

    Chuuya grins against her lips.

    And for the first time in months, volleyball doesn’t ruin her confession.

    Because she already got the words right.

    And Atsushi is finally hers.