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missmadella · 28 days ago

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In My Notes, You Shine

(Hinata Shoyo x reader)

So, it got carried away in the end, which made it very long. I'm also not the best with smut scenes (sorry), but I hope you enjoy it anyway :3

Summary: You were the one that believed in the little Shunshine called Hinata Shoyo the most.

Words: 10877

With a bright grin on your face, you made your way down the path toward the Shiratorizawa gym. The morning air was crisp, the soft crunch of gravel under your shoes grounding your nerves and excitement. Over your shoulder was your usual oversized bag, stuffed with clipboards, marked-up diagrams, pens in every color, and your trusty stack of volleyball notes. Today wasn’t just any visit—it was the start of a brand-new training camp, and you had been personally invited by the head coach himself.

Well, personally invited might be a stretch.

Your grandfather, Coach Washijou, wasn’t exactly the sentimental type. But when he called you last night, voice gruff but laced with something like pride, you knew he meant it.

“These kids are different. Talented. Raw. You’ll want to see for yourself.”

You’d almost tripped over yourself packing.

As you reached the gym, you slid out of your shoes and stepped onto the polished wood floors that still held the faint smell of resin and effort. The buzz of conversation echoed through the space—players stretching, trainers adjusting nets, and the occasional sound of a volleyball thudding against the floor.

Shouldering your bag, you moved through the hall with ease. You'd been here before—more times than you could count. Enough that even the sternest players nodded your way.

And then—there they were. Ushijima and Tendou.

You grinned wider and raised your hand. “Waka-chan, Tori!”

Ushijima gave you a short nod and—surprisingly—a crisp high five.

Tendou, on the other hand, ran at you full-force and scooped you into a hug, your feet nearly lifting off the floor.

“Nice to see you again, Y/N!” he sang, voice full of mischief and dramatic affection.

“Aww, did you miss me already, Tori?” you teased, wrapping your arms around his shoulders briefly before pulling back.

“Of course! You’re still my favorite analyst. How could I not?” He clutched his chest with a theatrical gasp. “Without you, these training camps are so boring.”

You laughed, warm and genuine, as you adjusted your bag and moved past them toward the coaches’ bench.

There he was. Coach Washijou. Stern as ever. Scribbling something onto his clipboard, lips pursed, eyes scanning the court like a hawk.

But you knew him better than anyone.

And you definitely recognized the familiar blue corner of your old notebook poking out from his gym bag.

Your eyes narrowed.

“Oh-ho?” you said aloud, striding up to him. “Is that my strategy notebook from two years ago?”

He didn't even flinch. “You weren’t using it.”

“I was archiving it,” you replied, yanking the notebook out of the bag and flipping through the pages. “You know I keep these for reference. You’ve been stealing my old notes again, haven’t you?”

“It’s not stealing,” he muttered. “It’s using available resources.”

You gave him a look. “It’s stealing when you don’t ask.”

He scowled but didn’t argue further. Typical.

“Also,” you added, flipping through a few pages, “if you’re gonna copy my zone block diagrams, at least stop pretending they’re your idea during staff meetings.”

He grunted. “You’re too smug for someone so young.”

“And you’re too proud to admit I’m better at this than half your staff,” you shot back playfully.

For a second, something like amusement flickered across his face—but it disappeared quickly.

“Enough talking. Go observe. They’ll be starting warm-ups soon,” he said, jerking his head toward the court.

“Gladly,” you replied, hugging your notebook to your chest like a trophy as you walked off with a satisfied grin.

You didn’t get far before someone caught your eye. A flash of orange—bright and unmistakable—darting along the edge of the court.

Your steps slowed.

A boy. Shorter than the rest. Clearly not one of the camp invitees.

He was pushing a ball cart, eyes flicking from player to player like he was memorizing every movement. His feet were light, his posture alert. You knew that stance. That look. It was someone who wasn't just watching—he was learning.

You turned to your grandfather with a frown.

“Who’s that?”

He didn’t even look. “Ball boy. Snuck in from Miyagi. He’s not part of the program.”

Your brow arched. “That kid?”

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned immediately.

But you were already thinking about it.

He moved like he belonged on the court. He moved like he wanted it more than anyone else.

You watched him for a moment longer, then turned back to your grandfather, voice firm.

“He has potential.”

“He’s short,” Washijou said flatly. “This camp isn’t for dreamers. It’s for athletes with actual prospects.”

“He is a prospect,” you said. “You just can’t see it yet.”

Your grandfather glared at you. “This again?”

You smirked. “Every time.”

___________________________________________________________________________

You made your way toward the far corner of the gym, notebook in hand, eyes scanning the court as players began warm-up drills. Your expression shifted from playful to focused—this was your element now. Your grandfather may have brought you in unofficially, but once your brain kicked into analysis mode, it didn’t matter. You belonged here.

Your gaze moved like a camera lens—tracking footwork, calculating approaches, observing hand placements, posture, timing.

The murmurs around the court didn’t escape your notice.

“Who’s that?”

“I thought only staff and coaches were allowed near the court…”

“Is she from a school? Doesn’t look like a manager.”

You ignored them.

Instead, you scribbled quick notes on a player’s blocking form—Koganei, the sharp-eyed middle blocker from Date Tech. His reads were solid, but his foot positioning during transitions was a fraction too slow. His eyes were fast, but his feet weren’t quite catching up. You noted it—his delay could mean the difference between sealing the block or letting a point slip through.

Then your eyes shifted to Goshiki Tsutomu from Shiratorizawa, mid-approach for a spike. His jump had power, but it was all a bit… unrefined. His momentum didn’t carry into his hit as cleanly as it should have. You caught it immediately—his footwork was rushing the jump, not syncing with it. You scribbled fast.

Your pen was already moving when someone behind you scoffed. “What is she doing?”

You didn’t react. Just took one more note. Then you turned—cool, composed—and slipped off your windbreaker just enough for the gold-stitched logo on the back of your official jacket to show.

JAPAN NATIONAL ANALYTIC TEAM

Embroidered. Unmistakable.

The room went still.

One of the boys—tall, lean, maybe from Kamomedai—blinked. “Wait. You’re with the national team?”

You nodded, flipping your notebook shut. “Yeah. I'm not here to play. I'm here to improve your play.” You pointed toward Koganei. “Your reads are sharp, but your transitions are a beat behind. Tighten your stance, and you’ll shave off enough time to close the block fully. You’ve already got the instinct—match it with speed.”

He blinked, looking almost embarrassed, but gave a small nod.

You turned to Goshiki, who was stepping back onto the court. “Goshiki—your footwork’s rushed. You’re losing control of your jump. Slow your approach just a little. If you sync your steps, you’ll be able to put way more power behind your spikes without losing aim.”

A long beat of silence followed. Then—

“Holy crap,” Tendou muttered from the sidelines, grinning. “She’s in beast mode already.”

From the corner of your eye, you caught movement again. That familiar pop of orange hair.

Hinata.

He had paused while pushing the ball cart, his eyes wide, watching you like you were performing magic. There was no fear or skepticism—just awe.

Curiosity sparked inside you.

You stepped away from the group, walking toward him with a friendly smile. His eyes darted around like he wasn’t sure you meant to talk to him.

“Hey,” you said gently. “What’s your name?”

He blinked, then pointed to himself. “Me?”

“Yeah. You,” you said with a grin. “I’ve seen the way you move. You’re not just a ball boy.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Uh… I’m Hinata. Hinata Shōyō.”

“Hinata,” you repeated, letting the name roll off your tongue like a new play call you already liked. “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.”

You extended your hand. He took it, nervous but excited.

“I’m here to analyze talent,” you continued. “And I think you might just be the most interesting player in this whole gym.”

His eyes widened again. “Wha—me?! But I’m not even—!”

You held up a hand. “Don’t tell me what you’re not. I’m only interested in what you are.”

And you smiled.

Because you knew. You knew what you saw in him. Even if no one else did—yet.

___________________________________________________________________________

The sound of sneakers squeaking and volleyballs hitting the floor had died down to a gentle hum. Players were grabbing their water bottles, chatting in low voices, or filing out to shower. You stayed behind, leaning against the wall near the bleachers as your grandfather approached with that signature scowl of his—though you knew better than anyone that it didn’t always mean he was angry.

“You’re spending quite a bit of time watching that orange-haired one,” he commented, hands tucked behind his back, gaze sharp.

You smirked, not even pretending to play innocent. “His name’s Hinata. And yes, I am. He’s got something none of the others have.”

Your grandfather raised an eyebrow. “A reckless vertical jump and no self-preservation instinct?”

You snorted. “Maybe. But he’s got raw instinct, incredible speed, and a hunger you can’t teach. I bet I can polish him up faster than you'd expect.”

He gave you a look that was halfway between challenge and amusement. “Polish him? He’s not even supposed to be here. He’s a ball boy.”

You stepped forward, head held high, the glint in your eyes matching his. “Then let me take responsibility for him. I’ll train him myself—after hours. You just sit back and enjoy the results.”

A low chuckle escaped him. “Still stubborn as ever. Just like your grandmother.”

“And just as right as her too,” you shot back with a grin.

He shook his head, already turning away. “Fine. Do what you want. But don’t come crying to me when you realize talent alone doesn’t win games.”

“Oh, I won’t cry,” you called after him. “But you might when you realize you overlooked a future star.”

____________________________________________________________

After Hours — Gym, Later That Night

The gym lights hummed overhead as you tossed a ball in your hands, waiting. Hinata had agreed to meet you after the others had cleared out—his eyes practically glowing at the chance.

He ran in moments later, out of breath but beaming. “Sorry! I didn’t wanna be late!”

“You’re not,” you said, tossing him the ball. He caught it reflexively. “You ready to work?”

Hinata nodded eagerly. “Yes!”

“Good. We’re starting with your footwork,” you said, flipping to a diagram in your notebook and placing it on the bench nearby. “You’ve got the jump. But if you can control your speed and angles, you’ll be impossible to block.”

He stepped beside you, leaning over to look at the page. “Whoa… Did you draw this?”

You nodded, casually. “Yep. Designed it during my first year of shadowing the national team. You get to be my test subject.”

His face lit up. “I feel like I just unlocked a cheat code!”

You laughed, warm and genuine. “Let’s see if you can level up then.”

In the end it looks like he could.

Hinata was panting hard, sweat clinging to his forehead, but he was grinning wildly. He’d just completed a rapid-fire jump drill you walked him through, and his timing was visibly sharper already.

“You’re learning fast,” you said, offering a water bottle.

He took it, gulping. “It’s ‘cause you explain stuff in a way that actually clicks. I’ve never had anyone… analyze me like that.”

You tilted your head slightly, smiling. “Most people don’t see what you’re capable of. But I do.”

There was a brief pause—Hinata’s ears turned just the slightest shade of pink.

“You’re really cool, Y/N-san,” he mumbled, scratching his cheek.

You nudged his shoulder with a grin. “Just wait till you see what else I can teach you.”

And as the two of you stood there—sweat, laughter, and volleyballs scattered across the court—you knew this was just the beginning.

______________________________________________________________

The two of you had been at it for nearly an hour.

Hinata sprinted to the net again, took his last jump of the drill—cleaner this time, more controlled—and landed with a breathless exhale. You held your stopwatch up, glanced down at your notes, then gave a small nod.

“Better. Your approach rhythm’s finally syncing with your arms. Still a little too much vertical on that last jump, but we can fix that.”

Hinata flopped onto the floor like a tired puppy, arms stretched out across the polished gym floor. “I didn’t even know I was jumping wrong before.”

You knelt down beside him, one leg up, twirling your pen between your fingers. “You weren’t jumping wrong—you were just relying only on instinct. Which works… until it doesn’t. I want you to learn how to read situations before you jump. Time it based on everything—the blocker’s hands, the setter’s shoulder, your own speed.”

He stared up at the ceiling, chest heaving. “That’s a lot to think about in a split second…”

You smiled. “At first, yeah. But soon, your body starts making those decisions for you.”

Hinata turned his head toward you, that spark of determination flickering in his eyes again. “That’s what makes the pros so good, right?”

“Exactly,” you said softly. “And you’re on the path to becoming one—if you keep working like this.”

A pause settled between you. Not awkward—just tired, satisfied silence.

Then you stood, stretching your arms behind your back. “Alright, that’s enough for tonight. You’ll need your legs tomorrow if you want to keep up.”

Hinata blinked and sat up quickly. “Already?”

You laughed and offered him a hand to help him up. “Training too much at once can mess up your rhythm. Muscle memory needs time to settle in. Plus…”

You shot him a look as he grabbed your hand.

“…You’ve got homework.”

“Homework?” he groaned.

“Observation homework,” you said with a mischievous grin. “Tomorrow during warmups and scrimmages, I want you watching every player on court. Goshiki, Koganei, Hakuba—even the bench. Learn from what they do right, and more importantly, what they mess up. Watching others is one of the best ways to improve yourself.”

Hinata stared for a second… then gave a serious nod. “Got it. I’ll watch everything.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” you said, tossing him a towel from your bag. “Go shower and sleep, Shoyo. You earned it.”

As he trotted off with the towel over his shoulder, you lingered a moment longer, gaze drifting to your notebook—already flipping a page and writing down:

“Hinata Shoyo – aggressive instinct, raw potential, emotionally driven. Learns fast. Watch closely.”

And in smaller writing underneath:

“Too much heart for this place to overlook.”

You shut the notebook with a soft click and smiled to yourself.

______________________________________________________________

For the rest of the week, you stayed behind after every official practice ended, slipping into the quiet of the gym as the others headed off to showers or meals. It became your routine, the secret training sessions with Hinata. While he had boundless energy and an unrelenting drive, you brought the precision and strategy—tuning his form, correcting his timing, teaching him how to read blockers and anticipate plays. He soaked up every piece of advice like sunlight, always eager for more.

At first, your grandfather didn’t approve. He teased, challenged, and dismissed it as a waste of time. But you stood your ground. You argued your point with sharp words and sharper observations, reminding him of what you saw in Hinata’s potential. Slowly, your grandfather's complaints became fewer, though his disapproval remained unspoken, lurking just beneath the surface.

As the sessions continued, you and Hinata began to form a bond—one built on trust, respect, and an unspoken understanding. He got better with every drill, becoming more precise, more strategic. And somehow, between the drills and the quiet moments of shared water bottles and laughter, you found yourself looking forward to these late-night sessions more than you'd ever expected.

One evening, as the gym’s lighting dimmed further, you both were running through a series of quick drills. Hinata was fast—too fast, at times. His movements blurred in the air as his legs carried him in wide, long strides. You watched as his hand reached for a high ball, but this time, you saw it too late.

A ball veered sharply toward the side of the gym, spinning at an awkward angle. Instinctively, you took off after it, feet pounding the hardwood floor as you dashed toward the ball, your mind calculating how to get there faster. But you weren’t fast enough. Hinata was right behind you, and in his rush to reach the ball, his momentum carried him into you.

Before you could react, his body collided with yours, sending you both off-balance. The next thing you knew, you were on the floor, heart racing as you scrambled to catch yourself. But Hinata, too, had lost his footing. He landed with his hands bracing on either side of your face, his palms just inches from your skin, hovering but so close that you could feel his breath.

For a long moment, time seemed to stop. The gym was silent, save for the soft sound of your breathing and the thudding of your heart in your chest. His gaze locked onto yours—those wide, startled eyes filled with confusion, but also something else. Something warmer. His face flushed, the redness creeping up from his neck to his cheeks, and you could feel your own face heating up in response.

Your heart was thudding in your ears, your chest tight. It felt as though the air between you thickened, heavy and charged with something neither of you knew how to handle. Hinata’s hands were still hovering near your face, trembling slightly as if he was afraid to move, afraid that any shift might break the fragile moment between you.

And then, you saw it. The briefest flicker in his eyes—a moment of realization, of understanding. He wasn’t going to fall on top of you. He was trying his best to keep his distance. But with him so close, his warm breath brushing against your face, it felt impossible to ignore the tension hanging thick in the air.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "Hinata... you're—"

Before you could finish, you both broke apart. In an instant, he scrambled off you, his hands pulling away so quickly that it felt like a shock to both of you. The air seemed to cool between you, but the heat of the moment still lingered.

Hinata stood up quickly, avoiding your gaze. "I... I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—"

You sat up, shaking your head as you caught your breath. "It's fine, really," you said, trying to play it off, though your heart was still racing. You could feel the warmth in your cheeks and the fluttering of your chest that wouldn’t calm. "Just—let's call it for the night."

You stood up, gathering your things and trying to ignore the way your hands were shaking. “We’ll pick up tomorrow. You’ve been doing great. But… yeah, let's call it for now.”

Hinata nodded quickly, still avoiding eye contact. He grabbed his water bottle and shuffled toward the exit, his footsteps unusually light.

"Thanks for... everything," he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You managed a soft smile, though your heart was still caught in your throat. "You're welcome, Hinata. Go get some rest."

You stood there for a long moment after he left. The gym was quiet now—still and almost too silent. The echoes of that moment between you and Hinata echoed in your mind. The closeness. The heat. The way time had stopped, and how your heart had beaten a little too fast for comfort.

You didn’t realize you were still standing there until the coolness of the gym finally broke through. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your bag and walked slowly out, your mind still swirling, still haunted by the feeling of his presence so near.

Later that night, lying in bed, you couldn’t help but replay the moment over and over. The way his hands had hovered by your face. The flush on his cheeks. The way his eyes looked at you, so close, and yet so uncertain. You felt your heart beating again, as loud as it had been in that split second.

And as you closed your eyes, your thoughts drifted to him. What did he feel? Did he think about it like you did?

You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t get much sleep tonight.

______________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, Hinata was lying in his own bed, his heart still pounding in his chest. He replayed the scene in his mind as well—the way his hands had been so close to your face, the way you’d looked at him. He kept remembering the feeling of your gaze, and how it had made him feel... something different. Something he couldn’t quite explain.

He buried his face in his pillow, face flushed with embarrassment and something else, something warm. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew one thing for sure: he wouldn’t forget tonight.

______________________________________________________________

When the week came to an end, you found yourself feeling a sense of reluctance you hadn’t expected. It had flown by too quickly, like the end of a good dream that left you grasping for more. The gym was bathed in the soft, golden light of the afternoon sun, the rays slipping through the high windows and giving everything a warm, almost nostalgic glow. The usual hum of voices, the sound of shoes scraping against the floor, and the buzz of the final preparations for the day’s conclusion all added to the atmosphere.

Hinata had spent the entire week as the ball boy, his unshakable energy always a few steps ahead of everyone else. Yet, despite his official role, you couldn’t help but notice the improvements he’d made in those late-night sessions. You knew it wasn’t just about him being a ball boy—it was the work you had done together in those quiet, lingering hours after the others left. The drills, the corrections, the shared sweat, and laughter—it had all made him sharper. Faster. More precise.

He wasn’t just a boy running after balls anymore. He had become more than that—an athlete with a new awareness of the game, his instincts now sharpened into something more calculated, more intelligent. You had seen his potential all along, and now, it was beginning to bloom in front of you. It made you proud, in a way you hadn’t expected.

As you looked around, you noticed Hinata running about, helping clean up and making sure everything was in order before everyone left for the day. He was a little quieter now, a little more self-assured, but that same infectious smile was never far from his face.

The thought of not seeing him every day—of not working with him, pushing him, laughing with him—left a dull ache in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was the connection you’d formed during those late-night training sessions or the simple, undeniable fact that he had wormed his way into your routine. Either way, it hurt.

You tried to remind yourself that it had only been a week. It wasn’t long enough to miss someone, was it? Yet, somehow, it felt like you had spent much more time with him than just those few days. And now that it was ending, you realized that he had become something of a bright spot in your days.

You glanced over at him, watching as he waved goodbye to a couple of players who were leaving for the day, his usual energy still present but with a new kind of resolve in his posture. He was ready. You could feel it. You knew it, just like you had known from the very beginning that he had something special inside him. He wasn’t going to stay a ball boy for long. You could tell that he had big dreams, and nothing would stop him from chasing them.

Deep down, a small part of you hoped that you would get to see him again, that somehow, your paths would cross again in the future. You wanted to be there for him, to watch him grow, to help him when he stumbled and cheer for him when he succeeded. You hoped that, in some way, you had played a part in shaping the future that awaited him. But the reality was that you both had different roads to follow.

You had your own responsibilities, your own goals to pursue, and you didn’t want to hold him back from what he was meant to do. Becoming a professional volleyball player was his dream, and you had no doubt that he was going to make it. He had the heart, the fire, the passion, and now, he had the skills. Hinata wasn’t just a bright, energetic kid anymore. He was a force to be reckoned with.

You sighed softly, your heart full of both pride and a quiet sadness. “You’re going to make it, Hinata,” you muttered to yourself, watching him one last time as he jogged toward the door, a ball under his arm.

Your hope for the future swelled in your chest—because even though your paths were diverging for now, you knew he’d go far. You couldn’t wait to see him rise. And maybe, just maybe, your paths would cross again someday, and when they did, you’d be there cheering him on.

______________________________________________________________

Time Skip – Nearly Two Years Later

It had been a while since the training camp at Shiratorizawa—two whole years, in fact. You had gone deeper into your career, rotating through national team scouting, coaching strategy clinics, and working with elite-level athletes. Your days were busy, but every now and then… a familiar flash of orange hair would flicker across your memory, and you'd wonder how he was doing.

You hadn't seen Hinata Shouyo in so long. Not in person, at least. You had caught his name in passing—whispers of his matches, mentions in reports. You knew he had kept playing. But you also knew that, in the elite world of volleyball, playing wasn’t always enough.

That’s why, when you spotted him one rainy afternoon in a half-empty café near a Tokyo train station, it took you a moment to recognize him.

He was taller now. Still lean, still wild-haired, but his shoulders carried a different kind of weight. He was seated by the window, half-slumped over a drink, one hand lazily swirling the straw around in circles.

You walked in on instinct, drawn like a magnet. “I didn’t think sunshine came out on rainy days.”

His head snapped up. Those familiar brown eyes widened. “Y/N…?”

You grinned, slipping into the seat across from him like no time had passed. “In the flesh.”

He blinked, then laughed softly. “Wow. It’s really you.”

You studied him for a second, that usual spark in his eyes noticeably dimmer. Something was off.

“You okay, Shouyo?” you asked gently. “You look like someone just spiked a ball at your heart.”

He exhaled through his nose, letting his gaze fall to the window. “I just… I feel stuck. Everyone’s improving so fast. Kageyama’s playing with the national team. I’m trying, but it’s like—no matter what I do, I can’t catch up.”

You leaned forward, voice low and firm. “You don’t catch up to someone like Kageyama. You evolve into your own version of greatness.”

He looked at you then, eyes filled with quiet frustration and a flicker of hope.

You smiled. “You remember what I told you back at Shiratorizawa? That you don’t tell me what you’re not. Only what you are. And what you are is a damn brilliant athlete. But maybe… it’s time you got a little uncomfortable again. Time you learned something new.”

His brows furrowed. “Like what?”

“Beach volleyball,” you said without hesitation. “It’ll push your stamina, force you to refine your reads, sharpen your instincts. There’s no hiding on a beach court—it’s raw, reactive, real. If you want to grow, truly grow… go somewhere where you’re forced to adapt.”

He blinked. “Beach volleyball…”

You nodded. “I have a contact in Brazil. I can get you the info. But you have to want it, Hinata. No one’s going to hand you greatness—you already know that.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he leaned back in his seat, a slow smile spreading across his face. That glint was back. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

You grinned, a warm rush of pride flooding your chest. “There’s the Hinata I remember.”

And just like that, the path forward lit up again—not just for him, but for you too.

______________________________________________________________

When Hinata left for Brazil to work on improving himself, he finally gave you his number—with that bright grin of his and a casual, “So we can keep in touch, yeah?” You had accepted it with a quiet, happy smile, saving the contact faster than you’d ever saved any number in your life.

Since then, the two of you had texted constantly. There was no awkwardness, no weird pauses—just an easy, natural flow of conversations that could jump from volleyball tactics to late-night snack debates without missing a beat. Some days, he sent you pictures of sunsets over the beach or videos of his clumsy attempts at Portuguese. Other days, it was clips of his training—dust flying, muscles burning, determination written across every move. And you? You sent him notes, tips, encouragements. A steady stream of analysis wrapped in your own version of affection.

Your coworkers in the Japan National Analytic Team noticed, of course. It was impossible not to, considering how often you glanced at your phone mid-meeting or how your eyes lit up whenever a new message popped up. They teased you relentlessly.

“Who’s the lucky guy, Y/N?”

“Wait, are you smiling? Voluntarily? It has to be love.”

You brushed them off with an eye roll and a calm, practiced lie: “He’s just an old friend. Someone I used to train with.”

And that was true—technically. But you also knew that it wasn’t the full truth. Not by a long shot. Because somehow, over the course of these messages, something had shifted. You missed him. Not just in a friendly, nostalgic way. You missed him. His energy. His stubbornness. The way he soaked up every word you said like it was gospel. You missed being near him.

So, against all odds—and after a very last-minute, barely-explained vacation request to your superior—you booked a flight. One week off. Just one.

You didn’t tell Hinata.

Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was foolish. But in your heart, you knew why you were doing it.

You just wanted to see him again. Just wanted to stand on that sun-warmed sand, look into those bright, determined eyes again, and remind him face-to-face:

You’re not doing this alone.

______________________________________________________________

By the time your plane touched down in Brazil, the sky was already melting into brilliant shades of gold and soft rose. The sunset bathed everything in a dreamy haze, casting long shadows and a quiet sense of magic over the city. But you barely took the time to admire it—you had one goal in mind.

Hinata.

With your luggage wheeling behind you and your phone open to the last location tag from his Instagram story, you navigated through the unfamiliar streets with determination. His stories always had little clues—snippets of beach volleyball courts, bits of signage, the sound of crashing waves and laughter in the background. You followed every breadcrumb.

And there it was.

As you stepped onto the warm sand, the breeze brushing against your skin and the ocean humming softly in the distance, you spotted him. Hinata was on the court, barefoot and sun-kissed, leaping into the air with that same explosive energy that hadn't changed—except now, it was refined. Sharper. Stronger.

You stopped in your tracks, completely stunned.

He had grown.

Not just taller, though you were sure he’d gained a couple centimeters—but there was a maturity to him now. His shoulders broader, his movements smoother, more controlled. His hair was a little longer, his tan deeper. He wasn’t the boy you trained in quiet gyms after hours anymore.

He was becoming the player he always dreamed of being.

You didn’t say anything at first—just stood there at the edge of the court, watching. Drinking it in.

And then he saw you.

His entire body stilled mid-step. His eyes widened in disbelief. For a second, it was like the world had frozen, just like that moment back in the gym when he had nearly fallen on top of you.

“…Y/N?!”

His voice cracked slightly, filled with pure, stunned joy.

You grinned, lifting a hand in a small wave. “Surprise.”

And then he was running.

Not walking. Not jogging. Full-speed sprinting across the sand toward you like it had been years instead of months. He didn’t hesitate—not even for a second—before wrapping his arms tightly around you and lifting you off the ground in a strong, warm hug.

You let out a small laugh, heart thundering as you hugged him back, the heat of the day nothing compared to the warmth that bloomed in your chest.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” he said into your shoulder, voice muffled but shaking with happiness. “This is—how?! When?!”

“I figured you could use a little support,” you said, still smiling against him. “And maybe someone to tell you your footwork’s still too wide on sand.”

He laughed, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes glowing with the same sunshine you remembered. “I missed you.”

You swallowed, suddenly shy. “I missed you too.”

The moment hung between you, full of unspoken words and shared memories. Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, “Wait, where are you staying? I could bring you back to your hotel after you spend some time drinking with us of course.”

You blinked and laughed at his bluntness. “Honestly? I haven’t figured that out yet. I came her with the goal to see you and did not think further to be honest.”

His brows shot up. “Well, that’s easy—stay with me! I’ve got a spare bed in my apartment. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s close to the court, and—yeah. You should stay.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to say you didn’t want to impose—but the look on his face silenced you. Pure excitement. Genuine hope. Like the idea of you leaving again was unthinkable.

So you nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

And just like that, your world shifted again—warm sand beneath your feet, a home waiting you didn’t expect, and the boy who once looked up to you now standing beside you, growing into everything you always knew he could be.

______________________________________________________________

It had been a few days since you showed up on that beach like something out of a dream, and Hinata still couldn’t believe you were real.

He kept stealing glances at you—when you sipped your morning coffee on the tiny balcony, when you pulled your hair back before heading to the courts, when you scribbled notes in your ever-present notebook with that same focused furrow in your brow. You hadn’t changed much. And somehow, that made everything harder.

Because now you were here. In his space. Laughing at his dumb jokes in the kitchen. Fixing your towel beside his on the sand. Existing a little too close for his heart to stay calm.

He thought he’d grown past this kind of nervous energy.

But no. One look at you, barefoot on the beach, hair tousled by the ocean breeze, and his heart kicked like it had something to prove. It was like that moment back in the gym all over again—your eyes wide beneath him, cheeks flushed, the air between you thick with something neither of you dared name.

And now, every single day, that tension sat just below the surface.

He tried to focus—on serves, on footwork, on keeping his jumps smooth and his hands quick. But his gaze always found you. Arms crossed as you watched from the sidelines, calling out adjustments, shouting encouragement, eyes sharp and soft all at once. He could feel your presence like the sun—always warm, always there, even when he wasn’t looking directly at it.

Sometimes he caught himself wondering what it would be like to pull you into the ocean with him, just to see you smile. Or what it would feel like to brush the sand from your cheek when the wind caught it wrong. Or how your hand might fit into his if he just… asked.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he kept playing. Kept training. Kept chasing the version of himself that could stand beside you without feeling like the kid who used to stay behind after hours just for a few extra tips.

In the evening, when you both returned to the apartment—tired, sandy, happy—he found himself listening to the sound of your laughter echoing down the hallway. Or pausing just outside your door when he heard you humming to yourself before entering the apartment.

It was slow. Subtle. But something was changing.

Maybe it always had been.

And the truth was… he didn’t want it to stop.

Your hair was still damp from the quick rinse at the beach showers, and your laughter carried through the small space as you kicked off your sandals by the door.

Hinata’s heart thumped a little harder at the sound. He couldn’t help it.

You grabbed two cold beers from the fridge like it was second nature now—like you belonged there—and joined him on the balcony. The heat from the day was fading, replaced by a soft breeze that made the moment feel... weightless. The kind you wish you could freeze in time.

"Cheers," you said, holding out the bottle with a crooked smile, your fingers brushing his when he reached for it.

“Cheers,” he echoed, but his voice was a little quieter. He watched you take a sip, watched the last rays of sunlight catch the curve of your cheek.

He should’ve been thinking about tomorrow’s drills. Should’ve been focused on improving—on chasing the gap between him and Kageyama like he always had. But all he could think about was you.

How you’d always looked at him like he was capable of more. Even when no one else did.

How you fought your grandfather just so he’d be given a chance.

How you trained with him late into the night, even when you were tired.

How you came all the way to Brazil… just to see him.

And you never once doubted him. Not for a second.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice low, eyes flicking toward him as you leaned against the railing.

He blinked, realizing he’d been staring. “Yeah,” he said, a little too fast. Then, softer, “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

You smiled, and it made something shift in his chest.

You were leaving soon. He knew it. You hadn’t said the date yet, but he could feel it in the way you talked about your work, your team, your home. This was just a visit. A moment. Something fleeting.

And it hurt more than he expected.

He glanced down at his beer, fingers tightening around the bottle neck. “I’m gonna miss you,” he said before he could stop himself.

You looked over at him, lips parting just slightly. The breeze tugged at your shirt, and for a second it felt like the air had gone completely still.

“I mean,” Hinata rushed on, eyes flicking away, “you know, you’ve been helping a lot, and—uh—I’ve gotten used to you being here, yelling at me about form and pushing me and stuff and—”

“Hinata,” you cut in gently.

His gaze met yours.

And something clicked in his chest, clear and terrifying and so obvious now he couldn’t believe he hadn’t said it before.

He was in love with you.

Had been, maybe, since that first moment in the gym. When you stood there with that stupid jacket and your sharp eyes and your stubborn fire and saw him—not as a ball boy, not as someone small—but as someone who could be great.

And now… you were sitting beside him, skin kissed by the sun, looking at him like you still believed it.

He didn’t know how to say any of it. Not yet.

So he just sat there, next to you, watching the sky fade into indigo. And when you leaned your head lightly against his shoulder—just for a moment—he closed his eyes.

Because if this was all he got before you left…

He’d hold onto it as long as he could.

______________________________________________________________

You stood in front of the small bathroom mirror, brushing your teeth in a daze, still tasting the salty breeze and the clink of beer bottles against a sunset that felt far too beautiful to be real. Hinata had been quieter than usual all evening. Not in a bad way. Just... thoughtful. Focused in a different direction.

Focused on you.

You'd caught him staring more than once—not in that awkward way some guys do, but like he was trying to understand something about you. As if you were a puzzle he didn’t even know he’d been trying to solve until now.

And when he said, “I’m gonna miss you,” something had cracked open in your chest. A truth you’d buried deep.

You would miss him, too. But more than that... you already loved him.

Maybe it had started during those first training sessions, back in Japan. When he tried so hard, fell so many times, but always got up again, grinning like failure was just part of the game. Maybe it was when he first looked at you—not with doubt, but admiration. Or maybe it was when he hugged you on the beach earlier today like it hurt to let go.

You didn’t know exactly when it started—when your heart had quietly chosen him. But what you did know was that you'd wanted to be near him for so long. That unshakable pull was the reason you went to Brazil in the first place… not just for volleyball, not just for curiosity—but because it was him. Because your heart had already decided long before your mind caught up.

With that thought gently pressing against your chest, you lay down, eyes drifting shut trying to find some rest of this day.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

You tossed. Turned. Stared at the ceiling. Counted seconds between the hums of the fridge and the soft creaks of the old apartment walls. Your body was exhausted, but your mind was spinning in a thousand directions—and all of them ended at him.

The memory of how he looked at you hours ago still clung to your skin like heat. And you swore you could still feel his gaze.

With a quiet sigh, you pushed the blanket off and tiptoed barefoot into the hallway. Maybe some water would help.

But as you turned the corner toward the kitchen, your breath caught.

He was already there.

Hinata stood at the counter, one hand loosely around a glass, shirt slightly rumpled, hair even messier than usual. The light from the small overhead bulb cast a soft glow over him—warm and golden, painting him in something that made your chest ache.

He hadn’t heard you at first, not until the faint creak of the floorboard under your foot. He turned sharply, and when his eyes met yours, he froze.

Neither of you spoke.

For a full minute, it was just staring. Not in awkwardness, not in confusion—just seeing each other. Every quiet thought, every skipped heartbeat, every unsaid word filling the space between you.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

That was it.

No excuses. No deflection.

He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

The air felt like it was buzzing. Charged. Every nerve in your body alert.

And then it cracked—both of you cracking at the same time.

A moment later, you were walking toward each other—slowly at first, then with a kind of desperation neither of you bothered to hide anymore. You met in the middle like gravity had pulled you there.

You didn’t even remember reaching out. But suddenly his hand was on your waist, and yours were fisted in the fabric of his T-shirt, and your lips met in a kiss that felt like a dam breaking.

It was deep. Warm. Starved.

Hinata kissed you like he had been holding it back for years—hands gripping your waist, thumbs brushing bare skin just beneath your shirt. His mouth was soft but firm, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, lips sliding against yours with practiced urgency, like he knew exactly how to make you melt.

And you did.

You sank into him, fingers tangled in his hair now, pulling just enough to make him groan low in his throat. That sound lit something in your stomach—a warmth, a spark, a pull. He kissed you again, harder this time, like he couldn’t get close enough.

You gasped into his mouth as his hands suddenly gripped the backs of your thighs and lifted you up, placing you gently but firmly on the kitchen counter.

The cool marble kissed your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat burning between you.

His forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting, chests heaving, lips swollen.

“I—” he whispered, voice raw, shaking. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You stared at him, stunned, eyes wide. He looked like the words had just ripped free from somewhere deep.

“Since Japan,” he continued, thumb tracing your cheekbone. “I thought it was just a crush. Something that would fade. But it never did. It only got worse.”

You swallowed, your heart hammering.

“I came here to get better,” he said, breathless, “but every day I just wanted to hear your voice. Every time your name popped up on my phone, it made everything feel easier. You believe in me like no one else ever has, Y/N.”

Your fingers brushed over the nape of his neck. “I never stopped,” you whispered. “I’ve believed in you since the moment I saw you on that court. I knew… I just knew you were something special.”

His hands squeezed your thighs gently. “I think I’ve loved you this whole time,” he admitted, voice thick with emotion.

Your breath hitched.

You stared at him.

“I loved you before I even understood what that meant,” you whispered back. “Back in Japan, when we trained at night… I think it started there.”

The silence that followed was anything but empty. It buzzed with heat and the weight of everything you’d both carried, finally laid bare.

The silence stretched between you like a taut wire, and yet, everything felt in sync. The intensity of the moment seemed to hold the air still, both of you catching your breath, each word spoken carrying the weight of everything unspoken before it. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the rising tension between you only building with every breath you took. The words hung heavy in the air, but it wasn’t just the confessions—no, it was the way your heart raced, the way your pulse seemed to sync with his. You’d both admitted what you felt, and now there was no turning back.

You had to touch him.

Without thinking, your hands slid from his neck, down his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense under your fingertips, pulling him closer. He responded immediately, his hands moving to your waist, then your back, pulling you flush against him. The kiss that followed wasn’t gentle or cautious anymore—it was hungry, desperate, and so full of need, of everything you’d both held back. His lips moved against yours with a fierceness that sent a shiver down your spine, and the contact was electric.

You slid your legs around his waist, pulling him closer until you could feel the undeniable pressure of him against you. His hands moved to your thighs again, urging your legs higher, his touch firm, knowing. He kissed you deeper, as if trying to pour every ounce of the emotions he hadn’t let himself express into the kiss. His breath was shallow, every exhale mixing with yours in an unsteady rhythm.

“Y/N…” he groaned between kisses, voice strained with the raw need that pulsed between you.

His hands roamed, one slipping up the side of your shirt, fingertips grazing the skin of your ribs. The contact made you gasp, and he didn’t hesitate, his hand moving higher, under your shirt, feeling the heat of your skin. His touch was eager but gentle, as if testing boundaries he’d wanted to cross for so long.

You pulled away from him, eyes wide with a breathless sort of urgency. Your hands ran over his chest, your fingertips brushing against the heat of his skin. There was something about him—something raw, vulnerable, and yet undeniably powerful that made your heart race even faster. You wanted him closer, needed him closer, but there was hesitation, a moment of doubt that flickered in your chest.

“Shoyo…” Your voice cracked slightly, and it only made him look at you with those wide, dark eyes—eyes that held every piece of his desire for you.

Before you could even finish the sentence, he was kissing you again, pulling you to the edge of the kitchen counter, his body pressing you deeper into the cool stone beneath you. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, as if trying to erase the space between you. Every movement felt urgent, like you were trying to make up for all the time you’d spent apart, all the time you’d spent pretending you didn’t feel this way.

His body trembled slightly, and you knew he was barely holding on. You wanted him to lose control, to break free of whatever restraint had kept him at bay. Your lips broke away from his momentarily, both of you panting, faces inches apart.

“Y/N…” His voice was hoarse now, and the heat in his eyes was almost too much to bear. “Are you sure?”

You didn’t say anything at first. Instead, you pulled him into another kiss, this one fierce and full of want, your lips demanding more. He responded without hesitation, his hands tracing every inch of your skin, as if memorizing the feel of you.

You couldn’t deny it anymore. You needed him just as much as he needed you. Your hands gripped his shoulders, tugging him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist to bring him even more firmly against you. His body was solid, warm, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you wanted to drown in him.

Suddenly, his hands slid to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head in one smooth motion, and you couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through you as the cool air of the kitchen kissed your bare skin. He paused, eyes scanning you with an almost worshipful gaze, his breathing heavy as he took you in.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, voice thick with a mixture of desire and awe.

And that was all the encouragement you needed.

You pulled him back down, kissing him again, pulling him closer as if you couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second. His hands moved to your back, then your waist, pushing you up slightly as he adjusted his stance, his mouth never leaving yours. You could feel the tension mounting between you again, both of you caught in the whirlwind of emotions you’d been holding back for far too long.

He pulled away for just a moment, eyes searching yours, face flushed. “I need you, Y/N. Please.”

His words were a plea—a confession—and that was all you needed. You nodded, heart pounding, and before you knew it, you were helping him remove the last barrier between you.

Your hands moved quickly as you both kissed each other, lost in the moment as if nothing else in the world mattered-

In an instant, you pulled off the shirt he was wearing, your hands brushing against the smooth, firm muscles of his toned body.

His hands wandered from the side of your hips under your shirt and ripped it off like the useless piece of fabric it was. You beautiful breast coming to appear as he hungry attacked them like he waited his whole life for this moment.

With a swift motion, he laid you down on the kitchen table, immediately pressing his lips to your neck, leaving a mark that seemed to claim you as his—showing the world that he had found the best person in his life. One of his hands where touching your sensitive nipple as he heard you moaning for the first time.

It was enlightened. He couldn’t get enough; the desire to hear more from you surged within him. Slowly, he trailed his lips down your neck, kissing every inch of your soft skin as he moved lower to your other breast. First he gently kissed the already hard nipple, which let some shivers down your spine. The next second he sucked on it just to listen to more of the beautiful sounds you were making. “Shoyo…” you breath unsteady as he heard you calling his first name. “Fuck” escaped his lips as he grabbed your ass in lightning speed and carried you to his bedroom.

“Baby. You don’t know how hard you make me when you call my name like this. Do it again.” You smirked as he laid you down onto his bed and started to kiss you again, hard. “Make me.” You breath between sloppy kisses as he kept working on you breast. “You should not have said that darling.” His voice was husky as he whispered that onto you flushed lips.

In his eyes, there was a wild, unrestrained hunger—desire burning with an intensity he'd never felt before. You did not wanted anything more than him in this moment. You wanted to feel him closer than ever so you watched as he grabbed your leepwear pants and throwed them through the room like nothing, his finger found your wet pussy as he started to thrust them into you. Your moans echoed through the room as your hands were grabbing into his orange hair and he watched you calling his name in pleasure. “You already so wet for me. Did you want me to fuck you this badly sweets?”

Your voice was unsteady as you felt the pleasure of each thrust with his fingers going closer. You barely managed to say “Yes” to his question which made him smile knowingly. “Baby keep going for me okay. Your voice sound so sweet.”

“Please” you finally broke begging him. “Please what darling?” His eyes watching you grabbing his hair harder as he put another finger into you. “Please Shoyo.” You begged again but he did not falter at all. “Tell me what you want baby. Tell me-“

With a strong grip you pulled his head closer to yours when you opened your eyes filled with pleasure and told him in a demanding voice. “Just fuck me.”

With slightly widened eyes he removed his fingers from your pussy faster than you could feel it and put his boxer down. Without asking you a second time he trusted into you. Heavy and fast. He could not wait any longer to feel you and he did. He felt your pussy clenching around his dick as he trusted into you impatiently like he was. “God Y/N.” he breath now also his breath was unsteady as hell as he kept fucking you into his sheets. “You don’t know how long I wanted to do this.”

“Shoyo..” you moaned his name again feeling his dick pushing into you again and again. “I don’t think I cant hold back longer.” His thrust getting fast each second as he watched you half open lid eyes looking at him. “Your so beautiful Y/N. Come for me, yeah?”

Each thrust got you closer to the etch of coming and it was an amazing feeling. You moans were a melody to his ears as he pressed your hands from his head down into the mattress and moved into a rhythm. “I love you Y/N. I love you so much.” He finally confessed his feelings as he thrusted into you a last time, before he fully came with you.

Quick, unsteady breaths were the only sound between you as you locked eyes in silence. “I love you too,” you confessed, finally catching your breath as you felt him gently brush a strand of hair out of your face.

He removed himself from you as he moved closer to your face and kissed your sweaty forehead lightly. With his strong arms, he lifted you from the bed and carried you to the shower in his apartment. “Let’s clean you up, darling. You did so well.”

You gently traced his jaw with your fingers, your touch soft and tender. Slowly, you leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips before allowing yourself to be seated on the toilet.

“I know it’s kind of late for this, but... do you want to be my girlfriend?” he asked with a goofy grin, causing you to burst out laughing at his request. “Of course I will, you dumbass.”

I have the best girlfriend in the world,” he said with a bright smile, giving you a soft, gentle kiss before finally letting you get your well-deserved shower.

______________________________________________________________

A few years had passed since your time in Brazil, and things had changed in ways you never expected. You were still part of the Analysis Team for Japan’s National Volleyball Team, but now, your name carried a different weight. You were no longer just Y/N, L/N; you were Y/N Hinata, the wife of none other than Shoyo Hinata, the former ball boy who had become a volleyball legend in his own right.

Today, you were walking into the gym with a calm composure, clipboard in hand, ready to evaluate the new talent coming in for the national team. The players were all gathered, stretching, chatting, and trying to get into the zone for their upcoming training. As you stepped inside, the room went silent for a split second, before a few players turned their heads and nodded in your direction.

You smiled to yourself, knowing the routine. You’d done this before, introduced yourself countless times. But today, something felt a little different.

You cleared your throat, catching the attention of the team.

“Hello, everyone. My name is Y/N Hinata,” you said, your voice steady as you looked over the young athletes in front of you. “I’ll be analyzing your performances and providing feedback throughout the training camp. I’m a part of the National Analysis Team, and I’ve been working with the team for several years.”

You could see the glances exchanged between some of the players—surprise, confusion, curiosity. But what really got their attention was when one of the younger players, eyes wide, leaned over to his teammate.

“Wait. Hinata?” he asked. “Like… Shoyo Hinata? The guy who’s on the national team? The legend?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as you saw the realization dawning on their faces. “Yes. I’m married to Shoyo. We’ve been together for a few years now.”

The room went dead silent for a beat. Then the whispers started.

“No way... Shoyo is married? And to her?” one player muttered in disbelief.

Another laughed, shaking his head. “I can't believe Shoyo actually has a wife.”

______________________________________________________________

The room had only just begun to settle after your introduction when the sound of the gym doors opening caught everyone's attention. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was—the unmistakable energy of the MSBY team filled the room as they walked in. Shoyo, dressed in his usual training gear, led the group, his bright orange hair unmistakable in the crowd.

As he stepped in, his eyes scanned the room, and when they landed on you, they softened immediately. His gaze lingered for a moment longer than it should have, before he started walking toward you, an almost protective air about him. The team followed suit, greeting the new players and settling into their designated spots on the court.

Shoyo reached you in just a few steps, the familiar warmth of his presence wrapping around you instantly. His hand brushed over your arm gently, and before he could say anything, his teammates started calling out to him with knowing smirks.

“You’re already checking on her, huh, Hinata?” one of the MSBY players teased, his voice playful.

Another one joined in, shaking his head. “Dude, she’s not even a new recruit. She’s part of the team, like, forever. You’re still gonna worry about her like that?”

Shoyo shot them an annoyed look, but you could see the way his eyes softened when they returned to you. His concern was as apparent as ever.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice low and a little more serious now, though the playful teasing in the background didn’t go unnoticed by the team.

You smiled, stepping toward him. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just getting started with the new players. No need to worry about me, Shoyo,” you teased, giving him a wink. “You’ve got a whole team to focus on.”

He reached out instinctively, resting his hand on your shoulder, as if needing to confirm that you were, in fact, fine. “I know, I know. But I still can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice just for you. Then, his gaze shifted back to the teammates who were now chuckling, clearly enjoying the moment.

“You guys are really making fun of me for being concerned for my wife?” Shoyo said with a slight frown, though you could see the playful glint in his eyes. “She’s pregnant, you know. It’s my job to make sure she’s okay.”

One of the players, who had been watching the interaction with amusement, raised an eyebrow. “Man, we know she’s pregnant. But she’s been doing this job longer than any of us, and you’re still acting like she needs a bodyguard.” He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Guess we all know who the real boss is now.”

The rest of the team snickered, and you could see Shoyo’s face flush a little, though he didn’t deny it. He looked at you, his expression softening even more as he noticed the amused smile on your face.

“Okay, okay. I’ll ease up,” he said, though his tone was still full of that protective warmth. He turned to his teammates, giving them a playful glare. “But, you know, it’s my job to look out for her. You guys wouldn’t understand.”

The teasing didn’t stop entirely, but it was clear now that the respect everyone had for you had grown, not just because of your work with the team but because they saw how much Shoyo cared for you. And while they poked fun at him, there was an underlying admiration in the way they looked at you—like you were both equals in this world, balancing work, family, and love in a way that made everyone around you believe in the beauty of teamwork.

Shoyo finally turned back to you, his hand lingering on your shoulder as he smiled. “Alright. I’ll be over there training. But if you need anything, you let me know, okay?”

You nodded, reaching up to touch his hand lightly. “I will, I promise. Go ahead and get to work. I’ll be fine.”

With that, Shoyo gave you one last lingering look before joining his teammates, who had already started their warm-up drills. You stood there for a moment, feeling the love and care radiating off him even as he moved away.

As you turned back to the new players, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. It wasn’t just about the team or the work you did—it was about this balance, the family you were building with Shoyo, and the life you were creating together.

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