𝐂𝐇. 𝟐𝟑

⋅. ˚₊ ‧ 𐙚 ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅

The gym buzzed with a nervous energy before the match. Sneakers squeaked against the floor, balls echoed off the walls, and the team was unusually quiet. Focused. Sharp.

Even Oikawa hadn't said anything obnoxious in the past ten minutes, which honestly made me more nervous than usual.

He stood near the net, arms crossed, lips pressed into a tight line as he watched the other team warm up.

I stood near the bench, arms full of towels and water bottles, pretending not to glance his way every three seconds.

"He's locked in," Iwaizumi said, walking up beside me.

"Yeah," I replied, eyes still on Oikawa. "Think he'll survive?"

"He'll win. Then collapse."

"Sounds about right."

⸻

The ref blew the whistle.

Oikawa stepped back to serve, the ball in his hands. Focused. Calm. Locked in. His teammates were in position. His eyes scanned the other team's formation. He bounced the ball once. Twice.

Then—

"LET'S GO, CAPTAIN CHARMLESS!"

The voice rang out across the gym.

Oikawa flinched. His toss wobbled. He barely saved it midair, landing a decent (but not deadly) serve.

The entire team whipped their heads toward the bench.

Y/N was cupping her hands around her mouth, grinning smugly.

"What?" she said, blinking innocently. "Was that not motivating enough?"

"Don't call him captain charmless," Matsukawa wheezed.

"Actually, I liked that one," Hanamaki added.

"Y/N," Oikawa snapped, red creeping into his ears, "this is serious."

She gave a lazy salute. "Sorry, Captain Love Letters."

"You're trying to distract me!"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Her smirk said otherwise.

Iwaizumi clapped Oikawa hard on the back as he passed. "Eyes on the ball, loverboy."

"I hate all of you," Oikawa muttered, jogging back to position.

But his smile gave him away.

⸻

The game was intense.

Each point felt like a war. Aoba Johsai moved like a machine—every set, every block, every dive perfectly timed. And Oikawa? He was in his element. Calling plays, adapting mid-rally, backing up his teammates without hesitation.

The stands roared every time we scored, but the louder the crowd got, the quieter he became. Laser-focused. Controlled chaos.

And then—match point.

Oikawa stood at the back of the court, ball in hand. He bounced it once. Twice. His brows furrowed. The whole gym held its breath.

"Let's end it," he said quietly.

He served.

A blur of motion. The ball cut through the air with pinpoint precision, slamming just inside the back line.

Point.

Win.

And just like that—the gym exploded.

⸻

The team rushed the court, yelling, clapping, some of them tackling each other to the floor like they'd just won nationals.

Oikawa just stood there, hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his hair. He was smiling—but it was the kind of smile you wear when your whole body's about to give out and you're just trying to stay upright.

He didn't move. Not even as his team cheered around him.

⸻

Ten minutes later, everyone was still buzzing. The coaches were congratulating the players, some parents had shown up to hand out energy drinks and snacks, and the team was laughing like they hadn't just clawed their way to victory.

But Oikawa?

He'd wandered off to the bleachers and sat down alone, towel over his shoulders, eyes closed. The smile was still there. Faint. Peaceful. Exhausted.

I walked over quietly, a cold water bottle in hand.

He didn't open his eyes as I sat beside him. He just leaned his head back and let out a long, satisfied sigh.

"You did it," I said softly.

He opened one eye and looked at me. "We did it."

"Don't be humble now. You carried out there."

He chuckled, voice raspy. "You noticed?"

"I always notice."

His brows lifted, but he didn't say anything. Just took the water bottle from me, fingers brushing mine.

"Thanks, manager-chan."

"You were amazing today," I added before I could second-guess myself. "Seriously. That serve? Insane."

He unscrewed the cap and took a sip, then tilted his head toward me.

"I was nervous before the game."

"I know," I said. "But you pulled through."

He looked down at the bottle, turning it in his hands. "I think it helped, having you around."

I glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "You getting soft again?"

He smiled, tired but genuine. "Maybe."

A pause settled between us—quiet but full. Like something unspoken was humming just below the surface.

"I don't say it enough," he said finally, voice low. "But I'm glad you're here."

I stared at him, heart thudding a little too loud.

Then I smirked. "I'd hug you, but you're disgusting right now."

He laughed, leaning his head against my shoulder for just a second. "Fair."

We sat in silence, watching the team mess around with snacks and high-fives and post-game chaos.

He looked happy.

Really happy.

And somehow, so did I.

⸻

Oikawa's POV

I was wiped. Like soul-leaving-body exhausted. But when she sat beside me, when she handed me that water and looked at me like I actually meant something outside of volleyball—

Yeah.

That made it worth it.

Not just the win.

The whole damn day.

Maybe even all of it.

⸻

Team Group Chat — Later That Night

[Hanamaki]:VICTORYYYYYYYYYYsomebody buy me a soda

[Matsukawa]:oikawa didn't die. shocking

[Iwaizumi]:mvp was oikawa. and our very organized, angry manager

[Y/N]:i accept my award. thank you.

[Oikawa]:she sat next to me after the match 🥺

[Hanamaki]:OH?

[Matsukawa]:did we witness a soft moment????

[Y/N]:i'm blocking all of you

[Oikawa]:worth it ❤️

⸻

OIKAWAS POV

That night, I stood brushing my teeth and caught myself smiling like an idiot in the mirror.

Not because we won.

Not because of the praise.

But because for the first time, sitting there with her beside me, I felt like maybe...

I wasn't playing this game alone.