𝐂𝐇. 𝟑𝟖

⋅. ˚₊ ‧  𐙚  ‧ ₊ ˚  ⋅

I had survived a lot in the past few weeks.

Oikawa's flirting.

Prank wars.

Being fake besties with people I barely tolerated.

Almost kissing a boy I claimed to hate.

But I was not prepared for the wave of chaos that came when everyone at school found out that Oikawa and I were a thing. Or, at least... sort of a thing. A flirting, fighting, maybe-something, definitely-annoying thing.

And by everyone, I mean everyone.

The fangirls. The nosy classmates. The volleyball fanatics. The ones who had no idea who I was until suddenly I was "that girl."

⸻

I hadn't even made it to my locker when two second-year girls skidded to a stop in front of me.

"Wait—are you the manager?"

I blinked. "...Yes?"

One of them gasped. The other squealed.

"Oh my gosh. You're her."

"Her?" I repeated, confused.

"You're Oikawa's manager. His manager."

"...Right, and?"

"He called you his future wife in the gym yesterday."

I paused. "Unfortunately, he calls me that every day."

They gasped again like I'd confessed to being royalty. Or a murderer.

"I can't believe he likes someone like you—"

Before I could even react, a familiar voice cut in.

"If you finish that sentence, you're going to regret it."

Iwaizumi stepped forward like a shield, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

The two girls stammered, muttered something about being late to class, and scurried off like rats from a flood.

I stared at him.

He shrugged. "Idiots."

⸻

It wasn't just two girls.

By lunch, it was like I was walking through a sea of whispers.

"She's kind of pretty, I guess."

"Is she really dating Oikawa?"

"He could do so much better—"

"She's way out of his league—"

I couldn't tell which comments were worse.

People stared. People pointed. Some even smiled at me like we were suddenly best friends.

I didn't ask for any of this. I just wanted to hand out water bottles and yell at Oikawa in peace.

Instead, I felt like I was on trial.

⸻

I shoved open the gym doors, barely able to breathe.

The moment I stepped in, Iwaizumi was already by the water table, filling bottles with an annoyed look on his face.

He took one glance at me, then held out a bottle wordlessly.

I took it.

"I hate everyone," I muttered.

"I know."

"Why do they care so much?"

"Because they're bored."

"Why do you care?"

"I don't. But I do care that you looked like you were about to cry in the hallway."

I paused.

"I wasn't gonna cry."

"You looked like it."

"...Maybe."

He gave me a pat on the shoulder. The Iwaizumi version of a warm hug.

"You're good, Y/N. Ignore them."

"...Thanks."

"You want me to deck Oikawa again? I'll make it look like an accident."

"...I'll keep you posted."

⸻

Oikawa's POV

I walked into practice feeling like a damn celebrity.

Girls waved at me. People stared. Even the other second years were whispering.

But all I could focus on was Y/N at the bench, aggressively scribbling on her clipboard with a tension in her shoulders that made me hesitate.

Something was off.

Hanamaki clapped me on the back. "Yo, lover boy. Your girlfriend's got the school in a frenzy."

I smirked. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Yet."

"...Yet," I repeated, quietly.

But when I caught Y/N's eyes from across the court—she didn't roll her eyes. She just looked... tired.

The smirk faded a little.

⸻

During Practice

I tried to lighten the mood. Threw her a wink, a grin, an overly dramatic bow after a successful serve.

Nothing.

She barely looked at me.

Y/N not yelling at me was... worse than getting hit in the face with a volleyball.

⸻

Y/N's POV

I couldn't even be mad at him today.

That was the worst part.

He was being his usual dramatic self, and I didn't even have the energy to throw a water bottle at his head.

Because now everyone thought they had an opinion about us.

Like my name was suddenly tied to his, and that gave people permission to talk.

To judge.

To decide if I was worth it.

And I didn't ask for any of it.

⸻

After Practice

I sat on the bleachers, exhausted.

Oikawa came over, towel draped around his neck, smile soft this time.

"You okay?"

I blinked. "Do you care?"

His expression faltered, then grew serious.

"Of course I do."

I didn't say anything.

He sat beside me, letting the silence stretch.

"They're talking," I finally muttered.

"I know."

"They all think we're dating."

"I know."

"They think I'm not enough for you. Or too much. Or something else."

"They're wrong."

I looked at him.

He wasn't smiling.

He looked... honest.

"Y/N, I talk too much, I flirt too much, and I'm kind of a disaster most of the time. But if people don't think you're enough for me... they clearly don't know what they're talking about."

I stared at him.

Then sighed. "Why are you being nice?"

"Because it's easier than being mean when I like you this much."

I paused.

Then smacked his arm. "Stop being sweet. I'll get emotionally attached."

He grinned.

"Too late."