Curate, connect, and discover
Would it be interesting to ask for Aran? Even something as simple as him noticing Inarizaki’s manager or their friend, anything is fine.
Done :D Thank you for the request!! <333 --
Aran wasn’t someone who let his mind wander. Not during practice, not during games, and certainly not when it came to things that didn’t concern him. He kept his head clear, his priorities in check, and his focus sharp. That was what made him reliable—one of the only people on Inarizaki’s team who could keep the chaos from completely consuming them.
But lately, there was something—or rather, someone—slipping through the cracks in his usual composure.
You.
It wasn’t anything dramatic. Nothing obvious. But little things started creeping up on him. He started noticing the way you always sat near him whenever the team went out to eat, how you rolled your eyes at Atsumu’s antics but never actually walked away from the conversation, how you seemed to know exactly what someone needed before they even had to ask. He wasn’t sure when it started. He wasn’t sure why it started. But he was noticing you, and now he couldn’t seem to stop.
The realization hit him on a random afternoon practice.
He had just finished a long rally, sweat clinging to his skin as he steadied his breathing. Coach was yelling at Atsumu for something—probably for ignoring his setter duties and trying to go for a ridiculous dump shot—and the rest of the team was either catching their breath or groaning at the delay. Aran wiped his forehead with the back of his hand before reaching for his water bottle, only to feel something tap his arm.
A cold water bottle.
He glanced up, and there you were, holding it out to him without a word. Your expression was neutral, not expecting anything, not waiting for some kind of thanks. Just… handing it to him, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Aran hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it. “Thanks.”
You only nodded before turning back to your clipboard, jotting something down. No big deal. Except it was a big deal, because now Aran was standing there gripping the water bottle tighter than necessary, feeling something stir in his chest that he didn’t know how to name.
It didn’t stop there.
At first, Aran tried to ignore it. Tried to brush off the way his eyes lingered on you a little too long during breaks, the way he found himself listening for your voice even in the middle of a crowded gym. He told himself it was just habit, just familiarity. You were part of the team, and he was just used to having you around.
But then there were the moments in between—the ones that didn’t happen during practice, the ones that felt like something else entirely.
Like the time he was stretching after a long day and you plopped down next to him with an exhausted sigh.
“Tough day?” he asked, not looking up from his toes as he reached forward.
“You have no idea,” you groaned, flopping onto your back. “I think I have permanent damage from listening to Suna and Atsumu argue about some dumb anime for twenty minutes.”
Aran huffed out a laugh. “Could’ve walked away.”
You turned your head, peering up at him with something amused in your gaze. “Yeah? And leave you to suffer alone?”
Something about the way you said it made him pause. He glanced down at you, the corners of your lips twitching like you were fighting back a grin. He opened his mouth, but whatever he had been about to say got stuck in his throat.
Because that—that right there—was the problem.
You weren’t just the team manager. You weren’t just a familiar presence. You were something else, something more, and Aran was beginning to realize it too late.
It got worse after that.
He wasn’t the type to let distractions get the best of him, but now it was like you were in his periphery all the time. The worst part? You didn’t even know. You just carried on like normal, making sure the team didn’t destroy themselves, shooting sarcastic remarks at Atsumu when he got too unbearable, handing Aran a towel when he looked particularly drained.
And he just kept taking it. Kept letting it happen. Kept letting you happen.
But it was when he started getting annoyed that he knew he was screwed.
Because lately, you’d been spending more time talking to Kita.
It wasn’t like Aran had any reason to care. Kita was Kita. He was good at everything, the kind of person who had an effortless way of drawing people in. And you? You were the kind of person who enjoyed good company.
So why did it bother him so much?
It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t. That would be ridiculous. But he couldn’t stop noticing it—the way you stood a little closer, the way your conversations stretched a little longer, the way you laughed at something Kita said and Aran felt something sting in a place he hadn’t even realized existed.
He didn’t plan to say anything about it. But then, one day, he caught you laughing at something Kita said, and before he could stop himself, the words left his mouth.
“Didn’t know you two were so close.”
You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Huh?”
Aran crossed his arms, his expression carefully neutral. “You and Kita.”
Your head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing just a bit like you were trying to figure out where this was coming from. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at your lips. “Why? You jealous or something?”
Aran scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Please.”
“Uh-huh.” You didn’t sound convinced.
He clicked his tongue, looking away. This was stupid. He wasn’t about to sit here and act like some lovesick idiot. That wasn’t him. He had better things to do. More important things.
… Then why did his chest feel tight?
You were still looking at him, clearly entertained by whatever this was. Then, after a pause, you leaned in just slightly, voice dropping into something softer—something unreadable.
“You did notice, though.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.
Aran felt his jaw tighten, but he didn’t say anything.
You let the silence stretch between you before pulling away, grinning like you had figured something out. “Huh. Interesting.”
And just like that, you turned and walked off, leaving Aran standing there with his arms still crossed, his pulse unsteady, and the realization settling deep in his bones.
You were right.
He had noticed.
And that was the problem.