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Oikawa
The gym echoed with the rhythmic thuds of volleyballs being spiked and bounced, but the sound that really turned heads was Oikawa Tooru's dramatic gasp, loud enough to rival a Broadway performance.
"You WHAT?!"
Iwaizumi Hajime winced, already regretting every life decision that led him to this moment. "You heard me, Shittykawa."
"No, no, no. I refuse to believe this," Oikawa said, hand dramatically clutched over his heart like he'd just been personally betrayed. "My best friend. My lifelong comrade. The one who's been through every match, injury, and salty post-game milk tea with me… is in love with my sister?!"
"Crush on. I said I have a crush on her," Iwaizumi corrected with a groan, running a hand through his hair. "And I didn't even want to tell you like this. But you kept pressuring me to tell you who I've been texting at night, so here we are."
Oikawa began pacing like a telenovela protagonist, muttering dramatic monologues under his breath. "Of all the girls in the world. The fangirls, the classmates, the admirers… My sister. My precious little sister. How will I face my family again? How will I—"
"She's a year older than you," Iwaizumi deadpanned.
"—How will I face her again?!" Oikawa finished anyway, ignoring the correction.
Iwaizumi sat down on the gym bench, letting Oikawa spiral a little. Better to let the drama burn out naturally. Honestly, this reaction was better than being punched. Which, to be fair, had been a possibility.
After a long sigh, Oikawa stopped pacing and stared at him.
"…So, do you like her for real?"
Iwaizumi looked him in the eye, earnest. "Yeah. She's smart, kind, funny—though just as annoying as you when she wants to be—and she doesn't put up with my crap. We've been talking more, and… yeah. I like her. A lot."
Oikawa squinted. "You're not just doing this to become part of the family and get free Oikawa genetics in your future children, right?"
Iwaizumi threw a towel at his face.
"Okay, okay!" Oikawa laughed, catching it and flopping onto the floor like a fallen star. "Honestly… as much as I want to be mad and pretend I hate this, I can't really think of anyone I'd trust more than you."
Iwaizumi blinked. "Wait, really?"
"Yeah." Oikawa grinned, then wiggled his eyebrows. "But I will be asking invasive questions about your intentions and reminding you that if you break her heart, I will spike a volleyball directly into your soul."
"Fair," Iwaizumi said with a chuckle. "So… we're good?"
Oikawa rolled over dramatically and sighed like a dying hero. "We're good. But I'm watching you, Iwa-chan. Always watching."
"Yeah, yeah." Iwaizumi stood, grabbing a volleyball and tossing it toward Oikawa's head. "Now get up, drama queen. We've got training to finish."
Oikawa caught it effortlessly, a glint in his eye. "I'm only letting you date her if you win against me in a spike-off."
Iwaizumi grinned. "Bring it on."
Iwaizumi
It was a normal afternoon. Practice had just ended, the sun was starting to dip below the gym windows, and Iwaizumi was toweling off the sweat from his neck when Oikawa dropped a verbal bomb with all the subtlety of a flying volleyball to the face.
"Hey, Iwa-chan," Oikawa said casually, dribbling a ball by the bench. "So, uh… I might be in love with your sister."
Iwaizumi froze.
Completely.
Didn't blink. Didn't breathe. Just stared like he'd seen the ghost of every bad serve Oikawa had ever made.
"…You what?"
Oikawa chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, that sheepish but somehow annoyingly charming grin spreading across his face. "You heard me."
"Nope," Iwaizumi said quickly, standing up. "Try again. Maybe in a language where that doesn't sound like a terrible idea."
"Iwa-chan, come on—"
"Nope." Iwaizumi paced now, towel forgotten. "Out of all people? My sister? You've got a literal fan club. Girls write you letters, stalk your Instagram, scream when you blink at tournaments. And now you want her? My sister?!"
Oikawa looked genuinely flustered now. "Okay, first of all, I don't ask for any of that—well, not all of it—and second, she's nothing like them."
Iwaizumi glared, but Oikawa wasn't backing down. In fact, he looked… kind of serious. Sincere, even. And that was worse.
"She's not just pretty," Oikawa continued, his voice dropping to something softer. "She's smart, and she doesn't care about the volleyball stuff. She teases me, keeps me grounded. She made me dinner when I sprained my ankle last month and told me to stop being a baby—do you know how nice that felt?"
Iwaizumi's face twitched. "Wait, that's why you were over at my house for three hours?"
"…Partly."
"You little—"
"Iwa-chan, listen." Oikawa stepped closer now, serious for real. "I'd never mess with her. Or hurt her. Or treat this like it's not something big. She's your sister. That means something to me."
Iwaizumi looked at him, eyes narrowed, jaw tense. The silence hung there for a long minute, heavy with every memory they'd shared since they were kids—every match, every late-night practice, every time Oikawa pissed him off but somehow stayed his best friend anyway.
"…I know you wouldn't hurt her," Iwaizumi muttered finally. "That's the problem."
Oikawa blinked. "Huh?"
"You're serious about her. Which means I can't even yell at you properly," Iwaizumi said, clearly annoyed by his own restraint. "But also—if she ends up falling for you, I'm gonna have to deal with watching this face at family dinners."
Oikawa smirked instantly. "This face? You mean this face?" He flashed his brightest, most infuriating model-pose smile.
"Stop it. I'm already regretting this."
"But that means you're not forbidding it?"
"I'm not forbidding it," Iwaizumi said, groaning into his hands. "But you so much as make her cry, and I swear to every volleyball god there is, I'll spike a ball and crush your face."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Oikawa said with a soft smile.
Iwaizumi sighed. "Just… don't tell me how it's going. I don't need the details."
"But what if she—"
"I mean it, Oikawa."
"…Fair."
Matsukawa
The gym was quiet after practice. The team had already filtered out, the lights slightly dimmed, and the only sounds were the squeaks of shoes and the rustle of sports bags being packed up.
Matsukawa sat on the bench, stretching out his legs with a groan. "My knees are filing for retirement."
"Tell them to take mine with them," Hanamaki muttered, slinging his towel over his shoulders. He sat down beside him, unusually quiet.
Matsukawa gave him a side glance. "You good? You're not usually this serious unless someone takes the last energy drink."
Hanamaki tapped his fingers on his knee. "Okay, so, hypothetically... if one of your teammates were to like your sister... would that be a murder-worthy offense?"
Matsukawa blinked slowly.
"Hypothetically," Hanamaki added quickly, a lazy smirk forming on his lips, but the edge of nervousness behind it wasn't lost on Matsukawa.
"…What."
Hanamaki leaned back like he had all the time in the world. "You heard me."
Matsukawa squinted. "Please tell me you're talking about Kunimi. Or Kyoutani, even. Anyone else."
Hanamaki grinned. "Unfortunately for you, I'm referring to your very real best friend. You know, the one who brought you those onigiri after you failed your last exam. Your sister opened the door, by the way, and completely ruined my life with a smile."
Matsukawa stared at him like he was trying to solve a complex math problem with emotional consequences.
"You're serious," he said slowly.
"As a line judge during match point," Hanamaki said smoothly.
Matsukawa let out a long, suffering sigh and tilted his head back. "You like my sister."
"She's funny. She's cute. She didn't flinch when I made a joke about Oikawa's hair being a national disaster. She's basically perfect."
Matsukawa gave him a flat look. "You're my best friend, Makki."
"I am."
"And you're also a sarcastic menace with a talent for chaos."
"Also true."
"And you like my sister."
Hanamaki looked over at him, this time more serious. "Yeah. I do."
Matsukawa was quiet for a moment, then finally sighed again, rubbing his temples like this was a long time coming. "Okay. Okay. I'm not gonna punch you."
"Generous."
"But if you mess this up, I will replace all your shampoo with glue, salt your lunch, and tell Oikawa your deepest secrets."
Hanamaki's eyebrows rose. "You know my deepest secrets?"
"I will find them, Takahiro."
Hanamaki laughed, and Matsukawa rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
"Honestly," Matsukawa added, leaning back, "she could do worse. But I swear, if I hear you used a pickup line that started with 'are you a libero—'"
"—because I'd fall for you anyway?" Hanamaki finished with a wink.
"I hate you so much," Matsukawa muttered, but he was smiling now.
"I'll be good to her," Hanamaki said after a moment, quieter this time. "You know that, right?"
Matsukawa glanced at him, and his usual lazy grin softened into something more sincere. "Yeah. I know."
There was a pause.
Then Matsukawa said, "But just to be safe, I'm still watching you."
Hanamaki stretched and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Of course you are. That's what brothers do."
Hanamaki
The walk home after practice was usually filled with nonsense — fake arguments over who forgot to refill the water bottles, dragging Oikawa's fashion choices, maybe one or two existential crises about school.
But today, Matsukawa was quiet.
Too quiet.
Hanamaki noticed around the third block. "Alright. Spill it."
Matsukawa blinked. "What?"
"You've been sighing like you're in a high school drama. Which, fair, I guess — we are in high school — but still. What's up?"
Matsukawa scratched the back of his neck. "Okay, but you have to promise not to get weird about it."
Hanamaki narrowed his eyes. "Whenever someone says that, it's definitely going to be weird."
"Probably," Matsukawa muttered. "But... I like someone."
"Ohhh," Hanamaki said, like the conversation just got more interesting. "Who's the lucky person? Is it that girl from class 4 with the cool nails?"
"Nope."
"…Not that upperclassman from the library?"
"Nope."
"…Wait—" Hanamaki stopped walking, expression suddenly wary. "You're not about to say Oikawa, are you? Because I'll support you, but I need time to emotionally prepare for that."
Matsukawa actually laughed. "God, no. Definitely not Oikawa."
"Then who?" Hanamaki asked, still not moving.
Matsukawa looked at him. Hesitated. Then went for it.
"…Your sister."
Silence.
Hanamaki blinked.
"…Wait. My sister?"
"Yeah."
"My actual sister?"
"Unless you've got a secret twin I don't know about, then yeah."
Hanamaki's expression went through about five emotions in five seconds — surprise, disbelief, slight concern, and finally: "You're kidding."
"I'm not."
Hanamaki squinted like Matsukawa had just told him he wanted to date a ghost. "Why? When? How?"
Matsukawa shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the pink creeping up his ears gave him away. "She's just… funny. And smart. And she's cool. I started liking her a while ago. It just kind of… happened."
Hanamaki narrowed his eyes, hands in his pockets. "You realize this is the part where I'm supposed to threaten your life, right?"
"I figured."
"I'm still thinking about it."
Matsukawa held up his hands. "Look, I get it. If you're not cool with it, I'll back off. I'm not gonna risk our friendship for this."
Hanamaki was quiet for a long beat. Then he sighed dramatically. "God, you're such a decent guy, it's actually annoying."
"So… you're not mad?"
"I'm not mad," Hanamaki said, rubbing a hand down his face. "I just need to scrub my brain with bleach for a second because now I'm imagining you trying to impress my mom and—ugh, gross."
Matsukawa snorted. "I already impressed your mom. She gave me extra karaage last time I came over."
"That's because you helped her carry groceries, you manipulative giant."
They started walking again, Hanamaki shaking his head like the world had personally betrayed him.
"I can't believe you fell for my sister," he muttered. "You've seen her yell at me for stealing the last piece of mochi, right?"
"She was right, though," Matsukawa said casually. "You did steal it."
Hanamaki groaned. "Unbelievable." But a second later, he added, voice softer: "Just don't screw it up, yeah?"
Matsukawa looked over at him, serious now. "I wouldn't. Ever."
Hanamaki glanced sideways. "Good. Because if you do, I will text every embarrassing photo I've ever taken of you to the entire team."
"…You already do that."
"Exactly. Imagine what I'm capable of when I'm actually mad."
Matsukawa laughed again, and Hanamaki couldn't help but smile — just a little.