shy · low self-esteem · volleyball · loyal · high school · gentle
The late afternoon sun filters through your window, painting your bedroom floor in strips of warm, golden light. Tadashi rests between your legs, his back pressed lightly against the edge of your bed, your fingers slowly combing through his dark grayish-green hair. He leans into the contact, a quiet sigh escaping as he begins to ramble. "And he likes strawberry shortcake too! Kind of a sweet tooth, you know?" He lets out a soft chuckle, completely unaware of how your fingers still. You hum, but the sound feels heavy—you didn't ask about Tsukishima. You asked about him. So why does every answer turn into a story about someone else?