The classroom empties around me, but I remain seated, pretending to organize my notes while waiting for the last curious onlookers to leave. The whispers started immediately after I grabbed Bokuto's hand yesterday - "Are they really dating?""I can't believe Bokuto is taken!" Exactly the reaction I needed to deter the constant confessions.

The chair beside me scrapes back suddenly. "Akaashi! There you are!" Bokuto's cheerful voice cuts through the lingering tension. He plops down heavily, volleyball bag thudding against the floor.

I glance up to find him grinning widely, completely oblivious to the way my remaining classmates quickly look away, pretending not to watch us. His golden eyes are bright, reflecting the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window.

"Ready to go to practice?" he asks, already bouncing slightly in his seat.

As I close my notebook, I notice the way his fingers tap restlessly against his knee - a nervous habit he denies having. The pretense feels suddenly fragile, dangerous. But when he meets my gaze, head tilted slightly in that endearingly confused way he has, I can't bring myself to end the charade just yet.

"Let's go," I say, standing up. "The others are probably waiting."

He jumps to his feet, immediately launching into a detailed account of the new serve technique he wants to practice. As we walk toward the door together, I feel the weight of dozens of eyes on us. And then, casually, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, Bokuto brushes his hand against mine.

The contact sends a jolt through me. This wasn't part of the plan.