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We fell in love slowly.We started out as tentative friends, standing on either side of the court and staring each other down. Both hard faces but soft interiors. You asked me, in a flurry of barely Japanese, if you could get my phone number to discuss tactics.I agreed. You were smart and sharp and cute, in a way.The first time we met after that training camp, you came up with Hinata and Tsukishima to practice with Kuroo-san, Bokuto-san, and I. You were less afraid to ask me questions, less afraid to watch me as intently as you wanted to. You didn't shy away from my touch when I pulled your hair back from your eyes. You had this look, rugged and restless, that screamed that you only wanted calm.You became someone infinitely closer to me with every passing moment. You found the cracks in my skin and curled into them, pushing me open until I could only lay bare in front of you.And in return, you let me paint your skin. Splattering your scars in vibrant colours, swirls that showed off a life you were yet to live. Every touch exploding and spiralling until it swallowed us both whole.You spoke so quietly to me, despite how loud you were with your other friends. We spent more time leaning in towards each other rather than leaning back. We giggled like school girls, whispering into each other's ears about everything and anything.In my third year, you told me about what you wanted us to be. You wanted me to stay with you, to wait for you after high school. You wanted me to be yours, in your own way.To come home to me, letting yourself fall into my warmth. To spend nights together, huddled under blankets, laughing and smiling and living as if nothing else mattered, because it didn't. To wake up the next morning to hands threading through your hair and kisses lingering on the back of your neck.You told me that this was love, but you weren't in love. For you, to be in love was something so foreign that you wouldn't know for sure when you'd reached it.In your third year, nights were spent looking up at the stars and pressing so close together it was impossible to tell where one body ended and the other began. Days were spent stealing kisses and holding hands, so full of love that it was impossible not to get caught up in one another.I came to all of your games, that year, and you came to all of mine. I made sure to visit you on the youth national team, sitting for half an hour extra on the train each morning so I could give you a homemade meal and a good luck kiss.And when you were standing on the international stage, you can be sure that I was watching. Cheering from my small dorm room as you made every play with a grace only you could carry, the little messages of encouragement I had written in permanent marker on your hands still bright for the world to see.Our little secret, sure, but a secret that now the world knew about. Kanji that was written in swirling scripture that alluded to something behind the scenes. And when people asked who wrote the messages, you would smile and tilt your head, and tell them that it was a high school sweetheart.The first night we spent together in our home, Hinata almost set the place on fire. We lost power, and you ended up curling up under my hoodie with me to stay warm. My muscles ached the next morning, but it was oh so good to wake up to you in our home.And even now, when things have fallen into a lull, I still feel myself tumbling deeper into loving you.I don't think I've ever stopped falling in love with you, and I don't think I ever will.