Haikyuu imagines

Promise to be honest- Ushijima

Ushijima Wakatoshi isn't the kind of person who asks questions lightly.

That's something you learn over time - the way he watches instead of speaks, the way his silence feels deliberate rather than empty. So when he stops walking beside you outside the gym and turns to face you, his shoulders squared like he's about to receive a serve, you know whatever he's about to say matters.

The evening air is cool. The sky is already darkening, lights from the school flickering on behind you. Practice had ended later than usual, and you'd stayed - not because you had to, but because you always do. You sit in the stands, finish homework, watch him hit until your hands ache from clapping.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

It's formal. Careful.

You nod immediately. "Of course."

He studies your face, jaw tight, eyes sharp in that intense way that makes people nervous - but you've never been scared of it. Not really.

"If I ask you something," he continues, slower now, "promise you'll answer honestly."

That gives you pause.

You blink. "Okay... I promise."

Ushijima exhales, just barely. Like he's been holding it in longer than he meant to.

"You come to every practice," he says. "Even when you're tired. Even when it's late."

Your mouth opens, but he raises a hand slightly - not to silence you, just... to finish.

"You bring water. You sit through drills. You watch matches you already know the outcome of." His eyes narrow, not suspicious - searching. "Why?"

Your heart stutters.

You've asked yourself that question before. Late at night. On walks home. Sitting alone in the stands while he packs up, pretending not to notice you watching him the way you do.

"Because I want to," you say quietly.

He nods once, like he expected that answer. But it isn't enough.

"That's not specific," he says. "I don't understand vague reasons."

You almost smile.

Typical Ushijima.

You shift your weight, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is, how the space between you feels charged instead of empty.

"I come because... I like being here," you admit. "I like watching you play."

That makes his breath hitch.

Barely. But you see it.

"You don't look away," he says. "Even when others do."

You swallow. "You notice that?"

"Yes." His voice is steady, but his eyes soften just a fraction. "I notice most things about you."

That sends a warm, dangerous feeling straight through your chest.

He hesitates again - and this time, it's unmistakable.

"Do you see me as... just a player? A friend?" he asks. "Or something else."

Your heart pounds so loud you're sure he can hear it.

You step closer before you can talk yourself out of it.

"I see you," you say. "Not just what you do on the court. I see how you carry responsibility like it's a physical weight. How you don't complain even when you should. How you care more than you let people know."

Ushijima's throat moves as he swallows.

"That's not an answer," he says, but there's no reprimand in it. Just nerves.

You take a breath.

"I like you," you say. "As a person. As... you."

The world seems to still.

Ushijima doesn't respond right away. He doesn't smile. He doesn't look away. He just... processes. Like he does with everything important.

Then he nods.

"Thank you for answering honestly," he says.

Your chest tightens - disappointment flickering before you can stop it.

"So that's it?" you ask softly.

"No." He steps closer - close enough that you can feel his warmth, solid and grounding. "That's not it."

He looks down at you, expression serious in a way that feels different now. Vulnerable.

"I don't understand feelings easily," he admits. "They don't come naturally to me. But when you aren't here... I perform worse."

You blink. "Wait-"

"I've tested it," he says, utterly serious. "When you miss practice, my focus drops. My timing is off. I look for you in the stands without meaning to."

Your breath catches.

"I don't like uncertainty," he continues. "But I like you being there. I like when you look at me like I'm more than an athlete."

His hand lifts, hovering - asking permission without words.

You nod, heart in your throat.

He rests his hand gently over yours. Large. Warm. Steady.

"So I'll ask again," he says quietly. "And this time, it's important."

You squeeze his hand.

"Okay."

"If I asked you to stay," he says. "Not just at practice. But with me - through matches, through life - would you?"

Your eyes burn.

"Yes," you whisper. "I would."

Ushijima exhales, relief finally breaking through his composure. His thumb presses lightly against your hand, grounding both of you.

"Then," he says, voice low and certain, "I'll do my best not to disappoint you."

You smile, stepping closer until your shoulder brushes his chest.

"I don't think you could," you say.

And for the first time, Ushijima Wakatoshi smiles - small, genuine, and only for you.