Crush/Boyfriend Imagines

volleyball 2 (requested)

C/n was twenty eight seconds late. That's how many push-ups they made him do after the run.

"Thanks, Y/n," his voice suddenly sounded behind you as his hand wrapped around your shoulders. "You tried your best this morning. I appreciate it," he patted your shoulder, acting dramatic and nodding proudly.

"I think I'll just leave you be tomorrow. See how many push-ups you'll have to do then," you grinned at him innocently, hyper aware of his arm still around you.

"Bet you'd like to look at me do some more push-ups, aren't I right?' his lips quirked up at you, eyes twinkling dangerously. "Can't blame you, though. Just look at these muscles-"

"Everyone, warm up! Practice match starts in ten! Boys versus girls on the big field, so be there!" your coach's booming voice interrupted C/n in the middle of flexing his biceps for you. Letting his arms down, he threw his head back and let out a groan.

"Prepare to get your ass kicked," you shoved his shoulder playfully, something you had always done but now had to make an effort to make it look casual. You were actually contemplating asking to switch roomies since being in his presence and maintaining this act of still seeing him only as a friend seemed to be too hard. The only thing keeping you from doing so, though, were the questions which were bound to arise once you would ask, and you were not ready to provide answers.

After all, everyone knew you were good friends with C/n. It would seem too weird had you suddenly wanted a different roommate.

You'd just have to try harder to ignore your feelings, you thought.

"No, you prepare yourself." He stretched his arms in front of him. "I'm not gonna lose against you, monkey," he chuckled and ruffled your hair, dodging swiftly to avoid a jab to the ribs you meant to give him. Still laughing, he turned around and began to jog in the direction of the field with you on his heels.

---

The jerseys smelled as if they hadn't been washed since last summer. Which was rather probable, to be honest. Yours, black unlike the rest of your teammates, who wore red, was meant to differentiate your position as the libero on the team, a special position that could only play in the back of the field.

The sun beat down on you and the black you were wearing as you stretched your wrists one last time, ready to catch the serve of the boys. Feet firmly planted on the ground, ready to spring and throw yourself to the side in order to catch the serve, knees bent and hands poised ready in the air, the e/c of C/n's eyes and...

Wait, what?

You mentally scolded yourself for looking at him again. This was a practice match, yes, but that didn't mean you wouldn't try to give it your all to win. Which also meant not getting distracted by a particular boy on the other side of the net.

On the other side of the net, in the middle of it, practically blocking your view with his height...

Okay, snap out of it. The coach's whistle blew and a ball came flying immediately. Jumping right, you hit and passed it to your teammates in the front. Now that the ball was in the air, all your attention was on it and it was suddenly easy to forget the crush standing tall on the other side.

Until he jumped and blocked the ball.

You frowned as the ball hit the ground on your side of the field.

The whistle of the coach replaced the buzz in your ears, the rustle of blood rushing through your veins, the adrenaline only playing volleyball could give you. And then, all you saw were the yellow and blue stripes of the ball clashing with the black of your jersey.