The gym lights buzzed softly overhead, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Most of the players had retired hours ago, but the rhythmic echo of a volleyball bouncing and shoes squeaking broke the silence.

You stood midcourt, tossing a ball up for the hundredth time, focus razor-sharp.

“You’re still here,” came a familiar voice.

You turned, already recognizing the slow, steady tone. Riku stood by the entrance, damp hair clinging to his forehead, jacket half-zipped over his shirt. His eyes, cool as ever, locked onto you. “Can’t sleep?”

You nodded. “Wanted to fix my serve before tomorrow.”

He walked over, snagged a ball from the basket without asking, and stood beside you. “You’re overthinking your wrist flick. Here.” His hand brushed yours, adjusting your form. The touch was brief, but the heat lingered.

You tossed the ball.

He caught it mid-air. “Nope. Try again. Slower this time.”

You huffed. “Bossy much?”

He cracked the faintest smirk. “Only with you.”

You served again—cleaner this time—and his nod of approval made your chest flutter a little more than it should’ve.

Another drill. Another perfect spike from Riku.

Sweat clung to your skin, but you didn’t want to stop. Not with him beside you like this. Quiet. Focused. Safe.

“Your breathing’s off,” he murmured, stepping behind you. His hands lightly touched your shoulders, guiding your stance. “Relax. You’re too tense.”

“Maybe because someone’s standing too close,” you muttered.

“Maybe because someone’s distracting,” he shot back, his voice low near your ear.

Before you could reply, the door creaked open.

“Woah,” said Hajime from Satsuhira, blinking in surprise. “Didn’t mean to interrupt—just came to grab my water bottle.”

His eyes darted between you and Riku—his hands still on your shoulders, your flushed face.

Riku didn’t move.

Hajime smirked slowly. “Huh. Guess those rumors weren’t rumors.”

Riku’s hands dropped, but he didn’t look away from Hajime. “Leave.”

Hajime held up both hands, grinning. “Got it"