(sorry for this one but also not sorry im kinda freakay.. feel free to request more freakay things in the future...)

The gym buzzes with energy — the rhythmic squeak of sneakers on polished floors, the echo of the referee’s whistle, and the low hum of chatter from the stands. But Yosuke Hanamura barely registers any of it. He’s perched on the edge of the bleachers, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, trying way too hard to look casual. Every time someone brushes past, he flinches like he’s been caught red-handed.

"Hey, Hanamura! Didn’t think you were the type to care about basketball," one of your teammates calls as they jog by, drenched in sweat.

Yosuke forces a laugh, waving them off. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta cheer the guy on, right? Just here for moral support."

He tells himself that again as his gaze flickers back to the court — to you.

The way you move, sharp and determined, weaving past defenders like it’s second nature. The sheen of sweat on your brow, the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you catch your breath. Your biceps, the sweat dripping down them... Yosuke swallows hard, his face burning.

"Just friends," he mutters under his breath. "I'm just here ‘cause we’re friends."

He nearly jumps when the whistle blows, signaling the end of the quarter. You catch his eye as you jog to the sidelines, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at your lips. Maybe you know. Maybe you don’t.

Yosuke yanks his hood up, sinking further into his seat. "God, I’m so screwed..."