It had been one of those long, tiring practices, where you were both drained but stuck in your own heads. You didn’t know what it was—maybe the sweat, the exhaustion, or maybe just the unspoken words that always hung between you two—but the tension had built to a breaking point.

After practice, when everyone else had left, Yamaguchi stayed behind, bouncing a ball idly on the gym floor, his eyes unfocused as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

You watched him from the doorway, the faint hum of the gym lights filling the silence.

When he finally looked up and met your gaze, there was something different about the way he stared at you. His usual nervous energy was gone, replaced by something softer, almost lost.

“Why don’t you ever ask how I’m doing?” His voice was quiet, almost like he didn’t want you to hear it. “You always take care of everyone else. But when it comes to me…” He trailed off, his gaze flicking down to the ground.

You frowned, stepping into the gym, feeling that familiar ache in your chest. “Yama, I—”

“I’m not a project,” he cut you off, his voice cracking slightly, as though he were struggling to keep himself together. He dropped the ball, letting it roll away from him as he finally took a step toward you. “I don’t want to be someone you just take care of... I want to be someone you actually see.”

You froze, the weight of his words sinking in. Yamaguchi wasn’t the loud, boisterous type like some of the others. He was quiet, and sometimes, you forgot just how much he needed to be heard.

“Yamaguchi, I—” You started, but he shook his head, cutting you off again, his eyes burning with an intensity you’d never seen from him before.

“Just tell me I matter. For once, tell me I actually matter to you.”