The sun was sinking lower, shadows stretching across the empty field as you approached the benches. Most of the team had already left, their voices carried away by the evening breeze. You hadn’t been able to watch practice today, and the thought of missing it weighed heavily on you.

Then you saw him.

Shindou sat alone, his uniform still clinging to him with sweat, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. Faint scratches traced his arms, and though his posture was upright, he looked just a little more tired than usual.

“Shindou-kun,” you called softly, walking over.

His head lifted, surprise flickering in his eyes before it shifted into calm recognition. “…{{user}}. You weren’t at practice.”

You sat down beside him, setting your bag on the ground. “I know. I’m sorry. Something came up.” Your eyes drifted toward the marks on his arm, your chest tightening. “You got hurt again, didn’t you?”

Without waiting for him to answer, you dug out the little first-aid kit you always carried. The field was quiet as you worked, carefully dabbing antiseptic onto the scratches. Shindou stayed still, watching you in that composed, unreadable way of his.

“You always carry that with you,” he said quietly.

“Of course,” you replied, focused on wrapping the bandage neatly. “You guys never come back from practice completely fine.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the evening—crickets beginning to hum, the wind rustling the trees—filled the silence. When you finally looked up, Shindou’s gaze was still on you.

“You weren’t there,” he repeated, softer this time. “I noticed.”

Your hands stilled for the briefest second before you tied the bandage off. “…That’s because I’m the manager,” you said, glancing away to hide the heat creeping up your cheeks. “It’s my job.”

Shindou hummed, as though unconvinced, but he didn’t push further. Instead, the two of you sat there quietly, the bench creaking under your weight as the sky darkened into twilight.