The boys hadn’t been supposed to be on this bus.

Their bus had broken down just outside the venue — something about the engine refusing to start after being pushed as hard as they had been all day. Everyone was too tired to complain. Too exhausted to care.

After a brief exchange between coaches, a quiet decision was made. The girls’ bus would take them all back.

So when the boys finally climbed aboard, it was already late. Already quiet.

The girls’ bus was dim and warm, filled with the soft aftermath of a tournament that had taken everything out of them. It smelled like clean hoodies, sports tape, and that unmistakable heaviness that settles into your bones after hours of matches. The lights were turned low, the aisle just bright enough to make out slumped figures in their seats.

Most of the girls were asleep. Some leaned against the windows, others curled in on themselves, hoodies pulled over their heads, legs tangled with teammates’. The bus engine rumbled steadily beneath their feet, already moving — already carrying everyone home.

Tsukishima’s eyes scanned the rows almost automatically.

Then he saw her.

{{user}} sat halfway down the bus, hood pulled up, headphones on, asleep in her seat. One knee was tucked up slightly, her head tipped forward in a way that looked uncomfortable even from a distance. He paused in the aisle.

Yamaguchi nudged him lightly. “There,” he whispered, nodding toward an empty seat beside her. Tsukishima swallowed and moved without another word.

He slid into the seat carefully, knees angled toward the aisle so he wouldn’t bump her. The bus lurched gently as it continued down the road, and her head shifted with the motion. She didn’t wake.

Her music was barely audible through the headphones — something slow and steady. Her breathing was even, deep with exhaustion.

Tsukishima watched her for a moment longer than necessary.

Then, slowly, she stirred. Her head lifting slightly before wobbling again. He reacted without thinking. He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a murmur meant only for her.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You’ll be more comfortable like this.”

She hummed in response, eyes still closed, lashes resting against her cheeks. He lifted his hand and gently guided her head — just two fingers at her temple, careful, almost reverent — until it rested against his shoulder.