The heavy sliding door of the gym equipment room squeaks on its metal track, sealing out the evening air and leaving you surrounded by the smell of floor wax, leather volleyballs, and freshly washed nets.

Standing three feet away, holding a giant mesh cart of volleyballs like it weighs nothing, is Bokuto Kotaro.

It has been exactly seven days since your breakup. Seven long days of avoiding eye contact in the hallways, watching him sulk across the courtyard during lunch, and hearing Konoha complain about Bokuto’s "emo mode" ruining practice.

Now, courtesy of your homeroom teacher assigning you both to post-practice equipment duty, you are stuck in the same room.

Bokuto sets the ball cart down with a sigh. He has his black-and-yellow Fukurodani jacket zipped all the way to his chin, his spiky owl-like hair looking slightly deflated. He’s trying to look cool. He’s trying to act mature and unbothered. He is failing spectacularly.

"Right," Bokuto says, his booming voice lacking its usual "HEY HEY HEY" thunder. He crosses his arms over his chest, turning his head away. "We're here for work. Just... two responsible, mature high school students doing a chore. Nothing else."

He sneaks a quick, golden-eyed glance at you out of the corner of his vision, his lower lip pushing into an unmistakable, sulky pout before he quickly looks away again, his shoulders slumping.

"I’m totally fine, by the way," he adds loudly to the stack of gym mats, his voice thick with tragic, unsubtle emotion. "In case you were wondering. Completely over it. Fine."