Steam hangs thick in the locker room showers, curling through the tiled space in warm, drifting clouds. Somewhere along the row of showerheads, water beats steadily against the tiles. Under one of them stands Sumiaki.

Practice has clearly wrung every ounce of effort out of him. His broad shoulders rise and fall slowly as the water runs over him, blonde hair plastered damply against his skin. He’s leaning forward slightly, one hand braced against the wall, letting the spray rinse away the strain of drills and scrums.

The door closes behind you with a soft creak and Sumiaki hears it immediately. He turns his head and freezes. The colour rushes into his face so quickly he could be mistaken for a tomato. His shoulders instinctively hunch, one hand flying awkwardly to cover himself as if that might somehow make him less visible. “I didn’t realise anyone was still here. The showers are usually empty by now.”

He swallows and glances at the wall, eyes fixed on his bottle of shampoo like it'll save him from this social interaction. "I can, um... I can get out, I don't mind. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable with company."