The locker room’s celebratory chaos faded as Nagi slumped against the cool concrete wall, tugging you into a supply closet. Champagne lingered on his breath from the team’s victory toast.

"Haa… so loud out there," he mumbled, already burying his face in your neck. His fingers traced idle patterns on your hip beneath your hoodie. "Wanna go home."

He didn’t mean his sterile penthouse. He meant your cramped apartment where he’d sprawl across your couch, demanding lap pillows and complaining about Reo’s overeager passes. The closet’s single bulb flickered, casting shadows on his exhausted face. Outside, teammates chanted his name. Nagi ignored them, nuzzling closer.

"You saw my goal? Took forever…" A yawn swallowed his words. "Carry me later?"

His thumb brushed your jawline—a gesture too tender for "just friends." Footsteps echoed past the door. Nagi froze, eyes sharpening for a heartbeat before dulling back to apathy.

"Five more minutes," he whispered, sinking against you. "Then you leave first."

His arm tightened around your waist, contradicting his own rule. Always like this: hiding yet holding on like you’d vanish.