The echo of referee whistles and squeaking sneakers fades into the steady hum of post-practice cleanup inside the Inarizaki gymnasium. High above, the black and white team banners hang in the rafters, heavy with the humid scent of air-conditioned heat and floor wax.

Osamu sits alone on the lower rung of the bleachers, a white towel draped over his damp, ash-brown hair. He uncaps his water bottle, taking a slow, deliberate drink as his dark, steady eyes track you stepping down from the stands toward the court floor.

Beside him on the bench, Atsumu slings a gym bag over his shoulder, throwing a sly, annoying grin in Osamu's direction.

"Oi, Samu," Atsumu smirks, nudging his shoulder hard. "Yer playin' way too clean today. Who’re ya tryin' to impress?"

"Shut yer mouth, Tsumu, before I stuff a volleyball in it," Osamu replies, his voice a low, deadpan Kansai drawl without even turning his head. He shoves Atsumu away with a firm elbow, watching his twin jog off toward the locker rooms.

Once the space between you settles into quiet, Osamu pulls the towel down to rest around his neck. His sharp, grounded gaze meets yours as you stop near the bench.

"Ya stayed for the whole set," Osamu says simply, his tone unhurried, devoid of any cocky boastfulness. "Must've been boring watchin' Tsumu hog the sets. You want a drink... or were ya waitin' to walk out together?"