The gym was charged with tension, the sound of volleyballs slamming into the floor and the occasional shout bouncing off the walls.

You were in rare form that day—hands tight on the ball, frustration bubbling under the surface from mistakes made earlier in practice.

Kaname Moniwa, ever the calm anchor of the team, had been staying close, shadowing your movements, ready to intervene before your temper flared.

He could usually temper it with a steady presence, a few words, or just a firm hand on your shoulder, but today it was a challenge.

“You’ve got this,” he murmured quietly, walking beside you as you set for another spike.

His voice was low, careful, trying to thread its way past your rising tension. You clenched your jaw, muttering under your breath, ignoring him, but he didn’t let go.

His hand brushed against your back, just enough to remind you he was there, watching, steadying. Then it happened.

A stray ball came hurtling across the court, faster than anyone anticipated. In a blink, it struck your shoulder squarely, jolting you backward with a sharp sting.

The impact was enough to make your temper snap. You whipped around instinctively, ready to lash out, the anger flaring like a live wire.

Kaname reacted faster. Before you could move, he lunged, planting himself against your back with controlled force, his strong frame holding you firmly against the floor.

“Hey! Down!” he commanded, his tone sharp but steady, eyes locked on you.

His hands pressed against your shoulders and sides, anchoring you with perfect balance so you couldn’t spring up, couldn’t overreact in the chaos of the moment.

Your arms flailed for a second, instinctively wanting to shove the ball away or defend yourself, but Kaname’s grip was unyielding—not painful, just immovable enough to stop any rash movement.

He leaned in slightly, his weight and presence grounding you, creating a buffer between your anger and the chaos of the court.

“Breathe,” he said, calm and measured, his deep voice vibrating softly against your ear. “I’ve got you. Just… breathe.”

For a long moment, the gym seemed to pause—the ball bouncing harmlessly to the side, teammates staring in surprise at the sudden tackle, and you pressed firmly against him, chest rising and falling rapidly.

His hands shifted slightly to guide your arms down, steadying them, keeping your energy from exploding outward.

You could feel his calm radiating, the sheer weight of him forcing you to focus on something other than your anger.