The metallic clang of the storage closet door echoed ominously as it swung shut behind you, the faint click of the lock making your stomach drop.

You pressed the handle, then tried again, realizing with a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t budge.

Daichi’s usually composed expression darkened slightly, his eyes flicking to the walls lined with volleyballs, nets, and stacks of practice cones.

“Well…” he began, his voice calm but tinged with a rare hint of frustration, “looks like we’re stuck here until morning.” He ran a hand through his hair, the tension in his shoulders visible despite his usual stoicism.

The closet was cramped, the shelves packed with equipment leaving only a small patch of floor to sit on.

Daichi crouched down first, gesturing for you to do the same. “We’ll have to make do with this space,” he said, trying to keep the mood light, though the tight quarters and the dim light cast a subtle unease over the situation.

You both settled on the floor, knees slightly bent, the cold linoleum seeping through your clothes.

Daichi shifted closer, not out of discomfort but almost instinctively, as if proximity made the situation slightly more manageable.

His usual commanding presence softened in the small space, the weight of the day’s training and matches pressing down on him.

Hours stretched on slowly. The closet was silent except for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the occasional creak of the building settling.

Daichi leaned back against the wall, eyes half-closed, trying to rest. Every now and then, a shiver ran through him, and he unconsciously drew a little closer to you, his hand brushing yours as he adjusted to stay warm.

You noticed the small details that were usually masked by his captain’s composure—the way his jaw relaxed when he leaned back, the faint sighs escaping his lips, the subtle tension in his shoulders easing when your hand found his for warmth.

He didn’t speak much, just letting the quiet intimacy of the moment settle over both of you, a shared patience in the face of a situation neither could control.

At some point, he shifted, sitting cross-legged and leaning slightly toward you. “This is… not how I imagined spending the night,” he murmured, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

His gaze softened when he looked at you, a silent acknowledgment of comfort and companionship in the cramped, impromptu space.

The hours passed slowly, the darkness and closeness creating a strange sense of intimacy.

Daichi’s hand occasionally brushed yours as he moved slightly, almost like an unconscious reassurance that you were both okay.

When he finally leaned back fully against you, his head resting lightly on your shoulder, the day’s exhaustion caught up with him, and the usual tension around his eyes softened into something rare—complete trust and quiet vulnerability.