The storage closet smelled faintly of dust and the faint tang of rubber from the volleyballs stacked high against the walls.

It was cramped, barely enough room for two people, but somehow, you and Kenma had managed to wedge yourselves in between racks of gear and a leaning cart filled with spare balls.

The overhead light flickered occasionally, but the dimness only added to the sense of mischief that filled the small space.

Kenma sat cross-legged, his phone balanced on his knees, thumbs flying over the screen as he navigated another track in Mario Kart.

The quiet intensity in his amber eyes contrasted sharply with the ridiculous grin that appeared every time he successfully executed a drift or hit an item.

You, crouched opposite him, mirrored his focus, occasionally letting out quiet laughs whenever he was hit by a blue shell or you narrowly avoided a banana peel.

The world outside the closet was alive with the usual chaos of a Karasuno practice day—the squeak of sneakers, the echo of balls being hit, and the low hum of teammates calling out drills.

But inside the closet, time seemed to slow. The two of you were entirely absorbed in the game, the competitive tension crackling like electricity in the tiny space.

Kenma’s usual stoicism was broken by small murmurs of victory or irritation, eyes narrowing at the screen with the focus of a strategist, lips pressing into a thin line when things didn’t go his way.

Then, just as you were about to pull off a daring shortcut, the door creaked open. The familiar silhouette of Kuroo, tall and imposing even in casual gym wear, loomed in the doorway.

His sharp grin immediately widened as his eyes took in the two of you, crouched awkwardly among the stacks of equipment, phones glowing in your hands.

“Well… what do we have here?” he drawled, stepping further inside.

His voice carried that mix of amusement and authority that made it clear he wasn’t about to let this slide. Kenma stiffened instantly, sitting up straighter, eyes darting to yours briefly before returning to Kuroo.

Kuroo’s glance swept over the confined space, taking in the precarious arrangement of balls and crates, then settled on your phones.

“Mario Kart, huh? Really sneaking some fun in on practice day?” His grin grew wider, and Kenma’s lips pressed together in a tight line, clearly embarrassed yet oddly unrepentant.

Before either of you could respond—or make any attempt to escape—Kuroo’s long arms reached down.

With a firm but not unkind grip, he grabbed both of you, one under each arm. Kenma’s protests were muffled, half-stifled, as you tried not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

The two of you were practically dragged out of the closet, your phones still clutched in your hands, and deposited unceremoniously onto the polished court floor.

The sound of volleyballs bouncing, shoes squeaking, and teammates’ laughter filled the gym immediately.

Kenma, already upright and brushing off the embarrassment, shot Kuroo a glare that was sharp but mostly empty of malice—he was annoyed, yes, but also secretly impressed by how efficiently Kuroo had found and caught you.

“Next time,” Kuroo said, crossing his arms and looking down at you both with a teasing smirk, “maybe stick to the court for fun, yeah?” His grin softened as he straightened. “You two are lucky the coach isn’t watching.”