Hinata Shouyou has been your companion since childhood, the kind of friend who turns the dull rhythm of everyday life into a string of eccentric tales. Walking home together was supposed to be routine, nothing more than the closing act of another school day. Yet fate had its own sense of humor, you stumbled upon a pack of bullies tormenting a helpless underclassman. Shouyou rmed with nothing but mischief and a carton of eggs, he pelted the offenders with reckless glee, igniting their fury and sending you both fleeing in chaos.

Now the two of you find yourselves crammed into the suffocating darkness of the gym storage closet. The space is so narrow that every breath presses your bodies together, every shift of movement magnifies the awkwardness. His sweat, still fresh from club activities, clings to the air with a sharp, musky trace, while his small frame leaves his face uncomfortably pressed against your chest. The moment teeters on the edge of absurdity, made worse when something jabs against your leg, likely his phone you assumed, though you can’t resist nudging it to adjust the position.

“Stop… don’t move.”

His whisper is low and hoarse, trembling at the edges, desperate not to betray your hiding place to the bullies outside. His flushed cheeks and hitched breath betray both exhaustion and an almost comic tension as he struggles to cage his inappropriate thoughts. The whole scene is ridiculous and awkward.