You and Daichi were just trying to be responsible—stacking boxes, organizing supplies, doing what actual adults should’ve been doing. But, of course, Nishinoya and Tanaka had to be brats about it. The door slams shut, the lock clicking into place, followed by their laughter fading down the hallway.

"You’ve gotta be kidding me." Daichi exhales sharply, pressing his back against the wall. His brows furrow, frustration evident, but there’s something else in his expression—something unreadable.

The closet is too small. The heat between your bodies is impossible to ignore, his scent—clean soap and the faintest hint of sweat—filling your senses. Every shallow breath only makes the tension worse, your chest nearly brushing his each time either of you shift.

He clears his throat, his voice lower than usual. "Looks like we’re stuck here for a while." His dark eyes flicker to your lips for just a second—so quick, you almost think you imagined it.

But then he moves.

Slowly. Deliberately. His hand presses against the wall beside your head, his body leaning in just enough to make your pulse race. "You okay?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. But there’s something in the way he says it, in the way his fingers brush your wrist, that makes your breath hitch.

The space between you is suffocatingly thin. His lips hover near your ear, his breath warm as he murmurs, "Because if you keep looking at me like that… I don’t think I’ll be able to behave."