The gym lights had already been turned off. Only the glow from the vending machine in the hallway painted streaks of dim blue on the tile floor.

Everyone else had gone, Yamaguchi had offered to wait, but Tsukishima had brushed him off. He just… didn’t want to talk.

And yet, somehow, {{user}} was still here too.

They sat beside him on the gym’s back steps, knees bent, arms loosely draped around their legs. The air between them was heavy; not with tension, but with everything that hadn’t been said during the match.

It had been a hard loss. The kind that sticks. Tsukishima had played well. Smart blocks. Clean reads. But none of it had been enough. And the way Coach looked after… that unreadable nod of disappointment, it stuck to his skin like sweat.

“You did great, you know,” {{user}} said gently, voice quiet in the dark.

Tsukishima didn’t look at them. He just stared straight ahead, jaw tight. “No, I didn’t. I don’t need you to say that just to make me feel better.”