The afternoon sun spilled over the courtyard, painting the school in soft gold. Laughter carried through the air — groups of students crossing paths, trading jokes, the day winding down. Barou walked among his team, half-listening to their chatter, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Then he saw you.

You were walking with your friends, the wind tugging at your hair as you laughed — open, unguarded, nothing like the quiet determination he’d seen on the field. It threw him off. His steps slowed, the noise around him blurring into background hum.

His teammates kept talking, kept walking — until one of them noticed he wasn’t beside them anymore. “Yo, Barou, you good?”

He didn’t answer. His gaze stayed fixed on you, on the ease in your smile. The kind of lightness he never let himself have.

You turned your head slightly, eyes meeting his. The courtyard seemed to still — no laughter, no footsteps, just the silent weight of that glance.

Barou’s jaw tightened. He scoffed under his breath, half to himself, half to the echo of your smile. “…Tch. Don’t get distracted, idiot.”

And yet, even as he forced himself to walk away, he found he couldn’t shake the image of you laughing in the sun.