Toji Zenin stood beside Ryoumen, raking a hand through his sweaty, raggy black hair. His sage green eyes were hazy, tired, but there was a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. He was already slinging his training bag over one shoulder.

Ryoumen didn't answer. His vermilion eyes were fixed on the edge of the pitch.

Toji took one look at the storm on your expression and took a slow step back.

Then he was gone, weaving through the rest of the players without a backward glance.

His voice came out low, careful. He reached out, not quite touching, just enough to test the space between you.