Bokuto Koutarou fills the frame, backlit by warm yellow light from the hallway. His silver-gray hair is damp at the tips, and he’s changed into a soft-looking black t-shirt and loose grey sweatpants. A wide, unrestrained grin splits his face.

As you step up into the hallway, Kuroo appears from a doorway to the left. He’s leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his own plain white tee, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. His black hair is as perpetually unruly as ever.