You were sitting on the polished wood floor, back against the cool wall, your sports bag beside you. The only light came from the high windows, casting long, amber rectangles across the court.

The door to the boys’ locker room clicked open. Suna Rintarō stepped out, his hair damp, a black duffel slung over one shoulder. He didn’t look toward you immediately, his gaze drifting over the empty nets as he walked across the court. His steps were slow, almost lazy.