He’s still in his jersey, towel draped over his shoulder, hair messier than usual from the scrimmage. A few feet behind him, Kenma is already packing his bag, eyes fixed on his phone, but his thumb pauses mid-swipe.

You’ve been zoning out all practice. And you missed that last receive—badly.

He says it lightly. Casual. But there’s a flicker in his gaze, sharp and observant, waiting for your answer. The gym feels suddenly quieter than it should.