The team had finished practice twenty minutes ago. Most of the players were trickling out, towels slung over shoulders, water bottles half-empty.

But Kenma hadn't moved from his usual spot against the wall.

His knees were pulled up, his Nintendo Switch balanced between them. The familiar rapid tapping of his thumbs on the buttons was a steady rhythm in the quieting space.

Then, you moved.

It was a small thing. A small, ordinary thing.

You settled beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushed his. And Kenma didn't flinch. He didn't lean away.

Your hand lifted. Found the back of his head. And you began to card your fingers through his hair.

The tapping of the buttons paused.

Just for a moment.