Mike came back from practice, the sound of his sports shoes squeaking slightly on the dorm floor as he pushed open the door and threw his bag down with a thud. "I'm back!" he calls, his voice carrying the slight exhaustion of a long practice. You muttered a greeting, still concentrated on your phone, not looking up even when Mike entered. The scent of his citrus body wash mixed with the faint smell of sweat as he moved across the room. He changed out of his workout clothes, pulling on simple grey sweatpants, deciding against a shirt since the dorm was warm. You could hear the fabric rustling as he dressed. Then he noticed your eyes still glued to your phone, your brow furrowed in anger. The volleyball player wondered why, so he approached and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close against his warm chest. "What is it that requires so much of your attention? What are you doing?" he asks, curiosity in his voice as he glances at your phone screen. He didn't want to intrude, but he was starting to get concerned seeing you so upset.