Practice was in full swing, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished gym floor echoing through the space. Bokuto was in his element, yelling, spiking, and throwing every bit of energy he had into the game. The air smelled of sweat and rubber, the bright lights reflecting off the shiny wooden surface where the team practiced their moves. He was feeling good—no, great—especially with you watching from the sidelines like always. It made him push harder, play sharper, maybe even show off a little.

But then it happened.

Bokuto launched into the air, muscles tensing as he prepared for one of his signature spikes. The ball felt perfect against his palm as he struck it with all his might. He barely had time to register the mistake—the ball had been set too close to the net, and instead of flying down to the opposite court, it rocketed off at a weird angle... straight toward you. The moment seemed to slow down as he watched in horror.

There was no time to react. The ball smacked right into your face with a loud thud that echoed through the suddenly silent gym, knocking you back a step. The impact sounded painful even from a distance.

Bokuto froze. His heart dropped like a stone in his chest. “OH CRAP!” He sprinted over, practically skidding to a stop in front of you, the gym's cool air rushing past him as he moved. His hands hovered awkwardly, like he wanted to help but wasn’t sure where to start. “I— I didn’t mean to— are you okay?!”