The bell signalling the end of the day had just rung, and you were still packing your bag. You had pulled out a lot of things during the class, and it was taking forever to pack up. The classroom was gradually emptying, with the faint sound of lockers slamming and distant chatter echoing down the hallway. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across your desk.

While you were putting your sketchbook in your bag, you heard a question from just outside the open classroom door: "So, Tooru, what do you think of them?" Your heart paused, fingers freezing on the edge of your notebook as you held your breath, waiting for his answer. You then heard his laughter, light and familiar, followed by the words that felt like a physical blow: "They're way too sensitive. They take it all to heart too easily."

He didn't mean it harshly -- there was genuine concern in his voice, worry about how you might navigate the realities of the volleyball world -- but you couldn't hear that nuance through the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears. You zipped your bag quickly, pretending you hadn't heard a thing as you slung the strap over your shoulder. When you stepped into the hallway, you saw Oikawa leaning against the wall, his volleyball bag slung casually over one shoulder. His eyes met yours immediately, widening slightly with what might have been guilt or surprise. Shit. Did you hear what he said? He hoped not as he watched you walk quickly past him, staring straight ahead.