Chapter 4: The Persistent Teammate
The wristband was a constant, warm pressure against my skin. A silent echo. I’d catch myself tracing the edge of it with my thumb during lecture, while stirring my morning coffee, right before I fell asleep. It had been three days. Three days of charged texts that never quite said enough, of Mayu’s knowing smirks, and of a low, humming anticipation that lived in my chest.
The coffee shop was my usual refuge, a crowded, cluttered space with terrible acoustics and the best chai. I was wedged into a corner booth, my sketchbook open to a half-finished project—a series of logo concepts for a local brewery that were all feeling flat. My pencil was hovering over a hopelessly derivative hops illustration when a shadow fell across the page.
“Hey. That’s not bad.”
I looked up, startled. Kaito. The team’s starting setter. He was tall, with an easy, open smile that had made him a crowd favorite. He was holding two mismatched mugs, steam curling into the air.
“Oh. Hi. Thanks,” I said, instinctively closing the sketchbook a little. “It’s… not there yet.”
“Mind if I?” He nodded to the empty seat across from me, already sliding into it before I could answer. He set a chai latte in front of me. “I saw you from the counter. Looked like you could use a fresh one.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Captain’s orders,” he said, winking. He took a sip of his own black coffee. “Yuki’s big on team looking out for… extended family.”
The way he said it was casual, but it landed with a weird weight. Extended family. Not her. Not Yuki’s. I wrapped my hands around the warm mug. “He’s busy with captain stuff?”
“Always. Film review this morning. He’s in the dungeon with the coaches.” Kaito leaned forward, his eyes on my closed sketchbook. “Seriously, can I see? I’m awful at that stuff. It’s like magic to me.”
It was harmless. Flattering, even. I’d known Kaito for years, in that peripheral way you know your best friend’s brother’s teammates. He was always friendly. I opened the book, flipping back to some earlier, better concept sketches.
“See, this one has potential,” he said, pointing. He shifted around the table to sit beside me in the booth, his shoulder brushing mine. He smelled like detergent and faint cologne. “The way the negative space forms a mountain here. That’s smart.”
He was close. I could feel the heat of his arm through my sweater. My phone, face-up on the table, lit up with a text.
Mayu: be there in 5. bringing the grump. he needs caffeine or he’ll actually murder someone.
I moved to pick it up, but Kaito was already talking, pulling my attention back to a sketch, then to his phone. “Check this out, my friend’s studio did this packaging…” He leaned in, showing me his screen.
The bell above the coffee shop door jingled.
I knew it was them before I looked. A change in the air pressure. The casual chatter from the table of freshmen by the window dipped for a second.
Yuki stood just inside the door, his frame filling the space. He was in a grey hoodie, hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it. Mayu was beside him, scanning the room. Her eyes found me, then flicked to Kaito pressed close beside me, then back to Yuki. Her grin was instantaneous and catastrophic.
Yuki’s gaze swept over us. It didn’t freeze. It didn’t narrow dramatically. It just took everything in: the two mugs, my open sketchbook, Kaito’s proximity, the easy smile on Kaito’s face. His expression, usually so carefully neutral around me, hardened into something stark and unreadable. The line of his jaw was suddenly very sharp.
Mayu nudged him with her elbow, her voice carrying just enough. “See? Told you she wasn’t alone.”
They walked over. The walk felt long. Every step echoed. Kaito looked up, his smile widening. “Captain! Just showing your sister’s friend some design inspiration. Trying to up our merch game.”
Yuki stopped at the end of our table. He didn’t look at Kaito. He looked at me. “Hey.”
“Hey.” My voice sounded strange. “Film review okay?”
“It was fine.” His eyes dropped to the wristband on my arm, then back to my face. The look was a physical touch. A question.
“We were just talking about the brewery project,” I said, too quickly. “Kaito brought me a chai.”
“I see that.” Yuki finally shifted his gaze to Kaito. It was cool. Captain-like. “We need you in the gym at four. No excuses.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kaito said, easy as ever. He stood up, clapping Yuki on the shoulder—a gesture Yuki absorbed without moving. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it.” He turned back to me, pulling out his phone. “Hey, send me a pic of that final design when it’s done? Let me get your number.”
The air vanished. Just… emptied.
It was a normal request. A college request. But in the silent, stretched moment after he said it, with Yuki standing right there, it felt like a challenge. Mayu’s eyebrows shot up. She bit her lip, watching her brother.
Kaito held his phone out, new contact screen open.
My face was burning. I could feel Yuki’s stillness. It wasn’t anger. It was something more potent: a waiting, a gathering.
“I, uh…” I fumbled for my phone.
“She’s busy,” Yuki said. His voice was quiet, flat. It cut through the coffee shop murmur. He didn’t raise it. He just stated it as a fact, final and immovable.
Kaito blinked, his smile faltering for the first time. “It’ll take two seconds, man.”
“She’s finishing her senior portfolio. She doesn’t need distractions.” Yuki’s hand came down, not on my shoulder, but on the back of the booth right beside my head. He was leaning into our space, his body angled between me and Kaito. “Do you, Kaito.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a redirection. A line drawn.
Kaito looked from Yuki’s impassive face to my no-doubt scarlet one. His easygoing demeanor settled into something more careful, more calculating. A slow understanding dawned in his eyes. He pocketed his phone, the gesture conceding nothing and everything. “Right. Sure. No distractions.” He gave a little two-finger salute. “See you at four, Captain.”
He ambled away, weaving through the tables and out the door. The bell jingled again.
The silence he left behind was deafening. Mayu whistled low under her breath. “Well. That was…”
Yuki ignored her. He was still looking down at me, his hand still flat against the booth. The intensity had banked, replaced by a raw, vulnerable uncertainty. He’d just made a scene. A quiet, potent scene. For me.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I whispered, echoing my words to Kaito.
“Yes,” he said, the single word rough. “I did.”
His knee found mine under the table, a familiar, seeking pressure. This time, it was trembling.