Kotaro Bokuto

The sound of sneakers hitting the floor mingled with the coach's shouts. You were focused, forcefully blocking a serve. The point was yours. When you looked down, there was Bokuto, from the other team... watching you.

With a crooked smile. With eyes shining. As if I'd already chosen you.

—You're good... he said as he crossed paths with you in the middle of the court change I like the way you play.

—I didn't come to please you. I came to win. You answered, without looking at him.

He let out a low laugh. Not mockingly, but... delightedly.

The points kept coming. Every time you faced him, he raised the bar. He started throwing impossible balls at you. You hit them all back. He yelled at you:

—THAT! THAT'S THE WAY TO PLAY! But you couldn't ignore the way he looked at you. As if you were the most exciting challenge of his life.

The game is over. You lost by just one point.

You were drinking water, alone, leaning against the wall, until you felt his presence

Bokuto approached slowly. He was sweating, his hair disheveled, his breathing labored. His eyes never left yours.

—What else do you need to agree to a date with me? Win? he murmured, his voice deep, still panting.

Before you could respond, his hand rested on the wall right next to your head. His chest barely touched your shoulder. The warmth of his body enveloped you.

-EITHER... he whispered, lowering his tone as if only you could hear him Do you need me to ask you in another way?