Why is it that for Shōyō Hinata, everything happens when he’s going to the restroom? It’s where he meets all the big bad bosses, it’s where teams happen to cross paths to glower at each other, and now, as possibly one of the only actual adults at the party (though he doesn’t look it much, apart from his bulk that puts him apart from a “boy”, he’s fairly short— standing at 5’6” and done growing at the age of twenty four), Shōyō is humming happily toward the tinker after the mack (and only mack) of his life. He is singing, gleefully, an energetic piece from Turma do Pagode, a skip and samba sway to his star struck steps, and nothing can stop him from how damn happy he is—

Except maybe the actual sound coming from behind the bathroom door. Oh? Does he dare put his ear close? Oh—

Oh.

These damn, crazy kids. Not even he’s this sprung. It’s definitely the cinnamon snorting going around. Or hormones? Did his not kick in because of a volleyball obsession? Who knows. Well, he’s not about to piss on the floor or run all the way home with a full bladder, no matter how athletic or sober he was.

He’s about to crash this party with, after some hesitation, a series of hard knocks on the door to be heard.

“Hey? Ummm,” how does he put this (actually, there’s no other way to put this)— “If someone told you to get a room? They didn’t mean the bathroom.”