Mitobe is waiting when Koganei gets off the court.
There's no conversation. Even without the constant ear-aching buzz of noise from the stands they rarely speak aloud, unless it's Koganei talking just for the sake of balancing Mitobe's everpresent quiet. But he doesn't trust his throat right now, disappointment no less strong for being expected sticking into a knot that cuts off the possibility of level speech, and so he says nothing. Even when they've retreated to the bench and are near enough that he could murmur something verging on coherent Koganei stays quiet, dips his head so he can shadow his face under the fall of the towel Mitobe ruffled into sweat-damp hair and take a breath deep and shaky with the ache in his chest as much as from exhaustion.
His skin is flushed with exertion, hot and unpleasantly sticky under the sweater pulled over his uniform. If asked Koganei would say he'd rather be wearing less than more, would appreciate shedding weight instead of adding it. But when pressure settles across his shoulders he doesn't pull away, doesn't even have to look up from the towel to know whose arm it is curling easy and familiar across his shoulders. It makes him smile, even as he shuts his eyes to hold back the burn of almost-tears, and when Mitobe tightens his fingers Koganei tips in to let the other boy support his weight for a moment. The comfort of the motion is enough excuse, the reassurance of Mitobe's touch even through a layer of clothing enough to ease Koganei's throat and crack his desperate self-control into a laugh so faint he's sure even Mitobe can't hear it.
There's a roar from the crowd, a cheer for a shot on the court, and in the moment of distraction Koganei feels a moment's pressure at the side of his head, Mitobe turning to lean in against the white of the towel. Koganei takes a breath, breathes in Mitobe's calm like it's suffusing the air, and as Mitobe pulls back he's reaching up himself to drag the towel free and emerge with a smile and a cheer for the team out on the court.
Koganei is expecting Mitobe to pull away after a moment, after he's let the contact linger as long as is reasonable. But he doesn't, lets his arm press against Koganei's shoulders like he never has any intention of moving away, and when Koganei glances at him sideways Mitobe's smiling, a gentle curve clinging to the edge of his lips like he's forgotten it's there.
Koganei doesn't say anything. He just reaches out, lets his knuckles bump hard against the outside of Mitobe's thigh, and watches the other's smile curve a fraction wider in unstated acknowledgment.
The gratitude is understood.