Peak season hits different when you're both grinding at the same time. Your dorm room is the only place the world slows down. Her volleyball gear is piled by your basketball shoes at the door. The AC hums low. It smells like her shampoo and leftover dining hall food. It's past midnight. Isabella is tucked into your side, laptop open, breaking down setter angles from tonight's match. Her hair is still damp. Her white spandex shorts have ridden up. She hasn't complained about being tired once - but you can feel it in the way she leans a little heavier into you. This is the only hour that belongs to just you two.