The room was silent except for the soft hum of the heater. You sat on the edge of the single bed, notebook clutched loosely in your lap, trying and failing to focus on your notes. Kuroo was on the other side, stretching out like he owned the space, one arm dangling over the edge of the mattress.
"This is ridiculous," you muttered under your breath, though your voice was barely audible.
"Ridiculous?" Kuroo echoed, eyes glinting in amusement. "You mean… exciting, right?" You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "Exciting is not the word I'd use." He leaned back against the wall, grinning, and for a moment, the playful arrogance in his expression softened just slightly. "Come on, Y/n. Admit it. This is… a little fun."
Your stomach twisted at the teasing lilt in his voice. You wanted to snap, to shove your notebook in his face and remind him that he was your rival. Instead, all you could manage was, "Fun is for people who don't have actual things to do."
He chuckled, and somehow it sounded too warm, too close, echoing in the small room.
The evening stretched on. Every time you tried to focus on your notes, his presence reminded you that this was more than just a rivalry. Every time your knees brushed or even your arms accidentally touched your pulse betrayed you.
And then, exhaustion won. You yawned and rolled over, careful not to take up too much space. Kuroo followed a beat later, somehow managing to stretch across the bed without touching you but just barely.
"Night," he murmured, voice low, almost intimate.
"Night," you muttered back, face hot and eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Minutes passed. The room fell silent. But sleep didn't come easily. Your mind replayed every smirk, every accidental brush, every teasing word from the night. And somewhere between irritation and something you refused to name, you realized: Sharing a bed with your greatest rival was going to be far more complicated than you ever imagined.
You lay rigidly on your side, notebook tossed aside, pretending to be asleep while secretly listening to Kuroo's steady breathing. He hadn't made a move, hadn't said a word, and yet the space between you felt charged, almost alive. Every time the sheets shifted or he stretched, your heart threatened to give you away.
Minutes felt like hours. Your mind replayed every teasing remark from earlier, the way he leaned over the chart, the brush of his hand across yours. You refused to think about how warm his side of the bed looked or how close he was. "Y/n," Kuroo's voice broke the silence softly, just above a whisper.
You froze, heart thudding. "What?"
"Don't tell me you're actually trying to sleep in that posture. You're practically standing."You gritted your teeth. "I sleep how I want." A soft chuckle. "Sure, sure," he said, stretching just enough that your arms accidentally brushed again. "If you say so, Captain Perfect."
Your stomach lurched. "Don't call me that."
"Or what?" he teased, voice low and teasing. "You'll spike me in my sleep?"
You swung an arm out reflexively, almost hitting him. He caught it effortlessly, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Careful. That's the closest you've been to me all night, and it's not even on the court."
You yanked your arm back, cheeks burning. "I said don't—" He leaned back, hands behind his head, smirking in place, and you wanted to scream at how unnervingly calm he was. "Relax. I'm not complaining. Not yet, anyway."
The room fell silent again, though your pulse refused to quiet. Somewhere between irritation, embarrassment, and a strange sense of… connection, you realized one thing with horrifying clarity: surviving this week was going to take more than just skill on the court. It was going to take every ounce of willpower you had not to completely lose it around Kuroo.
Somehow, at some point, exhaustion won. You didn't even remember drifting off, only that when your eyes blinked open again, morning sunlight was streaming through the thin dorm curtains.
And your worst nightmare was real.
Kuroo was still asleep beside you, hair even messier than usual, one arm thrown carelessly over the pillow that separated you. He looked… annoyingly peaceful, which was infuriating in itself. What was worse, though, was the realization that at some point in the night, you'd shifted closer. Too close. Close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating off him.
Your breath caught as you quickly rolled away, heart hammering. No. Absolutely not. This couldn't become a thing. Rival. Enemy. Scholarship. Remember?
You sat up, running a hand through your hair just as Kuroo stirred. His voice was raspy, thick with sleep. "Morning already?" You froze halfway to standing. "Unfortunately." He cracked one eye open, lips curving into a lazy grin that made your stomach tighten. "What, no 'good morning, Kuroo'? I'm hurt."
You grabbed your bag, refusing to meet his gaze. "Don't push your luck. I didn't smother you with a pillow, so that's about as good as it gets." He laughed softly, sitting up and stretching until his shirt rode up just enough to make you whip your head away. "See? I knew you liked me."
Your jaw dropped. "I—what—no! In what universe—"
"Relax, Y/n," he cut in smoothly, grabbing his own bag. "You're way too easy to tease."
You muttered something unprintable under your breath and marched toward the door, determined to put as much distance between you and that smug grin as possible. But as you stepped into the hallway, you caught your reflection in the glass of a nearby window cheeks flushed, lips pressed tight, eyes still flicking back to the room you'd just left.
And deep down, no matter how much you hated it, one truth gnawed at you: This rivalry was starting to feel dangerously like something else.
You shoved the thought away and focused on the day ahead morning drills, scrimmages, and Kuroo's infuriatingly confident presence. By the time you reached the gym, Nekoma's team was already stretching, their captain leaning casually against the wall with that all-too-familiar smirk.
"Right on time," Kuroo said, voice carrying across the court. "I was worried you'd oversleep and ruin my morning entertainment." You rolled your eyes, gripping your water bottle. "Entertaining you is not my responsibility."
"Sure," he said smoothly, watching you warm up. "But if we're being honest, it's kind of fun seeing you flustered."
You narrowed your eyes, setting up for a drill. "Flustered is not a word I would ever associate with me."
"Not yet," he teased, tossing the volleyball lightly into the air before catching it with one hand. "But give it time."
The drill started, and you found yourself forced to work alongside him. Every serve he returned with precise accuracy, every block he anticipated, pushed you harder than you expected. And every time your hands brushed while setting or spiking, heat shot through your chest like electricity.
You shot him a glare mid-drill. "Stop watching me like that!"
He laughed softly, leaning slightly closer under the guise of adjusting a formation on your chart. "Watching you? I'm just… observing. Professional purposes." You bit back a retort, because no matter how much you hated to admit it, his proximity made your heartbeat faster, your focus sharper, and your thoughts… messy.
By the end of the drills, you were both drenched in sweat, exhausted, but your chest still ached not from the workout, but from him. And as the coaches announced a short break, Kuroo leaned against the wall near you, hands in his pockets, eyes glinting mischievously.
"Looks like we make a pretty good team," he said casually.
You blinked, unsure whether to glare or sigh. "Don't get used to it."
"Too late," he said, and that grin so infuriatingly perfect made your pulse skip again.
This week was already proving one thing: surviving Kuroo Tetsurō wasn't just about skill on the court anymore. It was about surviving the constant pull, the teasing, the… distractions. And somehow, that was far harder than any drill.
By the time evening rolled around, your body ached from the endless rotations and scrimmages, but your mind refused to quiet. You should have been thinking about techniques, adjustments, about the scholarship dangling above both your heads like a prize. Instead, all you could think about was him his smirk, his laugh, the way he never once looked away when you met his gaze.
The second strategy session was no better.
You walked into the meeting room with your notebook tucked under your arm, determined to keep things strictly professional. Kuroo was already there, sprawled across his chair with his hair still damp from his post-practice shower.
"You're late," he said casually, spinning a pen between his fingers.
"You're insufferable," you shot back, sliding into your seat.
"Ah," he smirked, leaning forward, "so we're back to insults. I was starting to miss those."
You ignored him, flipping your notebook open, though your grip on the pen tightened when he scooted closer. He was right there close enough that you could smell the faint trace of soap clinging to him, close enough that when his arm brushed yours, your pen skidded across the page.
"Careful," he murmured, low enough that only you heard. "Wouldn't want you to lose your perfect handwriting." You glared at him, but your pulse betrayed you, hammering in your throat. "Focus, Kuroo."
"I am focused," he said, eyes lingering on you a fraction too long. "Just… maybe not on the paper." You snapped your notebook shut with a loud clap, standing. "We're done for tonight."
"Are we?" he asked, leaning back with that insufferable grin. "Or are you just running away?" You froze, biting back a sharp retort, and stormed out before you could give him the satisfaction of an answer.
But when you pushed open the dorm door later and saw that single bed waiting the same one you'd sworn you could handle last night you realized with a sinking heart and a racing pulse…
You weren't running away. Not really. You were just afraid of what might happen if you stayed.