The day had wrung you out completely. Hours of drills, scrimmages, and weight training had left your body aching in places you didn't even know could hurt. By the time you and Kuroo trudged back into your shared room, you barely had the energy to drop your bag by the door.
Kuroo collapsed onto his bed with zero hesitation, one arm flung across his eyes, his messy hair damp from a quick shower. "I'm dead," he groaned, voice muffled against the pillow. "This is it. Tell my team I loved them."
You rolled your eyes, tugging out your notebook from your bag before sitting cross-legged on your bed. "Drama queen."
"Strategic genius," he corrected without missing a beat, though his voice was thick with exhaustion.
You ignored him, flipping to a page filled with rotations and notes. Your pencil tapped against the margin as you started scribbling out possible plays. Practice might've been over, but your brain refused to stop. Every second you weren't improving felt like falling behind, and with the scholarship on the line, you couldn't afford that.
But apparently, Kuroo wasn't about to let you bury yourself in your notes.
"Y/n," he drawled, shifting just enough to peek at you with one golden eye, "are you seriously still working?"
"Yes." You didn't even glance up.
He groaned dramatically, rolling onto his side to face you. "You're insane. We just survived seven hours of drills, and you're sitting here like, 'Hm, you know what would make this day better? More volleyball.'"
"It's called dedication," you muttered.
"It's called burnout waiting to happen."
You clenched your jaw, pencil pausing mid-word. "Some of us don't get by on pure sarcasm and a messy hairstyle."
That earned you a laugh quiet but warm, filling the room in a way that made your chest tighten unexpectedly. You glanced up despite yourself, and sure enough, Kuroo was grinning at you, lazy and genuine.
"You know," he said, propping his head up on one hand, "you're kind of scary when you're this focused."
"Good. Maybe you'll finally shut up."
He smirked, but instead of biting back, he surprised you by sitting up, crossing the room, and plopping down right beside you on your bed. His weight dipped the mattress, sending your heart into your throat.
"Kuroo—"
"Relax," he interrupted, leaning back against the wall like he belonged there. "You're gonna snap that pencil in half if you keep gripping it like that. Just… take a break. Five minutes. That's all I'm asking."
You opened your mouth to argue, but his gaze stopped you. Tired, yes, but steady. Earnest, even. And for a moment, you saw past the smirks and banter to the boy beneath—the one who cared about the game as much as you did, but also about you, in ways you weren't ready to name.
Against your better judgment, you set the pencil down.
"Five minutes," you said firmly.
His grin softened. "Deal."
And for the first time that day, you let the notebook stay closed.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. Not the kind that usually hung between you and Kuroo, heavy with competition and sharp words. This was quieter. Softer. The kind of silence that came when neither of you felt the need to fill it.
Kuroo stretched his legs out across the bed, his socked foot brushing against your knee. You shot him a look, but he only smirked, leaning his head back against the wall.
"You know," he said lazily, "if you actually rested once in a while, you'd be unstoppable." You raised an eyebrow. "That supposed to be a compliment?"
"Obviously. I'm not in the habit of complimenting my enemies, you know."
"Enemies, huh?" The word tasted strange in your mouth now less like truth, more like habit.
His smirk faltered, just slightly, and he glanced away. "Rivals, then," he amended.
You didn't push it. Maybe because you weren't sure what word you'd use anymore either.
Minutes ticked by, and you felt the weight of exhaustion tugging at you. Your eyelids drooped, and you fought to keep them open, refusing to let him see you lose your guard. But when your head tilted the slightest bit, Kuroo's quiet chuckle reached you.
"Told you," he murmured.
Before you could snap back, something shifted the warmth beside you pressed closer, the mattress dipping as he adjusted. You glanced over and froze. Kuroo had slouched down, head now resting against the wall dangerously close to your shoulder. His hair brushed your arm, and his eyes were shut, breaths steadying into sleep.
You stared at him, heat rushing to your face. He'd just… fallen asleep. Next to you. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Part of you wanted to shove him back onto his own bed, to remind him about boundaries and personal space and the fact that you were not friends. But another part of you the tired, traitorous part, sat still. Just… letting him stay there.
Your notebook lay forgotten at the foot of the bed. And as your own body finally gave in to the heaviness of the day, you realized something terrifying.
This closeness wasn't an accident. Not anymore. And you weren't sure you wanted it to be.
The mattress dipped with his weight, his arm brushing yours as he shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent in his sleep. You froze, every nerve suddenly aware of just how little space existed between you. The warmth of his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his breathing it was impossible to ignore.
You told yourself you should move, scoot an inch to the side, reclaim whatever boundary was left between you. But exhaustion was a powerful enemy, and against it, your body betrayed you. Instead, you stayed rooted, caught between the tension of wanting to pull away and the startling comfort of letting yourself stay.
Kuroo exhaled, the faintest trace of a sigh, before his arm shifted again this time landing across your waist in a lazy sprawl, as if he'd done it a hundred times before. Your pulse leapt.
This was dangerous. So, so dangerous.
But your body, heavy with fatigue, seemed to care little for the warnings screaming in your head. Slowly, your own eyes slipped shut.
For the first time in what felt like forever, the endless rotations and strategies, the rivalry, the weight of the scholarship all of it blurred into the background. What was left was only this: the quiet rise and fall of Kuroo's chest, the warmth of his arm draped over you, and the unshakable realization that you didn't feel the urge to push him away.
Instead, in the safety of that fragile, fleeting moment, you let yourself lean into it just for tonight.
Because no matter how much you fought it, no matter how much you denied it, there was something here. Something you couldn't name yet, something terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
And as sleep finally claimed you, you couldn't help but wonder if maybe just maybe he felt it too.
The night stretched on, quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of sheets when either of you shifted. Normally, sharing this little bed felt like a battle for territory: a stray elbow here, a stolen blanket there but tonight was different. His arm stayed hooked loosely around your waist, not demanding, not possessive, just… steady. Anchoring.
Somewhere in the haze of half-sleep, you thought you heard him murmur your name. Barely audible, lips brushing the crown of your head with the word. You froze, heart lurching, but when you dared to peek up at him, his eyes were still closed, lashes fanned against his cheeks.
He was dreaming. Probably.
You told yourself it didn't matter. You told yourself it didn't mean anything. But the way your chest tightened said otherwise.
Your head found its way against his shoulder without your permission, and he shifted only slightly in response, as though adjusting to make room for you. The kind of unconscious accommodation that spoke louder than words.
And in that fragile stillness, you realized the truth you'd been trying to outrun since this training camp began: this wasn't just rivalry anymore. It hadn't been for a while.
The terrifying part was how badly you didn't want to stop it.You shifted slightly, careful not to wake him at least that's what you told yourself. But the truth was, you wanted to look at him. To see the face that, for so long, you'd only thought of in terms of smirks and taunts and irritatingly smug grins.
Now, though, with his guard down, Kuroo looked different. Softer. His hair was messy, his lips parted just barely, the sharpness you associated with him dulled into something you almost couldn't place. Almost.
Your chest squeezed. You were staring too long. You forced your gaze away, squeezing your eyes shut, willing sleep to come again when suddenly, the arm draped over your waist tightened just a fraction.
Your breath caught.
"Y/n…" His voice was rough, low, blurred with sleep.
You didn't move. Didn't dare breathe. He wasn't awake. He couldn't be.
But then, quieter: "…you drive me insane, you know that?" Your pulse jumped. His tone wasn't teasing, not sharp like his usual jabs; it was raw, honest in a way you'd never heard before.
"I try to… keep it together. Play it cool. But then you're there." His forehead brushed against your hair as he shifted closer, not fully conscious, words spilling out unguarded. "Smartest person in the room. Strongest. Prettiest…"
Heat flooded your face so fast it was dizzying. You should've said something. Stopped him. Laughed it off, maybe, like you always did. But your throat refused to form words.
Instead, you listened, frozen in place, your heart hammering louder than any crowd you'd ever played in front of. "I hate it," he whispered, the barest edge of a chuckle in his sleep-slurred voice. "I hate that I think you're… perfect. That when you're around, nothing else feels like enough."
Your grip on the sheets tightened, knuckles white. Perfect. Prettiest. Words you never expected from Kuroo Tetsurō, least of all whispered into the dark when he thought you couldn't hear.
You swallowed hard, unable to respond, because what could you possibly say to that? So you stayed quiet. Stayed still. Let him speak into the space between you. Because as terrifying as it was, as much as you wanted to deny it… part of you wanted to hear more.
His breath warmed your hair as he shifted again, murmuring low, the words tumbling unguarded. "I don't even care about the scholarship when you're around. All I can think about is you. And maybe that makes me—" He paused, voice breaking off into a husky exhale.
Your heart stopped. Every muscle in your body tensed, bracing for what might come next.
But silence followed.
His grip on your waist loosened, his breathing evening out, slower, steadier. Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, Kuroo Tetsurō slipped fully into sleep.
You lay frozen in his arms, blood rushing in your ears, staring at the ceiling you could barely make out in the dark. What had he been about to say? What did he mean by maybe that makes me…?
You wanted to shake him awake, demand he finish the thought. You wanted to pretend none of it happened. You wanted gosh, you didn't even know what you wanted.
All you knew was that your face was burning, your pulse refusing to settle, and sleep wasn't coming anytime soon. Kuroo's words echoed again and again, soft and relentless. Smartest. Strongest. Prettiest. Perfect.
You buried your face in the pillow, wishing it could swallow you whole. Because one thing was undeniable: your rival had just cracked something open inside you, and you had no idea how to put it back together. And while he slept soundly beside you, you lay wide awake, replaying every word.