Practice finally ended, leaving the gym humming with the last echoes of squeaking shoes and shouted calls. Sweat clung to your skin, your arms heavy from hours of drills. By the time the others filtered out, you stayed behind a little longer, lowering yourself to the bench with your water bottle in hand. The silence was a relief, no balls flying at your head, no voices filling the air, no Kuroo prowling at your side with that insufferable grin.
Just a moment. That's all you wanted.
"Mind if I sit?"
You blinked up, startled. Standing there was Oikawa Tōru, captain of Aoba Johsai's volleyball team, his easy smile practically disarming, his posture confident in that way that made you feel like you'd been caught in a spotlight. "Oh, uh—sure," you said, shifting slightly as he sat down beside you, towel draped casually over his shoulders.
"I've been watching your team," Oikawa started, his voice smooth, practiced. "And you. You've got incredible court presence. Quick reflexes, sharp reads. Honestly, not a lot of players can keep up with someone like Kuroo, but you? You hold your own."
Heat rose to your cheeks before you could stop it. Compliments weren't rare in volleyball, but the way he said it like he meant every word made your chest tighten. "Thanks," you murmured, sipping your water to hide the smile tugging at your lips.
Oikawa tilted his head, studying you with an expression just shy of teasing. "And off the court…" His eyes softened, almost twinkling. "You're even more impressive. Beautiful, really. I can see why everyone's talking about you."
Your breath caught. Words slipped through your fingers before you could find them.
And then—
"Funny."
The single word sliced the air, sharp and low.
You turned, heart jolting, to find Kuroo standing just a few feet away, towel slung around his neck, damp hair pushed back carelessly. His golden eyes were locked on Oikawa, but the tension radiating off him wasn't subtle. Not even close.
"I didn't realize you were here, Kuroo," Oikawa said lightly, though his smile twitched at the edges.
"Oh, I've been here the whole time," Kuroo replied, voice smooth but edged. His gaze flicked to you briefly quick, unreadable before snapping back to Oikawa. "Didn't think Y/n needed a fan club captain when she's already got a team."
The words made your pulse spike. This wasn't teasing. Not his usual play.
It was something else.
Oikawa leaned back slightly, one brow raised, clearly amused. "Relax. I was just giving her some well-deserved praise. You should try it sometime." Kuroo's jaw tightened, his smirk curling more like a blade than a joke. "Trust me, I know her worth better than anyone."
The air between them crackled, heavy enough to make you shift on the bench, clutching your water bottle like it might anchor you. Two captains, two egos both of them sharp, both of them aimed right at each other.
And at the center of it all, you.
Kuroo stood tall, arms crossed loosely but his shoulders stiff, golden eyes narrowed. Oikawa, in contrast, leaned back with a lazy ease, his elbows braced on his knees, like none of Kuroo's simmering hostility mattered in the slightest.
"Anyway," Oikawa said smoothly, breaking eye contact with Kuroo entirely as though dismissing him. His gaze found you again, warm and focused. "I was saying your instincts on the court are exceptional. I don't hand out compliments easily, but you've got something rare. Something worth noticing."
Your throat tightened. "Oh—uh, thanks…"
"See?" Oikawa chuckled softly, ignoring the tension at his back. "You get flustered, but you shouldn't. Own it. With skills like yours, you deserve to be confident. And—" His eyes swept over your face, softer now, almost too close. "You're striking. Anyone with half a brain can see that."
The water bottle nearly slipped from your hands.
"Cute," Kuroo muttered under his breath, sharp enough to cut but just loud enough to be heard.
Oikawa's smile twitched knowingly, but he didn't look his way. "I mean it. A player like you could go anywhere. Nationals, scholarships, the works. You'd thrive."
You could feel Kuroo's gaze burning into the side of your face, heat prickling at the back of your neck. His silence was louder than anything else in the gym.
Oikawa tilted his head, his tone dipping into something more playful. "Tell me, Y/n have you ever thought about joining Seijoh? I think you'd look good in blue."
That was the breaking point.
In an instant, Kuroo's hand wrapped firmly around your wrist not rough, but undeniably possessive. You startled, water sloshing dangerously in your bottle as he tugged you to your feet.
"She's not interested," Kuroo cut in, his voice low and edged. The casual smirk on his lips didn't reach his eyes; those were burning, sharp and unyielding. "So maybe save your recruitment speech for someone else."
"Kuroo—" you began, but he didn't give you room.
With one decisive pull, he guided you toward the doors, leaving Oikawa still perched on the bench, his amused smile following your retreat. "Well," Oikawa called lightly after you, his voice echoing in the gym. "I'll take that as a 'maybe.' Think about it, Y/n."
You didn't dare glance back, too aware of Kuroo's grip still warm around your wrist, his pace quick, determined, almost like he was afraid if he slowed down, Oikawa's words might stick.
Jealousy wasn't subtle. Not tonight. You could see it written all over him in the set of his jaw, in the tension in his shoulders, in the way his hold lingered just a second too long before he finally let you go.
And the scariest part?
Somehow, a part of you didn't hate it.
The realization made your chest tighten, made your steps falter as Kuroo finally released your wrist. His hand dropped back to his side like nothing happened, but the warmth of his touch lingered against your skin like a brand you couldn't scrub away.
You cleared your throat, desperate to steady your pulse. "You didn't have to do that."
"Do what?" Kuroo asked, voice cool too cool. He shoved his hands into his pockets, head tilted like he hadn't just stormed across the gym dragging you with him. "You know exactly what," you muttered. "Pulling me away like that. Acting like…" The words caught in your throat. Like I belonged to you.
He smirked faintly, but there was no humor in his eyes. "What? You'd rather sit there and let Pretty Boy feed you lines all night?"
You froze, blinking at him. "Are you—jealous?"
Kuroo scoffed immediately, like the thought was ridiculous. But the way his jaw tightened, the way his gaze flickered away for just a second too long, betrayed him. "I'm not jealous. I just don't like him."
"Uh-huh." You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. "You don't like a lot of people, but I've never seen you storm across the gym and drag me away from them before." That made him pause. For a second, his smirk wavered, his posture shifting. Then he leaned down, far too close, his eyes glinting with something that made your stomach flip.
"Maybe," he murmured, voice low enough to make your pulse stumble, "I just don't like when he's the one looking at you like that."
Your breath caught.
He straightened before you could respond, slipping back into that infuriatingly casual demeanor, as if he hadn't just dropped a weight between you heavy enough to crack the floor.
"Anyway," Kuroo said smoothly, starting down the hall, "we're going to be late if you keep standing there gawking. Come on, Captain."
You stood frozen for a moment longer, water bottle trembling in your grip, heat still blooming across your face. Because no matter how badly you wanted to, you couldn't ignore it anymore.
Something had shifted.
And it wasn't just in him.
Your chest betrayed you fluttering, tightening every time you replayed his words in your head. Maybe I just don't like when he's the one looking at you like that. The sentence looped endlessly, gnawing at your composure, tangling itself with the memory of his fingers closing around your wrist.
You hated the way it made you feel warm, breathless, unsteady. Worse, you hated how some traitorous part of you didn't want to shake it off.
By the time you caught up to him in the hallway, Kuroo was already leaning against the wall near the exit, hands shoved casually into his pockets. He glanced up when you approached, the corner of his mouth tugging into that damnable smirk again.
"You finally decide to move, or did I break your brain back there?"
Your glare could've leveled him if looks carried the weight of a spike. "You're insufferable."
"And yet," he drawled, pushing off the wall with lazy grace, "you're still walking next to me." You rolled your eyes, quickening your pace to put some distance between you, but of course he matched your stride effortlessly, shoulders brushing yours every few steps.
The silence that settled wasn't comfortable, not exactly but it wasn't hostile either. It was charged, like the air before a storm, humming with words neither of you dared to say out loud. And as much as you told yourself this was dangerous, that letting him under your skin like this would only end in disaster… you couldn't deny it anymore.
The shift wasn't just his.
It was yours too.
It was yours too.
You tried to smother it, tried to shove the thought down where it couldn't see the light of day. But the more you fought it, the louder it became—the way your pulse jumped when he leaned too close, the way his voice clung to you even when he was quiet, the way his eyes seemed to pin you in place.
And of course, Kuroo noticed. He always noticed.
By the time you both got back to the room, your chest felt too tight, your head buzzing with words you refused to admit, even to yourself. You grabbed your notebook, pretending to flip through plays and notes, anything to ground yourself.
But he didn't buy it.
"Still at it?" he asked, voice low, amused, as he stripped off his jacket and tossed it over the chair. "Practice, strategy sessions, training camp… and you're seriously sitting there with your nose in that thing again? You're going to fry your brain."
"It's called dedication," you shot back, keeping your eyes glued to the page.
"Mm," he hummed, drawing closer. "Looks more like avoidance."
Your grip tightened on the notebook. "Avoidance of what?"
"Of me."
The words hit harder than you wanted them to, your stomach flipping as you whipped your head up to glare at him. He was lounging on the edge of the bed now, one eyebrow raised, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips.
"You've been jumpy all day," he continued, leaning back on his hands like he had all the time in the world. "Every time I get near you, it's like you forget how to breathe. Kinda makes a guy wonder."
You scoffed, snapping your notebook shut just to have something to do with your hands. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" His tone softened, lower, more dangerous. "Because from where I'm sitting, it feels pretty real." You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. Heat crawled up your neck, betraying you, and you hated it. You hated how right he was, how close to the truth he was cutting.
And the worst part? He knew. He could see it written all over your face. Kuroo leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving yours. "You can bury it all you want, but I'm not blind, Y/n."
Your breath caught, and for a moment you thought your heart might actually give out under the weight of his gaze. So you did what you always did when the ground beneath you started to feel too unsteady.
You looked away.