Morning came too quickly.
Your alarm blared at the crack of dawn, and for a moment you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, every nerve in your body still buzzing from the night before. The walk. The confrontation. The way Kuroo's voice had dipped just enough to leave your heart rattling against your ribs.
You turned your head, and there he was. Still asleep. Arm tossed carelessly over your side of the bed, his breathing slow and steady, his hair sticking out in every possible direction. Totally unbothered. Like he hadn't lit your entire world on fire less than twelve hours ago.
It would've been easy so easy to slip back into that warmth, to let yourself close your eyes and pretend. But you couldn't afford easy. Not now. Not with everything on the line.
So you peeled yourself out of bed, tugged on your practice gear, and forced your mind to steel itself the way it always did before a match. Determined. Focused. Unshakable.
Except…
When you reached the gym later that morning, you could feel him trailing beside you, every step lined with a lazy kind of energy that contrasted far too much with the storm swirling in your chest. "You're awfully quiet today," Kuroo drawled, falling into step with you. "Not still thinking about Pretty Boy Oikawa, are you?"
You nearly choked on your water. "Excuse me?"
He smirked, eyes glinting with the kind of mischief that told you he knew exactly what he was doing. "What? He did spend a little too long staring at you yesterday. I'd almost say he was what's the word? smitten." Heat flared across your cheeks, but you bit back the reaction. "Not everything is about you and your ego, Kuroo."
"Mm. True. But this feels like it might be."
You quickened your pace, trying to put distance between you, but he matched it effortlessly. "Why do you care anyway?" you muttered, hating the way your voice betrayed the smallest crack.
For once, he didn't fire back right away. Instead, he studied you quiet, unreadable, the sharp edge of his smirk softening just slightly.
"Good question," he said at last, and the way he said it, low, thoughtful, almost dangerous, made your pulse stumble. And suddenly, practice felt like it was going to be the longest, hardest battle you'd ever fought.
From the very first drill, Kuroo was on you. Not just in the way captains usually pushed their teammates, but in that relentless, unyielding way only he could manage like every toss, every block, every set was a personal challenge.
You leapt for a spike, sweat stinging your eyes, only for his hands to slam the ball right back down at your feet.
"Gotta try harder than that, princess," he called across the net, voice maddeningly smug.
Your jaw clenched. Fine. Two could play this game.
Next rally, you shifted your angle, throwing everything you had into the swing. The ball shot past his block, smacking hard against the floor just inside the line. Perfect.
"Guess you'll need to keep up, captain," you shot back, forcing a smirk even as your chest burned from exertion. The team around you groaned, laughed, and egged it on like it was entertainment but to you, it wasn't a game. It was war, and every rally was another battle.
Drill after drill, you matched him. Step for step. Point for point. He shut down one of your spikes? You dug his hardest serve. He smirked like he had the upper hand? You answered with a sharper grin and a cleaner shot.
It wasn't just volleyball anymore. It was proving yourself again and again with him watching your every move. By the time the final scrimmage rolled around, your muscles screamed for rest, but you refused to let him see you falter.
Across the net, Kuroo crouched low, eyes locked on you like he was daring you to make the next move. That lazy grin of his didn't fool you anymore you knew better. That grin hid focus, calculation, and the very same stubborn fire coursing through your veins.
The ball was set high, perfect. You launched yourself into the air, arm cocked back, determined to smash it straight through his block— And there he was. Meeting you head-on. Hands raised. Timing flawless.
Your spike met his block with a crack that echoed through the gym, ball ricocheting back so fast you barely had time to hit the floor before it was over.
He won that one.
Kuroo landed lightly, grin sharp and glinting, eyes locked on yours as if to say: try me again.
Your chest heaved. Your palms stung. And yet, in that moment, all you could think was one thing. This wasn't just rivalry anymore It was obsession. And it terrified you how badly you wanted to win against him, and maybe even for him.
The whistle blew, signaling the end of practice, but your heart was still racing like the match hadn't ended. Your hands shook faintly as you grabbed your water bottle, the sting in your palms a reminder of every ball you'd sent crashing toward him, every block he'd thrown right back at you.
Across the court, Kuroo stretched lazily, sweat glistening at the edge of his jaw. He should've looked as exhausted as you felt, but no—he looked infuriatingly calm, like he hadn't just spent two hours dragging you into the most intense back-and-forth of your life.
And then he caught your eye.
That grin—the one you'd come to hate and crave in equal measure—curved his mouth as if he could read every thought spinning through your head.
"Not bad today," he said when you passed him on your way to the bench. His voice was casual, but his eyes… they burned. "Almost kept up with me."
You stopped in your tracks. "Almost?"
His grin widened, all teeth and sharp edges. "You heard me."
Your blood boiled, but beneath it, something else coiled in your chest something you didn't want to name.
"Keep dreaming, captain," you muttered, shoving your bottle into your bag.
But he didn't let you go that easily. His hand brushed against yours when you tried to zip it, stopping you mid-motion. It wasn't a full grab, just the barest touch, enough to send sparks racing down your arm.
"You'll get there," he said softly this time, leaning just close enough for his breath to stir the damp strands of hair by your temple. "If you keep working… Maybe one day you'll beat me."
Your throat tightened. The way he said it wasn't a jab. It wasn't taunting. It was something heavier, something he shouldn't have put into words.
You yanked your hand free and slung the strap of your bag over your shoulder like it was armor. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't need to beat you. I just need to win." And before he could say another word, you walked out of the gym, heat crawling up your neck.
But of course, he followed.
By the time you reached the hallway, his footsteps fell in rhythm with yours, deliberately unhurried, like he was savoring your escape.
"Funny," he drawled, hands shoved in his pockets. "The way you play, it feels like you're aiming for me. Every. Single. Point." You froze for just a second barely, but enough for him to notice. His smirk deepened. "Thought so," he murmured, brushing past you just enough for his shoulder to graze yours.
The contact was nothing. It shouldn't have mattered. But your pulse spiked like you'd been caught red-handed. And as he walked ahead, leaving you to stew in silence, one thought rooted itself in your mind with terrifying clarity. You weren't just playing against him anymore. You were playing because of him. And that was more dangerous than anything happening on the court.
Because when it came to Kuroo, danger didn't end with the whistle. It followed you out of the gym, clung to you in the quiet walk back to the dorms, and pressed in close the second the door shut behind you.
He moved with the kind of ease that drove you insane throwing his bag down in the corner, stretching his arms over his head with a groan that made his shirt ride up just enough to be distracting. He wasn't even trying, and yet every shift, every glance, felt deliberate.
"You're awfully quiet," he said at last, tossing himself onto the bed like it belonged to him. Which, in a way, it did. You shared it now. And that fact hadn't once gotten easier. "Don't tell me I broke your spirit today."
You shot him a glare, dropping your own bag with a little more force than necessary. "In your dreams, Kuroo."
"Mm, maybe," he hummed, propping his head on his hand as his gaze tracked you across the room. Too steady. Too sharp. "You keep showing up in them anyway."
Your breath caught before you could stop it, and you fumbled with the zipper on your hoodie just to have something to do with your hands. "You're insufferable."He grinned, slow and dangerous. "And yet… here you are. Still stuck with me."
The air shifted. It wasn't playful anymore, not really. His words lingered, heavier than the banter they were dressed in, and you hated how much your pulse betrayed you.
You sat at the desk, flipping open your notebook as if it could shield you. The pages blurred, your pen hovering uselessly above them.
Because the truth was, he wasn't wrong. You were stuck with him. For two whole months. Same room. Same bed. Same Kuroo who could undo you with nothing more than a grin. And worse you weren't sure you wanted it any other way.
He let the silence stretch, broken only by the soft rustle of sheets as he shifted. "You know…" his voice was lower now, the edge of teasing softened. "You play like someone who wants to prove something. To me. To yourself. Maybe both."
Your hand stilled on the page. Slowly, you looked up, meeting his gaze across the dim room. His eyes half-lidded, but too intent pinned you in place. And just like on the court, you felt cornered. "Don't think too hard about it," he added, flopping back against the pillow. "Just an observation."
But you did think about it. You thought about it until the lines between rivalry and something else blurred so dangerously, you weren't sure you could untangle them anymore. Because this wasn't just a game. Not anymore.
The thought hung between you like smoke, impossible to wave away. Every breath felt heavier, every glance too loaded. You tried to bury yourself in the scribbled notes on the desk, but the truth was staring at you from across the room, stretched out on the bed like temptation personified.
Kuroo.
You didn't even notice you'd been staring until his voice cut through the quiet.
"You're doing it again," he said, lazy, almost smug.
Your pen froze. "Doing what?"
"Looking at me like you're trying to figure me out." He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, the curve of his grin both sharp and devastating. "Newsflash, kitten you won't."
Your pulse jumped. "Don't call me that."
"Why not? Fits you." He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just enough to make your stomach flip. "Claws out all the time, pretending you don't secretly like the attention."
Heat surged up your neck, and you hated how easily he could pull reactions from you. "You're unbelievable."
"And you," he countered, voice dropping just slightly, "are fun."It shouldn't have made your chest ache, the way he said it like it meant more than a casual jab, like it carried weight. But it did.
Before you could muster a comeback, he pushed himself up fully, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The distance between you shrank with each unhurried step he took toward the desk, until the air shifted again, charged, unsteady.
"Relax," he murmured when he caught the way your grip tightened on the notebook. "Not here to pick a fight."
But the smirk playing at his lips told you otherwise. He wasn't picking a fight. He was playing a different game entirely. And you weren't sure you had the strength not to play back.
Your heart thudded, traitorous and loud, as he leaned down close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.
"You push yourself too hard," he said softly, not mocking this time. "You're allowed to stop once in a while, you know."It was terrifying, how much those words disarmed you. Because for once, it wasn't teasing or banter, it was real. And the sincerity in his voice cut deeper than any taunt ever could.
You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. "Why do you care?"
Kuroo's lips curved, but not in a smirk. Something gentler, unreadable. He held your gaze for a beat too long, then straightened and stepped back. "Figure it out," he said simply, turning away before you could demand more. But your heart already had an answer. And that terrified you most of all.
Because the more you told yourself to bury it, the more it clawed its way to the surface. Every smirk, every half-whispered word, every accidental brush of his hand against yours—it was building something you couldn't control.
And control was the one thing you swore you'd never lose.
You tried to steady your breathing, tried to focus on the pages in front of you, but the words blurred, meaningless against the weight of Kuroo's presence still lingering in the room. Even when he wasn't looking at you, you felt him. Like gravity.
Finally, you snapped the notebook shut and stood, pacing the room as if movement might burn off the unease twisting through you.
From the corner of your eye, you caught Kuroo watching you leaning back on the bed now, one arm propped behind his head, gaze sharp but unreadable."You're wound tight," he remarked casually, but the way his eyes followed you wasn't casual at all.
You glared. "Maybe because someone won't stop hovering." He smirked, unbothered. "Hovering? I'm just… noticing." Your pulse skipped, traitorous. "Noticing what?" His grin tugged wider, but his voice was quieter this time. "Everything." The word hung between you like a live wire.
And you hated how much it sent heat rushing to your cheeks, how badly you wanted to ask him what "everything" meant, how your body leaned toward him before your brain could stop it.
So instead, you turned away, muttering something about needing air, desperate to put space between you and the storm he was stirring inside you. But even as your hand touched the doorknob, you felt his eyes on your back. Heavy. Searching.
And though you didn't look, you knew—
Kuroo wasn't done.
Not with this.
Not with you.