Sleep didn't come easily that night.
Not with the echo of Kuroo's voice in your head, not with the way his gaze had lingered like it had burned itself into your skin. Even in the silence of the dorm room, you swore you could still feel it.
By the time dawn cracked through the curtains, you were already awake restless, on edge, and painfully aware that two whole months of this stretched ahead. Two months of him. Two months of trying not to unravel.
When the whistle finally blew for morning practice, it almost felt like relief. At least drills gave you something to focus on. At least sweat and sore muscles made it easier to drown out the thoughts clawing at the back of your mind.
But the second you stepped onto the court, you felt it again. His presence. His eyes tracking you. And worse, the way Oikawa's gaze joined his. Two captains. Two storms. Both colliding right where you stood. "You look tired, Y/n," Oikawa teased when you passed by him during warm-ups, his grin just sharp enough to sting. "Kuroo keeping you up at night?"
The words hit like a spike to the chest. Your breath hitched, heat flaring in your face as you stumbled for a reply. But before you could even form one, Kuroo was there appearing at your side like he'd been waiting for the perfect moment to cut in. "Careful, Oikawa," he said smoothly, though there was nothing soft in his eyes. "You might want to focus on your own game before you start worrying about mine."
The tension snapped tight, visible to anyone watching. A ripple went through the players nearby, whispers starting, glances thrown your way. And all you could do was grip the ball in your hands tighter, caught dead center between their rivalry, their pride… and something far more dangerous brewing underneath.
Because suddenly, it wasn't just about volleyball anymore.
It was about you.
You felt it in the way Oikawa leaned just a little too close when he spoke, his smile never quite reaching his eyes. You felt it in the way Kuroo's body shifted, subtly angling himself between you and him like he could shield you from something unseen.
And you hated absolutely hated how the gym seemed to notice.
Every set, every drill, it was like the energy wrapped itself tighter, pulling you into the center of a storm you'd never meant to create. Balls slammed harder against the court. Voices rose sharper, quicker. You couldn't shake the thought that you weren't just playing a practice match anymore; you were standing in the middle of two rival captains circling, waiting for someone to break.
And deep down, you knew that someone might be you.
"Eyes up, Y/n." Kuroo's voice cut through, sharper than usual, pulling you out of your thoughts just in time to react to a serve. His smirk was in place, but his eyes… they lingered, burning, asking questions you weren't ready to answer. A beat later, Oikawa's voice followed, smooth and taunting, "Don't let him distract you, okay? You've got more skill than to be thrown off by a guy like him."
A guy like him.
The phrase lodged in your chest, sparking something dangerous. Because for all the banter, for all the rivalry both of them weren't just playing the game anymore. They were playing with you.
And the worst part? Some part of you was letting them.
Because even as you tried to focus on the ball, on your footwork, on the rhythm of the game your ears strained for their voices. Your eyes flicked too quickly toward them. You hated that you noticed every shift of Kuroo's gaze, every curve of Oikawa's smirk. "Nice save," Oikawa called across the net when you dove for a ball, his compliment sliding off his tongue like honey. He didn't need to add the wink, but of course, he did.
The smallest smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. And that was enough.
Kuroo saw it.
The next rally, his spikes came harder, sharper, forcing you to react. His smirk turned sharp-edged, a challenge directed at no one but you. He wasn't just playing against Oikawa anymore he was playing you, pushing you, demanding you keep up.
Your lungs burned, your muscles screamed, but still you met him point for point. Because if there was one thing you couldn't stand, it was letting him think he had the upper hand. The court practically vibrated with tension your rivalry with Kuroo bleeding into something more volatile, Oikawa's presence only stoking the fire.
"Careful, Kuroo," Oikawa called, his tone light but his eyes sharp, never leaving you. "Push her too hard and she'll realize she deserves better."
Your heart stuttered. The words weren't meant for you, not directly but they hit their mark all the same. Kuroo's laugh was low, humorless. "Better? Trust me, Oikawa. She's smart enough to know what's worth her time."
And then his eyes found yours again steady, burning, dangerous.
Your stomach flipped. This wasn't rivalry anymore. Not even close.
This was war. And the battlefield wasn't the court it was you.
Every serve, every set, every glance across the net wasn't just strategy anymore it was territory. You felt it in the way Kuroo's eyes tracked you, not just your movements but your reactions. You felt it in the way Oikawa lingered too close when rotations shifted, his smirk daring Kuroo to notice.
And Kuroo always noticed.
By the time practice ended, your pulse was thrumming harder from the tension than from the drills. Sweat clung to your skin, but it wasn't exhaustion making your hands tremble as you gathered your notebook and water bottle it was them.
"Great work today," Oikawa said smoothly as he strolled past, flashing you that practiced smile. His voice dipped just enough for it to feel private, meant for you alone. "You've got a fire in you. I like that."
Before you could form an answer, Kuroo was there, stepping between you and Oikawa like a shadow drawn by instinct. His voice carried that too-casual edge you'd come to recognize the one that meant trouble.
"She doesn't need your approval, Oikawa."
Oikawa's smirk didn't falter. If anything, it deepened. "Who said anything about approval?" His gaze flicked to you, deliberate, before he clapped Kuroo on the shoulder. "Relax, captain. Not everything's about you."
The look Kuroo shot him could've cut glass. And then, as if Oikawa had planned it all along, he gave you one last glance soft, promising, infuriatingly confident before walking away. The silence he left behind was deafening.
You shifted uncomfortably, clutching your notebook tighter. "Kuroo—"
"Don't." His voice was low, rough, and when his eyes met yours, it wasn't just irritation there. It was something darker. Sharper. Something that made your chest tighten. "Don't look at him like that."
Your breath caught. "Like what?"
His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. "Like he's worth your time."
The words knocked the air out of you. Because deep down, beneath all the rivalry and all the fire, you weren't sure if he was jealous for your sake… or for his own.
The gym had emptied around you, sneakers squeaking in the distance, laughter echoing faintly through the hall. But here, with Kuroo standing far too close, the world narrowed to nothing but him, his uneven breaths, his sharp eyes locked on yours, the charged silence crackling like static between your skin.
You swallowed hard. "Why do you even care?" It slipped out before you could stop it, sharp and shaky, and the second it did you wished you could drag it back down your throat. But Kuroo didn't flinch. He leaned in, just enough to make your pulse kick, his voice low, almost dangerous.
"Maybe I don't like watching him try to get under your skin."
You blinked, trying to steady yourself. "Or maybe you just don't like the fact that he can."
For the first time, his smile faltered. It wasn't gone, not completely, but it curved differently now, less teasing, more raw, more real. "You think that's it?" Your chest tightened. You didn't know what to say. Because the truth was you didn't know what you wanted the answer to be.
He studied you like he was trying to solve a puzzle no one else had been clever enough to touch. And then, without warning, his hand brushed yours as you held your notebook, the lightest graze of his fingers. Barely anything at all yet it sent a shockwave through you that left your knees weak.
You froze. He didn't.
"Careful," Kuroo murmured, voice dipping to something husky that made your skin burn. "You keep looking at me like that, and I'm not sure I'll stop at words next time." The air lodged in your throat. Because you knew, deep in your bones, he meant it. And that terrified you.
Because you weren't sure you'd want him to stop, either.
The realization hit like a spike straight to the chest, sharp and impossible to ignore. You'd spent weeks telling yourself this was just rivalry, just banter, just two captains clawing at each other's pride. But right now with Kuroo so close his breath fanned across your cheek, with his gaze fixed on you like you were the only thing that mattered, none of those lies held up.
Your fingers tightened around the notebook, knuckles white, as if that thin stack of paper could keep you grounded. It didn't. Not when his hand lingered, brushing yours again, this time on purpose.
"Kuroo…" you whispered, your own voice betraying you, softer than you meant, shakier than you wanted. He tilted his head, messy hair falling into his eyes, that infuriating smirk tugging at his mouth but behind it, something deeper flickered. Something that made your chest ache.
"What?" he asked, low, almost amused. "You afraid of me, or of yourself?" The words stole the air from your lungs. You should've walked away. Should've laughed it off, tossed some snark back at him and shut this whole thing down. That's what you always did. That's what kept the balance. But your body didn't move. Your pulse roared in your ears, your skin buzzing like the gym lights above were crackling straight through you.
And Kuroo saw it. He saw everything. He leaned closer, until the space between you was so thin it felt dangerous. His voice dipped, almost a whisper, just for you.
"Tell me to stop, and I will." Your throat tightened. You opened your mouth whether to tell him no, or to tell him not to dare move away, you didn't even know. But nothing came out. The silence stretched, heavy, charged, a line pulled so tight it was about to snap.
Then—
"Oi, Kuroo!"
A voice rang out from across the gym doors. Another player, calling for him. The sound shattered the moment, breaking the spell like glass underfoot. Kuroo's gaze lingered on you for a beat too long before he finally stepped back, that unreadable half-smile tugging at his lips. "Saved by the whistle," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair as he turned.
Your chest still heaved, your face burning, your hands trembling around your notebook. And the terrifying part? Even after the interruption, even with the space back between you. You already missed the closeness.
The thought twisted in your chest, startling you as much as it stung. Because it wasn't supposed to be like this. Rivalries weren't supposed to leave you craving the brush of someone's hand, the warmth of someone's voice, the weight of their gaze that lingered too long.
And yet, when Kuroo walked a few steps away to answer his teammate, it felt like something vital had been pulled out of you. The space he left behind was too cold, too empty.
Your fingers dug into the fabric of your shorts, desperate for something anything to anchor you. But nothing steadied the rush of heat in your veins, the echo of his words still rattling in your head.
You afraid of me, or of yourself?
The worst part was, you didn't know the answer.
Kuroo glanced back at you then, mid-conversation, and the curve of his mouth was smug in that way only he could pull off. But there was something else, too something sharper, almost possessive, as though he knew you hadn't moved since he stepped away.
Your heart betrayed you again, skipping hard against your ribs. You looked away first, pretending to be fascinated by the scuffed floorboards. But his laughter carried across the gym, low and smooth, and you hated how it curled around you like a tether, pulling you back even when you fought against it.
Because the truth was simple. Dangerous.
You didn't just miss the closeness.
You wanted it back.
And if Kuroo Tetsurō figured that out if he realized just how close you were to unraveling, you knew he wouldn't stop. He never stopped once he saw a weakness. And this time, the weakness was you.