The next morning, sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, pulling you from sleep. For once, you felt… light. The faint memory of laughter, of warmth, of Oikawa's lips brushing yours, still lingered like a dream you weren't ready to wake from.
You stretched beneath the covers, letting yourself bask in the fleeting comfort. But when you rolled over, expecting to see Kuroo sprawled across the other half of the bed like usual, you found it empty.
Strange.
You sat up, rubbing at your eyes. His side of the bed was already made, his duffel tucked neatly at the foot. By the time you slipped into your practice clothes and headed outside, you spotted him near the edge of the court, tying his shoes.
"Kuroo," you called, your voice still groggy but soft.
He looked up—but only briefly. "Morning."
That was it. No teasing remark about your bedhead, no smirk about you oversleeping, nothing. Just one word, clipped and neutral.
You blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… morning."
He stood, slinging his water bottle over his shoulder, and started toward the gym without waiting for you. A knot tightened in your stomach. It wasn't unusual for him to be focused before practice, but this wasn't his usual kind of focus. This was something else colder.
You jogged to catch up, your sneakers crunching against the gravel. "You're up early," you tried, offering a smile. "Usually I'm the one dragging you out of bed."
"Guess I felt like getting a head start," he replied, not even glancing at you.
You faltered, the words sticking in your throat. His tone wasn't sharp, but it was distant like a wall had gone up overnight, one you hadn't noticed him building.
The silence that followed was unbearable, especially after weeks of bickering, teasing, and all the complicated closeness you'd fallen into. You stole a glance at him, searching his expression, but he kept his eyes forward, jaw tight.
Something had shifted.
And the worst part was… you had no idea why.
The warmth from last night dimmed inside you, replaced by an ache you couldn't quite name. Because as much as you told yourself it was fine, that Kuroo's mood swings weren't your problem, the truth was clear in the hollow space between you.
You missed him.
The thought sat heavy in your chest, unshakable, even as you slowed your pace and let the space between you widen. If he wanted distance, fine. You wouldn't chase after him like some lost puppy.
So you walked the rest of the way alone, the morning air crisp against your skin, each step feeling heavier than it should. You tried to focus on practice, on the rhythm of sneakers scuffing against concrete and the faint sounds of voices ahead, but all you could think about was the absence beside you. The way it used to be filled with sarcastic comments, with laughter you pretended annoyed you but secretly clung to.
"Y/n!"
The sudden voice broke through your thoughts. You looked up to see Oikawa jogging toward you, hand raised in a wave, his hair catching the sunlight in that effortless way you were sure he practiced.
"There you are," he said, grinning as he reached you. "I was wondering why you weren't with Kuroo. You two are usually glued at the hip."
You forced a small laugh, shrugging. "Not today, I guess."
Oikawa tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly, like he was studying you. But then the grin returned, easy and warm. "Well, lucky me then. Guess I get to keep you company this morning."
Before you could respond, he fell into step beside you, his stride easy, unhurried. Where Kuroo's silence had felt suffocating, Oikawa's presence felt… light. He carried the conversation effortlessly, throwing in little jokes, teasing you just enough to make your lips twitch into a smile despite yourself.
And for a moment, you let yourself breathe.
Because walking with him didn't sting. It didn't ache. It didn't feel like something was missing. Instead, it felt like ease like the world wasn't pressing so heavily against your chest. Still, no matter how hard you tried to push it away, the hollow ache lingered, whispering that it wasn't Kuroo beside you.
"You're quiet," Oikawa said suddenly, his voice softer now, not teasing but observant. When you glanced at him, his usual playful smile had gentled into something else concern. "That's not like you. Did I do something to bore you already?"
You blinked, startled by the shift. "What? No, of course not. I'm just… tired."
"Mm," he hummed, clearly unconvinced, though he didn't press. Instead, he angled himself closer, brushing his shoulder lightly against yours. "Well, tired or not, I have a secret weapon."
Your brows furrowed. "A secret weapon?"
He nodded, his grin returning just a little, mischievous but kind. Then he leaned down conspiratorially and whispered, "Bad jokes. Guaranteed to make anyone smile."
Before you could stop him, he launched into the worst volleyball pun you'd ever heard so bad you groaned and tried to cover your face, but the laughter slipped out anyway, bubbling up against your will.
"There it is," Oikawa said triumphantly, his eyes sparkling as if your smile was some kind of prize he'd been chasing. "That's better. I like you better like this."
You rolled your eyes, though the warmth in your chest was undeniable. "You're ridiculous."
"And yet," he said, shrugging dramatically, "ridiculously charming." You shook your head, but the ache that had been pressing down on you felt lighter now, the walk somehow shorter with his presence beside you.
By the time the gym doors came into view, your mood had shifted more than you realized. The weight in your chest wasn't gone, but Oikawa had softened it, made it bearable. And as he reached forward to pull the door open for you with a little bow and a playful "After you, princess," you caught yourself smiling again.
Maybe—just maybe—he was exactly what you needed right now.
But the second you stepped into the gym, that fragile peace shattered.
Kuroo was already there, ball in hand, his usual sharp grin absent. Instead, his jaw was tight, his eyes snapping toward the doors the moment you walked in with Oikawa still close at your side.
His gaze lingered too long. On you. On Oikawa. Back on you.
"About time," he muttered, tossing the ball down with a thud that echoed across the floor. His tone wasn't playful. It was sharp, almost biting.
You froze for a beat, caught off guard. "We're not late."
"Could've fooled me," he shot back, already turning toward his team. "Warm up. We don't have time to waste." The room shifted with him. His energy wasn't the usual calm confidence that pushed everyone forward it was restless, jagged, spilling out in every snapped order and clipped correction.
When one of his teammates missed a dig, he barked at them.
When another hesitated on a set, he rolled his eyes so hard it stung more than words. And when it was you when you mistimed a block his voice cut sharper than anyone else's.
"Seriously? Keep your head in the game, Y/n."
The words hit harder than they should have. Harder than if it were anyone else. You opened your mouth to snap back, but the fury in his eyes stopped you cold. It wasn't just annoyance. It was something else, buried deep.
Oikawa's voice slid in smooth as silk from behind you. "Easy, Kuroo. Don't be so harsh. She's doing fine."
And that was the spark to gasoline.
Kuroo's head snapped toward him, the tension radiating off him so strong you swore the whole gym felt it. "No one asked for your opinion, Oikawa."
A silence fell heavy between the three of you, suffocating.
You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to refocus, but every time you moved, you felt Kuroo's eyes. Watching. Burning. Like he wasn't sure if he was furious at you… or terrified of losing you. And the worst part? It was dragging him down. His sets were sloppy, his timing off. The precision that made him captain was cracked, fractured under the weight of his own temper.
For the first time since camp began Kuroo wasn't in control.
And you couldn't shake the ache in your chest that whispered you were the reason why.
Every serve, every pass, every whistle it all felt wrong. The air was heavier, the floorboards louder, the rhythm completely shattered. And it wasn't just you who felt it. The entire gym was tense, trapped in the invisible current threading between you, Kuroo, and Oikawa.
No one dared say it out loud, but everyone could feel it.
Kuroo's sets were off, just slightly but enough that his hitters struggled to adjust. Oikawa, in his maddening way, made up for it with smooth passes and clean tosses, the kind of ease that only made the imbalance more obvious.
And then there was you caught between the two. Every time you moved, you felt it: Oikawa's calm, encouraging glances, and Kuroo's burning stare, sharp enough to cut.
The silence stretched, broken only by the squeak of shoes and the slap of the ball against palms. But beneath it all, the storm was growing.
It wasn't until Kuroo missed a ball entirely, one he could've gotten in his sleep that the eruption came.
"Captain, what was that?" one of his teammates blurted before he could stop himself.
Kuroo's head snapped around, his glare deadly. "Maybe if you'd been where you were supposed to be, it wouldn't have hit the floor."
The player recoiled, mumbling an apology, but the damage was done.
The coach's whistle blew, shrill and final. "Enough!" His voice cracked through the air like lightning. Everyone froze, breath caught in their throats. "Practice is over."
The words hung heavy. No one moved, no one dared argue.
Kuroo stiffened, his chest heaving, jaw tight like he was seconds away from exploding. But instead of snapping back, he grabbed the nearest ball and slammed it into the cart so hard it rattled.
The coach's eyes softened just slightly, though his tone stayed firm. "Take a walk. Clear your head. All of you."
You swallowed hard, guilt clawing at your chest. Because even as everyone scattered, the tension didn't go with them. It stayed thick and suffocating caught in the space between the three of you.
Oikawa lingered a little closer to you, like he meant to say something, but Kuroo's sharp glare was enough to keep him silent.
And that was when you realized practice wasn't the only thing falling apart.
The tension didn't stop at the whistle. It followed Kuroo out of the gym like a shadow, heavy in his every step. He didn't bother waiting for anyone, didn't even glance your way just stormed out, shoving the doors open so hard they rattled in their frames.
You hesitated, clutching your water bottle so tightly it crinkled. For a moment you told yourself to let him go, to give him space. But your feet betrayed you, carrying you after him before you'd even made the decision.
"Kuroo," you called softly, once you were outside.
He didn't stop. His long strides ate up the pavement, shoulders stiff, fists clenched.
"Kuroo," you tried again, louder this time.
Finally, he halted back still to you, chest rising and falling unevenly like he was fighting to keep control. You closed the distance slowly, cautiously, your heart pounding. "What's wrong?"
For a long moment, he didn't answer. Then, in a voice rougher than you'd ever heard from him, he said, "Everything."
The word cracked, and it hurt to hear.
He dragged a hand through his messy hair, still not looking at you. "I can't focus. Not on the court, not in practice. I'm supposed to keep everyone steady, but—" His voice cut off, replaced by a bitter laugh. "I'm the one falling apart." Something inside you twisted. You'd never seen him like this not the cocky captain, not the teasing roommate. Just Kuroo. Raw. Exposed.
Instinct overrode hesitation. You reached forward, laying a hand gently on his arm. "You're not falling apart," you whispered.
That finally made him turn to you. His eyes met yours, and for the first time since you'd known him, you saw just how tired he looked. How heavy everything weighed on him.
"You don't get it," he muttered, jaw tight. "I can't stand it—seeing you with him. Watching him smile at you like you belong to him. It makes me—" He broke off, chest heaving like he'd said too much already.
Your breath caught. The world seemed to stop in that moment, your hand still on his arm, his eyes burning into yours. "Kuroo…" You weren't even sure what you meant to say, only that you had to say something, anything to ease the pain written across his face.
He shook his head, trying to pull back, but you held on tighter.
"You don't have to carry it alone," you said, your voice firmer this time. "Not with me."
The words slipped out before you could think, but they were the truth. You wanted him to know he wasn't alone not in this, not in any of it. For a heartbeat, his gaze softened. His shoulders loosened, just slightly, and he let out a shaky breath.
"Why do you always do that?" he murmured.
"Do what?"
"Make it so damn hard to keep my distance."
Your chest ached, heat flooding your face, but you didn't move. Neither did he.
And for the first time, you realized this was bigger than rivalry. Bigger than volleyball. This was the part of him no one else got to see. And somehow, he'd let you in. His eyes lingered on yours too long, too intense. His lips parted like the words were right there, trembling on the edge of his tongue.
"Y/n…" His voice cracked, lower than usual, raw. "I—"
Your breath caught. The world seemed to still around you—the night air, the crickets, the faint hum of the gym lights behind you. Everything narrowed to him. To you. To the impossible space between.
But then he faltered. His jaw tensed, and he shut his eyes briefly, pulling in a deep breath as though fighting himself. When they opened again, the fire was still there, but banked, controlled, locked behind walls he wasn't ready to break.
"I can't," he muttered, almost to himself. He shook his head, running a hand roughly through his hair. "Not right now." The ache that pierced your chest was immediate, sharp, but you stayed still, fingers curling into your palms.
You wanted to ask. Wanted to push. Wanted to know what he had almost said. But before you could, he stepped back. Just one step, but it felt like miles.
"Forget it," he said, forcing a weak smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's late. You should get some rest." And just like that, he turned away, walking back toward the dorms, leaving you frozen where you stood, heart pounding, breath shallow, mind spinning.
You pressed a hand to your chest, as if it might steady the storm inside you. Because whatever he hadn't said, you already knew it would change everything.
And now… you were terrified to hear it.