You couldn't stop replaying it.
The way Kuroo's voice had cracked when he said your name, like it cost him something just to let it out. The words themselves were hazy now, tangled with the memory of his eyes, but the feeling that lingered. Heavy. Relentless.
It followed you through your run, through your lunch, even through the pages of your notebook as you halfheartedly pretended to study. By the time the afternoon sun stretched long shadows across camp, you couldn't take it anymore. You slipped outside, hoping the open air would quiet your mind.
But the moment you settled on the bench just beyond the path, you heard your name again, this time bright, familiar, and nothing like the cracked whisper that had been haunting you.
"Y/n."
Oikawa jogged over, sweat still clinging to his hairline from extra practice, his chest rising and falling like he'd been searching for you. When he reached you, his shoulders relaxed with a sigh of relief.
"There you are. I was starting to think you'd fallen off the face of the earth." His teasing smile softened as his eyes scanned your face. "You okay?"
You blinked, caught off guard. "I'm fine. Just… needed some air."
"Air, huh?" He sat beside you without asking, close enough that his knee brushed yours. "I don't buy it. You look like you've been stuck in your own head all day."
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because he wasn't wrong.
Oikawa tilted his head, studying you in that way of his half playful, half piercing. Then, without warning, his hand slipped over yours where it rested against the bench. His fingers laced casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Your breath stuttered.
"Better?" he asked, grin tugging at his lips. "Holding my hand's supposed to have magical effects. Haven't you heard?" You let out a startled laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously charming," he corrected smoothly, squeezing your hand lightly before resting his chin in his other palm. "Don't worry, Y/n. I'll cure whatever's bothering you. No ghosts or gloomy thoughts allowed when you're with me."
And somehow… he did. His constant little jokes, the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours, the way he made the afternoon feel lighter than it had in days it all worked. The storm inside you quieted, if only for a while.
Until, faintly, you remembered.
Kuroo's voice hoarse, breaking, saying your name like it meant something more.
The memory tugged at you, sharp and confusing, and suddenly Oikawa's laughter didn't drown it out the way you wanted.
"Y/n?" Oikawa's voice pulled you back. He was smiling still, but there was something softer in his eyes now. Concern. Affection. "It's getting late. You should get some rest before tomorrow."
Late? You glanced up, realizing the sky had already begun to darken, streaked with orange and pink. How had the afternoon slipped away so quickly?
"Yeah… I guess you're right," you murmured, though part of you wasn't sure if he meant late in the day or late in some way you didn't understand.
He gave your hand one last squeeze before letting go, his smile easy and warm. "Sweet dreams, okay?"
But as you stood and started back, your mind betrayed you again splitting in two. One half replaying Oikawa's gentle warmth, the other echoing with Kuroo's broken whisper of your name.
And you had no idea which haunted you more.
When you finally reached your room, you hesitated with your hand on the doorknob. For half a second, you thought about turning back, walking anywhere else because you weren't sure you were ready to face him. Not when your head was already a mess.
But you pushed the door open anyway.
The room was dim, the only light coming from the desk lamp. Kuroo wasn't sprawled lazily across the bed like usual. Instead, he sat at the desk, hunched over a book, headphones snug over his ears. His back was to you, the glow of the lamp outlining his shoulders, sharp and rigid.
The sight alone made your chest ache. He hadn't even looked up.
You set your bag down carefully, almost too carefully, like you were afraid to disturb the fragile quiet. Still, you risked it. "Hey."
Nothing.
You bit your lip, watching him. His hand turned a page, slow, deliberate, as if he hadn't even heard you. But you knew he had. Kuroo always heard.
Crossing the room, you tried again, softer this time. "Long day?"
His shoulders tensed for just a second, betraying him, before he leaned back in his chair. He tugged one ear of the headphones down and glanced at you, expression unreadable.
"Something like that," he said, voice clipped, before sliding the headphone back into place. The coldness in his tone sliced through you sharper than you expected. He wasn't ignoring you, he was shutting you out. Deliberately.
And that hurt more than it should have.
You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his back. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Your mind screamed with things you wanted to say, questions you wanted to ask. But every time you opened your mouth, nothing came out.
Because deep down, you weren't sure you wanted to know the answers.
So instead, you sank into the blankets, pulling them around you like armor. You closed your eyes, pretending to rest, but your ears strained for any sign of him moving, shifting, doing anything that might feel like the Kuroo you knew.
But he didn't.
He just kept reading, headphones in, as if you weren't even there.
And it left you with the same haunting question you'd carried all day:
Why did it feel like you were losing something you never even had?
The question echoed in your chest, hollow and relentless, until it filled every inch of the room.
You lay there, still as stone beneath the covers, staring into the dark. The steady scratch of Kuroo's page turning was the only sound, a quiet rhythm that should've been comforting. But tonight, it felt like a wall.
A wall you couldn't climb.
You told yourself not to look but your eyes betrayed you, sliding toward him. His profile was caught in the glow of the desk lamp, sharp and unreadable, his jaw set too tightly, his shoulders drawn like a bowstring. The Kuroo who used to sprawl across the bed, teasing you until you shoved him off… he wasn't there.
And maybe it was selfish, but you missed him.
You curled tighter into the blanket, clutching it against your chest, as if the fabric could hold together all the pieces you were sure were starting to slip.
Silence pressed heavier with every second, so loud it drowned your own heartbeat. You wanted him to say something anything. A tease, a sigh, even your name. But nothing came.
The lamp flicked off eventually, leaving the room in shadow. You heard the scrape of the chair, the soft thud of his footsteps across the floor, and then the mattress dipped as he lay down.
So close. Yet miles away.
Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.
And it was in that unbearable stillness, heart pounding in your ears, that you realized sometimes silence could hurt more than words ever could.
But the weight of his distance pressed down on you like a physical thing, heavy and suffocating. You could feel it in your chest, in your stomach, in every tremor of your hands beneath the blankets. Every instinct screamed at you to reach out, to break the unbearable stillness.
And finally… you did.
"Kuroo…" Your voice was barely more than a whisper, but it cut through the darkness of the room like a fragile spark. You didn't know if he'd hear you. You didn't know if you wanted him to.
Another pause. His breathing, steady and slow, continued like nothing had changed, and your throat tightened. "Why are you… like this?" you asked, voice trembling. "Why are you so… far away when you're right here?"
The silence stretched, long enough that you thought maybe he wouldn't answer at all. You pressed the blanket tighter to your chest, fighting the rising tide of frustration and heartbreak. Your eyes stung in the dark.
"I don't… I don't get it," you admitted, whispering the words to the ceiling. "You're right here, and yet… it feels like you've been gone for days."
Still nothing.
But that was okay. Because even if he didn't speak, saying it out loud gave you a small measure of relief, like spilling the weight off your chest. Still, it left you raw, aching, and closer than ever to tears you weren't ready to shed.
You rolled slightly onto your side, facing the wall, wishing for warmth not just from the blankets, but from him. From the boy who had become too much, too fast, and yet… not nearly enough. And in that quiet, in that aching stillness, you realized just how much you wanted him to reach for you. To tell you everything you'd been too afraid to hear.
But tonight… it was your turn to speak, and all you could do was let the words hang in the air:
"I don't… I don't want to lose this," you whispered, almost to yourself, almost as a plea. And though the darkness swallowed your words, your heart refused to let go of the hope that somehow—somehow—he knew.
He did.
Kuroo's eyes had been open the entire time, the faint glow from the lamp catching the sharp line of his jaw. He hadn't moved not because he didn't hear you, but because he was frozen, caught between wanting to close the distance and not knowing if he had the right to.
Your whispered plea replayed in his mind, echoing louder than any cheer from the gym, any teasing laugh, any of the countless moments that had made him feel alive and alive in a way that terrified him. You don't want to lose this.
He wanted to respond. He wanted to wrap his arms around you, to tell you that he wasn't going anywhere, that he wasn't ever going to leave you feeling this far away. But words… words were failing him, like they always did when it mattered most.
Instead, he shifted slightly, just enough to brush the mattress near yours, the faintest movement, so that if you opened your eyes, you'd know he was there. He wanted you to feel him close, even if he couldn't speak.
He watched you, chest tight, stomach twisting. She thinks I'm distant. She thinks I don't care. The thought stabbed sharper than any spike on the court. He did care. More than he'd let himself admit. More than he probably should.
And yet… he stayed quiet. Because even Kuroo Tetsurō, the infuriating, teasing, impossible captain knew that sometimes, just being near someone, letting them know without saying it… was enough.
He rested his forehead lightly against the back of his hand, just a hair's breadth from your side, and let himself exhale. Slowly. Carefully. Because even the smallest wrong move could shatter this fragile moment.
And as he listened to your uneven breaths, rising and falling beneath the blanket, he realized something terrifyingly simple: He couldn't hide from this anymore. He couldn't keep the walls up. Not when you were right here. Not when your words, whispered into the dark, had reached him.
Not when his heart, his stubborn, reckless heart was already halfway in your corner.
But still, he didn't speak.
He stayed there, in the shadows, close but distant, letting the weight of his presence hang in the quiet. And though he remained silent, one thought burned clearly in his mind:
Tomorrow… he had to get it right.