Morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, the golden glow landing across the room like it was trying too hard to soften the edge of reality. You blinked against it, the blur of last night still heavy in your chest.
You hadn't dreamed. Or if you had, the memory of Kuroo's quiet presence, the almost-touch, lingered far stronger than anything sleep could conjure. And yet, when you finally rolled over, he was already up. Already dressed. His hair messily tamed, bag slung over his shoulder, the only sign he hadn't slept much were the faint shadows under his eyes.
"Morning," you said carefully, like one wrong move might crack the thin ice beneath your feet.
He didn't look at you right away, just tightened his grip on his bag strap. "Morning." His tone was casual, neutral even though nothing about this felt casual anymore.
The silence that followed carried with you all the way to the gym.
Practice was already humming when you arrived, sneakers squeaking, the low murmur of players warming up bouncing off the walls. You tried to lose yourself in it, to focus on drills and stretches, but you felt him. Always near. Always in orbit.
And then—
"Y/n-chan!" Oikawa's familiar sing-song voice cut through the noise, his smile brighter than the overhead lights as he jogged toward you. His hair was damp from warmups, his grin sharp with the kind of charm that had girls whispering on the sidelines. "I didn't get to check in after yesterday. How's my favorite rival?"
You opened your mouth to answer, but before you could, a shadow stretched across you.
Kuroo.
He stepped just slightly in front of you, angled enough to make it seem casual, but deliberate enough to make Oikawa's smirk twitch.
"She's busy," Kuroo said smoothly, voice low. "We've got practice."
Oikawa raised a brow, eyes flicking between the two of you, the smirk returning. "Protective, aren't we? Don't worry, Captain. I was only saying good morning." He leaned around Kuroo just enough to flash you another smile. "Good morning, Y/n-chan."
Your stomach twisted. Because even as you returned Oikawa's smile politely, your chest was tight for a different reason. Kuroo didn't move, his shoulders rigid, his presence a wall between you and Oikawa. And yet… when his gaze finally met yours across the net a few minutes later, it wasn't teasing. It wasn't smug.
It was sharp. Searching.
Like he wanted to say something he couldn't.
And that was somehow worse than the silence of last night.
The first few rounds of drills went smoothly enough at least, on the surface. Your serves were sharp, your passes steady, your focus determined. But beneath it all, the tension was unbearable, coiling tighter with every glance across the net.
Because every time Oikawa drifted even remotely close, Kuroo was there.
At first, it was subtle. A well-timed step, a shift in formation, his voice snapping out orders that sent Oikawa to the opposite side of the court. You almost thought it was coincidence until it wasn't.
When Oikawa tried to linger after a rotation, calling across the net to ask you something, Kuroo intercepted. "Focus on your side, Oikawa. You've got enough to worry about over there."
Oikawa's smirk faltered, just for a second, before he covered it with an easy laugh. "Touchy, aren't we?"
Your cheeks burned. Not because of Oikawa's teasing he'd been like this since the moment you met him but because of the way Kuroo's jaw tightened, his glare sharper than you'd ever seen it.
And it didn't stop.
During water breaks, when you tried to sit at the edge of the bench, Oikawa made his move, sliding toward you with that ever-bright grin. But before he could even sit, Kuroo's water bottle thudded down next to yours, his tall frame taking the spot at your side.
You gave him a look. Seriously?
He didn't even blink. Just leaned back against the bench, one arm stretched behind you like it was the most natural thing in the world. By the third time it happened when Oikawa tried to partner with you for a drill and Kuroo cut in with, "She's with me"—your frustration was bubbling hot beneath your skin.
So was Oikawa's.
"Geez, Kuroo," Oikawa finally said, tossing the ball into the air with a sharp flick, "I didn't realize I needed your permission just to talk." His voice was light, teasing, but the edge beneath it was impossible to miss.
You wanted to melt into the floor. Because the truth was, you were frustrated too not just at Oikawa's persistence, but at Kuroo's constant interference.
It wasn't rivalry anymore. It wasn't volleyball strategy.
It was personal.
And the worst part? You weren't sure what scared you more that Oikawa would notice… or that you already had.
The rest of practice felt like walking a tightrope.
Every rotation, every drill, every shouted call across the court was charged with something heavier than competition. Kuroo was sharper than ever, his focus drilled into the game, but it was the way he hovered, always cutting off Oikawa's path to you, always redirecting plays so your interactions were minimal that gnawed at you.
And Oikawa? He noticed. Oh, he noticed.
Each time Kuroo blocked him, each time he was forced to switch, his grin grew tighter, the sparkle in his eyes shifting into something edged with challenge. It wasn't just about volleyball anymore. It was about winning space and right now, you were the court.
By the time the coach finally blew the whistle to end, sweat clung to your skin, your lungs burning. But none of that compared to the exhaustion in your chest.
"Good work today," the coach barked, dismissing everyone. "Cool down and hit the showers." Players scattered, some laughing, some stretching out sore muscles. But not Kuroo. Not Oikawa.
The two captains lingered, their gazes heavy, cutting through the bustle around them like it didn't exist.
You could feel it that crackle in the air again. And it had your stomach twisting. Because it was only a matter of time before it snapped. So when Kuroo brushed past you, jaw tight, shoulders stiff, heading for the doors without a word… you knew.
This wasn't over.
Not even close.
And somehow, that terrified you more than anything that had happened on the court.
You hesitated only a moment before chasing after him, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. By the time you pushed through the gym doors, Kuroo was already halfway across the courtyard, shoulders stiff, his pace brisk like he could outrun whatever had lit the fire in his chest.
"Kuroo!" you called.
He didn't stop.
You jogged after him, finally catching his arm just before he reached the edge of the path. He froze, tense beneath your touch, before turning slowly to face you.
"What's wrong with you?" The words slipped out sharper than you intended, your voice a mix of frustration and concern. "You've been… like this all day. Snapping, hovering, shutting Oikawa down every time he so much as looks my way. What are you doing?"
For a second, he didn't answer. His gaze dropped to where your hand still clutched his sleeve, then back up to meet your eyes. And what you saw there made your chest tighten something raw, unguarded, far too close to the truth.
"You don't get it," he muttered, voice low.
"Then make me," you pressed, your fingers curling tighter around his arm. "Because right now, it feels like you're angry at me for something I didn't even do." His jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling as though he was fighting himself. Then—finally—he exhaled a sharp laugh, bitter and rough.
"You think I like watching him flirt with you?" His eyes burned into yours, the words spilling out before he could pull them back. "You think I can stand there and just—just ignore it when he looks at you like—" He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, turning away like he couldn't bear the weight of it.
Your heart slammed against your ribs. "Like what?" you whispered.
He stilled. Shoulders tense. The silence between you stretched long, heavy enough to crush.
But he didn't answer.
Instead, he shook his head, stepping back, walls snapping up again as his hand slipped free of your grasp. "Forget it." His voice was low, rough. "Just… forget it." And then he turned, leaving you standing there with your pulse racing, the words he hadn't said echoing louder than anything he had.
You stood frozen, breath shallow, eyes lingering on the spot where Kuroo had just walked away. The sting of his words or lack of them still buzzed in your chest, leaving you hollow.
"Y/n?"
The sound of your name snapped you back. You turned, startled, to find Oikawa leaning casually against the fence, arms crossed, expression softer than you'd ever expect from him during practice.
"I thought I heard yelling," he said, pushing off the fence to approach you. His usual teasing smile was gone, replaced by something quieter, almost careful. "You okay?"
Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Because no, you weren't. Not really. But you nodded anyway.
Oikawa frowned, unconvinced. Then, without asking, he reached for your hand warm, steady, grounding. "You don't look okay," he murmured. "And I don't like seeing you like this."
You blinked up at him, heart stumbling. His thumb brushed against your knuckles as if it belonged there, as if he'd been waiting for the chance.
"Oikawa—"
He cut you off with a little smirk, though his tone stayed soft. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were letting someone else get under your skin. Lucky for you, I happen to be great at distractions."
You let out a shaky laugh despite yourself, his familiar charm tugging the heaviness off your chest if only for a second.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing playfully. "Better. There's that smile I like."
And just like that, the memory of Kuroo's cracked voice, the almost-confession, blurred at the edges. Not gone. Never gone. But Oikawa's presence filled the quiet ache in a way that left you torn.
Still, as the afternoon sun dipped lower and shadows stretched across the courtyard, his words from earlier echoed back to you, haunting and unfinished. And you had no idea which haunted you more the truth Oikawa offered with ease, or the one Kuroo couldn't bring himself to say.