The afternoon air was heavy with the smell of fresh grass and sweat, the sounds of practice fading behind you as you walked alongside Oikawa. His hands were shoved into his pockets, shoulders loose in a way that felt almost rehearsed, but the glance he kept sneaking at you wasn't.
"You know," he finally said, his voice light but pointed, "you look better when you're not frowning over him."
Your steps faltered. "Over who?"
He smirked knowingly, tilting his head just enough to catch your eyes. "Do I really need to say his name?"
You rolled your eyes, looking forward again, but Oikawa wasn't deterred. He shifted closer, his arm brushing yours, the kind of casual contact that wasn't really casual at all. "I'm just saying… some people are good at volleyball, but really, really bad at showing they care."
Your chest tightened at the implication, but Oikawa didn't give you room to answer. Instead, he stretched his arms above his head, groaning theatrically. "Me? I prefer to make it obvious. Life's too short to hide things, don't you think?"
There was a teasing edge to his voice, but his gaze when he turned back to you was softer. Intentional. Dangerous. And yet, as his words lingered in the air, you couldn't stop the echo of another voice. A rougher one. Cracked with something it hadn't meant to show.
Kuroo, whispering your name like it hurt to say it.
You blinked hard, shaking it away, and forced yourself to focus on the boy walking beside you, the one who wanted to be here. Who wasn't pulling away. "Maybe you're right," you said quietly, more to convince yourself than him.
Oikawa's grin widened. He reached out, lacing his fingers through yours without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And the worst part? For a moment, you let him.
For a fleeting second, the warmth of Oikawa's hand was grounding. Solid. Easy. The kind of comfort that didn't demand answers you weren't ready to give. But even as your fingers curled faintly against his, your chest betrayed you, tightening with the ghost of a different touch, one that hadn't even happened. A hand that had hovered, paused, almost dared.
Kuroo.
You swallowed hard, pulling in a breath that tasted more like guilt than relief.
Oikawa, though, looked utterly content. He swung your joined hands lightly between you, humming under his breath like the entire camp wasn't fraying at the edges. Like the only thing that mattered was this small, claimed closeness.
"You know," he said casually, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, "we'd make a pretty good pair. Not just on the court." Your stomach fluttered, but it was messy. Confused. "You're not serious."
"Who says I'm not?" He leaned in, grin tilting just enough to blur the line between joke and confession. "Tell me you don't feel it too."
The words hit too close. Too sharp. Because you did feel something but it wasn't simple, and it wasn't fair. You tugged your hand from his, the loss of warmth immediate, and shoved it into your pocket. "I think you're imagining things."
He didn't look hurt. If anything, he smirked wider, like you'd just confirmed exactly what he wanted. "Maybe. But maybe not."
The silence that followed was heavier than the air around you, stretching all the way back to the dorms. When you finally stopped outside the doors, Oikawa leaned in close, his breath brushing your ear.
"Don't think too hard about him tonight," he murmured. "Think about me for once."
Before you could answer, he pressed a quick kiss to your temple, gentle, fleeting, but enough to send your heart into chaos. And then he was gone, walking off with that easy swagger that made it look like nothing could touch him. But you stayed rooted to the spot, every nerve buzzing. Because no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much Oikawa filled the silence, you couldn't stop hearing it.
Your name, whispered like it broke him.
Kuroo's voice.
You squeezed your eyes shut, but it only made the memory sharper, the way his tone had faltered, how he'd looked at you like you were the one thing he couldn't get right no matter how hard he tried. It had been a moment you weren't supposed to see, words you weren't supposed to hear and yet, they clung to you now more fiercely than Oikawa's kiss ever could.
You finally slipped inside the dorm, the door clicking shut behind you. The hallway was empty, quiet, but your heart wouldn't settle. Not even when you tossed your bag to the floor and leaned against the wall, palms pressed hard against your eyes like you could block it all out.
Two months. You were supposed to survive volleyball, training, rivalry. Not this whatever this was.
And yet, when you finally let yourself collapse onto the bed, your mind refused to listen. Oikawa's laugh, his hand in yours, his lips against your temple… it all should have been enough to distract you. To erase the confusion. But behind it all, louder than anything else, was that single, broken whisper.
Your name.
His voice.
By the time you finally drifted into a restless sleep, the war had only shifted battlegrounds from the court, to your chest. And if you were being honest with yourself, you weren't sure which one was harder to survive.
Because at least on the court, there were rules. A net between you, lines that defined the boundaries, a score that told you when you'd won or lost. But this? There was no playbook for the way Oikawa's easy charm tangled with the way Kuroo's voice still haunted you. No referee to call foul when your heart betrayed you, when your mind spun in circles until you couldn't tell who you wanted to run from or to.
You rolled over in bed, burying your face into the pillow as if you could smother the storm inside you. Sleep didn't come easily. And when it did, it was shallow, restless, leaving you more exhausted than before.
Morning light spilled through the thin curtains too quickly. Practice loomed, heavy and unrelenting, but your body felt sluggish, your head cluttered. You sat up slowly, clutching your knees for a moment, trying to will yourself into focus.
It's just volleyball, you reminded yourself. Just practice. Just one more day to get through.
But when you slipped into your practice clothes and stepped outside, the weight followed. The walk to the gym felt endless, every step echoing with the whisper of your name in Kuroo's cracked voice. And somehow, you knew today, facing him was going to be harder than facing any opponent across the net.
Because opponents were simple. You trained for them. You studied their patterns, memorized their weaknesses, and when the whistle blew, you stepped onto the court ready to fight. But Kuroo? There was no drill for this. No strategy for the way his eyes had lingered on you like you were the only thing that mattered, only for him to shut you out the next second. No way to defend yourself against the way his voice raw and cracked with something he hadn't meant to show echoed louder in your head than any cheer of victory ever had.
You hugged your arms around yourself as you walked, the early morning air cool against your skin, yet it wasn't enough to settle the fire inside you. Every step toward the gym felt heavier, like your body wanted to turn back, to avoid the storm that waited for you there.
It should have been simple. Oikawa was easy, familiar in his charm and steady in the way he showed up. He smiled, he teased, he flirted without hesitation, and for a moment, you almost convinced yourself you could let that be enough. That maybe he was enough. But the truth pressed harder than you wanted to admit: his touch didn't linger the same way. His voice didn't catch you off guard. His presence didn't unsteady you to your core.
Only Kuroo did that. And it terrified you.
Because he wasn't supposed to matter like this. He was supposed to be your rival, the one standing in your way, the one you swore you'd crush to claim the scholarship. Yet here you were, walking into another day of training with your chest tight and your pulse unsteady, not because of the drills, not because of the competition but because of him.
You took a breath at the gym doors, holding it until your lungs ached, then let it go slowly. No matter how much you wished otherwise, there was no escaping it. The hardest battles weren't the ones fought on the court. They were the ones clawing at your heart.
And as the gym doors creaked open, you felt the truth of that more than ever. The air inside was warm, thick with the familiar scent of wood polish and sweat, the rhythmic thud of volleyballs echoing against the walls. It should have been comforting, grounding. Instead, every sound seemed to press harder on your chest, a reminder of how much you stood to lose.
Your eyes swept the court instinctively, searching before you could stop yourself. And there he was.
Kuroo.
He stood near the net, arms folded, face carved into something sharp that gave nothing away. But the moment his gaze flickered toward you, however brief, it was like the world tilted. Cold. Burning. Both at once. You couldn't read him, not anymore, and maybe that was what hurt most because you used to think you could.
"Y/n!"
Oikawa's voice cut through your spiral, bright and disarming as always. He jogged over, grin wide, like there was no tension in the world he couldn't charm away. Without hesitation, his hand brushed your elbow, steering you toward the benches as though he'd been waiting just for you.
"Finally," he teased, eyes twinkling. "I was starting to think you'd left me to deal with all these amateurs on my own." You forced a laugh, but it came out thinner than you wanted. Still, Oikawa didn't falter. He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice just for you. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."
The words were lighthearted, a joke meant to draw a smile, but they tangled inside your chest, threading warmth where cold had settled. For a moment, the ache dulled. For a moment, you let yourself lean into his ease.
But it didn't last.
Because from across the court, you could still feel it the weight of Kuroo's stare. Heavy. Unyielding. And it was enough to remind you that no matter how much you tried, you couldn't outrun the war inside your own heart.