Morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, soft and pale, but it couldn't wash away the weight in your chest. Last night's almost-confession clung to you, sticky and insistent, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts as you swung your legs over the side of the bed.
Kuroo was already up or so it seemed. His side of the room was neat, the desk organized, a notebook and pen left deliberately in place. He didn't even glance up as you dressed, headphones draped around his neck and eyes focused on the page in front of him. The distance between you felt heavier than ever.
You swallowed, forcing yourself to keep your movements casual, though every glance at him tugged at your chest. His silence was a presence in itself, a quiet storm you weren't sure you could weather today.
When you walked into the dining hall, Oikawa was already there, leaning casually against the counter, coffee in hand. He caught sight of you immediately, a grin tugging at his lips. "Good morning, Y/n. You look… tired," he said, teasingly, though his eyes were warm.
"Morning," you murmured, your mind still tangled in Kuroo's almost-there words.
"Rough night?" he pressed, stepping closer, the easy charm in his tone designed to draw you out. "You should take a breather. Here—" He offered a hand, light, playful, brushing against yours as though it were nothing, though it made your heart stutter.
You hesitated, the memory of Kuroo's voice whispering your name still sharp in your mind. But Oikawa's presence was comforting, safe in a way that made the tight ache in your chest ease slightly. "I'm… fine," you said, finally letting yourself relax into the movement of his side.
For a moment, the worries about last night slipped. Laughter bubbled up between you as Oikawa made small jokes, lightly teasing, leaning closer as he pointed things out in the dining hall. His hand brushed yours again, more intentionally this time, warm and steady, and your cheeks burned. You let the small comfort in just for a little while.
Until a memory slammed back: Kuroo. His jaw tight, his chest taut, eyes so vulnerable for a split second you weren't sure you could handle it. Your stomach twisted.
Oikawa's grin faltered slightly as he noticed the flicker of distraction in your eyes. "Hey," he said softly, resting a hand briefly over yours, "what's wrong?"
You forced a smile, shaking your head. "Nothing. I'm just… thinking."
"About him?" Oikawa asked carefully, though a teasing edge still lingered in his voice. "Don't let him ruin your morning. Come on, let's get to practice. You'll feel better once you move."
Practice. The word was sharp, slicing through the lingering warmth of the moment. And as you walked toward the gym, hand brushing against Oikawa's, a knot settled deep in your chest. Because waiting at the gym was Kuroo. Standing like a wall you couldn't pass, watching your every movement. And now, every step you took beside Oikawa felt like a defiance.
The simmering tension stretched tight between the three of you, unspoken and undeniable. Kuroo's eyes followed every laugh, every brush of hands, and you could feel the possessiveness radiating off him in waves silent, but lethal.
The day had only just begun, and already the storm was gathering.
The sound of squeaking sneakers echoed sharp against the polished gym floor, the rhythmic thud of volleyballs filling the air. It should have been familiar, grounding, but today every sound seemed to scrape against the knot in your chest.
You lined up for warm-ups, Oikawa beside you his shoulder brushing yours as he cracked another easy joke under his breath. You smiled, though it felt more like a reflex than anything else. Still, his closeness kept your heart steady.
But Kuroo was already watching.
His eyes, usually sharp with humor, were darker now, heavy and unreadable. He stood across the court, arms folded, his posture relaxed in a way that screamed forced. Every time Oikawa leaned closer, every time you so much as let your hand graze his when passing a ball, Kuroo's jaw ticked.
And yet he said nothing.
Instead, it came out in the way he played. His blocks were sharper, his smashes heavier, his voice cutting through the drills with a precision that felt like punishment. Not at you, not directly but you could feel it. Everyone could.
"Easy, Kuroo," one of his teammates muttered after nearly taking a spike to the shoulder.
He didn't apologize. He didn't even look at them. His gaze flicked to you then to Oikawa before he turned away, resetting for the next play.
The tension wasn't just simmering anymore. It was scorching.
"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Oikawa teased lightly during a water break, tossing a towel over his shoulder as his eyes flicked deliberately toward Kuroo. His smirk was playful, but the edge beneath it was sharp.
Kuroo didn't rise to the bait. Not with words.
But when the next rally began, he stepped in front of Oikawa on a ball that wasn't his, slamming it down with enough force to silence the court. The look he gave afterward wasn't one you could mistake it was a line drawn. A warning.
Oikawa only grinned wider, shaking his head like he'd expected nothing less. But you… your chest burned. Because caught between them, every step you took, every word you spoke, felt like choosing sides.
By the time practice ended, the air was so thick with unspoken words that even the coach finally sighed, muttering about tension killing the drills before dismissing everyone early.
The players scattered gratefully, but the three of you stayed.
Kuroo lingered near the door, arms crossed, his silence louder than any argument. Oikawa glanced at you, then at him, and something unspoken passed between them like a dare neither was willing to back down from.
And you stood there in the middle, your pulse racing, knowing this couldn't stretch much longer.
Something was going to break.
But not yet.
Not when Oikawa stepped forward, his smile softer now, almost disarming as he caught your arm lightly before you could leave the court. "Hey," he said, his voice pitched low so only you could hear, "come walk with me a bit."
You hesitated, glancing toward the door where Kuroo stood, silent and unreadable. His eyes flickered at the sight of Oikawa's hand brushing yours but he didn't move. He didn't speak.
That silence hurt more than shouting ever could.
So you let Oikawa guide you out, the hum of the gym falling away until it was just the two of you in the quiet corridor. His shoulder brushed yours deliberately, his presence warm, steady, unrelenting.
"You're tense," he said after a moment, glancing down at you with a teasing tilt of his lips. "Don't tell me it's because of him again."
You didn't answer. Couldn't.
Oikawa chuckled softly, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You let him get in your head too much. You know, Y/n, if I were you… I'd stop giving him so much power." His hand lingered just a fraction too long, his fingers grazing your skin.
Your chest squeezed. Not because of Oikawa but because, despite his words, another voice still echoed in your head. A cracked whisper of your name.
As if reading your distraction, Oikawa's expression shifted, something sharper behind the smile. "You don't have to keep looking at him like he's the only one who sees you." His voice was softer now, persuasive, coaxing. "Because I do. I always have."
The corridor suddenly felt smaller. His closeness, his words they pressed against you, warm and careful and dangerous all at once. And yet, through it all, you felt it again: that tug. That ache. That silent weight pressing down from the gym, where you knew Kuroo was still standing. Waiting.
You swallowed hard, your voice barely steady. "Oikawa…"
He tilted his head, grin easing back into place like armor. "Don't worry," he said gently, slipping his fingers between yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I'm not asking you to choose. Not yet." But the way his hand held yours firm, claiming made your heart race with the terrifying truth: a choice was coming, whether you were ready or not.
And somewhere behind you, in that gym you'd just left, Kuroo's silence was already splintering into something far more dangerous.
Something you wouldn't be able to outrun.
Because when you stepped back into the gym, Oikawa's hand still threaded through yours, Kuroo was waiting.
He hadn't moved far from where you'd left him. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jaw sharp enough to cut glass. But it wasn't his posture that stopped you dead, it was his eyes. Flat. Cold. The kind of look that wasn't about rivalry or volleyball anymore.
The kind that was about you.
You froze, but Oikawa didn't. His grin only widened, smug in a way that made your stomach twist. "Relax, Kuroo," he drawled, deliberately keeping his hand around yours, "we're just talking. You know, like normal people do."
Something snapped.
Kuroo's arms dropped, his stride long and deliberate as he closed the distance in a few quick steps. His hand shot out not for Oikawa, but for you, tugging you gently but firmly out of his grasp. "Normal?" His voice was rough, cracked around the edges. "You call cornering her in the hall normal?"
"Kuroo—" you started, but he didn't look at you. Couldn't. His eyes were locked on Oikawa, molten with something dangerous.
Oikawa chuckled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Touchy, aren't we? Afraid of a little competition?" Kuroo's jaw clenched, his hand tightening around your wrist like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. "This isn't a game, Oikawa."
"And who said it was?" Oikawa tilted his head, that practiced smile returning, but the sharpness underneath it was impossible to miss. He stepped closer, close enough that the tension between them crackled like static in the air. "Unless, of course, you're scared she might actually choose me."
The silence that followed was deafening.
You felt Kuroo's breath against your hair, ragged, unsteady. His grip loosened, only to slide down, threading his fingers through yours instead an unspoken claim, a desperate one. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost trembling with the force he tried to contain. "She's not yours to choose."
Your heart stopped.
Because for the first time, there was no teasing edge. No playful mask. Just raw, unfiltered Kuroo, laid bare between the three of you.
And the weight of it was enough to make you forget how to breathe.
Neither of them moved. Neither spoke.
The air around you felt heavy, suffocating, like even the crickets in the trees had gone silent, waiting for what came next. Oikawa's smirk didn't falter, but it didn't quite reach his eyes either. His hand hovered too close to yours, deliberate in its provocation, as if daring Kuroo to do something about it.
Kuroo, though Kuroo was stone. His shoulders taut, his eyes dark, his silence somehow louder than any shout. His grip on your wrist, protective and possessive all at once, burned into your skin, as though letting go wasn't an option he was willing to consider. And you… you were stuck in the middle. Heart hammering. Breath caught. The storm building around you like a fuse sparking toward its inevitable explosion.
But it didn't come. Not yet.
Instead, the three of you stood there, strung tight, like a game paused at match point, everyone waiting to see who would make the first move, who would be reckless enough to break.
And deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time.