The pain hit me like a freight train at 11:47 PM on a Sunday night.

I'd been lying in bed, trying to focus on my chemistry notes for tomorrow's exam, when the familiar ache started low in my abdomen. Within minutes, it escalated causing me to curl up in a ball, clutching my stomach and wondering why the universe had cursed half the population with this monthly torture.

My textbook slipped from my hands onto the floor with a dull thud, but I barely noticed. The only thing I could focus on was the waves of pain radiating through my core, each one worse than the last.

This is bad, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut. Really bad.

I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand, my vision slightly blurry from the intensity of the cramps. All I wanted was someone to talk to—someone to distract me from the pain, maybe offer some comfort or advice. My boyfriend would understand, right? He'd been through this with me before.

My fingers trembled as I typed his number in.

Y/N : Hey, I'm having really bad cramps right now. Feel like I'm dying. Any advice? Or just... talk to me? I need a distraction.

I hit send and immediately curled back into my fetal position, phone clutched against my chest.

The response came faster than expected.

???: Uh... I think you might have the wrong number? But are you okay? That sounds awful.

I blinked at my phone screen, confusion cutting through the haze of pain. Wrong number? But I'd texted... I scrolled up to check the conversation thread and felt my stomach drop. The number was almost right—every digit except the last one. Instead of ending in 7, it ended in 2.

Y/N: Oh god, I'm so sorry! I meant to text my boyfriend. This is so embarrassing. Please ignore me.

???: Hey, don't apologize. These things happen. And honestly? If you're in that much pain, you shouldn't have to deal with it alone, wrong number or not.

I stared at my screen, surprised by the kindness from this complete stranger. Most people would have stopped responding after realizing it was a mistake. But here was someone—some random person whose number I'd accidentally typed—actually showing concern.

Another wave of cramps hit, and I doubled over again, phone nearly slipping from my hands.

???: You still there? Look, I know this is weird, but have you tried a heating pad or hot water bottle? Sometimes heat helps with muscle cramps.

Y/N: I don't have a heating pad, my last one broke...

I typed back, grateful for the distraction even if it came from a stranger.

Y/N: Although I do have a hot water bottle somewhere.

???: That'll work. Fill it with hot water—as hot as you can stand—and put it on your lower abdomen. Also, if you have any chamomile tea, that can help with the pain too. Anti-inflammatory.

Y/N: You seem to know a lot about this for someone who... well, presumably doesn't get periods?

???: Fair point. I have three sisters. You learn a few things growing up in a house full of women. Plus, I'm studying sports medicine—muscle pain is muscle pain, even if the cause is different.

Despite everything, I found myself smiling slightly.

Y/N: Three sisters? You poor soul.

???: Hey, they made me who I am today. Resilient, patient, and an expert at emergency tampon runs.

I actually laughed out loud at that, the sound surprising me in the quiet of my apartment.

Y/N: Okay, that's actually pretty sweet. Let me go find that hot water bottle.

I forced myself out of bed, wincing with each step as I made my way to the kitchen. The hot water bottle was buried in a drawer somewhere—I'd bought it last year but rarely used it. As I rummaged through kitchen drawers, my phone buzzed again.

???: While you're up, if you have any ibuprofen or naproxen, that'll help too. Better than acetaminophen for this kind of thing.

Y/N: Found it!

I texted back, holding up the slightly dusty hot water bottle.

Y/N: And I have ibuprofen. You're like a cramping crisis hotline.

Kuroo: Kuroo Tetsurō's 24/7 Pain Management Service, at your service. No crisis too small, no wrong number too wrong.

Y/N: Kuroo?

I paused in filling the hot water bottle. That name sounded familiar.

Y/N: Wait... are you the volleyball captain at Nekoma?

Kuroo: Guilty as charged. You go to Nekoma too?

Y/N: Yeah, I'm a second-year. Y/N. I think I've seen you around campus.

And I had—now that I thought about it, I definitely recognized the name. Tetsurō Kuroo was pretty well-known around campus. Captain of the volleyball team, charismatic, always seemed to have a crowd of people around him. I'd seen him in the student center a few times, usually surrounded by his teammates, always laughing about something.

Kuroo: Small world. What's your major?

Y/N: Chemistry.

I replied, settling back into bed with the hot water bottle pressed against my abdomen. The heat was already starting to help.

Y/N: Speaking of which, I should probably be studying instead of bothering strangers about my uterus.

Kuroo: Ouch, chemistry. Gotta love it. And you're not bothering me—I was just watching Netflix and feeling sorry for myself about tomorrow's practice. This is way more interesting.

Y/N: Feeling sorry for yourself? Big tough volleyball captain afraid of a little practice?

Kuroo: Hey, Coach has been brutal lately. We have a tournament coming up, and he's been running us into the ground. I'm pretty sure I'm going to die tomorrow.

The conversation flowed easier than I expected. Kuroo had this way of texting that felt natural, like we'd been friends for years instead of strangers who'd connected by accident less than an hour ago. He was funny—genuinely funny, not just trying-too-hard funny. And he seemed... interested in what I had to say, asking follow-up questions and responding thoughtfully.

Kuroo: So chemistry major, second year.

Kuroo: Let me guess... you're one of those people who actually understands organic chemistry and makes the rest of us feel stupid.

Y/N: I wish. I'm actually struggling pretty hard this semester. Have a test tomorrow that I'm probably going to bomb.

Kuroo: What kind of test?

Y/N: Thermodynamics and kinetics. I understand the concepts okay, but the math just... doesn't click, you know?

Kuroo: Actually, yeah, I do know. I'm pretty good with that stuff—took Honors chemistry last semester and I tutor some of the underclassmen in basic chem. What specifically are you stuck on?

I found myself explaining my confusion with reaction rates and energy diagrams, and to my surprise, Kuroo's responses were not only helpful but actually made sense. He had a way of breaking down complex concepts into simpler terms without making me feel stupid.

Kuroo: You know.. This might be easier to explain in person. I could come by and help you study tomorrow night if you want. After your test, so there's no pressure.

I stared at the message, my finger hovering over the keyboard. Let a stranger come to my apartment? Someone I'd never actually spoken to, only knew by reputation? Every safety instinct I'd ever been taught told me that was a terrible idea.

But then again... when was the last time someone had offered to help me study? When was the last time my actual boyfriend had shown this much interest in my academic struggles?

Y/N: I don't know... I mean, you seem really nice, but I don't really know you.

Kuroo: Totally fair. Tell you what—we could meet in the library first if that makes you more comfortable. Or I could bring a friend along to vouch for my non-serial-killer status. Whatever makes you feel safe.

The fact that he immediately understood my hesitation and offered alternatives made me feel better about him. Most guys would have gotten defensive or pushy. But Kuroo seemed to genuinely care about my comfort level.

Y/N: The library could work. Or... actually, my apartment might be better for studying. I have all my notes and stuff here. But maybe we could text a bit more first? So you feel less... stranger-y?

Kuroo: Deal. I'm honored to be upgraded from 'complete stranger' to 'stranger-y.' That's progress.

We ended up texting for another hour, the conversation meandering from chemistry to college to random stories about our families. I learned that Kuroo was from Tokyo, that he was studying sports science with a minor in chemistry, that his position as volleyball captain was both the best and most stressful thing that had ever happened to him. He learned that I was from a small town outside the city, that I lived alone in a tiny off-campus apartment, and that I had stress dreams about failing chemistry.

Kuroo: Your apartment can't be that tiny. Tokyo rent is brutal. I'm sharing a place with three guys from the team and I'm pretty sure my room is actually a repurposed closet.

Y/N: Okay, mine's probably not that bad then. It's just me, so it feels bigger than it is.

Kuroo: Just you? That must be nice sometimes. Don't get me wrong, I love my teammates, but living with Yamamoto and Fukunaga means there's never a quiet moment. Yamamoto talks in his sleep, and Fukunaga... well, Fukunaga barely talks at all when he's awake, but he makes up for it by watching loud movies at 2 AM.

Y/N: That sounds exhausting.

Kuroo: It has its moments. But they're good guys. Family, you know?

Kuroo: So serious question how are you feeling? Cramps better?

I realized with surprise that yes, they were better. Not gone completely, but the sharp, debilitating pain had faded to a manageable ache. The hot water bottle was definitely helping, but more than that, the distraction of our conversation had kept my mind off the pain.

Y/N: Actually, yeah. Much better. Thank you—for the advice and for... well, for not just ignoring my weird wrong-number text.

Kuroo: Hey, best wrong number ever. I got to play doctor without any of the medical school debt. But hey, if you're feeling better, you should probably try to get some sleep. Big test tomorrow, right?

He was right, though I was oddly reluctant to end the conversation. It had been... nice.

Y/N: Yeah, I should sleep. Thank you again, Kuroo. Really.

Kuroo: Anytime. And I meant what I said about studying—if you want help with chemistry tomorrow night, just let me know. Even if it's last minute.

Y/N: I'll think about it.

Kuroo: Good enough for me. Good luck on your test, Y/N.

I plugged my phone in to charger and settled back into bed, the hot water bottle still warm against my stomach. The pain was nearly gone now, replaced by a strange feeling I couldn't quite identify. Comfort, maybe? Or just... lightness.

It wasn't until I was drifting off to sleep that I realized my boyfriend still hadn't texted me back.

I had texted him shortly after I messaged kuroo on accident and still nothing. Maybe he's sleep it is a bit late....

The chemistry test was brutal.

I sat in the lecture hall the next afternoon, staring at problems that might as well have been written in ancient Greek. All those hours I'd spent studying, all the practice problems I'd worked through, and none of it seemed to matter when faced with Dr. Okafor's sadistic exam questions.

By the time I handed in my paper, I was pretty sure I'd failed spectacularly.

I trudged back to my apartment, backpack heavy with textbooks I no longer wanted to look at, phone buzzing occasionally with texts from classmates comparing their own horror stories from the test. Everyone seemed to have struggled, which was mildly comforting, but not enough to lift the cloud of academic doom hanging over my head.

My phone buzzed again as I climbed the stairs to my second-floor apartment.

Kuroo: How did the test go?

I'd almost forgotten about his offer to help me study, distracted by pre-test anxiety and the general chaos of Monday classes.

Y/N: Straight ass honestly. Pretty sure I bombed it, I replied, fumbling with my keys. Dr. Okafor is apparently a sadist who enjoys watching undergrads suffer.

Kuroo: Ouch. Okafor is tough—I had him last semester. But hey, if it makes you feel better, his tests are usually so hard that he curves them significantly.

Y/N: Really?

Kuroo: Really. I got a 67 on my first test and it ended up being a B+.

That did make me feel a little better. I dropped my backpack by the door and collapsed onto my couch, suddenly exhausted.

Kuroo: So did you still want that study session? I know the test is over, but we could go over what you struggled with. Might help for the next one.

I stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The smart thing would be to say no. I didn't really know this guy, despite our late-night conversation. It would be safer to just thank him and decline politely.

But then I thought about spending another evening alone in my apartment, probably stress-eating leftover ramen and spiraling about my academic future. My boyfriend had finally texted me back this morning—a brief "hope you feel better" with no acknowledgment that he'd ignored me all night when I was in pain. The contrast between his indifference and Kuroo's immediate concern was... stark.

Y/N: You know what? Yes. If you're still willing to come over, I'd really appreciate the help.

Kuroo: Awesome. What time works for you?

Y/N: Anytime after 6? I need to eat something first or I'll probably pass out.

Kuroo: Perfect. I'll grab dinner after practice and head over around 7. What's your address?

I sent him my address, along with detailed instructions about which building entrance to use. Then I spent the next two hours alternating between cleaning my apartment and panicking about inviting a near-stranger over.

By 6:45, my small space was tidier than it had been in weeks. I'd shoved dirty clothes into my bedroom and closed the door, wiped down all the surfaces in my kitchen-living room combo, and arranged my chemistry materials neatly on my tiny dining table. I'd even lit a vanilla candle, though I immediately second-guessed that choice and blew it out again.

At exactly 7 PM, there was a knock on my door.

I looked through the peephole and saw a tall figure with distinctively messy black hair holding what appeared to be a bag of takeout food. Definitely Kuroo—I recognized him from campus now that I was looking for him specifically.

"Hi," I said, opening the door and immediately feeling awkward. "You found it okay?"

"Your directions were perfect," he said with a grin that was even more disarming in person than I'd imagined from his texts. "Though I did have to wrestle with that front door lock for a minute. I thought I was going to have to text you for backup."

"It's been broken for months. The landlord keeps saying he'll fix it." I stepped aside to let him in, suddenly hyperaware of how small my apartment was. "Sorry, it's not much."

"Are you kidding?" Kuroo looked around appreciatively as he set the takeout bag on my kitchen counter. "This is great. You have actual privacy and everything. I'm jealous."

He was taller than I'd expected, probably around 6'2", with broad shoulders that spoke to his athletic background. But his presence wasn't overwhelming—there was something approachable about him, from his easy smile to the way he moved carefully in my small space, clearly trying not to take up too much room.

"I brought Chinese food," he said, unpacking containers. "Figured you might still be hungry, and brain food is important for studying. Hope you like lo mein."

"I love lo mein. You didn't have to—"

"My mom always said never show up to someone's house empty-handed. Plus, I was hungry anyway." He grinned. "Where do you want to set up? Kitchen table?"

We arranged ourselves at my small table, chemistry textbooks and notebooks spread out between takeout containers. I'd been worried about awkward silences or stranger danger vibes, but Kuroo made conversation as naturally as he'd texted the night before.

"So this is the infamous chemistry setup," he said, picking up my textbook and flipping through it. "Okafor really loves his thermodynamics, doesn't he?"

"Apparently. I swear half the test was just different ways of asking the same enthalpy question."

"Show me what you struggled with most."

I pulled out my practice problems, pointing to a particularly confusing section about reaction mechanisms. "These. I can memorize the individual steps, but when they ask me to predict the rate-determining step or explain why one pathway is favored over another, I just... blank."

Kuroo leaned closer to look at my work, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something clean and subtle, not overpowering like my boyfriend's usual choice. "Okay, I see what's happening. You're overthinking it. Here, look at this one..."

He started explaining the concept, using analogies that actually made sense. Chemical reactions were like rush hour traffic—the slowest step determines how fast the whole process moves. Activation energy was like a hill you had to climb—sometimes there were different paths to the top, and you'd naturally choose the easier route.

"Does that make more sense?" he asked after walking through several examples.

"Actually, yes. Way more sense than the textbook explanation." I worked through another problem, and this time the logic clicked. "Oh my god, I think I actually understand this."

"See? You're smarter than you think. Sometimes you just need someone to explain it differently."

We worked through more problems, Kuroo patient and encouraging even when I made stupid mistakes. He had a way of correcting errors without making me feel dumb, turning my wrong answers into learning opportunities rather than failures.

"You're really good at this," I said during a break, twirling lo mein around my chopsticks. "The teaching thing, I mean. Have you thought about becoming a professor?"

"Maybe someday. Right now I'm focused on sports medicine, but I like helping people understand things. It's satisfying when concepts click for someone, you know?"

"Is that why you tutor?"

"Part of it. Also because I was lucky enough to have good teachers, so I figure I should pay it forward." He paused, then added, "Plus, my scholarship doesn't cover everything, so the tutoring money helps."

I hadn't thought about that—that someone like Kuroo, who seemed so confident and put-together, might be dealing with financial stress too. It made him seem more real, more human.

"What about you?" he continued. "What do you want to do with chemistry? Research? Industry?"

"Honestly? I'm not sure anymore. I chose chemistry because I was good at it in high school, but college-level chemistry is... different. Harder. Some days I wonder if I should switch majors."

"What would you switch to?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. That's part of the problem. I feel like I should have it all figured out by now, but I don't even know what I like anymore."

Kuroo studied me for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "You know, there's no rule that says you have to have your whole life planned out at 20. I know it feels like everyone else has it figured out, but most of us are just making it up as we go along."

"Even you? You seem pretty confident about the sports medicine thing."

"I am now, but I wasn't always. I actually started as a pre-med student because I thought that was the 'smart' thing to do. You know, stable career, good money, parents would be proud. But I was miserable—spending all my time memorizing things instead of understanding how the body actually works in motion."

"How did you figure out sports medicine was right?"

"Honestly? I got injured during volleyball practice freshman year—nothing serious, but I spent a lot of time in physical therapy. Watching the therapists work, seeing how they helped athletes get back to what they loved... that's when it clicked. I wanted to be part of that process, not just sitting in a lab somewhere."

We talked about career anxiety and family expectations while working through more chemistry problems. Kuroo shared stories about his teammates, his classes, the pressure of being captain. I found myself opening up too, talking about the stress of living up to my own academic expectations, the loneliness of being in a new city away from home.

"You know," Kuroo said as we finished the last problem set, "you're really smart. And I'm not just saying that to be nice. You pick up concepts quickly once someone explains them properly. Don't let one bad test make you question everything."

"Thank you. Really. For all of this." I gestured at the scattered papers and empty takeout containers. "You didn't have to spend your whole evening helping a random person who texted you by mistake."

"Hey, best mistake ever. I got good Chinese food and interesting conversation out of it. Plus, I like helping people, and you actually listen and ask good questions. Some of the guys I tutor just want me to do their homework for them."

We started cleaning up, and I found myself reluctant for the evening to end. It had been... nice. More than nice.

"Same time next week?" Kuroo asked as he gathered his things. "I mean, if you want. No pressure."

"I'd like that," I said, maybe too quickly. "If you don't mind, I mean. I know you're busy with volleyball and everything."

"I'll make time. Besides, you still owe me a proper introduction to thermodynamics. I have a feeling Dr. Okafor isn't done torturing you yet."

I laughed. "Probably not."

After he left, I sat on my couch staring at the closed door, trying to process the evening. It had been so... easy. Natural. I'd laughed more in three hours with Kuroo than I had in weeks. He'd made me feel smart instead of stupid, interesting instead of boring.

My phone buzzed with a text from my boyfriend

Kenji: How was your test?

I stared at the message for a long moment before responding

Y/N: Hard, but I think I did okay.

Kenji: Good. Want to come over tomorrow?

Y/N: Maybe. I'll let you know.

I set my phone aside and got ready for bed, but sleep didn't come easily. I kept thinking about the contrast—my boyfriend's perfunctory check-in versus Kuroo's genuine interest and help. The way Kuroo had listened when I talked, really listened, versus the way conversations with my boyfriend often felt like performances where I was always trying to say the right thing.

It was just one evening, I told myself. One study session with a kind classmate who'd happened to answer a wrong-number text. It didn't mean anything more than that.

But as I finally drifted off to sleep, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. For the first time in months, I'd spent an entire evening feeling like myself—not trying to be smaller or quieter or different to keep someone else comfortable. Just... me.

And Kuroo had seemed to like that person just fine.

Two days later, I was regretting every life choice that had led me to schedule an 8 AM lecture on a Wednesday morning.

I dragged myself across campus, backpack feeling heavier than usual, still dealing with the lingering effects of what had turned out to be a particularly brutal cycle. The cramping had mostly subsided, but I felt drained and foggy, like I was walking through thick air.

The hot water bottle Kuroo had recommended had been a godsend over the past couple days. I'd fallen asleep with it on my stomach every night, finally getting decent rest instead of tossing and turning in pain.

Just get through morning classes, I told myself, climbing the steps to the science building. You can go home and rest after lunch.

I was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that I almost walked right into someone coming down the hallway.

"Whoa, easy there." A familiar voice made me look up, and I found myself face to face with Kuroo. He was wearing his red Nekoma volleyball jacket over dark jeans, hair slightly damp like he'd just come from morning practice. "You okay? You look a little—"

"Tired? Yeah, I feel it." I managed a weak smile. "Morning practice?"

"Every morning at six. Coach likes to torture us before most people are even awake." He studied my face with those sharp eyes, and I had the distinct feeling he was cataloging details I didn't even realize I was showing. "Still having a rough time?"

I was about to give him the standard "I'm fine" response when he held up a hand.

"Wait here for like two seconds."

Before I could ask what he meant, he jogged over to where a group of his teammates were gathered near the vending machines. I watched him dig through what looked like a gym bag, pulling out something small before jogging back.

"Here." He pressed a compact heating pad into my hands—one of those portable ones with a rechargeable battery pack attached. "Thought you might need this."

I stared down at the heating pad, throat suddenly tight with an emotion I couldn't quite name. It was such a small thing, but the thoughtfulness behind it—the fact that he'd noticed I wasn't feeling well and actually done something about it—caught me completely off guard.

"Kuroo, I can't take this. This is yours... For whatever reason you may have it for... Actually why do you randomly have these?"

"I have three of them. Occupational hazard of being around athletes who constantly pull muscles." He grinned. "Besides, I already told you—I have three sisters. I know the drill. Keep it as long as you need it."

"Well thank you." The words came out softer than I intended. "Really. This is... nobody's ever..."

I trailed off, realizing what I'd almost said. Nobody's ever paid attention like this.

"Don't mention it." His voice was gentle, like he understood what I hadn't been able to finish saying.

We stood there for a moment, and I became aware that other students were flowing around us in the hallway, heading to their morning classes. I should probably get moving too, but there was something so comfortable about talking to Kuroo. Even when I felt like garbage, he made everything seem a little easier.

"Y/N?"

The sound of my name in a much sharper tone made me turn around. Kenji was walking toward us, and even from twenty feet away, I could tell he was not happy. His jaw was set in that way it got when he was about to pick a fight, and his eyes were fixed on Kuroo with undisguised hostility.

My stomach dropped. I'd completely forgotten that Kenji had an early class in this building too.

"Hey," I said as he reached us, trying to keep my voice light. "I was just—"

"Who's this?" Kenji's question was directed at me, but he was still staring at Kuroo like he was sizing up a threat.

"This is Kuroo. He's the captain of the Volleyball team." I say trying to calm him down "Kuroo, this is my boyfriend, Kenji."

"Nice to meet you," Kuroo said easily, extending a hand. His demeanor had shifted slightly—still friendly, but more careful. I had the feeling he was picking up on Kenji's aggressive energy and responding accordingly.

Kenji looked at the offered hand for a beat too long before shaking it briefly. "Volleyball captain, huh? I didn't know Y/N was friends with any athletes."

The way he said "friends" made it sound like an accusation, and I felt heat rise in my cheeks. "We just met recently. He's been helping me study."

"Studying." Kenji's eyes flicked between us, then landed on the heating pad still in my hands. "And what's that?"

"I wasn't feeling well, so he—"

"So he what? Decided to play doctor?" Kenji stepped closer, his body language becoming more territorial by the second. "That's interesting. Because I texted you yesterday asking how you were feeling, and you said you were fine."

I felt Kuroo go still beside me, and when I glanced at him, his expression had grown much more serious. He wasn't looking at Kenji anymore—his attention was focused entirely on me, like he was trying to read between the lines of what was happening.

"I was better yesterday," I said, which was true. "But this morning I wasn't feeling great again, and Kuroo noticed—"

"Kuroo noticed," Kenji repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How observant of him. Tell me, Kuroo, do you make a habit of giving gifts to other guys' girlfriends?"

"I make a habit of helping people when they need it," Kuroo replied evenly. There was no challenge in his tone, but there was steel underneath it. "It's just a heating pad. Not exactly a romantic gesture."

"Right. Just being helpful." Kenji turned to me, and I recognized the look in his eyes. It was the same one he got when he was about to twist everything around, make me feel guilty for something that wasn't my fault. "Y/N, can I talk to you for a minute? Privately?"

It wasn't really a question. Before I could respond, he'd taken my elbow and was steering me a few steps away from Kuroo. But not far enough that Kuroo couldn't hear, which I suspected was intentional.

"What the hell is this?" Kenji's voice was low but intense. "I've been with you for four years, and suddenly you're letting random guys give you presents?"

"It's not like that. I told you, he's just being nice—"

"Nice." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Y/N, guys don't just give things to girls to be nice. Especially not guys who look like that. Are you really that naive?"

I felt my face burn with embarrassment and anger. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see other students in the hallway starting to notice our conversation, and I wanted nothing more than to disappear.

"You're being ridiculous," I said quietly. "He helped me study for a test. That's it. And yesterday when I wasn't feeling well—"

"Yesterday you told me you were fine when I asked."

"Because I was better by the time you texted me! But two nights ago, when I was really hurting, I tried to text you and you never responded."

The words came out before I could stop them, fueled by frustration and the memory of lying in bed in pain, waiting for comfort that never came.

Kenji's expression shifted, becoming wounded and defensive. "I was studying. You know I put my phone on silent when I'm trying to focus. If it was really that bad, you could have called."

"I shouldn't have to call to get basic concern from my boyfriend." The words surprised me as I said them. I'd been thinking them for months, but I'd never actually voiced them before. "And I shouldn't have to explain myself for accepting help from a classmate."

"Help that you apparently needed to keep secret from me."

"I didn't keep it secret! You never asked about my test, so it didn't come up. And the only reason I even met him was because—" I stopped myself just in time. I'd been about to explain about the wrong number text, but something made me hesitate.

"Because what?" Kenji pressed.

"Because he's taken Okafor's class before," I finished lamely.

Kenji studied my face, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew I was leaving something out. "Y/N, I don't like this. I don't like you spending time with guys I don't know, accepting gifts from them, having private study sessions—"

"It was one study session. In my apartment. With the door unlocked. Nothing happened."

"Your apartment?" His voice rose slightly. "You let him come to your apartment?"

I was aware that our conversation had drawn more attention now. A group of girls near the water fountain were openly staring, and even some of Kuroo's teammates had stopped their own conversation to look over at us.

"Kenji, you're making a scene," I said quietly.

"I'm making a scene? You're the one who's apparently making friends behind my back and lying about it."

"I didn't lie about anything!"

"Omitting is the same as lying, Y/N. And right now it looks like you're more interested in getting attention from volleyball captain over there than being honest with your boyfriend."

The accusation stung, partly because there was a grain of truth in it that I didn't want to examine too closely. But mostly it stung because of how unfair it was. I'd done nothing wrong. I'd accepted help from a classmate who'd been kind to me. The fact that Kenji was making it into something dirty and suspicious said more about him than it did about me.

"You know what?" I took a step back from him, suddenly tired of this whole conversation. "I'm not doing this. I'm not going to stand here and be accused of something I didn't do just because you're insecure."

Kenji's eyes flashed with anger. "Insecure? I'm being realistic. You're naive if you think he doesn't have ulterior motives."

"And you're being paranoid and controlling. When was the last time you helped me study? When was the last time you even asked about my classes, or noticed when I wasn't feeling well, or did anything that showed you actually care about what's going on in my life?"

The questions hung in the air between us, and I watched Kenji's expression cycle through anger, hurt, and shame. But instead of answering, he went on the attack.

"So this is my fault? I'm the bad guy because I care about my girlfriend enough to worry when she's getting cozy with other men?"

"You're the bad guy because you only seem to care when you think someone else might be interested," I shot back, my voice sharper than I'd ever used with him before. "Where was all this concern two nights ago when I was in pain? Where was it yesterday when I was stressed about my test? You only pay attention when you think you have competition."

For a moment, Kenji looked genuinely taken aback. We'd fought before, but I'd never pushed back this hard. Usually I just got tired of the argument and apologized to make it stop. But something was different this time. Maybe it was the contrast between his indifference and Kuroo's immediate concern. Maybe it was just that I was tired of always being made to feel like I was in the wrong.

"That's not—" Kenji started, then seemed to realize we still had an audience. He glanced around the hallway, then back at me. "Fine. We'll talk about this later. But I don't want you hanging around with him anymore."

"You don't get to decide who I hang around with," I said quietly.

"I'm your boyfriend, Y/N. I have a right to be concerned about who you're spending time with."

"Being my boyfriend doesn't make you my owner."

The words came out calm and clear, and I saw something shift in Kenji's face. For just a second, he looked almost... surprised. Like he'd never considered that I might have opinions about the boundaries of our relationship.

"I never said I was," he said finally, but his tone had lost some of its aggressive edge. "I just... I care about you. And I don't trust his intentions."

"Maybe you should worry more about your own intentions," I replied. "And whether you're being the kind of boyfriend who deserves trust and loyalty."

With that, I turned and walked away, leaving Kenji standing in the hallway. My heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through my system. I'd never spoken to him like that before, never pushed back so directly on his attempts to control my social life.

I'd made it about ten steps when I remembered Kuroo. I turned around to find him still standing where I'd left him, though his teammates had moved on. He was watching me approach with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"Hey," I said, suddenly feeling awkward. "Sorry about that. That was... intense."

"You okay?" His voice was gentle, concerned but not prying.

"Yeah. I think so." I looked back to where Kenji had been standing, but he'd disappeared, probably headed to his own class. "That was probably really uncomfortable to watch."

"I've seen worse," Kuroo said with a slight smile. "Though for what it's worth, you handled that really well."

"Did I? I feel like I just made everything worse."

"You stood up for yourself. That's never the wrong thing to do."

His expression was serious, almost protective, and I had the feeling he'd picked up on more dynamics in that conversation than I realized.

"Thanks," I said quietly. "And thanks for this." I held up the heating pad. "I should probably get to class."

"Yeah, me too. But hey—" He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "If you ever need someone to talk to, or study with, or whatever... don't let anyone make you feel bad about accepting help when you need it, okay?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. There was kindness in his eyes, but also a kind of quiet understanding.

"I'll see you around," he said, then headed off toward his own class.

I watched him go, then made my way to my morning lecture. But I found it hard to concentrate on the professor's discussion. My mind kept replaying the confrontation with Kenji, the way he'd tried to make me feel guilty for accepting help, the way he'd only shown interest in my well-being when he thought it was threatened..

By the time my morning classes ended, I'd plugged in the portable heating pad and was feeling physically better. Emotionally, though, I was drained from the confrontation and confused about what it all meant.

I had chemistry lab that afternoon, which I'd been looking forward to before the morning's drama. Now I was just hoping to get through it without any more confrontations or awkward situations.

But when I walked into the lab, I stopped dead in my tracks. Because there, helping Dr. Okafor set up equipment and wearing safety goggles with what appeared to be an official TA lab coat, was Kuroo freaking Tetsurou.

He looked up when I entered, and I saw the exact moment he registered my surprise. A small, almost sheepish smile crossed his face—like he'd been caught doing something he hadn't quite figured out how to explain yet.

"What are you—" I started, but Dr. Okafor's voice cut through my confusion.

"Afternoon, Y/N! I see you've spotted our new teaching assistant. Kuroo responded to my email about needing lab help. Perfect timing, really—we're working with thermodynamics calculations today. Should be right up your alley after all that studying you've been doing."

I blinked, trying to process this information. Kuroo was my TA? Since when? And how had this even happened?

As if reading my thoughts, Kuroo approached my usual lab bench while I was still standing there looking stunned.

"I know this is weird timing," he said quietly, voice low enough that other students couldn't hear. "Okafor sent out that email yesterday asking for lab assistants, and I figured..." He shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. "I like helping people with chemistry, and I could use the extra credit. Seemed like fate or something."

Fate. The word echoed in my head as I finally moved to take my seat, pulling out my notebook with hands that felt slightly unsteady. First the wrong number text, then the study session, now this. It did feel like some kind of cosmic coincidence.

"Right," I managed. "That's... that's really good. That you're helping, I mean."

The morning's confrontation with Kenji suddenly felt even more surreal. Here was Kuroo, professionally helping students with chemistry—the same subject he'd patiently tutored me in just two nights ago. It made Kenji's accusations about ulterior motives seem even more ridiculous.

As Dr. Okafor began explaining the day's experiment—measuring heat absorption in different chemical reactions—I tried to focus on the lesson. But I found myself stealing glances at Kuroo as he moved around the lab, checking on students and answering questions with the same patient demeanor he'd shown me during our study session.

"The enthalpy change should be calculated using the formula delta H equals..." Dr. Okafor scribbled equations on the whiteboard, but the numbers seemed to swim together in front of my eyes.

I was still feeling foggy from the combination of physical discomfort and emotional stress from the morning, and the complex calculations weren't clicking the way they should. Around me, other students were starting their experiments, measuring temperatures and recording data, but I felt frozen at my bench.

"Having trouble with the calculations?"

I looked up to find Kuroo beside my bench, holding a clipboard and looking every inch the professional TA.

"A little," I admitted. "The math isn't making sense today."

"Let me see." He leaned over to look at my notebook, careful to maintain appropriate professional distance. "Okay, so you've got the initial temperature here, and the final temperature here. The change in temperature is just the difference between those two numbers."

He walked me through the calculation step by step, the same patient way he'd explained concepts during our study session. But this time, there was a professional framework to it—he was helping me as a TA, not as someone who'd brought me Chinese food and spent the evening making chemistry jokes.

"Does that make more sense?" he asked after we'd worked through the example problem.

"Yes, much better. Thank you."

"No problem. That's what I'm here for."

He moved on to help other students, but I noticed that he checked back with me a couple more times during the lab session, making sure I was understanding the concepts and not struggling in silence. It was exactly the kind of attention a good TA should provide, but I found myself appreciating how naturally he seemed to know when someone needed help.

As the class period was winding down and students were cleaning up their lab stations, Kuroo appeared at my bench again.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly. "Earlier, I mean. That seemed pretty stressful."

"I'm okay," I said, then realized that was my automatic response. "Actually, I'm not sure. It's been a weird day."

"I can imagine." He glanced around to make sure no other students were within earshot. "For what it's worth, you don't owe anyone an explanation for accepting help when you need it. And you definitely don't owe anyone an apology for having friends."

"Is that what we are? Friends?"

The question came out before I could think about it, and I immediately felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. It sounded like I was fishing for something, which wasn't what I'd meant.

But Kuroo just smiled, the same easy grin I was starting to associate with our conversations. "I'd like to think so. I mean, we've shared Chinese takeout and survived Dr. Okafor's thermodynamics torture together. That's basically blood brothers in chemistry terms."

I laughed despite everything. "Blood brothers?"

"Fine, blood siblings. Equal opportunity bonding over academic suffering."

"That's better," I said, packing up my notebook and lab materials. "And thank you. For earlier, and for this, and for... just being understanding about everything."

"Don't mention it." He paused, then added, "You know, a bunch of us usually grab lunch after Wednesday labs. Nothing fancy, just the campus dining hall. You're welcome to join if you want."

I was about to say yes when my phone buzzed with a text. I glanced down and saw Kenji's name on the screen.

Kenji: Sorry I snapped earlier. I just care about you and got jealous. Let's grab lunch together? I want to talk.

I stared at the message, feeling torn between irritation and guilt. It was typical Kenji—apologizing in a way that made his behavior seem reasonable while still making it clear that his jealousy was somehow my responsibility. But it was also an attempt to make things right, which was more than he usually offered after our arguments.

"Everything okay?" Kuroo asked, noticing my hesitation.

"Yeah, just..." I held up my phone. "My boyfriend wants to meet for lunch. To talk about this morning."

"Ah." Kuroo's expression became carefully neutral. "That's probably good. Communication is important."

"Is it weird that I'd rather come eat mediocre dining hall food with you and your teammates than have a 'relationship conversation' with my boyfriend?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I immediately felt like I'd revealed too much. But Kuroo just gave me a sympathetic look.

"Not weird at all. Sometimes the conversations we need to have are the ones we want to have least."

"Yeah." I sighed, typing a quick response to Kenji.

Y/N: Sure, meet you at the usual spot in 10 minutes.

"Rain check on lunch?" I asked Kuroo as we headed toward the lab exit.

"Of course. The invitation stands whenever you want to take it."

"Thanks," I said quietly. "I'll try to remember that."

"Good." He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll see you around."

As I watched him walk away, probably heading to meet his teammates for the lunch I'd just turned down, I felt a pang of regret. Not just for missing out on what would probably be a fun, relaxed meal, but for something harder to define.

I was tired of having to choose between keeping the peace in my relationship and doing things that made me happy. Tired of feeling guilty for accepting kindness from people who weren't my boyfriend. Tired of having to justify every interaction, every friendship, every moment of happiness that didn't directly involve Kenji.

But as I headed toward the dining hall to meet him, I tried to push those thoughts aside. He'd apologized, after all. He wanted to talk. Maybe we could work through this misunderstanding and get back to normal.

Though as I walked across campus, clutching Kuroo's heating pad in my bag and thinking about the easy comfort of our friendship, I had to wonder what "normal" even meant anymore.

The dining hall felt too bright and too loud when I finally made it there fifteen minutes after texting Kenji back. I spotted him at our usual table in the corner—the one by the windows. He was scrolling through his phone, jaw still set in that stubborn line I'd seen too much of lately.

"Hey," I said, sliding into the seat across from him. My stomach was still twisted in knots from the morning's confrontation, and the thought of food made me slightly nauseous.

"Hey." He looked up, and I was relieved to see that some of the anger had drained from his expression. "Look, I'm sorry. I overreacted this morning. You're allowed to have friends, even male friends."

The apology was more than I'd expected, honestly. Usually after arguments like that, Kenji would just pretend they'd never happened and expect me to do the same. The fact that he was actually acknowledging his behavior felt like progress.

"Thank you," I said carefully. "But you need to understand that I'm going to have my own life, my own friends. That's normal in a relationship."

Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or irritation that I wasn't just accepting his apology and moving on like I usually did.

"I know that," he said, but his tone had already shifted. "I just don't understand why you need to make new friends when you have me. And why does it have to be him specifically?"

"Because he's nice to me, Kenji. He notices when I'm not feeling well. He helps me with school. He actually listens when I talk." The words came out sharper than I'd intended, fueled by frustration that had been building for months.

Kenji's expression hardened. "So I don't listen to you? I don't help you? I've been with you for four years, Y/N. Since we were sixteen. I think I've proven that I care about you."

"Have you?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

"I do plenty of thoughtful things," Kenji shot back, his voice rising slightly. "I take you out to dinner. I buy you gifts for your birthday and our anniversary. I—"

"Those are obligations, Kenji. I'm talking about the small stuff. The everyday stuff. The stuff that shows you actually pay attention to my life."

We stared at each other across the table, and I could see him processing what I'd said. For a moment, I thought maybe he was actually hearing me. Maybe this conversation would be different from all the others.

But then his expression shifted, becoming wounded and defensive.

"I can't believe you're comparing our four-year relationship to some guy you met three days ago," he said quietly. "I thought my apology meant something to you. I thought it showed that I was trying to change."

"It does mean something," I said, feeling guilty despite myself. "But apologizing doesn't automatically fix everything. And it doesn't mean I have to give up friendships to make you feel better."

"So you're choosing him over me."

"I'm choosing to have friends, Kenji. That's not the same thing."

"Right." He stood up abruptly, grabbing his backpack from the floor. "Well, I guess I know where I stand."

"Kenji, wait—"

But he was already walking away, weaving between tables full of students.

I sat there for a few minutes, staring at the untouched sandwich I'd bought, feeling hollowed out and exhausted. This was exactly what always happened. Kenji would do something controlling or hurtful, I'd try to address it, he'd apologize but then make me feel guilty for not immediately forgetting about it, and then somehow I'd end up being the bad guy.

The next morning, I dragged myself to campus feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. I'd barely slept, my mind replaying the argument over and over, trying to figure out where everything had gone wrong. Kenji and I hadn't texted at all after he'd stormed off, which was unusual. Usually one of us would break the silence by evening, even if it was just a neutral "good night" text.

But my phone had stayed quiet, and I'd spent the night feeling anxious and guilty and angry all at once.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice Kuroo until he fell into step beside me as I was walking toward the science building.

"Dang, you're looking rough," he said with his usual grin. "Did you stay up all night cramming for something?"

"Thanks, that's exactly what every girl wants to hear," I replied dryly, not breaking stride.

Kuroo laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry, sorry. Poor choice of words. Let me try again." He cleared his throat dramatically. "Good morning, Y/N. You look... contemplative today."

Despite everything, I felt my lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile. "Better."

"But seriously, you okay? You look tired."

I glanced over at him, taking in his genuinely concerned expression. It was such a stark contrast to how Kenji had looked at me yesterday during our argument—frustrated, defensive, like I was being unreasonable just by having feelings.

"Just didn't sleep well," I said.

"How's the heating pad working, by the way?" Kuroo asked.

"Oh, good! Really well, actually." I felt a small smile tug at my lips despite my exhaustion. "I was going to thank you for that."

"I'm glad it helped." I watched as he swung his backpack around to his front, unzipping the main compartment. "I picked up some backup ones yesterday. Figured you might want to keep one at school, one at home, whatever."

He pulled out a small paper bag and held it out to me. I peered inside to find three more of the compact heating pads, still in their packaging.

"Kuroo," I said, staring down at the bag. "You can't keep buying me things."

"I didn't buy them. I liberated them from the athletic department's supply closet. They have like fifty of these things." He grinned. "Consider it redistribution of resources."

"You stole heating pads for me?"

"I prefer the term 'borrowed indefinitely.' And technically, they were just sitting there unused while you were suffering. I was being humanitarian."

I couldn't help but laugh, even though I was still feeling emotionally drained from yesterday. "Well, when you put it like that... I'm just glad you turned out to be a nice person and not some creepy kidnapper who lures college girls in with heating pads and chemistry help."

"Hey, that's a perfectly legitimate concern. Always trust your instincts about people." His expression grew more serious for a moment. "Though for the record, my kidnapping technique would be way more sophisticated than heating pads. I'd probably use snacks."

"Good to know. I'll be wary of any suspicious cookie offerings."

"Smart girl."

We'd reached the science building, and I realized I felt lighter than I had all morning. There was something about Kuroo's easy humor that made everything seem less overwhelming.

"I should get to class," I said, shouldering my backpack.

"Yeah, me too. But hey—" He paused, studying my face with those perceptive eyes. "If you want to talk about whatever's making you look so contemplative, I'm around. No chemistry tutoring required."

"Thanks," I said softly. "I might take you up on that."

By lunch time, I was sitting alone in the dining hall, picking at a salad I didn't really want. Kenji and I still weren't speaking, which meant I was eating lunch by myself. It felt weird and pathetic and liberating all at once.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts, thinking about texting some friends from my dorm last year. But then I realized I hadn't really kept in touch with any of them after I had moved off-campus. Somewhere along the way, my social circle had shrunk down to just him and the couple friends we hung out with together.

When had that happened? When had I become so isolated without even realizing it?

I put my phone away and focused on eating, trying not to think about how quiet my life had become. But the more I sat there in the crowded dining hall, surrounded by groups of friends laughing and talking, the more alone I felt.

My eyes started to burn with tears I didn't want to shed in public. I got up abruptly, leaving my half-eaten salad on the table, and headed for the nearest bathroom.

The bathroom was mercifully empty. I splashed cold water on my face and stared at myself in the mirror, trying to pull myself together. I looked tired and sad and younger than my twenty years. When had I started looking so worn down?

Get it together, I told myself. You had one fight with your boyfriend. It's not the end of the world.

But deep down, I knew it wasn't really about the fight. It was about the pattern the fight represented. The way Kenji's apologies always came with conditions. The way I'd somehow become responsible for managing his insecurities instead of him learning to handle them himself. The way I felt like I was walking on eggshells more and more often.

I dried my face with a paper towel and headed back out into the hallway, trying to look like I had somewhere important to be instead of just wandering around campus because I was too restless to sit still.

The hallways were mostly empty—the lunch rush was winding down, and most people were either still eating or had headed off to afternoon classes. I found myself walking aimlessly, not really paying attention to where I was going, just needing to move.

"Hey."

I turned around to find Kuroo jogging to catch up with me, concern written all over his face.

"I saw you leave the dining hall pretty quickly," he said, falling into step beside me. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just..." I trailed off, not sure how to explain without getting into the whole messy situation with Kenji. "I wasn't really hungry."

Kuroo studied my face, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he could see right through my weak excuse. "Come on," he said.

"Let's go sit down somewhere."

He steered me toward the mostly empty cafeteria area, where a few students were scattered at tables with laptops and textbooks. We settled at a table in the corner, and Kuroo disappeared for a minute, returning with a carton of strawberry milk and a small packet of tissues.

"You looked like you might need these," he said, setting both items in front of me.

I stared at the strawberry milk. It was such a small gesture, but the thoughtfulness behind it—the fact that he'd noticed I was upset and done something about it—made my chest ache.

"Thank you," I managed.

"Don't mention it." He settled back in his chair, expression gentle but not pushy. "You know, in chemistry, when a reaction isn't working the way you expect, sometimes the best approach is to change one variable at a time instead of trying to fix everything at once."

I looked up at him, surprised by the analogy. "Are you trying to give me life advice through science metaphors?"

"Maybe." He grinned. "Is it working?"

"A little," I admitted, opening the strawberry milk and taking a sip. The sweetness was comforting in a way I hadn't expected. "What variable would you change?"

"Depends on what's wrong with the reaction. But usually it's something simple. Temperature, timing, the order you add the ingredients." He paused, expression becoming more serious. "Want to talk about it?"

I considered deflecting again, giving him another non-answer. But there was something about the way he was looking at me that made me want to be honest.

"It's just relationship stuff," I said finally. "Complicated relationship stuff."

"Ah." Kuroo nodded knowingly. "The boyfriend from yesterday?"

"Yeah. We had a fight after lunch. Well, another fight. About the same thing, basically." I picked at the cardboard tab on the milk carton. "I think I'm just tired of feeling like I have to choose between having friends and keeping the peace in my relationship."

"That's a shitty choice to have to make," Kuroo said bluntly. "And you shouldn't have to make it."

"I know that, logically. But it's complicated when you've been with someone for four years. Since high school. It's hard to know what's normal relationship stuff and what's..." I trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

"What's not okay," Kuroo supplied gently.

I looked at him, surprised by how easily he'd understood what I was trying to say. "Yeah."

"You know, I have three sisters," he said after a moment. "And I've watched all of them date various people over the years. The good relationships? They make people happier, more confident, more themselves. The bad ones... they make people smaller."

His words hit me like a punch to the stomach. They make people smaller. Is that what was happening to me? Is that why I felt so tired all the time, so isolated, so unsure of myself?

"I should probably get to class," I said, suddenly needing to be alone with my thoughts.

"Of course." Kuroo stood up as I did, but didn't try to keep the conversation going.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"Anytime."

That evening, I was lying on my couch in my apartment, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out what I was supposed to do next. Kenji still hadn't texted, which was unusual for us.

But my phone had been quiet all day, and I wasn't sure if I was relieved or worried about it.

I was considering actually doing some homework when my phone buzzed with a text.

Kuroo: Hey, how are you feeling? Better than this afternoon, I hope.

I stared at the message for a moment, surprised by how much it meant to me that he'd checked in.

Y/N: A little better. Thanks for the strawberry milk and the chemistry metaphors.

Kuroo: Anytime. Though I should warn you, I have an endless supply of science-based life advice. It's a problem.

Y/N: I'll keep that in mind for future emotional crises.

Kuroo: Please do. I've been working on some biology metaphors that I'm pretty proud of.

Despite everything, I found myself smiling at my phone.

Y/N: Can I ask you something?

Kuroo: Of course.

Y/N: Do you ever feel like you've lost track of who you used to be? Like you wake up one day and don't recognize your own life?

I sent the text before I could second-guess myself, then immediately regretted it. It was too heavy, too personal. He was going to think I was having some kind of breakdown.

But his response came quickly.

Kuroo: Yeah, actually. I think that happens to everyone sometimes. The trick is figuring out which parts of your old self you want to get back and which parts you've outgrown.

Y/N: What if you can't remember who you used to be?

Kuroo: Then you start small. What's one thing you used to do that made you happy? What's one thing you've been wanting to try but haven't?

I thought about it for a long time before responding.

Y/N: I used to laugh more. I used to feel excited about things instead of just... tired all the time.

Kuroo: Those are good things to want back. What would it take to get them?

Y/N: I don't know. Everything feels so complicated right now.

Kuroo: So start with something uncomplicated. Something just for you.

Y/N: Like what?

Kuroo: I don't know. What sounds fun to you? What would make you smile?

I considered the question seriously. What did sound fun? What would make me smile? It had been so long since I'd thought about what I wanted instead of what would keep Kenji happy or what would avoid an argument.

Y/N: This is going to sound pathetic, but I honestly can't remember the last time I did something just because I wanted to.

Kuroo: That's not pathetic. That's just information. And now you know what you want to change.

Y/N: You're surprisingly wise for someone who steals heating pads from the athletic department.

Kuroo: I prefer "resourceful." And wisdom comes from many sources. Sometimes it's books, sometimes it's life experience, sometimes it's watching your sisters make every possible dating mistake.

Y/N: That must have been educational.

Kuroo: You have no idea. I've been the emergency contact for more breakdowns than I can count. But it taught me a lot about recognizing when someone needs support.

Y/N: Is that what you're doing with me? Providing support?

Kuroo: I'm being a friend. That's what friends do.

The simple statement hit me harder than it should have.

Y/N: Thank you. For being my friend. I didn't realize how much I needed one.

Kuroo: We all need friends. And for what it's worth, you're not as alone as you think you are.

Y/N: It feels like I am sometimes.

Kuroo: I get that. But feelings aren't always facts. Sometimes we feel alone even when there are people who care about us. Sometimes we feel trapped even when we have more options than we realize.

He was right. I did feel trapped, but maybe that was just a feeling. Maybe I had more choices than I'd been allowing myself to see.

Y/N: You're really good at this whole pep talk thing.

Kuroo: Years of practice. My sisters trained me well.

Y/N: Lucky me.

Kuroo: Lucky both of us. I like having someone to use my hard-earned wisdom on.

I was about to respond when my phone buzzed with another text, this one from Kenji.

Kenji: We should talk.

I stared at the message, feeling my stomach clench with anxiety. Three words, no context, no warmth. Just a demand disguised as a suggestion.

Y/N: Kenji wants to talk. I should probably deal with that.

Kuroo: Do you want to talk to him?

The question caught me off guard.

Y/N: I don't know. I feel like I should.

Kuroo: Should and want are different things. It's okay to need time to figure out what you want.

Y/N: I'll think about it. Thank you for tonight. For checking on me.

Kuroo: Anytime. And Y/N? Remember what I said about starting small. You don't have to fix everything at once.

Three days later, I was walking out of my last class of the day when I spotted Kuroo leaning against the wall outside the building, obviously waiting for someone. When he saw me, he pushed off the wall and walked over with that easy grin I'd come to associate with good conversations.

"Hey," he said. "How was your day?"

"Better," I said, and realized I meant it. Kenji and I had texted a little over the past few days, but we hadn't resolved anything. We were in that weird limbo where we were both pretending the fight hadn't happened while not actually addressing any of the underlying issues. But instead of feeling anxious about it, I'd been trying to focus on other things. My classes, my homework, my own thoughts instead of constantly wondering what Kenji was thinking.

"Good to hear. Hey, I have a random question for you."

"Shoot."

"Do you like volleyball?"

I looked at him, surprised by the topic change. "I've never really watched it. Why?"

"We have a scrimmage tomorrow evening. Nothing serious, just the team playing around, working on some new plays. I thought maybe you'd want to come watch? Could be fun."

"I don't know anything about volleyball," I said, but even as I said it, I felt a little spark of interest. When was the last time I'd done something new?

"You don't need to know anything. You just need to cheer when we do something that looks impressive and boo when the other side does something that looks impressive."

I laughed. "That sounds manageable."

"So you'll come?"

I considered it. It did sound fun, in a simple, uncomplicated way. And it wasn't like I had other plans. Kenji had mentioned wanting to hang out tomorrow, but we hadn't made any concrete arrangements.

"Yeah, okay. That sounds fun."

"Really?" Kuroo's whole face lit up with genuine excitement. "That's awesome. It's at seven in the main gym. I'll text you the details."

"Sounds good."

"This is going to be great. Fair warning though, I'm probably going to be terrible. We're working on this new serving technique and I keep hitting the ball into the net."

"I'll cheer for you anyway."

"That's the spirit." He paused as we reached the parking lot where our paths would diverge. "Thanks for saying yes. I know it's kind of a random invitation."

"Thanks for asking. I'm looking forward to it."

And as I started walking home, I realized I actually was looking forward to it. For the first time in a long time, I had plans that were just for me, just because I wanted to do something fun.

When I got home, I texted Kenji.

Y/N: Hey, I can't do anything tomorrow evening. I have a study group.

It wasn't exactly a lie. I'd be studying volleyball, technically.

Kenji: What subject?

Y/N: Chemistry. We're working on some concepts I'm struggling with.

Kenji: Okay. Maybe this weekend then.

Y/N: Sounds good.

I put my phone down and felt something I hadn't experienced in a long time: anticipation. Not anxiety about avoiding a fight or saying the wrong thing, but actual excitement about doing something I wanted to do.

Later that evening, Kuroo texted me the details about the scrimmage, and we ended up having a long conversation about volleyball strategy (which I understood none of) and his team's dynamics (which I found surprisingly entertaining). He told me about his teammates' various quirks and superstitions, and I found myself laughing more than I had in weeks.

Kuroo: Fair warning, our libero has this thing where he talks to the ball before every serve. It's weird but effective.

Y/N: I'm sorry, he talks to the ball?

Kuroo: Full conversations. "Okay, ball, we're going to ace this serve. Don't let me down."

Y/N: That's actually kind of adorable.

Kuroo: I'll tell him you said that. He'll be thrilled.

Y/N: Do you have any weird pre-game rituals?

Kuroo: I eat the same breakfast every game day. Two pieces of toast with peanut butter and a banana. It's probably psychological, but I'm too superstitious to change it now.

Y/N: That's very responsible for a superstition.

Kuroo: I try to keep my neuroses healthy.

I was still smiling at my phone when I went to bed that night.

Maybe Kuroo was right. Maybe starting small was the answer. Maybe I didn't need to figure out everything at once. Maybe I just needed to focus on one thing that made me happy, one choice that was entirely my own.

Tomorrow, I was going to watch volleyball. And for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.

The main gym was louder than I'd expected.

I stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the chaos of warm-ups happening on both sides of the net. Volleyballs flew through the air in practiced arcs, players called out drills and encouragement, and the squeaking of sneakers on polished floors created a rhythm I'd never noticed before. The energy was infectious and overwhelming all at once.

I clutched my small crossbody bag closer to my side, suddenly feeling underdressed in my jeans and Nekoma University sweatshirt. Everyone else seemed to know exactly where they belonged, what they were doing, how to move through this space with confidence.

What am I doing here? The thought hit me as I watched a particularly tall player spike the ball with enough force to make the net shake. I don't know anything about volleyball. I don't belong here.

But then I remembered Kuroo's text from this morning—Just come as you are. All you need to do is show up—and took a deep breath. I'd promised I'd try something new, something just for me. This was that something.

I spotted the Nekoma team on the far side of the gym, their red and black uniforms instantly recognizable. And there, in the middle of it all, was Kuroo.

Kuroo's POV

I was in the middle of explaining a rotation to Lev when I caught a glimpse of movement by the gym entrance. My head turned automatically, and I felt my face break into a grin when I saw Y/N standing there, looking slightly overwhelmed but determinedly present.

She came. She actually came.

I'd been hoping she would, but part of me had expected her to text with some excuse about homework or feeling tired. The fact that she was here, stepping out of her comfort zone for something as simple as watching a volleyball scrimmage, made something warm settle in my chest.

"Kuroo-san, are you listening?" Lev's voice pulled my attention back to the team.

"Sorry, what?"

"The rotation. You were explaining—" Lev followed my gaze toward the entrance and grinned. "Ohhh, is that your friend? The one you mentioned?"

"Yeah, that's Y/N." I couldn't keep the pleased tone out of my voice. "I invited her to watch practice."

"She's pretty," Yaku commented, appearing beside us with his usual deadpan expression. "Does she know you're terrible at serving?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Yaku."

"I'm just saying, maybe warn her before you embarrass yourself."

I shook my head, still smiling. Y/N was scanning the gym, clearly looking for me, and I could see the exact moment she spotted our team. Her posture straightened slightly, and she started walking toward us with that careful smile.

There was something about watching her step into this space, my space, that made me ridiculously happy. I wanted her to love it here. I wanted her to feel the same sense of belonging that the gym had always given me.

"Come on," I told the team. "Let me introduce you guys."

Y/N's POV

I was halfway across the gym when Kuroo broke away from his teammates and jogged over to meet me, his face lit up with genuine excitement.

"You made it!" He looked pleased. "How are you feeling? Overwhelmed yet?"

"A little," I admitted, glancing around at all the activity. "This is... intense."

"Wait until you see us actually play. Then it gets really intense." He grinned. "Come on, let me introduce you to everyone. Fair warning: they're all weird, but they're good weird."

He led me over to where the rest of the team was gathered, and I felt that familiar flutter of social anxiety. Meeting new people had always been easier when I was with Kenji—he had a way of commanding attention that took the pressure off me. But standing here on my own, I felt exposed and uncertain.

"Guys, this is Y/N," Kuroo announced as we reached the group. "Y/N, meet the circus I call a volleyball team."

A ridiculously tall player with silver hair immediately bounded over, grinning widely. "I'm Lev! Are you here to watch Kuroo-san fail at serving?"

"Lev," Kuroo warned, but he was still smiling.

"What? It's true! He's been working on this new technique for weeks and—"

"And I'm going to nail it today," Kuroo interrupted. "Ignore him, Y/N. Lev has no faith in his captain."

"I have plenty of faith! Just not in your serving." Lev turned back to me. "Do you play volleyball?"

"Not even a little," I said, and was surprised when this admission was met with nods of understanding rather than judgment.

"That's okay!" Lev said cheerfully. "Kenma barely played when he first got here either, right Kenma?"

A shorter player with blonde hair and sharp eyes looked up from his phone long enough to give Lev a withering stare. "I still barely play now. I just got trapped here."

"Kenma's our setter," Kuroo explained. "And our resident pessimist. Don't let him fool you—he's probably the most talented player on the team."

Kenma's expression didn't change, but I caught the slight flush on his cheeks. "Don't lie to her."

"Who's lying?" A shorter, more serious-looking player joined our circle. "I'm Yaku, by the way. Libero. And Kuroo's right—Kenma's disgustingly good at this sport."

"Yaku keeps us all in line," Kuroo said. "He's basically the team mom."

"Someone has to be responsible around here." Yaku's tone was dry, but there was obvious affection underlying it.

I found myself relaxing as the conversation continued, the team's easy banter drawing me in despite my initial nervousness. They didn't ask complicated questions about why I was there or make me feel like I needed to justify my presence. They just... included me, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Kuroo's POV

Watching Y/N interact with the team was like watching someone slowly uncurl from a defensive posture. When she'd first walked over, her shoulders had been slightly raised, her smile careful and polite. But as Lev launched into an enthusiastic explanation of his latest spike technique, and Yaku made sarcastic comments about everyone's warm-up routine, I could see her beginning to genuinely relax.

She laughed—actually laughed—when Kenma deadpanned a particularly brutal assessment of Lev's volleyball IQ. It was the first time I'd heard her laugh without any reservation behind it, completely unguarded and bright.

I wanted to bottle that sound.

"Alright, you degenerates," I called out, clapping my hands. "We have a scrimmage to win. Y/N, you can sit wherever you want, but the best view is probably from the bleachers on that side."

"I'll sit with her!" Lev volunteered immediately. "I can explain what's happening!"

"You're playing, genius," Yaku pointed out.

"Oh. Right." Lev looked genuinely disappointed. "Well, just cheer really loud whenever we do something cool!"

"How will I know when you do something cool?" Y/N asked, and I could hear the genuine curiosity in her voice.

"Trust me," Kenma said, still looking at his phone, "you'll know. Lev will probably scream about it."

"I do not scream!"

"You absolutely scream," Yaku confirmed.

Y/N was grinning now, and I felt that warm satisfaction settle deeper in my chest. This is what I'd wanted—to see her in a space where people were kind to her without expecting anything in return, where she could just exist and be welcomed.

"Go find a good seat," I told her. "We'll try to put on a show for you."

Y/N's POV

I settled into the bleachers with a better view than I'd expected, pulling out my phone to check the time. No messages from Kenji, which was becoming the new normal. Part of me felt guilty for being here instead of trying to fix things with him, but a bigger part felt... free.

The scrimmage started, and I quickly realized that I'd underestimated how engaging volleyball could be. The pace was fast, the rallies intense, and even though I didn't understand all the strategy, I could appreciate the athleticism and teamwork on display.

And I could definitely appreciate watching Kuroo play.

He moved across the court with a confidence I'd only glimpsed in our conversations, directing plays and encouraging his teammates with an easy authority that was completely natural. When he made a particularly good block, I found myself cheering without thinking about it.

"Nice one, Kuroo!" The words were out of my mouth before I could feel self-conscious about them.

He looked toward the bleachers and flashed me a grin that made my stomach do something complicated.

The first set went by quickly, Nekoma winning by a comfortable margin. During the break between sets, Lev jogged over to where I was sitting.

"So what do you think?" he asked, slightly out of breath. "Cool, right?"

"Really cool," I said honestly. "You guys are amazing. I had no idea volleyball was so... intense."

"You should come to more of our practices! We could use more people cheering for us."

"I don't want to get in the way..."

"You wouldn't! Besides, Kuroo-san seems really happy that you're here. He kept looking over here during the first set."

I felt heat rise in my cheeks. "He's just being nice. We're friends."

"Uh-huh." Lev's expression was knowing in a way that made me want to change the subject.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for the next set?"

"Probably. But this is more interesting." He grinned. "You know, we don't usually have people come watch our scrimmages. Just saying."

Before I could figure out how to respond to that, Yaku's voice carried across the gym: "Lev! Stop bothering Y/N and get back here!"

"Coming!" Lev called back, then turned to me with a conspiratorial whisper. "Just so you know, the team already likes you."

He jogged back to his team, leaving me sitting in the bleachers with a warm feeling spreading through my chest.

Kuroo's POV

The second set was closer, but we managed to pull it out in the end. As we were shaking hands with the other team and starting to clean up equipment, I kept glancing toward the bleachers where Y/N was still sitting, scrolling through her phone but looking relaxed in a way I hadn't seen before.

"You know," Yaku said, appearing beside me with his usual impeccable timing, "she fits."

"What?"

"Your friend. She fits with us."

I looked at him, surprised. Yaku wasn't usually one for sentimental observations. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Lev's already planning to adopt her, Kenma actually looked up from his phone to talk to her, and she laughed at my jokes. That's the trifecta of team approval."

"She laughed at your jokes because she's polite."

"My jokes are hilarious, thank you very much." Yaku's expression grew more serious. "I'm just saying, she seems good for you. You've been smiling more than usual today."

Before I could figure out how to respond to that, Lev bounded over with his typical enthusiasm.

"Kuroo-san! Are we doing team dinner? Can Y/N come? Please say Y/N can come!"

I glanced toward the bleachers again. Y/N was putting her phone away and starting to gather her things, probably getting ready to head home. The thought of the evening ending here, of her going back to whatever relationship stress was waiting for her, made me want to extend this bubble of happiness as long as possible.

"Yeah," I decided. "Yeah, let's do team dinner. I'll ask if she wants to come."

Y/N's POV

I was slinging my bag over my shoulder when Kuroo jogged over to the bleachers, still slightly sweaty from the match but grinning widely.

"So? Verdict?" he asked, slightly out of breath. "Was volleyball as boring as you expected?"

"Are you kidding? That was amazing!" The enthusiasm in my voice surprised even me. "I actually understood what was happening by the end. Well, mostly."

"See? I told you it would grow on you." He paused, looking suddenly less certain. "So, um, the team usually grabs dinner after scrimmages. Nothing fancy, just pizza or ramen or whatever. You're welcome to come, if you want. No pressure."

I started to automatically decline—I should probably go home, maybe text Kenji, try to figure out where we stood. But then I looked at Kuroo's hopeful expression, thought about Lev's easy acceptance and Kenma's dry humor and Yaku's surprisingly funny commentary, and realized I didn't want this evening to end yet.

"I'd like that," I said. "As long as you don't mind me tagging along."

"Mind? Y/N, Lev will probably build you a shrine if you say yes to team dinner on your first visit."

"A shrine seems excessive."

"You clearly don't know Lev very well yet."

Twenty minutes later, I found myself squeezed into a booth at a ramen place near campus, surrounded by volleyball players who were arguing about everything from the best toppings to who had made the most spectacular save during the scrimmage.

"I'm telling you, my receive in the second set was legendary," Lev insisted, gesticulating wildly with his chopsticks. "It was like I defied physics!"

"You barely got your hands on it," Yaku replied dryly. "And it went straight up in the air. Kenma had to run halfway across the court to set it."

"Details," Lev waved dismissively. "Y/N saw it, right Y/N? Tell them how amazing my receive was."

I looked around the table at their expectant faces, these people who had welcomed me into their space without question, and felt that warm belonging sensation again.

"It was very... energetic," I said diplomatically, which earned me a round of laughter and Lev's wounded protest.

"Energetic! See, she gets it!"

"She's being polite, you human skyscraper," Kuroo said, but he was grinning. "Y/N's too nice to tell you that you looked like you were trying to swat a fly."

"I did not look like—"

"You absolutely did," Kenma interrupted without looking up from his phone. "It was embarrassing to watch."

The conversation continued to flow around me, easy and comfortable and completely without the undercurrent of tension that had become normal in my social interactions. Nobody was walking on eggshells, nobody was monitoring my responses for signs of disapproval, nobody was making me feel responsible for managing their emotions.

When the check came, I reached for my wallet, but Kuroo waved me off.

"My treat," he said. "You survived your first Nekoma team dinner. That deserves celebration."

"Kuroo, you don't have to—"

"I want to." His voice was firm but kind. "Besides, we dragged you out on a school night. Least I can do is buy you dinner."

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"Don't mention it."

Kuroo's POV

The walk back to Y/N's apartment was comfortable at first, both of us full of ramen and tired from the evening's excitement. But as we got closer to her building, I could sense her energy shifting, becoming more subdued.

"You okay?" I asked as we stopped at the crosswalk near her street.

"Yeah, just thinking." She was quiet for a moment, then glanced at me. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why did you invite me tonight? I mean, really. You barely know me."

I considered the question as we crossed the street. There were several answers I could give—because I thought she'd enjoy it, because the team needed more supporters, because it seemed like she could use a distraction. But none of those were the whole truth.

"Because," I said finally, "you looked like someone who needed to remember what it feels like to be wanted somewhere."

She stopped walking, turning to look at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." I paused, trying to find the right words. "You apologize for taking up space, Y/N. You act like you're asking permission to exist. And tonight, watching you with the team, you seemed... lighter. Like you remembered that you're allowed to just be yourself and have people like you for it."

We'd reached her building, and she was staring at me like I'd said something profound instead of just obvious.

"I don't apologize for taking up space," she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"You asked if you were getting in the way when Lev invited you to come to more practices. You thanked me three times for buying dinner like it was some huge inconvenience instead of something I wanted to do. You act surprised every time someone is nice to you without expecting something in return."

She looked down at her hands, and I could see I'd hit close to home.

"It's not that I don't appreciate it," she said quietly. "I just... I'm not used to it, I guess."

"And that's exactly why I invited you tonight." I kept my voice gentle. "Because everyone deserves to have people in their life who are nice to them just because they want to be."

Y/N's POV

We stood there in front of my building for a moment, Kuroo's words settling into something deep and uncomfortable in my chest. He was right, and I hated that he was right, because it meant examining things about my life that I'd been trying not to think about.

"The team really seemed to like you," he said, breaking the silence. "Lev's probably already planning your next visit."

"They're really great," I said honestly. "I haven't felt that... comfortable with new people in a long time."

"Good. You should feel comfortable. You should feel welcome." He paused, then seemed to come to some kind of decision. "Actually, speaking of which, I have a completely ridiculous proposition for you."

"Oh no. Should I be worried?"

"Probably." His grin was back, boyish and excited. "How would you feel about being our team manager?"

I stared at him. "Your what?"

"Team manager. You know, keep track of stats, hand out water bottles, make sure we don't all die of dehydration or forget important matches. Very official, very important work."

"Kuroo, I know literally nothing about volleyball management."

"Neither did our last manager when she started. Look, you don't need to know everything right away. The team teaches you, you learn as you go, everyone's happy." He was warming to the idea as he spoke. "Plus, you're organized, you're responsible, you actually showed up when you said you would—which is already better than half the people I know—and most importantly, the team likes you."

"This is insane," I said, but I was smiling despite myself. "You want me to manage a team sport I learned about three hours ago?"

"I want you to be part of something good," he said simply. "Something that will appreciate you properly."

The sincerity in his voice made my chest tight. "What if I'm terrible at it?"

"Then you'll be terrible at it with us. And we'll help you get better." He grinned. "Besides, how much worse could you be than Lev at keeping track of statistics?"

"Point taken." I considered it, feeling that flutter of possibility in my stomach. "If I say yes, and I completely mess everything up, I'm blaming you."

"Deal. I'll take full responsibility for your inevitable volleyball management failures."

"Okay then." The words came out before I could second-guess them. "Yes. I'll do it."

"Really?" Kuroo's face lit up like I'd just agreed to something amazing instead of potentially humiliating.

"Really. Though I reserve the right to panic about this decision later."

"Fair enough. Panic all you want." He looked serious for a moment. "You're going to be great at this. And even if you're not great right away, you'll belong there. I promise."

Kuroo's POV

The next morning, I woke up ridiculously excited about the prospect of Y/N joining the team officially. I'd gone to bed with her smile stuck in my head—the way she'd looked when she'd said yes, surprised but pleased, like she was giving herself permission to want something.

I got to morning practice early and immediately cornered Coach Nekomata.

"We have a new manager," I announced without preamble.

"Do we?" Coach looked amused. "And when did we decide this?"

"Last night. She came to watch the scrimmage, the team loves her, and she agreed to take the position."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." I couldn't keep the grin off my face. "Her name's Y/N, she's a second-year, and she's perfect for the job."

"If you say so, Captain. I trust your judgment." Coach's expression grew more serious. "Just make sure she knows what she's getting into. Managing a team of men is not for the faint of heart."

"She can handle us," I said confidently.

And I meant it. There was something about Y/N—a quiet strength underneath all that uncertainty—that told me she could handle a lot more than she thought she could.

Y/N's POV

I spent most of my classes that day oscillating between excitement and terror about my impulsive decision to become a volleyball manager. What had I been thinking? I didn't know anything about sports management. I'd probably embarrass myself in front of the entire team.

But then I'd remember the way Lev had immediately included me in the conversation, or Kenma's dry humor, or the way Kuroo had looked when I'd said yes—like I'd made his day just by agreeing to try something new.

By the time my last class ended, I'd talked myself into and out of showing up approximately seventeen times. But as I stood outside the gym, hearing the familiar sounds of practice warming up inside, I realized I wanted to be here. I wanted to be part of something, wanted to feel useful and appreciated and welcome.

I pushed open the gym doors and was immediately greeted by Lev's enthusiastic voice.

"Y/N! You came! I told everyone you were going to be our new manager!"

"Lev," Kuroo's voice carried across the gym, "let her actually agree to it first before you announce it to the world."

"She already agreed!" Lev called back. "Last night! Right, Y/N?"

I walked over to where the team was gathered, feeling nervous but determined. "Right. Though I have no idea what I'm doing."

"None of us do," Yaku said cheerfully. "You'll fit right in."

"Welcome to the team," Kenma said without looking up from his phone, which I was beginning to understand was his version of enthusiastic approval.

Kuroo appeared at my side, holding a clipboard and a stopwatch.

"Ready for your first lesson in volleyball management?" he asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Perfect. First rule: when Lev asks you to time his approach for spikes, add about two seconds to whatever the stopwatch says. His ego can't handle the truth."

"I heard that!" Lev protested from across the court.

"You were supposed to!" Kuroo called back, then turned to me with that grin I was learning meant trouble. "Second rule: never let Yaku convince you that liberos are the most important position on the team."

"Because setters are obviously the most important," Kenma deadpanned, finally looking up from his phone.

"Third rule," Kuroo continued, ignoring the growing argument behind us, "have fun with it. We're here because we love this sport, and we want you to love it too."

As I watched him explain the basics of keeping statistics, and listened to the team's good-natured banter, and felt the warm satisfaction of being useful, I realized something had shifted. For the first time in months, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

I was practically floating as I walked out of my last class, my phone already in my hand before I'd even made it to the hallway. For the first time in months, I had genuinely exciting news to share with Kenji. Something that was mine, something I was proud of, something that had made me feel more like myself than I had in ages.

Tonight was my first official game as team manager, and I couldn't contain my excitement. The autumn air was crisp against my face as I made my way across campus, dodging other students who were rushing to their next classes or heading home for the day. I found a quiet spot under one of the old oak trees that lined the main walkway and hit Kenji's contact, practically bouncing on my toes as the phone rang.

"Hey," he answered on the third ring, sounding distracted. I could hear the faint sound of his TV in the background—probably some sports highlight reel or gaming stream.

"Kenji! I have news," I said, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. "You know how I had that study group yesterday? Well, after we finished, I caught the end of this volleyball scrimmage, and—"

"Wait." His voice cut through my excitement, all traces of distraction gone. "You went to watch volleyball? With him?"

My stomach dropped. I could hear the accusation already forming in his tone.

"It wasn't like that," I said quickly. "I was just passing by after studying, and I thought it might be interesting to see—"

"So you lied to me." His words were flat. "You told me you had a chemistry study group, but you were really hanging out with that volleyball captain."

"No! I did have a study group. I just... after we finished, I walked by the gym and—"

"And decided to go watch him play. Despite everything we talked about. Despite me telling you I was uncomfortable with this friendship."

I felt heat rise in my cheeks, partly from embarrassment at being caught in the lie, but mostly from frustration. "It wasn't about him, Kenji. I was just curious about volleyball. And it turns out I really enjoyed it, because they actually asked me to—"

"They asked you to what?"

I took a deep breath, trying to recapture some of the excitement I'd felt just minutes ago. "They asked me to be their team manager! Can you believe it? I know I don't know anything about volleyball, but they said they'd teach me, and the whole team was so welcoming. And tonight's my first official game—"

"So that's what this is about." His voice had gone completely flat. "You lied to me about where you were going so you could hang out with a bunch of guys. And now you want to make it official."

"What? No, Kenji, it's not like that at all. They asked me because they thought I'd be good at it. Because they made me feel welcome and—"

"Don't be naive, Y/N." His laugh was harsh and ugly, cutting through the phone like a blade. "You really think they just coincidentally decided you'd make a great manager after one visit? You think they really care about you as a person? They're just using you for convenience. Someone to fetch their water and clean up after them while they get to have a girl around during practice."

"That's not—" I started, but he wasn't finished. He never let me finish when he was on a roll like this.

"I can't believe you're falling for this. Four years together, and you'd rather lie to me and spend your time being some kind of glorified water girl for guys you just met than focusing on our relationship."

The accusation was brutal. Four years. He always brought up the four years when he wanted to make me feel guilty, like the length of our relationship was some kind of trump card that automatically made him right.

"It's not instead of our relationship," I said, my voice smaller now, all the excitement completely drained out of me. "It's just something for me. Something that makes me feel... included. You know useful."

"Useful," he repeated mockingly, drawing the word out like it was something distasteful. "Right. Well, don't come crying to me when they get bored of you and move on to the next girl willing to do their busy work. And don't expect me to pretend to be supportive of whatever this midlife crisis thing is."

"Kenji, I—" I tried once more, desperate to make him understand, to recapture even a fraction of the joy I'd felt just minutes ago.

But the line was already dead. He'd hung up on me.

I stood there staring at my phone, feeling like I'd been slapped. The excitement, the pride, the sense of belonging I'd felt just minutes ago—it all crumbled, leaving me hollow and stupid and small. Students continued to walk past me, chatting and laughing, completely unaware that my world had just shifted on its axis.

Why did he always do this? Why did every good thing in my life have to be twisted into something shameful? I'd been so happy, so genuinely excited to share something positive with him, and he'd made me feel like an idiot for even trying. Like wanting something for myself was somehow a betrayal of our relationship.

My feet carried me without conscious thought toward the athletic complex, past the baseball diamond and the track, until I found myself at the bench outside the volleyball gym. Now I sank onto the wooden seat, burying my face in my hands as tears spilled over.

I should leave him, the thought whispered in the back of my mind, the same thought that had been getting louder and more insistent lately. I should just leave.

But even as I thought it, I felt the familiar weight of not just four years, but a lifetime pressing down on me. Four years of dating, but so much longer of knowing him. We'd grown up together—neighbors who became best friends who became something more when we turned sixteen. He'd been there for my first day of middle school, my parents' divorce, every milestone that mattered. I'd been with him for most of my life. I didn't know how to be myself without him. I didn't even know who that person was anymore. All my friends were his friends—had been since we were kids. All my routines revolved around his schedule. Even my apartment was chosen because it was close to his.

What if he's right? another voice whispered, the voice that sounded suspiciously like him after all these years. What if I am being naive? What if they don't really want me there? What if I'm just some pathetic girl who's so starved for attention that she's reading kindness into basic politeness?

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to stop the tears, trying to quiet the spiral of self-doubt that Kenji's words had triggered. But it was too late. The damage was done, the poison was already in my system, making me question everything that had felt so right just an hour ago.

The setting sun cast long shadows across the campus, and the temperature was starting to drop. I should go home, I thought dimly. I should figure out how to fix this and make things right with Kenji. But the thought of going back to my empty apartment, of sitting alone with my thoughts and his cruel words echoing in my head, made me feel even worse.

So I just sat there as the campus slowly emptied around me, feeling more alone than I had in a very long time.

Kuroo's POV

I was hauling the heavy water cooler toward the back door of the gym when I heard it—a quiet, muffled sound that made me pause in my tracks. It sounded like someone crying.

The game was in a few hours, and I'd volunteered to come early to help set up. Most of the team wouldn't arrive for another hour, but I liked having everything prepared ahead of time. Plus, I'd been looking forward to seeing how Y/N handled her first official game as our manager.

I almost ignored the sound and continued with the water cooler. It wasn't really my business, and whoever it was probably wanted privacy. But something about it—the quiet desperation, the way it seemed to come from just outside the building—made me set the cooler down and push open the back door.

That's when I saw her.

Y/N was sitting at the old picnic table we sometimes used for team meetings, her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She looked so small sitting there, curled in on herself like she was trying to disappear.

She'd been so happy yesterday, so bright and excited about joining the team. She'd practically glowed when the guys had welcomed her. What the hell had happened?

I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to intrude if she needed space. But she looked so utterly alone sitting there, and something in my gut told me that being alone was the last thing she needed right now.

"Y/N?" I called softly, approaching slowly so I wouldn't startle her. "Hey... what happened?"

Her head shot up, eyes wide and panicked as she quickly tried to wipe away the tears. Even in the dim light, I could see that her eyes were red and swollen, like she'd been crying for a while.

"Kuroo! I didn't—I'm fine. I was just—" She scrambled to pull herself together, but her voice was thick and shaky.

"Doesn't look like nothing," I said gently, settling on the bench across from her. Up close, I could see the tear tracks on her cheeks, the way her hands were trembling slightly. "Talk to me."

She shook her head, looking embarrassed and small. "It's stupid. I'm being dramatic."

"If it made you cry, it's not stupid." I leaned forward slightly, keeping my voice calm and steady. "What happened? Did someone say something to you?"

For a long moment, she just stared down at her hands. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant sound of traffic and the rustle of leaves in the evening breeze.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "I told Kenji about becoming the team manager."

Ice settled in my stomach. I'd had a feeling her boyfriend was part of whatever was wrong, but hearing it confirmed still made my jaw clench. "And?"

"He said..." She took a shaky breath, like the words were physically painful to say. "He said I was just looking for an excuse to hang out with guys. That you were all just using me for convenience, that I was being naive to think you actually wanted me around."

My hands clenched into fists under the table. I had to take a deep breath before I could trust my voice to stay steady, because what I really wanted to do was find this Kenji asshole and explain to him exactly what I thought of people who crushed their girlfriends' happiness for fun.

"What kind of piece of shit—" The words came out sharp and angry before I could stop them. "That's not how you're supposed to be treated, Y/N. He has no right to talk to you like that."

She let out a watery laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Aren't you supposed to be calming me down?"

The small joke hit me. Even when she was hurting, even when someone had just torn her down for daring to be happy, she was trying to take care of everyone else's feelings. She was worried about making me feel bad for being angry on her behalf.

"Yeah. Sorry." I forced myself to unclench my hands, to push down the protective rage that was burning in my chest. "It just pisses me off to see you hurting because of him."

"I know I should leave," she said quietly, so quietly I almost didn't hear her over the evening sounds around us. "I know I should just... walk away. But I've been with him for so long. I don't even know who I'd be without him."

I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and tell her she was worth so much more than this, that she deserved someone who celebrated her happiness instead of crushing it, someone who built her up instead of tearing her down. But I could see in her face, in the defeated slump of her shoulders, that she wasn't ready to hear that. Not yet.

"Then don't decide everything tonight," I said instead, choosing my words carefully. "Just... don't forget that you deserve better than someone who makes you feel small for being happy."

The evening air was getting cool, and I noticed her shivering slightly in her thin sweater. Without thinking, I shrugged out of my volleyball jacket and draped it over her shoulders. The gesture seemed to surprise her—she looked up at me with those sad, grateful eyes and clutched the jacket tighter around herself.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Don't thank me. Just remember what I said."

We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and I watched some of the tension slowly leave her shoulders. She wasn't crying anymore, but she still looked fragile, like she might break if someone looked at her wrong.

"Can I ask you something?" she said finally.

"Of course."

"Do you really think the team wants me there? Or is Kenji right? Are you all just being polite?"

The question made my heart ache. The fact that she even had to ask, that someone had made her doubt something that should have been so obvious, made me want to punch something.

"Y/N, look at me." I waited until she met my eyes. "Yesterday, when you were keeping stats? You caught a rotation error that I missed. When Lev was being dramatic about his spike, you tossed him that towel with perfect timing and made everyone laugh. When Kenma was getting frustrated with his sets, you noticed and got him water without him having to ask. You fit with us. You belong with us. And anyone who tries to make you feel otherwise is wrong."

"I don't want to go into my first official game like this," she said after a moment, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I need to focus. The team is counting on me."

"Good," I said, feeling proud of her determination even through my anger at the situation. "Channel it into something that makes you feel strong."

She nodded, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders in a way that reminded me of the girl I'd seen yesterday—confident, capable, ready to take on a challenge.

"You're right. I can fall apart later. Right now, I have a job to do."

Y/N's POV

The familiar sounds of pre-game warm-ups filled the space: sneakers squeaking on polished floors, the rhythmic thump of volleyballs being spiked, the easy chatter of teammates encouraging each other. It was warm and bright and alive.

"Y/N!" Lev bounded over the moment he spotted me, grinning widely despite the nervous energy that always preceded games. "You ready, boss? First official game as our manager!"

"Don't let Lev rope you into cheering just for him," Yaku called from across the court where he was stretching "The rest of us need encouragement too."

"Don't mess up," Kenma added flatly, not looking up from his phone where he was probably playing some mobile game to calm his pre-game nerves. "No pressure."

Despite everything the familiar banter washed over me like a warm blanket, pushing away the last echoes of Kenji's cruelty.

"Thanks for the pep talk, Kenma," I said dryly. "Really feeling the support."

"That's as supportive as he gets," Kuroo said, appearing beside me with my clipboard and stopwatch. "Ready for the real deal?"

I took the equipment from him, our fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. His jacket was still draped over my shoulders, and I could feel its warmth seeping into my bones. "Ready as I'll ever be."

"Alright, Y/N," Kuroo said. "You've got the stat sheet, right? Just track serves, spikes, blocks—we went over it yesterday."

"Got it." I looked down at the clipboard, the neat categories and boxes suddenly feeling overwhelming. "What if I mess up the timing?"

"Then you mess up the timing," Yaku said matter-of-factly, overhearing us as he jogged by. "It's your first game. Nobody expects perfection."

"Except me," Lev called out cheerfully, bouncing a volleyball off his hands with casual precision. "I expect perfection from everyone, always."

"Which is why nobody listens to you," Kenma replied without missing a beat, finally putting his phone away as the referee began setting up.

The easy teasing helped settle my nerves. This was just like the scrimmage, except with more people watching and slightly higher stakes. I could do this. I belonged here.

The first set started, and for the first few plays, I was a disaster. I missed marking down a serve because I was too busy watching the ball fly across the net in a perfect arc. I dropped the stopwatch when a particularly impressive spike from the opposing team made me jump. By the time the first timeout was called, my stat sheet looked like a kindergartener had scribbled on it.

"Breathe," Kuroo said quietly, appearing at my side as the team huddled around Coach Nekomata. "You're overthinking it."

"I'm terrible at this," I muttered, staring at my messy clipboard and feeling that familiar spiral of self-doubt starting up again. Maybe Kenji was right. Maybe I was just fooling myself.

"You're learning."

His voice was so gentle, so patient, that it made my chest ache. When was the last time Kenji had spoken to me like that when I was struggling with something?

During the timeout, I forced myself to slow down, to focus on one thing at a time instead of trying to track everything at once. When play resumed, I managed to correctly mark down a sequence of serves, feeling a small burst of pride when I realized I'd gotten it right.

"Nice job," Yaku said during the next break, glancing at my sheet with approval. "Much better."

The second set went smoother. I was starting to anticipate the rhythm of the game, to understand when I needed to have towels ready or when someone might need water.

"Perfect timing!" he laughed, catching the towel mid-air with one hand. "You're getting the hang of this."

The compliment made my chest warm with pride. I was getting the hang of it. Even when I made mistakes—and I made plenty, mixing up rotation numbers and occasionally timing plays wrong—the team just corrected me gently and moved on. No one made me feel stupid or incompetent. No one questioned why I was there or suggested I wasn't good enough.

It was such a stark contrast to how Kenji made me feel when I messed up anything, always with that exasperated sigh and that look that suggested he was wondering why he had to put up with someone so incapable.

By the third set, I felt like I was actually contributing instead of just stumbling around trying to keep up. I caught Kenma's subtle signal for water before he had to ask, handed Coach Nekomata the right statistical breakdown when he needed it, and even managed to keep track of the complex rotation without losing my place.

When we won the match, the team gathered around me with the same enthusiasm they'd shown each other, including me in their celebration like I'd been part of the team for years instead of two days.

"Not bad for a rookie," Kuroo said with a grin, bumping my shoulder lightly.

"I only messed up the stats like six times," I said, but I was smiling, feeling more accomplished than I had in months.

"Only six? You're practically a professional," Lev declared dramatically, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

As we cleaned up equipment and the gym began to empty out, parents and friends filtering out into the parking lot with their congratulations and promises to see everyone at the next game, I caught myself thinking about the difference between this moment and my phone call with Kenji earlier.

Here, my mistakes were learning opportunities. My successes, however small, were celebrated. I felt supported instead of criticized, encouraged instead of torn down. When I dropped the stopwatch, Yaku had just laughed and helped me pick it up. When I'd gotten confused about the rotation, Kuroo had patiently explained it again without making me feel stupid.

With Kenji, everything was a criticism waiting to happen. Everything was evidence of my inadequacy, my naivety, my inability to see the world as clearly as he did.

Kuroo appeared beside me as I was folding towels, his expression gentle but serious. "How are you feeling? Better than earlier?"

I considered the question honestly, surprised to realize that I did feel better. Not completely healed—Kenji's words still stung, still echoed in the back of my mind—but stronger. More sure of myself.

"His words... they still sting. But I'm proud of myself tonight. I did something I've never done before, and I didn't completely fall apart."

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "That's worth celebrating."

"Yeah," I said softly, surprising myself with how much I meant it. "It is."

"You know," he said after a moment, "what he said about us just using you? That's not how this works. We don't ask people to be our manager just to have someone around. We ask people we think can handle the job, people we want to have around. There's a difference."

The words settled into something warm and grateful in my chest. "Thank you. For saying that. For... all of this, really."

"Don't thank me for treating you the way you deserve to be treated. That should be the baseline, not the exception."

As I walked to my car later that night, still wearing Kuroo's jacket and carrying my stat sheets like trophies, I realized I was already looking forward to the next practice, the next game, the next opportunity to be part of something that made me feel like myself again.

I was already running late to practice when I pushed through the gym doors, expecting the usual chaos of warm-ups and the sharp sound of balls hitting the floor. Instead, I was met with an unusual silence and five pairs of expectant eyes all focused on me.

"Uh... did I miss something?" I asked, setting down my bag and looking around uncertainly. The team was gathered in a loose circle near the bleachers, and Kuroo was holding what appeared to be a wrapped package.

"Actually," Lev said, practically bouncing on his toes with excitement, "we have something for you."

"Something for me?" I blinked, completely caught off guard. "What for?"

"For surviving your first week as our manager without quitting," Yaku said dryly, though there was warmth in his eyes. "And for not letting Lev drive you completely insane."

"Hey!" Lev protested. "I'm delightful to work with!"

"You asked her to time your approach seven times yesterday," Kenma pointed out. "In a row. For the same spike."

"That's called dedication to improvement!"

"That's called obsessive," Kuroo laughed, stepping forward with the package. "But anyway, we thought you deserved something to mark the occasion."

He held out what I now realized was a notebook, wrapped in red and black paper with a bow. It looked uneven and enthusiastic but undeniably sweet.

"You guys didn't have to get me anything," I said, accepting the gift with shaky hands.

"We wanted to," Kuroo said simply. "Go on, open it."

I carefully unwrapped the paper, revealing a sleek black notebook with "NEKOMA VOLLEYBALL MANAGER" embossed in gold letters on the cover. But when I opened it, I realized it wasn't just any notebook—it was already filled with pages of writing, drawings, and what looked like inside jokes.

"We each wrote something," Lev explained, unable to contain his excitement any longer. "You know, things to help you remember stuff about us, and also some jokes, and—"

"Let her read it, Lev," Yaku interrupted, but he was smiling.

I flipped to the first page, where Lev's enthusiastic handwriting sprawled across the paper:

Y/N! Welcome to the best (and most handsome) volleyball team at Nekoma! Here are some important reminders: 1) I am definitely the tallest (this is very important). 2) Remind me not to serve underhand again—everyone made fun of me and Kuroo-san threatened to make me run laps. 3) My spikes are works of art and should be appreciated as such. 4) You're already the best manager we've ever had! (Don't tell our old manager I said that.) —Your favorite player, Lev ♡

I couldn't help but laugh, imagining Lev writing this with complete sincerity. I flipped to the next page, where Kenma's much neater handwriting took up significantly less space:

Don't let me zone out mid-game. Yaku gets scary when I miss rotations. Also, if I look like I'm about to murder Lev, distract him with something shiny. Thanks. —Kenma

"Kenma," I said, looking up at him with amusement, "this is surprisingly helpful."

"I'm a practical person," he replied with a slight shrug, though I caught the hint of a smile.

Yaku's entry was next:

Y/N—Make sure Lev doesn't ruin warm-ups by trying to show off. He has a tendency to attempt increasingly ridiculous spikes until someone gets hurt (usually himself). Also, keep the first-aid kit stocked—this team is a walking safety hazard. You fit in perfectly. —Yaku (the responsible one)

"The responsible one?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"It's true," Yaku said matter-of-factly. "Someone has to keep these idiots alive."

There were entries from other team members too—jokes about their quirks, warnings about their superstitions, little drawings of volleyballs and inside references I was beginning to understand. But it was Kuroo's entry, on the last written page, that made my throat tight:

Y/N—You're the backbone of this team already, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise (including yourself). You see things we miss, remember things we forget, and somehow make even our worst practices feel a little brighter. We're lucky to have you, and I hope you know that. The team feels more like a family with you here. —Kuroo

I stared at the words, reading them twice, then a third time. The sincerity of it, the way he'd taken time to really think about what I brought to the team—it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

"This is..." I started, then had to clear my throat when my voice came out too thick. "This is incredible. Thank you. All of you."

"Group hug!" Lev declared, immediately wrapping his long arms around me.

"Lev, no—" Yaku started, but it was too late. Somehow, I found myself in the middle of a slightly chaotic team hug, with Lev's enthusiasm pulling everyone else in despite their protests.

"Can't breathe," I gasped, but I was laughing.

"This is ridiculous," Kenma muttered, but he didn't pull away.

"Completely ridiculous," Kuroo agreed, and when I looked up at him over Lev's shoulder, he was grinning. "But effective team bonding."

When we finally broke apart, I felt lighter than I had in weeks. Not just happy, but genuinely appreciated.

"Alright," Kuroo said, clapping his hands together. "Now that we've gotten sufficiently sentimental, who's ready to get destroyed in practice?"

"Bring it on, Captain," Yaku said with a competitive gleam in his eyes.

As practice got underway, I found myself glancing at the notebook periodically, still amazed that they'd put so much thought into it. Every joke, every piece of advice, every small detail showed how much attention they'd been paying to me as a person.

Two Hours Later

Practice had been intense but good, with the team working on some complex rotation plays that required all my attention to track properly. By the time we finished, I was exhausted but satisfied, my stats sheets filled with neat handwriting and successful plays.

"Nice work today, everyone," Kuroo called out as the team began packing up. "Don't forget we have that away Tournament coming up next weekend. Details to follow."

Most of the team filtered out gradually, heading to dinner or back to their dorms. But as I finished packing up the equipment and wiping down the scoreboard, I realized Kuroo was still there, taking his time with his own cleanup.

"You don't have to wait for me," I said, though privately I was glad he was. The gym felt different when it was empty.

"I'm not waiting," he said, but there was a teasing note in his voice. "I'm just very thorough about my post-practice routine."

"Uh-huh. Is that why you're folding towels that are already folded?"

He looked down at the towel in his hands, then back at me with a sheepish grin. "Caught me. Yeah, I'm waiting. These late practices always make me nervous about you walking home alone."

The casual way he said it, like my safety was just a natural concern of his, made something warm settle in my chest. "I've been walking home alone for two years. I'm pretty good at it by now."

"I'm sure you are. But humor me?"

We finished the last of the cleanup in comfortable silence, then made our way out of the gym and into the cool evening air. The campus was quieter at this hour; most students had already settled in for dinner or evening study sessions.

"Can I ask you something?" Kuroo said as we fell into step together.

"Of course."

"Why doesn't your boyfriend ever come pick you up? I mean, you're here pretty late most nights, and you're always walking home alone." His tone was casual, but I could sense there was more behind the question.

I felt my steps falter slightly. It was such a simple question, but it hit on something I'd been trying not to think about too much.

"He's just busy," I said automatically. "You know, school and work and... stuff. He would if he could."

Even as I said it, the words felt hollow. Kenji had never once offered to pick me up from practice. He'd never even asked how late I'd be, or whether I felt safe walking home in the dark. The few times I'd mentioned it, he'd just said something about me being capable of taking care of myself.

"Mm," Kuroo said neutrally, but I could feel him looking at me sideways. "What kind of work does he do?"

"He's..." I realized I wasn't entirely sure. "Part-time stuff. Retail, I think? And he's taking a full course load."

"Right. Just like you."

"It's not a big deal," I said, but even I could hear the defensiveness in my voice. "I like walking. It's good thinking time."

"I'm sure it is. I just think..." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I think when you care about someone, you want to make sure they're safe. You want to show up for them, you know?"

We'd reached the corner where our paths would usually diverge. But instead of saying goodbye, he gestured toward my street.

"Mind if I walk you all the way home tonight? I'm not really tired yet."

"You don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to. I want to."

We walked in comfortable silence for a few blocks, the evening air crisp but not unpleasant. I found myself stealing glances at Kuroo, taking in the relaxed way he carried himself, the easy smile that seemed to be his default expression.

"Thank you," I said suddenly. "For the notebook. And for... everything, really. This week has been really good for me."

"You don't need to thank me for that. You earned your place on the team."

"Still. It means a lot."

We'd reached my building, and I expected him to say goodbye and head back toward campus. Instead, he stopped and turned to face me fully, his expression more serious than usual.

"Y/N," he said quietly, "you deserve someone who shows up for you. Someone who wants to make sure you get home safe, who celebrates your successes instead of dismissing them, who makes you feel appreciated instead of invisible. Don't forget that, okay?"

"I..." I started, then stopped, not sure what to say.

"You don't have to say anything," Kuroo said gently. "Just remember what you deserve. And remember that there are people who see your worth, even if not everyone does."

He took a step back, giving me space to process what he'd said. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's practice is going to be brutal—I want to make sure we're ready for that Tournament."

"Right. The Tournament." I latched onto the safer topic. "What should I expect? I've never done an away trip with a team before."

"It's pretty straightforward. We'll take the bus on Thursday afternoon, play Friday and Saturday, then drive back Saturday night. You'll need a bag for your clothes, obviously, and there'll be some logistics to figure out with hotel rooms and meals." He paused. "Have you talked to your boyfriend about it yet?"

The question caught me off guard. "Not yet. I probably should, though."

"Probably. Though it's worth mentioning, this is part of your job as a manager. If he has a problem with you doing your job..." He left the sentence unfinished, but the implication was clear.

"He won't have a problem with it," I said automatically, though I wasn't sure I believed it.

Kuroo's expression suggested he wasn't sure either, but he just nodded. "Good. Well, we can talk about the details tomorrow. For now, get some sleep."

"Thanks for walking me home."

"Anytime."

I woke up the next morning with Kuroo's words still echoing in my head: You deserve someone who shows up for you. The notebook was on my nightstand where I'd left it, and I flipped through it again over breakfast, smiling at the team's entries.

By the time I got to practice that afternoon, I felt lighter, more confident. I found myself joking more easily with the team, offering suggestions without second-guessing myself.

"Looking good out there, Boss Lady," Lev called during a water break, using the nickname that had apparently stuck.

"Boss Lady?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yaku started it," Lev said proudly. "Because you're the one keeping us all in line now."

"I thought that was Yaku's job."

"Yaku keeps us from dying," Kenma clarified, "You keep us organized. There's a difference."

"A very important difference," Yaku agreed. "I focus on physical survival. Y/N handles everything else."

The easy acceptance, the way they'd seamlessly integrated me into their dynamic, still caught me off guard sometimes. I'd spent so long feeling like I was constantly proving myself in my relationship with Kenji that I'd forgotten what it felt like to just... belong.

"Alright, enough chatting," Kuroo called out. "Let's run through those rotation plays again. Boss Lady, you ready to keep track of this chaos?"

"Ready when you are, Captain."

Practice flew by, with the team working on increasingly complex plays that would apparently be crucial for the upcoming Tournament. I found myself anticipating their needs before they asked—towels after particularly intense rallies, water during brief breaks, quick stats updates when Kuroo needed to make tactical decisions.

After practice, as the team began their usual post-workout routine, Kuroo approached me with a clipboard.

"So, about that Tournament," he said, settling beside me on the bleachers. "I wanted to go over the logistics with you."

"Shoot."

"We'll leave Thursday around 10 AM, get to the hotel by the evening. First games are Friday morning, then if we advance we'll play again Friday afternoon and Saturday. We'll head back Saturday night after everything's done. You'll need an overnight bag with whatever you need for three days, plus your manager supplies."

He handed me the clipboard, which appeared to have a detailed itinerary. "Hotel arrangements are..." He paused, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Actually, there's a bit of a situation with the rooms."

"What kind of situation?"

"Well, since you joined the team after we'd already booked everything, and the hotel is completely booked out for the tournament weekend... we weren't able to get you your own room." He took a deep breath. "Everyone has to share. Two beds per room, accommodating two people each. I'm really sorry about this—next trip you'll definitely have your own space, I promise."

I felt my stomach drop slightly. Sharing a room with someone I barely knew sounded like a nightmare. "Oh. Okay."

"But," he continued quickly, "you get to choose who you room with. As captain, I was supposed to get a room to myself, but it's a two-bed setup anyway. So you can pick whoever you're most comfortable with, and we'll rearrange the assignments accordingly."

He seemed genuinely apologetic about the whole thing. "I know it's not ideal, and I want you to know that everyone on this team respects you completely. No one would ever try anything inappropriate—I'd personally make sure of that. But I understand if you're not comfortable with the arrangement."

I looked down at the clipboard, thinking about my options. Lev was sweet but probably talked in his sleep. Yaku seemed responsible but I didn't know him as well. Kenma was quiet, which could be good, but we'd barely had any one-on-one conversations.

"Would it be okay if I roomed with you?" I asked, the words coming out smaller than I'd intended. "I mean, since I know you best."

"Of course," Kuroo said immediately, his expression understanding. "That's completely fine with me. Whatever makes you most comfortable."

"You're sure? I don't want to impose or make things weird—"

"Y/N, you're not imposing. This is my fault for not thinking ahead when you joined the team. The least I can do is make sure you feel safe and comfortable on your first away trip."

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"Don't thank me. And seriously, next tournament you'll have your own room."

Kuroo's POV

After practice, I lingered in the gym longer than usual, partially to help Y/N with cleanup but mostly because I'd noticed a change in her today. She seemed more confident, more settled. The notebook had clearly meant a lot to her, but it was more than that. She was starting to own her role with the team instead of just surviving it.

"You know," I said as we finished packing up the equipment, "you've gotten really good at this manager thing."

"Thanks, I'm starting to feel like I actually know what I'm doing."

"You do. The team's noticed, too. Lev's been telling everyone who'll listen that you're the best manager we've ever had."

"Lev says that about everything he likes that week."

"True, but this time I agree with him."

She looked up at me, surprise flickering across her face. "Really?"

"Really. You anticipate what we need before we ask for it. You keep track of things that would otherwise fall through the cracks. And you make practices more fun." I paused, then decided to be completely honest. "The team feels more like a family with you around."

The smile that spread across her face was radiant, completely unguarded in a way I rarely saw from her.

"That means a lot," she said quietly.

"Good. It should."

As we walked toward the gym exit, I found myself thinking about the tournament and about the conversation she'd need to have with her boyfriend about the overnight trip. Something told me it wasn't going to go well.

"Hey," I said as we stepped outside, "about the away game. If there are any complications with your boyfriend about the overnight thing, just let me know, okay? We can figure something out."

She looked startled. "What kind of complications?"

"I don't know. Some people get weird about overnight trips, even for school stuff. I just want you to know that if there are any issues, the team has your back."

"He won't have issues with it," she said, but there was something in her voice that suggested she wasn't entirely sure.

"Good. But if he does, remember that this is part of your job. You're not asking permission to do something frivolous—you're fulfilling a commitment you made to the team."

We walked in comfortable silence for a while, both lost in our own thoughts. When we reached her building, I found myself reluctant to say goodbye.

"Y/N," I said as she started toward her door, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Are you happy? I mean, in general. With your life, your relationships, everything."

The question clearly caught her off guard. She stopped with her key halfway to the lock, turning to look at me with wide eyes.

"That's a pretty big question."

"I know. But I've been watching you this past week, and you seem... I don't know. Different when you're with the team than when you're dealing with other stuff. More like yourself."

She was quiet for a long moment, and I could see her really thinking about it.

"I'm happy when I'm at practice," she said finally. "When I'm with you guys, I feel like I matter. Like I'm good at something that's actually important."

"And when you're not at practice?"

Another long pause. "It's complicated."

"It doesn't have to be."

She looked at me then, really looked at me, and I could see the exact moment she understood what I was getting at.

"Kuroo..."

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do," I said quickly. "I just want you to know that the way you feel with the team—appreciated, valued, happy—that's how you should feel all the time. With everyone in your life."

She nodded slowly, but didn't say anything.

"And remember what I said about the away game. This trip is about you just as much as it's about the rest of us. Don't let anyone make you feel guilty for being part of something good."

Y/N's POV - Later That Night

I sat in my apartment that evening, staring at my phone and thinking about the tournament. I should call Kenji and let him know about the trip. It was the responsible thing to do, the considerate thing to do.

But I found myself dreading the conversation.

This is ridiculous, I told myself. It's a tournament for a legitimate school activity. He'll understand.

I dialed his number before I could lose my nerve.

"Hey," he answered after a few rings.

"Hey. How was your day?"

"Fine. Busy. What's up?"

"I wanted to let you know that I have an away game next weekend. We'll be leaving Thursday morning and coming back Saturday night."

There was a pause. "Away game?"

"Yeah, it's part of being the team manager. I need to travel with the team for away games."

"So you'll be gone overnight. With a bunch of guys."

I felt my stomach clench. "With the team, yes. It's a school trip, Kenji. Very official and supervised."

"Right. Official." His tone was already turning cold. "And you didn't think to ask me how I felt about this before you committed to it?"

"I... what do you mean, ask you? It's part of my job as manager."

"Your job that you took without discussing it with me first."

We were heading into dangerous territory, and I could feel my chest tightening with familiar anxiety. But underneath the anxiety was something new—a spark of indignation.

"I don't need your permission to have commitments outside of our relationship, Kenji."

"No, but you should consider how your decisions affect me. How do you think it looks, my girlfriend going on overnight trips with other guys?"

"It looks like I'm doing my job. Which is managing a volleyball team, not whatever you're implying."

The words came out stronger than I'd intended, and I heard Kenji's sharp intake of breath.

"I'm not implying anything. I'm telling you that I'm not comfortable with this."

"And I'm telling you that this is part of my responsibility to the team. They're counting on me."

"And what about what I need? What about our relationship?"

The question hung between us, and I found myself thinking about Kuroo's words: You deserve someone who shows up for you.

"Our relationship will survive one trip," I said finally. "If it can't, then maybe we have bigger problems."

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening.

"Fine," Kenji said eventually, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. "Do whatever you want. But don't expect me to be supportive of decisions you make without considering how they affect me."

"Kenji—"

But the line was already dead. Again.

I sat there staring at my phone, feeling that familiar mix of guilt and frustration.

I was going on that trip. I was going to do my job as manager, support my team, and have the experience I deserved to have. For once, I wasn't going to let Kenji's disapproval stop me from doing something that made me happy.

The thought scared me and thrilled me in equal measure.

I picked up the notebook the team had given me, flipping through their encouraging words and silly jokes. These people believed in me. They wanted me to succeed. They showed up for me in ways that Kenji never had.

Maybe it was time I started showing up for myself.

I woke up on my birthday with that fluttery feeling in my stomach. Twenty-one years old today. A milestone that deserved acknowledgment.

The first thing I did was check my phone, hoping for the usual flood of birthday notifications. A few messages from old high school friends. A sweet text from my mom with way too many heart emojis, and... nothing from Kenji yet. But that was okay. He wasn't a morning person, and we'd talked about doing something special tonight. Just last week he'd said, "Cool, let's do something," when I'd mentioned my birthday coming up.

I spent extra time getting ready that morning, choosing my favorite outfit and taking care with my makeup. If we were going out tonight, I wanted to look good. I wanted him to notice the effort, to remember why he'd fallen for me in the first place.

By the time I left for my first class, I was practically glowing with anticipation.

I checked my phone between classes, during lectures, in the bathroom—always hoping to see his name pop up on my screen. Nothing yet, but maybe he was planning something. Maybe he wanted to surprise me.

Lunch was a solitary affair at a corner table in the dining hall, surrounded by the chatter of students who all seemed to be having more interesting days than I was. I found myself scrolling through old text conversations with Kenji, looking for evidence that he still cared about things like birthdays and special occasions.

From eight months ago:
Kenji: Can't wait to celebrate you tomorrow! You deserve the world ❤️

From last year's birthday:
Kenji: Happy birthday to the most beautiful girl I know. Tonight is all about you.

From two years ago:
Kenji: Made reservations at that Italian place you love. Can't wait to spoil you tonight.

The contrast between those messages and the current silence made my chest tight. When had he stopped putting in effort? When had my birthday become just another day to him?

I shook my head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts. People change. Relationships evolve. Maybe grand gestures weren't his thing anymore. Maybe he was planning something subtle, something private. Maybe I was just being dramatic.

The afternoon classes were torture. I sat through a two-hour chemistry lab trying to focus on molecular structures while my brain kept drifting to thoughts of what the evening might hold. A nice dinner? A thoughtful gift?

By the time I made it to volleyball practice, I was wound tight with anticipation and fighting off waves of disappointment every time I checked my phone to find it still silent.

"You're staring at your phone like it owes you money," Kuroo's voice cut through my distraction as I sat on the bleachers, supposedly keeping track of practice stats.

I looked up to find him standing in front of me with his hands on his hips, a knowing smirk on his face. "Sorry. Just waiting for something."

"Something important?"

"Maybe." I tucked my phone away, trying to refocus on the clipboard in my lap. "How's the new rotation working out?"

"Don't change the subject. You've been checking that thing every thirty seconds for the past hour." He settled beside me on the bleachers. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," I said quickly, then immediately felt guilty for lying. These people had become my friends—my real friends—and they deserved honesty. "It's just... it's my birthday today."

Kuroo's eyebrows shot up. "Your birthday? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I don't know. I don't usually make a big deal about it." That wasn't entirely true. I wanted it to be a big deal. I just didn't want to seem needy by asking for it.

Kuroo frowned. "Well, what are you doing tonight? Big plans?"

"Maybe. Kenji said we'd do something." Even as I said it, the words sounded hollow. He'd said we'd do something, but he hadn't said what. He hadn't made plans. He hadn't even wished me happy birthday yet.

"That sounds... vague."

"He's probably planning a surprise," I said, but even I didn't believe it anymore.

Kuroo looked like he wanted to say something else, but Lev chose that moment to slam a volleyball directly into the net during what was supposed to be a simple serve.

"I'm focusing!" Lev yelled before anyone could comment. "That was tactical!"

"Tactical?" Yaku called back. "What was tactical about hitting the net?"

"I'm lulling them into a false sense of security!"

Kuroo shook his head, standing up from the bleachers. "I should probably deal with that before he tries to explain the 'strategy' behind his next serve." He paused, looking down at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "Happy birthday, Y/N. You deserve to have a good one."

The sincerity in his voice made my throat tight. "Thank you."

As he walked back onto the court to deal with Lev's creative interpretation of volleyball strategy, I found myself checking my phone again. Still nothing.

By the time practice ended and I made it home, it was nearly 7 PM. I'd changed into a dress—the pretty black one I'd been saving for a special occasion—and even put on the necklace Kenji had given me for our anniversary two years ago. I sat on my couch, purse in my lap, ready to go wherever he wanted to take me.

7:30 came and went. Then 8:00. Then 8:30.

I tried calling him at 9:00, but it went straight to voicemail. Maybe he was driving. Maybe he was picking up flowers or a gift. Maybe he was just running late.

By 9:30, I was still sitting in my dress on my couch, watching terrible reality TV and feeling increasingly foolish. The anticipation had curdled into something ugly in my stomach—part anger, part hurt, part humiliation at my own naivety.

My phone finally buzzed at 9:47, I lunged for it with pathetic eagerness.

Kenji: Hey babe what's up

I stared at the message for a full minute, waiting for the follow-up. The "happy birthday" or "running late" or "something came up but we can still celebrate." But nothing else came.

My hands were shaking slightly as I typed back:

Y/N: It's my birthday. You said we'd do something tonight.

Kenji: Oh shit that was today?

The casual tone, the complete lack of apology or acknowledgment of how this might make me feel—it hurt. I could hear music and laughter in the background when he called thirty seconds later.

"Hey babe," he said, and I could tell he was walking somewhere noisy. "Sorry, I totally forgot. The guys wanted to hit up this new bar and I just lost track of time, you know?"

"You forgot my birthday," I said quietly, not trusting myself to speak any louder without my voice breaking.

"It happens! We'll do something this weekend, okay? I promise we'll make it special."

This weekend. Like my actual birthday was just a inconvenient scheduling conflict.

"Where are you right now?" I asked.

"Just out with Marcus and Jake. Nothing major. Look, I should probably get back—"

"It's 9:47 PM on my birthday, Kenji. I've been sitting here waiting for you since 7."

"I didn't know we had specific plans! You never said a time!"

The worst part was that he genuinely seemed to believe this was my fault somehow. That I should have been more specific about wanting to celebrate my own birthday.

"Forget it," I said, suddenly exhausted. "Have fun with your friends."

"Don't be like that. We'll celebrate this weekend, I promise."

But his promise felt empty, just words to get me off the phone so he could go back to his night out—his night out that apparently mattered more.

"Sure," I said. "This weekend."

The call ended with him saying something about having to go, and I sat there in my dress on my couch, feeling smaller and more invisible than I had in a long time.

I tried to convince myself it wasn't a big deal. Birthdays were arbitrary anyway. Just another day. It didn't matter that he'd forgotten, or that he'd prioritized his friends over me, or that I'd spent all day hoping for something that was never going to happen.

But it did matter. It mattered so much that my chest hurt.

At exactly 9:55 PM, there was a knock at my door.

I looked up from where I'd been mindlessly scrolling through social media, seeing other people's birthday posts and feeling increasingly sorry for myself. Maybe Kenji had left his friends early after all. Maybe he'd brought flowers or takeout from my favorite restaurant as an apology.

But when I opened the door, it wasn't Kenji standing in the hallway.

It was Kuroo, holding a single cupcake with a tiny candle stuck in the top and a lighter in his other hand.

"Before you ask, I couldn't let you go without at least some kind of cake."

I stared at him, then at the cupcake, then back at him. "You brought me a birthday cupcake?"

"I brought you a birthday cupcake," he confirmed, stepping into my apartment when I moved aside. "And I'm going to sing happy birthday, but I should warn you that I'm tone-deaf and it's going to be painful for both of us."

He set the cupcake down on my coffee table and flicked the lighter, the small flame illuminating his face in the dim light of my living room. When the candle was lit, he straightened up and launched into the most off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday" I'd ever heard.

And I started crying.

Not sad tears—though there were plenty of those mixed in, but with Relief. The overwhelming feeling of being seen by someone who cared enough to show up.

"Hey," Kuroo said softly, stopping mid-song. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," I managed through my tears. "This is just... really nice."

He studied my face for a moment, and I could see him taking in the dress I was still wearing, the makeup I'd carefully applied hours ago, the general air of someone who'd been dressed up with nowhere to go.

"He didn't show up," he said quietly. It wasn't a question.

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"No, but I'm still sorry it happened." He picked up the cupcake and held it toward me. "Make a wish."

I looked at the tiny flame flickering on top of the frosting, thought about what I wanted most in that moment, and realized it wasn't what I'd expected. I didn't wish for Kenji to remember my birthday or apologize or magically become the boyfriend I wanted him to be.

I wished for more moments like this. More people who showed up when it mattered. More friends who brought cupcakes and sang terrible songs just because they couldn't stand the thought of someone spending their birthday alone.

I blew out the candle, and Kuroo immediately started clapping like I'd just performed some amazing feat.

"What did you wish for?" he asked, setting the cupcake back down.

"If I tell you, it won't come true."

"Fair point." He settled onto the couch beside me, close enough that our knees almost touched. "Want to share the cupcake, or are you planning to eat the whole thing yourself? Because I support either choice."

I laughed despite myself, using the back of my hand to wipe away the last of my tears. "We can share."

He broke the cupcake in half with his hands, giving me the larger piece. "So, on a scale of one to ten, how terrible was my singing?"

"Solid eleven," I said, taking a bite of the cupcake. It was good—really good, actually. "Where did you get this?"

"That little bakery near campus. The one with the cute old lady who always asks if I have a girlfriend." He grinned. "I told her it was for a friend's birthday and she gave me the extra frosting for free."

We sat there eating cupcake and talking about nothing important—funny stories from practice, Lev's latest attempts at flirting with girls in his class. Normal, easy conversation that made me forget about everything else for a while.

"I should probably head home," Kuroo said eventually, checking his phone. "It's getting late, and you probably want to get some sleep."

"Yeah, probably." But I didn't want him to leave. I didn't want to go back to sitting alone in my apartment thinking about everything that was wrong with my life.

He stood up, gathering the cupcake wrapper and brushing crumbs off his jeans. "Thank you for letting me crash your birthday. Even if it was just for a little while."

"Thank you for crashing it." I walked him to the door, suddenly feeling awkward. "This was... this meant a lot to me."

"I'm glad." He paused with his hand on the doorknob, turning back to look at me. "Happy birthday," he said softly. "I hope twenty-one is a good year for you."

After he left, I stood in my doorway for a moment, watching him walk down the hallway toward the elevator. Just before he turned the corner, I found myself moving without thinking.

"Kuroo!"

He turned around, looking surprised, and I ran toward him in my bare feet and fancy dress. When I reached him, I threw my arms around him from behind, pressing my face against his shoulder back.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you for showing up when it mattered."

I felt him go still for a moment, surprised by the sudden contact. Then his hands came up to cover mine where they were clasped around his stomach, and he leaned back into the hug.

"Anytime," he said quietly. "I mean that."

I held on for another few seconds, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with gym soap, feeling more grateful than I had words for. Then, suddenly embarrassed by my own boldness, I let go and ran back to my apartment, closing the door behind me before he could process what I had done.

But I was smiling. For the first time all day, I was genuinely smiling.

I woke up the morning after my birthday feeling oddly hollow. The sweetness of Kuroo's surprise visit had worn off in the harsh light of day, leaving me with the reality of my situation: a boyfriend who'd forgotten my birthday and apparently felt no need to make up for it.

Kenji had sent a text around 11 AM—Hope you had a good birthday babe—but nothing else. No apology for forgetting, no rescheduled plans, no acknowledgment he'd handled things poorly.

I got through my morning classes in a fog, mechanically taking notes and nodding at appropriate intervals while my mind wandered. By the time afternoon rolled around and it was time for practice, I was looking forward to the distraction. At least on the volleyball court, I felt wanted.

But when I pushed open the gym doors at our usual practice time, I was met with darkness and silence.

Panic immediately set in. Had I gotten the time wrong? Had practice been moved and I'd somehow missed the announcement? I pulled out my phone to double-check my calendar, then tried calling Kuroo when I confirmed that yes, we were supposed to be here at 3:30, and yes, it was currently 3:35.

The call went straight to voicemail.

I tried Yaku next, then Lev, then even Kenma. All voicemail.

Had something happened to the team? Some kind of emergency that I hadn't been informed about? The thought made my stomach clench.

I was spiraling into full panic mode when I heard voices coming from what sounded like the equipment room. Male voices, trying to be quiet and failing.

"Is she here yet?"

"Shh! You're supposed to be quiet!"

"I am being quiet!"

"That's not quiet, that's whispering loudly!"

I crept closer to the equipment room, confused and still worried but starting to suspect something less catastrophic was happening.

"Did you remember the—"

"SURPRISE!"

The lights in the gym suddenly blazed to life, and the entire volleyball team burst out from various hiding spots—behind the bleachers, the equipment room, even from behind the scorekeeping table. Lev was holding a grocery store cake with messy frosting that read "HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N!" in slightly crooked letters. Yaku had a handful of balloons. Kenma was holding a pack of strawberry milk.

"What is this?" I asked, looking around at their expectant faces.

"Belated birthday party!" Lev announced proudly. "Kuroo said we had to celebrate you properly!"

"He said twenty-first birthdays were important and we couldn't let you go without a real celebration," Yaku added, seeming pleased with their surprise.

I looked at Kuroo, who shrugged like orchestrating surprise parties for teammates was just something he did on random Thursday afternoons.

"You didn't have to do this," I said, but I could feel my throat getting tight with emotion.

"We wanted to," Kuroo said simply.

"Lev, bring the cake over here."

What followed was possibly the most chaotic and wonderful birthday celebration I'd ever experienced. The cake was from the grocery store and slightly lopsided, but it tasted better than any expensive dessert I'd ever had. The balloons were the cheap kind from the dollar store, but Lev had insisted on getting them in red and black to match our team colors. The gifts were small and silly—strawberry milk from Kenma because he'd noticed I always chose that flavor from the vending machine, a volleyball keychain from Yaku, a terrible joke book from Lev because he thought I needed more material for team banter.

But Kuroo's gift made me actually tear up.

It was a photo album, not very big, but filled with pictures from the past few weeks. Pictures of me at games, keeping stats and handing out water bottles. Pictures of the team celebrating wins with me included in the background. Pictures of me laughing at something Lev had said, or rolling my eyes at one of Kuroo's terrible puns, or concentrating on tracking a particularly complex play.

"I asked one of the guys who covers sports for the school paper to send me copies," he explained as I flipped through the pages. "Figured you should have proof that you belong here."

The last page had a team photo from after our last win, all of us crowded together and grinning at the camera. Someone had drawn a little heart around my face and written "BEST MANAGER EVER" in red ink.

"This is perfect," I managed, clutching the album to my chest. "Thank you. All of you. This is the best birthday surprise I've ever had."

"Even though it's technically the day after your birthday?" Lev asked, looking worried.

"Especially because it's the day after my birthday," I said, and realized I meant it completely.

We spent the rest of what should have been practice time eating cake and joking around in the gym. No volleyball, no drills, just friends celebrating friends. At some point, Yaku had produced a speaker and we were playing terrible pop music while Lev attempted to teach everyone a dance he'd learned from TikTok.

As I sat on the bleachers watching Kuroo fail spectacularly at Lev's choreography while Kenma provided sarcastic commentary and Yaku tried to restore some semblance of order, I realized something had shifted in my chest. The hollow feeling from this morning was gone, replaced by something warm and full and grateful.

A week had passed since my belated birthday party, and I hadn't even realised how much time had passed because the next thing I knew, we were about to leave.

"Alright, listen up!" Coach Nekomata's voice cut through the pre-trip chatter as we gathered in the school parking lot, our bus idling nearby. "Final reminders: uniforms are packed and accounted for, snacks are distributed, and I expect exemplary behavior representing our school. That means no pranks, no room service charges, and absolutely no shenanigans that will get me angry phone calls from hotel management."

His eyes landed pointedly on Lev, who had the grace to look innocent despite being the most likely culprit for future shenanigans.

"Coach, I'm wounded that you would assume—" Lev started.

"I'm assuming nothing. I'm stating facts based on previous experience," Coach interrupted dryly. "Y/N, as our manager, I'm counting on you to keep these animals in line."

"No pressure," I muttered, but I was smiling. The easy way he'd included me as part of the team's authority structure made me feel important.

I shouldered my small duffel bag, but before I could take more than two steps toward the bus, I was suddenly surrounded by helpful hands.

"I'll take that for you!" Lev declared, reaching for my bag.

"No way, I've got it," Yaku said, elbowing Lev aside. "You'll probably lose it somewhere between here and the bus."

"I lose one bag one time and suddenly I'm irresponsible," Lev protested.

"You lost three bags," Kenma corrected. "And a person. Remember when you couldn't find Yamamoto for two hours?"

"That was different! Yamamoto was hiding!"

"Guys," I laughed, clutching my bag protectively, "I can carry my own luggage. It's literally one small bag."

"Absolutely not," Yaku said firmly. "You're our manager. Managers don't carry their own bags when they have a perfectly functional team to do it for them."

The attention was overwhelming but in the best possible way.

"Fine," I said, giving in with exaggerated reluctance. "Yaku can carry it to the bus. But only because he asked nicely."

"I didn't ask nicely, I demanded," Yaku pointed out, but he was grinning as he took my bag.

"Details," I waved him off.

As we made our way to the bus, I caught Kuroo watching the whole exchange with an amused expression. When our eyes met, he shook his head with a smile that seemed to say you're going to be so spoiled by the end of this trip.

Honestly, I was looking forward to it.

The bus was standard charter size, which meant limited seating and immediate territorial disputes over who got to sit where.

"Y/N should sit with me," Lev announced as we boarded. "I have the best snacks and the funniest stories."

"Your stories are not funny, they're cautionary tales," Yaku replied, settling into a seat and patting the spot next to him. "Sit here, Y/N. I'll protect you from Lev's personality."

"Hey!" Lev protested.

"I think Y/N should make her own choice," came a new voice, and I turned to see one of the second-years, Fukunaga, looking hopeful.

Before the situation could devolve into actual warfare, Kuroo appeared in the aisle with his arms crossed and an imperious expression that was so over-the-top it had to be intentional.

"Silence, peasants!" he declared dramatically. "The queen has chosen the King. Step aside, mere mortals."

I couldn't help but grin at his theatrical performance. Two could play this game.

"Silence, silence, my loyal subjects," I said, waving my hand regally. "Everyone shall have their turn to bask in my presence during this journey. But first, I must deal with this so-called king and his delusions of grandeur."

The entire bus erupted in laughter and mock gasps of scandal.

"The audacity!" Kuroo clutched his chest dramatically. "After everything I've done for you! The cupcakes! The birthday parties!"

"What have you done for me lately?" I shot back, and the team immediately started making "oooh" sounds like we were in middle school.

"Brutal," Yaku commented approvingly. "I like this side of you, Y/N."

Kuroo grinned and gestured to a seat in the middle of the bus. "Your chariot awaits, my queen. From here you can hold court with all your subjects."

"Acceptable," I said with mock resignation, and settled into the seat. Kuroo dropped down beside me, and I realized he'd chosen the perfect spot—close enough to the front for easy conversation with the coaches, but central enough that I could talk to everyone.

"Smooth," I murmured to him as the bus pulled away from school.

"I have my moments," he replied with a pleased smile.

The first hour of the ride was pure chaos in the best way. Lev insisted on giving a running commentary of everything we passed ("Look, cows!" "Those are horses, Lev." "Close enough!"), while Yaku provided increasingly sarcastic responses. Kenma remained glued to his phone but occasionally offered devastating one-liners that had everyone in stitches.

I found myself relaxing completely for the first time in months, laughing until my sides hurt and joining in the team's ridiculous conversations about everything from the likelihood of alien life to whether pineapple belonged on pizza (a debate that nearly split the bus down the middle).

"This is nice," I said to Kuroo during a brief lull in the chaos, when Lev had fallen asleep mid-sentence and most of the team was settling in for the long stretch of highway ahead.

"Yeah? You having fun?"

"I'm having the best time," I said honestly. "I never really did group trips like this in high school. It's... I don't know. It feels like what I imagined having a big family would be like."

"Good. You deserve to have that."

The warmth in his voice, combined with the gentle rumble of the bus and the comfortable chatter around us, made me drowsy. I tried to fight it for a while, not wanting to miss any of the team bonding, but eventually my eyelids grew too heavy.

"Go ahead," Kuroo said quietly, noticing my struggle to stay awake. "I'll wake you up if anything important happens."

I meant to just rest my eyes for a moment, but the next thing I knew, I was waking up with my head on Kuroo's shoulder and the familiar scent of his cologne filling my senses.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," he said softly when he noticed I was awake.

I started to lift my head, suddenly embarrassed about invading his personal space, but his hand came up to gently keep me in place.

"Don't worry about it. You were tired."

"How long was I out?"

"About an hour. You missed Lev trying to start a sing-along and Yaku threatening to throw him out the window."

"Sounds like I missed quite a show."

"Eh, there'll be plenty more where that came from."

I became aware of snickering from the seats around us and realized that our position—me curled against Kuroo's side with his arm loosely around my shoulders—had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the team.

"Oooooh, Kuroo," came Lev's sing-song voice. "Getting cozy with our manager?"

"Shut up, Lev," Kuroo replied without heat. "She was tired and I was being a decent human being. Besides, she has a boyfriend."

The reminder hit me like a bucket of cold water. I did have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who hadn't checked in on me before the trip, who hadn't asked about my schedule or wished me luck. A boyfriend who probably had no idea where I was right now.

I sat up properly, suddenly feeling guilty about how natural it had felt to fall asleep against Kuroo's shoulder. "Sorry," I said quietly. "I didn't mean to use you as a pillow."

"Don't apologize. What are friends for?"

Kuroo's POV

The thing was, I hadn't minded at all. In fact, I'd spent the last hour hyperaware of Y/N's weight against my side, the way her breathing had evened out in sleep, how peaceful she'd looked when she wasn't worrying about anything.

When Lev had started his teasing, my immediate response had been to deflect with the boyfriend comment. It was true, and it was the right thing to do. But part of me—a part I was trying very hard to ignore—had wished it wasn't true.

I watched her check her phone as she settled back into her own space, saw her face fall slightly when she found no new messages. Her boyfriend was an idiot, but it wasn't my place to say so. Not yet, anyway.

"We're almost there," I said instead, nodding toward the window where hotel signs were starting to appear. "You ready for your first away tournament?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," she said, and the smile she gave me was genuine even if it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Y/N POV

The hotel was nicer than I'd expected.

"Alright, everyone off!" Coach called as the bus pulled up to the entrance. "Grab your bags and gather in the lobby. Check-in first, then dinner plans."

The next twenty minutes were controlled chaos as fifteen men navigated hotel check-in procedures. Lev nearly lost his room key before he'd even gotten to his room, Yaku had to physically restrain Yamaoto from pressing all the elevator buttons, and Kenma managed to disappear entirely until we found him in a corner playing his Switch.

"This is why we don't take you people anywhere," Coach muttered, but there was fondness in his voice.

I was watching the whole scene with amusement when Kuroo appeared beside me with both our room keys and my duffel bag.

"Figured I'd save you from the chaos," he said, handing me my key. "We're on the fourth floor, room 427."

"You don't have to carry my bag up," I protested, but he was already heading toward the elevator.

"Team effort," he called back.

Our room was standard hotel fare—two double beds, a small table, a bathroom that looked recently renovated. Nothing fancy, but clean and comfortable.

"Shower's all yours if you want it," Kuroo said, setting my bag on the bed closer to the window. "I need to check in with Coach about tomorrow's schedule anyway."

"Actually," I said, pulling out my phone, "I should probably call Kenji first. Let him know we made it safely and everything."

I caught the slight tightening around Kuroo's eyes at the mention of my boyfriend, but his voice was casual when he replied. "Sure, no problem. Let me know if anything goes badly while I'm in there."

The offer was made lightly, but I could hear the underlying concern. The fact that he thought my phone call with my boyfriend might "go badly" was both touching and depressing.

"I'll be fine," I said with forced cheerfulness. "Though I appreciate you offering to storm out naked to yell at him if necessary."

Kuroo's grin was immediate and genuine. "Hey, I'd put pants on first. I'm not completely uncivilized."

"How considerate of you."

"I'm a gentleman, Y/N. A gentleman who would absolutely tear your boyfriend a new one if he made you cry, but a gentleman nonetheless."

Despite everything, I found myself laughing. "Noted. I'll be sure to factor that into my contingency planning."

"Good. I'll be back in like twenty minutes, okay?"

After he left, I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at my phone for a long moment. I should be excited to call Kenji, to share details about the trip and hear about his day. Instead, I felt vaguely anxious.

Finally, I dialed his number.

He answered on the fourth ring, and I could immediately hear music and laughter in the background.

Female laughter.

"Hey babe, what's up?" His voice sounded rushed, distracted.

"Just wanted to let you know we made it to the hotel safely," I said. "The bus ride was fun, and the team's all settled in. Tomorrow we have—"

"That's great," he interrupted, but I could tell he wasn't really listening. The background noise was getting louder, and I heard someone calling his name.

"Kenji? Are you at a party?"

There was a pause, and I heard some muffled conversation, like he'd covered the phone.

"Just hanging out with some people from work," he said when he came back on the line. "Look, I'm kind of in the middle of something. Can we talk later?"

"Oh. Sure, I just—"

"Thanks for checking in. Have fun with your volleyball thing."

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone for a moment—your volleyball thing. Like my job as manager, this tournament that I'd been excited about for weeks, was just some trivial hobby.

And the background noise... those definitely hadn't sounded like coworkers.

I forced myself to take a deep breath and push the thoughts away. I was probably overthinking things. Kenji was allowed to have friends, allowed to have a social life while I was away. Just because I was feeling sensitive didn't mean anything was actually wrong.

My phone buzzed with a text: Sorry about the noise. Just out with friends. Miss you.

The message should have made me feel better, but something about it felt hollow. Like an afterthought.

I was still staring at my phone when the bathroom door burst open and Kuroo appeared in the doorway wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and holding a hair dryer like a sword.

"Milady!" he declared dramatically. "Did that fiend wound you with his words? Should I challenge him to a duel?"

I couldn't help it—I burst out laughing despite the knot in my stomach.

"Oh my god, put some clothes on," I said, throwing a pillow at him.

"Not until you tell me you're okay," he said, striking a heroic pose with the hair dryer. "I am prepared to defend your honor in this towel if necessary."

"You're ridiculous," I said, but I was still laughing, and the tight feeling in my chest was already starting to loosen.

"I'm committed to the bit," he corrected. "Now, are you okay, or do I need to find pants and a plane ticket?"

"I'm okay," I said, and realized I mostly meant it. "The call was fine. Short, but fine."

Kuroo studied my face for a moment, and I could see him debating whether to push for more details. Finally, he nodded and disappeared back into the bathroom.

"Good," his voice called out. "Because we have dinner with the team in an hour, and I refuse to let anything ruin your first tournament experience."

The hotel restaurant was surprisingly decent, and Coach had reserved a large table that could accommodate all of us. The energy was buzzing—excited chatter about tomorrow's games mixed with the usual team banter.

"So," Lev said as we settled in with our menus, "how's the rooming situation, Y/N? Is Kuroo a good roommate, or should we stage an intervention?"

"He's fine," I said, shooting Kuroo an amused look. "Though he has some interesting ideas about towel-based heroics."

"I don't want to know," Yaku said immediately. "Whatever weirdness you two have going on, keep it to yourselves."

"There's no weirdness," Kuroo protested. "I'm a perfect gentleman."

"Define 'perfect,'" Kenma said dryly, not looking up from his phone.

"I haven't made her uncomfortable yet," Kuroo replied. "That's practically sainthood for me."

"The bar is so low it's underground," I said, shaking my head.

The conversation flowed easily from there, touching on everything from tomorrow's game strategy to increasingly ridiculous hypothetical scenarios that had everyone laughing. I found myself relaxing completely, the awkwardness from the phone call fading away as I got caught up in the team's energy.

"Okay," Coach said as we finished eating. "Tomorrow we have our first match at 12 PM. That means breakfast at 8, Light practice and warm up at 9 bus loading at 11:30, and everyone in bed by 10 PM tonight. No exceptions, no complaints, and absolutely no room service parties."

A collective groan went up from the team.

"Coach, it's barely 8 PM now," Lev protested. "What are we supposed to do for two hours?"

"Sleep. Rest. Mentally prepare. Not my problem how you spend the time, just that you spend it quietly and responsibly."

"Yes sir." The team says in unison.

Back in our room, both Kuroo and I changed into more comfortable clothes—me in oversized sleep shorts and a Nekoma t-shirt, him in sweatpants and a tank top.

"So," he said, settling onto his bed with his ipad, "how did the call actually go? And don't say 'fine' because I can tell when you're hiding something."

"It was... weird," I admitted, sitting cross-legged on my own bed. "Short. Like he was distracted or didn't want to talk. And there were people in the background, including girls, but he said it was work people."

Kuroo's expression darkened slightly. "Did you believe him?"

"I want to believe him," I said carefully. "But something felt off. Like he was rushing to get off the phone."

"I'm sorry. That sucks."

"It's probably nothing," I said quickly. "I'm probably just being paranoid."

Kuroo looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he held up his iPad. "Well, if you want a distraction, I have a confession to make. I'm an iPad kid. I literally cannot fall asleep without background noise, and I have the most ridiculous collection of comfort movies known to man."

I smiled despite myself. "What kind of comfort movies?"

"The kind that will make you question my maturity level," he said with a grin. "We're talking Disney, Pixar, animated movies that are technically for children but are actually emotional masterpieces."

"I'm intrigued. What are the options?"

"Well, there's Hotel Transylvania, which seems appropriate given our current location. There's Lilo and Stitch if you want to cry. Or we could go with a classic like The Emperor's New Groove."

"Hotel Transylvania it is," I decided. "Seems fitting."

He patted the space next to him on his bed. "Come on then, roomie. Let's get comfortable."

I hesitated for a moment, thinking about Kenji and how he might react to knowing I was sharing a bed with another guy, even just to watch a movie. But then I pushed the thought away. We were teammates. Friends. This was completely innocent, and I was tired of feeling guilty for every interaction I had with other people.

I settled beside Kuroo, close enough to see the iPad screen clearly but not touching. He started the movie and then, seemingly without thinking, asked, "Do you mind if I take a picture announcing you as my official iPad kid partner?"

"Sure," I said, surprising myself.

He held up his phone to capture both of us in the frame, me grinning and him making an exaggerated serious face. Then he switched to a silly face, and I stuck out my tongue, and by the third photo we were both laughing.

"Perfect," he said, looking at the results. "I'm posting this to Instagram. The caption will be 'Found my fellow iPad kid for tournament movie nights.'"

"Love it" I said, but I was already pulling out my own phone. "Send it to me so I can repost it to my story."

Within minutes of posting, the photo had likes and comments from the entire team, plus some of my friends from classes.

As the movie played, I found myself relaxing completely for the first time all day. Kuroo provided running commentary that was funnier than the actual movie, and I contributed my own observations, and somehow we ended up with our shoulders pressed together as we both leaned into the iPad.

It felt natural in a way that surprised me. Easy. Like this was something we'd done a hundred times before.

Kuroo's POV

Y/N fell asleep about halfway through the movie, her head gradually tilting until it was resting against my shoulder. I watched her for a moment, noting how peaceful she looked. Then, I carefully moved the iPad aside.

She was going to have a crick in her neck if she slept like this all night.

As gently as I could, I slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her easily. She stirred slightly but didn't wake, just made a small sound and curled closer to my chest. I carried her the few steps to her own bed, pulling back the covers with one hand before laying her down carefully.

She looked so young like this, vulnerable in a way that made something protective twist in my chest. I pulled the blankets up to her chin, then noticed her phone lying forgotten on my bed where it had fallen from her lap.

I should put it on the charger for her, I thought, picking it up and looking around for her charging cable. That's when the screen lit up with notifications, and I couldn't help but see them.

Missed call from Kenji

And then a text: Sorry about what you heard. It's not what you think. Stop overreacting, I was just with friends.

My jaw clenched automatically. The message was clearly defensive. And the timing of sending it, hours after their conversation, probably after he'd had time to think about how his rushed phone call had looked, felt calculated.

Stop overreacting. Like her completely reasonable concern about his behavior was somehow her fault.

I looked over at Y/N, sleeping peacefully in her bed, and felt a surge of protective anger. She deserved so much better than someone who made her feel crazy for having normal emotional responses. She deserved someone who was excited to hear from her, who wanted to share the details of her trip, who didn't make her feel like she was asking too much by wanting basic consideration.

I found her charger and plugged her phone in, placing it face down on her nightstand. She could deal with whatever mind games her boyfriend was playing tomorrow. Tonight, she could just sleep peacefully.

I settled into my own bed, turning off the lights and trying to ignore the voice in my head that whispered how right it had felt to take care of her like that. How easy it would be to care about her the way she deserved to be cared about.

But she had a boyfriend. A shitty boyfriend, maybe, but a boyfriend nonetheless. And I was her friend, her teammate, someone she trusted.

I wasn't going to be the one to complicate that.

Even if every instinct I had was screaming that she deserved better. That she deserved someone who would never make her question whether she was overreacting to basic disrespect.

Someone like... well. Someone who wasn't me, because I wasn't going to cross that line.

No matter how much I wanted to.

The alarm went off at exactly 7 AM, piercing through the quiet hotel room with all the subtlety of a damn fire truck. I jolted awake, disoriented for a moment before remembering where I was—tournament hotel, shared room, big day ahead.

The alarm was still blaring.

I turned to see Kuroo's form completely motionless under his covers, dead to the world despite the cacophony coming from his phone on the nightstand. Not even a twitch.

"Kuroo," I called out. Nothing.

"Kuroo!" I said louder, sitting up in bed. Still nothing. How was he sleeping through this?

Finally, I got up and walked over to his bed, shaking his shoulder firmly. "KUROO. Your alarm!"

He stirred slightly.

"Turn off your damn alarm before I throw your phone out the window," I threatened, shaking him harder.

This finally got a response. His eyes cracked open, squinting at me with a confused expression.

"Wha...?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Your alarm! It's been going off for like five minutes!"

"Oh." He reached over blindly, fumbling for his phone and finally managing to silence it. "Sorry. I never actually wake up to my own alarms."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Then why set it if you're not even gonna wake up? What's the point?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," he said, burying his face back in his pillow.

That's when I got a good look at his hair, and I couldn't help myself—I burst out laughing.

His bedhead was absolutely catastrophic. His usually perfectly styled hair was sticking up in every direction, defying gravity and probably several laws of physics. One side was completely flat against his head while the other looked like he'd been struck by lightning.

"Oh my god," I gasped between giggles. "Your hair!"

He lifted his head slightly, one eye opening to glare at me. "What about my hair?"

"It looks like you stuck your finger in an electrical socket!" I was laughing so hard I could barely get the words out. "And then maybe fought a tornado!"

"Rude," he grumbled, but I could see him fighting a smile.

"I'm sorry, but it's just—" Another wave of laughter hit me. "It's defying the laws of nature!"

"Cruel," he said dramatically, sitting up and somehow making his hair even worse in the process. "Heartless. I open my home to you, set an alarm for your benefit, and this is how you repay me? By bullying me about my natural morning beauty?"

"Natural morning beauty?" I wheezed.

He grabbed a pillow and launched it at me. I shrieked, dodging it and grabbing my own pillow in retaliation.

"You started it!" I laughed, swinging my pillow at him.

"I was peacefully sleeping until you began your campaign of harassment!" he protested, blocking my attack with his own pillow.

What followed was the most ridiculous pillow fight of my adult life, both of us laughing and making increasingly dramatic accusations. I managed to get in a particularly good hit that sent him tumbling backward on his bed, hair somehow getting even more disheveled.

"Okay, okay!" he called out, holding up his hands in surrender. "I yield! You win!"

"That's what I thought," I said smugly, lowering my pillow.

He sat up, looking thoroughly defeated but amused. "You're mean when you first wake up."

"I wouldn't be, if your alarm hadn't woken me up this early," I countered.

"Fair point." He ran a hand through his hair, which only made it worse. "But just wait—once I fix this masterpiece, you won't be laughing anymore."

"I doubt that very much," I said, still giggling as he trudged toward the bathroom.

"We'll see about that," he muttered, closing the door behind him.

I flopped back onto my bed, still smiling.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand—the phone Kuroo had so thoughtfully plugged in for me last night. I reached for it, expecting maybe some good luck messages from friends, and felt my stomach drop slightly when I saw the notifications from last night.

The missed call and defensive text from Kenji.

For a moment, the light feeling wavered. But then I heard Kuroo's voice from the bathroom, singing what was the most off-key version of "My Heart Will Go On" that had ever been attempted, and I found myself smiling again despite everything.

I could deal with Kenji later. Right now, I had a tournament to focus on and a team counting on me.

When we made it downstairs, teams from various schools had claimed different sections of the area, and the air was full of nervous excitement and the smell of coffee and bacon.

Our table was easy to spot—Lev's voice carried across the entire dining room as he regaled anyone who would listen with his predictions for the day's matches.

"Y/N!" he called out as soon as he spotted us. "Finally! I was starting to think Kuroo had kidnapped you."

"Just making sure she actually got some sleep," Kuroo said, settling into a chair. His hair was indeed fixed now, back to its usual perfect styling.

"Did you eat yet?" Lev asked, immediately going into mother hen mode. "You need to eat. Big day ahead. Can't have our manager running on empty."

Before I could answer, he was already piling food onto a plate for me—scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, fruit, what looked like half the continental breakfast spread.

"Lev, that's enough food for three people," I protested.

"Nonsense! Eat," he commanded, pushing the plate toward me.

"She can serve herself, you know," Yaku said, but he was also eyeing my plate critically. "Though he's not wrong about the breakfast thing. Most important meal of the day."

"Especially on game days," one of the second-years added. "You'll need the energy."

"Guys, you don't need to worry about me," I said softly.

"Of course we do," Lev said matter-of-factly. "You're our manager. We take care of each other."

"That's what family does," Yaku added with a shrug, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Family. There was that word again.

"Alright, alright," Kuroo said. "Give her some space to actually eat instead of just staring at the food you piled on her plate."

I caught his eye and smiled gratefully. He seemed to understand that while I appreciated the attention, it could be overwhelming sometimes. He had this way of looking out for me without making it seem like I couldn't take care of myself.

As breakfast continued, the conversation flowed from game strategy to increasingly ridiculous hypothetical scenarios (what if volleyball was played with bowling balls? what if the net was on fire?), and I found myself laughing so hard I nearly choked on my orange juice.

"See?" Lev said triumphantly when I finally managed to clear most of the food from my plate. "I knew you were hungry."

"You're like a mother bird," I told him, shaking my head. "Forcing food down my throat whether I want it or not."

"Mother birds regurgitate food for their babies," Kenma pointed out helpfully.

"Gross, Kenma," Yaku grimaced.

"Just saying. If Lev was really like a mother bird—"

"Okay, new topic!" Lev interrupted quickly. "Anyone else excited about absolutely destroying our competition today?"

The gym they'd reserved for warm-ups was smaller than our home court but had good lighting and decent floors. Coach had arranged for an hour of practice time before the actual tournament began, wanting to make sure everyone was loose and ready.

"Light warm-up only," he instructed as we filed in. "Save your energy for the real thing."

I set up my manager station—clipboard, stopwatch, first aid kit, towels, water bottles—and watched the team go through their routine. It was fascinating how different they looked in this context. More focused, more intense, but still fundamentally the same group of people who had spent breakfast debating whether hot dogs were sandwiches.

The warm-up was smooth and efficient—passing drills, serving practice, some light spiking. Nothing too strenuous, just enough to get their muscles warm and their timing sharp. I tracked it all dutifully, noting who seemed tense and who looked confident.

After the official warm-up ended, the team naturally broke into a more casual mini-game, three-on-three with rotating players. The energy shifted from serious preparation to pure fun, and I found myself relaxing as I watched them.

"Hey, Y/N," Yamamoto called out during a break. "Do you even know how to play volleyball, or are you just really good at watching it?"

The question caught me off guard. "I... well, I've been learning by watching you guys."

"Learning?" Kuroo raised an eyebrow. "What kind of learning?"

I felt my cheeks heat up slightly. "I may have been practicing some basics in my free time. You know, just passing against walls and stuff. Nothing major."

The entire team turned to stare at me.

"You've been secretly practicing volleyball?" Lev asked, sounding delighted.

"It's not secret! It's just... private practice."

"Show us," Yaku said immediately.

"What? No. I'm terrible."

"Come on," Kuroo said, his eyes lighting up with interest. "We'll teach you properly. Consider it team bonding."

"I don't think that's a good idea—"

"Y/N," Lev interrupted, already grabbing a volleyball. "You're part of this team. That means you should at least know the basics."

Before I could protest further, I found myself being pulled onto the court. What followed was probably the most patient volleyball instruction session in history.

I was clumsy at first—my passes went everywhere except where they were supposed to, my serves barely made it over the net, and I tripped over my own feet more times than I cared to count. But the team was endlessly encouraging, cheering for every small improvement.

"Better!" Yaku called out after a pass that actually went in the right direction. "You're getting it!"

"Your form is improving," Kuroo added, demonstrating the proper arm position for the third time. "Try again."

When I finally managed a serve that cleared the net and landed in bounds, you would have thought I'd just performed a miracle. The entire team erupted in cheers, with Lev picking me up and spinning me around like I'd won an Olympic medal.

"I did it!" I laughed, feeling ridiculously proud of such a basic accomplishment.

"You did it!" Lev agreed enthusiastically. "Our manager knows volleyball!"

"Basic volleyball," I corrected, but I was beaming.

"Still counts," Kuroo said with a warm smile. "You're officially a player now, not just a manager."

The feeling of inclusion, of being part of something bigger than myself, was overwhelming in the best possible way. These people weren't just letting me hang around—they were actively making me part of their world.

The bus ride to the actual tournament venue was a study in controlled nervous energy.

I found myself sitting next to Lev, who was bouncing his knee anxiously and staring out the window with unfocused eyes.

"You okay?" I asked quietly.

"Yeah, just... you know. Pre-game nerves," he said, trying to sound casual but failing completely.

"Want to talk about it?"

He was quiet for a moment, then said, "What if I mess up? What if I let everyone down?"

The vulnerability in his voice made my chest ache. This guy who was usually so confident, so loud and enthusiastic, was genuinely worried about disappointing his teammates.

"Lev," I said gently, "do you know what I see when I watch you play?"

"Someone who makes a lot of mistakes?"

"I see someone who never gives up. Even when a play goes wrong, you're already thinking about the next one. You lift everyone else up when they're struggling, and you make impossible spikes look routine." I paused, making sure he was listening. "And most importantly, you have this entire team behind you. We're not going anywhere, no matter what happens out there."

He turned to look at me, and I could see some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

"You really think so?"

"I know so." I added with a grin

That got a smile from him, and I felt satisfaction having said the right thing at the right time.

From across the aisle, I caught Kuroo watching our conversation with an expression I couldn't quite read. When our eyes met, he gave me a small, approving nod that made warmth spread through my chest.

As the bus continued toward the tournament venue, I watched Kuroo quietly make his rounds, checking in with different teammates. A word of encouragement here, a strategic reminder there, always seeming to know exactly what each person needed to hear.

It struck me how naturally he led, by genuinely caring about each individual on the team.

We were a good team, I realized. All of us, in different ways.

The tournament venue was massive—easily three times the size of our home gym, with multiple courts running simultaneously and bleachers packed with spectators.

"Holy shit," Lev whispered as we walked in, craning his neck to take in the soaring ceiling and professional-grade lighting.

"Language," Yaku said automatically, but he looked equally impressed.

"This is incredible," I breathed, clutching my manager clipboard and trying to take it all in. The scale of it, the professional setup, the sheer number of talented players warming up around us—it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

"Pretty cool, right?" Kuroo appeared beside me, looking completely at ease despite the intimidating environment. "Wait until you see how loud it gets during actual matches."

Our first game was against a team I'd never heard of, but they looked skilled during warm-ups. I settled at our bench, organized my supplies, and prepared to track what I hoped would be the first of several victories.

What I wasn't prepared for was how different Kuroo looked during an actual tournament match. Gone was the playful captain from practice—in his place was someone focused, intense, and absolutely lethal at the net. Every block he made was perfectly timed, every spike was placed with surgical precision.

And every time he made a particularly good play, he'd look directly at me.

Not at the crowd, not at his teammates celebrating, but at me. A quick glance, a barely-there smirk, like he was making sure I'd seen him succeed. It was subtle enough that I don't think anyone else noticed, but it made my cheeks warm every single time.

We won the first match in straight sets, and the team was buzzing with confidence as we prepared for the next one.

"Y/N," Kuroo said during the break between matches, "want to come with me to grab something from the concession stand? I could use a sports drink."

"Sure," I said, grateful for the chance to stretch my legs.

The concession area was crowded with players and spectators from various schools. We'd barely gotten in line when two girls approached us—both cute, both wearing the colors of one of the other competing schools.

"Excuse me," the taller one said, directing her attention entirely at Kuroo. "We watched your last match. You're an incredible middle blocker."

"Thanks," Kuroo replied politely, that easy smile I knew so well appearing on his face. "You guys competing today too?"

"We're managers for Shiratorizawa," the shorter girl said, and I felt a little jolt of recognition. Shiratorizawa was a powerhouse school—if we made it far enough in the tournament, we might face them later.

"That's cool. How are your guys doing?"

The girls launched into a conversation about their team's performance, and I found myself standing slightly to the side, feeling oddly like a third wheel. Or fourth wheel, technically.

"So," the taller girl said after a few minutes of volleyball talk, "Are you two dating?" She gestured between Kuroo and me.

Kuroo's response was immediate and dramatically mournful. "Sadly, no. This beautiful woman is already taken by some lucky bastard."

I rolled my eyes at his theatrical delivery, assuming he was just being his usual dramatic self. The girls giggled at his performance, clearly charmed.

"Well," the shorter one said, pulling out her phone, "if you're single, maybe I could get your number?"

"I appreciate the offer," Kuroo said, glancing at me briefly, "but I'm actually here with Y/N to grab snacks before our next match. We should probably get back to our team."

He steered me toward the concession counter, leaving the girls behind with polite goodbyes.

"Why didn't you take her number?" I asked once we were out of earshot. "She was really cute, and she seemed nice."

Kuroo shrugged, studying the menu board. "I'll probably never see her again anyway. What's the point?"

"The point is meeting new people. Having fun. You know, normal college guy stuff."

"Two sports drinks and a bag of trail mix," he said to the concession worker, then turned back to me. "I'm perfectly happy with my current social situation, thank you very much."

"Oh come on don't you have a crush on anyone? A secret girlfriend hidden away somewhere?"

"Nope," he said simply, handing me one of the sports drinks. "No crushes, no secret girlfriends, no dramatic romantic entanglements. Just volleyball and keeping my team from falling apart."

There was something in his tone that made me think there might be more to the story, but before I could probe further, he was already heading back toward the gym.

"Come on, Manager. Time to watch us dominate our next opponents."

Our second match was even better than the first. The team was finding their rhythm, their confidence building with each successful play. And Kuroo... Kuroo was absolutely on fire. Every block seemed to energize him more, and those quick glances in my direction became more frequent, more obvious.

By the time we won our second match, I was practically glowing with pride. This team, my team, was incredible.

After the tournament day ended—with two solid victories under our belts—we returned to the hotel exhausted but exhilarated. Most of the players were dealing with the post-competition adrenaline crash in their own ways.

I had to drop off the stats to Coach Nekomata before heading back. Once that was done I made my way to my room.

I walked in, expecting to find Kuroo resting or reviewing footage from today's matches. Instead, I found him setting up what looked like a makeshift ice bath in our bathroom.

"Please tell me you're not planning to freeze to death," I said, watching him dump another bag of ice into the tub.

"Recovery bath," he explained, testing the water temperature and immediately jerking his hand back. "Good for muscle recovery and mental preparation for tomorrow."

"Mental preparation for hypothermia?"

"Ha ha." He stood up, stretching his back. "It actually helps with focus and stress relief. Plus, my shoulders are tight from all those blocks today."

I watched him roll his shoulders experimentally, wincing slightly at a knot in his upper back.

"I could help with that," I offered before I could think better of it. "I mean, I could give you a massage. Before your ice torture session."

He turned to look at me, eyebrows raised in surprise. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to. You played incredibly today, and you take care of everyone else all the time—let someone take care of you for once."

There was something vulnerable in his expression as he considered the offer. Finally, he nodded. "Okay. Thanks."

He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled off his team warm-up jacket, leaving him in just his t-shirt. I settled behind him, placing my hands carefully on his shoulders and immediately feeling the tension there.

"Wow, you really are tight," I said, working my thumbs into a particularly stubborn knot. "Do you ever relax?"

"Not during tournament season," he admitted. "Too much to think about."

"Like what?"

"Game strategy, team morale, individual player concerns, whether we can keep this momentum going tomorrow..." He trailed off as I worked on a spot that was clearly bothering him. "Everything, really."

"You know you don't have to carry all of that alone, right? You played amazingly today. Those blocks in the second set were incredible."

"You noticed?"

"I noticed you showing off a little. Looking over at me after your good plays."

He was quiet for a moment, and I could feel some tension that wasn't physical creeping into his shoulders. "Was it that obvious?"

"Only to me, I think. But yes, it was obvious." I continued working on his shoulders, trying to keep my voice light. "Not that I minded. It was kind of sweet, actually."

"Mm." He was quiet for a moment, relaxing under my hands. "This is really nice. Thank you."

There was something intimate about the moment—the quiet room, the trust he was showing by letting me help, the way he was gradually unwinding under my touch.

I finally stopped, and he turned to look at me.

There was something in his eyes that made the air in the room feel heavier, more charged. For a moment, we just looked at each other, and I was very aware of how close we were sitting, how his shirt had ridden up slightly when I'd been working on his back.

"You okay?" he asked softly, noticing my sudden stillness.

"Yeah," I said, shaking myself out of whatever spell I'd been under. "I'm fine. Just... this is nice. Being able to help."

His expression softened. "It is nice. Having someone care enough to help."

Kuroo rolled his shoulders experimentally.

"That's so much better," he said, sounding genuinely amazed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"YouTube University," I admitted. "I looked up some videos after I noticed how tense you get before games."

The look he gave me was so warm and grateful that it made my chest tight. "You noticed that?"

"I notice a lot of things about you," I said, then immediately felt my face heat up at how that sounded. "About all of you guys, I mean. It's part of being a good manager."

"Right," he said, but his smile suggested he knew exactly what I'd meant the first time.

"Go take your ice bath," I said, standing up to give him privacy. "I'll be out here if you need anything."

"Like if I lose consciousness from the cold?"

"Exactly. I'll heroically drag your frozen body out and perform CPR if necessary."

"My hero," he said dramatically, grabbing towels from the dresser.

As he disappeared into the bathroom, I settled on my bed with my phone, trying to ignore the sounds of him getting into what was undoubtedly freezing water and the creative cursing that followed.

My phone had several messages from friends wishing me luck, a few social media notifications, and... nothing from Kenji.

I stared at the screen for a moment, realizing that his silence didn't hurt as much as it probably should have. I was too busy, too focused on the tournament and the team to spend energy worrying about why my boyfriend hadn't bothered to check in on how our games went.

That realization should have worried me more than it did.

Around 10 PM, just as I was settling in for the night, there was a soft knock on our door. I opened it to find Lev and two of the second-years standing in the hallway, looking like conspirators.

"Snack run," Lev whispered dramatically. "You in?"

"Snack run?"

"Vending machines. Maybe the convenience store down the street. tournament carb loading."

"Isn't it past curfew?"

"Technically," one of the second-years said with a grin. "But we're not leaving the hotel property. Just... exploring our temporary residence."

I glanced back at the bathroom door, where I could still hear Kuroo moving around. "I don't know..."

"Come on," Lev pleaded. "It's tradition. tournament bonding."

"If you get us in trouble—"

"We won't get in trouble. We're very sneaky."

They were, in fact, not very sneaky at all. Within ten minutes of our "covert mission" to the vending machines, we'd attracted three more team members and were having what could generously be called a party in the hotel's small common area.

"Okay, but seriously," one of the guys was saying around a mouthful of chips, "what if we played volleyball but with our feet? Like soccer volleyball?"

"That's just sepak takraw," Kenma said, appearing out of nowhere with his arms full of energy drinks. "It's already a sport."

"Show off," Lev muttered good-naturedly.

"We should get ramen," someone suggested. "There's a place across the street."

"That's definitely leaving hotel property," I pointed out.

"Technically—"

"Y/N's right." Kuroo's voice cut through the chatter, and we all turned to see him standing behind her with his arms crossed and an expression that was trying to be stern but mostly looked amused. "And technically, you're all supposed to be in your rooms."

A chorus of groans went up from the group.

"But Kuroo-san—" Lev started.

"No buts. Big day tomorrow. Our manager needs her sleep, and so do the rest of you."

"Five more minutes?" someone tried.

"Now."

There was something in his voice that brooked no argument, and despite the grumbling, everyone began gathering their snacks and shuffling toward the elevators.

"Sorry," I said to Kuroo as we walked back to our room. "I know we shouldn't have—"

"Don't apologize. It's good for team morale. But you do need sleep."

"What about you? You were up late doing... whatever you were doing."

"Recovery routine. I'm fine."

I studied his face as we reached our door. He looked tired but alert.

"Are you nervous?" I asked as we settled back into our room.

"Always," he admitted, sitting on his bed. "But it's good nervous."

We finally made it back to the room, and I immediately curled up on my bed.

"Get some sleep, Y/N," he said gently, reaching over to turn off the main light, leaving only the soft glow from the bathroom. "Tomorrow's another big day."

I settled under the covers, listening to him moving around quietly as he got ready for bed. In the dim light, I could see him pause by the window, looking out at the city lights, and I wondered what he was thinking about.

Kuroo's POV

I watched Y/N fall asleep.

She fit so naturally with the team, anticipated their needs, supported them without even thinking about it. Watching her calm Lev's nerves on the bus, seeing her offer to help with my recovery routine, the way she'd thrown herself into learning volleyball basics—everything about her made me more certain that she belonged with us.

That she belonged with me.

I settled into my own bed, making a quiet decision that had been building for weeks.

I was going to protect her. From her shitty boyfriend, from anyone who tried to make her doubt her worth, from anything that threatened the light that was finally starting to return to her eyes.

Even if it meant she might hate me for it eventually.

Even if it cost me everything.

She deserved better, and I was going to make sure she got it.

No matter what.

Sunlight was streaming through the hotel curtains with all the aggressive cheerfulness of a motivational poster, and I wanted absolutely no part of it. I groaned and burrowed deeper into the blankets, pulling a pillow over my head like it could somehow block out the reality that today was the final day of the tournament.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," came Kuroo's annoyingly chipper voice from somewhere across the room. "Big day ahead."

"No," I mumbled into my pillow. "Go away. The sun is a lie and mornings are a conspiracy."

I heard him chuckle, followed by footsteps approaching my bed. "Come on, Y/N. Breakfast starts in twenty minutes, and you know how Lev gets when people are late to team meals."

"Lev can eat my share. I'm hibernating."

"You're not a bear."

"I'm evolving into one. Leave me to my cocoon of denial."

The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge of my bed, and I felt his hand settle gently on what I assumed was my shoulder through the blanket mountain I'd constructed.

"The team needs their manager," he said, voice softer now. "And I need my grumpy morning person to complain about the hotel coffee with me."

Despite myself, I felt a smile tugging at my lips. "The coffee here is truly terrible."

"See? I knew you cared about something."

I peeked out from under my pillow fortress to glare at him, only to find him grinning at me with that stupid, perfect smile that made it impossible to stay actually annoyed.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't. You hate mornings. There's a difference."

He reached over and gently tugged the pillow away from my face, and I immediately tried to grab it back, which led to a brief and ridiculous tug-of-war that ended with both of us laughing.

Kuroo's POV

Watching Y/N emerge from her blanket cocoon, grumpy and disheveled. Did something dangerous to my chest. There was something so genuine about her in the mornings, no walls up, no trying to be what she thought other people wanted her to be. Just pure, unvarnished Y/N, complaining about sunlight and evolution like it was perfectly reasonable.

She looked young like this, carefree in a way I rarely saw when she was awake enough to remember all the things she worried about. Her hair was sticking up at impossible angles, there was a crease from her pillowcase on her cheek, and she was scowling at me like I'd personally invented the concept of morning.

It was possibly the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

When she finally gave in and started getting ready, moving around the room, I found myself watching her more than I should have. The way she automatically handed me my toothbrush when she grabbed her own. How she managed to step around me in the small bathroom space without it feeling awkward or crowded. The easy domesticity of it all.

This is what it could be like, I thought before I could stop myself. This could be normal.

But then she checked her phone, and I watched her face fall slightly when she saw whatever was or wasn't there, and I was reminded that this wasn't normal. This was temporary. And at the end of the weekend, she'd go back to someone who didn't appreciate what he had.

Someone who didn't deserve her morning grumpiness or her pillowcase creases or any of the thousand small ways she made everything better just by being there.

The energy on the bus was different that morning, more focused. We'd made it to the final day of the tournament, which meant we were playing for real stakes now. I could feel the shift in my teammates, the way their joking had become more subdued, their preparations more meticulous.

But I could also feel Y/N's anxiety radiating from the seat beside me like heat from a furnace.

She was fidgeting with everything her water bottle, her notebook, and the strap of her bag. Her shoulders were hunched with tension, and she kept glancing around the bus like she was looking for an escape route.

"Hey," I said quietly, not wanting to draw attention from the other guys. "You okay?"

"Fine," she said automatically, then immediately grimaced at how unconvincing it sounded. "I'm just... nervous, I guess. What if I mess something up? What if I forget to track something important, or someone gets hurt and I don't have the right supplies, or—"

"Y/N." I gently placed my hand on her knee, feeling her flinch slightly before she relaxed under the contact. "Breathe."

She looked down at my hand, then back up at my face, and I could see some of the panic starting to fade from her eyes.

"You've been doing this job for a while now," I continued, keeping my voice calm and steady. "You know these guys better than they know themselves half the time. You're not going to mess up."

"But what if—"

"What if you're exactly where you're supposed to be, doing exactly what you're supposed to do, with people who trust you completely?" I interrupted gently. "Because that's what I see when I look at this situation."

She was quiet for a moment, just looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Finally, she let out a shaky breath and nodded.

"I just hope I don't embarrass myself," she muttered, turning to look out the window.

I wanted to tell her that was impossible. That she could never embarrass herself because she cared too much, tried too hard, gave too much of herself to everything she did. That watching her support the team was one of the best parts of playing volleyball for me now.

Instead, I just squeezed her knee gently and said, "You won't. You belong here."

The gymnasium was packed for the finals, with what felt like twice as many spectators as the previous days. The energy was electric, almost overwhelming, and I could see some of the younger guys looking a little intimidated by the crowd.

But Y/N... Y/N was in her element.

I watched her from the court during warm-ups, noting how she'd positioned herself at the perfect angle to see everything, clipboard ready, water bottles arranged with military precision. She was leaning forward in her seat, completely focused, lips moving slightly as she silently tracked our movements and probably mentally rehearsing every possible scenario.

When the game started, she became even more intense. Every point, every rally, every successful play had her on the edge of her seat. She wasn't just watching—she was participating, her whole body language shifting with the rhythm of the game.

I found myself playing harder, pushing more, partly because of the stakes but mostly because I could feel her investment in every move we made. When I made a particularly good block, I caught her pumping her fist in celebration. When Lev landed a difficult spike, she was the first one cheering from the sidelines.

The other guys noticed too. I saw Yaku glance over at her after a successful dig, saw her give him an encouraging thumbs-up that made him grin. Kenma actually looked in her direction after a perfect set, and she nodded at him with proud approval.

She wasn't just our manager anymore. She was our anchor, our constant, the person who believed in us even when we didn't believe in ourselves.

We won the finals in four sets, and the celebration that followed was chaotic and joyful and perfect. But even in the middle of all the hugging and shouting and trophy presentation, I found myself looking for Y/N, wanting to share this moment with the person who'd helped make it possible.

When I finally found her, she was crying. Not sad tears, but happy tears.

"We did it," she said when I reached her, and the way she said "we" made something tight and warm settle in my chest.

"Yeah," I said, pulling her into a hug that probably lasted a little too long to be purely platonic. "We did."

The celebration dinner should have been perfect. We'd won the tournament, everyone was in high spirits, and the restaurant Coach had chosen was actually decent. The conversation was flowing easily, jumping from game highlights to embarrassing stories to plans for the upcoming season.

Somehow, though, we'd drifted into relationship territory.

"Okay, but seriously," Lev was saying, gesturing with his fork, "what's the biggest red flag in a relationship? Like, what's the thing that makes you go 'nope, I'm out'?"

"Easy," Yaku said immediately. "When they try to control who you hang out with. Like, if they get weird about you having friends, that's a hard no."

"Oh, or when they never apologize," one of the second-years added. "Like, even when they're clearly wrong, they just double down instead of admitting it."

"Making you feel guilty for having your own interests," Kenma said quietly, not looking up from his phone. "If they act like your hobbies or passions are stupid or a waste of time."

I felt Y/N go very still beside me. When I glanced over, her jaw was tight, and she was gripping her fork like she was trying to keep her hands from shaking.

"Oh, here's a big one," Lev continued, oblivious to the growing tension. "When they 'forget' important stuff. Like your birthday, or big events you've told them about. That's not forgetting, that's just not caring enough to remember."

Y/N's breath hitched almost imperceptibly, and I saw her press her lips together hard.

"Or when they make you feel like you're overreacting to things that are actually legitimate problems," Yaku added. "Like, gaslighting basically. Making you question your own feelings."

The color had completely drained from Y/N's face. Each point the guys made was like watching someone systematically describe every toxic element of her relationship with surgical precision. They had no idea what they were doing, but I could see each word hitting her.

"You know what the worst part is?" Lev said, really getting into it now. "When they do all this stuff but then act like they're the victim. Like you're being mean or unfair for calling them out on their behavior."

That's when Y/N's fork clattered against her plate. She muttered something about needing air and practically fled from the table, leaving the guys looking confused and concerned.

"What just happened?" Lev asked, looking genuinely bewildered.

"I'll go check on her," I said, already standing. "You guys finish eating. I'll make sure she's okay."

I found Y/N in our room, sitting on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands. She looked small and defeated in a way that made me want to punch something, preferably her boyfriend's face.

"Hey," I said softly, closing the door behind me. "You okay?"

She didn't look up, just shook her head slightly. "I can't... I can't stop thinking about what they said downstairs."

I sat down on my own bed, close enough to reach her but not crowding her space. "Want to talk about it?"

"They were describing him," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Every single thing they said... that's Kenji. The controlling thing, the forgetting important stuff, making me feel like I'm overreacting..." She finally looked up, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "How did I not see it? How did I let it get this bad?"

The pain in her voice was devastating. I wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault, that manipulation was designed to be invisible, that recognizing it now was the first step toward fixing it. But I could tell she needed to process this at her own pace.

"I haven't told anyone this," she continued, fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweater. "I haven't even really admitted it to myself. But I've been so unhappy for so long, and I kept thinking it was me. That I was being too sensitive, or asking for too much, or not trying hard enough."

"Y/N..." I started, but she held up a hand.

"He forgot my birthday," she said, the words tumbling out like a confession. "And when I was upset about it, he told me I was overreacting. He said it 'wasn't that big a deal' and that I was being dramatic. And I believed him. I actually believed him."

The tears started falling then, and without thinking, I moved to sit beside her on her bed. She immediately leaned into me, and I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her shake with quiet sobs.

"I feel so stupid," she whispered against my shoulder. "Everyone can see it except me."

"You're not stupid," I said firmly. "You're kind, and you want to believe the best in people, and there's nothing wrong with that. The problem is him, not you."

We sat like that for a while, her crying quietly while I rubbed circles on her back and tried to figure out how to help her through this. I'd known her relationship was bad, but hearing her lay it out like this... it was worse than I'd thought. And the fact that she'd been carrying this alone, blaming herself for someone else's cruelty...

"What do I do now?" she asked eventually, pulling back to look at me with red, swollen eyes.

"Whatever you need to do," I said. "Whatever feels right to you. But you don't have to decide everything tonight. You just have to know that you deserve better than someone who makes you question your own worth."

She nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I think... I think I need some time to figure things out. To remember who I am when I'm not walking on eggshells all the time."

"That sounds like a good plan."

"Will you..." She hesitated, then seemed to gather her courage. "Will you help me? I don't think I can do this alone."

The trust in her voice, the way she was looking at me like I was someone she could depend on, made my chest tight with emotion.

"Of course," I said. "Whatever you need. I'm not going anywhere."

Watching Y/N break down like that, seeing her finally acknowledge what everyone else had been able to see for months, was both heartbreaking and relieving. Heartbreaking because of the pain she'd been carrying, but relieving because it meant she was finally ready to do something about it.

As she curled up against my side, exhausted from crying and the emotional revelations of the evening, I made a quiet promise to myself. I was going to be there for her through whatever came next. Not as someone trying to swoop in and be her rebound, but as her friend, her teammate, someone who genuinely cared about her wellbeing.

If that meant helping her leave her toxic relationship and then stepping back while she figured herself out, that's what I'd do. If it meant being a shoulder to cry on and a voice of reason when she doubted herself, I could do that too.

Because Y/N was worth fighting for, even if the fight was just helping her learn to fight for herself.

The bus ride home was quieter than the trip there had been. Everyone was exhausted from the tournament, high on victory but ready to collapse into their own beds. Most of the guys had settled into naps or quiet conversations, the earlier celebration energy fading into satisfied contentment.

Y/N was sitting beside me again, but this time she seemed different. More settled, somehow. Like some weight had been lifted, even though I knew she still had difficult decisions ahead of her.

"Here," I said quietly, offering her my water bottle when I noticed she'd finished hers.

"Thanks," she murmured, accepting it with a small smile that was the first genuine one I'd seen from her since dinner.

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the landscape roll by outside the windows. I could feel the stress of the tournament, of the evening's revelations, of everything slowly ebbing away as we got closer to home.

"Kuroo?" she said eventually, so quietly I almost didn't hear her over the rumble of the bus engine.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For earlier. For... everything, really. This whole weekend." She turned to look at me, and there was something different in her eyes. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

"You don't have to thank me for being your friend," I said. "That's what friends do."

"I know. But I want you to know that it means something. That you mean something." She paused, seeming to choose her words carefully. "I haven't felt like I could trust anyone with the real stuff in a long time. But I trust you."

The simple statement hit me harder than it should have. Trust was something that had to be earned, especially from someone who'd been let down as much as she had. The fact that she'd chosen to give that to me felt like a responsibility I needed to live up to.

"I'm glad," I said simply. "And I'm here for whatever comes next, okay?"

She nodded, then settled back in her seat. As the bus continued toward home, I found myself thinking about what the next few weeks might bring, what it would look like to support her through whatever decisions she needed to make.

The bus pulled into our school parking lot just as the sun was setting, painting everything in soft gold light. As everyone started gathering their things and saying goodbye, Y/N stirred awake.

"We're home," I said gently.

She nodded, stretching slightly.

"Ready for reality?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I think I am."

Y/N's POV

The walk back from campus felt longer than usual, each step carrying me further away from the safety of the team bus and closer to a reality I wasn't sure I was ready to face. The tournament weekend felt like a dream now the victories, the team bonding, the way Kuroo had held me while I cried about my relationship. All of it seemed impossibly distant from the familiar weight of anxiety settling back into my chest.

"You're quiet," Kuroo observed, adjusting his grip on both our tournament bags. He'd insisted on carrying mine despite my protests, claiming it was "basic decency" and not up for negotiation.

"Just tired," I said, which wasn't entirely a lie. The emotional exhaustion from the weekend was hitting me hard.

"Processing everything?"

I glanced at him, wondering how he always seemed to know exactly what was going through my head. "Something like that."

We walked in comfortable silence for a few blocks, the familiar campus buildings giving way to the off-campus housing. My apartment was only a few more blocks away, and with each step, I felt the bubble of safety I'd been living in for the past few days starting to deflate.

"Y/N," Kuroo said suddenly, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. "Look at me for a second."

I turned to face him, surprised by the serious tone in his voice.

"Are you going to be okay? Tonight, I mean. After everything we talked about."

The concern in his eyes was almost overwhelming.

"I'll be fine," I said automatically, then caught his skeptical expression. "Really, I will be. I just need some time to think through everything."

"And if you're not fine? If things get complicated or difficult?"

"Then I'll figure it out. I'm tougher than I look."

He smiled at that, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know you are."

We started walking again, but I could feel him glancing at me periodically, like he was trying to read my thoughts.

"Can I ask you something?" he said as we turned onto my street.

"Sure."

"What would you tell a friend if they were in your situation? If they told you their boyfriend made them feel invisible, forgot their birthday, made them question their own reactions to his behavior?"

The question caught me off guard. "I'd tell them they deserved better."

"And?"

"And that they should probably leave."

"So why is it different when it's you?"

I was quiet for a long moment, trying to find words for something I'd never really articulated before. "Because it's scary," I finally admitted. "Because I've been with him for so long that I don't remember who I am without him. Because what if I'm wrong? What if I really am overreacting, and I throw away years together over nothing?"

Kuroo stopped walking again, and this time he reached out to gently take my arm, turning me to face him.

"Y/N," he said, his voice soft but firm. "You deserve to be treated like the most amazing girl in the world. You deserve someone who remembers your birthday, who supports your dreams, who makes you feel valued and appreciated every single day. You don't deserve to be shut out, ignored, or made to feel like you're asking for too much when you want basic respect and kindness."

"You're not overreacting," he continued. "You're not asking for too much. You're not wrong to want more than what you're getting. And anyone who makes you question those things is showing you exactly who they are."

The certainty in his voice, the way he said it like it was the most obvious truth in the world, made me wonder when I'd stopped believing I deserved those things.

"Thank you," I whispered, not trusting my voice to be stronger.

"Don't thank me for telling you what should be obvious to everyone who knows you."

We were only a block from my apartment now, and I could feel the familiar anxiety starting to build. What would I say to Kenji? How would I even begin to address everything that had become clear to me over the weekend?

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Kuroo asked again as we approached my building.

"I'm sure," I said, though I wasn't entirely convinced myself.

"Text me later? Just so I know everything went alright."

"I will."

But as we rounded the corner to my building, my blood went cold. There, pacing back and forth in front of my apartment door, was Kenji. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in his posture, the agitated way he was moving, the expression on his face that I recognized.

Kuroo noticed him at the same time I did, and I felt him tense beside me.

"Is that...?" he started.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "That's him."

Kenji spotted us approaching and stopped pacing, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited. The look on his face was thunderous, and I could already feel myself shrinking, that familiar response to his anger kicking in automatically.

"You gonna be okay?" Kuroo asked quietly, and there was something protective in his tone that I'd never heard before.

"It's fine," I said, though my voice sounded shaky even to my own ears. "I'll see you tomorrow at practice."

Kuroo looked between me and Kenji, clearly reluctant to leave. Finally, he stepped closer to Kenji, close enough that his voice would carry but low enough that it felt like a private warning.

"She's had a long weekend," he said evenly. "Maybe don't make it longer than it needs to be."

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, and I could practically feel the tension crackling between them. Then Kuroo stepped back, gave me one last concerned look, and started walking away.

"Call me if you need anything," he called over his shoulder, and I knew the words were meant for me, but his eyes were on Kenji when he said them.

Y/N POV

I waited until Kuroo disappeared around the corner before approaching my apartment door, Kenji's angry stare following my every move. 3162

"Get inside. We need to talk."

I unlocked the door with trembling fingers. The familiar safety of my own apartment felt compromised somehow, tainted by his presence and his mood.

He followed me inside and immediately started pacing again.

"Four days," he said without preamble. "Four days you were gone, and I had to find out what you were up to from Instagram."

"I told you I was going to the tournament. We talked about this."

"We talked about you going to some volleyball games. We didn't talk about you sharing hotel rooms with him."

My stomach dropped. "How did you—"

"He posted a picture. You and him, in bed, watching movies together." He pulled out his phone and showed me the screen, the photo Kuroo had taken of us during our iPad movie night, both of us grinning at the camera. "Want to explain this?"

"Kenji, it's not what it looks like. We were just watching a movie. There are two beds in the room, and we were just—"

"Just what? Just cuddling up together like a couple? Just sharing a bed with some guy while your boyfriend is at home missing you?"

"We weren't sharing a bed! We were sitting on his bed to watch something on his iPad, that's all. It was completely innocent."

"Innocent," he repeated, laughing bitterly. "Right. That's what you call it when you're all over some other guy."

"I wasn't all over anyone! God, Kenji, you're acting like I committed some crime. It was a team trip, with teammates, doing team activities."

"Team activities," he said mockingly. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

I felt my own anger starting to rise, fueled by exhaustion and frustration and the memory of Kuroo's words about what I deserved.

"Yes, that's what I'm calling it, because that's what it was. I was doing my job as team manager. I was supporting my teammates. I was having fun for once in my life without having to worry about whether you'd approve or get jealous or find some way to make it about you."

"Fun?" His voice was getting louder now. "You want to have fun? Fine. Go have fun with him. But don't come crying to me when he gets bored of you and moves on to the next girl willing to throw herself at him."

"Nobody's throwing themselves at anyone! Jesus, Kenji, do you even hear yourself? You're so paranoid and controlling that you can't even let me do my job without making it into some soap opera drama."

"Controlling?" He stopped pacing and turned to face me fully, his eyes flashing with anger. "I'm controlling because I don't want my girlfriend sharing beds with other guys? I'm controlling because I expect basic respect and loyalty?"

"You want to talk about respect and loyalty? Where was your respect when you forgot my birthday? Where was your loyalty when you hung up on me to go party with your friends? Where was your concern for me when I called you from the tournament and you couldn't be bothered to ask how things went?"

"Oh, here we go again with the birthday thing. I said I was sorry about that."

"No, you didn't! You never said you were sorry! You said we'd do something later, like my actual birthday didn't matter!"

"It was one day, Y/N. One day out of three hundred sixty-five. I'm not perfect, but at least I'm not sneaking around behind your back with other guys."

"I'm not sneaking around! Everything I did was completely out in the open. I posted pictures, I talked to you about the trip, I told you exactly where I was going and who I'd be with. The only reason you're upset is because you can't stand the idea of me having a life that doesn't revolve around you."

"That's not—"

"It is!" I was yelling now, months of frustration and hurt and suppressed anger all coming out at once. "You want me to be miserable because you're miserable. You want me to be as small and insecure as you are. You can't stand that I found something I'm good at, people who actually value me, a place where I feel like I belong."

"People who value you," he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Right. Is that what he told you? That he values you?"

"He didn't have to tell me. He shows me. They all show me. Every single day."

"And I don't?"

"No," I said quietly. "You don't."

His face changed then, the vulnerability disappearing behind a mask of cold anger that I'd seen before.

"I see," he said. "So that's how it is. All those years together, and you're going to throw it all away for some guy you've known for a few months."

"This isn't about Kuroo. This is about you and me and the fact that you make me feel terrible about myself more often than you make me feel good."

"I make you feel terrible? Y/N, do you even listen to yourself? You're the one who's never satisfied, never happy, always wanting more."

"I wanted basic decency! I wanted someone who remembered important things about me, who supported my interests, who made me feel like I mattered. That's not asking for more, that's asking for the bare minimum of what a relationship should be."

"The bare minimum," he repeated. "Right. Well, let me tell you about bare minimum, Y/N. Bare minimum is not sharing beds with other guys. Bare minimum is not making your boyfriend look like an idiot on social media. Bare minimum is loyalty."

"I have been loyal to you for years! I have bent over backwards trying to be what you wanted, trying to make you happy, trying to convince myself that your version of love was enough. But it's not enough. It's not even close to enough."

"My version of love," he said, stepping closer to me, which made me instinctively take a step back. "You mean the version where I actually care about what you're doing? Where I pay attention to who you're with and how you're acting? Where I don't just let you run around doing whatever you want with whoever you want?"

"That's not caring, that's controlling. There's a difference."

"Is there? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like the second I stop watching you like a hawk, you're all over some other guy."

"For the last time, I am not all over anyone! That picture you saw was two friends watching a movie. That's it. Nothing happened, nothing was going to happen, and the fact that you can't see the difference says a lot more about you than it does about me."

He stared at me for a long moment, and I could see something shifting in his expression. The anger was still there, but underneath it was something else. It looked almost like a realization.

"You're different," he said finally.

"What?"

"You're different. The way you're talking to me, standing up to me. You never used to do that."

"Maybe I'm finally remembering what I'm worth."

"Because of him."

It wasn't a question, and the certainty in his voice made my chest tighten.

"Because of me," I said firmly. "Because I've spent time with people who treat me like I matter, and it reminded me that I deserve better than someone who makes me feel guilty for existing."

"People who treat you like you matter," he repeated, his voice getting quieter. "Right. Like him."

"Like all of them. The entire team. They support each other, they celebrate each other's successes, they show up for each other when it matters. They don't tear each other down or make each other feel small."

"And I do."

"Yes," I said simply. "You do."

The silence that followed was deafening. We stood there staring at each other. I couldn't take back what I'd said, couldn't pretend anymore that everything was fine, couldn't go back to walking on eggshells around his moods.

"So that's it," he said finally. "You're choosing them over me."

"I'm choosing me over you," I corrected. "I'm choosing my own happiness and self-respect over a relationship that makes me miserable more often than it makes me happy."

"Four years, Y/N. Four years down the drain because you got a taste of attention from some volleyball players and decided you were too good for me."

"Four years down the drain because you couldn't be bothered to treat me with basic respect and kindness."

"Basic respect," he said, and suddenly something snapped in his expression—something wild and completely out of control. His face contorted with rage as he closed the distance between us faster than I could react. "You want to talk about basic respect?"

His hand came up and across my face with brute force. The slap was vicious, delivered with the full weight of his fury behind it. My head snapped violently to the side, and the impact was so hard that I stumbled backward, catching myself against the wall as stars exploded across my vision.

For a moment, the world went completely silent except for the ringing in my ears.

I stood there, stunned and gasping, one hand pressed to my face where I could already feel the heat radiating from what would definitely be a mark. The left side of my face felt like it was on fire, and I could taste blood where my teeth had cut into my cheek from the impact.

When I finally managed to look at him, he was standing there with his hand still raised, breathing hard. His eyes were wide with shock, as if he was just now realizing what he'd done. As if he'd completely lost himself for those few seconds and was only now coming back to reality.

"Oh fuck," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Oh fuck, Y/N, I—" His hand dropped to his side, and he took a step back like he was afraid of what else he might do. "I didn't mean to hit you that hard. I just—I lost control for a second. I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry—"

"Get out."

My voice was so quiet I wasn't sure he'd heard me at first. But then his expression shifted from horror to panic.

"Y/N, please, let me explain. I was just—"

"GET OUT!" I screamed, all the shock and hurt and rage of the moment exploding out of me at once. "Get the fuck out of my apartment right now!"

"Baby, please, I'm sorry. I lost my temper, but I didn't mean—"

"GET OUT! GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!"

I was backing toward the door, reaching for the handle, ready to throw it open and scream for help if he didn't leave immediately. The look on my face must have convinced him I was serious, because he held up his hands and started moving toward the door.

"Okay, okay, I'm leaving. But Y/N, we need to talk about this. I made a mistake, but we can work through—"

"NO." I yanked the door open and stood behind it, using it as a barrier between us.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something else, but whatever he saw in my expression made him think better of it. Finally, he stepped out into the hallway.

"This isn't over," he said quietly.

I slammed the door in his face and immediately turned all three locks, then leaned back against it, my whole body shaking with adrenaline and shock.

I don't know how long I stood there against the door, listening to my own ragged breathing and waiting to see if he would try to come back. When I finally heard his footsteps retreating down the hallway, I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, pulled my knees to my chest, and let myself fall apart.

The tears came all at once, violent sobs that shook my entire body. Four years. Four years of my life, ending with him hitting me and me throwing him out of my apartment. How had it come to this? How had I let it get this bad?

But even as I cried, even as I sat there on my floor feeling like my world had just imploded, I knew I'd done the right thing. The sting on my cheek was already fading, but the clarity that had come with it remained sharp and certain.

No one who loved me would ever raise a hand to me. No one who respected me would ever try to control who I could be friends with or how I spent my time. No one who valued me would make me feel guilty for wanting to be happy.

Kuroo's words from earlier echoed in my head: "You deserve to be treated like the most amazing girl in the world."

The contrast between his gentle support and Kenji's violence was so stark it was almost surreal. One man telling me I deserved better, the other proving exactly why I needed better.

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands, staring at Kuroo's contact information. He'd told me to text him, to let him know everything was okay. But everything wasn't okay, and I didn't know how to explain what had just happened without sounding pathetic or dramatic or like I was asking for something I had no right to ask for.

Instead, I set the phone aside and curled up tighter on the floor, letting the tears come until I was too exhausted to cry anymore.

"I don't know what to do," I whispered to my empty apartment, my voice hoarse from crying and yelling.

Y/N's POV

Monday morning arrived with a gray, overcast sky that matched my mood perfectly. I'd been awake since sunrise, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the previous night over and over like a broken record. The left side of my face still ached, a constant reminder of how drastically everything had changed in the span of a few minutes.

I couldn't face school. Couldn't face the questions, the concerned looks, the effort of pretending everything was normal when nothing would ever be normal again. The thought of sitting through lectures, taking notes, acting like a functioning human being felt impossible.

My phone sat on the nightstand, and after what felt like hours of internal debate, I finally reached for it.

Group text to Coach and team:

Y/N: Not feeling well today. Can't make it to class or practice. Sorry for the short notice.

The responses came quickly, as they always did with this group.

Lev: Feel better!! Want me to bring you soup? My mom taught me how to make the best chicken noodle!?

Yaku: What kind of not feeling well? Do you need medicine? I can grab stuff from the pharmacy

Kenma: I can bring you my notes from the classes we share

Coach: Rest up. Let us know if you need anything.

Kuroo: Hope you feel better soon. We'll miss you at practice.

Their immediate concern and offers to help should have warmed my heart. Instead, it made me feel worse like I was lying to people who genuinely cared about me. Which I was, technically. But what was I supposed to say? Sorry, can't come to practice because my boyfriend hit me and I'm having an existential crisis about my entire relationship?

I sent back generic responses, trying to sound appropriately sick but not too dramatic.

Y/N: Thanks everyone. Just need to rest. I'll be fine by tomorrow.

Y/N: Lev, that's sweet but I don't want you to catch anything.

Y/N: Yaku, I have medicine. Thanks though.

Y/N: Kenma, I'll get notes from someone in class tomorrow.

Even as I typed them, the words felt cold and distant. I could almost feel the team's confusion through the screen this wasn't how I normally communicated with them. Usually, I'd joke around, ask about their days, engage with their offers to help. But today, I just couldn't muster the energy to be the person they were used to.

Around 10 AM, my phone buzzed with a private text from Kuroo.

Kuroo: Everything okay? This feels different from your usual sick days. Does this have to do with yesterday?

I stared at the message for a long time. Of course he'd noticed something was off. Kuroo noticed everything, especially when it came to his teammates. And after our conversation yesterday, after seeing Kenji waiting outside my apartment...

Y/N: No, I'm fine, seriously. Just feeling under the weather. Don't worry.

Kuroo: Want me to come by? I promise I won't stay long. Just want to check on you.

The offer was tempting in a way that scared me. Part of me desperately wanted to see a friendly face, to have someone who cared about me sitting in my living room, making everything feel less heavy and terrible. But the other part of me knew that if Kuroo saw me right now.... really saw me, he'd know immediately that something was wrong. And I wasn't ready for that conversation.

Y/N: No, don't. If I'm actually sick I don't want you to catch it. Team needs their captain healthy.

Kuroo: Okay, I'll respect that. But I'm checking in throughout the day. And if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me. Deal?

Y/N: Deal.

True to his word, he sent periodic check-ins throughout the day. Nothing pushy or overwhelming, just gentle reminders that he was thinking of me.

Kuroo: (12:30 PM) Hope you're getting some rest.

Kuroo: (3:15 PM) Lev accidentally served into the net four times at practice. Thought you'd want to know your stats tracking services are missed.

Kuroo: (6:45 PM) Made extra dinner if you want me to drop some off. No contact delivery, I promise.

Each message made me smile despite everything, but I kept my responses short and distant. I was walking a tightrope between maintaining the connection I desperately needed and protecting myself from questions I wasn't ready to answer.

By Tuesday morning, my phone was buzzing constantly, but not with messages from the team. Kenji had launched what could only be described as a full-scale apology campaign.

Kenji: I'm so sorry, baby. I don't know what came over me. You know that's not who I am.

Kenji: I was drunk and stressed about work. That's not an excuse, but I need you to know I wasn't thinking straight.

Kenji: Please call me back. I love you so much and I'm terrified I've ruined everything.

The texts were accompanied by increasingly desperate voicemails, each one more emotionally manipulative than the last. He cried in some of them. Actually cried, talking about how much he loved me, how he couldn't live without me, how he'd never forgive himself for what he'd done.

Then the flowers arrived.

I heard the knock on my door around noon and looked through the peephole to see a delivery person with a massive bouquet of red roses. My heart sank as I accepted them, knowing exactly who they were from before I even read the card.

I'm sorry. I love you. Please give me a chance to make this right. -K

An hour later, there was another knock. This time it was a bag of takeout from my favorite restaurant, along with my favorite candy and the specific type of tea I always drank when I was stressed. All things he'd never bothered to remember or care about during our relationship, but now that he was trying to win me back, suddenly he was the most attentive boyfriend in the world.

Kenji: I remember everything you love. Please let me remind you how good we can be together.

I sat on my couch, surrounded by his apology gifts, feeling more confused and conflicted than I had since the whole thing started. Because the rational part of my brain knew exactly what this was, classic abuser behavior, the honeymoon phase that followed violence, the love-bombing designed to make me forget what he'd actually done.

But the emotional part of my brain, the part that had been with him for years, that remembered the good times and the person I'd thought he was... that part wanted so badly to believe that this was real. That he really was sorry. That it really had been a mistake he'd never repeat.

Kenji: Please forgive me. You know I love you. I'll never do it again. I promise.

The promise felt hollow even as I read it. How many women had heard those exact words from men who hit them? How many had believed them, gone back, and ended up worse off than before?

But God, it was tempting. So many years of history, of shared memories and inside jokes and comfortable routines. Years of building a life with someone, even if that life had been slowly suffocating me.

I avoided his calls, but I kept the flowers. I threw away most of the food, but I kept the tea. I deleted some of his texts, but I read every single one.

And I hated myself for all of it.

By Wednesday, Kuroo's gentle check-ins had become more pointed.

Kuroo: This is day three of you being "sick." I'm starting to worry this isn't actually about the flu.

Kuroo: The team is asking questions. Lev thinks you're dying. Yaku's convinced you're avoiding us for some reason.

Kuroo: I promised I'd respect your space, but I'm having a hard time doing that when my gut is telling me something's wrong.

I stared at his messages, feeling the familiar tug-of-war between wanting to reach out and wanting to protect myself from having to explain everything. Kuroo would understand, I knew he would. But admitting what had happened meant making it real in a way I wasn't sure I was ready for.

Y/N: I'm fine. Really. Just need a few more days.

Kuroo: Okay. But I'm bringing you flowers from the team tomorrow. Whether you want them or not. Consider it a wellness check disguised as a friendly gesture.

Y/N: Kuroo, you don't have to—

Kuroo: Too late. Already pre-ordered them. See you tomorrow afternoon.

I set my phone aside, feeling a mix of anxiety and anticipation. I missed him, missed all of them, really, but especially Kuroo. Missed his steady presence, terrible jokes, and the way he made everything feel manageable just by being there.

But I also knew that the moment he saw me, really saw me, he'd know something was wrong. And then I'd have to decide whether to lie to someone who'd never been anything but honest with me, or tell the truth and face whatever came after.

Thursday afternoon came with a knock on my door that was too confident to be a delivery person and too polite to be Kenji. I looked through the peephole and saw Kuroo standing in the hallway, holding a bouquet of flowers and looking determined.

I almost didn't answer. Almost pretended I wasn't home and waited for him to leave. But something about his posture, the set of his shoulders, told me he wasn't going anywhere until he saw me.

"Coming," I called out, then spent thirty seconds in front of the bathroom mirror trying to figure out if there was any way to hide the bruise that had bloomed across my left cheek over the past few days. It had faded, but makeup could only do so much to cover.

Finally, I gave up and opened the door, keeping my face angled so the bruised side was in shadow.

"Hey," I said, trying for casual and probably failing completely. "You didn't have to come all this way."

"From me and the team," he said, holding out the flowers with a smile. "We miss you."

"That's sweet, thank you—"

But as I reached for the flowers, I had to turn slightly, and the afternoon light hit my face directly.

Kuroo's expression changed instantly. The smile disappeared.

"What the fuck is that?" he said, his voice deadly quiet.

"What's what?" I tried to turn away again, but his hand came up gently to cup my chin, tilting my face toward the light.

"Y/N. What happened to your face?"

My heart was racing, caught between the gentleness of his touch and the fury building in his eyes as he got a better look at the bruise.

"Oh, that," I said, forcing a laugh that sounded fake even to my own ears. "I fell last night. Hit the corner of my coffee table. It's nothing, really."

He stared at me for a long moment, and I could practically see him cataloging the size and shape of the mark, the way it wrapped around my cheekbone in a pattern that definitely didn't match a coffee table corner.

"Y/N," he said again, and there was something in his voice that made it impossible to keep lying. "Please don't insult my intelligence. That's not from falling."

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the past few days crushing down on me. "Kuroo..."

"Was it him?" When I didn't answer immediately, his voice got harder. "Was it your boyfriend?"

The word came out like a curse, and I could see his hands starting to shake with barely controlled anger.

"It's not... it's complicated," I said weakly.

"It's not complicated. It's simple. Did he hit you?"

I wanted to keep lying, keep pretending, keep protecting both of us from the reality of what had happened. But looking at Kuroo's face, seeing the genuine concern and growing fury there, I couldn't do it anymore.

"Yes," I whispered. "But it's not what you think—"

"What I think," Kuroo interrupted, his voice tight with controlled rage, "is that someone put their hands on you in anger. What I think is that someone hurt you badly enough to leave a bruise like that. What I think is that you've been hiding in your apartment for three days because of what he did to you."

"Kuroo, please—"

"Tell me what happened. All of it."

So I did. Sitting on my couch with the flowers between us, I told him about the argument, about Kenji's accusations and jealousy, about how it had escalated until he completely lost control and hit me. I told him about throwing Kenji out, about the subsequent flood of apologies and gifts and promises that it would never happen again.

Kuroo listened without interrupting, but I could see his jaw getting tighter with every detail, his hands clenching into fists that he kept forcing to relax.

When I finished, the silence stretched between us.

"He's been trying to apologize," I said finally. "Sending flowers, bringing food. He says he was drunk, that he wasn't thinking straight. He's never done anything like this before, and he swears he'll never do it again."

"And you believe him?" Kuroo's voice was carefully controlled, but I could hear the edge underneath.

"I... I don't know. Part of me wants to. We've been together for years, and this was one mistake—"

"It wasn't a mistake," Kuroo cut me off. "Mistakes are forgetting to pick up milk at the store or missing an anniversary dinner. Hitting your girlfriend because you're jealous isn't a mistake—it's a choice."

"But he was drunk—"

"So what? I've been drunk plenty of times, and I've never hit anyone. Being drunk doesn't turn you into a different person, Y/N. It just lowers your inhibitions enough to show who you really are."

I flinched at the certainty in his voice, because part of me knew he was right. But another part of me, the part that had been with Kenji for so long, that had built a life around making excuses for his behavior, was desperately trying to find a way to make this not be what it so clearly was.

"You don't understand," I said, and even as the words left my mouth, I knew how pathetic they sounded. "It's not black and white like that. Relationships are complicated, and people make mistakes, and—"

"Y/N." Kuroo's voice was gentle but firm. "Look at me."

I met his eyes, seeing the pain there, the frustration of watching someone he cared about make excuses for being abused.

"You are the smartest person I know," he said quietly. "You see patterns in volleyball that coaches miss. You anticipate problems before they happen. You take care of everyone around you with this incredible intuition about what people need."

I felt tears starting to build behind my eyes.

"So I know," he continued, "that somewhere in your brilliant mind, you know exactly what this is. You know that the flowers and the apologies and the promises are just part of the cycle. You know that if you go back to him, this will happen again. Maybe not today, maybe not next month, but it will happen again."

"You don't know that—"

"Yes, I do. And more importantly, you know it too. That's why you've been hiding. That's why you can barely look at me when you're making excuses for him. Because you know I'm right, and you're scared of what that means."

The tears were falling now, hot and angry and full of a grief I didn't know how to process.

"I don't know how to do this," I whispered. "I don't know how to just... throw away years. What if I'm wrong? What if this really was just one terrible mistake and I'm giving up on someone who loves me?"

"Someone who loves you wouldn't have put that bruise on your face," Kuroo said simply. "Someone who loves you wouldn't make you afraid to come to school or see your friends. Someone who loves you wouldn't spend months making you feel like you're asking for too much when you want basic respect and kindness."

He was right. God help me, he was right about all of it, and the rational part of my brain knew it. But the emotional part, the part that had been systematically broken down over years of subtle manipulation and gaslighting, was fighting him every step of the way.

"I know you're right," I said finally. "I know all of this logically. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things. And right now, I feel... I feel like I'm drowning."

Kuroo's expression softened, and he shifted closer to me on the couch.

"Then let me throw you a lifeline," he said quietly.

"Kuroo..." I looked at him with a million questions and excuses in my mind

"I don't feel brave. I feel terrified and confused and like I don't know which way is up anymore."

"That's normal. You've been in survival mode for so long that it's going to take time to remember what it feels like to just... exist without constantly worrying about someone else's mood or reaction."

He was right about that too. I'd been walking on eggshells for so long that I'd forgotten what it felt like to just be myself without calculating how every word or action might be received.

"Will you..." I started, then stopped, not sure if I had the right to ask.

"Will I what?"

"Will you keep checking on me? I know I've been weird and distant, and I know this is a lot to ask, but I think... I think I need people who care about me to not give up on me right now."

"Y/N," Kuroo said, and his voice was so gentle it made me want to cry again. "I'm not going anywhere. Neither is the team. We're your family, and family doesn't abandon each other when things get hard."

"I should probably come back to practice soon," I said. "I miss you guys."

"Come back when you're ready. We'll be there."

He stood to leave then, but paused at the door.

"I'll keep checking in," he said. "But I'll give you space too, if that's what you need. Just... don't shut me out completely, okay? And don't let him convince you that what happened was your fault or that you deserved it in any way."

After he left, I sat alone in my apartment, surrounded by flowers from people who actually cared about me and roses from someone who'd hit me in anger. The contrast was stark and painful and impossible to ignore.

My phone buzzed with another text from Kenji.

Kenji: I know you're getting my messages. Please just talk to me. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't think about anything except how much I've hurt you. Please give me a chance to fix this.

I stared at the message for a long time, feeling the familiar tug of guilt and obligation. Years of conditioning told me I should respond, should give him the chance he was asking for, should find a way to work through this like adults.

But Kuroo's voice was louder in my head: Someone who loves you wouldn't have put that bruise on your face.

I deleted the message without responding, then turned off my phone completely.

For tonight, at least, I was choosing silence. Choosing space. Choosing myself over someone who claimed to love me but had shown me exactly how much that love was worth when his anger got the better of him.

Monday – Returning to School

Y/N's POV

My phone started buzzing before I even reached the bus stop, a steady stream of notifications.

Kenji: Good morning, beautiful. I know you're upset, but can we please talk? I hate how we left things.

Kenji: I've been up all night thinking about us. I know I made mistakes, but we can work through this.

Kenji: Please don't shut me out like this. We've been through too much together to let it end like this.

Each message felt like a small invasion, a reminder that even though I'd explicitly asked him to leave me alone, he had no intention of respecting that boundary.

After my second class, My professor handed me flowers saying they were from a special someone. She handed me a small bouquet of white roses, tied with a pale blue ribbon that matched the dress I'd worn on our first official date. The card was simple but loaded with meaning:

These reminded me of how pure and beautiful our love used to be. I want to get back to that. -K

I stared at the flowers, feeling that terrible tug-of-war in my chest. They were objectively beautiful, and the gesture showed an attention to detail that the old me would have found romantic. But now I could see the calculation behind it the choice of white roses to symbolize innocence and new beginnings, the reference to our "pure" love as if the betrayal and manipulation had been an aberration rather than a pattern.

"Those are gorgeous," said one of my classmates, appearing beside me. "From your boyfriend? That's so sweet. You guys are totally relationship goals."

Relationship goals. Is that what people saw when they looked at us? The perfect couple with the thoughtful gestures and the long shared history?

If only they knew about the bruise on my face perfectly concealed with makeup.

"Something like that," I managed.

The rest of the morning was a blur of half-hearted note-taking and constant phone buzzing. Kenji seemed to have developed an internal radar for when I'd be most vulnerable to his messages between classes, during breaks, any moment when I might be tempted to check my phone.

Kenji: I saw some of your classmates looking at the flowers. Remember when you used to get excited about gestures like that? What happened to us?

Kenji: I'm not giving up on us, Y/N. I know you're scared right now, but I'm going to prove to you that what we have is worth fighting for.

Kenji: I miss you so much it physically hurts. Please just give me five minutes to explain.

By lunch, I was emotionally wrung out from the constant barrage and the effort it took to maintain a normal facade around my classmates. I found a quiet corner of the cafeteria and tried to eat something, but my stomach was too knotted with anxiety to handle more than a few bites.

That's when he appeared.

"Mind if I sit?" Kenji asked, already sliding into the seat across from me with that easy smile I'd once found charming.

"I'm not really in the mood for company," I said quietly, not looking up from my untouched sandwich.

"Come on, babe. We're adults. We can have a civil conversation." He reached across the table and gently touched my hand, a casual gesture that to any observer would look like normal boyfriend behavior. "I brought you your favorite muffin from the bakery near your apartment."

He placed the muffin beside my lunch tray with theatrical flourish, clearly wanting other students to notice his thoughtfulness. Look how well he knows her preferences, the gesture said. Look what a caring boyfriend he is.

"I'm not hungry," I said, pulling my hand away.

"You need to eat something. You get cranky when your blood sugar drops." The comment was delivered with a fond smile, but I could hear the subtle criticism underneath. You're being unreasonable, it implied. You're not thinking clearly because you haven't taken proper care of yourself.

I looked around the cafeteria and realized that several people were indeed watching our interaction. Whatever I said or did would become gossip fodder for the rest of the week.

"I don't want to do this here," I said quietly.

"Do what? Have a conversation with my girlfriend? Since when is that a problem?"

The way he said "my girlfriend" made my skin crawl, especially after everything that happened. But correcting him publicly would just create more drama and give him more opportunities to manipulate the narrative.

"I have to get to class," I said, gathering my things.

"Y/N, wait." He stood too, reaching for my arm with just enough pressure to stop me without looking aggressive to our audience. "I'm worried about you. You haven't been yourself lately. Maybe you should talk to someone, get some help processing whatever's going on in your head."

The suggestion that I needed professional help for recognizing his toxic behavior was breathtaking in its audacity, but delivered with such apparent concern that anyone overhearing would think he was just looking out for my wellbeing.

"I'm fine," I repeated firmly. "I really do have to go."

"Okay, but we're going to talk soon. Whether you want to or not. We have too much history to let some misunderstanding destroy what we've built."

The threat was subtle but unmistakable.

I walked away without responding, feeling his eyes on me as I left.

Practice should have been my sanctuary the place where I could lose myself in familiar routines and supportive relationships. But even there, I couldn't escape the emotional exhaustion that had been building all day.

"You okay?" Lev asked as I set up the water station, his usually cheerful demeanor subdued with concern. "You seem... off today."

"Just tired," I said automatically, the same response I'd been giving everyone who asked.

"Tired like you didn't sleep well, or tired like something's bothering you?"

The genuine worry in his voice made my throat tight. "Both, I guess."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Well, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. I give excellent advice about everything."

Despite everything, that got a small smile out of me. "Thanks, Lev. I appreciate it."

From across the gym, I caught Kuroo watching our interaction with that particular look of quiet concern that had become so familiar. He didn't approach he was too respectful of boundaries for that but I could feel his attention, his readiness to step in if I needed support.

Practice went smoothly until the end, when I was packing up equipment and trying to figure out the logistics of getting home. I usually walk, but the thought of walking alone with my thoughts made me anxious.

That's when Kenji appeared in the gym doorway.

"Ready to go, babe?" he called out, loud enough for the remaining team members to hear. "I brought the car. Figured you shouldn't have to walk after such a long day."

The casual presumption that I would, of course, want a ride from him made my blood pressure spike. More than that, the public nature of the offer put me in an impossible position. Refusing would require explaining why, which meant airing our personal business in front of my teammates. Accepting would send the message that things between us were normal, that his behavior was acceptable.

"I'm fine walking." I said, not looking up from my equipment bag.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's getting dark, and you're tired. Let me take care of you."

There it was again that phrasing that sounded caring but was actually about control. Let me take care of you really meant let me decide what's best for you, let me be in charge of your transportation and therefore your autonomy.

"I said I'm fine."

"Y/N." His voice was taking on that edge that was dangerous. "Stop being stubborn. Get in the car."

Kuroo's POV

I'd been watching the interaction from across the gym, seeing Y/N's body language grow more tense with every word her ex-boyfriend spoke. The possessive way he'd assumed she'd want a ride, the public pressure he was putting on her, the barely concealed command in his voice when she'd refused all of it set my teeth on edge.

When he'd told her to stop being stubborn and get in the car, I'd moved without thinking. Nobody talked to Y/N like that, especially not someone who had already proven he couldn't be trusted with her emotional wellbeing.

"She's not going with you," I said quietly, my voice carrying authority. "End of discussion."

"This doesn't concern you," Kenji said, his eyes flashing with anger at my interference. "This is between me and my girlfriend."

"Ex-girlfriend," I corrected calmly. "And it concerns me when someone is making one of my teammates uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I'm offering her a safe ride home. That's what boyfriends do, we take care of our girlfriends."

"Former boyfriends don't get to make those decisions anymore."

The silence that followed was heavy with tension. I could see Kenji calculating whether to push the issue, weighing his chances against my obvious physical advantages and the very public setting of the school gym.

Around us, the few remaining team members had gone very quiet, clearly uncomfortable but not sure whether to intervene or pretend they hadn't heard anything.

Y/N's POV

Standing there between Kuroo and Kenji, I felt that familiar conflict tearing at me. Part of me the part trained by years of Kenji's conditioning wanted to just get in his car to avoid making a scene, to keep the peace, to take responsibility for managing his emotions even when they weren't my fault.

But another part of me, a part that was growing stronger each day, recognized Kuroo's intervention for what it was: genuine protection offered without expectation or strings attached.

"Fine," Kenji said finally, but his voice carried a promise that this wasn't over. "But Y/N, we are going to talk. Soon. Whether you want to or not."

The barely veiled threat made something cold settle in my stomach, but Kuroo's presence beside me made it feel manageable rather than terrifying.

"Are you okay with me walking you home?" Kuroo asked quietly after Kenji left.

The contrast between his respectful offer and Kenji's demanding assumption was so stark it was almost laughable. One man was giving me choices, while the other was trying to eliminate them.

"I'd appreciate the company on the walk."

As we left the gym together, I found myself thinking about the difference between feeling protected and feeling controlled. With Kenji, his "protection" had always come with strings attached, expectations, demands for gratitude, requirements that I prove my appreciation through compliance. With Kuroo, the protection felt like a gift freely given, with no expectation of anything in return.

"Thank you," I said as we approached my building. "For back there."

"You don't have to thank me for that. Ever."

"Text me when you get inside your apartment safely?" he asked. "Just so I know you made it okay."

Even his request for confirmation was framed as a choice, not a demand. I nodded and walked inside, feeling lighter than I had all day despite everything that had happened.

Tuesday

Tuesday brought a different strategy from Kenji instead of grand gestures and public displays, he opted for a constant stream of carefully crafted messages designed to wear down my emotional defenses through sheer persistence.

The texts started early, before I was even fully awake:

Kenji: I've been thinking all night about what you said. I know I haven't been perfect, but haven't I always taken care of you when it mattered?

Kenji: Remember in eighth grade when those girls were bullying you about your presentation? I made sure they never bothered you again.

Kenji: I've protected you for so long, Y/N. Don't you remember how safe you used to feel with me?

Each message was designed to hit a specific emotional trigger, guilt, gratitude, nostalgia for better times. And the worst part was that they weren't entirely lies. Kenji had protected me from bullies, had made me feel safe, had taken care of me in ways that mattered when we were younger.

But that was before the control started. Before the jealousy and possessiveness and constant undermining of my confidence. Before he'd started using his history of protection as leverage to justify his current behavior.

Kenji: I know you're reading these. I can see that you've seen them. Please don't punish me forever for loving you too much.

The accusation stung because it was designed to. He was reframing my need for space as punishment, making my boundary-setting about his emotional comfort rather than my own wellbeing.

Between classes, he managed to time his appearances perfectly, showing up just as I was walking from one building to another, always with some small gesture designed to remind me of our connection.

"Hey," he said, falling into step beside me as I walked to my third class. "I brought you coffee. That latte you always get when you're stressed."

He held out the cup with a smile that looked genuinely warm, and for a moment I felt that familiar tug of muscle memory, the automatic gratitude for someone noticing my preferences and anticipating my needs.

"I don't want coffee right now," I said, not slowing my pace.

"Come on, don't be like that. I'm trying to be nice here." His voice carried just enough hurt to make me feel guilty for rejecting his gesture, but not so much that anyone overhearing would think he was being manipulative.

"I appreciate the thought, but I'm really fine."

"You don't look fine. You look tired, stressed. Have you been sleeping okay?" The concern in his voice sounded genuine, and I could see a few classmates glancing over with expressions suggesting they thought he was being sweet and caring.

"I have to get to class," I said, speeding up slightly.

"Okay, but Y/N? I'm here if you need to talk. I know you're going through something right now, and I want to help. That's what people who love each other do, they help each other through the hard times."

The implication was clear: if I really loved him, I would accept his help, would stop pushing him away, would remember that we were supposed to be a team. Never mind that he was the source of the "hard times" I was dealing with.

The afternoon brought more of the same, perfectly timed encounters, small gestures wrapped in manipulation, public displays of concern designed to make me look unreasonable for not responding positively.

Kenji: I don't know what I'd do if you hated me, Y/N. You've been the center of my world for so long, I don't know how to exist without you.

Kenji: Remember when we talked about getting married someday? About the house we'd buy, the kids we'd have? Was all of that just a lie?

Kenji: I'm not giving up on us. I can't. You mean too much to me.

Each message was carefully calculated to hit my emotional weak spots. And I hate it was working.

Wednesday

Wednesday was when Kenji's strategy shifted from private pressure to public manipulation. He seemed to have realized that I was better at resisting him one-on-one, so he started leveraging social pressure and embarrassment to get what he wanted.

It started during lunch, when I was sitting with a few classmates trying to have a normal conversation about an upcoming assignment. Kenji appeared at our table with his lunch and that easy smile that had always been one of his best features.

"Mind if I join you ladies?" he asked, already settling into the empty seat beside me. "I feel like I never see Y/N anymore. She's been so busy with her volleyball thing."

He was really starting to piss me off. The casual dismissal of my role as team manager, the implication that it was just a hobby rather than a responsibility I took seriously, minimized something that had become important to me. But it was delivered with such apparent fondness that my classmates probably thought he was just teasing.

"How are the games going?" asked Rachel, one of the girls at the table. "I heard you guys won your last tournament."

"We did," I said, feeling a genuine smile cross my face for the first time all day. "The team played really well. I'm proud of them."

"She's being modest," Kenji said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Y/N's always been too humble about her achievements. Remember when she won that academic award freshman year and didn't tell anyone for weeks?"

The story was true, and it was delivered with apparent pride in my accomplishments. But I could hear the subtext: Y/N doesn't know her own worth, needs me to celebrate her achievements for her, has always needed me to help her see how special she is.

"That's so sweet," cooed another girl at the table. "You guys are like, the perfect couple."

Perfect couple. There it was again, that phrase that felt like a cage, that reduced our entire complicated history to a superficial image of relationship goals.

After practice that afternoon, Kenji appeared in the gym doorway again, but this time he brought an audience. A few of my teammates were still cooling down from practice, and he made sure to greet them all warmly before turning his attention to me.

"Hey, babe," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "How was practice? You guys looked good out there."

I could see my teammates glancing between us with curious expressions, clearly trying to figure out the dynamic.

"Practice was fine," I said neutrally.

"Just fine? Come on, don't be modest. I'm sure you were amazing as always." He turned to address Lev, who was still stretching nearby. "She never gives herself enough credit, you know? Always downplaying her contributions to the team."

"Y/N's great," Lev said, looking slightly confused by the interaction but trying to be polite. "We couldn't do what we do without her."

"See?" Kenji said, turning back to me with a triumphant smile. "Even your teammates know how valuable you are. You should listen to them more often."

I could see Kuroo watching with that same unreadable expression, and something in his gaze made me realize how this must look to someone on the outside.

But it didn't feel caring. It felt suffocating.

Thursday

Thursday brought an escalation in Kenji's tactics. Having established himself as the devoted boyfriend in front of my classmates and teammates, he seemed to feel emboldened to push harder for private access to me.

He was waiting outside my first class of the day, leaning against the wall with two cups of coffee and that boyish smile.

"Good morning, beautiful," he said, offering me one of the cups. "I got your favorite— latte with an extra shot. Figured you could use the caffeine boost."

I walked past him, already annoyed, "You tried that on Tuesday already."

"Just five minutes," he continued, nodding toward a quiet alcove near the classroom. "Please. I just want to talk."

The please was what did it, that word that transformed his request from a demand into something reasonable, even generous. How could I refuse to give five minutes to someone who was asking so nicely?

"Five minutes," I said reluctantly.

We found a relatively private spot, and he immediately moved closer than I was comfortable with.

"I miss this," he said quietly, his voice taking on that intimate quality he'd always used when he wanted to make me feel special. "Just talking to you, being near you. Do you miss it too?"

The question was loaded with implication. If I said yes, it would validate his belief that we belonged together. If I said no, it would make me seem cold and cruel.

"It's complicated," I said, which was the safest answer I could think of.

"It doesn't have to be complicated. We were happy once, Y/N. Really happy. Remember sophomore year, when we'd spend hours just talking about everything and nothing? When we'd make plans for the future and dream about all the places we'd travel together?"

The memories he was invoking were real and genuinely happy ones. But he was carefully editing them, leaving out the gradual increase in control and jealousy that had slowly poisoned our connection.

"I need more time to think," I said.

"How much time? Because I can't keep living in this limbo, not knowing where we stand. It's torture, Y/N."

Again, he was making his emotional wellbeing my responsibility, suggesting that my need for space was causing him genuine suffering that I had the power to alleviate.

Later that afternoon, he showed up at practice again, this time with a bag from my favorite sandwich shop.

"I know you probably didn't eat lunch," he said, offering me the bag with that knowing smile. "You never eat when you're stressed."

He was right, I had skipped lunch, too anxious to eat, and the fact that he'd noticed felt simultaneously caring and invasive.

Friday

By Friday, the weight of the week had settled into my bones like lead. The constant emotional vigilance, the effort of navigating Kenji's manipulation while maintaining normal relationships with classmates and teammates, all of it had accumulated into a crushing fatigue.

I found myself sitting alone in the library during lunch, staring at a textbook I wasn't really reading, trying to process the confused tangle of emotions that Kenji's campaign had stirred up.

The rational part of my brain knew exactly what he was doing. I could identify each manipulation tactic, could see the patterns and strategies he was employing. Love-bombing. Gaslighting. Public pressure. Historical revision. Emotional blackmail.

But naming something and being immune to it were two different things entirely.

Because the truth was, Kenji hadn't always been manipulative and controlling. There had been years—good years—when he'd been exactly what he was claiming to be now: protective, caring, devoted. Years when I'd felt genuinely safe and loved and understood.

I thought about the boy who'd stood up to the bullies who were picking on me in middle school, who'd walked me home every day for weeks until I felt safe again. The boy who'd stayed up all night with me when my grandmother was in the hospital, holding me while I cried. The boy who'd planned elaborate surprises for my birthday, who'd remembered every detail of conversations we'd had months earlier.

That boy had been real. Those feelings had been genuine. That version of our relationship had existed, even if it had been gradually corrupted.

When we'd first started dating at sixteen, I'd felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Kenji had been popular, charming, confident, the kind of boy every girl in our class had a crush on. And he'd chosen me.

For the first few months, it had felt like a fairy tale. He'd walk me to class, carry my books, defend me against anyone who made snide comments. He'd made me feel special, protected, like I mattered to someone who mattered to everyone else.

But somewhere along the way, that protection had turned into possession. The boy who'd once celebrated my independence had started questioning my choices, my friendships, my interests. The arms that had once made me feel safe had become a cage, growing tighter with each passing year.

And that's what made this so hard, I wasn't just grieving the end of a toxic relationship. I was grieving the loss of something that had once been beautiful, something that had shaped me in fundamental ways, something that had taught me what it felt like to be chosen and cherished.

Part of me still loved that boy who had protected me, even though I hated what he'd become. Part of me felt indebted to him for all the ways he'd taken care of me over the years, even though I knew that debt shouldn't cost me my autonomy and self-respect.

And that's why his manipulation was working, even when I could see it clearly. Because he wasn't entirely wrong about our history. He had protected me, had cared for me, had been my best friend and confidant for years before he became my boyfriend.

The problem was that he was using that history as a weapon, wielding our good memories against me to make me forget why I'd needed to end things in the first place.

Friday Night

I was sitting on my couch Fridaynight, staring at my phone and debating whether to respond to Kenji's latest message, when there was a knock at my door. For a moment, my heart raced with the fear that it might be him, but when I looked through the peephole, I saw Kuroo standing in the hallway with a bag of takeout and a concerned expression.

"Hey," he said when I opened the door. "Thought you might be hungry. And... well, you seemed like you could use some company."

"Come in," I said, stepping aside. "Thank you. That's really thoughtful."

We settled on my couch with the takeout spread between us, and for a few minutes we ate in comfortable silence. I'd forgotten how easy it was to just exist around Kuroo, how his presence never demanded anything from me except to be myself.

"How are you holding up?" he asked finally, his voice gentle but direct.

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I know I did the right thing, shutting him out. I know that intellectually. But..."

"But it's complicated," Kuroo said, and there was no judgment in his voice, just understanding.

"He wasn't always like this," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "When we were kids, he was... he was my protector. He stood up to bullies for me, walked me home when I was scared, stayed with me when I was sad. He was my best friend before he was my boyfriend."

Kuroo's POV

I watched Y/N struggle with her words, saw the pain in her expression as she tried to reconcile the boy she'd loved with the man who had hurt her. Everything in me wanted to tell her that it didn't matter who he used to be, that the only thing that mattered was who he was now. But I could see that she needed to work through this herself, needed someone to listen without judgment.

"When we started dating at sixteen," she continued, "I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. He made me feel safe, chosen, special. For the first few months, everything was perfect. He was attentive without being suffocating, protective without being possessive."

"What changed?" I asked quietly.

"I don't know exactly when it started. It was so gradual that I didn't notice at first. He'd make little comments about my friends, suggest that maybe I was spending too much time studying, ask why I needed to go to social events without him. It all seemed reasonable, like he just wanted to spend time with me."

She was quiet for a long moment, and I could see her working through memories, trying to identify the moment when love had transformed into control.

"By the time I realized what was happening, I felt so... indebted to him. He'd done so much for me over the years, had been there through so many difficult times. How could I just throw that away because he was a little jealous, a little possessive?"

Y/N's POV

"And that's the part I can't get past," I said, looking at Kuroo with eyes that felt raw from unshed tears. "I know what he's doing now is manipulation. I can see the tactics, name the behaviors. But I can't forget that there was a time when his protection was genuine, when his care didn't come with strings attached."

"That doesn't mean you owe him your future," Kuroo said gently.

"Doesn't it though? He was there when no one else was. He fought for me, stood up for me, made me feel like I mattered. How do I just walk away from someone who shaped so much of who I am?"

"By remembering that the person who shaped you positively and the person who's trying to control you now might share the same body, but they're not the same person," Kuroo said. "People change, Y/N. Sometimes they change for the better, sometimes for the worse. You're not obligated to stay loyal to who someone used to be if who they are now is hurting you."

I felt tears starting to fall, and I didn't try to stop them. "I feel like I'm betraying him. Like I'm being ungrateful for everything he's done for me."

"You're not betraying anyone by protecting yourself. You're not ungrateful for recognizing that a relationship dynamic has become unhealthy."

"But what if I'm wrong? What if this is just a rough patch, and I'm giving up on something real because I'm scared or confused?"

Kuroo was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was carefully measured. "Can I ask you something? When you think about the future, not the distant future, just tomorrow, next week, what do you want it to look like?"

The question caught me off guard. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, when you imagine your life going forward, do you see yourself walking on eggshells, constantly managing someone else's emotions, feeling guilty for having interests and friendships outside of your relationship? Or do you see yourself feeling free to be who you are, supported in your goals, able to breathe without calculating how every action will be received?"

As he spoke, I realized that I hadn't been able to envision a future with Kenji for months. Every time I tried, all I could see was more of the same, more manipulation, more control, more of my world shrinking to accommodate his insecurities.

"I want to breathe," I whispered. "I want to stop feeling like I'm constantly failing at being good enough for someone."

"Then you have your answer."

We sat in silence for a while, and I felt something shift inside me, not a complete transformation, but a small loosening of the knots that had been tightening in my chest all week.

"I'm scared," I admitted. "He's been such a huge part of my life for so long. I don't know how to exist without that connection."

"You don't have to figure it all out at once," Kuroo said. "You just have to give yourself permission to prioritize your own wellbeing. Everything else can be worked out as you go."

For the first time all week, I felt like I could actually breathe. Not completely, not without effort, but enough to remember what it felt like to not be suffocating.

"Thank you," I said. "For everything. For seeing what I couldn't see, for protecting me even when I didn't think I needed it, for being patient while I worked through this mess."

"You don't have to thank me for caring about you."

As Kuroo prepared to leave, he turned back at the door with one final thought.

"Y/N? The boy who protected you when you were younger—he was real, and what he did for you mattered. But you've grown up since then. You're strong enough to protect yourself now. You don't need to stay trapped in a toxic situation out of gratitude for who someone used to be. That's not loyalty, that's just fear dressed up as love."

The door closed softly behind him, leaving me alone with his words echoing in the sudden quiet of my apartment.

Kuroo's POV

Saturday night found me restless and unable to focus on anything productive. I'd been carrying the weight of Y/N's situation all week, watching her navigate Kenji's increasingly desperate attempts at manipulation, seeing the toll it was taking on her even as she tried to hide it from everyone around her. Every protective instinct I had was screaming at me to do something, anything, to make it stop, but I also knew that she needed to come to her own conclusions about what was best for her.

The internal war between wanting to intervene and respecting her autonomy was driving me slowly insane.

Then my phone buzzed with a text from Bokuto:

Bokuto: Hey! We just made it in town!

Bokuto: Late-night snack? I'm craving ramen and could use the company.

I immediately jumped at the chance for a distraction. Maybe getting out of my own head for a few hours would help me gain some perspective on the situation.

We met at a tiny ramen shop that stayed open until 2 AM, attracting an eclectic mix of college students, night shift workers, and insomniacs seeking comfort food.

"You look like hell," Bokuto announced cheerfully as we slid into a booth. "And not the good kind of hell where you've been having fun and staying up too late. The bad kind where you've been brooding about something."

"Thanks for the pep talk," I said dryly, but I was grateful for his directness. Bokuto had never been one to dance around issues or pretend problems didn't exist just to make people comfortable.

"So what's eating you?" he continued, slurping his noodles. "And don't say it's volleyball because I know that look, and volleyball stress doesn't make you look like that."

I debated how much to share. Y/N's situation felt private, sacred somehow, and I wasn't sure it was my place to discuss her personal business with anyone, even someone as trustworthy as Bokuto. But I also knew that if anyone would understand the complexity of what I was dealing with, it would be him.

"It's complicated," I said finally, stirring my broth absently.

"It's a girl," Bokuto said immediately, his eyes lighting up; he'd been waiting for this conversation. "More specifically, it's your team manager."

I looked up sharply. "How did you—"

"Please. You think I don't notice these things?" He grinned, but there was genuine understanding beneath the teasing. "You've been different ever since she joined the team. More protective, more attentive to things. And, you've been walking around like you want to murder someone."

The accuracy of his observation was both impressive and slightly unsettling. "It's not that simple, Bo."

"Okay, so make it simple for me. Start from the beginning."

I hesitated for another moment, then found myself telling him everything, about Y/N joining the team and slowly losing her spark over the months I'd known her, about her boyfriend's increasingly controlling behavior, about the subtle signs of emotional abuse that had been adding up week by week. I told him about the flowers and constant texts, about the public pressure and manipulation tactics, about the way Kenji had tried to isolate her from her support system. I showed him pictures of them and everything.

"And you're in love with her," Bokuto said when I finished.

I felt my face flush slightly, but there was no point in denying it. "Yeah. I'm in love with her."

"But she's been with this asshole for years, and even though she's starting to see how toxic he is, she's not ready to hear that someone else cares about her," Bokuto continued, demonstrating emotional intelligence that people often underestimated in him.

"Exactly. She needs to figure this out on her own terms, at her own pace. But watching her go through this, seeing her doubt herself and blame herself for his behavior..." I rubbed my face with my hands, suddenly feeling exhausted. "It's killing me."

"That's because you actually care about her as a person, not just as someone you want to date," he said thoughtfully. "You want her to be okay whether that includes you or not."

"Of course I do. Her wellbeing is more important than my feelings."

"That's very mature of you," Bokuto said, and for once there was no teasing in his voice, just genuine respect. "Also probably driving you completely insane."

"Pretty much."

Bokuto was quiet for a moment, considering his words carefully. "You know, I've seen a lot of relationships over the years, good ones, bad ones, toxic ones, healthy ones. And here's what I've learned: sometimes people need to see the truth for themselves, even when everyone around them can see it clearly."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that guys like her ex don't usually limit their controlling behavior to one relationship. If he's the manipulative, possessive type you're describing, there's probably other stuff going on that she doesn't know about. Other girls, other lies, other ways he's violating the trust she's placed in him."

The suggestion hit me, though some part of me had been suspecting as much for weeks. The way Kenji had been so quick to accuse Y/N of being unfaithful, the projection in his jealousy, the way he'd seemed almost relieved when she'd started pulling away, it all pointed to someone who was hiding his own betrayals.

"You think he's cheating on her?"

"I think guys who spend that much energy controlling their girlfriends usually do it because they're projecting their own behavior onto them. It's classic psychology—accuse others of what you're doing yourself to deflect suspicion."

The logic was sound, and it made sense of behaviors I'd observed but couldn't quite interpret. "But even if that's true, it's not like I can just tell her. She'd never believe it coming from me."

"No, but if you happened to witness it firsthand..." Bokuto let the suggestion hang in the air between us.

"Bo, I can't go stalking her boyfriend hoping to catch him cheating. That's insane."

"I'm not talking about stalking. I'm talking about being observant when opportunities present themselves. Guys like him don't usually take a lot of precautions—they're too arrogant, too confident that they won't get caught."

We continued talking as we finished our ramen, with Bokuto sharing stories about friends who'd been in similar situations and offering perspective on the delicate balance between wanting to help someone and respecting their autonomy. His advice was surprisingly nuanced for someone who was often dismissed as simple or straightforward.

"The thing is," he said as we prepared to leave, "she's lucky to have someone like you looking out for her. Even if she doesn't realize it yet. Most people don't have someone willing to put their own feelings aside for their wellbeing."

"I just want her to be happy," I said quietly. "Whatever that looks like."

"I know. That's what makes you different from him. You want what's best for her even if it doesn't include you. He wants what's best for him regardless of how it affects her."

As we walked back toward campus, I found myself feeling marginally better about the situation. Not because anything had changed, but because talking through it with someone who understood had helped me gain some clarity about my role in all of this.

"Thanks, Bo. For listening, for the advice, for putting up with my brooding."

"Anytime, man. That's what friends are for." He paused, then added with a grin, "Besides, I'm invested now. I want to see how this story ends."

"Hopefully with everyone being okay."

"Hopefully with everyone getting what they deserve," he corrected. "Which, in this case, might be the same thing."

We'd made it about three blocks from the ramen shop when Bokuto suddenly grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop in front of a convenience store.

"Holy shit," he said quietly, his voice lacking its usual cheerfulness. "Kuroo, look."

I followed his gaze across the street to one of the off-campus houses known for weekend parties. The front porch was dimly lit by string lights, creating an intimate atmosphere that was clearly intentional. At first, I didn't see what had caught Bokuto's attention. Then I spotted them.

Kenji was leaning against the porch railing with his arms wrapped around a girl I didn't recognize, definitely not Y/N. She was shorter than Y/N, with dark hair and a dress that suggested she'd come to the party with the intention of being noticed. But what made my blood run cold wasn't her appearance; it was the way Kenji was looking at her.

Intense, focused, like she was the only person in the world who mattered. The kind of look that made women feel special and chosen and important.

Except now I could see it for what it really was, a practiced performance, a tool he used to make his targets feel seen and valued so they'd be more willing to give him what he wanted.

As we watched, frozen in horrified fascination, he leaned down and kissed her with passion that suggested this wasn't their first encounter. Her hands tangled in his hair, his grip tightened on her waist, and both of them looked completely comfortable.

"That son of a bitch," I breathed, fury rising in my chest like.

"Easy," Bokuto said quietly, his hand still on my arm. "Don't do anything stupid."

"I want to kill him," I said, and I meant it. The thought of Y/N torturing herself over their relationship problems, blaming herself for not being good enough, questioning her own judgment and sanity, while he was out here betraying her in the most fundamental way possible, pissed me off.

"I know. But getting yourself arrested for assault isn't going to help Y/N, and it's definitely not going to make this situation better."

His voice was calm and rational, which was probably the only thing keeping me from marching across the street and introducing Kenji's face to my fist.

"You need to get proof," Bokuto continued, already pulling out his phone. "Photos, video, multiple angles. Y/N needs to see this, but she needs to see it in a way that can't be dismissed or explained away."

He was right, my anger wouldn't help Y/N, but evidence of Kenji's betrayal might finally give her the clarity she needed to break free from his manipulation.

I fumbled for my own phone, hands shaking slightly with adrenaline and fury. The lighting wasn't perfect, but it was good enough to clearly identify both people involved. I took several photos from different angles, making sure to capture not just the physical intimacy but also the obvious comfort and familiarity between them.

"Get video too," Bokuto instructed quietly. "Photos can be explained away or taken out of context. Video shows the full interaction."

I switched to video mode just as Kenji and the unknown girl moved from kissing to talking, their foreheads pressed together in an intimate conversation. They were completely absorbed in each other, oblivious to the world around them, which made it easy for us to document everything without being noticed.

"How long do you think this has been going on?" I asked, still filming as they made their way toward the front door of the house.

"Probably the entire time," Bokuto said grimly. "Guys like him don't usually start cheating in response to relationship problems. They have relationship problems because they're cheating."

The logic was depressing but sound. It meant that Y/N's instincts about something being wrong had been correct all along, that her suspicions and concerns hadn't been paranoia or insecurity but accurate readings of a situation she wasn't being told the truth about.

We followed at a discreet distance as Kenji and his companion disappeared into the house, clearly planning to continue their evening together in private. Twenty minutes later, they emerged again, both looking slightly disheveled and even more comfortable with each other than before.

"This is definitely not a one-time thing," Bokuto observed as we captured more evidence of their obvious intimacy.

"No, it's not." I felt sick. Not just because of what this would do to Y/N, but because of how long it had probably been going on. How many times had Kenji made her feel guilty for being suspicious while he was actively betraying her trust? How many arguments had she lost because she couldn't prove what she instinctively knew to be true?

We watched as they walked to a car parked nearby, his vehicle, the same one he'd been trying to pressure Y/N into getting into after practice. The casual way he opened the door for the other girl, the kiss he pressed to her temple before she got in, the way she smiled at him like he was someone precious and important to her, all of it spoke to a relationship that had been going on for months, if not longer.

"You have enough evidence?" Bokuto asked as the car pulled away.

I looked down at my phone, scrolling through the photos and videos I'd collected. Multiple angles, clear lighting, unmistakable identification of all parties involved. There was no way this could be dismissed as a misunderstanding or explained away as innocent interaction.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I have enough."

"How do you feel?"

It was a surprisingly thoughtful question.

"Sick," I said honestly. "Angry. Relieved that she'll finally know the truth, but dreading what it's going to do to her when she sees this."

"She deserves to know," Bokuto said firmly. "Whatever it costs her emotionally to learn the truth, it's better than living a lie indefinitely."

"I know. It's just..." I struggled to find words for the complex mix of emotions I was feeling. "She's going to be devastated. And part of her is probably going to blame me for showing her, at least initially."

"Maybe. But the alternative is letting her continue to waste her time and energy on someone who doesn't deserve it, letting her blame herself for problems that were never her fault to begin with."

We walked the rest of the way back to campus in contemplative silence, both of us processing what we'd witnessed and what it meant for everyone involved. By the time we parted ways. I had a phone full of evidence that would either set Y/N free or completely shatter her world.

Possibly both.

As I lay in bed that night, staring at my ceiling and trying to process everything that had happened, I found myself thinking about the conversation Y/N and I had had the night before. The way she'd talked about feeling indebted to Kenji for his past protection, the way she'd struggled to reconcile the boy who had once cared for her with the man who was now controlling her.

Now I had proof that the man she was trying so hard to forgive and understand had been betraying her trust in the most fundamental way possible. The question was whether showing her that proof would be an act of kindness or cruelty.

But as I scrolled through the photos one more time, seeing the clear evidence of Kenji's deception and betrayal, I realized that the choice had already been made for me. Y/N deserved to make her decisions based on complete information, not carefully curated lies.

Whatever happened next, at least she'd finally know the truth.

Monday's practice felt different. I found myself watching Y/N more carefully than usual, noting the way she moved through her managerial duties with mechanical precision.

She seemed marginally better than she had been the previous week, less jumpy, less constantly checking her phone, more engaged with the team. Maybe Kenji's manipulation campaign was finally losing its effectiveness, or maybe she was just getting better at hiding her emotional state. Either way, I could see glimpses of the person she'd been before all of this started, and it made what I was about to do feel even more necessary and terrible.

The team went through their usual drills and scrimmages, but I found it difficult to focus on anything beyond my phone and the knowledge of what it contained. Several times I caught myself staring at Y/N, trying to memorize her face before I showed her something that would change everything.

"You're distracted today," Yaku observed during a water break. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I lied. "Just thinking about some stuff."

"Personal stuff?"

"Personal stuff."

He nodded, understanding enough not to push for details. "Well, if you need to talk about it, you know where to find me."

As practice wound down and the team started filtering toward the locker rooms, I made my decision. Waiting wouldn't make this any easier, and Y/N deserved to know sooner rather than later.

"Y/N," I called out as she finished packing up the equipment. "Can we talk? Privately?"

She looked up from her clipboard, and I could see her trying to read my expression, trying to gauge whether this was going to be a casual conversation or something more serious.

"Sure," she said, then immediately tried to lighten the mood with humor, the way she always did when conversations felt like they might get heavy. "Please tell me Lev didn't break anything expensive while I wasn't looking. I swear I've been keeping track of all the equipment—"

"This isn't about Lev," I interrupted gently. "And it's not about equipment."

Something in my tone must have warned her that this was serious, because her smile faded and her shoulders tensed slightly.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

I gestured toward a quieter corner of the gym, away from the few remaining team members who were still gathering their things. Y/N followed me, her movements careful and controlled, like she was bracing herself for bad news.

"Saturday night," I began, then stopped, realizing I had no idea how to ease into this. There was no gentle way to show someone evidence of their boyfriend's infidelity.

"Saturday night?" she prompted when I didn't continue.

"Bokuto, a friend of mine, we were getting late-night ramen, and on our way back to campus..." I pulled out my phone, hands not quite steady. "Y/N, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to be the one to tell you this, but you need to see it."

I could see her bracing herself for whatever was coming.

"See what?"

Instead of answering, I handed her my phone, opened to the first photo. For a moment, she just stared at the screen, not comprehending what she was looking at. Then the image came into focus, and I watched her world shift sideways.

It was Kenji, unmistakably him, with his arms wrapped around another woman. The photo was clear, well-lit, impossible to misinterpret or dismiss.

"There are more," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Photos and video. From different angles. It's definitely him."

She scrolled through the evidence with trembling hands, each image seeming to hit her like a physical blow. I watched her face cycle through disbelief, recognition, hurt, and finally a terrible kind of resignation.

"I knew it," she whispered, so quietly I almost didn't hear her. "I mean, I suspected, but I kept telling myself I was being paranoid, that I was looking for problems that weren't there."

"Y/N—"

"How long do you think it's been going on?" she asked, still staring at the phone, her voice hollow and distant.

"I don't know. But from what we saw, this isn't new. They were... comfortable with each other. Familiar."

She nodded slowly, as if this confirmed something she'd been trying not to believe.

"All those times he accused me of cheating," she said, more to herself than to me. "All those times he made me feel guilty for having male friends, for talking to classmates, for staying late at practice. He was projecting."

"Y/N, I'm so sorry—"

But she was already moving, already backing toward the gym exit, her breathing becoming rapid and shallow. She thrust my phone back toward me with trembling hands.

"Send them to me," she said suddenly, her voice barely steady. "All of them. The photos, the videos. Everything."

I took the phone back, seeing the way her hands were shaking, the way she was fighting to maintain control of herself in the public space of the gym.

"Y/N—"

"Please. I need... I need to have the evidence. Send it all to me." Her voice cracked slightly on the last words, but she held herself together with visible effort.

"Of course. I'll send everything right now."

My fingers moved quickly across the screen, selecting all the photos and videos and sending them to her number. The progress bar seemed to take forever, but finally the message showed as delivered.

"I have to go," she said as soon as her phone buzzed with the incoming files. "I can't... I need to process this."

"Y/N, wait—"

But she was already running, fleeing the gym and seeking the privacy she needed to fall apart completely.

I stood there for a moment, watching the door swing closed behind her, feeling the weight of what had just happened settle over me like a lead blanket. Part of me wanted to follow her, to make sure she was okay, to offer whatever comfort I could. But I also knew that she needed space to work through this revelation on her own terms.

Instead, I sent her a simple text.

Kuroo: I'm so sorry. I'm here if you need anything.

The message went unread for hours.

Y/N's POV

I spent the rest of Monday evening staring at the photos, each image burning itself into my memory with painful clarity. Every time I thought I'd processed what I was seeing, I'd notice some new detail that made it worse, the way the other girl's hand rested so comfortably on his chest, the way he looked at her with the same false intensity he'd once used on me, the way they moved together like they'd done this dance many times before.

By Tuesday morning, I'd moved past the initial shock and devastation into something colder and more focused: determination. I was done being lied to, done being made to feel crazy for suspecting what was actually happening, done allowing him to manipulate me with guilt and false promises.

I called him before I could lose my nerve.

"Y/N!" His voice was warm with surprise and hope, and hearing that false warmth made my stomach turn. "Baby, I'm so glad you called. I've been hoping we could talk—"

"Come over," I interrupted. "Now. We need to discuss something."

"Of course. Yes, absolutely. I'll be right there. I love you, Y/N. We're going to work this out."

Twenty minutes later, he was at my door with another bouquet, this time of sunflowers, and that boyish smile that had once made me feel special now just made me feel sick.

"These are for you," he said, holding out the flowers. "Sunflowers, because you always said they reminded you of—"

"Come in," I said curtly, stepping aside without taking the flowers. "Sit down."

He followed me into the living room, and I could see him trying to read my mood, trying to figure out whether this was going to be a reconciliation conversation or something else entirely. The flowers sat forgotten on my coffee table as he settled onto the couch.

"Y/N," he began, leaning forward with that earnest expression he always wore when he was about to launch into a manipulation campaign. "I know things have been difficult between us lately, but I want you to know—"

"I have something to show you," I interrupted, pulling out my phone.

"Kuroo showed me these yesterday."

His expression shifted slightly, wariness creeping in around the edges of his hopeful facade.

"Show me what?"

Instead of answering, I handed him the phone, opened to the first photo. I watched his face carefully, cataloging every micro-expression as he processed what he was seeing.

The change was immediate and dramatic. The hopeful smile disappeared, replaced by shock, then calculation, then something that looked almost like relief that he'd finally been caught.

"Where did you get this?" he asked quietly, his voice carefully controlled.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters! These could be photoshopped, or taken out of context, or—"

"There are videos too," I said calmly, my voice steady despite the way my heart was hammering in my chest. "Multiple angles. Very clear footage. Would you like to see those as well?"

He stared at the phone for a long moment, and I could practically see the wheels turning as he tried to figure out his next move, what lie might still be salvageable from this situation.

"Okay," he said finally. "Yes, that's me. But Y/N, you have to understand—"

"I understand perfectly."

"No, you don't. You don't understand what it's been like, watching you pull away from me, seeing you choose volleyball and those guys over our relationship. I was lonely, and hurt, and I made a mistake—"

"How long?" I interrupted.

"What?"

"How long has this been going on? Because looking at these photos, this doesn't look like a one-time mistake. This looks like a relationship."

The silence stretched between us, heavy and damning. I could see him weighing his options, trying to decide how much truth he could get away with not telling.

"It doesn't matter," he said finally. "She doesn't matter. You're the one I love, Y/N. You're the one I want to be with."

"While also being with her."

"It was just... it was just something to fill the void when you weren't available. When you were too busy with school and volleyball to pay attention to me."

The casual way he said it, like I was somehow responsible for his decision to cheat, like my having interests outside of our relationship justified his betrayal, was the final straw.

"Get out," I said quietly.

"What?"

"Get out. Now. We're done."

"Y/N, please. Don't let some photos destroy years of history. Don't let Kuroo poison your mind against me—"

"This has nothing to do with Kuroo," I snapped, standing up and moving toward the door. "This has to do with you cheating on me and then lying about it. This has to do with you making me feel crazy for suspecting exactly what you were doing."

"Those photos are fake," he said desperately, following me toward the door. "Kuroo set this up. He's been trying to break us up since day one—"

"Stop," I said firmly. "Just stop. The photos are real, the videos are real, and we both know it. Don't insult my intelligence by trying to gaslight me about evidence I can see with my own eyes."

"Y/N, please—"

"You cheated on me," I continued, my voice getting stronger with each word. "You lied to me. You made me feel crazy for suspecting what you were actually doing. You spent months making me feel guilty for having a life outside of you while you were betraying our relationship in the most fundamental way possible."

He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off.

"No. I'm done listening to your excuses. I'm done being made to feel responsible for your choices. I'm done." I opened the front door and gestured for him to leave. "Get out of my apartment. Get out of my life. We're finished."

"You can't be serious," he said, but he was already backing toward the door, clearly recognizing that his usual manipulation tactics weren't going to work this time.

"I've never been more serious about anything in my life."

"Y/N, we had years—"

"Years of you slowly destroying my confidence and sense of reality while you cheated on me. Years that I'm never getting back." I held the door open wider. "Leave. Now."

He paused in the doorway, and for a moment I thought he might try to physically resist or force his way back inside. Instead, he tried one last manipulation.

"You'll regret this," he said, his voice taking on that cold tone I'd learned to fear. "When you realize what you've given up, when you figure out that no one will ever love you the way I do, you'll regret this."

"If the way you love me includes lying and cheating and making me feel guilty for wanting basic respect and honesty, then I hope no one ever loves me that way again."

I closed the door in his face and turned all the locks, then leaned against it as the reality of what had just happened washed over me.

It was over. Years of my life, ended with photographic evidence of betrayal and a final confrontation that had stripped away any remaining illusions about who Kenji really was.

Almost immediately, he started pounding on the door.

"Y/N! Open up! We're not done talking about this!"

"Yes, we are," I called back, not moving from my position against the door.

"You can't just throw away our entire relationship over some misunderstanding! Y/N!"

The pounding continued for several minutes, accompanied by increasingly desperate pleas and threats. Neighbors were probably listening, probably forming opinions about the drama unfolding in the hallway, but I couldn't bring myself to care about anything beyond the locked door between me and the man I'd finally found the strength to leave behind.

Eventually, the noise stopped. I heard his footsteps retreating down the hallway, heard the elevator ding as he left the building. Only then did I allow myself to slide down the door until I was sitting on the floor, finally letting the tears come.

The hours that followed were a blur of emotional devastation and physical exhaustion. I cried until I had no tears left, then sat in numb silence staring at the photos on my phone, trying to process the full scope of Kenji's betrayal.

It wasn't just the cheating, though that was devastating enough. It was the realization that everything I'd been feeling, every suspicion, every moment of intuition that something was wrong, had been correct. For months, maybe even years, I'd been living in a carefully constructed lie while being made to feel crazy for questioning the narrative I was being fed.

My phone buzzed constantly with messages from him:

Kenji: I can explain everything. Please just give me a chance to talk.

Kenji: This is all a misunderstanding. Those photos don't show what you think they show.

Kenji: Kuroo is manipulating you. He's been trying to break us up from the beginning.

Kenji: I love you, Y/N. Don't let one mistake destroy everything we've built together.

Each message was a fresh insult, a continuation of the manipulation even after he'd been caught red-handed. The fact that he was still trying to gaslight me, still trying to make me question my own eyes and judgment, just proved how little respect he'd ever had for my intelligence.

I deleted each message without responding, but they kept coming, a steady stream of desperation and false promises that made me feel sick to my stomach.

As the evening wore on, I found myself thinking about Kuroo, about the expression on his face when he'd shown me the photos, about how much it had clearly cost him to be the bearer of such devastating news. He could have kept the information to himself, could have found a way to let me discover the truth on my own, but instead he'd taken on the terrible responsibility of showing me something that would shatter my world.

Because he cared about me. Because he thought I deserved to know the truth, even if it hurt.

The contrast between his difficult honesty and Kenji's comfortable lies was stark and telling. One man had risked our friendship to give me information I needed to protect myself. The other had risked my health and wellbeing to protect his own comfort and convenience.

Around midnight, after hours of cycling between anger and sadness and exhaustion, I finally worked up the courage to reach out.

Y/N: Can you come over?

I sent the message to Kuroo and immediately regretted it. It was late, we had early practice the next day, and I had no right to ask him to clean up the emotional mess that came with telling me the truth about Kenji.

But within minutes, my phone buzzed with a response:

Kuroo: On my way. Do you need anything?

Y/N: No... Just you. 

Y/N's POV

The knock came exactly seventeen minutes after I'd sent the text. I knew because I'd been staring at my phone the entire time, watching the minutes tick by with excruciating slowness, alternating between hoping Kuroo would come quickly and dreading the moment when I'd have to face another human being while feeling this raw and broken.

When I finally opened the door, Kuroo stood there with a reusable grocery bag in one hand and a slightly wilted bouquet of daisies in the other. His hair was messier than usual, like he'd been running, and he was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Hi," I managed, stepping aside to let him in.

He didn't say anything else, didn't ask the obvious questions or offer platitudes about everything being okay. He just walked into my apartment, set the grocery bag on the coffee table, and laid the flowers beside it.

"I didn't know what you'd need," he said, starting to unpack the bag. "So I just grabbed... everything, basically."

I watched as he pulled out a pint of ice cream, a bag of chips, a bottle of pain medication, a box of tissues, and—inexplicably—an oversized gray hoodie that looked like it probably belonged to him.

"The hoodie is optional," he added, catching my expression. "But I've been told that wearing someone else's comfortable clothes helps during emotional crises. Something about borrowed comfort or... I don't know, Bokuto explained it better."

Despite everything, I felt a small smile tug at my lips. "You consulted your friend about breakup care?"

"I consulted Bokuto about everything. He knows things." Kuroo settled onto the floor beside my couch, leaning back against it. "But seriously, Y/N. I'm here for whatever you need. If you want to talk, we can talk. If you want to sit in silence and cry, we can do that. If you want to watch terrible movies and eat junk food until you feel sick, I'm excellent at enabling poor dietary choices."

The casual way he laid out the options, making it clear that there was no right or wrong way to process what had happened, made something tight in my chest loosen slightly.

"I don't know what I need," I admitted, sinking onto the floor beside him.

"That's okay. We'll figure it out as we go."

For a while, we just sat there in silence. Kuroo didn't try to fill the quiet with meaningless chatter or force me to talk before I was ready. He just existed beside me, a steady presence that somehow made the crushing weight of everything feel slightly more manageable.

When the tears started again—and they did, in waves that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once—he simply passed me tissues from the box he'd brought, refilled my water glass when it ran low, and occasionally rested a hand on my shoulder in silent solidarity.

There was something profoundly comforting about his lack of expectation. He wasn't waiting for me to pull myself together or trying to fix my pain with solutions. He was just... there. Bearing witness to my breakdown without judgment or discomfort.

"I'm sorry," I said eventually, my voice hoarse from crying. "This is pathetic. I shouldn't have asked you to come over just to watch me fall apart."

"Stop apologizing," Kuroo said gently. "You're allowed to fall apart. You just found out that someone you loved was betraying you for who knows how long. Anyone would be devastated."

"But I already knew something was wrong. I suspected he was cheating. I shouldn't be this surprised."

"Suspecting something and having proof of it are two completely different things. Cut yourself some slack."

I nodded, even though part of me still felt stupid for being so affected by confirmation of what I'd already known on some level.

"Want some ice cream?" Kuroo asked.

"I got chocolate because that seemed like the statistically safest choice, but I can run out and get a different flavor if you want."

"Chocolate is perfect," I said, and meant it.

He retrieved two spoons from my kitchen without asking where they were—apparently he'd paid attention during his previous visits—and we ate ice cream straight from the container in comfortable silence, passing it back and forth between us like some kind of ritual.

"This is good," I said after a while.

"The ice cream or the company?"

"Both."

Kuroo smiled, and it was such a genuine, warm expression that I felt something in my chest flutter despite the emotional devastation I was swimming in.

"Good," he said simply. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

As the evening wore on and the initial shock began to fade into a duller, more persistent ache, I found myself unable to keep the thoughts that had been circling in my head from spilling out.

"Why didn't I leave sooner?" I asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence we'd fallen into. "I knew he was controlling. I knew he was manipulative. I could see all the red flags. So why did it take catching him cheating for me to finally end things?"

Kuroo was quiet for a moment, considering his words carefully. "Because you were trying to love someone who stopped trying a long time ago," he said finally. "And because leaving someone you have history with is complicated, even when you know it's the right thing to do."

The simple truth of his words hit me hard, and I felt fresh tears starting to fall. These weren't the shocked, devastated tears from earlier—these were deeper, more painful.

"I wasted four years," I said, my voice breaking. "Four years of my life on someone who was lying to me the entire time."

"You didn't waste them," Kuroo said firmly. "You learned from them. You grew. You figured out what you don't want in a relationship, which is just as valuable as knowing what you do want."

"That's a very optimistic way of looking at it."

"Would you prefer the pessimistic version?"

Despite everything, I laughed—a watery, broken sound, but a laugh nonetheless. "Not particularly."

Kuroo shifted slightly, and I felt his hand rest lightly on my wrist—not grabbing or restraining, just touching, grounding me in the physical reality of the moment rather than letting me spiral further into my own head.

"You're going to be okay," he said quietly. "Not today, probably not tomorrow, but eventually. You're going to get through this."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're stronger than you think you are. And because you're not alone in this."

We sat like that for a long time, his hand on my wrist, my breathing gradually slowing.

"I'm done," I said eventually, surprised by how certain I sounded. "I want nothing to do with him. I don't want his apologies or his explanations or his promises that things will be different. I just want him gone from my life completely."

Kuroo nodded, and I could see quiet approval in his expression, but no pressure or judgment. "That's your choice to make. Whatever you decide, I support it."

"Really? You wouldn't try to convince me to give him another chance or consider the history we have together?"

"God, no. Why would I do that? He hurt you, repeatedly, and then lied about it. You don't owe him anything, Y/N. Not your forgiveness, not your understanding, not another second of your time or energy."

The fierce protectiveness in his voice made something warm bloom in my chest despite the pain. This was what support looked like when it was genuine—not trying to manage my emotions or steer me toward a particular decision, just affirming my right to prioritize my own wellbeing.

"Thank you," I whispered. "For being here. For not trying to fix me or tell me I'm overreacting."

"You're not overreacting. If anything, you're under-reacting. I'd be losing my mind if I were in your position."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"I'm saying it because it's true. You're handling this with a lot more grace than most people would."

I leaned my head against his shoulder, exhausted from crying and talking and feeling everything so intensely. He didn't move away or tense up—just adjusted slightly to make us both more comfortable and continued his quiet, steady presence.

After what felt like hours but was probably only forty-five minutes, I straightened up and reached for my phone with trembling hands.

"I need to block him," I announced. "Everywhere. Before I lose my nerve."

"Okay," Kuroo said simply. "Want help or want me to just sit here for moral support?"

"Moral support, I think. I need to do this myself."

I opened my phone and navigated to Kenji's contact information, my finger hovering over the block button for a long moment before I finally pressed it. The action felt both monumental and anticlimactic—years of relationship ended with a single tap.

"One down," I muttered, moving on to social media.

Instagram was next. I scrolled through our shared photos—smiling pictures that now felt like evidence of a elaborate lie—and felt my throat tighten with renewed grief. There we were at the beach last summer, his arm around my waist, both of us laughing at something I couldn't even remember anymore. There we were at his family's holiday party, looking like the perfect couple everyone thought we were.

"This was our one-year anniversary," I said quietly, pausing on a photo of us at a fancy restaurant. "He took me to that place downtown that I'd mentioned wanting to try. I thought it was so romantic that he'd remembered."

"You don't have to narrate if you don't want to," Kuroo said gently. "It's okay to just delete them."

"I know. I just... I need to say goodbye, I guess. To acknowledge what I thought we had, even if it wasn't real."

I continued scrolling, occasionally commenting on photos that held particular significance. "This was when he skipped his friend's party to stay home with me when I had the flu. I felt so guilty, but he said he'd rather take care of me than go out."

Each memory felt like a small stab, a reminder of all the moments when I'd felt loved and chosen, not knowing that he was probably with someone else on all the nights I couldn't see him.

Halfway through deleting our photos, I started crying again—not the harsh, gasping sobs from earlier, but quiet tears that slid down my cheeks as I mourned not just the relationship that had ended, but the version of it I'd thought existed.

Kuroo didn't say anything, just handed me tissues as needed and occasionally squeezed my shoulder in silent support.

"Okay," I said finally, when the last photo was gone and Kenji's profile was blocked. "That's done. Facebook next."

"You're doing great," Kuroo said quietly. "I know this is hard."

"It shouldn't be this hard. I should be relieved, not sad."

"You can be both. Emotions aren't mutually exclusive."

By the time I'd blocked Kenji on all social media platforms, changed his name in my deleted contacts to "DO NOT ANSWER," and removed him from my shared calendars and streaming services, I felt simultaneously lighter and completely exhausted.

"I need to clean," I announced suddenly, looking around my apartment with fresh eyes. "There's stuff of his everywhere, and I can't... I can't keep looking at it."

"Okay," Kuroo said, standing up and offering me his hand. "Where do we start?"

The "we" in that sentence made my chest tight with gratitude. He could have made excuses to leave, could have suggested I handle it on my own, but instead he was offering to help me physically remove the remnants of a relationship he'd never approved of in the first place.

"The bathroom, I think. He has a toothbrush and some other stuff in there."

We started gathering Kenji's belongings—a toothbrush, a razor, a half-empty bottle of cologne that still smelled like him and made my stomach turn. Each item went into a box that Kuroo had found in my closet, and each item felt like another small step toward reclaiming my space.

"You know what's weird?" I said as we moved to the bedroom. "I feel guilty throwing his stuff away. Like I should at least offer to return it to him."

"You don't owe him anything," Kuroo reminded me gently. "But if it makes you feel better, we can box it up and leave it outside your door for him to collect. Just don't let him in when he comes to get it."

"That's a good compromise."

In the bedroom, we found more evidence of Kenji's presence—a hoodie draped over my desk chair, a book he'd been reading on my nightstand, a phone charger that was definitely his and not mine. Each discovery felt like a small violation, a reminder of how thoroughly he'd inserted himself into my daily life.

"This is pathetic," I said, holding up a shirt that still smelled like his laundry detergent. "I'm literally crying over a t-shirt."

"It's not pathetic. You're grieving. Give yourself permission to feel whatever you're feeling."

As we worked, Kuroo suggested opening the windows to let in fresh air, and he put on music from my phone—nothing too upbeat or too depressing, just gentle background noise that made the task feel less overwhelming.

At one point, I found myself standing in the middle of my living room with an armful of Kenji's belongings, suddenly overcome with the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"What?" Kuroo asked, looking up from where he was checking under the couch for any stray items.

"I'm just thinking... you're basically providing heartbreak housekeeping services right now. Is that going to be a new side business for you?"

He grinned, and the expression transformed his usually serious face into something warm and approachable. "Yeah? Think there's a market for it? I could add it to my resume—'Excellent at emotional support and removing ex-boyfriend's belongings from premises.'"

"You'd make a fortune," I said, and for the first time since seeing those photos, I felt something that wasn't just pain or grief or anger.

By the time we'd finished cleaning and the box of Kenji's belongings was sealed and sitting by the door, it was past midnight. My apartment felt different—cleaner, emptier, more like mine than it had in years.

"Thank you," I said, settling back onto the couch with a exhaustion that went bone-deep. "For everything. For coming over, for helping, for not judging me for being such a mess."

"You're not a mess," Kuroo said, joining me on the couch with a careful amount of distance between us. "You're processing trauma. There's a difference."

We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and I found myself not wanting him to leave. The thought of being alone in my apartment—alone with my thoughts and the echoes of everything that had happened—felt unbearable.

"Can you stay?" I asked quietly, before I could talk myself out of it. "Just for tonight? I don't think I can be alone right now."

Kuroo's POV

The question caught me off guard, though I'd been half-expecting it. Y/N looked exhausted and fragile, and the thought of leaving her alone in her emotional state made something protective flare in my chest.

"Of course," I said immediately. "Couch okay? Or I can sleep on the floor if you'd prefer."

"Couch is perfect." She looked relieved, like she'd been worried I might say no. "I just... I don't want to be alone with my thoughts right now."

"I get that. Do you want to try to sleep, or would you rather stay up for a while?"

"Stay up, I think. I'm exhausted, but I don't think I can actually sleep yet."

Y/N's POV

We ended up watching random videos on YouTube—nothing too serious or emotionally heavy, just mindless content that filled the silence without demanding too much attention. Kuroo provided commentary that ranged from genuinely insightful to deliberately ridiculous, clearly trying to keep the atmosphere light without being dismissive of what I was going through.

"Okay, but seriously, who decided that mukbang videos were a good idea?" he said at one point, watching someone consume an absurd amount of ramen. "This feels like a challenge to my own eating habits."

"You eat like three bowls of rice at every meal. You don't get to judge anyone's food consumption."

"That's different. That's fuel for athletic performance. This is just... I don't even know what this is."

Despite everything, I found myself smiling, even laughing occasionally at his commentary. It felt good to focus on something silly and meaningless, to remember that the world contained more than just heartbreak and betrayal.

Eventually, we switched to a comfort show I'd mentioned liking—nothing intellectually demanding, just familiar characters doing familiar things in a familiar setting. The predictability of it was soothing in a way I couldn't quite articulate.

"Can I ask you something?" I said during a lull in the episode.

"Sure."

"Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, I'm grateful, but... you've spent your entire evening dealing with my emotional breakdown. Most people would have made an excuse and left hours ago."

Kuroo was quiet for a moment, and I could see him choosing his words carefully. "Because I care about you," he said finally. "And because everyone deserves to have someone in their corner when things fall apart. You've been dealing with Kenji's bullshit for long enough—the least I can do is be here when you finally break free from it."

The simple honesty in his answer made my throat tight with emotion. "I don't even know how to be okay without him," I admitted. "He's been so involved in everything for so long... I don't even know who I am without him. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense. That's actually a good thing."

"How is that possibly a good thing?"

"Because it means you get to figure out who you are on your own terms, without someone else's expectations and control shaping every decision you make. You get to rediscover yourself, or maybe discover yourself for the first time."

I thought about that for a while, turning the idea over in my mind. The thought of building an identity separate from Kenji was both terrifying and strangely exciting.

"That sounds exhausting," I said eventually.

"It probably will be. But you don't have to do it all at once. You just have to let yourself start feeling again, start wanting things, start making choices based on what you actually want rather than what will keep the peace or make someone else happy."

"When did you get so wise?"

"I've always been wise. You just haven't been paying attention."

I laughed, and it felt good—lighter and more genuine than anything I'd felt in weeks.

As the episode ended and we queued up another one, I felt my eyelids growing heavy despite my earlier certainty that I wouldn't be able to sleep. The combination of emotional exhaustion, Kuroo's steady presence, and the mindless comfort of familiar television was finally catching up with me.

"You can sleep if you want," Kuroo said quietly, noticing my struggle to stay awake. "I'll be right here."

"You sure?"

"Positive. I'm a champion at staying up late watching mediocre television."

I let my eyes close, just for a moment, and felt myself starting to drift off with the sound of the TV and Kuroo's occasional quiet laughter providing a soothing background soundtrack.

Kuroo's POV

I watched as Y/N's breathing gradually evened out, her face relaxing from the tight, stressed expression she'd been wearing all evening into something softer and more peaceful. Even in sleep, I could see the tear tracks on her cheeks, the slight puffiness around her eyes from hours of crying.

She looked exhausted and heartbroken and impossibly brave for having survived a day that would have broken a lot of people.

She doesn't even realize how strong she is, I thought, resisting the urge to brush a strand of hair away from her face. She thinks she's weak for being hurt by this, but the fact that she's still functioning, still moving forward, still capable of laughing at stupid videos... that takes more strength than she knows.

I settled in for a long night of keeping watch, making sure she didn't wake up alone, making sure she had someone in her corner even when she was unconscious and vulnerable.

It was the least I could do for someone who deserved so much better than what she'd been given.

Y/N's POV

I woke up to sunlight streaming through my windows and the immediate, crushing realization that everything that had happened yesterday was real. For a blissful few seconds after opening my eyes, I'd forgotten—forgotten the photos, forgotten the confrontation, forgotten that my relationship of four years had ended.

But reality came crashing back with brutal efficiency, and I felt tears starting before I'd even fully sat up.

Kuroo was still on the couch, having apparently fallen asleep sitting up with his head tilted back at an angle that was probably terrible for his neck. He woke up as soon as I moved, immediately alert despite having probably gotten minimal sleep.

"Hey," he said quietly. "How are you feeling?"

"Like everything hurts," I admitted, my voice rough from crying and sleep.

I stumbled to the kitchen on autopilot, thinking that maybe if I went through normal morning routines—making breakfast, drinking coffee—I could trick myself into feeling normal. But my hands were shaking too badly to hold the spoon steady, and I found myself staring at the cereal box without really seeing it, tears streaming down my face again.

"It's my fault," I said suddenly, not even sure if Kuroo could hear me from the living room. "I wasn't enough. If I'd been better, more attentive, more interesting, maybe he wouldn't have—"

"Stop." Kuroo's voice came from directly behind me, firm enough to cut through my spiraling thoughts. "Don't you dare finish that sentence."

I turned to face him, and his expression was unlike anything I'd seen before—not angry exactly, but intense and unwavering in a way that demanded my full attention.

"This is not your fault," he said, each word deliberate and clear. "You did everything you could. You were loyal and understanding and patient far beyond what he deserved. He failed you, Y/N. Not the other way around."

"But if I'd just—"

"No. There is no 'if I'd just.' You could have been perfect in every possible way, and he still would have cheated because that's who he is. You don't fix people who break you. You don't change people who don't want to be changed. You survive them, and then you move on."

The firmness in his voice, combined with the gentleness underneath it, finally broke through the guilt that had been building since I woke up. He was right—I knew he was right—but hearing someone else say it with such conviction made it easier to believe.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Don't apologize. Just promise me you won't let him take any more of you than he already has. Promise me you won't spend the next weeks or months or years blaming yourself for his choices."

I nodded, unable to speak around the lump in my throat.

Kuroo stepped closer, and with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the firmness of his words, he reached up and wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb.

"You're going to be okay," he said quietly. "I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you are. And I'm going to be here to remind you of that every time you forget."

I leaned into his hand without thinking, seeking the comfort and steadiness he represented. His palm was warm against my cheek, grounding me in the reality of the moment rather than letting me spiral further into guilt and self-blame.

"Thank you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "For everything. For staying, for being honest, for not letting me get lost in my own head."

"You don't have to thank me for caring about you."

We stood like that for a long moment—him with his hand against my cheek, me with my eyes red and swollen from crying but my expression gradually stabilizing from devastated to something more determined.

"I'm going to be okay," I repeated, testing out the words, trying to believe them.

"You are," Kuroo confirmed.