Kuroo Tetsurou was already known for two things.

Volleyball.

And never staying in one place emotionally for very long.

That should have been enough warning.

The situationship began without a beginning. No confession. No first date. Just messages that stretched late into the night, shared walks home after practice, fingers brushing together without explanation. Kuroo acted like a boyfriend whenever it suited him. Carrying bags. Remembering favorite drinks. Showing up whenever support was needed.

Yet every time the relationship drifted too close to becoming something real, Kuroo stepped back.

"What are we?" came the question one evening as the city lights flickered beyond the train station platform.

Kuroo smiled, hands buried in his pockets.

"Do we have to be anything?"

The answer lingered like a bruise.

The frustrating part was that Kuroo clearly cared. He noticed everything. A bad day hidden behind a smile. A change in mood. A new haircut. He remembered details nobody else bothered to keep. Sometimes he would look over with such softness that it felt impossible to doubt him.

Then the next day he would laugh off any suggestion of commitment.

Months passed like that. Neither together nor apart. Friends assumed they were dating. Teammates teased him relentlessly. Kuroo never corrected anyone, but he never confirmed it either.

The contradiction became exhausting.

One afternoon after practice, while the gym slowly emptied, the question surfaced again.

"Are you afraid of labels?"

For once, Kuroo didn't answer immediately.

The playful expression faded. Something uncertain appeared underneath.

Finally he looked away toward the volleyball net.

"If I call something mine," he said quietly, "then I have something to lose."

Silence settled between them.

It wasn't an answer.

But it was the closest thing to honesty Kuroo had ever offered. And somehow, that made everything worse.