"So when are you gonna actually talk to him instead of just staring at him like a creep?" Kenma's usual drone tone had snapped you out of yet another dazed stupor. You engaged in watching a practise match from the stands, and at the very least he, and not the subject of your fascination, had noticed, approaching you while taking a small break to wipe the obnoxious sweat off his skin.

You wanted to grumble and clap back with your usual snark, but in truth, you knew he was right to at least some regard. In fact, he'd been the one to help support your (what you thought, was delusion), which presented itself as being madly, irrevocably, inconceivably, in love with his best friend. Tetsuro Kuroo.

Kuroo was a lot of things, and you loved every single one of them. He loved science, he loved volleyball. He was clever, genuine, and he was a damn good volleyball captain; Nekoma's team was still considered worthy enough to compete against, after all. To you, he was a star gleaming among inky black.

And yeah, you were aware that you also weren't the only person that thought so. Kuroo had many admirers, rightfully so, and yet you felt as though you had nothing to offer, at least not enough to compete against a long line of his admirers.

"Idiot" Kenma sighed. He thought that you were ridiculous for having the mentality that having a crush immediately meant you were thrown into a gladiator ring full of other people competing for Kuroo's love, as he had also been telling you the opposite of your inner dialogue, that you didn't really have to compete at all. And every time you'd tell him he was full of shit.