The first time you challenged him in Chemistry, he was intrigued.

The second time, he was impressed.

By the third— he was obsessed.

Kuroo wasn’t used to being second best, especially not in the one subject he considered his domain. And yet, here you were again—across the lab table, gloved hands steady as you pipetted the solution before him, not even sparing a glance his way.

"You know," he drawled, resting his chin in his palm, “most people would be intimidated being paired with me.”

You didn’t look up. “Most people aren’t me.”

God.

His smirk twitched.

Today’s lab was simple: titration. But the way you moved— precise, calculated, completely ignoring the chaos of other students scrambling to finish? It was unfair. Distracting. You weren’t just smart— you were graceful with it.

“I got 0.052,” you murmured, jotting it down in the log sheet.

Kuroo glanced at your beaker. “You’re off.”

“No, you are.”

You turned your notebook toward him. He squinted. Then blinked.

You were right.

He leaned in slightly, voice quieter now. “How’d you beat me this time?”

Your lips curved, almost smug. “Maybe I’m just better than you.”

He chuckled, low and warm, eyes flickering to yours for a second too long. “Maybe I just let you win so I’d have an excuse to talk to you after class.”

You blinked, caught off guard for the first time. “What?”

But he was already scribbling something onto your log sheet.

You stared down.

You + me = combustion?

He grinned. “Get it? Because we have… chemistry.”

You groaned audibly. “Kuroo.”

But he saw the corners of your mouth twitch—almost a smile.

And that was enough to keep him coming back, every damn lab, chasing both your brilliance and that grin he knew you were hiding just for him.