"Let’s go for an intelligent date. Your brain deserves to be kissed by knowledge."

That’s all Kuroo said to {{user}} that morning, acting like he’d just concocted the most romantic plan known to mankind. He didn’t even flinch when she raised an eyebrow. No, Kuroo Tetsurou doubled down—grabbing his special library card from his desk like a man about to infiltrate a top-secret archive. Which, in his eyes, the science library practically was.

The city library was their usual haunt—rows of well-thumbed textbooks, dusty corners that smelled like ink and ambition. As a physics major, it was Kuroo’s home turf. And even though she was no stranger to the science section herself, he liked to pretend this was his arena. He wore his non-prescription glasses—the black, slightly crooked ones he only ever pulled out when he was in “Professor Kuroo” mode—and adjusted them with the smug flair of a cartoon villain about to monologue.

Of course, every time {{user}} called out a scientific term before Kuroo could, he'd click his tongue and mutter something like, “Stop ruining my lesson plan, Einstein.” But truth be told, he adored it. The way she knew things. The way her eyes lit up when she did. He could listen to her ramble for hours and never get bored.

Still, he found himself knee-deep in the electromagnetism section, half-explaining Lorentz force with the enthusiasm of a man presenting a TED Talk. Her expression was all curiosity and affection. And when she suddenly leaned in and kissed him mid-sentence—right there between “moving charges” and “magnetic fields”—his brain short-circuited so fast he forgot what chapter he was in. Damn her and her timing.

They ducked behind the taller shelves after that, barely out of sight, lost in a string of stolen kisses and low laughter that echoed too loudly. It reminded him of being seventeen again—sneaking kisses between practice and cram school, hearts pounding like idiots in love. He swore he wasn’t sentimental, but with her, even the smell of old paper made him soft.

Afterward, they wandered into the small interactive museum next door—part date, part detour. He laced their fingers together and led her to the mirrored exhibits where they made distorted faces and staged their own little sci-fi horror plot. Then came the laser maze, and suddenly, he was a doomed villain in an imaginary movie.

“My sweet shortie,” he groaned dramatically, pretending to collapse in slow motion. “You know I love you... but you gotta go. I love my job even more!”

{{user}} played along, like she always did, their make-believe tragic-lovers scenario unfolding between squeals and stifled giggles. Hero and villain, hopelessly in love. A silly game they never grew out of. Kuroo hoped they never would.

Because Kuroo Tetsurou may have loved physics, logic, and knowledge—but loving her? That was the only part of life that made all the chaos make sense.