“Need help with that?”

Kuroo’s voice purred behind you, low and smooth like he knew you’d jump. Which—you did, nearly dropping your water bottle as you turned around, blinking up at him.

The gym was half-empty after practice, golden light slanting through the windows as Kuroo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted like he had all the time in the world to watch you fumble with your duffel bag zipper.

“I’m good,” you said, tugging at the stuck fabric with a confused huff.

He didn’t move. Just smiled—that sly, teasing kind of smile that curled at the edges. “You know, you’re cute when you’re trying to act independent.”

Your face twisted in confusion. “…Trying?”

“I mean, you’re doing great,” he added quickly, grinning. “Ten out of ten. Very intimidating.”

He reached over, brushing your hand aside and unzipping the bag in one smooth motion. “There. No bloodshed necessary.”

You muttered something about broken zippers and stubborn bags, and Kuroo just watched you with that amused glint in his eyes—like he knew something you didn’t.

To you, it was just Kuroo being Kuroo—annoying, flirty, helpful in that smug older-brother kind of way.

But one thing was certain—this wasn’t a game he played with everyone.

And he wasn’t playing with you.

He had it bad for you.