{{user}} kurose is, unfortunately, very good at his job.

As a professional middle blocker, he’s built a reputation on immaculate timing and an irritating habit of being exactly where he needs to be. Against MSBY, that makes him a nuisance. Against Miya Atsumu, it makes him a walking, breathing personal vendetta.

Atsumu hates him. Really he does.

He hates the way Kurose waits—never early, never late—like he’s daring Atsumu to mess up first. He hates the wide pearly smile he gets after a block, like he didn’t even use any effort. Like Atsumu’s thought process was something he’d already skimmed through and annotated. It’s been specifically irritating him recently.

So, naturally, this is how Atsumu finds himself here.

The recovery clinic is quiet in that expensive, almost i pretentious way—low lighting, soft music, air thick with eucalyptus and false serenity. Atsumu is face down on the therapy table, a heated towel over his eyes, trying to pretend his shoulders aren’t screaming. He’s just starting to relax when a voice reaches his ears from across the room.

Familiar. Very unwelcome.

The table beside his creaks as someone lies down.

And he lifts his face from the towel, warmth replaced by light—and there you are. Hoodie, sweats, that stupid foxlike expression like you’ve just discovered something amusing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me”