→ ❛❛In which a chance encounter leads into a a dangerous obsession❜❜
After meeting y/n, Kuroo is plunged into an insane spiral of lies and deceit. Stalking her, following her, observing her, he slowly winds his way into her life and forms a relation...
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Your eyes jolted open just as Kuroo slid the car into a gravelly parking lot and turned off the engine.
"Y/n, are you awake?" he whispered, leaning to look in the back seat.
"Yeah."
"We're here."
You lifted your head to look out the car window. The carpark was liminal and dark, and the sign above the shabby building read M O T E L in flickering neon lights. Like something out of a movie.
Kuroo helped you out of the car and you both went inside the motel lobby. You stood behind him silently as he checked in with the clerk.
"And what name was this reserved under?"
"Akira Itsumi."
You blinked in confusion. The drugs were still coursing through your system, but there was no doubt about what the receptionist said. You bit the skin around your thumb as Kuroo collected the room number and led you to the rickety elevator.
You both rode in the elevator, which had a dirt-flecked mirror and smelled rank, like piss. Tinny elevator music played out of crap-quality speakers.
"You already reserved a room?" you questioned him.
"Yeah, I figured you'd be stoned so I planned ahead," he said.
"And why was it under that name?"
"Mother's maiden name. She used to come here and had a membership," he lied smoothly.
"Oh," you nodded. Kuroo's simple answers to questions you'd stressed about made you feel stupid for overthinking it.
You both stepped out of the elevator and walked quietly down the musty hallway to your room: number 26.
The room was... unremarkable. A double bed with a grandma-esque, flowery duvet, an uneven wooden nightstand with a lamp that probably didn't work, and a ramshackle velvet armchair with unidentifiable stains on the upholstery. A small window with a dirty pane. The carpeted floor hadn't been washed for at least a decade, and the tiny room was bathed in an eerie yellow light. A rogue fly buzzed around the light fixture, desperate for a source of comfort.
You wrinkled your nose but sat on the edge of the bed.
Kuroo set his bag down on the floor and rummaged around inside it. You hoped he wasn't pulling out anymore coke — there was no fucking way you were ever touching that stuff again.
Instead, Kuroo pulled out a bottle of vodka and something else you didn't see, slipping it inside his pocket.
He crossed the room and sat next to you on the bed. Unscrewing the cap of the vodka bottle, he flicked it off and tilted his head back, drinking straight from the bottle. He brought the rim away from his lips and offered it to you wordlessly.
