Chapter Text
You were six years old when you first met Miya Atsumu.
He and his brother were seated directly behind you in your first year of primary school. You were always aware of their presence — it was hard to not be, as the twins constantly caused trouble. They often disturbed class with their petty arguments and the many spitballs that they used to terrorize their classmates just for laughs (luckily you were never a target). You had turned your nose up at them at first; boys have cooties, after all.
One fateful day, however, Atsumu cornered you near the swings during recess time, a scowl painted across his face.
"You there! (L/N)!" he had shouted. "Who's cuter?! Me or 'Samu?"
"Osamu of course," you replied without hesitation, trying not to laugh as Atsumu exhaled an angry puff of hot air.
He had then poured his goldfish crackers on your head.
Atsumu never left your side after that. At the time, you were a little annoyed. It meant having him follow you around at school and poke at you for random things, whether it be that your shirt was a funny color (you all wore the same uniform shirt but apparently that's besides the point) or that he needs an extra pencil while trying to hide his own behind his back (you always complied anyway; you learned quickly that it's best to shut up him as soon as possible).
He stuck to you like glue; always there to jab playfully at you and pull your pigtails and steal part of your lunch, sticking his tongue out at you when you protested. He enjoyed provoking you; you were a relatively calm kid but Atsumu always knew how to get you riled up. Your mother had almost passed out from shock one day upon seeing you and Atsumu wrestling on the porch before your walk to school (Osamu had been standing off to the side subtly egging the both of you on). But Atsumu's actions never came with malicious intentions, and both of you were well aware of that. It was "frenemies" except that you weren't really enemies; the two of you just liked to mess with each other.
Despite all of the yelling and bickering and arguing and tantrums that plagued your early relationship with him, you found yourself growing closer and closer to the annoying little brat named Miya Atsumu.
And eventually, as natural progression goes, he became your best friend who you couldn't imagine life without.
Atsumu was (and is) infuriating, bratty, whiny, childish, arrogant — the list goes on and on. Yet, silly, foolish you developed a crush on him when you were in your final year of middle school. After being friends with Atsumu for years and spending many summers playing volleyball in the park, autumns rolling around in the fallen leaves, winters chucking snowballs at each other, and springs picking bouquets for your mothers (Atsumu made you swear that you wouldn't tell anyone that he picked flowers for his Mom, but when Osamu found out he had laughed his arse off and told everyone anyway), your heart decided to give itself to the boy who's been both a pain in your ass and one of the greatest people in your life.
You fell for him — hard.
Scared of what your feelings would do to your friendship, you kept them hidden. With high school coming up, you figured it would only be a matter of time before you convinced yourself to move on from this little crush.
How wrong you were.
You had played volleyball on your middle school's team but decided to quit after sustaining a mildly serious leg injury in the summer before high school that kept you off the court. You loved the sport, but not enough to risk hurting yourself again, and maybe you wanted to explore other activities (you had been eyeing the baking club flyers).
At first, it seemed like high school would cause you to grow apart from the twins, especially since you decided to stop playing volleyball. However, Atsumu and Osamu had practically dragged you to the gym on the first day of school, announcing that you had volunteered to be the club’s manager (you hadn't) and the rest is history.
Looking back, you’re grateful for their rash actions because the volleyball team had become your second family. You love each and every one of the boys you’ve grown close to over your years as manager with every fiber of your being. From Kita and Aran, who you hold great respect for (and they adore you in return), to Akagi and Omimi, who would treat you to food whenever they wanted to feel like good senpais, to Ginjima and Suna, who you always had fun joking and playing around with, and of course the Miya twins, who you've been stuck with since you were little kids.
You also genuinely enjoyed your role as manager; volleyball was always a part of your life growing up (a given since you grew up with the Miya twins) and staying with the sport ended up being a positive experience. But of course, there were times you wished you at least had a chance to try and get over Atsumu.
You weren't in the same classes as him throughout high school, but every time you would walk into the gym for practice, Atsumu would greet you with a bone-crushing hug and lift you off your feet before twirling you around — an action that never failed to make your heart start racing and remind you of how bad you have it for him.
When Osamu found out about your crush on Atsumu, he never let you live it down, teasing and poking fun at you like the little shit he is. You thought he had made it painfully obvious to his brother, but you're pretty sure he never directly exposed you. Osamu's strange like that. Yet, despite all the nudges and raised eyebrows from Osamu, Atsumu never seemed to mind your obvious crush, or even notice it — what a complete blockhead.
You couldn't help yourself, either. Not only did this boy have the looks, with his tall, sturdy stature, warm chocolate eyes, and a soft-looking undercut that all girls would die to run their hands through (which he dyed piss-yellow in high school, something that you made fun of him for weeks until you realized one day how good it actually looks on him and you shut up quickly), but at least to you, he always gave the best of himself.
Sure, to other people (and still occasionally to you) he was (and is) an inconsiderate asshole without a filter, but you knew he truly did (and does) care for you. It was always the little things — bringing you your favorite baked goods when you're sad, trying to help you with homework even when he's just as clueless, sticking around to put away the volleyballs and close up the gym with you at the end of practice — that he did to show he really does care, that made you fall harder and harder every day.
When you graduated from high school, you planned to attend a university in Tokyo. Atsumu had told you of his goals to go pro in volleyball, and he, too, chose a school in Tokyo to continue his training there. Once again, just when you thought you'd have time to get over your crush on Atsumu, now you had become his only close friend from high school in the area, since Osamu had decided to attend a university in Hyogo.
The two of you grew even closer in the few years you've spent in Tokyo. You used to meet up every day after class to hang out in the library or at a cafe, just like your time in high school. Except this time, it was just you and him — no Osamu, no Inarizaki Volleyball Club, or anyone else.
To say you didn't fall for him even harder would be a complete lie. At times, you liked to indulge in the thought that maybe he liked you back. It was just those moments when he would hug you a little too tight, or when he would lean down to nuzzle your neck when the two of you lay together on your couch with a movie playing in the background, or when he would kiss your forehead and his lips lingered for a few seconds more.
And yet, he was, at the same time, unattainable.
Being a hotshot student athlete with a strong, muscular build and a frustratingly handsome face to match, he had more than his fair share of romantic attention. Of course you didn't mind, though, or at least, you tried not to. After all, you were just his best friend, and you've spent your entire life being nothing more than that... why should you start thinking that you couldn't survive that way, now? He has his life and you have yours.
When Atsumu passed the Black Jackals tryouts, you were the first person he told. He had called you immediately, practically brimming with excitement as he revealed the great news. The two of you were ecstatic about his achievement and celebrated with a pizza and movie night to boot.
Since then, though, he's been much busier. You hardly ever see him anymore. Atsumu's busy schedules filled with practices and games made it difficult for your free times to align, especially with you being in your last year of university and constantly studying your ass off.
Above all, you love Atsumu as a friend. You never want to lose this friendship that’s been built across so many years because of some stupid romantic feelings that you’re sure will go away eventually (it’s been like ten years since they’ve appeared but you don’t like to think about that). But this unconditional love you have for him gets you into trouble. A lot.
You had been peacefully sleeping after a long day of boring lectures, piles of homework, and countless hours of poring over textbooks for upcoming exams.
...That is, until your phone rings, obnoxiously loudly as a matter of fact, with a call from none other than Bokuto Koutarou himself.
You shoot up from bed in shock, your heart pounding wildly from the startling sound before your mood immediately sours.
You has given Bokuto your phone number during that one training camp in high school when he, Akaashi Keiji, Atsumu, Osamu, and you decided to sneak out of the dorms to get ice cream at 2 AM. Your coaches were not happy when the five of you were caught trying to get back into your dorms undetected. When you learned that Bokuto was one of Atsumu's new teammates on the Jackals, you were pleasantly surprised to see him again. He truly is a good guy. Bokuto still occasionally texts you memes and stupid shit he finds on social media, but he hardly ever calls you.
Bokuto calling you on a Saturday at 4 AM, the butt-crack-of-dawn, can only mean one thing — Miya Atsumu, your best friend, had done some stupid shit.
“Hello?” you snap into the phone, an exasperated expression already marring your features.
“Hey hey hey, (Y/N)-chan!” comes Bokuto’s enthusiastic, booming voice, which makes you cringe slightly at its contrast with the silent darkness of your bedroom. “Uhh, I’m in front of your apartment building. With Tsum-Tsum.” You can’t help but crack a small smile at the silly nickname he has for Atsumu.
“What happened this time?” you question dryly, already dragging yourself out from underneath your warm covers to grab your jacket and keys.
“We went out for drinks after practice, and uh... He kinda got shit-faced drunk,” Bokuto responds cheerfully, and you can faintly hear a pained moan in the background, one that you can assume belongs to none other than Atsumu himself. “And we couldn’t find his apartment keys, so we thought we’d bring him to your place.”
“And why my place?” you mumble irritably as you leave your apartment, not bothering to hide your annoyed grumbles since your roommate, Mika, is spending the night with her boyfriend.
“Aren’t you his girlfriend?” Bokuto quips plainly. You nearly choke on your own spit, almost slamming headfirst into the wall when you trip over the flimsy material of your Hello Kitty slippers on your way to the elevator.
“No!” you exclaim, your voice bouncing off the hallways of your apartment building, echoing embarrassingly loud. You clap a hand over your mouth, as if that’s supposed to help, before sheepishly pressing the ‘Down’ arrow for the elevator. “....He’s not my boyfriend, Kou. We’re just friends.”
“Really?” Bokuto sounds genuinely puzzled. “But Tsum-Tsum has been— “
“Bokkun~” you hear Atsumu’s sleepy, intoxicated voice from the other end of the line. “Izzat (Y/N)?” Before Bokuto can answer, you hear slight scuffling and a noise of protest, as Atsumu, presumably, snatches Bokuto’s phone.
“Tsum Tsum, what are you doi— “
“Gimme jus’ a sec, Bokkun,” he slurs reassuringly. There’s a few seconds of silence and some fumbling, and you can’t help but be slightly amused by this exchange. The elevator doors open, and you step in, waiting for Atsumu to speak. “Hey (Y/N),” he drags out your name. “Are ya listenin’?”
“Yes ‘Tsumu. I’m here.” You roll your eyes even though you know he can’t see it.
“Good.” You can vividly imagine the dopey smile that’s probably painted on his face right now. “Yer comin’ to get me, yeah?”
“Just arrived in the lobby,” you respond mildly as the elevator dings, signaling that you’ve arrived at your desired floor.
“Good,” he says again. “’Cuz I loveeeee yaaaaaaa— “ Atsumu’s cut off by Bokuto pulling the phone away from him.
“Hurry up and take him away from me already, (Y/N)-chan,” Bokuto pleads playfully, earning an indignant ‘Hey!’ from Atsumu.
“I’m here,” you reply with a sigh before hanging up. As soon as you step out the front entrance of your apartment building, you’re engulfed by a large, heavy body that practically squeezes the life out of you.
“(Y/N)!” Atsumu exclaims happily, literally crushing you against his chest while you wheeze in pain.
“’Tsumu—you big lug—get off—me—“ you gasp out between breaths as Atsumu begins to nuzzle his cheek in your hair. It’s an action that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. Your heart flips upside down in your chest, but you quickly cover your flustered state by ducking your head down and away from the scrutinizing gaze of Bokuto.
“You two really aren’t dating, (Y/N)-chan?" Bokuto asks with a raise of his eyebrows.
"No, we're not," you insist through the limited amount of air in your lungs, courtesy of the dumbass you call your best friend. Bokuto doesn't look too convinced.
"...Alright then," he concedes after a moment with a nonchalant shrug and a grin. "I'll leave you to it, then."
"Bye, Kou," you call after Bokuto as he makes his way over to his car. He waves happily in response.
"(Y/N)... ya smell good... like strawberries..." Atsumu’s nose is digging into your hair, inhaling the fruity scent of your shampoo. He had thankfully loosened his grip on you so you can actually breathe, but he still has his long and muscular arms wrapped tightly around you. You fight back the urge to hug him right back (you feel an irreplaceable sense of safety in his embrace) and instead place a hand against his broad chest and push him away. He gives you a look that resembles a puppy that’s been kicked.
"Come on, asshole. Let's get you showered and in bed. You stink." The smell of cheap beer and wing sauce covers Atsumu's usual comforting, musky scent, one that you had grown to love over the many years that you've known each other. Of course, you wouldn't admit it to his face; he'd never let you live it down.
"Lemme hug yaaaaa," he slurs out, reaching for you again but you dodge his arms, and instead grab the sleeve of his hoodie to start dragging him into your apartment building. He whines loudly with each and every step, and you're pretty sure he's woken up every single person in the building by now.
On the elevator ride up to your floor, Atsumu starts to absentmindedly mumble to himself, pausing every few moments to stare at you, blinking owlishly before breaking eye contact and resume his rambling.
How much did he drink? Damn. Atsumu's not the type to get drunk easily. Being such a tall and muscular person who's been drinking since his high school days (at karaoke bars, where you and your other high school friends had the lovely experience of hearing a tipsy Atsumu sing), it's uncommon for him to get this wasted.
"Come on, loser." You haul him into your apartment, still leading him by his sleeve. You make sure he kicks off his shoes; Mika, who's a clean freak, would not appreciate any dirt tracks inside the apartment. You have him sit on your couch. Atsumu says nothing, bringing his long legs up to his chest and resting the soles of his feet on the couch, tucking his chin in the crook between his knees. He continues to gaze at you dreamily, as if in a trance.
"Yer real pretty, (Y/N)," he tells you with a dorky grin.
"'Tsumu, you're drunk. Stop spouting nonsense." You quickly turn around to hide the blush on your face. You've never dealt with Atsumu in this state alone before. Sure, he's been slightly intoxicated in your presence, but it was always with a group. You hate how much his flirtatious words are having an effect on you, especially since he's drunk for god's sake.
You grab him a glass of water, making sure that he doesn't drop the cup or spill on your couch; you don't want to be killed by Mika. He gulps the water down eagerly, his chocolate eyes never leaving yours, and you shift awkwardly at the odd intensity.
Atsumu briefly breaks eye contact to run his gaze down your pajama-clad body, and you're pretty sure you hear a low, appreciative hum rumble from the back of his throat. You're wearing an old t-shirt that reaches your mid-thigh with a pair of stretchy black shorts hidden underneath, and while it isn't the most modest outfit, you're comfortable and that's all that matters. But you suddenly feel naked under his heated stare and want to pile on a million layers so you can escape from the breathless feeling in your chest as Atsumu, for lack of better words, undresses you with his eyes.
He lingers a little too long on your exposed legs, shamelessly drinking in the smooth, soft skin of your thighs, but before you can drag something intelligent out of your vocal cords, Atsumu snaps his eyes up to look directly at you again. You can't miss the way his teeth dig shallowly into his bottom lip as he unabashedly stares at you with his hooded, lazy gaze. You instinctively take a few steps back, your heart hammering in your chest.
"W-wait here. I'll run a bath for y-you," you stammer out. You take the chance to get away from Atsumu's unwavering stare, as your entire body is starting to heat up in embarrassment.
He had never looked at you that way before.
Still, you can't believe that you're letting yourself get psyched out over him just looking at you. Chill out, (Y/N). He's acting weird because he's drunk.
You quickly make your way to the bathroom and turn on the water. While waiting for the tub to fill, you rummage through your closet to find a spare blanket before grabbing an extra pillow off your own bed for Atsumu. When you walk back out into the living room, Atsumu is still in the same position that you left him in, curled into a ball. He watches you curiously as you toss the blanket and pillow onto the couch next to him.
"Those are for you." Atsumu shoots you an offended look.
"(Y/N), ya can't expect me ta sleep on the couch, can ya?!" he exclaims incredulously. You consider his words for a moment. True, with how tall this jerkwad is, his knees would probably be hanging off the couch. It would certainly be uncomfortable for him.
"You're right. You can take my bed for the night, I'll sleep on the couch," you decide as the alternative option, but Atsumu lets out a whine of protest. You refrain from rolling your eyes.
"Ya don't hafta do that, (Y/N)!" he whines. "Why don't we just sleep together in yer bed?"
Your heart skips a beat and your cheeks flush before you can stop them.
"Sh-shut up, idiot!" you grit out.
"Oh?" Atsumu chuckles, smiling oh-so-casually. "Ya seem like you'd like that, though." You glare at him until he wilts slightly. You shake your head, exasperated.
"God, how and why did you get so wasted?" Sighing as you turn away from him once more, you go and check on the bath you’re preparing for the intoxicated dumbass. Atsumu, being the way he is, has messed with you before, with offhanded comments perfectly aiming to throw you off-guard. But it was never like this. He never crossed the line between friendship and something more.
You hate the part of you that desperately wants to accept and actively seek out that 'something more'.
You dump some bubble bath formula into the water and watch it foam and rise to the surface. It's truly like you're taking care of a child, making a bubble bath for him, of all things. What should you do next, get him some rubber duckies? You briefly wonder what drunk Atsumu would do if you dropped in a rubber duck. Chaos or friendship between Atsumu and the duck; no in between.
“'Tsumu, get in here. Your bath is ready," you call to him, switching off the tap. You hear him shuffle his body off the couch, his heavy footsteps approaching the bathroom slowly and unevenly. He pokes his head into the bathroom, his eyes drooping with exhaustion.
"Do I hafta take a bath?" he grumbles. "Jus' wanna sleep."
"You smell gross. I don't want Mika to throw a fit if our apartment smells like beer tomorrow," you insist, pointing at the tub.
"Hmph." Atsumu does not argue further, so you step out of the room to let him get undressed. You leave the door open a crack just in case he needs something. And low and behold, not fifteen seconds after you leave, you hear Atsumu whine, "(Y/N)! I caffn'th taffke my shirrrt off." You exhale an exhausted breath before peeking inside the bathroom.
Atsumu has his arms and head tangled in his shirt, half of his face sticking out of one of the armholes and his arms caught in some kind of bizarre knot above his head.
"Heeurlpp," comes his garbled request for your assistance. You sigh, helping the idiot pull off his shirt. You do your best not to stare at his upper body, but how could you not? Sure, he had already been well-defined and strong in his high school days, but compared to now, he might as well have been scrawny.
How the hell does someone get their abs to look that good? Your eyes nearly bug out of your head. You haven't seen Atsumu shirtless in years, not since that one pool party that the two of you had gone to in your first year of university. Since going pro, his build had seemed to grow even more glorious, from the perfect outlines of his pecs to the chiseled lines of his abs to the defined muscles in his arms.
It's taking every single part of you not to swoon, and you despise yourself for this.
"Enjoyin' the view?" Atsumu has the audacity to say, giving you an obnoxious, lopsided smirk.
"I've seen better," you shoot back immediately, which causes the smile on his face to instantly drop.
"Who?" he cries out, clearly irritated, but you don't give him the time of day. Truthfully, you haven't seen someone better. But you won't give him the satisfaction of knowing this fact.
"That's irrelevant, finish getting undressed. I am not helping with your pants." The two of you simultaneously look down to where a belt buckle holds his jeans up. He helplessly fumbles with it for a bit, before glancing up at you desperately. You huff.
"Pleaseeee (Y/N)," he whines.
"You can't even take off your own belt?" you grumble.
"Pleaseeee," he repeats, his large hands reaching out to bring you into a tight hug.
"Okay, okay," you wheeze. You're internally screaming as the hard muscles on his arms and upper body press against you. "Let me go first, idiot." Atsumu happily complies, beaming his pearly-white teeth at you before letting you help him with his belt.
You unbuckle Atsumu's belt as quickly as you can, avoiding contact with his body and not daring to meet the heated gaze that's practically burning into the top of your head. You swear you hear him inhale sharply when you accidentally brush your hand against his thigh. When you finally find it in you to look up at him, he's running his tongue over his lips, making those damn bedroom eyes again. Your entire being is in fight or flight mode; oh God, why does it look like he wants to devour you?
"C-can you handle the rest yourself?" you say shakily after successfully undoing his belt, backing away ungraciously and nearly tripping over your own feet. Atsumu nods, the strange, intense look still on his face unnerving you to the core. You want to scream and cry and dig a hole and hide in it forever; why does this man have to have such an effect on you? "Okay, I'll be just outside if you need me."
"...Will ya help me wash my hair?" he asks rather meekly, just as you're about the shut the door. You crack it open a little to provide your answer.
"Yeah. Sure." A small, giddy smile spreads across Atsumu's lips like he's a kid who was just given candy.
"’kay." He then proceeds to pull down both his pants and boxers in one fell swoop, causing you to let out a shriek and quickly turn around, hands over your eyes.
You immediately feel stupid for reacting this way; you must seem immature as hell. But then you remember that Atsumu is still intoxicated and probably won't remember any of this in the morning, and you breathe a little.
You don't move until you hear the splash of water, signaling that Atsumu had successfully got himself into your bathtub. Cautiously, you peek into the bathroom and see him staring right back at you, an expectant look on his face.
"C'mere already," he grumbles, pouting. "Yer actin' like you've never seen a naked man before."
You frown slightly, shifting uncomfortably as you sit on the edge of the tub and grab the shampoo bottle from its place on the rack.
"Whatever," is the best you can come up with, lathering the shampoo into his hair.
"Wait, don't tell me." He goes still for a moment, and you hum in response, beginning to massage the liquid into his scalp. "Yer a virgin?"
"Didn't say that, 'Tsumu," you reply, keeping your voice steady as possible even though your internal instincts were freaking out. In your decade and a half together, you've never talked about these things with Atsumu.
"You are, aren't ya?" You don't reply, suddenly way too focused on the blonde locks of his hair swallowed in bubbles from the shampoo. "(Y/N)." He jerks back, glaring at you with his thick eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. You hold back a laugh; he looks anything but intimidating with a head full of bubbles and some stray foam on his cheek. "Answer me."
"What's it to you?" you continue to maintain your cool, bringing his head back towards you and continuing to wash out his hair.
"Dunno." He continues to scowl. "Who was your first, then?" You're quiet. "So yer a virgin."
"Yes, I am. Don't see how this is important, dumbass."
"Yer twenty-three."
"So?" You arch an eyebrow.
"Yer twenty-three," he emphasizes. "And you've never gotten laid." You stiffen, pursing your lips. You were surrounded by intimidating volleyball players for most of your high school life so any boy that ever had the desire to get close to you was promptly chased off. When you had gone to university, you never had any intention to lose your virginity, being more focused on your studies and your job at the local bakery. Frankly, you don't think your lack of 'getting laid' is a huge deal, but the way Atsumu seems to be addressing the topic now makes it seem like some kind of crime.
"Okay, and?"
"I could be yer first," he says suddenly, and you almost topple over into the bathtub in surprise.
"Wh-what?" you stutter, you fingers clenching a little too tightly on Atsumu's hair, causing him to yelp.
"...I said," he repeats as you steady yourself again. "I could be yer first."
"Haha. Real funny." Your tone is nonchalant but you feel like you're about to implode from the mess of feelings brewing deep in your stomach.
"I'd take care of ya," Atsumu continues, his eyes slowly darkening again. "Make ya feel real good." You let out a noise that's an unholy combination of a scream and a squeal.
"But then you'd leave me, 'Tsumu. Like you do to everyone else." You're about to rinse his hair now; you're doing your best to keep calm and focus on the task at hand.
"I'd never leave ya." He's still sleepily slurring out his words, but you almost want to believe the note of earnesty in his voice. "Yer my forever, (Y/N)." You laugh nervously; you really think you're about to go into cardiac arrest because your heart hasn't stopped racing since the moment he stepped into your apartment.
"You seem to be getting a lot more sober, 'Tsumu. I think I'll leave you to finish washing yourself." As soon as you stand up from your seat, Atsumu splashes around in protest, his arms waving wildly, and ends up soaking and covering you in bubbles from head-to-toe.
"No!" he whines, while you groan in a mixture of disgust and defeat as the water and foam drips down the front of the ratty old t-shirt you wear to bed.
"Great," you grumble to yourself. "Thanks a lot, asshat." Despite your venomous tone, Atsumu seems rather pleased with himself when you sit back down and continue to card your fingers through his soapy hair. "I hate you."
"You love me~" he sing-songs obnoxiously. You don't reply, not wanting to accidentally hint at how much those words actually ring true. "Yer so cute, (Y/N). Aren't I lucky ta have such a cute and carin' best friend?"
You merely scoff. When he's sober he's usually insulting you, so the compliments almost throw you off.
You know you're so weak for this man; this definitely isn't the first time you've bailed him out of a questionable situation. You know he means no harm in any way, and you know that he truly does appreciate you, and you know that you should really just get it through your thick skull that you'll never be anything more than a friend. But still, a tiny part of you longs for more. No matter how many times you've tried to squash that little voice in your head begging to be closer to him, it never went away, and this point, you're wondering if it ever will.
You swear this boy is going to be the death of you.