Archive of Our Own

The first time Atsumu heard the sharp crack of voices raised in anger, he was five. His father’s booming tones ricocheted through the thin walls of their cramped Tokyo apartment, clashing with his mother’s sharp, biting retorts. Lying in bed, Atsumu pressed his pillow over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut as though that might muffle the chaos seeping through the air. He begged sleep to come and carry him far away from the storm. When morning finally broke, the apartment looked like a battlefield. The coffee table was knocked over, a chair sat on its side, and shattered glass glinted in the weak sunlight filtering through the curtains. 

Two years passed, and the fights never stopped. They became a part of the rhythm of their lives—night after night, the shouting, the silence, and the inevitable aftermath. Then, one day, it all changed. Without much warning, his mother packed up their lives and moved them to Hyogo. 

Atsumu quickly learned to recognize the tension in his mother’s posture—the tight set of her jaw, the way her eyes skirted past her own mother’s disapproving gaze. Still, it wasn’t until seventh grade that the twins uncovered something that unraveled yet another fragile thread in their understanding of their family.

Their last name, Miya, wasn’t their father’s. It was their mother’s.

Atsumu frowned, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s still weird. Who has kids for years and doesn’t get married?”

“Maybe that’s why Grandma hates Mom,” Osamu replied, his voice casual but his eyes wary.

“Hate?” Atsumu echoed, hesitating. Hate was a strong word, even for him. “I don’t know about hate. But, yeah. I mean, I love Mum, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You can’t tell me it’s not stupid.”

Osamu shrugged, his lips twitching into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I dunno. Maybe it’s, you know…” He faltered.

“Well,” Atsumu scoffed, crossing his arms and throwing himself into the conversation like he needed to win an argument with the universe itself. “If that’s love, it’s fucking bullshit.”

The words hung heavy in the air between them. Atsumu didn’t know whether he was trying to convince Osamu or himself. Either way, it didn’t matter. He’d already decided—whatever it was his parents had shared, he wanted no part of it.

It became a mantra of sorts. Love was bullshit—a convenient lie people told themselves to justify reckless decisions. And yet, Atsumu’s life played out in a way that consistently contradicted that belief. Beneath his carefully crafted persona of confidence and charm, he was hopelessly sentimental. He latched onto people too quickly, too deeply, as if trying to fill some unspoken void. A skewed understanding of relationships.

He’d read somewhere—probably an article Osamu forwarded with zero context—that it could all be chalked up to Adverse Childhood Experience and then to attachment style. Some people build walls against intimacy; others, like him, build highways. No toll booths, just a straight shot to overattachment.

Three times now, Atsumu had fallen hard and fast, pouring himself into fleeting connections only to be left gutted when they unraveled. Each time, he’d drown his sorrow in alcohol, book a ticket back to Osamu’s for some passive-aggressive comfort, and cry himself to sleep on the couch. It was pathetic. So he stopped trying.The high wasn’t worth the crash. 

And yet, here he was.

“Ah—Atsumu-san,” Shouyou’s voice broke through his thoughts, soft and breathless.

Atsumu blinked, refocusing on the boy beneath him. Shouyou was flushed, his bright orange hair sticking to his damp forehead, his lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath. “Hm? What is it?” Atsumu asked, his voice low and rough. “Am I hurting you?”

Shouyou shook his head, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “No, no, just—there,” he gasped, his voice trembling. “Right there—it’s so good—ngh—”

Atsumu swallowed hard, his own breath hitching. His hands gripped Shouyou’s hips a little tighter, guiding their movements with a deliberate rhythm. “Here?”

“Yes!” Shouyou cried, his voice cracking on the syllable. His nails raked down Atsumu’s back, sharp enough to sting but not enough to stop him. Pain, apparently, was the price of delivering this level of satisfaction, and Atsumu was all too willing to pay it.

Somewhere between Shouyou’s ragged breaths and the way his head tipped back, exposing his throat, It hit him. He didn’t quite know how they’d gotten here. One thing led to another, then another, and now this—Shouyou trembling beneath him, flushed and utterly breathless, as Atsumu hovers over him. Their skin sticks together, sweat pooling in places Atsumu doesn’t want to think about too hard right now. Two empty Durex wrappers lie abandoned on the nightstand, a damning reminder of the very questionable life choices that brought them here.

He pauses for a moment, just staring down at Shouyou’s blissed-out face, his flushed cheeks, his lips slightly parted. Atsumu mutters under his breath, half to himself. “I’m gonna need therapy after this.”

Shouyou blinks up at him, his expression shifting between dazed confusion and amused disbelief. “What?” he breathes, still gasping for air.

“Nothing,” Atsumu says quickly, shaking his head. “Forget I said anything.”

But he knows Shouyou heard him because, even in his current state, he lets out a soft laugh—a wheezy, breathless sound that somehow makes Atsumu’s chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with this.

“You’re not allowed to laugh when I’m trying to be cute.” Atsumu says, leaning down and brushing their noses together. 

“Cute?” Shouyou teases, his voice a little stronger now. “You literally just muttered something about therapy.”

“Exactly,” Atsumu deadpans. “I’m baring my soul here.”

Shouyou snorts, the sound halfway between a laugh and a moan as Atsumu shifts his hips. 

Atsumu grins down at him, though there’s something softer in his expression now. “Shouyou,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. His voice is rough, barely steady. “I think I’m close.”

Shouyou smiles up at him, his hand reaching up to brush against Atsumu’s cheek. “Then stop talking.”

Atsumu laughs, the sound surprising even himself. “Pushy,” he says, but there’s no heat to it. He leans down again, kissing Shouyou hard, and lets himself get lost in the moment.

Meeting Hinata Shouyou and promising to set for him one day back in their second year of high school was one thing. But actually making it happen? That was something not even the universe or God themselves handed them on a silver platter. Deep down, Atsumu knew this wasn’t fate. It was something he and Shouyou had forged themselves, moment by painstaking moment.

When Bokuto first told him that the newest recruit passing the Black Jackals’ trial was Hinata Shouyou, Atsumu genuinely thought he was hallucinating. He remembers staring at Bokuto like he’d grown a second head, before brushing it off like a joke.

That is, until the next practice.

Atsumu could still remember how his world tipped sideways when Hinata Shouyou was introduced to the team. It wasn’t just the introduction, though. It was the way Hinata walked in, all wide grin, sun-baked tan, and that painfully short hair that somehow made him look even more like the living embodiment of energy.

“Miya-san?” Hinata’s voice was bright, warm. “Can you help me with the setting?”

It was such a simple request, but to Atsumu, it felt like an open door to something extraordinary. From that moment on, their partnership flourished like a perfectly timed set leading to a devastatingly beautiful spike. It all began with the shift from Miya-san to Atsumu-san—a subtle but meaningful change that carried an intimacy Atsumu couldn’t help but cling to.

The two of them quickly became close—not just on the court, where their explosive chemistry left teammates slack-jawed, but off it as well. What started as casual post-practice conversations turned into hours spent hanging out, laughing at shared memes, and exchanging increasingly ridiculous inside jokes that no one else could understand. 

Then came the flirting. At first, it was subtle—Hinata flashing a mischievous wink after calling out, “Nice set, Atsumu-san!” and Atsumu firing back with a lopsided grin and a cocky, “I’m irresistible both on and off the court, huh?” But subtlety quickly gave way to something far more blatant.

Their banter became a spectacle in itself, so much that their team—and even their coach—had to step in more than once. After one particularly fiery practice session filled with smirks, lingering touches, and suggestive remarks, their coach groaned and threw his clipboard onto the bench. “I don’t care if you two are trying to seduce each other,” he said, massaging his temples, “just do it off the court and out of my sight.”

It didn’t matter, though. Their bond was undeniable, and as far as Atsumu was concerned, the world was better with Hinata Shouyou in it—and even better when he was by Atsumu’s side. 

Truthfully, before Hinata had crashed into his life, Atsumu had been floundering in a weird, slow-brewing existential crisis. At 23, freshly graduated from college, the shine of his volleyball dreams had dulled under the weight of his own expectations. He hadn’t made it to the Olympics team—unlike Kageyama Tobio, that infuriating prodigy who seemed to waltz onto the national roster as if the universe itself had cleared his path.

Watching his younger self serve for the national team on TV felt like a cruel punchline to a joke he didn’t understand. Meanwhile, Atsumu—even after his high school legacy—had clawed his way through college championships, dragged his team into the top three at the All Japan Intercollegiate Volleyball Championship, and only then did he earn his ticket to the V-League. It was progress, sure, but it felt painfully slow—like watching the world speed past while he was stuck in second gear.

No matter how much he reminded himself to be grateful, it was impossible to shake the nagging voice in his head whispering that he was just a second-rate version of what he could’ve been. 

“You know, Atsumu-san,” Shouyou says one night, leaning back with an air of casual ease that doesn’t quite match the weight of his words, “I think I get where you’re coming from.”

“Existential crisis?” Atsumu half-chuckles, his voice tinged with bitterness.

“Well…” Shouyou grins, but there’s a flicker of seriousness in his gaze. “Sort of. But also—watching Kageyama crush it at the Olympics, making it look easy while I’m just… working as a delivery guy, losing my wallet the same night.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but the quiet vulnerability in his tone says otherwise.

“Shit,” Atsumu groans, rolling his eyes and letting out a frustrated sigh. “This is exactly why I don’t tell people my problems, They always end up having it worse.”

Shouyou laughs softly, the sound kind and unbothered. “No, no, it wasn’t that bad, really.” He scratches the back of his head, looking a little sheepish. “I just… I don’t know. It’s one of those things, right? Like, we all have our struggles. And if we actually said them out loud, yeah, we’d probably sound like ungrateful assholes, but it doesn’t make them less real. You get me?”

Atsumu stares at him for a long moment, his brain working overtime to find a response that wouldn’t make him sound even more pathetic. Finally, he lets out a short, incredulous laugh, running a hand over his face. “God, I’m a mess.”

Shouyou’s grin softens into something gentler, his eyes warm with understanding. “We all are,” he says quietly. “But, you know, everyone’s got their own path. How they realize themselves, their potential, and all that stuff. It’s messy, yeah, but it makes the journey worth something. It’s meaningful because it’s yours. Special, even.”

Something about Shouyou’s words lingers in the air, settling heavily on Atsumu’s chest. The silence stretches between them, not awkward but contemplative, and Atsumu knows the conversation is over. Or at least, that part of it. And after that, things just clicked. He and Shouyou became best friends, more inseparable than before. Their bond? Legendary. Everyone in the V-League could tell just how tight they were. Even the fans could feel it—those subtle moments of teasing, the flirty comments flying back and forth like they were on some kind of sitcom set. Honestly, after almost two years of it, everyone got tired of trying to read between the lines and just accepted that, yeah, they were that close.

“I genuinely thought you two wanted to fuck each other back then,” Inumaki says, deadpan.

Atsumu scoffs, a sly grin spreading across his face. “What, you wanna join in? You’re into that kinda thing?”

Atsumu thinks it’s cool. Known as Shouyou's best friend. He might even suspect that there's a hint of jealousy when fans talk about how Kageyama and Shouyou are soulmates on the court. Yeah, they probably are. But off the court? That’s when he comes in. It’s him and Shouyou, rolling through late-night minimart aisles, grabbing random snacks and ordering packs of Chinese takeaway. They’re the Best Bros™.

And so what Atsumu thought. Until that particular day.

Atsumu remembers it too vividly. The whole team had just smashed EJP Raijin, and the new sponsorship deal was like a cherry on top. Naturally, there was a feast, a proper celebration. It was fun, it was nice, but somehow, the night turned into more of a feast when Atsumu and Shouyou, both a little too tipsy, stumbled their way to Shouyou's apartment—thankfully, much closer to the izakaya than Atsumu’s place.

The night started with slurred jokes, then flirty banter, and by the time they were at Shouyou’s place, it was no longer just about food or wins—it was about them. The air was thick with the kind of chemistry that you couldn’t ignore, no matter how much you tried. 

They’d been playing this game for not months but now, years—two fucking years—toeing the line between friends and something else entirely. But tonight, for whatever reason, they’d stopped playing and just went for it.

He remembers the kiss—messy and uncoordinated, like neither of them knew how to stop once they started. Shouyou’s hand was everywhere, pulling him toward that stupidly neat bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the kind of cozy vibe that probably came from overpriced candles or some shit. It smelled like vanilla and boner.

Atsumu, his head spinning from both the booze and the proximity, barely managed to keep his wits about him. He paused, out of breath. “Shouyou… we shouldn’t be doing this… drunk,” he mumbled, trying not to sound too much like a buzzkill.

Shouyou, half-naked already, gave him a look. “Are you kidding me?” he shot back. “I’m already naked, and you’re telling me to stop now?”

Atsumu fumbled for words. “I—I don’t want to take advantage of the situation, alright? Are you sure? I mean, really sure?”

Shouyou raised an eyebrow. “What? Gonna chicken out on me now?”

Atsumu hesitated for a moment, his resolve slipping with every second. After a few more stupid arguments that neither of them really cared about, Atsumu stripped his top off, hands trembling slightly, and closed the distance, kissing Shouyou with more desperation than he’d intended.

The next morning was a different story.

They sat on the edge of Shouyou’s too-neat bed, a thick, awkward silence stretching between them. Neither dared to look at the other, their gazes fixed firmly on some indeterminate point on the floor. The weight of what they’d done lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Atsumu cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well,” he started, his voice cracking slightly. “That… happened.”

Shouyou snorted, but it lacked his usual energy. “Yeah. Definitely happened.”

Neither of them said what they were both thinking—that this had been a mistake. A stupid, impulsive mistake they weren’t going to repeat.

Except, by the third day, things were heating up again.

They’re making out in the locker room, like it was no big deal.

"God, I miss sex," Atsumu muttered between kisses, pulling Shouyou closer.

“Well, sometimes, you know, we just… need it,” Shouyou responded.

Atsumu pulled away, his chest rising and falling with the speed of his breath. “We? Or you ?”

Shouyou gave him that look. The one that said, Don’t even try to pretend .

Before Atsumu could say anything, Shouyou’s hands were on his chest, and then—bam—Shouyou’s knees hit the floor with a loud, dramatic thud.

“Shouyou, what the hell are you—” Atsumu stammered. He froze. Oh god. But just as Shouyou was about to pull his pants down like it was some kind of routine, Atsumu immediately grabbed his hand, practically yanking it away. “No, no, NO.”

Shouyou’s face was a mix of confusion and mild disappointment. “What? Why?”

“I can’t let you do that, are you out of your mind?” Atsumu shot back, his pulse racing.

Shouyou blinked. “What? You really don’t want it?”

Atsumu let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “I do. I do, Shouyou.” He pressed his hand to his forehead. “But not here. Not like this. We need to—talk about it first. Actually think it through, okay? And if we’re on the same page… then we can do whatever the hell we want.”

After that, both Atsumu and Shouyou did their absolute best to keep things together and talk about it—like adults, apparently. They walked side by side, their steps perfectly synchronized as they made their way to Atsumu's apartment. Neither of them dared touch each other, not even by accident. They were so close, yet so far, trying to maintain a semblance of composure, especially in public, where they were doing their absolute best to avoid making it too obvious that they were both fighting the urge to show off just how badly they wanted each other.

It was supposed to be a serious conversation. They needed to talk it out—really hash it out—because, you know, consequences and all that. They were going to be mature about this. They really were.

But maturity is easier said than done.

As soon as the door to Atsumu’s apartment clicked shut, the fragile illusion of restraint shattered like cheap glass. They didn’t even last five seconds of eye contact before Shouyou snapped, shoving Atsumu back against the wall with a force that surprised them both.

Their lips crashed together in a wild, desperate mess, all teeth and tongue, no finesse. It wasn’t careful or considerate or even remotely thought-out—it was raw, primal, selfish. Atsumu groaned into the kiss, his hands instinctively finding Shouyou’s waist, pulling him closer like he was the only anchor in a storm.

The conversation they’d planned to have? Completely abandoned.

It turned out, much like Communism, their idea of restraint sounded great in theory but failed spectacularly in practice. They hadn’t accounted for one crucial variable: human hunger. The selfish, primal need that couldn’t be reasoned with. None of them really name it. Whatever it is between them. The friends, the benefits, it’s all in between.

They didn’t tell anyone that it’s happening. They both knew better than to bring it up—too unprofessional. They were on the same team, after all. They suddenly stop with their usual flirting, touches, and playful exchanges. Suddenly become professional. Until one day Meian brought it up.

"What? No, we’re not fighting," Atsumu quickly insisted. "We just—" he hesitated, trying to string together some kind of plausible excuse. "We think it would be better if we appear to be more professional," 

“Oh, I thought…” Meian raised an eyebrow. "Well, I personally think it’s fine if you guys are just being yourselves too, y’know?”

“Well, I—" Atsumu regretted saying anything at all.

He brings it up to Shouyou that night. While they’re on his couch, kissing like nothing has changed, thighs pressing together, and hands finding familiar places.

"Why did you say that?" Shouyou asks between kisses, his breath coming in short, heated bursts. His hand moves under Atsumu’s shirt, fingertips grazing over the skin there, pulling him closer.

"Well, I thought, y’know…" Atsumu tries to explain through the haze of his thoughts. Another kiss. "They’d want us to be… more professional." Another kiss. "Fuck, I don’t know why I said that. I’m stupid."

Shouyou kisses him again, this time slower, softer, his hand still working its way under Atsumu’s shirt. "No, you’re not," he murmurs against his lips, voice quiet but firm. "I’d probably do the same thing, honestly."

"Then we’re both stupid," Atsumu replies, voice barely a whisper. "Two idiots doing each other."

Shouyou laughs—soft, genuine, and so unexpectedly beautiful that it stops Atsumu in his tracks. He takes a moment to look at Shouyou’s flushed face before he kisses Shouyou again, deeper this time, wanting to savor every second of it, every press of their bodies together, everything that they never name.

A few moments later, the words slip out of Atsumu’s mouth without warning. "Can we do missionary today?"

Shouyou pulls back slightly, a teasing look crossing his face. "Hmm, of course. Why?"

Atsumu takes a breath, smiling in a way that only Shouyou seems to make him do. "Just because," he says with a shrug, as he kisses him again, hand sliding under Shouyou’s thigh, effortlessly lifting him and heading toward the bedroom.

That night, compared to the chaos they usually do, feels almost soft—gentle. Atsumu takes his time, savoring every kiss, every touch. Shouyou lets him, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a blanket. He kisses Shouyou so many times, memorizing the feel of his lips, the softness of his skin, and the way Shouyou’s body responds to his touch.

He remembers pushing the damp hair away from Shouyou’s forehead before pressing a kiss to it, like he’s marking the moment. He remembers shifting Shouyou’s hips just right to make him moan, that sweet sound cutting through the quiet of the night.

After everything is done, Atsumu lets Shouyou fall asleep in his arms, his body curled up beside him. Atsumu stares at the ceiling, still processing everything that happened, feeling both content and restless.

"Atsumu-san, that was so good," Shouyou whispers in the quiet, his voice still heavy with sleep.

"Hm, really?" Atsumu replies softly, glancing down at him. "Did you like that?"

"Yes," Shouyou murmurs, moving closer, his lips brushing against Atsumu’s chest. "Very much."

Atsumu smiles down at him, so full of affection that it almost hurts. "Give me a kiss then," he asks, and Shouyou obliges, his lips soft and sweet against his.

The moment is so tender, so intimate, that it leaves them both completely spent. They fall asleep quickly, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside irrelevant.

But then, in the middle of the night, Atsumu wakes up. He’s still in his bed. Shouyou is still curled up next to him, still safe and sound in his arms. He gets up, pacing to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, his thoughts a tangled mess. Osaka lights shine dimly through his window, the city still alive outside, while he’s here, stuck in his own head. 

And suddenly the questions pop up. What is this between them? How long will it last? What will he do when it all inevitably falls apart?

The reality hits him like a wave: They can’t keep doing this forever. They’re both idiots. They’ll screw it up sooner or later. But after that—what then? Will they just go back to being friends? Will he have to watch as Shouyou moves on and finds someone else?

It’s terrifying. The thought of losing him. Of being so vulnerable, of letting someone in like that.

Atsumu looks back at the bed, at Shouyou still asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful.

And then he realizes.

“What do you mean you’re in love?” Osamu’s voice rang through Atsumu’s kitchen, filled with a mix of confusion and disbelief. “Of all people—your teammates? Really?”

“I just…” Atsumu’s voice trailed off as he gripped the dish sponge a little too tightly. “You know how easily I get attached to people, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Osamu replied, cutting him off with a scoff. “But this? You weren’t in love with any of our teammates back in high school. Now you are?”

Atsumu went quiet. He considered hanging up, but then He couldn’t keep it bottled up.

“Look, just promise me you won’t tell anyone.” His voice dropped.

Osamu paused. “Who would I even tell? Mom?”

“Good point.” Atsumu smirked despite himself. “Okay, no mom talk. But seriously… don’t judge me.”

“Why the hell would you even call me if you didn’t want judgement?” Osamu shot back.

Atsumu exhaled, his shoulders tense. He wasn’t sure how to phrase it without sounding like he was completely losing it. “I’ve been… sleeping with him,” his voice lowered, almost a whisper.

“Wait, what?” Osamu’s voice rose in disbelief. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sink noise!”

Atsumu quickly turned the faucet off. “I’ve been sleeping with Shouyou-kun,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. “For, uh, the last… three months.”

There was a long silence. The kind that made Atsumu regret putting the call on speaker. Then Osamu’s voice came. “What? Sleeping with him? Oh, shit—are you serious right now? What are you two now?”

“We haven’t labeled it, okay?” Atsumu hurriedly added. “But, uh, the closest thing is... friends with benefits?”

“Holy shit.” Osamu’s voice was half disbelief, half something else. “I should’ve never doubted your special brand of idiocy.”

“I know, right?” Atsumu laughed, but it was more nervous than anything. “I’m surprised, too. But it’s—well, it’s fucking great , you know?”

“Of course it’s great, you’re both athletes,” Osamu said. “I’m sure you’re breaking records in every way.”

“No, asshole,” Atsumu shot back, rolling his eyes. “Not like that. Yeah, the sex is good, but that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s... it’s everything else. Like, the kisses after? The hugs? Waking up with him and making breakfast together—”

“Did you just say you make breakfast together in the morning?” Osamu interrupted.

“Well, yeah,” Atsumu said, his frustration creeping back in.

“You… idiot!” Osamu nearly screamed. “You do not make breakfast with someone you just want to spend the night with!”

Atsumu rubbed his face, starting to feel the heat in his chest. “Well, we’re friends—”

“With benefits! ” Osamu shouted. “Don’t you forget that part, dumbass!”

Atsumu’s face fell into a grimace, a bitter knot starting to form in his stomach. “Okay, fine. So what the hell should I do now?”

“You know what you should’ve done in the first place?” Osamu didn’t miss a beat. “Go to therapy, that’s what you need.”

In Atsumu’s defense, he’s not exactly wearing his anxious attachment like a neon sign yet. There’s plenty of logical reasoning here.

For starters, he doesn’t get jealous when Shouyou talks to anyone on the team. Not even when some of the guys get a little too touchy—patting his hair, slapping his shoulder, all the usual crap. Atsumu’s cool with it. Totally fine.

They haven’t been in any major competitions yet, just endless practice sessions leading up to the nightmare of final matches. It's all about pushing through, no distractions. Atsumu is all about control. He’s got this.

Honestly, he’s fine. Really. They don’t hook up as much anymore. Some nights they just crash on the couch, watching matches and taking notes. If their lips happen to meet afterward—well, that’s just the cherry on top. 

But for some reason, the less they do it, the worse it gets. Like, somehow, not doing it makes everything more intense.

It’s the small things that are driving him insane. Like when Shouyou laughs beside him, his voice light and carefree. Or when he’s waiting at the kitchen island for Shouyou to bring over dinner like it’s the most normal thing in the world. The way Shouyou smiles at him after a solid set—like he’s just been handed a prize. Atsumu feels it in his gut. And yet, he’s still standing there, pretending it’s fine.

But deep down? He knows this isn't fine. He knows it.

It's like a dam about to burst, but he's too scared to tear it down. He doesn’t want it to end, doesn't want to face what’s lurking beneath the surface. Because once that wall cracks, he’ll have to face all the things he doesn’t want to acknowledge about how much he’s letting himself fall.

And that’s the kicker: He doesn’t want the wake-up call. Not yet. Not when things feel so good. 

After what feels like endless hours of practice, Atsumu can’t even gather his thoughts. The grind leaves his muscles heavy, his mind adrift. The gym lights buzz faintly above, a dull reminder of the late hour. Shouyou has already bound off to Hoshiumi, likely talking about who-knows-what. Not that it’s Atsumu’s business anyway.

Still, as he sits on the cool floor, staring at nothing in particular, the loneliness gnaws at him. It’s an ache that doesn’t make itself known until the noise dies down. Almost instinctively, he finds himself dragging his tired legs over to where Kageyama sits on the bench, silent as ever. Talking to him feels marginally better than sitting alone with his thoughts.

“I hear you’re not renewing with the Adlers,” Atsumu says, his tone lighter than he feels. “Big shot heading to Italy, huh?”

Kageyama glances at him, his face as flat as ever. “Yeah.”

Atsumu smirks. “Have you started learning the language?”

Kageyama frowns. “I’ve been using Duolingo. Two weeks now.”

“That’s cute. How’s that working for ya?” Atsumu asks.

“I still can’t speak English properly.”

Atsumu chuckles faintly. “Maybe you should get lessons from Shouyou-kun.”

Kageyama’s expression shifts slightly, the ghost of a frown tugging at his lips. “Hell, I’d rather die,” he mutters, eliciting another laugh from Atsumu.

The laughter fades, leaving a comfortable silence. Atsumu’s gaze drifts again to Shouyou, his bright orange hair standing out even from across the court.

“Must be nice, playing overseas,” Atsumu murmurs, almost to himself.

“I wouldn’t know yet,” Kageyama replies. “You should ask Shouyou.”

Atsumu raises a brow. “Well, we’ve been teammates for two years, so yeah, he’s told me plenty of stories about his time in Brazil.”

“No, not that,” Kageyama interrupts, his voice low but pointed. “Has Hinata told you he got another offer?”

The words hit Atsumu like a stray ball to the chest. “What?” he says, too quickly.

“He got an offer in Brazil,” Kageyama says, his tone matter-of-fact. “A great team, too. I saw it online.”

Atsumu’s throat tightens. “He’s… moving to Brazil?”

Kageyama shrugs. “I don’t know if he’s accepted yet. That’s what I was going to ask you earlier, but I guess you don’t know either.”

After practice, the team splits off into smaller groups. Some head out for food, others to explore the city. As Shouyou and Atsumu are roommates, Shouyou naturally extends an invite to Atsumu, but he declines. He stays back, saying something vague about being tired. The truth is, he needs time. Time to sit with himself, his feelings, and the weight of this growing ache in his chest.

Shouyou is great. No—more than great. If Atsumu is honest, Shouyou’s skill probably surpasses his own, but what makes them similar is their shared hunger. Their relentless drive. That connection has always mattered to Atsumu.

But greatness comes with a cost. It’s not surprising that players like Ushijima, Kageyama, and now Shouyou are being recruited by teams outside of Japan. Bigger leagues, brighter stages. Shouyou deserves every bit of it—even if it means leaving everything behind. Including him.

But still, what about him? What is he supposed to do after this? And why hasn’t Shouyou said anything to him?

Ah, maybe that’s it. They aren’t even a thing. Just teammates. Not close enough for Shouyou to think he needs to tell Atsumu anything. Maybe he told Kageyama first because they’re more alike—at the same level, speaking the same language of greatness.

But still. Aren’t they close enough for Shouyou to give him a heads-up? To spare him the shock of finding out through someone else? Atsumu isn’t sure what hurts more—being left out of the conversation or the fact that he isn’t worth being told.

He stares at the clock, willing himself to stop thinking about it. He wants to sleep, but it doesn’t come. Around 11 PM, the door opens. Shouyou steps inside, quiet as ever, his bag slung over one shoulder. Atsumu doesn’t move, pretending to be asleep as the sound of the shower fills the silence.

When Shouyou finally slips into bed, he whispers softly, “Good night, Atsumu-san.”

But Atsumu can’t help himself. The heavy silence in the room is too much, his thoughts a whirlpool dragging him under. He tosses the covers off and gets up, padding softly over to Shouyou’s bed. It seems ridiculous for the two of them—athletes with broad shoulders and long limbs—to share such a medium-sized bed. But Atsumu doesn’t care about practicality right now.

Shouyou, sensing the movement, turns his head toward him and smiles. His expression is soft, unguarded. “I thought you were already asleep,” he says quietly. “Did I wake you up?”

Atsumu doesn’t answer. Instead, he climbs beside him, his chest brushing against Shouyou’s side. Slowly, he slides an arm around Shouyou’s waist, pulling him close. “No, you didn’t,” Atsumu murmurs, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room.

Shouyou shifts slightly, not to pull away but to get more comfortable. “Where have you been?” Atsumu asks, his words muffled as he buries his face in Shouyou’s hair.

“Outside,” Shouyou replies. “With Bokuto-san.” His tone is casual, like he hasn’t just unknowingly been the center of Atsumu’s storm of emotions. “What were you doing here?”

“Just watching videos,” Atsumu replies, his lips brushing against Shouyou’s neck. He presses a soft kiss there, and Shouyou lets out a small laugh, squirming at the ticklish sensation.

“Do you… want to have sex?” Shouyou asks, the question as straightforward as always. But then he adds, almost teasingly, “We’ll have to be quiet though—”

“No, Shouyou. No.” Atsumu’s voice cracks slightly, surprising even himself. He tightens his hold around Shouyou’s waist, pulling him even closer. “I just… just let me do this.” His breath hitches as he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

The room falls quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Atsumu can feel Shouyou breathing, steady and rhythmic, grounding him in a way he desperately needs.

Then, Shouyou shifts again, turning in Atsumu’s arms until they’re face to face. His gaze, so open and earnest, seems to pierce straight through Atsumu.

“Atsumu-san?” Shouyou’s voice is softer now.

“Hmm?” Atsumu’s reply comes automatically, his mind too blurry to form anything more articulate.

“Uhm…” Shouyou hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip like he always does when he’s unsure of his words. “I’m going to Miyagi for the weekend,” he finally says. “Do you want to join me?”

“Miyagi?” Atsumu blinks, caught off guard.

“Yeah,” Shouyou says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I haven’t seen my mum and Natsu for a while.”

“Oh…” Atsumu nods slowly, processing the unexpected invitation. “Yeah, sure.”

Shouyou’s eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, of course,” Atsumu says with a chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to Miyagi before.”

Shouyou’s face lights up, his joy unmistakable. Then he leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Atsumu’s cheek.

Atsumu freezes for a moment, the warmth from Shouyou’s lips lingering on his skin. He can’t stop the small smile that spreads across his face. “What was that?” he teases, his tone lighter than it’s been all night.

And then Shouyou laughs, his head just inches from Atsumu, and Atsumu feels the urge to say something—to pull him into the depth of everything he’s feeling. But instead, he stays quiet. He lets Shouyou’s warmth lull him into a temporary peace, even as the laughter replays in his mind, beautifully heartbreaking and impossibly out of reach.

Shouyou’s house is just a short turn off a main street, tucked into a quiet, mountain-like area surrounded by trees and lush greenery. The neighborhood feels peaceful, with narrow roads winding up the slope and traditional-style homes nestled in between patches of forest. Shouyou’s house fits right in—a modest, cozy home with classic wooden paneling, shoji doors, and a sloped roof. It has that distinct charm of an older Japanese house.

As soon as they step inside, Shouyou’s mom greets them warmly at the genkan. Her smile is bright and welcoming, and Atsumu immediately notices how much Shouyou takes after her—the same wide grin and sparkling eyes.

“You must be Atsumu,” she says, slipping into house slippers and gesturing for him to do the same. “Shouyou talks about you all the time,”

Atsumu feels his chest swell with pride, but he tamps it down, letting out a playful laugh. “Oh, really, Hinata-san? He must be my biggest fan.”

Shouyou snorts and elbows him lightly.

“Why?” Atsumu teases. “You do like my sets, don’t you?”

Shouyou rolls his eyes. “I’d rather not answer that.” and Atsumu laughs at that.

They arrive just before lunch, and by the time they wash up and sit down at the low dining table, Atsumu is blown away by the spread. The dishes are colorful and perfectly arranged—grilled fish, simmered vegetables, pickles, rice, and miso soup, each item looking like it was made with care.

“My mom used to be a nutritionist,” Shouyou explains as they dig in.

“No way,” Atsumu says, pausing mid-bite. “Must’ve been nice growing up with meals like this every day.”

“Not when we were kids,” Shouyou says, grinning. “We hated vegetables, but she always made us eat them.”

Atsumu chuckles, reaching over to ruffle Shouyou’s hair. “You must’ve been a handful.”

After lunch, they bring in their bags. Atsumu is given Shouyou’s bedroom, while Shouyou moves to Natsu’s room, and Natsu sleeps with their mom. Atsumu tries to insist that he can just sleep in the living room, but Shouyou’s mom waved him off with a firm smile. “You’re a guest. We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Later, as Atsumu settles into the room, he takes his time looking around. The space feels undeniably Shouyou—neat but lived-in. The bookshelves are packed with manga in different languages, books on nutrition and meditation, and a stack of volleyball magazines in the corner. A large poster hangs on the wall, and framed photos from Shouyou’s younger days are scattered across the shelves. Most of them seem to be from his high school years with the Karasuno team.

It feels strangely intimate, being in someone’s personal space like this, surrounded by pieces of their life. Atsumu pauses, letting his fingers graze one of the framed photos. It’s a little unnerving, knowing this much about Shouyou—seeing him at this level of depth that feels almost too personal.

“Are you snooping through my stuff?” Shouyou’s voice startles Atsumu out of his thoughts.

He turns to see Shouyou leaning against the doorframe, now in casual clothes.

“Just admiring,” Atsumu says with a grin. He gestures to the Karasuno photo. “Didn’t know you guys were this close.” His gaze drifts to another picture—one that looks like a party, maybe a wedding. The warm glow of outdoor lights contrasts against the dark night sky. “This one from Brazil?” he asks.

Shouyou nods. “That’s Nice and Heitor’s wedding,” he says. “It was beautiful. We celebrated all night—and maybe drank a bit too much.”

Atsumu studies the photo. Shouyou looks sharp in a brown suit, flanked by friends Atsumu doesn’t recognize. But there’s one man who catches his attention—a sharp-eyed, lean man in a cream suit, his arm casually slung around Shouyou’s waist.

“Who’s this?” Atsumu asks, pointing to the man.

Shouyou’s gaze lingers on the picture for a moment before he answers. “Oikawa Tooru.”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “Oikawa?” he says. “Never heard of him,”

That night, after a round of shared laughter at dinner, Atsumu, Shouyou, and Natsu settle into the cozy living room, the warm glow of the TV reflecting on their faces. Natsu, armed with the remote, insists on watching To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before despite the groans from the two men.

“Why this movie again?” Atsumu complains, sinking deeper into the couch.

“Because I want to,” Natsu retorts, smirking. “And you’re outnumbered.”

Atsumu grumbles dramatically but relents, stealing popcorn from Natsu’s bowl in petty revenge. Midway through the movie, as Lara Jean debates love letters, Natsu suddenly turns toward Atsumu with a sly grin.

“Atsumu-san,” she begins, voice teasing, “You used to be popular in high school, right?”

Atsumu perks up at that, puffing his chest. “Well, of course! I was pretty much a big deal back then—and still am, by the way.” He shoots her a wink. “Why? Curious about me, huh?”

“Have you ever gotten a love letter? Like in the movie?”

The question hits him like a quick set he wasn’t ready for. He glances between her and Shouyou.

“Well,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck, “I mean, yeah, I got a few here and there.” He forces out a laugh. “Why, though? Did you get one?”

“Natsu?” Shouyou interjects, raising an eyebrow. “Did you?”

Her smirk widens. “What if I did? Can’t a girl keep her secrets?”

Shouyou leans forward, suspicious. “Secrets? Who gave you a love letter?”

Natsu waves him off, feigning nonchalance. “No one important. I’m just saying, if you got a love letter, then why can’t I?”

Atsumu’s jaw drops. “Wait, you got a love letter, Shouyou-kun? From who?”

Natsu laughs mischievously. “Oh, you’d never guess.” she continues, “It was in high school,”

Atsumu looks at Shouyou, intrigued. “Oi, spill it. Who was it?”

Shouyou groans, hiding his face in his hands. “Natsu, don’t. ”

Ignoring him, Natsu grins wider. “It was Tobio-san.”

“What?! ” Atsumu nearly chokes on his popcorn. He whirls around to Shouyou. “Kageyama? I thought you guys were just friends!”

“That’s what he told everyone,” Natsu chimes in gleefully. “But Shouyou is such a jerk—”

“Natsu!”

“—He let poor Tobio-san write that letter and then pretended it didn’t happen.”

“That’s not how it went!” Shouyou protests, his face a deep shade of red.

“How?” Atsumu asks, narrowing his eyes at Natsu. “Honestly, how did it happen?”

“You know they were close in high school, right? Karasuno’s golden duo and all that,” Natsu starts, a sly grin spreading across her face. “But Shouyou was, like, very, very nice to him. And by that, I mean when I found out he was kissing him in his bedroom— ”

“Natsu!”

“See!” Natsu points accusingly at her brother, delighting in his flustered reaction. “You’ve gotta make sure no one else falls for him, Atsumu-san. He’s dangerous.”

Atsumu wants to laugh but feels the words sink a little too deep. It’s already too late for him. He’s already fallen for Shouyou—fallen hard. And now, this new piece of information is starting to connect the dots about the pattern in Shouyou’s relationships.

“So, did you date him, then?” Atsumu turns to Shouyou, but the redhead looks too embarrassed to form an answer.

“No, he didn’t,” Natsu pipes up before Shouyou can even open his mouth. “That was the third year, and Shouyou immediately left for Brazil afterward.”

Shouyou buries his face in his hands, mumbling something unintelligible as Natsu leans back, victorious. By the time the conversation dies down, it’s 10 PM. The credits of their first movie are already rolling when Natsu stretches and announces her departure.

“Well, that’s my cue. Bedtime for me.” She stands and, as she heads to her room, she throws a pointed glance over her shoulder. “Just… don’t make me walk out here and catch you two—” she mimes a dramatic kiss, complete with exaggerated sound effects.

“Get out, Natsu!” Shouyou groans, his face burning as he swats at her.

Laughing, Natsu disappears into her room, leaving Atsumu and Shouyou alone in the dimly lit living room. The TV’s soft glow flickers across their faces as they settle in for a second movie, but La La Land isn’t holding their attention. Atsumu finds himself sneaking glances at Shouyou instead, watching how the light dances across his features.

“You sure are a heartbreaker, Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu says, breaking the silence with a faint chuckle.

Shouyou’s wide eyes almost panicked. “Atsumu-san, not you too. It was years ago, I swear!”

“Well, it’s news to me.” Atsumu leans back, his arm brushing lightly against Shouyou. “Honestly, why didn’t you date him back then? You two would’ve been cute.” 

It’s a lie. He’s actually glad it didn’t work out.

Shouyou sighs, sinking deeper into the couch. “I don’t know, honestly. I think… I just knew I wasn’t capable of giving him what he wanted.”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “You literally kissed him.”

“I know,” Shouyou mutters, running a hand through his hair. “But relationships are… tricky. Especially when you know long distance is going to be part of the deal.” He pauses, his voice dropping. “Or maybe it’s just me being… I don’t know, already too scared to try. To get hurt.”

“What about that Oikawa guy, then?” Atsumu asks after a pause. “Did you?”

Shouyou’s smile is small and wistful. “Yeah, we dated. For a while.” He glances at the TV, though it’s clear his mind is elsewhere. “I think I always tell people how amazing it was to live in Brazil—how fun it was to meet new people. But what I don’t tell people is how lonely it was in the beginning. I was… I don’t know. There were nights I wanted to call Kageyama, just to…” He trails off, shaking his head. “But then Oikawa just… happened.”

“What do you mean?” Atsumu asks, his voice softer now, as though afraid to disturb the fragile air between them.

Shouyou shrugs. “Sometimes you settle for things that are convenient. Things that are just... there.” He pauses, his gaze dropping as if searching for answers he never found. “It was exhausting—going back and forth, juggling our careers. And then he wanted me to stay. I just...” He exhales a short, humorless laugh. “It was too much. So, it’s over.”

Atsumu’s chest tightens. He should feel relieved, knowing those relationships didn’t last. Instead, all he feels is dread—an ache that spreads with the thought of Shouyou leaving for Brazil again. The hollow ache of something slipping away. 

“Why didn’t you try to work it out?” Atsumu asks, his voice barely audible.

Shouyou looks at him then, and there’s a quiet kind of resignation in his eyes. “Because life isn’t a movie, Atsumu-san,” he murmurs. “Love doesn’t conquer all.”

Atsumu forces a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well,” he says softly, almost wistfully, “I want my life to be like a movie.”

“Really?” Shouyou looks at him. “What kind of movie though?”

Atsumu leans back, his lips curling into a playful smile. “Probably something with a pop of color, romance, a lot of singing and dancing.” He nods toward the screen, where Mia and Sebastian are spinning under the fading orange. “Something like that.”

Shouyou follows his gaze. “But they don’t end up together, though.”

Atsumu freezes mid-thought, turning to him. “Wait, really?” His voice rises in mock outrage. “Fuck them, then.”

Shouyou laughs, the sound bright and unrestrained. “I actually watched this with Kenma before,” he admits, his cheeks tinged with the smallest hint of pink. “But if you wanted to watch it, I didn’t mind rewatching it. Sorry for spoiling the end.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Shouyou,” Atsumu groans, clutching his chest dramatically. “You’ve got to pay for that.”

Shouyou raises an eyebrow. “What? How should I pay for my mistake?”

“By a kiss,” Atsumu replies smoothly, his voice dipping lower as he leans in, his face just inches away now. “Come on.”

“We’re literally in my family’s home, Atsumu-san,” Shouyou whispers.

“What?” Atsumu teases, his grin widening. “Chicken out on me now?”

Shouyou hesitates, his eyes flicking between Atsumu’s lips and his gaze. Then, his hand moves almost instinctively, cupping Atsumu’s jaw with surprising tenderness. “Fine,” he breathes, and before he can second-guess himself, he pulls Atsumu in.

The kiss is soft at first, exploratory. But it quickly deepens, their lips moving in sync, a rhythm neither of them expected but both fall into easily. By the time they pull apart, their positions have shifted—Shouyou now sprawled against Atsumu’s chest, the faint rise and fall of his breathing brushing against Shouyou’s ear.

The room feels heavier now, the air thick with something neither of them dare to name. The TV continues its hum in the background, the movie’s vibrant colors flickering across their faces as if highlighting the contrast of their flushed skin.

“Did you kiss Kageyama like this too?” Atsumu asks suddenly, his hand slipping to cradle Shouyou’s jaw, his voice quieter but sharper, like a blade grazing skin. “Answer me.”

Shouyou blinks, startled. “No,” he murmurs, his cheeks flushed. “I—I don’t use my tongue.”

Atsumu’s lips twitch into a smirk at that, but something darker flickers in his gaze. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, pulling him back for another kiss—this one deeper, rougher, fueled by a desperation Atsumu can’t quite control. His thumb brushes against Shouyou’s cheek, grounding himself in the feel of him, the reality of this moment.

“Atsumu-san—”

“Did you kiss Oikawa like this too?” The question spills out before Atsumu can stop it, his hand tightening slightly against Shouyou’s face. His golden eyes widen in shock, but Atsumu doesn’t pull back. He can’t.

“Atsumu-san?” Shouyou’s voice is soft, the worry evident in the way his fingers rest against Atsumu’s arm.

And then it hits him—what he’s done, what he’s said. Atsumu lets go suddenly, his hand falling to his lap as if burned. “Fuck,” he breathes, his chest heaving. “I’m sorry.” He turns away, burying his face in his arm. “I think we should stop.”

The words hang between them like a sentence neither of them wants to hear. Shouyou doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, just sits there next to him, the weight of his presence both comforting and unbearable.

They sit in silence, side by side, the space between them impossibly small yet agonizingly distant. Atsumu’s mind races, torn between wanting to reach out and wanting to run away, overwhelmed by the desire to claim Shouyou entirely and the fear of losing him completely. It’s suffocating. Reckless.

So, Atsumu does what needs to be done.

“Let’s go outside,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “Please.”

That single word carries too much weight, and Shouyou nods. They step out into the cool night air, the street empty save for the occasional flicker of a streetlight. The silence feels too loud, the air too charged, as they walk side by side.

Atsumu stops suddenly, turning to face Shouyou. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Shouyou stops walking, turning to him. His face flickers with surprise, guilt, and something else Atsumu can’t quite place. “You… you already know?” Shouyou stammers. “Who told you? Bokuto-san? Coach Foster? Kageyama?”

Atsumu’s lips curl into a bitter smile. “So I am the last to know,” he says, a dry laugh escaping him. “Good to know where I rank.”

“It’s not like that,” Shouyou starts, his voice rushed, desperate.

“Then what is it like?” Atsumu cuts him off, stepping closer. The space between them feels suffocating. “Because, Shouyou, from where I’m standing, it looks like you didn’t think I was worth telling.”

Shouyou flinches, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I just—” Shouyou stammers. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Atsumu scoffs, the sound sharp and incredulous. “Hurt me?” he echoes, leaning back as if the words physically stung him. “Why would I be hurt?”

Shouyou doesn’t answer, his lips pressing into a tight line as his eyes dart to the side, searching for an escape. The silence grows between them, heavy and suffocating.

“Why, Shouyou?” Atsumu laughs bitterly, his voice rising. “Why would I be hurt?” he asks one more time, but Shouyou is still not answering. “Because we’re not just teammates? Not just friends?” He takes a step forward, his words rushing out, unable to stop himself. “Because I’m the one who gets to be your favorite distraction? The one you keep around for fun, for convenience? All those nights—” His breath hitches, and he forces himself to say it. “All those nights that apparently didn’t mean a goddamn thing to you?”

Shouyou flinches, his mouth opening as if to speak, but nothing comes out. “Atsumu-san—” he begins, his voice trembling.

“No.” Atsumu cuts him off, his tone low and tight. His gaze pierces through Shouyou, raw and unrelenting. “Don’t. Don’t try to brush this off. Just tell me the truth.” 

His pulse pounds in his ears. He wants to scream. “Because I know damn well that whatever this is—it’s not just some friends-with-benefits bullshit.” His voice rises, frustration bleeding into every word. “You don’t spend your time mindlessly kissing me, cooking for me, asking me to visit your hometown just because we fuck on a daily basis. That’s not what this is!”

Atsumu takes a step forward, chest heaving. “So, please. Just tell me what the fuck is going on between us. What is the truth?”

Shouyou’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. His shoulders are taut, trembling. Then—

“What truth?” he snaps, voice sharp in a way Atsumu has never heard before. His eyes flash, raw and conflicted. “What do you want me to say? I don’t fucking understand what you want from me!”

Atsumu freezes. The curse word hits harder than it should. “You just swore at me,” he whispers, disbelief coloring his voice. He lets out a humorless, shaky laugh. “You don’t swear, Shouyou.”

Shouyou looks away, his jaw tightening, but Atsumu doesn’t let up. He can’t stop now. The words are spilling out faster than he can think.

“You knew,” Atsumu says, his voice breaking. “You knew how fucking lonely my life’s been. How suffocating it feels. You knew me better than anyone. I told you everything—God, I let you see everything. I kissed you, I—” His voice falters, his hands trembling. “I gave you everything I had, and you—” He swallows hard, fighting the tears burning behind his eyes. “You let me. You let me think I could have you. You let me hope. And I—God, I let you.”

Shouyou’s eyes widened, guilt written across his face. “I didn’t mean—”

“You did.” Atsumu cuts him off again, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “You knew what you were doing to me.” The tears are threatening now, hot and relentless, but Atsumu refuses to let them fall. Not yet. “I love you,” he says, his voice trembling with the confession. “I love you, Shouyou. I fucking love you.”

“No, you—” Shouyou fires back, his voice louder, harsher than before. “You were lonely. I was just there—being nice, being what you needed at the moment.”

“Being nice?” Atsumu repeats the words like venom on his tongue. “You call this nice? ”

“I care about you,” Shouyou continues, desperation lacing his words. “I really care about you, but—” 

“But why?” Atsumu snaps, his voice breaking. “Why not? What did I do wrong?”

Shouyou’s eyes glisten, and his voice cracks. “I—”

The words hit Atsumu like a physical blow. He stares at Shouyou, uncomprehending. “What?”

Shouyou swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “You remind me of him.”

Atsumu’s stomach twists. “Who the fuck is him?”

“All of you!” Shouyou snaps, voice cracking. “You just want me to be nice, to fit into some perfect little place in your life—like I’m supposed to complete you or something.” His breathing turns uneven, ragged. “My dad. Kageyama. Tooru.” He runs a shaking hand through his hair, frustration spilling out like an open wound. “You make me feel like I’m being pulled in again—like I’m trapped. Like I can’t fucking breathe.”

Atsumu’s heart feels like it’s being crushed in his chest. He takes a step back, the tears finally spilling over. “So that’s it?” he asks, his voice trembling. “You don’t want me because of someone else?”

“It’s not like that—”

“It is .” Atsumu cuts him off, his tone raw, edged with heartbreak. “It is like that, Shouyou.” A bitter smile ghosts his lips, shaky and forced. “You didn’t even let me show you that I could love you—”

“Atsumu-san,” Shouyou pleads, but Atsumu shakes his head.

“Thanks for everything, Shouyou.” His voice cracks, but he forces the words out, each syllable heavy with grief. “For all the scraps you gave me, for letting me think I could have more.” His breath shudders as he blinks back the pain. “And congratulations. On the new team. On everything.”

Atsumu left early the next morning, muttering something about urgent family matters. It was a lie, but staying near Shouyou after last night felt impossible.

The ten-hour drive home was a blur—five heartbreak playlists, two strained calls with Osamu, and an endless stream of tears he couldn’t hold back.

When he finally stepped through the door, he didn’t say a word. He just walked straight to his mom, wrapped his arms around her, and broke down.

He doesn’t answer Shouyou’s persistent texts and calls for three weeks.

It’s the same length as his break before he has to return to the court.

He spends the first few days visiting Himeji Castle with his mom, taking in the quiet beauty of the place, letting the stillness settle into his bones. A few days later, Osamu joins them on a trip to Kobe. They sit together over a spread of mouthwatering barbecue, laughter filling the air as they reminisce about childhood memories. It’s the kind of family time Atsumu hasn’t had in what feels like forever. For once, the weight in his chest feels a little lighter.

But not everything he sees is so simple.

The headlines about Shouyou’s official statement caught his attention—he won’t be extending his contract with the team. Atsumu doesn’t need to search for details; they’re everywhere. Sports news, fan tweets, heated debates in comment sections. The buzz is deafening.

And then there’s the rumor that lingers like an unshakable echo.

Shouyou is transferring to ASAS São Paulo.

Atsumu stares at his phone, the screen glowing with unread messages. He exhales, pressing his lips into a tight line.

Then, he turns it off.

Every time his phone lights up, he hesitates. His thumb hovers over the screen before he locks it again. Instead, he focuses on something he’s been avoiding for a long time: therapy.

That night, sitting at the dinner table with his mom, he finally speaks. “Do you think I’m… emotionally damaged?”

His mom studies him, a kind softness in her eyes. “I think you’re trying to do your best to keep your peace and happiness, Atsumu.”

“But what if I am?” he pressed, voice quieter now.

Her smile is tender, but there’s a bittersweet edge to it. “Then you’re doing the right thing by asking for help. I love you, Atsumu,” she says. “But love can’t cure a mental illness.”

Her words linger long after their conversation ends, echoing in the quiet of his room. They remind him of what Shouyou had said during their last fight—that Atsumu had been so lonely, and Shouyou had simply been there, conveniently filling a void.

Was that all it really was? A fleeting connection born from loneliness?

He wasn’t sure if he was ready to unpack that yet. But even if it started that way… didn’t it still mean something? Didn’t it count for something that, despite everything, he still wanted to be with Shouyou?

Unfortunately, before he can even begin to answer those questions, he’s called back to Osaka for a fan meeting event. Apparently, he’s spent too much time unpacking childhood trauma before finally arriving at this point.

The prospect of seeing Shouyou again loomed over him, suffocating and uncertain. As Atsumu made the trip from home to Higashiosaka, he mentally cycled through hundreds of scenarios, each more unlikely than the last. What would he say if Shouyou showed up? What if Shouyou didn’t come at all? The second possibility gnawed at him the most.

By the time he reached the makeup room, Atsumu's nerves were frayed. And just as he feared—Shouyou wasn’t there. Atsumu scanned the room once, twice, then glanced at the clock. It was almost time. Bokuto wasn’t there either.

“Hey, Meian,” Atsumu asked, trying to sound casual, though his voice betrayed his tension. “Shouyou not comin’ or somethin’?”

Meian glanced up briefly from his phone. “He’s not here yet, Atsumu.” he said with a shrug, offering no further explanation.

Atsumu didn’t know whether to feel relieved or irritated. His chest tightened, and he leaned back in his chair, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His carefully styled hair and neatly powdered face felt like a mask—like armor against the unknown.

Just as his thoughts began spiraling, the door to the makeup room slammed open, and Bokuto stumbled in. He was sweating, his face flushed, and his hair sticking to his forehead.

“Shit,” Bokuto gasped, barely able to catch his breath. “I’m so sorry! My car literally broke down!”

Inunaki, leaning casually against a counter, raised an eyebrow. “Holy shit, man. Where’d you leave it?”

“With Keiji,” Bokuto replied, grinning through his exhaustion. “He’s handling it.” Bokuto looks around. “Anyway,” He continued, plopping into a chair and fanning himself with his hands. “Where’s Shouyou?”

The room went quiet for a moment. Atsumu glanced at Meian, who didn’t look up from his phone this time.

“He’s not here yet,” Meian said again, nonchalant as ever.

“Oh,” Bokuto said, his tone softening. He looked at Atsumu, something curious flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t press further.

The seconds stretched, an unspoken tension hanging in the air as Atsumu stood there, trying to ground himself in the moment. The buzz of excitement around him faded into a background hum as his thoughts swirled. What would I even say to Shouyou if he showed up? He wasn’t sure. What did he even want to say? The uncertainty gnawed at him, but it was drowned out by the weight of everything else—the pressure, the anticipation, the tiny flickers of doubt he couldn’t shake.

“Yo, Tsum-tsum,” Bokuto’s voice cut through, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts. “You okay?”

Atsumu blinked and refocused, trying to shake off the tight feeling in his chest. “Huh? Yeah, why?”

“You look like you’re gonna puke,” Bokuto said with a grin, studying him with an almost knowing expression.

“Yeah,” Atsumu muttered, though his heart was racing. "Why?"

Bokuto’s grin only widened. “Just making sure.”

Atsumu didn’t have time to dwell on it. Meian’s voice rang out, urging them to head toward the court. As they moved, Atsumu’s mind kept drifting back to one thing— Where’s Shouyou? His eyes scanned the court, but there was no sign of him. No Bokuto either. Atsumu’s pulse quickened, a vague unease settling in. Was it really going to be like this—never knowing?

As the team made its way to the court, the crowd’s energy was almost tangible. Everyone was turned to face the court, the buzz building. But then—suddenly—their backs were to him.

Atsumu froze, confusion and panic setting in. What the hell is going on?

Atsumu’s heart is pounding in his chest as he swivels to look at Bokuto, who’s standing beside him, grinning like he knows something Atsumu doesn’t. “Bokkun!” Atsumu’s voice is tight with frustration. “What the fuck is going on?”

Bokuto just shrugs, that sly grin never leaving his face. He doesn’t even have to say anything; his silence is enough to make Atsumu’s panic grow.

“Atsumu, get ready!” Meian suddenly shouts, the urgency in his voice slicing through the tension. And in that instant, every teammate spins around, joining the crowd in facing away from Atsumu, leaving him in the awkward, vulnerable spotlight. The spotlight. The spotlight. His stomach churns.

“What—what am I supposed to do?” Atsumu stammers, spinning in a small circle, his eyes darting around to find some answer in the chaos. But everything’s moving too fast, and the familiar faces around him are all too caught up in the moment to give him any clue.

Then, the lights flicker out—total darkness.

Atsumu’s breath catches in his throat, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as a single note rings out through the speakers. It’s soft at first, but it doesn’t take long for him to recognize it. The melody is familiar—so familiar, it feels like it’s carved into his memory.

To be young and in love in New York City

The song pours through the speakers, instantly triggering something deep inside him. He’s transported back to that night spent with Shouyou and Natsu, just the three of them, laughing, watching a movie.

The music swells, and just as the realization sinks in, the lights snap back on, blinding him for a second. Then, all around him, the audience flips on their flashlights, creating a sea of pinpricks in the dark.

Atsumu’s heart skips a beat.

To not know who I am but still know that I’m good long as you’re here with me

Atsumu hears the unmistakable thundering of footsteps before he even sees Shouyou, but when he turns around, there he is—Shouyou, running toward him, the music swelling and echoing through the gym. It feels surreal, like a moment suspended in time. The lights are blinding, flashing, and the crowd’s deafening cheers fill the air, making the whole place pulse with energy.

Atsumu’s heart races, and he can barely process what’s happening. He looks around, utterly thrown. “What is this?” he screams, his voice barely cutting through the chaos.

But before he can make sense of it, he hears Shouyou’s voice, shouting over the noise with a wide grin plastered across his face. “You said you want your life to be like a movie!”

Atsumu blinks, disoriented. “I’m having trouble hearing you!” he yells back, and for a split second, the noise dims as he locks eyes with Shouyou. The sound of Shouyou’s laughter cuts through the frenzy like a warm breeze.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t really think this through!” Shouyou calls out, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I guess in the movies, they let the guy pour his heart out and put the music on later.”

Atsumu can’t help it—he laughs, a breathy, incredulous sound. There’s something about Shouyou’s impulsiveness, the way he dives into things without hesitation, that makes Atsumu’s chest feel lighter, like everything’s suddenly possible.

Without thinking, Atsumu reaches for Shouyou’s hand, pulling him toward the nearest hall. The sound of their laughter and their heavy breaths echo down the hallway as they both break into a sprint, but even with the chaos of it all, Atsumu can hear the thud of his own heartbeat. It’s so loud, it’s almost like it’s syncing with the rhythm of their footsteps.

In what feels like no time at all, they’re outside the gym, the cool air washing over them, grounding them after the rush. Atsumu slows down, catching his breath, but his gaze never leaves Shouyou’s face. Shouyou is still smiling, a little out of breath, his eyes gleaming with excitement and something else that’s almost too hard to name.

Atsumu glances at Shouyou, still processing the chaos from moments ago. “What was that?” His voice is light, almost amused, but there's an undercurrent of confusion. "Did you plan that—?"

Shouyou lets out a small chuckle. "That? Nah, thanks to Natsu for that," he says, his smile soft but genuine. His face is flushed, and despite being out of breath, there's a calmness to him that Atsumu can’t quite figure out. "Guess I owe you an explanation, huh?"

“Probably,” Atsumu replies, his eyes still searching Shouyou's face for something, anything, to make sense of it.

Shouyou shifts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I messed up, Atsumu-san. I was scared. I didn’t know how to stay. I—I didn’t know how to just... be me, without losing myself in all of it. I was scared of being a part of someone else’s world and not being able to find my own place in it." He sighs, his voice quieter now, almost as if he's trying to put the pieces together. "I tried to justify it all, but... it wasn’t right."

Atsumu watches him, searching his eyes for any trace of uncertainty. “Shouyou—”

Shouyou’s smile softens, but there's still something vulnerable there, like he's exposing something he’s been hiding for a long time. "Everything that happens in a day, all I think about is how I want to tell you about it. And... I realize now how unfair it was to lump you in with all my fears. You’re different, Atsumu. We’re in different circumstances, and maybe I should have seen that sooner." He pauses, letting out a quiet laugh as he meets Atsumu's gaze again. "You were right. I didn’t let you show me how you could love me."

Atsumu's heart tightens at the words, and for a moment, he's at a loss. He swallows before replying, his voice soft. "I miss you too," he says, almost too quietly, like admitting it makes it more real. "But you’re not wrong. I am... damaged."

Shouyou shakes his head quickly, a small, rueful smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "No, you’re—well , we probably both are. But I was also an asshole," he says, squeezing Atsumu's hand gently. "Can I have my best friend back?" His voice is hesitant, vulnerable. "Because I’m in love with him."

Atsumu’s lips curl into a small smile, his heart hammering in his chest. He takes a beat, watching Shouyou’s eyes flicker nervously. “Say that again,” he says.

But before Shouyou can respond, Atsumu steps forward, both of his hands finding Shouyou’s jaw. The world seems to stop for a moment—everything slowing as Atsumu pulls him closer, their breaths mingling in the space between them. Without another word, he presses his lips to Shouyou.

"I already knew you guys were something," Natsu mumbles nonchalantly, slurping her drink as Atsumu forces his eyes to stay on the road. The mental image of his boyfriend's sister possibly ruining his brand-new Audi is enough to make him grit his teeth.

"Really?" Atsumu asks, voice a little sharper than intended, but he keeps his gaze ahead, steering with the precision of someone used to distractions. "How?"

"Honestly?" Natsu pauses, giving the kind of smirk that made him regret inviting her along for this trip. "You look like you wanna tear Shouyou's clothes off right now."

Atsumu nearly swerves as his heart trips over itself. "What? Hey, that’s—"

"I’m nineteen, dammit, Atsumu-san," she cuts him off with a roll of her eyes. "Can a girl just swear? I'm in college already."

"Yeah, and that’s not an excuse for a bad habit. Even Shouyou doesn’t swear!" Atsumu snaps, not sure if he’s more bothered by her choice of words or the fact that Shouyou, his Shouyou, is still somehow the one with better manners.

"He didn’t go to college, that’s why," Natsu quips, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, shit, we need to speed up. Shouyou just sent me a picture. He’s at the airport already!"

Natsu, of course, is too comfortable in the backseat, as always, offering a barrage of commentary.

“That’s him!” she shouts suddenly, her voice slicing through the moment, making Atsumu’s heart nearly leap out of his chest.

Atsumu flinches, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. His eyes dart to the side of the road, and then there he is—Shouyou, standing tall with that mischievous grin of his. His familiar figure is there, so real, so Shouyou. The way his hair catches the light, the way the sun hits his tan, the glint of his smile so wide it could rival the horizon. Atsumu’s chest swells with a warmth he can’t shake, the excitement bubbling up, pushing all logic aside.

Shouyou starts walking toward the car, and it’s like time slows. Each step brings him closer, and Atsumu feels a magnetic pull, like he’s already halfway out of the car before it even stops. He can barely breathe, can’t think beyond the overwhelming need to hold him, to feel him near.

When the car finally comes to a halt, Atsumu doesn’t even wait for the door to open before he’s already reaching across to pull it open for him.

"Hi," Shouyou says with that familiar, easy smile as he slides into the seat. "I love you."

The words hit like a wave, and Atsumu’s heart is ready to explode. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. He’s so in love with this guy.

And before Natsu can even manage to cough out another sarcastic comment—or a disgusted shriek—Atsumu is already leaning toward Shouyou, not giving any space for anything else. He can smell the sun on his skin, the faint hint of cologne still clinging to him after hours of travel, and something else. Atsumu can’t help but feel Shouyou’s smile against his lips, the warmth of his breath mingling with his own.

And somewhere in the backseat, Natsu’s voice rises in horror, but Atsumu couldn’t care less. His hand moves instinctively, finding its way to Shouyou’s jaw, holding him closer, deeper.

“I love you too,”