Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

Shouyou was relentless, or so he was told, repeatedly. 

It wasn’t said most graciously, lacking subtlety, they meant he did not know when to stop.

He was ravenous, hunger raging within him ceaselessly, seizing control of his every thought, devouring his very essence.

Shouyou had little to his name, save for his burning ambition, his unwavering yearning to transcend. Even if it meant teetering on the edge of self-destruction.

And self-destruct he did.

He barely registered it at first. After that brutal defeat against Aoba Johsai, the sound of the ball hitting the ground echoed in his mind. He hadn’t even noticed it then, his eyes had been closed, and it was as if he hadn’t been fully present on the court.

It felt like a discarnate experience, his senses heightened yet distant. He could feel his movements—the click of his foot before he jumped, the instinctive swing of his arm, certain the ball would meet it there. Yet, he observed it all from a distance, like he was hovering above the court, unable to focus on anything but the ball and his own flight. But it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

Tortured by his own mind, he dropped the loose meat bun, focusing back on the boy next to him.“Are you even listening, Hinata-san?” Kageyama leaned forward, eyes narrowing as if trying to pull Hinata back from wherever his thoughts had wandered.

Hinata’s gaze flickered away as he struggled to catch up with the conversation. “Sorry, what was that?”

Kageyama’s fidgeted impatiently. “We need to plan for the break! We should ask Coach Ukai if we could use his backyard court. Also, we have to figure out who’s in…” As Kageyama spoke, Hinata knew there would be none of that, as much as he tried avoiding this heavy truth, Hinata was departing, moving to a different prefecture.

He had to tell them, he was well aware, sometimes he would write the words, but was never courageous enough to share them, anxious and fearful, he held on to a secret he could not hide.

Steadying himself, Hinata said quietly “I need to tell you something before I mention it the rest of the team. You deserve to hear it first”

His gaze lifted to the clouds, watching them slip silently across the sky, as if they carried his fears away. He concentrated on avian melody, the gentle breeze caressing his face, the faint and delicate floral scent.

“What is it?” Kageyama asked, his voice softening, curiosity spiking.

Hinata’s hands trembled. “My mom got a new job—a great offer, better pay. And she accepted it.”

Kageyama blinked in surprise. “Okay... good for her, right?”

But Hinata’s next words fell like reluctant confessions. “It’s not in Miyagi...” The admission hung in the air, fragile and tentative.

“Oh, are you sad she’s leaving then? Is she going to visit often?”

After a long, crushing silence, Hinata’s voice dropped, heavy with unspoken longing. “I’m going with her, Kageyama-san. My whole family is moving.”

Kageyama’s mouth tightened, his jaw set as if physically bracing against a blow. “You’re leaving me?” His words came out clipped, mouth slackening.

Hinata’s fingers curled into his palms, voice quivering, “No... well, yes. If I could stay, I would. But I have no choice. You mean too much to me for that to change.”

Kageyama’s eyes narrowed, agitation mingling with pain. “When are you leaving?”

“In a few days,” Hinata murmured.

“But the break isn’t for another two weeks—we had so many plans…” Hinata simply nodded. “How long have you known then?” Kageyama demanded only to be met with a shameful silence. “How long Hinata-san” He pressed.

“Over a month.” The confession panged the air, and Kageyama abruptly rose. “Wait—please, I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you, so I just kept pushing the date.”

Kageyama’s laugh was bitter, his words laced with icy disbelief. “So while I was kissing you, holding you, sharing plans for the future, you were thinking of how to say goodbye?” His remark stung, striking at the core of shared memories.

Hinata’s eyes shimmered with regret. “I was thinking about how much I didn’t want to leave you.”

A curt scoff escaped Kageyama as he stepped back, distancing himself with his words. “How big of you. Where are you going anyway?”

“Inarizaki,” Hinata replied softly, his words barely audible. At that, Kageyama erupted in a harsh laugh—a sound that was more cutting than any accusation.

“I see. So you swoop in, grab everything you can, and then abandon us—the underdogs—while you head off to a powerhouse like Inarizaki. How noble, Hinata-san.”

Hinata’s jaw tightened, his tone steady despite the agitation in his marrow. “It isn’t like that. When I was looking for a school, Inarizaki stood out as the best chance for my future. What would you have done? We both could never abandon volleyball.” Kageyama’s face hardened, pride mingling with resentment.

“Apparently, I have more respect and integrity—I’d never join rivals.”

Hinata tensed, controlling his voice to stay soft, “We had one match against them and we won. It hardly feels like betrayal. We barely know anything about that school, what does this have to do with respect?”

“So you don’t find it disrespectful to run to the one player who claimed he’d be your setter?”

“Miya-san obviously did not mean that, and it didn’t influence my choice.”

Kageyama's eyes turned into sharp, focused slits and the resigned shake of his head said it all. “Sure, if that’s what you want to believe, Hinata-san.”

The weight of unspoken words and broken dreams filled the space, leaving both spirits aching in the quiet aftermath.

Shouyou was not much on the court. His blocks were lacking, his receives mediocre, and his setting was a disaster. His only strengths lay in his speed and jump, and even his spikes lacked potency and control, relying heavily on Kageyama’s guidance. He wondered how he could improve if he stayed in Kageyama’s shadow and didn’t push himself to grow.

Even though he hadn’t chosen to leave and wasn’t eager to go, Hinata felt relieved to have the opportunity at a good school. More importantly, he now had a chance to surpass his own limitations, something he found difficult when paired with Kageyama, who often made things easier for him.

Kageyama shattered the quiet, “When are you telling the others?”

“At practice today,” he murmured, his voice wavering like a kelp frond adrift in the relentless current. The thought of announcing it to the team felt definite. Once it was out, it would become irrevocable, and true.

There was a pause, laden with unspoken feelings. Kageyama's fingers fidgeted, his eyes searching for something in the distance. "We never really talked about us, never confessed or anything," he ventured, a raw edge in his tone. "But did you ever like me? Was it just for fun?"

Hinata met his eyes, wearing a wistful expression. “I did, I really did” he assured, his words carrying the weight of truth. Kageyama nodded, digesting the sentiment, his lunch untouched.

Looking away, Kageyama reached out, intertwining their fingers, both of them finding solace in the silent canopy of leaves above. They lingered there, wrapped in the quiet poignancy of their goodbye.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

When he announced to the team his decision to transfer to another school, their reactions were bittersweet. Gleaming with competitive fuel, promising to defeat him, relishing the thought of him as their rival.

Even Tsukishima's sly warning, “Don’t burn those wings of yours again or they might not grow back,” couldn't pierce through his euphoria. His teammates saw him as more than just his failures, and that filled him with an intoxicating pride.

But was it enough? In the heat of the moment, Hinata brushed off the doubts. Yet, as he packed remnants of a home life, the one with his found family, a singular notion besieged him: if given the chance, he would ignite his wings again.

Even if it meant using his last set, if it allowed him to soar higher, better, become the best he could be, he would strike the match himself. That realization clawed at his insides. For so long, his only dream was to play, to revel in the ecstasy of spiking, that perfect leap that cleared the towering walls of opposition. To be the little giant that defied gravity. 

Even as he pushed himself to sickness, Shouyou never imagined choosing one fleeting moment of glory over a lifetime of volleyball. It was already the essence of his being; he couldn't relinquish it even if he wanted to. The hunger to win overshadowed the joy of playing, and that terrified him. Winning was a thrill, a natural high, a way stay on the court longer, but he had always cherished the game itself more than the victory. He would have preferred to lose a set and play again rather than never again.

"Nii-chan," Hinata heard a small voice and turned to find his sister's large, pleading eyes gazing up at him. Her expression was a mix of innocence and vulnerability, as if she sought comfort in his presence. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"

He nodded, a gentle smile spreading across his face as he reached out to ruffle her hair. "Of course, Imouto," he said, his tone as tender as the softest lullaby. He could see the tension in her shoulders easing, though her eyes still shimmered with unshed tears. "Are you sad we’re leaving?"

"I don’t want to go," she admitted,as she stood by the bed, her small frame seemed to shrink under the weight of her emotions. Her lips parted, but the words caught in her throat, and instead, a single tear spilled over, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. The dam broke, and the sobs came, shaking her, a lonesome shell swaying on the waves.

Hinata’s heart jabbed, and without hesitation, he lifted her onto the bed, drawing her into a protective embrace. His arms encircled her, hoping to be a fortress of warmth and security.

He rocked her gently, murmuring soothing words. Gradually, her sobs quieted, her breathing slowed, and she nestled closer, her small body relaxing against him. Hinata watched her, his heart swelling with protective love, as she drifted into dreams, her worries momentarily laid to rest, while his only grew.

Lying there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, he grappled with the elusive embrace of sleep. He couldn’t quite grasp how he felt about it, unable to process his emotions. Kageyama was his partner and friend, the first and only person Hinata had ever liked, and now he would live hours away from him, so why did he feel some relief?

Hinata did not want to go, yet he could not wait to leave, knowing his flourishing could only blossom there.

With his eyes gently shutting, his thoughts wandered into the depths of slumber, where he envisioned himself clad in a sleek black jersey.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

When Hinata arrived at his new home, he already had a plan. He refused to waste his break squandering the skills he had painstakingly acquired.

His serves became his obsession for the month that remained, as he vowed to stand on his own two feet before depending on his team. Serving was the one aspect of the game where he could shine independently, where raw skill could overpower all else. Hinata's serves, however, were feeble—timid and easily countered, a shadow of the power they needed to be.

He was the perpetual weak link, benched time and again for a more formidable server. This could not continue, especially with his impending transfer to Inarizaki, a school that demanded nothing less than extraordinary from the outset. Hinata had already made a grave mistake by collapsing in the middle of a match due to poor self-care and inadequate conditioning.

Acknowledging his limitations had stung—no matter how much willpower and sweat-soaked toil, his body wouldn't obey his demands to push through. A captive encaged by self-imposed limits.

His parents had proposed a gym membership, he refused at first, unable to have the result of their hard work spent on him. A knot tightened in his stomach whenever they tried to persuade him to accept their assistance. He could see the concern etched on their faces, as if they believed they were somehow to blame, so he would relent.

This facility was a colossal haven, sprawling across five stories, offering every conceivable amenity. Hinata would arrive at the crack of dawn after his outdoor run, unable to confine himself to a treadmill. He tackled a tough lineup of workouts each day, but climbing was his favorite.

Hinata relished the challenge, the exhilaration of looking up and pushing himself to conquer the summit. His competitive spirit spurred him to compare himself relentlessly to every player he encountered, demanding nothing less than their prowess. Yet, while climbing, he was in harmony with his own body, not driven to exhaustion but attuned to its limits. He knew when to pause and recharge, as he did now.

Heading to the gym cafeteria lured by the aroma of a lavish buffet making his stomach growl with anticipation. He darted among the options, overwhelmed by the abundance laid before him.

His family had always battled against the tides of hardship, and while he never laid the blame on his parents, he did burden himself with the liability of his existence, for being an added weight on their already heavy shoulders.

Now, standing in this high-end gym with its pristine equipment, and sumptuous buffet, he felt an unsettling strangeness. It was surreal to have access to this, Hinata felt like an imposter, an intruder, much like he often did on the court. Greedy for wanting to try everything.

As he settled with his meal carefully crafted to fuel his ambitions someone sat down across from him. The stranger's lips curled into a dangerously captivating smile, one that was both spellbinding and predatory.

Hinata looked up and froze, transfixed by the boy's sharp grin, his eyes alight with challenge and curiosity. He sat with the commanding presence of a coyote eyeing his kill.

The reason for Hinata's paralysis was clear,or so he told himself: Miya Atsumu, the only setter who ever sought him out; the one who promised to set for him one day. This formidable setter, renowned and respected, looked at him with unguarded admiration, deciding that he was worthy. Hinata felt the heat rush to his cheeks, recalling the sleepless nights consumed by the memory of Atsumu's words.

It was bitterly ironic that the one team that dismissed past trivialities had given him so much to ponder. And now, the boy who occupied his every thought was here, right before him, wearing that toothy grin.

“I know the gym’s good, but don’t ya think it's a bit over the top to haul yourself across prefectures for it?” Miya’s remark cut through Hinata’s wandering thoughts while his eyes crinkled in a playful, inviting smirk.

Hinata blinked, taken aback by the subtle challenge in Miya’s quick, arched glance. Hinata’s wriggled nervously as he fought to steady his racing mind, determined not to fumble his words in front of Miya.

“You seem like the type who’d do just that,” Hinata declared, though his tone came out sharper than he intended, instantly regretting the edge.

Before he could smooth it over, Miya’s spontaneous laugh burst forth—a light, genuine sound that sent a jolt through Hinata’s core. Normally, confidence flowed effortlessly from him in conversation, a fact he’d been praised for, but here, words tumbled chaotically, leaving him exposed.

Atsumu, cool and assured, added, "I definitely am, seems like we're cut from the same cloth." With that, Hinata felt his usual poise return like a slow, steady tide. 

“I moved here a few days ago, I couldn't afford slacking off this month, and with nobody here, I've been training solo. This gym just felt right,” In that moment, Miya’s commanding presence shrank into something almost childlike—an excitable puppy brimming with potential, and the sight was both bizarre and oddly captivating. 

“Have ya already decided on a school then?” Miya prodded, his legs shifting restlessly, his hands drumming on the table as he practically leapt forward for an answer. Hinata couldn’t help but wonder if his own inner restlessness was evident when he sat still. Miya, with his striking looks, undeniable talent, and effortless cool—even in his dynamic energy—exuded control with every move.

“Yeah, though they haven't really decided on me yet” Hinata aimed for an air of optimism, though his voice wavered slightly. 

Miya's shoulders lifted slightly with a subtle, playful energy, as he leaned in, lowering the usual formal tone with a casual tilt of his head. “Why so secretive, is it Inarizaki, Shouyou?” His unexpected familiarity forced Hinata into a brief, leaving him momentarily breathless.

“I—I mean, yeah, that’s the plan” he stammered, now visibly torn between excitement and uncertainty. Miya’s subtle nod and the light bounce in his step conveyed pure joy.

“Knew you’d drop that goody two shoes. Now you’ll finally have a setter dedicated to you”

“Kageyama?” Hinata interjected, indignation flaring as Miya's slight nod confirmed his guess. “He’s a great setter, and his dedication to the ball is what counts” His posture straightened, in a defensive posture.

Miya wasn't ready to let the conversation simmer down. His voice blazed with fervor as he countered, "The ball doesn't move on its own, does it? Just like instruments don't sing themselves." He whisked his hand in the air, mimicking the roll of an unseen orchestra. "When you're at the helm, you're not just staring at the violin; you're coaxing every musician to make the music flow. A setter isn’t merely about setting the ball—they're about channeling energy, sculpting their teammates into something greater than they ever imagined. No one who's in love with their instruments sits idle, and no one who truly loves volleyball would just watch a ball lie lifeless on the ground. It’s absurd to be committed to anything but those who respond to your sets."

Hinata’s fist clenched as he struggled to subdue the burning anger inside him. Yet the smooth cadence of Miya’s voice washed over him, cool and effortless, melting away the heat of his indignation.

“You really believe that, huh?” Hinata managed, his tone rough around the edges but dulled by a reluctant admiration he couldn’t quite hide.

Miya’s confident grin widened as he replied, “Course I do. It’s all about givin’ everything ya got to make the team shine.”

In that moment, Hinata’s mind flashed to a perfect memory—a ball soaring, placed perfectly for him to strike at its zenith. “Like a spiker is dedicated to his setter,” He mused, it wasn’t merely about the game; it was a bond, a pulse that connected more than just skill and strategy.

Miya stands before him, eyes locked onto Hinata with a lazy tilt of his head. Searching, probing, Miya seems to seek something hidden within Hinata's gaze. Hinata meets his stare head-on, baring his soul with unapologetic honesty and vulnerability, leaving nothing concealed.

Beneath Miya’s tousled blond hair, his warm hazel eyes glowed like molten gold, each flicker a testament to an inner flame that echoed Hinata’s own. In that charged silence, Miya gave a subtle nod and a wry smile, hinting at a shared, unspoken truth.

Breaking charged stillness, Miya’s tone shifted to one of playful determination. “Then let’s get to work; we’ve only got two weeks, Shouyou.”

Hinata’s brow furrowed as confusion replaced his earlier thrill. “Huh?”

"Yer’ goin’ to be my wing spiker, and I'll be yer dedicated setter." Miya declared, the firmness of his tone leaving no room for uncertainty, punctuated by an animated shake of his head that made it all the more clear.

A sharp snort escaped Hinata. "I'm a middle blocker," he retorts, his voice edged with a mix of irritation and defiant humor, prompting Miya to click his tongue in irritation.

"Ya really want to be?" Miya challenged. Hinata hesitated, the question striking a chord. He had never truly aspired to that role; his heart had long been set on being the wing spiker. Yet, somehow, the suggestion feels like an affront.

"I want to be great," Hinata’s voice soared, taking space. "I want to win. I want to be the last one standing. I don't care what my position is; I'll achieve it no matter what."

Miya broke into laughter.—a sound that once warmed Hinata, now only deepened the shadow of frustration on his face.

"Ya can crave all that and still know the position ya want to play,” Miya replied, his tone soft yet firm, like a coach guiding a stray player back on track.

As Hinata reflects, clarity pierces through the fog of uncertainty. There's a singular truth he craves on the court, and it transcends any designated role.

"I want to be the greatest decoy!" Hinata's voice booms once more, unrestrained by any sense of volume or emotional restraint.

Miya’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, his voice a razor-edged demand rather than a question. “Why?” The single word punctuating the charged silence.

"Every time we hit the court, I feel all eyes locked onto me. I'm loud, reckless, unrestrained. And when I leap into the air, I can see their eyes widen from below, catching the precise instant they realize I've drawn them into my game. There's an jolting thrill when I position myself perfectly under the ball for a flawless receive, and then, the hunger gnaws at me. I jump at the perfect moment, my hands rising to meet and block a stunning spike. It’s addictive, like tasting something you can never have enough of, and every time I witness a magnificent spike, my stomach roars with desire. I crave to be the ultimate decoy, to master every area, to own the court. It's a craving that consumes me, even though it used to terrify me. I once dreamed of being the ace, not the decoy, yet here I am."

He spills his thoughts in a chaotic stream, his arms flail wildly, slicing through the air in expressive gestures, while his body twists with restless energy. His eyes are fixed on the distant horizon, as if he could peer beyond the present and witness the unfolding events firsthand. Until he notices the silence. Miya's gaze pierces through him, and Hinata can't quite decipher the expression etched on his face. Yet, the hunger is unmistakable—feral, it’s wolfish, insatiable and avaricious.Miya doesn't just eat to sustain himself, he feasts; he devours because without the lifeblood of his prey, his very heart would cease its relentless pounding.

“Then, we will train ya to be the greatest decoy, just be ready to hit my sets," Miya responds, his words a challenge and a promise. And isn't that precisely what Hinata yearns for?

"Just keep sending them my way," Hinata demands with pitiless resolve.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

What began as an unlikely encounter soon unfolded into a friendship that left even Hinata caught off guard. They were like reflections in a warped funhouse mirror—similar, yet constantly shifting in shape, never quite mirroring each other accurately.

Hinata discovered that Atsumu (who bristled at anyone calling him Miya) possessed a rare intellect, one that didn’t simply solve puzzles but dug deeper, unraveling a problem from its very roots, Hinata was giddy to make his smart friends competitive with him.

His confidence bordered on arrogance—a quality he wore like a well-earned badge—and it clashed irritatingly with his unexpectedly tender heart. When he spoke of his grandmother, his friends, or even his brother, his words, laced with teasing barbs, betrayed by the warmth in his tone, and his eyes lit up with the same fierce passion he reserved for volleyball. 

They spent every hour together, usually with Osamu. He went from feeling alone and isolated to having the best volleyball duo in high school attention on him in only a week.

Osamu wasn’t too keen on hitting the gym, but he would show up afterwards, often with mouthwatering snacks he prepared himself, he was such a talented cook.

“Keep yer grub from my bento ‘Tsumu ye selfish conceited little-“ Osamu was cut off by Atsumu throwing his whole arm at his face, and just like that they were fighting again, they were tumbling across the floor—a clumsy, chaotic brawl where strength yielded to farcical theatrics.

Hinata observed the spectacle with poorly concealed amusement: calm Osamu now flailing in a desperate frenzy, tugging at his counterpart’s hair, while Atsumu, usually so assured and boastful, resorted to pouting whines in his futile bid for the upper hand.

Hinata watched the absurd dance of limbs and laughter, silently wishing to pause time, though he knew the inevitable intervention of security would always follow. 

Aften getting an earful, they both slumped back into a quiet and sulky silence. Atsumu's lips curled into a pout as he muttered, “That was yer fault, fucktard,” his voice dripping with petulance. Hinata couldn't help but think that Atsumu looked oddly endearing with that sulky expression. 

Osamu’s eyes narrowed, flashing with indignation,“How the fuck is it my fault? Ya were the one-“ he retorted, his voice tight with frustration. The air between them thick with unresolved tension. Hinata sensed the brewing storm and intervened, his voice light but firm. 

“Aren’t we supposed to meet Kita-san? You two keep reminding me how I need to get to know him,” he nudged, a gentle command that rose above the animosity

At the mention of their old captain, both boys’ eyes lit up akin to irreverent sparks. Their demeanor shifted immediately—as if by magic—into eager, animated anticipation.

“We’d better hit the showers soon if we want to catch him,” Atsumu declared, springing to his feet with determined energy.

“Yer’ the one leaving a trail of stench ‘round here,” Osamu teased with a cheeky grin, but Atsumu was already halfway to the showers, his laughter echoing behind him. 

“I saved the rest of my bento for you, Osamu-san,” Hinata offered.

“No need, but you can do me one better. Drop the honorifics when you talk to me,” Osamu suggested, his tone casual yet inviting.

“I never quit using it for Atsumu-san either.”

Osamu’s smile turned mischievous. “Exactly. Imagine the look on his face if you called me Osamu—or better yet, say ‘Samu’ outright.”

Hinata paused, a slow smile spreading across his face as he pictured the familiar pout and subtle frown that would surely dance across Atsumu’s features—a scene so absurdly charming that his heart warmed at the thought. 

“Sure, Samu,” He agreed his voice playful. Osamu wore a brazen grin while his hand reached out to tousle Hinata’s hair, sealing the playful promise of their maurading.

It was later in the day that he encountered Kita-san, and the impact was unparalleled. Kita-san was a fusion of every great captain he had ever met, mixed with the passion of those he idolized, put in a person completely different than anyone he’s ever met.

Every word was razor-sharp, every gesture measured and fearless—a blend of cold precision, warm compassion, and a hint of terrifying authority.

When Kita-san probed his grueling training regimen, he declared that it was the team’s duty to vigilantly watch over each other, whilst every player was compelled to scrutinize their own limits—delivered in a tone that was both brutally sincere and unexpectedly gentle. Gratitude surged through him, yet this was the first time he could confess his trials aloud.

His teammates had been there through every punishing beat of his journey, handling him as though he were a fragile bird with a shattered wing, too delicate to be jostled. When Kita-san demanded to know what had gone wrong, Hinata’s eyes flicked to the twins, whose intense curiosity rivaled his own inner turmoil. 

“I kept trying to leap the gap between me and those on the court. I didn't want to take the safe path; I wanted to jump straight there. So, I overtrained, ignored rest, ate poorly, and disrespected my body in pursuit of being more. For only a moment in time, I wanted to fly. “ Hinata is looking down, shame tugging at him.

“Karasuno was more than my first team, it was home. In middle school I was the only team member.My first real match was against Kageyama, and I realized how much time I'd wasted. While others improved, I practiced alone. Now, surrounded by teammates I admired, I couldn't bear to do less. More sets, more spikes, more runs—until I collapsed. Even then, I begged to return, promising I could fly if given the chance.”

He drew a deep, anguished breath, his gaze wandering until it locked with Atsumu’s, inscrutable gaze.“I know that fault and responsibility aren’t the same, but they still hit you like crushing weights. When I fell, it felt like I dragged the entire ceiling down with me, raining rubble onto everyone around. I cannot afford to stop—moving forward, learning, and evolving is etched into my very being. But I must learn to advance without losing my footing."

In that intense moment, Hinata felt utterly exposed. Though known for unleashing hour-long monologues with those he trusted, baring such personal scars so publicly—and to people he’d only met a week ago—was nearly unbearable. Still, it was easier in a circle that despised rigid hierarchies and pointless formalities, well Kita liked them, but he was okay with those who didn’t. 

“Listen up Hinata-kun,” Kita-san said, his tone soporific,’Yer’ not a robot, yer’ not a relentless automaton, yer’ human. I know ya have stamina that defies limits, but it makes recognizing when to push and when to pull back even harder. Even the mightiest mortals can overextend and shatter. Our bodies are constructed to rest, to recover; a day of rest is as vital as a day of training—it allows your body to rebuild. Trust me, I’m here to help; together we’ll create a regimen that fits your unique strength and needs." Kita-san lets him digest the information, calmly looking his way.

“Ya may be human but yer still a monster Shouyou, and that means that even when ya lay low, yer’ honing yer craft. Ya adapt, ya move with a speed and grace that’s in a league of its own, always one step ahead, pulling yer team forward in your wake. We may not have played together yet, but I have seen ya, the way ya move as if ya were on another tempo than the rest of us, playing at yer own pace.”

While Kita-san’s words seeped into his bones, soothing them with a calm assurance, Atsumu’s lit his skin on fire, igniting him under its layers. Hinata felt a surge of warmth within him; yes, he was human, capable of faltering, losing control of his own body, but to Atsumu, he was a monster. Atsumu saw an extraordinary greatness in him, a recognition that felt profoundly different from anyone else. It felt like more. Hinata blushed fiercely, his gratitude emerging in stammered words, while Osamu looked on, amused.

“You’re a monster too Atsumu-san, the coolest setter I know, and I’ve played against a lot of monster setters,” Atsumu’s chest inflated like a proud hawk. Osamu smacked him on the head for it, Kita rolled his eyes with a slight smile, while Hinata burst into a hearty guffaw. 

“Stop looking so proud, ya were selected for all Japan. Be careful with this one Shouyou, it’s dangerous to inflate his ego,” Osamu goaded, deftly dodging Atsumu’s attempted slap. With just one of Kita’s warning looks, Atsumu dropped his arms immediately;The ex captain was honestly scary.

"Can’t be too careful; I’ll refrain from complimenting him in general, Samu," Hinata chuckled, glancing at Atsumu’s betrayed expression.

“SAMU???? Ya call him Samu and ya won’t even drop the honorific for me?” Whined Atsumu, with his adorable pout.He looked so sweet, although Hinata knew that wasn’t the effect he was looking for; that much was obvious. Osamu’s eyes lit up with amusement—Hinata had never seen him this entertained before.

After a long moment, Atsumu, even more baffled than before, squeaked, "What do ya mean ya won't compliment me? How am I supposed to play my best then?"

"Yeah, he also invited me to go to the movies with him but he can only invite one friend so…"(Truth be told, Hinata had invited both of them, but Osamu's twinkling eyes made it impossible to say no.)

"That can’t be true. Tell him Shouyou?" Atsumu queried eyeing him as if he could detect the cracks. Hinata hadn’t lied to them yet although he couldn’t keep count of how many times Atsumu did; therefore, he had no way of knowing Hinata was lying unless liars developed unique detective skills in that regard.

"Sorry, Atsumu-san," Hinata sighed with a touch of mischievous regret coloring his apology. The pure joy on Osamu’s face and the amused glimmer (with a hint of something extra) in Kita’s eyes made the whole thing worth it. "I only have one extra ticket," he explained with a sad smile that was entirely sincere; Atsumu did seem a bit upset now that Hinata paid attention.

“I could pay for my own ya know” Atsumu murmured, adorably pouting in his usual style.

“Sold out,” Osamu smirked. “Plus you don’t even like going to the movies Sumu, ya can’t sit still, and end up walking out before the film even really begins, so why do ya even care?”

The twins locked eyes in an intense yet absurd stare-down. It was usually just playful challenges between them but this time the atmosphere felt different.

Finally, Hinata pulled out the ticket, determined to keep things light and fun despite the fine line between quirkiness and brotherly bickering. He grinned at Atsumu while handing it over, snapping both of them out of their weird confrontation or whatever that was.

“I knew ya were a fucking liar Samu” Atsumu scoffs, his grin stretching wide as if that little ticket was a treasure beyond measure. “Thank you Shouyou” he says with a raw, piercing sincerity that almost aches to hear.

Osamu often teased that Atsumu was a spoiled brat—truth be told, he was—but witnessing Atsumu cherish something as simple as a movie ticket made Shouyou’s heart clench with an overwhelming rush of gratitude. Despite his entitled demeanor, Atsumu seemed almost desperately relieved by such small acts of kindness, as if he feared they might one day vanish entirely.

“You’re welcome, Atsumu-san” Hinata responds, his voice gentle but unwavering. Though he might have felt a twinge of sympathy, he reserved the informal drop of "san" only for Osamu, with good reason. Atsumu would have to carve his own path to earn such familiarity.

To everyone's astonishment, Atsumu merely hummed with an almost childlike joy, staring at the ticket as if it held the secrets of the universe, while Osamu looked at his brother in disbelief, as though an alien had taken his place. 

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

The afternoon was a whirlwind of laughter and stories with Kita. Hinata, not yet a student, not yet a team member, had never met the others, yet felt an uncanny comfort that was rare. Though he was adept at making friends and seamlessly integrating into groups, there was always an invisible barrier, a layer of social protocol that others rarely breached.

It wasn’t about politeness or tranquility, but rather an adherence to unwritten rules that seemed to evaporate in this corner of the world. Here, the freedom to shed those chains and simply be was exhilarating; there was no need to measure each step before plunging into the race alongside new friends.

So when Atsumu proposed he stay the night, Hinata couldn't conjure a single objection. His parents, after a persuasive call from Osamu, who promised to guide him through his initial classes as seasoned second years, were surprisingly open to the idea. Osamu, with his charming maturity, deftly maneuvered the conversation, securing not just a one-time agreement but a regular weekly arrangement before the term began.

Hinata marveled at the diplomatic finesse that seemed to run through Osamu’s veins, a testament to the family's innate intelligence.

They laid out extra futons, the most sumptuous Hinata had ever experienced, and gathered on the floor beneath the watchful gaze of a bunk bed, to revel in the latest One Piece episode. Delighted to discover their shared enthusiasm, Hinata and Atsumu animatedly bounced and bantered, while Osamu, despite his feigned annoyance, seemed genuinely content, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“If only I had the Gomu Gomu no Mi like Luffy," Hinata mused, stretching his arms wide. "I'd be the ultimate player, stretching beyond limits!"

“Same but I’d use it to whack Osamu wherever he is,” Atsumu managed to say before Osamu pounced on him, tackling him to the ground.

Osamu, grinning from ear to ear, pinned him down effortlessly. "Who needs powers when I can just smack some sense into ya, ya ungrateful brat?" He ruffled his brother’s hair, the three of them dissolving into laughter.

For the first time, Hinata felt that home might not be confined to Miyagi alone.

Chapter Text

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

1 week after Karasuno vs Inarizaki

Osamu’s POV

“NICE KILL” Atsumu gasped, the idiot.

“Are ya watchin’ the Karasuno vs Nekoma match again?” Osamu asked, peeking over at Atsumu's phone with a knowing smirk. "Honestly, Sumu, Ya’ve rewatched it at least five times, and that's just the times I catch ya."

"Osamu, did ya see that jump? He didn't jump like that for me! And how in tune he was! His energy on the court was like, POW! when we played him, but against Nekoma, he’s like a completely different beast! It's like all his senses sharpened, and he's more in sync with himself and everyone else. Before stopping Ojiro, which was a beautiful receive in its own right, he could barely keep things going, missing most basics. Yer telling me, after just a day and a match, he evolved like this? He's so impressive, isn't he?" Atsumu babbled, eyes wide with awe and breathless like he just ran a marathon. 

Osamu sighed, he did find n10 kinda interesting, but listening to Atsumu gush every single second was getting old. Atsumu got like this sometimes—he’d latch onto a match, a player, or a play, and hyperfixate until everyone around him was dizzy from it. 

Usually, it was some pro game, a setter he idolized, or a play he hadn’t quite nailed yet. But this? This was a first! An unknown team match, a play he easily recreated, and an unknown little fry who had hooked Atsumu more than any other fixation. Plus, it was after a loss, Atsumu never obsessed over someone he'd played against. He didn’t even sulk that night. Sure, he was bummed, but usually, he'd be mopey for days. Instead, he seemed recharged.

“I have seen it yes, as ya’ve decided to include me time and again in your delirious episode,” Osamu sighs, finding himself drained from the conversation before it even started. “And what’s with that ‘jump for ya’ crap? He was leaping for himself and the game, not for some personal cheerleader show.”

“Ya wouldn’t get it” Atsumu scrawled, resuming his video.

“Did ya set for him, Sumu? Is that why ya used minus tempo? Because ya wanted to show him ya could give him that.”

“Come off it, Samu, ya embarrass yerself enough without tryin’, don’t make me suffer your endless babble.I thought it was cool and I wanted to give it a try.” Atsumu snapped,as if defending an artistic choice,

“And is that why, instead of celebrating with the team, ya kept sneaking glances his way?” came the jab.

“I wanted to see the look of defeat in my rivals’ eyes after stealing their fastest attack,” he replied, as if it were the most natural thing. Osamu knew it was, but that was not it, not this time.

“Then why the sudden aversion to your usual stare at the setter?” Samu pressed.

“Yer’ so fucking annoying Samu, I don’t owe ya an explanation, now get off my back and let me continue watching him,”

Atsumu pressed play once more, completely unaware of the irony of his own words, as he became fully absorbed in the match. Among all the players, movements, and plays, Osamu knew his brother was solely focused on him.

It was neither a mistake nor a Freudian slip; Atsumu had been fixated on something—or rather, someone—for a week, and it wasn't merely in a volleyball sense. Osamu would even go so far as to say it was the gayest thing he had ever witnessed, and he had plenty of experience with himself.

Choosing to ignore his brother’s proclivities,Osamu made a beeline for the kitchen, where his grandma was already slicing vegetables with her usual flair.

He joined her, slipping into their seamless dance of culinary creation. They worked in perfect harmony, each lost in their own world yet connected by the rhythm of their tasks.

The kitchen was a sanctuary, bathed in the moonlight illuminating the warm orange walls, while the wind played a gentle symphony with the tree branches outside. The distant isohiyodori chirping, his grandma’s gentle hums, the tantalizing blending of smells, the shifting hues, the textures taking shape.

The process was satisfying and comforting, but what genuinely delighted him was the creativity it demanded—the courage to try something new, to transform the ordinary into art. To cook meals that evoked emotions and forged connections through flavors and composition. At times, Osamu pondered if this was how Atsumu felt about volleyball, if that was where his focus should be. But he understood that passion wasn't something you chose; it chose you, and no amount of love for his soulmate could alter that.

Let's be honest, Atsumu was likely to be swept up in the tide of his own admiration for a few days, his interests never held him captive for long—two weeks at most before he moved on to the next big thing.

Or so Osamu thought.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

It had been a month now, and while Atsumu wasn't jabbering as much about Hinata—or "Shouyou," as he liked to call him—Osamu knew his brother was still as obsessed as ever, if not more.

He'd catch Atsumu trying to find Hinata's social media, rewatching every single game in perfect chronological order because, apparently, knowing every detail of Hinata's evolution was critical.

Osamu wasn't ready to dive into the playlist his brother had clearly crafted for his big, fat, gay crush. Sharing a Spotify account had its perks; Osamu could see just how often his knucklehead twin listened to it, adding songs that sounded more and more like unrequited pining.

On the court, Atsumu was sharp—if anything, he was playing better than ever. It was as if he was fueled by some invisible force, pushing the team to train harder, especially on their quicks, undoubtedly to catch someone's eye.

The entire team seemed to buzz with new energy, which was impressive for a group usually content to coast on their talent. Inspired by the ravenous fox that was Atsumu, they pushed their limits like never before.

But off the court? Atsumu was a hot mess. He spent class time daydreaming and group conversations doodling terrible wings on his notes, all while plugged into his earphones, blasting sappy music loud enough to make Osamu want to strangle him with the cord.

Sure, they still hung out, but Atsumu was only half-there, lost in some utopia where strangers made better company. Osamu was getting used to it, but with Suna heading to Aichi tomorrow for two weeks, prolonging his trip just because he couldn't be bothered with sticking to the schedule, Osamu knew he'd miss him more than usually. And with Atsumu prancing around in his own little world, Osamu was bracing himself for a lonely stretch.

At least Suna was spending his last night with him. Well, with him and Atsumu, but Atsumu was knee-deep in his fantasies, so he didn't really count. 

Suna and he were sitting next to each other, arms and legs touching, warmth spreading, showing each other their albums of their friends’ ridiculously embarrassing moments, snickering at their stupidity.

They spent of that time going over their Atsumu files, which were by far the most prized, and heavy. Normally, this was when Atsumu would catch wind of the roast, jumping on them for daring to mock him, trying to delete the incriminating documents.

Today, though, he seemed blissfully unaware of even the room’s occupants, biting his lips in concentration as if he did not know the play by play by now. Suna, of course, only understood the full extent of Atsumu’s obsession thanks to Osamu’s nonstop gossip; after all, ever since that wildly erratic week of pestering everyone, Atsumu had only murmured about Hinata to Osamu—and then, barely at all.

Was it worrisome? Absolutely. If there was one thing Atsumu was hopeless at, it was keeping a lid on his excitement— yet he was silent about this.

This made Suna’s amusement skyrocket; nothing tickled him more than prodding someone so dead set on secrecy. And Suna, effortlessly cool, knew exactly how to capture his brother’s attention. Osamu, meanwhile, couldn’t help but admire how Suna managed to make anyone focus on him without even trying. 

“Apparently that Karasuno n10 has switched schools— no rematch for you, ‘Tsumu” Suna calmly announced while idly scrolling through his phone, tossing a scheming look at Osamu. He was beautiful, but when he looked at Osamu like that, he was otherworldly.

“WHAT?!” Atsumu bellowed, his reaction was a riot: his eyes practically popped out in a way that would have made a slap look tame. Osamu hated sharing his face with this embarrassment.

Suna pretended not to notice the drama unfolding, instead flashing Osamu another hilarious screenshot as they bantered,while Atsumu tried to recover from his shock, which they always let him do, so they could unsettle him even more.

“Suna, seriously, is this a prank? Did ya set up a camera when I hit the bathroom?” Atsumu demanded, scanning the room as if searching for hidden evidence. Osamu, grinning at Atsumu’s stupidity and Suna’s control over the situation, regretted not cueing a camera right then—one look at Suna said he felt the same. 

“Yeah, I dunno which school it is, frankly I couldn’t really care less,” Suna replied, as if this were just tea-chat rather than potentially the most devastating news for Atsumu. Returning to his banter with Osamu, he turned around the situation into an opportunity to mock Atsumu even louder.

Atsumu, meanwhile, was busy on his phone, fingers tapping madly as he tried to uncover any tidbit about Hinata—though truth be told, few ventured into Miyagi school circles besides the usual champions, Shiratorizawa. Suna, ever the gossip maestro, was scouring his group chat for any morsel of information.

Osamu doubted that Atsumu would ever find something concrete, but at least it gave him a new, albeit bizarre, mission. Together, Suna and Osamu watched Atsumu like an amusing specimen, noticing that instead of being crushed, he seemed oddly motivated—his delusions growing larger by the minute.

"Y’know, yer’ not gonna find out where he is, Sumu; even his closest friends are clueless," Atsumu sighed theatrically, Osamu half-enjoying his brother’s chaos, though aware that fueling Atsumu’s stalking tendencies wasn’t exactly brilliance.

"Can ya get me his number, Suna?" Atsumu asked, as apathetic as one could be while still desperately clinging to his phone. "Please?"

“Nah, it’s more fun to watch you be so smitten with someone who barely acknowledges your existence.” Suna shot back, a teasing glimmer in his eye that hinted at a fondness beyond mere ribbing.

“Fuck off, yer such a prick sometimes. I’m not smitten— I just respect him as an athlete and I’d like to work with him and play against his team. And now you tell me he’s switched schools, so there’s a slim chance I'll ever get to face him again!" Atsumu grumbled.

“Always so eager?” Suna teased, all while sharing a knowing, almost affectionate look with Osamu.

“For things that demand it.” Atsumu retorted.

“Gay,” Suna and Osamu chimed in simultaneously, snorting as if they weren’t the only gay people in the room.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

Atsumu’s POV

Contrary to popular belief, Atsumu was not unraveling. The whispers and concerned glances from his teammates were baffling, as if he had contracted some inexplicable ailment.

He was performing at his peak, even Coach Kurosu had praised him,  hinting that he was on the path to captaining the team.

So why were they fixated on his personal life, scrutinizing his every move on his own phone? It wasn't as if he had vanished into thin air; he was simply checking his phone more frequently. Suna was practically glued to his device, yet no one seemed to care. For the first time since middle school, Atsumu felt relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with his teammates during the break.

He faced enough bullying for his volleyball interests at home. When Suna crashed over, he’d usually end up in Osamu’s bed, leaving Atsumu to endure their intense, yet hopeless flirting—the kind that would never blossom because both were terrified of rejection, blind to their own feelings.

Desperate for escape, Atsumu jammed his earphones in, drowning in his new favorite playlist. As he closed his eyes, vibrant visions of a swift orange crow flooded his mind, morphing slowly into a cunning fox. No matter how much he tried to redirect his thoughts, they circled back to Shouyou, an inescapable gravitational pull.

The questions clawed at him with relentless urgency. Why did he leave? Was he attending a volleyball academy? Had he quit playing? No, that was unthinkable. Volleyball was woven into Shouyou’s being as intricately as it was into Atsumu’s—their lives tangled inextricably like vines.

Yet, the most insistent voice, the one he struggled to silence, whispered incessantly, what if? What if he left his prefecture? What if, out of all the cities in Japan, he landed in Atsumu’s? What if he joined his team, as his spiker? It was a maddening train of thought, spiraling into the realm of destiny. What if they were meant to be side by side on the court, as one? The setter and his ace, a symbiotic force that couldn’t function apart.

The only truth Atsumu could glean from this disorderly storm of questions was his desperate need for rest. It was just a rival, a potential teammate—certainly not worth losing sleep over. Yet, sleep had eluded him for the past month, haunted by these relentless musings.

He woke up alone in his room, faintly hearing his parents and Osamu bidding farewell to Suna. Though he considered getting up, he lacked the motivation and preferred to catch an additional 30 minutes of sleep before heading to the gym. However, that plan was thwarted when Suna chose to rouse him for a proper goodbye from his host, acting as though he wasn’t a more frequent presence than Atsumu in his own house. 

Now awake and irritable, he made his way to join his family for breakfast. Osamu appeared to be in a state of despair, which Atsumu found a bit over-the-top considering Suna had left less than 20 minutes ago. Still, it was typical for Osamu to react this way whenever Suna returned home. 

“He’s comin’ back ya know, no need to go all emo on us now, we’ve left middle school in the past,” Atsumu quipped, but his attempt at humor fell flat. No one seemed to be in a good mood that morning, including himself, yet he had tried to lighten the atmosphere. Well fuck him for trying. 

Following breakfast, Atsumu went for his usual morning run and then headed straight to the gym. His extra bag was already in his locker, as he wasn't keen on spending any more time around the house. 

He was sitting in the bustling cafeteria when his eyes caught sight of him. Initially, he dismissed it as a figment conjured by his weary, sleep-starved mind—a notion both absurd and unsettling, considering his exhaustion hadn’t yet descended into the depths of psychosis. Having said that, Atsumu knew all too well that he didn’t need sleep deprivation to conjure visions of things that weren’t there. Was his mind playing tricks on him again?

But there he was, darting around with an irresistible zeal as if the bounty of food might vanish at any moment. Atsumu's heart skipped a beat, forcing him to gather his scattered thoughts. He hadn't succumbed to madness. It was unmistakably his Shouyou, vibrant and enlivened.

The first thing that slammed into Atsumu was Shouyou's polarity. On the court, he was a wild beast—fangs bared, snarling, growling, biting with ferocity. But off the court, he transformed into something entirely unexpected: soft, a version of humanity that Atsumu had never encountered before. It was a raw, unadulterated kindness, devoid of any mechanical precision or manipulative undertones. It was pure, it was honest, and it was utterly disarming.

Shouyou's humor was compelling, laughter erupting from Atsumu's lips as if it were a natural reflex. He was endearingly silly, implacably loyal to his friends, which might pose a problem since Atsumu had no intention of ceasing his unrelenting teasing of Kageyama. Alternatively, Shouyou's ability to switch between these two personas with lightning speed reminded Atsumu of himself, though Shouyou seemed to wield more control. He was captivating, and Atsumu found himself insatiable for more.

Okay, perhaps that wasn't entirely true. The very first thing that seized Atsumu's attention was Shouyou's freckles. Absent from any match recordings and overlooked in the heat of their game, they were a revelation. Faint, yet unmistakable, scattered across his nose and cheekbones, as if the sun itself had longed to leave a trace on a star that blazed even brighter, bestowing kisses upon Shouyou’s skin.

Atsumu felt grateful for the time he took to admire them, now staring at Hinata with his heart laid bare, after hearing the words he so desperately longed for. To have a spiker, one as dedicated as he was.

Hinata meant every word, and it struck Atsumu with a force that nothing else could replicate. His chest surged with warmth, his stomach churned with exhilarating unease, and his heartbeat accelerated until he was utterly lost in Shouyou.

It became imperative to ensure Shouyou's position on the team as a starter—not that Atsumu doubted his potential, for Shouyou was a formidable force—but a seed of insecurity seemed to linger within him.

A caged bird, with an open door, not yet ready to soar.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

Under the soft sunlight, the city’s atmosphere was vibrant, yet hushed. The streets glistened with the remnants of a recent rain, and their calming steps lulled Atsumu.

Hinata loved visiting the city, and he often asked Atsumu, to his biggest pleasure, to be his local guide as he knew the city like the back of his hand. Atsumu had promised to show Hinata the side of the city that most tourists never saw, and Hinata was eager to uncover its secrets.

"Are ya ready to see the core of the city?" Atsumu asked, a mischievous glint in his eye as they set off. The city was alive with the soft hum of distant conversations and the occasional whoosh of a passing car, each sound adding to the choral of the early morning.

"Absolutely," Hinata replied, his excitement palpable. "I've heard there's so much more to this place than what's in the guidebooks."

Their first stop was a quaint little alleyway adorned with vibrant murals that told stories of the city's past. Atsumu explained the significance of each piece, pointing out how the artists had captured the embodiment of the city's essence over the years. Hinata listened intently, absorbing the rich history painted on the walls before them.

As they continued their stroll, Atsumu led Hinata to a small, unassuming juice bar tucked away at the end of a cobblestone street. The aroma of freshly pressed fruits wafted through the air, inviting them inside. "This place has the best juice ya'll ever taste," Atsumu promised. They settled at a corner table, the warm ambiance of the bar providing a cozy respite from the cool dayspring air.

"What’s your favorite thing about the city?" Hinata asked, swirling the liquid around the glass, savoring the refreshing, smooth flavor of his juice.

Atsumu pondered for a moment, his gaze drifting to the window. "I'd have to say it's exploring it. No matter how long ya've lived here, there's always somethin’ new to find, somethin’ unexpected ‘round every corner."

Hinata nodded, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass absentmindedly. "Karumai isn’t really like that, it’s pretty small, and it’s easy to see everything. I’ve always found that comforting, but I’m stoked to discover Himeji, and be surprised by all there is to see."

His gaze dropped to the table, a fleeting gloom passing over his expression. "I still miss it sometimes… the familiarity." The corners of his mouth turned down ever so slightly, as it often did when Hinata talked about his home.

Atsumu leaned forward. "I would love to visit it with ya one day" He said earnestly, and when Hinata’s eyes lit up, and a soft, secret smile graced his lips, Atsumu decided being honest wasn’t so bad.

After leaving the juice bar, they made their way to Koko-en, a tranquil garden that was a world unto itself. The garden was divided into thematic areas, each reflecting on the Edo period. They wandered through the clear ponds, where the gentle ripple of water concocted a pacifying melody that complemented the serene surroundings. The sunrays cast a gold glow over the landscape, highlighting the delicate beauty of the garden.

"This place is incredible," Hinata marveled, taking in the tranquil beauty that enveloped them, he was calmer than Atsumu had ever seen him. His face was peaceful, and his shoulders were relaxed, resting naturally as he moved. He moved at a leisurely pace, unhurried, absorbing his surroundings. "It's like walking into another planet."

Atsumu nodded in agreement. "It's one of my favorite places to go when I need to clear my head. There's just something about being surrounded by nature that settles me."

"Is this your secret place?"

Atsumu was silent for a moment. "It is, yes" More than he knew, more than he could tell him.

"Why share it with me?" Hinata inquired, his curiosity piqued.

Atsumu hid his smile, shrugging slightly. "I think it would be even more special if it became our secret place.”

The final leg of their adventure took them to Mt. Shosha, a place known for its breathtaking hiking trails, and available rock climbing. Atsumu knew that Hinata, who started climbing in the gym, would appreciate doing it with the outdoors encircling them. The hike was invigorating, the fresh mountain air filling their lungs as they ascended the winding path.

"You were right, Atsumu-san," Hinata admitted, pausing to catch his breath and take in the panoramic view of the city below. "Hiking out here is so different from working out in a gym. It's... freeing. The same way running in a forest is."

Atsumu smiled, pleased with Shouyou's reaction. "I knew you'd love it. I feel so alive." with you, he wanted to add.

As they made their way back to the city, the first light of twilight began to paint the sky in hues of rose and ochre. The city was beginning to quiet, as their voices filled the air.

Atsumu loved his city, always did. Yet, to experience it through Shouyou’s wide-eyed wonder, well, it made him fall in love with it all over again.

Shouyou shifted from foot to foot, his cheeks flushed as he mumbled, “Atsumu-san, do you want to come to my house tonight?” his eyes darted up, hopeful yet hesitant.

Atsumu's eyes lit up with a playful glint, his stride gaining a newfound bounce. "Without Samu?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Shouyou nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips. Atsumu's grin widened, his excitement bubbling over as he clapped Shouyou on the back. "Absolutely, let's grab some snacks beforehand. My treat!"

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

The sky was scarlet as the parting remains of light evaporated as Atsumu and Shouyou walked side by side through the quiet streets.

As they reached the door, Hinata turned to Atsumu with a grin. "Ready to meet my little sister?" he mischievously examined.

"Bring it on," Atsumu replied with a playful smirk, adjusting his backpack.

Hinata opened the door, and they were immediately greeted by the sounds and smells of a bustling home. He could smell the cinnamon, cherry blossom and green tea roving, and hear the chatter of Hinata’s family in the background. No sooner had they stepped inside than a small Shouyou bounded into the hallway.

"Ni-san!" Natsu squealed, her eyes wide with curiosity as she zeroed in on Atsumu. "Who’s this?"

"This is Atsumu-san," Hinata introduced, gesturing to his friend. "He’s spending the night."

Natsu crossed her arms, her gaze scrutinizing. "Hmm, why should I let you stay?"

Atsumu crouched down to her level, meeting her eyes with a grin. "Well, Natsu-kun, I have a proposition, what if I make sure that you grow up to be taller than Shouyou?"

Natsu’s eyes widened in delight, and she giggled, glancing at her brother who rolled his eyes. "Really?"

"Really," Atsumu affirmed, nodding sagely.

With that, Natsu’s expression softened, and she nodded decisively. "Okay, you can stay."

Hinata chuckled, ruffling his sister’s hair. "See? I told you she was the boss around here."

After a quick dinner with the Hinata family—where his parents seemed to have a lot to say about his brother's intelligence and maturity—the three of them headed to the backyard, where a makeshift volleyball net awaited them. The late evening sky was now murk, moonless, stars adorning it as cicadas buzzed, providing the perfect backdrop for a friendly training.

"Alright, Natsu, you ready to show Atsumu-san your skills?" Hinata called as they took their positions.

Natsu hopped lightly on her toes, her enthusiasm contagious. "I’m ready!"

They started with simple serves and receives, Natsu trying her best to mimic her brother’s movements. Atsumu watched them with a smile, offering tips and encouragement. "Keep yer eyes on the ball, Natsu-kun. Ya’ve got this!"

The trio spent the next 30 minutes changing games, playing hide and seek or wolf, laughter echoing through the yard.

As the cold grew heavier, they decided it was time to head inside. Saying goodnight to Shouyou’s family before settling in his room. Atsumu pulled out a bag of assorted snacks.

Grabbing a candy, Hinata challenged him with his mouth full, "Let’s see who can win the most in mini-games," His competitive nature shining through.

They dove into a friendly competition, playing games like rock-paper-scissors and thumb wars, punctuated by mirth and groans of defeat. They could play anything and get fired up, no matter how dull. Atsumu regaled him with stories of his Inarizaki teammates, his voice animated as he described their antics and quirks.

"Suna loves pretending he does not care while he’s recording the conversation, making music out of them and Aran pretends he cares but he’s done with us, and usually can only do it if he complains to Kita afterwards," Atsumu laughed, mimicking Suna’s bored expression. "It’s the same face he makes when he’s about to crash out, so ya never really know where it’s heading."

Hinata snorted, nearly spilling his drink. "Sounds like fun! I’d love to meet them someday."

"I’m sure they’d love to meet you too," Atsumu replied warmly, imagining all his friends under Shouyou’s light.

 “I think Karasuno would get along with Inarizaki, I can see Tsukishima teaming up with Suna and Osamu to bully people.” He chuckled softly as he set down his card. 

Atsumu simpered, content with hearing Hinata’s silky laugh, "He sounds like a terror, they would love him"

With a playful nudge, Shouyou pointed at his hair. "I think the first thing he'd comment on is your hair. Actually, he already did."

He ran a hand through his blonde strands, feigning indignation. “My hair? It’s gorgeous, screw his scrawny ass, he’s just jealous of my blonde.”

Shouyou looked at him dubiously, biting his lip not to laugh. “Well…actually he’s a natural blonde.”

Dimming his affront he schemed. “No problem, I'll just have to shave his head and use his hair to give myself implants.”

Shouyou burst into laughter, his hand flying to cover his mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound. His head dropped on Atsumu’s shoulder with a playful thud. “You’re weird,” He said, looking up at him, dazed. “I like it.”

As the night wore on, the energy in the room mellowed, and they sprawled on the floor, content and tired. Atsumu discreetly pulled out his phone, scrolling through his playlist until he found the one he had been listening to for months.

"Hey, mind if I put on some music?" Atsumu asked, trying to sound casual.

"Sure, go ahead," Hinata agreed, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the bed.

Atsumu pressed play, closing his eyes. He had curated this playlist with Hinata in mind, each song a reminder of him, in the way they made him feel, or the lyric they serenaded. Atsumu didn’t dare explain its significance, choosing instead to let the music speak for itself.

The two boys lay side by side on the bed, the music settling them. Hinata’s breathing slowed, signaling he was on the brink of sleep. Atsumu remained awake a little longer, reveling in the dance of shadows cast by his lashes upon sculpted cheekbones, the graceful arc of his upper lip, and the solitary curl that draped elegantly across his brow.

In these moments, Atsumu longed to be an artist, any kind at all. He would write songs that hypnotized you just as his presence did,or painting scenes of morning dew caressed by the sun, stirring the same emotions he kindled within him. Perhaps he would plant flowers, tending to them until they soothed you in the way only he could. Atsumu was not an artist, but he was a setter, and although he couldn’t capture Shouyou's jump, that fleeting instant where he realizes he can break the wall, he could ensure he relived that moment endlessly.

Eventually, Atsumu’s eyes grew heavy, and he allowed himself to drift off, the playlist playing softly in the background—a quiet confession of feelings he himself did not understand.

In the morning, they awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside the window. Natsu peeked in, her hair tousled from sleep, and gave them a bright smile. "Morning!"

Atsumu stretched, feeling refreshed. "Morning, Natsu-kun. Ready for another day?"

"Yeah!" she replied eagerly, already bouncing with energy, she dragged them to breakfast.

As they gathered their things and prepared to leave to the gym, Atsumu felt a sense of gratitude for the snugness and welcome he had found at the Hinata household. He and Shouyou exchanged a knowing look, a silent promise of more adventures to come.

"Thanks for having me, Hinata-san," Atsumu addressed Shouyou's parents, bowing deeply with sincerity in his voice, before turning to Natsu. "It was fun."

Hinata grinned, resting his hand on his shoulder. "Anytime, Atsumu-san. You’re always welcome here."

With that, they stepped out into the morning light, ready to train another day.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

“Are we close?” Shouyou asked for the tenth time, his voice tinged with impatience and excitement, before darting away with very little concern for direction.

Atsumu understood him well; they'd been frequenting the gym together almost daily, only parting ways when Shouyou would head off to climb, later reconvening for plyometrics.

It wasn’t the same as the adrenaline and rhythm of volleyball training, and while Atsumu, with his years of experience, was accustomed to this routine, Shouyou seemed increasingly restless without a volleyball in his hands. Determined to remedy this, Atsumu led him to a communal yet deserted gymnasium, its court pristine and ready for their use.  

The moment they arrived, Shouyou’s energy was palpable, and eager. Atsumu struggled to keep his eyes on the vortex that was Shouyou, who was practically vibrating with excitement. A genuine smile spread across Atsumu’s face as he watched Shouyou, a force of nature. Atsumu couldn’t help but feel compelled to join in. 

“Set for me,” Shouyou called out, his voice carrying an unspoken command that Atsumu couldn’t refuse. Not that he would ever want to.

With a nod, Atsumu complied, sending the ball towards Shouyou, who prepared to take flight. They attempted a minus quick attack, but their timing was off, the set Atsumu delivered veering astray.

Atsumu, usually precise, was surprised at the miscalculation. Had Shouyou’s jump altered? He seemed to soar higher than Atsumu anticipated. Determined to adjust, Atsumu tried again, but this time, Shouyou’s jump wasn’t quite the same. 

“Okay, let’s change it up,” Atsumu suggested, his tone thoughtful and strategic. “I noticed you’re quite instinctive, right? Maybe we could play into that. I’ll send a normal quick set, and it won’t be centered. I want ya to slow down a bit so we can sync up, and then we’ll go from there.”

“You sounded so captainy and like a proper mentor, Atsumu-san,” Shouyou remarked with a grin.

“I literally am your mentor and future captain, Shouyou,” Atsumu replied with mock seriousness.

“You’re just proving I’m right,” Shouyou teased.

“I don’t think we’re having the same conversation,” Atsumu chuckled, reaching out to ruffle Shouyou’s hair. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but he did it because he genuinely liked how soft and fluffy Shouyou’s hair felt beneath his fingers. 

Atsumu had always grasped the critical importance of synergy and commitment to his spiker, this was something completely different. After only missing his second quick attack, Shouyou confided in Atsumu about how Kageyama would halt the ball mid-air, an impressive feat he admired—not that he would admit to it—but didn't feel ready to replicate without extensive practice.

Hinata expressed his disinterest in easy hits, eager instead to master the art of capitalizing on any ball that came his way. This conversation rekindled memories for Atsumu, reminding him of the moment he realized Hinata was the ideal ace—the moment when Hinata had boldly declared to Kageyama that he would strike the ball, regardless of the circumstances.

As they practiced the minus tempo set once more, following his refined guidelines, a pivotal moment unfolded.

The ball floated through the air, propelled by Atsumu's meticulous toss, slightly slower this time, allowing for precision in its path. As it spun gracefully, Shouyou launched himself upward with the explosive power of a meteor streaking across the night sky. Atsumu watched, and time seemed to stretch endlessly, capturing that moment filled with infinite possibilities as Hinata's hand made contact with the ball. The strike was a seamless blend of athletic effort and artistic grace.

As Shouyou's fingers met the volleyball, sending it soaring over the net in a perfect arc, Atsumu realized that this moment transcended the mere mechanics of spiking or scoring. Suspended in the air between his leap and eventual landing, Shouyou was devoted. This made Atsumu realize that he was equally devoted, if not more, to his spiker.

"You're incredible, Atsumu-san! The ball zipped through the air with a ZAP! and suddenly it was right in front of me. Then WHAM! I hit it, and KABOOM! It was amazing, you know? THIS WAS SO COOL!" Shouyou exclaimed with infectious excitement, his face alight with joy as he leaped onto Atsumu in celebration, swathing him in warmth.

Watching Shouyou's expression of pride, Atsumu felt a profound sense of fulfillment, not just for Shouyou’s success but for the shared triumph that linked them. Under the harsh glare of the gymnasium lights, illuminating the sweat-soaked jerseys clinging to their bodies, while Shouyou’s cheek flushed with exertion and joy, Atsumu thought that he looked breathtakingly beautiful, each breath heaving with untamed strength, face radiant with gratification, vigour, and fervor pulsing through him like a veld fire, spreading towards Atsumu, as it overtake him.

As he dashed back to his position, he hollered, “Another one!” Atsumu observed him in awe as he travelled like a fleeting shadow.

"Ya really are something else, Shoyou," he exclaimed, his voice catching as he cleared his throat.

In that moment, Atsumu knew unequivocally that he had never witnessed such incomparable magnificence in another soul.

Chapter Text

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

Atsumu’s pov

Atsumu was twisting in his chair, his sturdy frame shifting restlessly as he ignored the open textbook in front of him. The pages were filled with neatly printed formulas and diagrams that might as well have been hieroglyphs; he hadn't glanced at them in over ten minutes. His pencil dangled precariously between his fingers, spinning absently before slipping out of his grip and clattering onto the cafeteria table. He didn’t bother picking it up. His attention was elsewhere.

Across from him, Shouyou sat with one leg tucked beneath him, his body leaning slightly forward as he picked at his lunch with a pair of chopsticks. His movements were unhurried, almost meditative, though there was a quiet energy simmering beneath his seemingly relaxed demeanor. He was lost in thought, his gaze absent yet oddly focused on the task at hand, like he was trying to solve some self-imposed riddle.

The cafeteria buzzed around them, alive with the vibrant chaos of midday break. Voices overlapped in a choral of chatter, laughter bursting out while chairs scraped against tiled floors and trays clattered onto tables with metallic thuds.

But Atsumu barely registered any of it. For him, the world had narrowed to just one focal point: Shouyou.

It wasn't just that Shouyou was striking; he seemed to carry a lightness about him, a brightness that made everything else seem dim by comparison. The sunlight poured through the cafeteria windows and ignited his hair into glowing embers against stark white walls. Every now and then, he would tilt his head slightly, causing a stray lock to fall across his forehead before he swiped it back absentmindedly.

Atsumu’s eyes hovered on him without shame, tracing Shouyou’s features—the elegant curve of his jawline, delicate and demanding; the gentle slope of his nose, charismatic and inviting; and those faint freckles he wanted to count. There was an unexplainable tightness in Atsumu's chest, as if some part of him yearned for something just out of reach.

When he looked at him, Atsumu felt every sinew and fiber charged with life; the crimson rivers flowing with relentless vigor through veins that throbbed beneath fragile skin. His muscles contracting and unfurling, rippling. Loose strands of hair whispering against the nape of his neck while each nerve ending danced with the tickle of his eyebrow. The metallic tang of blood lingered in his mouth, lips fissured like parched earth yearning for rain, his chest rising and falling. His flesh, the blink of weary eyes, his lungs, his tongue poised on his palate, his bones.

It was maddening how completely Shouyou consumed his thoughts without even trying. Atsumu couldn’t explain it—it wasn’t just admiration or attraction; it was something deeper, more visceral. It was as though Shouyou existed on a frequency Atsumu couldn’t quite tune into but desperately wanted to.

For Atsumu It seemed as though they only existed in each other’s presence. Everything else—the noise, the people milling about—faded into insignificance. The world dimmed and muted around them until all that remained was Shouyou: luminous, unyielding, and utterly captivating.

He felt himself dissolving, like some part of him evaporated every time Shouyou laughed or smiled or even breathed too loudly. It wasn’t fair how effortlessly radiant he was—how someone so grounded could also feel like they belonged to the sky.

Atsumu traced every inch of him with an intensity that bordered on reverence. He noticed everything—the subtle shift of muscle beneath Shouyou’s skin as he moved; the way veins threaded faintly along his forearms like blue rivers; His fingers flexed rhythmically around the chopsticks as he speared a piece of tamagoyaki from his bento box, And Atsumu found himself inexplicably fixated on how delicate-looking yet undeniably strong his hands were.

Everything drew him in; the wrinkle between his brows when he frowned in concentration; the way he chewed on his bottom lip when he was deep in thought; the tiny scar just below his left eyebrow that Atsumu had never asked about but couldn’t stop wondering over.

Every detail felt significant—he categorized them and emptied himself of memories to leave more space for him.

Finally unable to resist breaking the silence between them any longer Atsumu leaned forward slightly resting one elbow on the table as he reached out with swift precision to steal a piece of mango from Shouyou’s lunchbox.

“So,” he began casually around a mouthful of stolen fruit juice dripping down his chin as he smirked shamelessly. “Ya excited for our first team meeting later?”

Shouyou blinked up at him in surprise before bursting into a grin that was so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Yeah! I can’t wait!” He replied enthusiastically setting down his chopsticks with an audible clink as he leaned closer across the table.

There it was again—that unguarded ardor that seemed to pour out of Shouyou like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. It hit Atsumu square in the chest every time, leaving him breathless and yearning for more.

“You’re gonna love it,” Atsumu said confidently, leaning back in his chair with an air of practiced nonchalance even as his heart raced furiously beneath his ribcage. “We’ve got some solid players this year—it’s gonna be somethin’ special.”

Shouyou nodded eagerly, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I’ve been looking forward to this since I transferred,” he admitted earnestly. “I mean... don’t get me wrong—I loved Karasuno! But this is a whole new challenge—a chance to prove myself again.”

Atsumu’s smirk softened into something more genuine as he listened to Shouyou speak. There was an honesty about him that was disarming—a rawness that made everything he said feel weightier somehow.

“Yer gonna kill it,” Atsumu said simply but firmly—like it wasn’t just encouragement but an undeniable fact etched into reality itself.

Shouyou beamed at him again—bright enough to rival the sun—and Atsumu felt something inside him shift ever so slightly... like maybe this boy who lived in the sky wasn’t so far out of reach after all.

Atsumu had always felt a profound sense of loneliness, despite never being physically alone, constantly surrounded by Osamu and his teammates. Making friends had never come easily to him, and when he did manage to form connections, they seldom lasted. Most of his friendships were filtered through Osamu, and while Atsumu knew logically that these people did care about him, he couldn't help but hear the persistent voice whispering that Osamu would always be the first choice.

Atsumu couldn't even resent this fact, because in his heart, he knew he would choose Osamu too.

As a result, he tried not to invest too deeply in others, and never felt compelled to. Yet, there was something about Shouyou that stirred a desire in him to change, to trust, to be a better friend, a better person. Atsumu found himself torn, wanting to welcome Hinata into his life and, to blend their worlds, to create something extraordinary, but not knowing how to achieve it, how to be someone worth him.

Atsumu could metamorphose, he possessed the art. To mold a visage of grandeur, something painfully human. If he laid bare Shouyou's hidden cravings, he could present them with bloodied lacerated hands, devouring his own corpse, and ensconce himself within the visceral confines of his own gut, wrenching forth his voice from the deep, shadowy pit of his throat—his larynx a gory offering, granting his words unto him. Atsumu could never measure up to Shouyou's intrinstic worth, yet he could fabricate the facade.

Perhaps in this grotesque mask, he would be chosen. He would be cherished. And perhaps, just perhaps, the day might dawn when the charade would dissolve into nothingness, and still, he would remain the one embraced and adored.

But then their moment was disrupted by Osamu and Suna sliding into seats beside them unceremoniously—Osamu dropping his tray onto the table with a loud thunk while Suna immediately propped his phone up against a water bottle to record whatever chaos might ensue next.

Atsumu fought back an instinctive spike of irritation at their intrusion. He didn’t want to share Shouyou’s time, the thought clawed at his mind, but he forced it down, burying it deep. His lips, though fighting against him, stretched into a smile that felt sticky and contorted, wax melting under scrutiny. Still, he held it there.

Osamu wrinkled his nose snobbishly. "Disgustin’, Sumu," Osamu drawled dramatically while gesturing toward Atsumu’s plate with horror. “Are ya seriously eatin’ tonjirou with chocolate." The corners of his mouth twitched downward as he shot Atsumu a glare that could curdle milk.

For once—for just this once— Atsumu was grateful for his brother’s infuriating personality; He didn’t know why he tried, there was no reason to pretend to smile.

Atsumu, unfazed by the scathing critique, merely smirked. With deliberate defiance, he dunked another piece of chocolate into the steaming bowl of tonjirou, the rich broth rippling ominously as the candy melted into it. He chomped down on the concoction with exaggerated relish, his jaw working theatrically as he chewed.

“Yer the one always yappin’ about how cooking’s all about pushin’ boundaries,” Atsumu retorted confidently, though his words were muffled by a mouthful of his dubious creation. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned back in his chair.

Osamu’s lips thinned into a tight line. “Push them,” he said sharply, jabbing a finger in Atsumu’s direction like a scolding parent, “don’t obliterate them! This isn’t culinary innovation—it’s anarchy!”

“Boring,” Atsumu shot back with a dismissive wave of his hand, his tone dripping with mockery. He popped another piece of chocolate into his mouth and chewed noisily just to spite Osamu further.

Across the table, Hinata watched the exchange with wide eyes and barely concealed amusement. The sun boy tilted his head in curiosity, clearly intrigued by Atsumu’s culinary rebellion. Never one to shy away from absurdity—or challenges—Hinata raised an eyebrow and grinned.

“Hey,” Hinata began cheerfully, leaning forward with an almost childlike excitement that lit up his face. “If you can try a minus tempo for the first time at Nationals, you’re brave enough to taste it! And if Atsumu-san says it’s good…” He paused dramatically, glancing at Osamu as if daring him to disagree. “Then maybe he’s onto something!”

Atsumu puffed out his chest in triumph while Osamu groaned audibly and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t have to encourage him…” Osamu muttered under his breath.

But Hinata was already reaching for a piece of chocolate from Atsumu’s stash. He hesitated for just a moment before dropping it into the bowl and stirring it around like someone preparing a potion in a witch’s cauldron. With all the confidence in the world—or perhaps just sheer recklessness—he scooped up a spoonful of the unholy mixture and brought it to his lips.

The instant the concoction hit Hinata’s tongue, his expression shifted dramatically.His eyes widened, prickled with tears while his face contorted.

“Oh my god—!” Hinata gasped, his voice strained and barely coherent as he fumbled for something—anything—to erase the taste from his mouth. In desperation, he grabbed his bowl of tonjirou and gulped it down like water in a desert.

Meanwhile, Suna—ever the opportunist—had been silently observing the scene with an amused smirk. His phone in his hand, camera rolling as he zoomed in on Hinata’s scrunched-up face from every possible angle.

“Don’t stop now,” Suna drawled lazily, tilting his phone slightly to get better lighting on Hinata’s misery. “This is gold.”

Hinata finally managed to swallow but looked thoroughly traumatized. “Sorry,” he croaked, still swishing his tongue around in an effort to banish the lingering aftertaste. “But maybe you should leave the culinary creativity to Osamu…”

Osamu chuckled softly and slid a plate across the table toward Hinata—a perfectly crafted onigiri resting on it like an edible work of art.

“Try this instead,” Osamu offered calmly, brushing non-existent crumbs off his non-existent apron with practiced elegance; he really was a moron. “It’s a new recipe.”

Hinata picked up the onigiri eagerly and took a bite—he instantly lit up. He looked so cute like this.

“Wooooow!” Hinata exclaimed around a mouthful of rice, flapping his hands. “It’s so tasty! Samu, you could totally sell this!”

Osamu smiled at the compliment. "Yeah,” he replied simply but with an undertone of quiet pride. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it.”

"Yeah,” Atsumu snickered loudly. "Pro volleyball player and restaurant owner,” Atsumu teased as continued to giggle uncontrollably."Why stop there? Maybe ya wanna be a doctor too? Perhaps you’d like to join a circus, surely there’s still some that use animals."

Osamu didn’t rise to the bait right away—he rarely did—but there was something different about him this time. Something resolute.

“Well actually…” Osamu began slowly but steadily, meeting Atsumu’s gaze head-on for what felt like an eternity before continuing with quiet conviction, “I’ve been thinkin’ about dropping volleyball altogether.”

The words hung heavy in the air, a dense, ruptured pressure that seemed to press against Atsumu’s chest, muffling the burstling cafeteria. Not the way it did with Shouyou, where he felt like he was floating, no this was different. It was suffocating, this silence—an oppressive void that swallowed every sound except for the pounding of Atsumu's heart in his ears.

Atsumu forced a laugh, sharp and brittle, trying to dispel the foreboding atmosphere. "You’re not funny," he said, his tone teetering between irritation and disbelief. His eyes darted toward Suna, who sat with his phone conspicuously absent from his hand—a rarity in itself. "Didn’t fall for it. Suna, you can stop filmi—" The words caught in his throat as he finally registered Suna’s expression.

Suna wasn’t smirking or looking vaguely amused like he usually did during one of their pranks. Instead, his face was unreadable but serious, his sharp eyes flickering briefly between Atsumu and Osamu before settling on the table as though he wanted no part in what was unfolding.

This wasn't like their usual antics—the ones where they'd convince Atsumu the house was haunted or that he'd somehow been cursed. Those always ended with a camera shoved in his face and Suna’s deadpan drawl delivering the punchline. But today, there was no camera. No smirk. Just a strange wariness in Suna’s gaze that put Atsumu on edge.

His focus snapped back to Osamu, whose posture was as composed as ever—shoulders squared, a hand resting calmly on the table—but Atsumu could see it, the subtle way his fingers tapped against his thigh, the faint crease in his brow betraying his unease. To anyone else, Osamu might have appeared completely unaffected, but Atsumu knew better. He knew his twin too well.

"What the fuck do ya mean, Samu?" Atsumu's voice came out louder than intended, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables. His fists clenched against the edge of his chair as if grounding himself would somehow make sense of what he was hearing. "No, you’re not. We’re going pro together—we’ve always talked about it." There was a desperation laced in his tone now, a crack in his conviction that he couldn't quite hide.

Osamu met his gaze evenly, his calm demeanor unshaken despite Atsumu's rising volume. "Ya’ve always talked about it," he said quietly but firmly, each word deliberate and cutting. "I never truly wanted it."

The confession struck Atsumu like a jadded blade, ripping through his abdomen, leaving his entrails to unfurl grotesquely, pooling around his feet, as he drowned on his own crimson torrent. In that agonizing moment, his eyes locked onto Osamu's, desperately seeking any hint of doubt or remorse. But there was none.

Atsumu's temper flared, burning with betrayal."So what," he snapped, his voice dripping with venom now. "I shoved it down yer throat? That’s what you’re saying?" He leaned forward, glaring daggers at Osamu as a bitter laugh escaped him. "Ya’ve changed your mind because you think you’re some hotshot entrepreneurial chef now? Is that it? Cookin’ a couple of home-cooked meals and barely scraping by in math doesn’t make ya Gordon Ramsay!"

Osamu didn’t flinch under Atsumu's barrage of words; instead, he held his ground with quiet resolve that only infuriated Atsumu further. "It’s my life," Osamu said simply, his calm tone almost maddening in its finality. "My choice. My decision." He leaned back slightly in his chair but kept his gaze locked on Atsumu’s fiery one. "You don’t get to dictate it or belittle me just because things aren't going your way."

The words stung more than Atsumu cared to admit. He felt like he was being cornered, his world crumbling beneath him with every word Osamu spoke. His anger boiled over uncontrollably.

"Fuck you," he spat, rising so quickly from his seat that the chair toppled over behind him with a loud clatter that echoed through the room. Heads turned toward their table now—curious eyes watching the spectacle unfold—but Atsumu didn’t care. His hands trembled at his sides as he glared down at Osamu one last time.

"When you’re a miserable failure," he said icily as he turned, "and ya come back beggin', don’t expect me to be there."

As he stormed off, weaving through the maze of tables and startled students, Osamu's voice called after him—not loud or angry but steady and resolute: "You’d be the last person I go to." The words were spoken with such quiet conviction that they cut deeper than any shout could have.

Atsumu froze for half a second at the doorway before continuing without looking back. They had always said mean things to each other—it was their way—but this time felt different. This time, Atsumu knew Osamu meant every word.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

Hinata’s pov

Hinata watched the entire scene unfold from across the table, frozen in place as if afraid even blinking might shatter what fragile calm remained after Atsumu’s explosive exit. His instincts screamed at him to follow Atsumu—to chase after him and somehow fix whatever had just gone wrong—but before he could move, a firm hand settled on his shoulder.

“He needs some space when he’s like this,” Osamu said, his voice low but carrying a weight that brokered no argument. It wasn’t a request—it was a statement born of years of understanding Atsumu better than anyone else ever could.

Hinata blinked at him, his lips parting slightly as if to protest, but no words came out. Instead, he swallowed hard, his throat dry with uncertainty. “But…” he finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze flickered back to the door, longing etched into every line of his face. “What if—what if he—”

Osamu’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he barely softened. To most people, it would have gone unnoticed, but Hinata was accustomed to guarded people. He caught the subtle shift in Osamu’s demeanor: the faint loosening of his shoulders, the way his fingers relaxed slightly where they rested on Hinata’s arm.

“He’ll come around,” Osamu said quietly, though there was something unspoken lingering in his tone—an uncertainty that matched Hinata’s own fears. Still, he held firm. “He always does.”

Hinata hesitated for a long moment before nodding reluctantly. He leaned back into his seat, though his body remained taut with unresolved tension. His gaze stayed fixed on the door; willing Atsumu to reappear through sheer force of will.

Across the table, Suna had already resumed picking at his food, his movements slow and deliberate as if trying to appear indifferent to the situation. Osamu followed suit shortly after, though there was an air of distraction about him as he pushed rice around with his chopsticks without actually eating much. The silence at the table was heavy—not awkward exactly, but saturated with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

Hinata sat there quietly, though his mind was anything but still. His thoughts raced in circles, each thought louder than the last. What could he have done differently? Should he have said something? Should he have stopped him? Should he go now? He clenched his fists under the table until his knuckles turned white with worry and frustration.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

Later that day, as Hinata made his way back to class, a loud voice cut through the crowd.

"Hinata-kun!"

The sound was bright and unmistakably enthusiastic—a stark contrast to the brooding fog that had followed Hinata since lunch. He turned toward its source and spotted a boy with spiky brown hair weaving through the throng of students with surprising agility.

The recognition hit almost instantly. “Riseki-san!” Hinata greeted warmly, raising a hand in an enthusiastic wave that mirrored Riseki’s energy. A grin spread across Hinata’s face—perhaps a little too wide given how tightly wound he still felt—but it was genuine all the same.

“Hey!” Riseki came to a stop just in front of him, slightly out of breath but grinning from ear to ear. “The team meeting got pushed back an hour,” he announced cheerfully before tilting his head toward Hinata with an inviting smile. “Wanna hit the gym and get some practice in beforehand?”

Hinata’s face lit up instantly at the mention of volleyball, his earlier worries temporarily eclipsed by excitement. “Really? I’d love that!” he said, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Great! Meet me there at 4:15,” Riseki said with an easy laugh before giving Hinata a playful pat on the shoulder and darting off down the hall.

The fleeting interaction left Hinata feeling lighter—if only for a moment. Volleyball had always been an anchor for him—a constant source of joy and purpose no matter how turbulent life became.

When Hinata arrived at the gym later that afternoon—several minutes early because patience had never been his strong suit—he found Riseki already waiting near one of the courts. The older boy was bouncing lightly on his toes as he passed a volleyball from hand to hand with practiced ease.

Hinata couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly Riseki shifted into a setter’s stance during one of those movements—a small detail that piqued his curiosity enough to speak up.

“Hey,” Hinata called out as he approached, tilting his head slightly to one side like an inquisitive crow. “Aren’t you a wing spiker?”

“I am,” Riseki replied with an emphatic nod before straightening up fully and meeting Hinata’s gaze head-on. There was determination glinting in his eyes—the kind that only came from someone who refused to settle. “But I’ve been working on my setting lately.”

Hinata’s grin widened knowingly as understanding dawned on him. He recognized that look—the drive to improve not just for yourself but for your team—to fill whatever role was needed to make everyone stronger together. It resonated deeply within him.

“Then let’s get started!” Hinata exclaimed with palpable enthusiasm as he dropped his bag on the sidelines and began pulling on his volleyball shoes.

They launched into drills almost immediately—a flurry of quick sets and spikes that left both boys breathless yet exhilarated by their steadily building rhythm. Riseki proved himself to be more than competent as a setter; each ball he delivered was precise and deliberate despite being slightly unconventional compared to Atsumu’s flawless technique.

And yet…as much as Hinata enjoyed their session together, and he truly did, there was something missing, something intangible that lingered just out of reach no matter how hard he tried not to think about it. Him.

Every time Riseki set up another perfect toss for him to spike down with explosive force—every time their plays synced—it only served as a reminder of how it felt different from playing alongside Atsumu.

There was no denying that Riseki was skilled, but Atsumu? Atsumu made him feel like they were flying together.

That thought stayed tucked away in some quiet corner of Hinata’s mind throughout the rest of their practice…but it never entirely disappeared.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

When the rest of the team trickled in, Hinata’s sharp eyes darted to the gym doors, scanning for first years. To his surprise, none had arrived yet—not a single one. Their absence was odd. His brow furrowed briefly, but he shook the thought away with a shrug, deciding not to dwell on it. There was no point in jumping to conclusions just yet. Instead, he followed the others toward Coach Kuroso, his feet moving almost automatically while his mind lingered on the empty doorway.

The sight that greeted him near the coach drew his attention

Osamu and Atsumu were standing as far as they possibly could from each other. Atsumu’s gaze was glued to the floor, his usually vibrant energy dulled into a sullen silence. Osamu, on the other hand, leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed but tension radiating from his stance despite his attempt at nonchalance.

Atsumu’s usual flair and confidence had been replaced by something more subdued—something heavy. His head hunched ever so slightly, and his jaw clenched tightly as if he were holding back words or emotions threatening to spill out. Hinata wanted to go talk to him, but he feared he would decompose just by entering his space.

"Welcome, everyone," Coach Kuroso’s voice cut through the air, commanding attention with ease. His smile was wide and genuine as he surveyed his team, pausing briefly to nod at Hinata in acknowledgment. "We've got an exciting season ahead," he continued enthusiastically, hands clasped behind his back as he rocked slightly on his heels. "First up—"

“Um… sorry, Coach,” Hinata interrupted before he could stop himself, his voice rising slightly in pitch. His hand shot up instinctively like he was in class, seeking permission to speak. “Wasn’t I supposed to have tryouts?” The words tumbled out faster than he intended, tinged with confusion and a hint of nervousness.

Coach Kuroso’s face softened into an understanding expression as he turned toward Hinata. “We’ve reviewed your file,” he explained calmly, his tone steady and reassuring. “And after seeing your performance and history, we decided you were the right fit for this team.” He gestured toward Riseki, who stepped forward with a grin and gave Hinata a hearty pat on the back.

“The first years will have their tryouts over the next two days,” Riseki chimed in brightly. “Don’t worry about it—you’ll see them soon enough.”

Hinata nodded slowly, processing the unexpected turn of events. He stole a glance at Atsumu, hoping for some kind of reaction—an approving nod or even just eye contact—but Atsumu’s gaze remained stubbornly fixed downward, unyielding.

For a moment, Hinata felt a pang of disappointment prick at his chest. This wasn’t how he envisioned things unfolding. He had spent countless nights lying awake imagining grueling tryouts where he’d prove himself with sweat-soaked determination and fiery passion. But now? Now he was just… in.

And yet, instead of relief washing over him like he’d expected, the pressure to perform, to validate their decision to skip tryouts for him, loomed large in his mind like an unavowed provocation. What if they expected too much? What if he disappointed them?

He couldn't bear the thought of letting them down, of proving them wrong. He was going to pour every ounce of his being into this.

As the team showered him with congratulations, one thought blazed in his mind—there was only one person he truly wanted to share this triumph with.

But when he glanced again at Atsumu across the gym, the fragile hope swelling in his chest faltered. Atsumu stood apart from the others, his shoulders curved inward, spine a taut arc of tension. His golden hair, usually an unruly crown of confidence, seemed dimmer under the overhead lights, as if their brightness had also been absorbed.

He was a figure both striking and diminished—someone who could command attention without trying, yet now seemed intent on folding himself smaller, shrinking into the background. He wasn’t laughing with the rest of the team; he wasn’t even pretending to stretch. Instead, he stared at the floor, one hand absentmindedly flexing and unflexing like he was gripping something invisible but heavy.

“C’mon,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. His voice trembled with urgency as though his words alone might bridge the distance between them. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut down.”

Hinata refused to let it happen, to let Atsumu dim his light. No, he wouldn’t allow anything to cast a shadow over his elation. He wouldn’t. No, he couldn’t.

He clenched his fists at his sides, steadying himself with a long inhale. Then another. He could feel the heat rising in his chest—not anger but determination, fierce and unrelenting.

The gym buzzed with life as practice began in earnest. The rhythmic slap of volleyballs against polished wood echoed off high ceilings while sneakers squeaked faintly with each shift and pivot of players’ movements.

Hinata stood at the service line during warm-ups, bouncing lightly on his toes as adrenaline thrummed through him like a second heartbeat. This was it, the other pulse, and he wasn’t about to waste it. He gripped the volleyball tightly for a moment before closing his eyes briefly to focus.

When he opened his eyes again, they gleamed with steely determination. With one fluid motion, he tossed the ball high into the air—a perfect arc—and leapt after it with an explosive jump that seemed almost effortless. His palm struck the ball cleanly mid-air, sending it hurtling over the net with a dizzying spin before veering sharply toward the far corner.

“Nice serve!” Coach Kuroso called out approvingly from across the court, clapping twice in affirmation.

Hinata couldn’t help but grin widely as Riseki jogged past him with an encouraging thumbs-up while others nodded their approval too. It made Hinata feel like he could belong here. He grinned back at them before jogging to retrieve another ball.

The practice session shifted into two-on-two matches, and Hinata found himself paired with Riseki against Suna and Osamu. The four fell into a rhythm quickly—sharp sets, powerful spikes, and precise blocks creating a fast-paced dance across the court. Every time Riseki sent a perfectly timed set into Hinata’s waiting hands, he felt that familiar rush as his body launched into the air, twisting mid-flight before slamming the ball down hard onto their opponents’ side.

Hinata watched him from across the court, a frown tugging at his mouth. Something about Atsumu’s posture—the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his hand lingered on the ball between serves—told Hinata this was truly drowning him.

Hinata realized Suna must have noticed it too when he caught sight of him watching Atsumu intently from across their court during two-on-two drills with Osamu. Suna’s sharp eyes tracked every motion without revealing much emotion themselves except perhaps quiet understanding.

“Hey,” Riseki called out gently as they switched sides for another round. “Focus up.”

“Right,” Hinata replied quickly, shaking himself free from his thoughts.

But as they continued playing, he couldn’t help but steal glances at Atsumu whenever he thought no one would notice. The sight made something twist uncomfortably in his chest—a pang of guilt mingled with worry. He wanted to help; wanted Atsumu to look at him like he used to—with that mix of adoration and challenge that always pushed them both to be better.

When practice finally ended and players began trickling out of the gym in small groups, Hinata noticed Atsumu heading straight for the exit without waiting for anyone else. Driven by instinct more than thought, Hinata dashed after him.

“Atsumu!” he called out as he caught up, reaching out to grab his shoulder.

Atsumu froze but didn’t turn around immediately. When he finally did face Hinata, there was something guarded in his expression. Walls hastily thrown up against an intruder.

“Hey,” Hinata began cautiously. “Are you okay?”

“That’s a dumb fucking question,” Atsumu snapped before Hinata could say anything more. The harshness in his tone made Hinata flinch despite himself, but he quickly recovered.

“I know,” he said softly after a beat. “But I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

Atsumu’s eyes flickered briefly—Hesitation? Regret?—before they hardened again. “Not now,” he said flatly as he turned away once more. He didn’t wait for a response as he walked away.

Hinata stepped forward instinctively. “We could grab some food or—”

“Can you not?” Atsumu interrupted sharply without looking back this time. “I don’t want to be around you right now.”

For a moment, Hinata stared at the empty space Atsumu had left behind, his chest tightening with something sharp and unfamiliar. Anger? Frustration? Disappointment? He couldn’t quite name it, but whatever it was burned hot and vicious in his veins. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails scratching at his palm as he fought the urge to call after him, to demand an explanation for the cold dismissal.

But then he shook his head sharply, as if physically forcing himself to shake off the lingering sting of Atsumu’s words. No. He wouldn’t let Atsumu sour this moment for him—not after how far he’d come. Not after everything he’d fought for.

He wouldn’t,

He couldn’t.

With revamped obstinacy, Hinata turned back toward the gym’s center, his footsteps echoing faintly against the wooden floor. The volleyball sat waiting for him near the serving line, its surface worn smooth from countless practices. Without hesitation, he scooped it up and began practicing his serves again. Each toss, each strike of his hand against the ball was sharper than the last, fueled by the simmering frustration still bubbling beneath the surface.

The sound of the ball hitting the floor reverberated through the empty gym like a drumbeat—a steady rhythm that mirrored the pounding of his heart. And with every serve, he told himself he wouldn’t let himself be held back.

Chapter Text

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

The day dawned crisp and radiant, the practice facility’s windows—streaked faintly with condensation from the cool night before—caught the morning light at just the right angle, casting fractured rainbows across the polished wooden floor. Dust motes danced lazily in the beams.

Hinata pushed open the light doors with a resolute energy still clinging to him from the previous night.

Throughout the night, he had been haunted by the echoes of their conversation—or more accurately, Atsumu’s silence—and had resolved to face whatever strange tension lingered between them head-on. What he didn’t expect was for Atsumu to meet him first—and in a way that left him momentarily stunned.

“Morning, Shouyou!” Atsumu’s voice rang out before Hinata could even fully take in his surroundings. The tone was jarringly cheerful, almost unsettling so, carrying none of the icy distance from the evening prior. Atsumu was already jogging toward him from across the court, his grin wide and toothy—almost too wide, like it had been stretched just a little too far to fit naturally on his face. It was the kind of smile that showed all teeth but no warmth.

Hinata blinked in surprise, his feet faltering mid-step as his brain scrambled to process this sudden shift in demeanor. “Uh… Morning?” he replied hesitantly, his voice rising slightly at the end, testing the waters of this unexpected greeting.

Before Hinata could utter another word, Atsumu clapped a strong arm around his shoulders and began steering him toward their designated court. The casualness of the gesture might have been comforting if not for how forced it felt.

“What…?” Hinata managed to get out, craning his neck to glance up at Atsumu’s face. The setter’s grin remained plastered firmly in place, but there was something about it—something brittle and artificial—that made Hinata’s stomach twist uncomfortably. “Are you okay?” He tilted his head slightly, studying Atsumu’s expression with growing concern.

“Okay? ‘Course I’m okay!” Atsumu’s laugh followed immediately after, loud and boisterous but ringed hollow. He ruffled Hinata’s hair roughly, a gesture that might have been playful if not for its slightly frantic energy. “Now c’mon! We’ve got some serious work t’do today—I’ve got about a 34 new ideas and plays I wanna try out with ya!”

Hinata stumbled slightly under Atsumu’s arm but recovered quickly enough to keep pace. “Wait—what?” he asked incredulously, trying to make sense of this explosive energy. His brows knitted together as he studied Atsumu’s expression more closely now: the tightness around his eyes, blown pupils casting a shadowy depth that made his eyes appear almost black. The restless, incessant movements of his fingers. “Since when do you have 34 new ideas? That’s a pretty precise number.”

“Since last night!” Atsumu shot back without missing a beat. He released Hinata abruptly and jogged ahead toward their court, spinning on his heel once he reached the center line. He spread his arms wide as if presenting himself to an invisible audience. “What can I say? Genius doesn’t take breaks! It just comes to me.”

Hinata frowned, planting his hands on his hips as he stopped just shy of the court boundary. There was something off about all of this—Atsumu’s exaggerated enthusiasm felt more frenetic than genuine excitement.

Still… if Atsumu wanted to bury himself in volleyball drills today, who was Hinata to stop him? If anything, it meant they could channel whatever weird tension lay between them into something productive.

“Alright,” Hinata said finally, rolling his shoulders back as a small grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He adjusted his stance slightly, grounding himself as though preparing for battle. “Show me what you’ve got.”

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

By lunchtime, Atsumu’s manic energy had only grown more fervid.

His movements during drills were sharp and precise—almost unnaturally so. Each jump was executed with the kind of mechanical perfection that left no room for error, his feet hitting the court with a clap that echoed through the gymnasium like shellfire.

Every set he delivered to Hinata was timed down to the millisecond, the ball floating weightlessly into position before Hinata could even finish his approach. The spikes that followed were flawless, each one slamming into the target bottle with unerring accuracy.

At first, Hinata had been caught up in the rhythm of it all, matching Atsumu’s intensity with his own boundless energy. But as the practice wore on, an unsettling realization began to creep into his thoughts. It wasn’t just that Atsumu was focused—he was desperate, as though he were trying to prove something not just to himself, but to someone who wasn’t even there.

The air around him felt charged, almost suffocating, and by the time their coach called for the lunch break, Hinata’s initial excitement had curdled into a vague unease he couldn’t quite shake.

When they finally made their way to the cafeteria, Atsumu practically bounded ahead of the group, his pace brisk enough that Hinata had to jog to keep up. The cafeteria doors swung open with a dramatic flourish as Atsumu pushed through them, his arrival drawing more than a few curious glances from the other players already seated and eating. He navigated the maze of tables like a man on a mission, zeroing in on Osamu’s table with laser focus.

Osamu sat hunched over his tray, methodically unwrapping an onigiri with the kind of reverence that suggested this wasn’t just a meal—it was a ritual. His fingers moved deftly along the wrapping, peeling it away in one smooth motion before folding it neatly beside his plate. He didn’t look up when Atsumu flopped into the chair beside him with theatrical flourish, though the subtle twitch of an eyebrow betrayed that he was fully aware of his brother’s presence.

“Yer awfully cheerful today,” Osamu remarked dryly as he leaned back slightly in his chair. His tone carried its casual monotone drawl, but there was a flicker of something sharper in his gaze—a quiet sort of concern.

“Today?” Atsumu repeated with mock indignation, clutching a hand dramatically over his chest as though wounded by the accusation. “I’ll have ya know I’m a ball of sunshine! The very embodiment of joy!” Turning toward Hinata with an expectant grin, he gestured grandly as if presenting himself for judgment.“Ain’t that right, Shouyou?”

Hinata blinked at being suddenly dragged into the conversation but managed a weak laugh nonetheless. “Uh… sure? You got sunshine coming out your ass.”

Osamu snorted but didn’t bother responding further; instead, he exchanged a glance with Suna, who sat across from them looking equal parts amused and wary.

“See? Even Shouyou agrees!” Atsumu declared triumphantly. 

Sliding into the seat beside Suna, Hinata found himself watching Atsumu more closely now. There was something about the way he moved—fast and restless—that made it impossible to look away. As Atsumu launched into an animated retelling of one of their morning drills—complete with wild hand gestures that sent Osamu’s drink teetering perilously close to the edge of the table—Hinata couldn’t help but notice how contrived it all seemed. The laughter bubbling up from their group felt reflexive rather than genuine, like laughter born out of obligation rather than joy.

Osamu chuckled quietly at Atsumu’s antics but didn’t add much to the conversation beyond occasional nods and murmurs of agreement. His usual biting sarcasm and teasing jabs were conspicuously absent. If anything, Osamu seemed to be holding back, watching Atsumu as though afraid one wrong word might disrupt the peace. That quiet restraint only added to the growing knot of unease twisting in Hinata’s stomach.

“You’re gonna knock someone out if you keep waving your arms like that,” Suna deadpanned eventually, leaning back just far enough to avoid one of Atsumu’s errant hand gestures. “Not that I’d complain—it might finally shut you up.”

“Oh relax,” Atsumu shot back breezily without missing a beat in his story—but there was something brittle about his grin now; something fragile teetering on collapse."Yer so dramatic, let people live a little."

Hinata felt the anxiety knot in his stomach tighten as he watched Osamu exchange another glance with Suna—a glance loaded with worry and meaning he couldn’t uncover.

The conversation meandered on with Atsumu seizing every chance to playfully rib anyone within earshot and even hollering at random teammates strolling past their table.

Hinata performed a delicate balancing act—laughing along when appropriate and responding to Atsumu’s teasing with lighthearted jabs of his own. He felt trapped, chains of dread wrapping themselves around him.

Beneath all the chatter and boldness lay something raw and unspoken—a vulnerability, something fragile; something wanting to break free.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

Later that afternoon, after school had ended, and most his classmates had dispersed for the day, Hinata lingered by the classroom lost in thought. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong, something urgent.

Determined, he sought out Osamu near one of the vending machines at school. He glanced up as Hinata approached, raising an eyebrow at the serious expression on his face.

“Samu,” Hinata began hesitantly before steeling himself. “Can I ask you something? About…Atsumu-san?”

Osamu sighed heavily, leaning back against the vending machine behind him, crossing his arms over his chest in a resigned gesture. The faint hum of the machine buzzed in the background, filling the brief silence between them.

“What’d he do now?” Osamu asked dryly, but there was no disdain in his tone. If anything, there was a trace of weariness.

Hinata hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He rubbed the back of his neck—a nervous habit that had become second nature—and let out a sharp exhale through his nose.

“It’s not what he did—it’s more about how he’s acting,” he replied quickly, his words tumbling over each other, trying to outrun his own uncertainty. His brows furrowed, lines creasing his normally open and cheerful face as he struggled to articulate the unease gnawing at him. Finally, he pressed on, more carefully this time."Yesterday he was… different.”

He glanced at Osamu again, searching his face for any sign of encouragement—or maybe resistance—but all he found was a steady, unreadable calm.“I thought maybe you talked to him about your decision?”

At that, Osamu’s expression shifted. His brow creased ever so slightly—not enough to betray much emotion but enough for Hinata to notice.

After a moment of contemplation, he shook his head slowly. "No," he admitted, his voice gruff but quiet. “He woke up this morning actin’ like nothin’ happened. Tried askin’ him about it earlier, but…”He made a vague gesture with one hand—half shrugging, half waving it off—before letting it fall limply back to his side. “He just brushed me off.”

Hinata frowned deeply, crossing his arms over his chest as he absorbed Osamu’s words. “I mean,” Hinata began cautiously, watching Osamu’s face for any reaction as he spoke, “he’s not acting like nothing happened, Samu.” His voice tightened slightly as concern bled into it. “He’s acting like he’s on drugs or something.”

The words hung heavy in the air between them, stark and unflinching in their bluntness. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The vending machine chose that exact moment to whir louder before spitting out a can with a hollow metallic clunk that echoed in the otherwise quiet hallway.

Osamu bent down slowly to retrieve it without a word. His movements were too deliberate as though giving himself time to think before responding. Instead of popping the tab open right away, he rolled the can between his palms distractedly. There was no immediate denial or scoff at Hinata’s suggestion—just a silence that felt heavier with every passing second.

Finally, Osamu lifted his eyes to meet Hinata’s again. His lips pressed into a thin line before parting just enough for him to speak. “That’s not gonna last,” he said simply.

Hinata blinked at him, caught off guard by the calm certainty in his voice. “What do you mean?” he inquired with intensity. “Does this happen often?” Hinata pressed gently when no answer came right away.

For a brief moment, Osamu seemed poised to respond—his lips parting slightly as if on the verge of saying something important—but then he stopped himself short. Any musings that had been rising within him were swiftly swallowed back down.

“Just don’t worry about it, okay?” Osamu said finally, though there was no real conviction behind the words. If anything, they sounded more like an attempt to convince himself than Hinata. “In a few days… everything’ll be normal.”

Hinata stared at him incredulously for a long moment before shaking his head slowly. He couldn’t understand how someone could just decide not to care—how they could compartmentalize so neatly and move on as if nothing had happened. That wasn’t how emotions worked, not for him anyway.

But before Hinata could argue further or press for more clarity, Osamu nodded toward him—a silent farewell—then turned on his heel and walked away down the hallway without another word.

Hinata stood there alone, watching Osamu’s retreating figure until it disappeared around the corner. He felt no closer to understanding than when they’d started this conversation, if anything, he had more questions now than ever before.

The vending machine hummed faintly behind him as if mocking the silence left in Osamu’s wake.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

Once the afternoon practice had ended and most of their teammates had already begun filtering out of the gym, Atsumu approached Hinata with an uncharacteristic quietness in his stride. His energy, which had been overwhelming throughout the day seemed to have drained away entirely.

“Stay and practice more?” Atsumu offered casually, though his tone carried an edge that made it sound less like an invitation and more like a challenge.

Hinata blinked at him for a moment before nodding eagerly. “Yeah! Let’s do it!”

Atsumu’s lips twitched into what might have been a smirk—or perhaps just an attempt at one—but whatever it was didn’t quite reach his eyes.

They threw themselves into drills with an intensity that bordered on reckless. Spikes that echoed sharply through the empty gym, quick sets exchanged with natural precision, but eventually even their boundless energy flagged.

Their pace slowed—muscles aching, lungs burning, sweat dripping down their faces. Hinata stumbled slightly during one particularly high jump, landing awkwardly and shaking out his legs with a sheepish grin. Atsumu missed a set seconds later, muttering a curse under his breath as the ball thudded onto the floor between them.

Finally, they retreated to lean against the cool gym wall side by side, their breaths coming heavy and labored. The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts. Atsumu tipped his head back against the wall, closing his eyes briefly, while Hinata stared at him from the corner of his eye.

Hinata hesitated for a moment, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. The fabric was damp beneath his fingers, but he barely noticed as he wrestled with how to broach the subject that had been sitting heavily on his chest since yesterday.

He wasn’t sure if it was the right time, but he knew it would never come if he waited. “I wanted to talk about what happened yesterday,” he ventured cautiously, his voice steady but tinged with apprehension. He turned his head slightly toward Atsumu as he spoke, watching carefully for any sign of reaction.

Atsumu didn’t open his eyes right away. He let the words hang in the air before tilting his head slightly toward Hinata. One golden eye cracked open lazily, though there was nothing relaxed about the way his jaw tightened. “Don’t you think that last set was too short?” he deflected smoothly, reaching for his water bottle with practiced ease. His tone was light but there was an unmistakable tightness.

Taking a long sip of water, Atsumu added nonchalantly, “I think we should work on broad jumps next.” His gaze flickered briefly to Hinata before darting away again. There it was—that dare in his voice, daring Hinata to drop the subject entirely and let things slide. It wasn’t just avoidance; it was resistance. But Hinata wasn’t one to back down easily, not when something important was at stake.

He wrestled with the urge to let it slide, to respect Atsumu’s boundaries and allow him to handle things in his own way. But deep down, he knew that giving in now would only leave things unresolved—and Hinata hated loose ends almost as much as he hated losing.

Straightening up slightly against the wall, he squared his shoulders as though bracing himself for impact. “Atsumu-san,” he began again, this time with more conviction, but still free of hostility, just a steady hand reaching out into unfamiliar darkness.

Atsumu’s lips curled into a faint smirk—forced and brittle. “What do you think of that 6-2 rotation with Riseki?” he asked abruptly, his words clipped and hurried as though saying them fast enough could erase Hinata’s question from existence. “He’s really proving himself lately.” There was an almost frantic quality to how quickly Atsumu scrambled to keep control of the game of minds.

Hinata took a slow breath through his nose, grounding himself against the growing frustration in Atsumu’s voice. “I know it’s easier sometimes,” he said softly but insistently, choosing each word with care as though speaking too loudly might spook Atsumu into retreating further into himself. “To avoid things—to pretend they’re not happening because it feels safer that way.”

Atsumu’s head snapped toward him then, his eyes narrowing dangerously with something caught between anger and disbelief. “I don’t see how you could understand my situation,” he bit out, each word deliberate and mordant like they were meant to cut.

“I get it,” Hinata replied without missing a beat, though his tone softened even further as he turned, took a tentative step closer. He wasn’t trying to invade Atsumu’s space; he was trying to bridge the chasmal distance between them.“Before I moved here… I did the same thing,” he admitted quietly, his gaze dropping momentarily as memories surfaced unbidden—raw and bittersweet. “For months I tried to ignore everything… acted like nothing was changing.” His voice wavered just slightly before finding its footing again. “All it did was make me lose time with people I cared about.”

Atsumu scoffed under his breath—a sharp sound meant to dismiss—but there was no real malice behind it. He turned his head away sharply, staring at some indeterminate point across the gym like he could will himself anywhere else but here. Yet, his jaw tightened ever so slightly as Hinata’s words seemed to settle uncomfortably into the cracks of his defenses.

“It’s not the same,” Atsumu said finally after a long pause, his voice rough around the edges. “He’s abandoning me.” His shoulders slumped ever so slightly despite his efforts to keep them squared.

Hinata shook his head gently but resolutely, “He’s not abandoning you,” Taking another step forward until they were nearly toe-to-toe now, his chin tilted up at him as he looked at Atsumu through thick lashes framed by beads of sweat clinging stubbornly around his hairline. “But if you don’t support him now, if you don’t show him that you’re on his side, you might end up pushing him away yourself.”

Atsumu leaned in closer, so close now that Hinata could feel his breath ghosting against his mouth."He’s the one abandoning my side in the first place!” he snapped, voice rising slightly with each word as though they’d been burning inside him, leaving his insides rotten and calcined. “He’s leaving me alone! He’s the one who decided to change our dreams!”

Hinata didn’t flinch under Atsumu’s intensity; instead, he held his ground with quiet determination. “Those are your dreams,” he said simply but firmly, meeting Atsumu’s scorching gaze head-on. “Not his.”

The words hung heavy in the air between them before Hinata added affectionately, “He’s not leaving you—he’s leaving volleyball. That isn’t the same.”

Atsumu blinked once, then twice, as though trying to process what had just been said. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he shifted back a fraction of an inch, putting the smallest amount of distance between their faces. For a fleeting moment, his carefully constructed façade cracked just enough for something else to shine through; uncertainty.

“He-” Atsumu started but faltered, his voice quieter now but no less weighted with emotion. His gaze dropped briefly to the floor before darting back up again. “Things weren’t supposed to be this way.” His hands clenched tighter at his sides, as though trying desperately to hold onto something slipping through his fingers, something intangible, something already lost. “This wasn’t how I envisioned my future.”

“And that’s okay,” Hinata whispered fondly. “You just need to get used to this new reality.”

Atsumu let out a bitter laugh—short and sharp—but there was no humor in it, only resignation. “I don’t know if I want to,” he admitted quietly after another long pause.

Hinata tilted his head slightly at that—just enough for it to feel thoughtful rather than dismissive—and let out a small hum that sounded contemplative rather than judgmental. “I don’t know if you have much choice,” he replied softly but pointedly after a moment of consideration.

For several long moments after that exchange, silence fell between them—Hinata shifted slightly then, realizing just how close they were standing now—their torsos nearly brushing against each other with every shallow breath they took. His face tilted up fully toward Atsumu’s, who is now towering over him; from this angle, he could see every detail etched into Atsumu’s stormy expression: the faint honey-colored ring around the dark void of his pupils; the scar on his jawline; even the way his lips pressed together tightly as though holding back more than just words.

Then finally—slowly—Atsumu nodded once with an expression that could only be described as ruminative. There was no resolution there yet, but maybe—just maybe—a hint of acceptance beginning to take root.

“Let’s get back to practice,” Atsumu said abruptly as he pushed off from the wall, without looking back at Hinata again. Making the space between them that was so intimate grow with every stride.

Hinata watched him go for a moment before following suit, trying to calm the restlessness that came with being so close to Atsumu.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

The gym was dim and quiet when Atsumu and Hinata finally called it a night. The air smelled of wood polish mingled with the faint tang of sweat, a testament to the effort they poured into the evening.

“Man,” Hinata said aloud as they packed up their gear by the exit doors. He stretched his arms overhead until he felt a satisfying pop in his shoulders before letting them drop back down limply at his sides. “We’re really gonna feel this tomorrow.”

Atsumu chuckled lightly, a softer sound than usual but no less genuine, and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly after a moment’s pause. “But at least we didn’t hold back.”

There was something in Atsumu’s voice, a subdued quality that hinted at thoughts left unsaid, but Hinata chose not to press further just yet.

Hinata reached for the light switch near the exit, his hand hovering just above it as if caught in some invisible hesitation. His fingers brushed against the cold plastic, and for a brief moment, he looked back at Atsumu, who stood at the edge of the dimly lit gymnasium, his shadow long and distorted against the polished floor. Then, with a quiet resolve, Hinata flipped the switch. Darkness descended almost instantly, swallowing the room whole before their eyes began to adjust.

Faint moonlight filtered in through the high windows, casting silvery beams across the space. The world seemed softer now, edges blurred by shadow and light. Hinata could hear Atsumu’s breath—steady but just a little uneven—and wondered what thoughts were tumbling around in his mind.

They stepped out into the cool evening air, letting the gentle breeze wash over them like a balm against their overheated skin. The pavement beneath their feet was still warm from the day’s sun, but the air carried with it a crispness that hinted at winter’s lingering touch.

Hinata tilted his head back for a moment, taking in the stars scattered across the velvet sky above them. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with night air that smelled faintly of damp earth. It was quiet out here—quieter than usual—and he found himself grateful for that.

The silence between them wasn’t strained or awkward; rather, it wrapped around them like a well-worn blanket—comfortable and familiar in ways that defied explanation. It was strange, though; this wasn’t how they usually were. They were loud by nature—constant banter, eccentric laughs, playful insults traded back and forth. But tonight felt… different.

Hinata snuck a glance at Atsumu out of the corner of his eye. The taller boy’s profile was illuminated faintly by the golden glow of a nearby streetlamp. The light softened his features—painting his face with melancholy that danced across his face with every step he took.

“Feel like grabbing some food?” Hinata asked, his voice cutting through the quiet abruptly. He aimed for casualness but couldn’t quite hide the questioning note beneath it, a subtle probe to see if Atsumu would let him in.

Atsumu blinked as if startled out of deep thought. For a moment, Hinata thought he might brush him off like he did the previous night, but instead, Atsumu surprised him.

“Yeah,” he said simply, without hesitation, and there was something uncharacteristically soft about that. “Let’s grab some meat buns and head to that park.”

Hinata stared at him in mild disbelief before breaking into an easy grin that lit up his entire face. “Meat buns it is!” he replied brightly, quickening his pace as if spurred on by Atsumu’s unexpected willingness to linger in this rare vulnerability.

The streets felt almost deserted as they made their way toward the small convenience store near the park. Most shops had already closed for the night; their neon signs flickered weakly before dimming entirely as shutters were pulled down over darkened windows. A stray cat darted across their path at one point—a sleek blur of fur whose eyes reflected back at them like tiny garnets before disappearing into an alleyway.

When they reached the store, Hinata bounded inside with his usual enthusiasm while Atsumu stayed behind. The older boy leaned against a lamppost outside, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he stared down at the ground beneath him. The light overhead buzzed faintly as moths flitted around it in frantic circles.

Hinata emerged moments later holding a small paper bag that steamed faintly in the night air. He held it aloft triumphantly like some kind of prize. “Got ’em!” he announced with a grin before handing one to Atsumu.

The park was quiet when they arrived, its pathways lined with bare trees whose skeletal branches reached skyward like outstretched arms, beseeching something from above.

Hinata’s breath puffed visibly in the cool night air as he glanced around, his sharp eyes scanning for a place to sit. His gaze landed on an old wooden bench near the pond, its weathered surface illuminated faintly by the silver light of the moon. Without a word but with a small tilt of his head, he signaled Atsumu to follow him. The two made their way over, their movements unhurried, and settled onto the bench side by side. The wood groaned softly under their combined weight, a creak that spoke of years of enduring time and weather, but it held steady beneath them.

Hinata began unwrapping his food almost immediately, the sound of crinkling paper breaking through the quiet. Atsumu followed suit, though more slowly, his fingers lingering on the wrapper as if savoring this simple act.

Once freed from its confines, steam curled upward in lazy spirals, mingling with the crisp night and carrying with it the promise of comfort. Hinata brought it to his lips and took a bite, his teeth sinking into its soft exterior to reveal the rich filling within.

“Mm,” he hummed appreciatively as he chewed. The flavor was both familiar and satisfying. His eyes drifted past Atsumu and toward the pond before them. Its surface rippled gently, catching and reflecting fragments of light from above. The stars seemed impossibly bright tonight, casting their shimmering brilliance across the water. For a moment, Hinata felt as though he could reach out and touch them, as though they were close enough to hold in his palm. Or maybe it was that the star wasn’t in the sky at all.

“This place always feels different at night,” Hinata said softly after swallowing another bite. His voice carried an almost reverent tone as if speaking too loudly would disturb the fragile magic of this moment. He leaned slightly forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied the pond’s tranquil surface.

Atsumu didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stared ahead, his expression unreadable in the half-light but his posture unusually stiff. Finally, after a pause that stretched just long enough to feel heavy, he nodded faintly. “Yeah,” he murmured in agreement. His hands tightened slightly around his own meat bun’s wrapper without him seeming to realize it.

Their conversation began easily enough after that, lighthearted and familiar. They talked about practice earlier in the day, rehashing drills and laughing over moments when things hadn’t gone quite as planned. “You should’ve seen your face when you tripped during that spike attempt,” Hinata teased with a grin that was all mischief.

Atsumu scoffed but couldn’t entirely keep the corner of his mouth from twitching upward. “Oh yeah? And what about you missin’ that block? Ball practically bounced off your forehead.”

They bantered back and forth like this for some time, their words interwoven with laughter that seemed to push back against the quiet of the park. But beneath their teasing lay something deeper, an unspoken thread that neither tugged too hard on but both undoubtedly felt.

Eventually, Atsumu grew quieter again. He stared down at what remained of his meat bun as though it might offer him answers he couldn’t find elsewhere. He turned it over slowly in his hands before finally breaking the silence.

“You were right,” he said abruptly, his voice low but carrying a weight that made Hinata stop mid-chew. “Avoidin’ things doesn’t make ’em easier.”

Hinata froze for a beat before setting his food carefully down onto its wrapper beside him. His gaze shifted fully to Atsumu now—open yet cautious, like someone approaching a skittish animal they didn’t want to startle.

Atsumu’s shoulders tensed under Hinata’s scrutiny; it was clear he was fighting some internal battle even as he spoke again. “I thought... I thought if I just ignored it long enough—if I kept focusin’ on other stuff—it’d go away.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word but he pressed on regardless. “But it doesn’t—does it? It just—” He broke off with a sharp intake of breath as if even admitting this much had cost him dearly.

Hinata leaned closer instinctively, his brow furrowing in concern but not pity—never pity. “What are you gonna do?” he asked gently after giving Atsumu space to gather himself.

For a moment, Atsumu didn’t answer; instead, he seemed to crumble inwardly under some obscure burden until finally something inside him gave way completely.

The first sob tore out of him so suddenly it startled them both, a raw, guttural sound that clawed at him, coming from somewhere deep that echoed painfully in Hinata’s ears. Atsumu doubled over almost reflexively as though physically struck by whatever emotion had broken free inside him. His hands clutched at his chest desperately like he was trying to hold himself together even as everything unraveled.

Without hesitation or second thought—or perhaps because thinking wasn’t necessary, Hinata moved closer until there was no space left between them, wrapping both arms tightly around Atsumu’s trembling frame. He held on firmly but not forcefully; his touch was grounding rather than constrictive—a lifeline rather than chains. Softly humming a distant childhood lullaby.

Atsumu clung to him fiercely, as if Hinata were the last tether to sanity. His cries were bloody, visceral, each one a jagged knife twisting in the heart, a sound that froze the marrow, made the skin crawl with an unbearable ache. His sobs were grief, resentment, love.

“It’s okay,” Hinata softly murmured once his humming faded into words meant only for Atsumu’s ears. “You don’t have to hold it all in anymore.”

He cried as if the very act allowed him to draw breath, as if ceasing would spell his end. As if his cries were all he had, a desperate purge of every emotion that threatened to consume him.

And so they stayed there, two figures entwined under skies adorned with lanterns and the orb of night that seemed brighter somehow, as though bearing silent witness. Surrounded by nothing but rustling leaves and whispered breaths that carried promises unspoken yet deeply understood.

Hinata closed his eyes briefly against tears threatening their own escape—but when he opened them again there was only resolve shining through as clear as starlight itself, whatever came next, he wouldn’t let Atsumu face it alone.

Chapter Text

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

Atsumu woke slowly, his senses stirring as the soft morning light slipped through the thin curtains, painting the room in muted golds and pale yellows. The air was cool against his skin, but there was an undeniable warmth pressed to his side—a presence that felt grounding, like an anchor tethering him to this quiet, fleeting moment.

His brow furrowed slightly as his mind struggled to catch up with the sensations around him. The texture of the sheets beneath his fingers, the faint scent of Hinata’s shampoo lingering in the air—a crisp mix of citrus and something he couldn’t quite name—it all seemed both foreign and familiar. Then it clicked, sudden and sharp, like a current sparking through his veins.

Hinata’s bed.

He froze, his breath hitching as his gaze dropped to the fiery locks splayed across his chest. They fanned out in disarray, a riot of vibrant orange reminiscent of autumn leaves scattered by the wind. Each strand seemed to shimmer faintly in the morning glow, and Atsumu found himself transfixed by how vivid it looked against the muted tones of the room—and against him. Hinata’s breath was steady, slow, and warm against Atsumu’s skin, each exhale brushing over him like a whisper. His small frame curled into Atsumu’s side, one arm draped loosely across his waist as if it belonged there.

For a moment, Atsumu couldn’t move—not because he didn’t want to, but because he physically couldn’t bring himself to disrupt this fragile peace. He could feel Hinata’s heartbeat against his own. He stared at the ceiling, blinking rapidly as if trying to etch every detail of this moment into his memory. The way Hinata clung to him so trustingly, so unguardedly—it was almost too much. And yet it wasn’t enough.

But then came the guilt.

It slithered into his chest like a cold hand wrapping around his ribcage, squeezing until bones cracked and it hurt to breathe. The cosiness that had engulfed him moments ago now felt suffocating, as if he didn’t deserve it—because he didn’t. What was he doing here? What right did he have to wake up in Hinata’s bed, with Hinata’s arm draped across him like there was no other place for it. His jaw tightened as self-recrimination surged through him.

You don’t get this. You don’t deserve this.

The thought clawed at him viciously, each word leaving an invisible scar on his psyche. His chest rose and fell unevenly as he fought the instinct to pull away immediately—but no. That would wake Hinata. That would ruin everything. Instead, Atsumu forced himself to move slowly—painstakingly slowly—sliding out from beneath Hinata with a precision that felt surgical. Every muscle in his body protested as he disentangled himself from that comforting weight, from that warmth that had lulled him into a sense of safety he hadn’t felt in years.

Hinata stirred slightly as Atsumu shifted him onto the mattress—a small noise escaping his lips before settling again. His face was serene even in sleep. His lips were parted just slightly, soft and unguarded, and Atsumu’s chest ached at how utterly peaceful he looked. It was unfair how beautiful Hinata could be without even trying—how effortlessly he could disarm Atsumu with nothing more than existing.

Atsumu swallowed hard and turned away before he could let himself linger any longer.

The bathroom door closed behind him with a soft click that still sounded deafening in the early-morning silence. He leaned back against it for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would repel the unwelcome voice. When he finally opened them again and caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink, he flinched.

He looked… hollow.

His reflection stared back at him with bloodshot eyes rimmed with dark circles so prominent they looked almost bruised. hid skin was pale-sickly pale— and stretched taut over cheekbones that seemed sharper than usual. Faint streaks marked his cheeks where tears had dried hours ago but left their ghostly evidence behind. His throat felt tight, raw and scratchy, and his mouth tasted stale and bitter. He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, hoping it would shock some life back into him, but it only made the tightness in his chest worse.

He leaned forward over the sink, gripping its edges until his knuckles turned white. He didn’t just look horrible; he felt it too. The weight of everything—the sleepless nights, the panic attacks, the relentless self-loathing—had taken its toll. 

As he reached for a towel to dry off, his gaze landed on an object sitting near the edge of the sink: an orange toothbrush.

His toothbrush.

The sight of it sent cold soothing rain over his combusted gnaw. It was such a small thing—mundane and insignificant—but it carried so much weight because it was from Hinata. He remembered the day Hinata had handed it to him with that ever-present smile of his: “You’re gonna here enough that you might as well have your own,” he’d said brightly before adding with a teasing wink, “And I’m not sharing mine!”

Atsumu had laughed at the time—an easy laugh meant to mask how deeply those words had struck him—but now… now it felt like that toothbrush represented something far bigger than either of them had acknowledged.

He picked it up gingerly, turning it over in his hand as if examining an heirloom. The bright orange handle practically screamed Hinata—bold and unapologetically lively—and holding it felt like holding a piece of him.

His mind drifted unbidden to yesterday—or what little he could remember of it. The edges were fuzzy, blurred by exhaustion and emotion, but one thing stood out with startling clarity: Hinata’s touch. It had been gentle yet unfaltering—steady hands grounding him, keeping him anchored; those hands had tethered him, pulled him back from the edge of his own darkness, from the plaguing self-loathing that clawed at him in moments of weakness.

And then there was the hum. That quiet melody Hinata had hummed—it hadn’t been loud or insistent, but it had resonated in a way that seemed to bypass Atsumu’s ears entirely and sink into his very soul. It wasn’t just a lullaby; It was an elixir, dulceting the haunted chasms of his soul, transforming the piercing shadows into mere whispers of their former torment. Even now, hours later, that sound lingered like an echo in his mind, faint but persistent—a ghost of comfort that refused to leave him.

As he brushed his teeth mechanically, Atsumu closed his eyes and let himself lean into the memory. He could almost feel those hands again—steady, warm, unyielding—as if they had left an imprint not just on his skin but on something deeper. The phantom sensation made him pause mid-brush, toothbrush hovering near his mouth as he exhaled shakily.

And yet… Atsumu couldn’t shake how undeserving he felt of all that kindness. He’d been awful to Hinata but couldn’t seem to stop himself from saying horrible things. He’d pushed him away repeatedly, testing how far Hinata’s patience would stretch before it finally snapped. But it never did. No matter how broken Atsumu became—how sharp-edged and volatile—Hinata stayed. He didn’t just stay; he healed Atsumu in ways no one else ever had. He took ugly, jagged sharp, and unworthy parts of his being and smoothed them.

Atsumu brushed his teeth mechanically, trying not to let those thoughts consume him entirely. He rinsed out his mouth and ran wet fingers through his disheveled hair before stepping back into the bedroom.

He didn’t remember much from the night before, all his memories were muffled by Hinata’s embrace. He doesn’t even remember going to his house, it wasn’t planned, but he was glad he did.

Hinata was awake now. He sat cross-legged on the bed, the blanket pooled around his waist in soft folds that mirrored the tousled mess of his orange hair. Strands stuck out at odd angles like he’d spent the night fighting a particularly unruly pillow—and somehow it only made him look more endearing. His face still carried the softness of sleep, but when he noticed Atsumu standing awkwardly by the doorway, a slow smile spread across his face. It wasn’t just any smile—it was warm and unguarded, brimming with so much care that for a moment it made Atsumu falter mid-step.

“Ya talk and run in yer sleep,” Atsumu blurted out before he could stop himself, moving cautiously toward the bed as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace of the morning.

Hinata’s smile widened knowingly as he let out a laugh—a sound so light and bright it seemed to fill every corner of the room. “And you snore,” he shot back without missing a beat, “but it’s cute.”

Atsumu snorted despite himself, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he dropped onto the edge of the bed with a shrug. “Yeah, I know. Osamu tried makin’ me wear those stupid nose strips once to stop it.”

“Oh yeah?” Hinata leaned forward slightly, propping his chin on one hand as if settling in for a good story. “How’d that go?”

Atsumu grinned sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. “I ripped ’em off every single time.”

“Of course you did.” Hinata chuckled again, reaching out absentmindedly to smooth a wrinkle in the blanket before letting his hands rest idly against it—they were so close now—close enough that if he reached out…

“It’s in my nature,” Atsumu said with mock pride before glancing down at those hands—hands that had held him together when he couldn’t do it himself—and suddenly feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away. “Should we get ready for school?”

Hinata tilted his head quizzically, his expression softening into something almost amused. “It’s Saturday.”

“Oh.” Atsumu blinked at him dumbly before running a hand through his hair again in an attempt to mask his embarrassment. “Guess I forgot since we didn’t have a full week’a classes.”

“You sound kinda disappointed about that,” Hinata observed gently, studying him with those bright eyes that always seemed to see right through him.

“I’m not,” Atsumu said quickly—but then hesitated. “I just… I guess I didn’t feel fully there yesterday.”

Hinata’s expression shifted instantly—his eyes softening with concern as he straightened slightly on the bed. “Do you wanna talk about it?” His voice was quiet but steady, like he was offering something fragile but unwavering.

Atsumu opened his mouth to respond but found himself faltering under the weight of everything he wanted to say—the frustration he couldn’t put into words, the guilt that clung to him like a second skin.

“Maybe later?” he offered weakly instead.

Hinata nodded without missing a beat, his gaze steady and reassuring as if to say ‘that’s okay’. “Well,” he said softly but with quiet certainty that left no room for doubt, “we’ve got all day—and I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

There it was again—that simplicity that shouldn’t have been possible but somehow was with Hinata. It wasn’t forced or conditional; it was just… there. And for once, Atsumu let himself believe it might actually be okay to lean on someone else—to let himself be held together by hands steadier than his own.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

Hinata x Atsumu mixed pov

“This was the plan?” Atsumu’s voice cracked, the pitch rising in disbelief as he stared at Shouyou like he’d just suggested jumping off a cliff for fun. His golden eyes, usually sharp and calculating on the court, were wide now, filled with a mixture of incredulity and mild panic.

He ran a hand through his messy blond hair, tugging it slightly at the roots as if trying to physically shake some sense into himself. “Do you want me to break my bones before the official matches?” His arms flailed dramatically as he paced a few steps back, the faint scuffle of his sneakers against the smooth gym floor echoing in the otherwise quiet space.

Shouyou, a bright grin plastered across his face, rolled his eyes with exaggerated patience. He was used to Atsumu’s theatrics by now—it was almost endearing, in a ridiculous kind of way. “You’re so dramatic sometimes, Atsumu-san,” he said, leaning casually against the wall with one foot propped up behind him.

Atsumu stopped in his tracks, spinning on his heel to glare at Shouyou with an intensity that could’ve melted steel—if Shouyou wasn’t so immune to it by now. “Dramatic?” he repeated, his voice dripping with mock offense. He jabbed a finger in Shouyou’s direction, eyebrows furrowing as if accusing him of some grave betrayal. “This isn’t drama—it’s self-preservation! Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu? Seriously? How do ya even think breakin’ my ribs is gonna ‘help’ me?”

Shouyou rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck in the back of his head. He pushed off the wall with an easy grace, standing upright as he crossed his arms over his chest and arched an eyebrow at Atsumu. “Oh, come on,” he said, his voice laced with playful impatience. “You’re acting like I asked you to jump out of a plane without a parachute.”

“Honestly? That sounds safer,” Atsumu shot back without missing a beat. His lips twisted into a scowl as he crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring Shouyou’s stance but with far less ease.

Shouyou snorted, unable to hold back his laughter. “Sure, go do that instead then. Seriously, it’s a great way to improve our skills,” he insisted, stepping closer to Atsumu with a bounce in his step that made him seem lighter than air. Hinata always did this, he got in Atsumu’s space. He couldn’t help himself, the urge, the need to be there, next to him.

Atsumu stopped pacing, uncrossing his arms over his chest in defiance. His lips twisted into an unimpressed scowl as he tilted his head slightly, his messy blond hair catching on his forehead. “‘Improve our skills’? How?” he demanded, voice dripping with skepticism. “By making me lose all capacity to think? By dumbing me out? ‘Cause lemme tell ya, I’m feelin’ pretty dumb just listenin’ to this.”

“If Samu was here,” Shouyou shot back without missing a beat, his grin widening into something cheeky, “he’d say it was too late.”

Atsumu’s jaw dropped as if Shouyou had physically struck him. He pointed an accusing finger at the younger player, sputtering indignantly. “Don’t start with me, Shouyou,” he growled, though there was no real venom in his tone—just that familiar exasperation that came from dealing with someone who knew exactly how to push all your buttons.

Shouyou shrugged innocently, but a mischievous glint sparkled in his honey-brown eyes. “Seriously though,” he said, straightening up from his lounging position and gesturing animatedly as if presenting a carefully thought-out pitch. “Think about it! We’d improve physical conditioning and strength.” He began ticking points off on his fingers as he spoke. “Enhanced flexibility—super important for those crazy receives—and agility! Oh, and coordination and balance! I’ve done research.” He jabbed a thumb at himself confidently. “Trust me!”

Atsumu groaned loudly, dragging both hands down his face in mock despair. “Ugh, fine,” he muttered begrudgingly, though his shoulders slumped, resigning himself to the impending doom. His gaze flicked back to Shouyou with narrowed eyes full of warning. “But if the team’s precious setter is out because of this stupid idea of yers…”

“You won’t be,” Shouyou cut him off quickly.

“…know hell will rain upon ya.”

“And you’ll be there with an umbrella,” Shouyou quipped back instantly, his grin widening into something impossibly cheeky.

Atsumu froze for half a second too long, caught off guard by the sheer audacity of Shouyou’s comeback. His jaw dropped slightly before snapping shut again as if he couldn’t quite decide whether to be annoyed or impressed. “Brat,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real heat behind it—just that familiar exasperation that came from dealing with someone who knew exactly how to push all your buttons.

“You like it,” Shouyou shot back cheekily, cocking his head to one side as if daring Atsumu to disagree. Then, just to really drive home the point, he tossed in an impish wink—a quick flutter of one eye that was equal parts playful and infuriating.

There was something about that wink that sent a jolt of heat rushing up Atsumu’s neck to settle in his ears. He recovered quickly—at least outwardly—scrunching up his face into an exaggerated grimace to mask whatever weird feeling had just bubbled up inside him.

“Oh my god,” Atsumu groaned again, throwing up his hands in surrender and turning on his heel to stalk toward the center of the room. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable!” Shouyou called after him brightly, bouncing on the balls of his feet with infectious energy.

Before Atsumu could come up with some witty retort (and he definitely would have), the doors to the gym creaked open slowly. Both boys turned toward the sound in unison.

Their gazes locked on the figure stepping into the space with an ease that somehow made everything else feel inconsequential. He moved with quiet control, each step deliberate, his posture straight as a blade yet utterly unforced. There was no drama in the way he entered, no grand gestures or loud declarations. He didn’t need any of that.

Kita Shinsuke.

The name alone carried weight in both their minds—though for very different reasons. The mere sight of him seemed to shift the energy in the room. Kita’s dark eyes, calm and unfaltering, swept over the gym like a watchful scout taking stock of his surroundings. His expression betrayed nothing at first—a stoic mask that seemed impenetrable—but there was an undeniable gravity to his presence. Even without speaking, it was as though he’d announced his arrival simply by existing in that space.

Atsumu’s fingers twitched reflexively at his sides as he suppressed a groan. He knew what was coming. Shouyou, on the other hand, lit up instantly. His entire face transformed into an open book of unfiltered wonderment—eyes sparkling, grin widening, his energy practically vibrating off him.

“Kita-san!” Shouyou’s voice rang out, bright and enthusiastic, cutting through the stillness as he bounded forward like an overexcited golden retriever spotting its favorite person. His sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as he closed the distance between them with almost reckless speed. “You’re here! I didn’t know you were coming! Did you come to watch? Or are you—wait—don’t tell me you’re joining us?!”

Atsumu rolled his eyes behind Shouyou’s back but couldn’t help glancing toward Kita again, his own curiosity piqued despite himself. As much as he hated to admit it, Kita had this thing about him—this ability to make people pay attention whether they wanted to or not. Atsumu wasn’t immune to it either, though he’d sooner eat dirt than admit that out loud.

Kita’s gaze settled on them both now, steady and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to address their reactions. His expression softened just enough for a hint of amusement to slip through—barely there but unmistakable if you were paying attention.

“I’ve been trying different martial arts,” Kita said finally, his deep, even voice carrying effortlessly across the gym despite its measured tone. There was no fanfare in his words, no attempt to impress or embellish—just a simple statement delivered with characteristic honesty. But somehow, coming from Kita, even simple truths carried weight.

Shouyou practically bounced in place at that revelation, his hands clenching into excited fists at his sides as if he couldn’t contain himself any longer. “That’s so cool!” he burst out, his voice climbing to nowhere. “Martial arts?! What kind? Karate? Judo? Oh! Is it something super rare like ninjutsu?” His onslaught of questions came rapid-fire, his eyes wide and expectant as he leaned in closer.

Kita tilted his head slightly—not enough to be condescending but just enough to acknowledge Shouyou’s overflowing energy with quiet patience. “Karate,” he replied simply, his lips twitching ever so slightly as if suppressing a smile at Shouyou’s antics. “And no… not ninjutsu.”

“Aw man,” Shouyou muttered with mock disappointment before perking right back up again. “But still! Karate is awesome! Can we see some moves later? Please?”

While Shouyou continued his animated chatter, Atsumu folded his arms across his chest and leaned back on one heel, doing his best to feign nonchalance—a skill he usually excelled at but which faltered miserably under Kita’s level gaze. “Didn’t expect ta see ya here,” Atsumu drawled after a beat of silence, forcing an easy grin onto his face. He lifted one hand in a casual wave that came off just a little too stiff. “Thought ya were more into farmin’ than fightin’.”

The words were meant to come across as lighthearted banter—a typical Atsumu jab—but there was an edge beneath them that even he couldn’t quite smooth out entirely. Something about Kita always managed to throw him off balance just enough to be frustrating.

Kita regarded him calmly, unbothered by the remark. If anything, there was an almost imperceptible flicker of humor in his eyes now—a subtle glint that suggested he saw right through Atsumu’s façade but chose not to comment on it directly. “Farming teaches discipline,” he replied evenly, meeting Atsumu’s gaze without wavering. “So does martial arts.”

Atsumu huffed quietly under his breath but said nothing more. What could he say? Arguing with Kita Shinsuke was like trying to argue against a fundamental truth—it was pointless and only made you look ridiculous.

“Well…” Kita continued after a brief pause, glancing between them once more before stepping further into the gym with that same steady stride that seemed immune to haste or hesitation. “I thought I’d join.”

Shouyou’s face practically split into two with how wide his grin stretched at those words. He spun around toward Atsumu like a kid on Christmas morning who’d just been handed exactly what they asked for—and then some. “Did you hear that?! Kita-san’s joining us!”

“Yeah,” Atsumu muttered under his breath as he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I heard.” What he didn’t say—but very much thought—was that if Kita thought this was worth doing, then there really wasn’t any arguing left to be done anymore. Not unless Atsumu wanted to look like a fool—which he most certainly did not.

As Kita walked past them to set down his bag near the wall, Atsumu caught himself staring for just half a second too long before quickly looking away and scowling at nothing in particular.

Surprising himself when he realized the things he would do for Shouyou. 

Chapter Text

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

The mats stretched out across the floor like a canvas waiting for the artists to leave their marks. A low hum of conversation buzzed among the small group of students, some stretching, others adjusting their crisp white gis. The atmosphere was charged with nervous frisson, anticipation and uncertainty seemed to hang in the air.

Atsumu stood near the edge of the mat, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression set in a theatrical scowl. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, making a point of sighing loudly every few seconds. “This is stupid,” he muttered under his breath, though loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. 

Hinata, already seated cross-legged on the mat and bouncing slightly in place, turned toward him with an infectious energy that could have lit up the entire room. "C'mon, Atsumu-san! Stop acting like you’ve been arrested," he teased, his voice bright and challenging as he tilted his head toward the center of the space where the instructor was beginning to speak. “You’ll love it. Trust me! It’s awesome!” The sheer conviction in his tone made it impossible not to believe him.

Atsumu rolled his eyes dramatically but took a reluctant step onto the mat. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “I’m only here ‘cause you tricked me.” Still, as he joined Hinata and adjusted his gi, he couldn’t help but notice how comfortable the uniform felt—how official it made him feel. He hated that a small part of him was already intrigued.

On the far side of the mat, Kita was kneeling with perfect posture, tying his belt with deliberate precision. His movements were calm and measured, as if this wasn’t his first class but rather one in a long line of disciplined practices. The intensity in his gaze suggested he was already analyzing everything around him—the instructor’s fluid movements, the structure of each technique demonstrated. His years of karate training clearly gave him an edge; even in this unfamiliar setting, he moved with quiet confidence.

The instructor clapped his hands to gather everyone’s attention. “Alright,” he began, his voice even and commanding yet approachable. “Welcome to your first Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu class. Today we’ll start with some basics—takedowns and controlling positions on the ground.” He paused, scanning the room with a warm smile. “Remember: this isn’t about strength; it’s about technique and leverage. Focus on using your body efficiently.”

As they partnered up for drills, Atsumu found himself paired with Ayane—a girl whose sharp eyes seemed to take everything in at once. Her dark hair was tied back neatly, and her expression carried an air of quiet determination that was both intimidating and intriguing. She extended her hand toward him with a sly smile. “Guess it’s ya and me,” she said lightly. Then, without missing a beat, she added with mock seriousness, “Try not to embarrass yerself too much.”

Atsumu blinked at her, momentarily caught off guard by her bluntness. “Hah? Embarrass myself? Yer talkin’ to a world-class athlete here!” he shot back defensively, puffing out his chest slightly.

Hinata snickered from a few feet away where he was practicing with Kita. “She’s got you pegged already, Atsumu-san!”

Ayane raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Well, world-class athlete...” She leaned in just enough to make him squirm slightly under her gaze. “You’re about to get your butt handed to ya if ya don’t focus.”

“Shut up!” Atsumu snapped over his shoulder before turning back to Ayane with renewed determination burning in his eyes. If she wanted to provoke him into trying harder—it was working.

Meanwhile, Hinata was soaking up every instruction like a sponge. Each movement demonstrated by the instructor seemed to click instantly for him; his small frame moved with surprising agility as he practiced takedowns and positional control against Kita. “This is so cool!” he exclaimed after successfully pulling off a guard pass for the first time. His grin stretched wide as he looked up at Kita for approval.

Kita nodded calmly but approvingly. “Good,” he said simply, already adjusting his own position for their next drill. His movements were precise and deliberate—each adjustment calculated like chess pieces on a board. Despite being new to BJJ, he absorbed techniques quickly by drawing parallels to his karate background. It wasn’t long before even the instructor paused beside their pair and remarked on Kita’s natural aptitude.

“You’ve done martial arts before,” the instructor observed with an appraising nod.

“Yes,” Kita replied humbly. “Karate.”

“It shows,” the instructor said with a small smile before moving on.

Watching Kita’s composed skill and Hinata’s rapid progress only fueled Atsumu’s competitive streak further as he grappled awkwardly with Ayane during their drills. At first, his movements were sloppy—too reliant on brute strength rather than technique—but with each correction from Ayane (delivered with her rude commentary), he started improving bit by bit.

“Yer’ supposed to use yer legs here,” she pointed out after one particularly clumsy attempt at shrimping out of side control.”Surely that could be done even by someone like ya."

“I am usin’ my legs!” Atsumu shot back defensively.

“Not like that,” she retorted with mock exasperation before demonstrating the movement herself effortlessly. “Watch and learn.”

Despite her teasing tone—or perhaps because of it—Atsumu found himself paying closer attention than he wanted to admit. By the end of class, he managed to execute a decent armbar during their final sparring session—a small victory that left him grinning despite himself—a grin he quickly tried to smother when Ayane’s voice cut through the chatter of their classmates.

"Not bad, golden boy," Ayane teased as she sauntered past him on her way to grab her bag. Her voice carried a lilt of mockery, sharp but oddly playful. She flicked a loose strand of white hair out of her face and shot him a smirk that could only be described as deliberately aggravating. “I mean, sure, it looked like you were tying yourself into a human pretzel for the first half of class, but hey—progress, right?”

Atsumu turned to face her fully, scowling as irritation flared in his chest. “Golden boy?” he echoed, bristling at the nickname. “Tch, you don’t even know me.”

Ayane tilted her head slightly, her smirk widening as if she found his indignation amusing. “True,” she admitted breezily, shrugging one shoulder. “But I know yer type. All flash and bravado until someone actually challenges ya. Though I gotta admit…” She paused for effect, pretending to inspect her nails with exaggerated nonchalance before meeting his gaze again. “Ya didn’t completely embarrass yerself today. That armbar was almost decent.”

“Almost?” Atsumu repeated incredulously, his scowl deepening. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to let her words get under his skin—but failing miserably. “I’ll have ya know it was textbook perfect.”

“Sure it was,” Ayane replied with a wink, clearly enjoying herself. “If the textbook was written by someone who’s never seen an armbar in their life.”

Hinata’s laughter rang out from across the room before Atsumu could come up with a retort. The tangerine maelstrom had just finished peeling off his sparring gloves and was beaming at Ayane like she’d hung the moon.

“That was so cool!” Hinata exclaimed, bounding over to join them with his usual boundless energy. “You’re really good at this stuff, Usami-san! Where’d you learn all that? You were like… like a ninja or something!”

Ayane’s expression softened noticeably at Hinata’s praise—though her smirk didn’t disappear entirely. If anything, it took on a warmer edge as she reached out to ruffle Hinata’s already-messy hair. “Ninja, huh? I’ll take it,” she said with a chuckle. “But honestly? Just a lot of practice. You’ve got potential too, though. Stick with it, and you’ll be flipping people twice your size in no time.”

Hinata practically glowed under her encouragement, his grin stretching impossibly wider. “Really? You think so?”

“Absolutely,” Ayane replied without hesitation.

Atsumu watched their interaction with a sour twist in his gut that he couldn’t quite explain—or didn’t want to. Something about the easy affinity between Ayane and Hinata grated on him in a way he wasn’t used to feeling around his teammate. He cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention back to himself.

“So… what’s your deal anyway?” he asked Ayane bluntly, gesturing vaguely toward her with one hand. “You’re not even in my class.”

Ayane raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed by his tone. “Wow, so observant,” she deadpanned before slinging her bag over one shoulder. “Yeah, I’m not in your class, genius. I’m in Class 2-B—same school as you guys, though.” She glanced at Hinata and added with a teasing lilt, “Guess that makes us rivals or something.”

Hinata shook his head vehemently. “No way! You’re way too nice to be a rival,” he said earnestly.

Atsumu snorted at that but wisely kept whatever sarcastic comment was on the tip of his tongue to himself.

“Nice? Me?” Ayane echoed with mock disbelief before dissolving into laughter. It was a rich sound that somehow made her seem even more self-assured—like she didn’t care what anyone thought of her because she already knew who she was.

“Oh! By the way,” Hinata chimed in suddenly as if struck by inspiration, “you should totally come have lunch with us! You can meet Kita-san too—he’s amazing! And maybe you can give me some tips on sparring while we eat.”

Atsumu stiffened at Hinata’s suggestion, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at the thought of sharing their precious lunchtime with someone who seemed intent on stealing all of Hinata’s attention—and doing so effortlessly at that.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude…” Ayane began lightly—but there was a mischievous glint in her eye that suggested she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

“You wouldn’t be intruding!” Hinata insisted eagerly before Atsumu could voice any objections. “Right, Atsumu-san?”

Atsumu forced a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sure,” he said through gritted teeth. “The more, the merrier.”

Ayane caught onto his reluctance immediately and couldn’t resist twisting the knife just a little further. “Well then,” she said brightly, clapping her hands together as if sealing the deal, “how could I possibly say no? Lead the way… golden boy.”

Atsumu groaned inwardly as Hinata cheered and started rambling excitedly about all the places they could eat nearby. He trailed after them begrudgingly while Ayane fell into step beside him—close enough for their shoulders to occasionally brush.

“I think this is gonna be fun,” she murmured under her breath so only he could hear.

Atsumu shot her a sidelong glare but didn’t dignify her comment with a response. She went back next to Hinata, holding his arm as he talked to Kita and her. He will dismember her. If this was what fun looked like, he wasn’t sure he wanted any part of it—but somehow, he had a sinking feeling that Ayane wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

The restaurant they finally settled on was a small, cozy place tucked into the corner of a bustling street. It was the kind of spot where the scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the savory aroma of grilled meats and simmering sauces. The warm golden glow of hanging lanterns cast soft pools of light over wooden tables, their surfaces faintly scuffed from years of use but still pristine.

It wasn’t fancy, but it had charm—and more importantly, it was one of Hinata’s favorite spots. He practically bounced as they entered, already pointing out the best table near the window.

“This place is amazing!” Hinata declared, his voice brimming with eagerness as he led the way to their seats. “The karaage here is insane! Oh, and they have this miso soup that’s, like… life-changing. You’ve gotta try it, Ayane-san!”

Ayane chuckled, her steps light as she followed him. “Well, with a recommendation like that, how can I say no? Lead on, food connoisseur.”

Atsumu trailed behind them, his jaw tight and his mood souring further with every word exchanged between the two. He’d seen Hinata get excited about new people before—it was practically his default state—but this felt different somehow. It wasn’t just enthusiasm; it was connection. And as much as Atsumu hated to admit it, Ayane seemed to match Hinata’s energy effortlessly.

Kita walked beside Atsumu, his calm presence a stark contrast to Atsumu’s barely-contained irritation. As they reached the table and slid into their seats—Hinata predictably choosing the one next to Ayane—Kita’s sharp gaze flicked toward Atsumu. There was a knowing glint in his eyes, quiet but piercing, like he’d already pieced together something that Atsumu hadn’t even begun to understand about himself.

“Alright!” Hinata exclaimed as he plopped down into his chair and grabbed a menu with both hands. “What’re you gonna get, Ayane-san? Oh! We should totally share stuff so you can try more things!”

Ayane grinned at him over the top of her menu. “Not a bad idea,” she said easily. “But if we’re sharing, you’d better not hog all the good bites. Fair warning—I’m a big eater.”

“No way!” Hinata gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if she’d just issued him a personal challenge. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

As the two launched into an animated discussion about portion sizes and must-try dishes, Atsumu slumped back in his chair with a barely concealed scowl. He picked up a menu but didn’t bother opening it; he already knew what he wanted to order. What he didn’t know was why watching Hinata and Ayane banter so effortlessly felt like someone had wedged an ice pick in his chest.

“Yer sulking,” Kita observed quietly from across the table, his tone mild but unyielding.

Atsumu snapped his head up to glare at him. “I’m not sulking,” he muttered defensively.

Kita raised an eyebrow—just one—but didn’t say anything else. The silence stretched between them for a moment before Atsumu sighed and leaned forward on his elbows.

“It’s just—he barely knows her,” Atsumu grumbled under his breath, gesturing toward Hinata and Ayane with a subtle tilt of his head. “And now they’re actin’ like they’ve been best friends forever or somethin’. I-It-It’s-weird!”

“Is it?” Kita asked simply, his gaze steady and far too perceptive for Atsumu’s comfort.

“Yes! No—I don’t know,” Atsumu admitted grudgingly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s annoyin’, that’s what it is.”

Kita hummed thoughtfully but didn’t press further just yet. Instead, he turned his attention back to the menu in front of him, letting Atsumu stew in his own thoughts for a while longer.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the table, Hinata was practically thrumming with glee as he continued pitching ideas for sparring sessions to Ayane between bites of karaage that had just arrived at their table.

“We could totally set up some kind of training schedule!” Hinata suggested around a mouthful of food, his eyes shining with determination. “You can show me those cool moves you did earlier—and I’ll teach you some volleyball stuff in return! Deal?”

Ayane laughed softly, shaking her head in mock disbelief. “Volleyball stuff? You mean like how to spike so hard it makes people flinch?”

“Exactly!” Hinata said instantaneously. “It’s all about power and timing—and I have loads of tips for both.”

“You’re relentless,” Ayane teased, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “But could be useful to have a skill like that. You got yourself a deal,"

Their laughter rang out across the table like corrosive sulphuric acid,—acrid and pungent—and Atsumu found himself gripping his chopsticks tighter than necessary as he watched them interact.

“Jealousy,” Kita remarked quietly beside him, breaking the silence between them once more.

Atsumu shot him an incredulous look. “What’re ya talkin’ about?”

Kita didn’t answer right away; instead, he took a deliberate sip from his tea before setting the cup down with measured precision. Then he met Atsumu’s gaze head-on.

“Yer jealous,” Kita said again, this time with quiet certainty rather than speculation.

Atsumu opened his mouth to argue—to deny it outright—but no words came out. Instead, he found himself staring at Kita like the older boy had just read something off a page in his mind that Atsumu hadn’t even realized was there.

“That ain’t—” Atsumu began weakly before cutting himself off with another frustrated sigh. He looked away quickly, focusing on anything but Kita's knowing expression—or Hinata's laughter ringing out beside Ayane's softer chuckles.

Across the table, Ayane caught sight of Atsumu's stormy expression out of the corner of her eye and leaned slightly toward Hinata with an amused smirk.

“Hey,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Think your friend over there needs some cheering up?”

Hinata blinked in surprise before glancing at Atsumu himself—and then back at Ayane with an exaggerated nod of agreement.

“Definitely,” he whispered back just as quietly—and then promptly leaned across the table toward Atsumu with an impish grin plastered across his face.

“Atsumu-san!” he chirped. The sheer volume and enthusiasm in his tone made several heads at nearby tables turn in mild confusion. Ayane bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing outright.

Atsumu’s gaze slowly lifted from where it had been boring holes into the tabletop. His sharp eyes narrowed as they landed on Hinata, who continued beaming at him. “What?” Atsumu drawled, his voice dripping with irritation as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“What do you say Ayane comes with us for our private practice?” Hinata asked, his tone so breezy and innocent that it took Atsumu a full two seconds to process the words fully. When he did, his face twisted into a mix of confusion and annoyance.

“It’s in the name, Shouyou—private,” Atsumu shot back, his voice flat and carrying the unmistakable edge of someone who’d had just about enough nonsense for one day. He gestured vaguely with one hand, his fingers splayed wide like he was trying to encompass the sheer obviousness of the concept. “Y’know, private—like no one else there?”

Hinata, unfazed as always, nodded along as though Atsumu had just made the most compelling argument in the world. “Yeah,” he said brightly. “But now we can teach her some tricks! It’ll be fun!”

Atsumu blinked at him, disbelief etched into every line of his face. For a long moment, he looked like he might actually reach across the table and shake some sense into the boy. Instead, he exhaled sharply through his nose, pinching the bridge of it between two fingers like he could physically ward off the headache that was rapidly forming. “I swear to god…” he muttered under his breath, trailing off without finishing the sentence but leaving plenty to the imagination.

Ayane chose this moment to chime in, leaning forward slightly with her elbows resting casually on the table and her chin perched on one hand. Her voice was smooth but carried an unmistakable teasing edge. “Yeah! It’ll be so much fun, golden boy.” She dragged out the nickname with deliberate slowness, letting each syllable drip with mock sweetness.

The effect was instantaneous. Atsumu’s eye twitched—a small but telling betrayal of his composure. His jaw tightened as if he were physically biting back a retort, and then he turned to face her fully, leaning forward until there were just inches between them across the table. The fire in his gaze could’ve melted ice as he huffed out a sharp breath through flared nostrils, looking every bit like a bull about to charge.

“Yer worse than Suna sometimes,” he growled low enough that it felt more like a rumble than actual words. And yet, despite himself—or maybe because of her audacity—there was something begrudgingly amused tugging at the edges of his mouth. It was subtle, barely there at all, but Ayane caught it instantly and grinned like she’d just won a game she hadn’t even known they were playing.

“Oh? Worse than Suna?” she repeated innocently, her tone light and airy even as her smirk widened into something dangerously close to triumph. She tilted her head further, feigning curiosity so convincingly that it almost masked the gleam of mischief dancing in her eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Hinata let out a loud laugh at this exchange, clapping his hands together once for good measure before pointing at Ayane as though she’d just proven some unspoken point for him. “See! This is why we need her at practice!” he declared triumphantly as though the matter was already settled.

Atsumu groaned loudly in response, dragging both hands down his face before running one through his hair in frustration. His fingers raked through blond strands with enough force to leave them sticking up—though whether it was intentional or not was anyone’s guess. “Fine,” he muttered at last, spitting out the word like it physically pained him to say it aloud. “But if she messes up even one drill—just one—yer both runnin’ laps till ya drop.”

Ayane’s grin widened into something positively wicked while Hinata pumped a fist into the air as if they’d just won gold at nationals. “Deal!” Hinata exclaimed eagerly at the exact same moment Ayane deadpanned with mock seriousness “No way in hell.”

The unexpected synchronicity caught both of them off guard for half a second before they dissolved into laughter—loud and unrestrained—as though they’d been sharing inside jokes for years instead of knowing each other for all of five minutes.

Atsumu leaned back in his chair with another groan, muttering something unintelligible under his breath about “annoying brats” while rubbing at his temples like he could physically massage away their combined chaos. Across from him, Kita watched the whole scene unfold with quiet amusement glinting in his sharp eyes and just a hint of pity softening his otherwise stoic features.

“Yer makin’ it harder ‘n harder not ta laugh atcha,” Kita remarked dryly, finally breaking his silence as Atsumu shot him an exhausted glare that promised retribution later.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

The gym’s fluorescent lights hummed louder than they should, an incessant, high-pitched whine that seemed to burrow into his skull. It wasn’t just the sound—it was the brightness too, a harsh, sterile glare bouncing off every polished surface. He blinked against it, trying to focus, but his senses were already overwhelmed. The air was thick with the sour tang of sweat, clinging to the walls and forever embedded into the court’s worn floorboards. It was suffocating, almost oppressive. Too bright. Too loud. Too much.

And then there was that thing, her.

He spotted her from across the room, a figure so strikingly out of place. The worst overwhelming presence. The most annoying essence. His jaw tightened as he watched her lean in toward Hinata, her too-perfect posture and annoyingly glossy hair catching the light just right. Who even stands like that? Was she fucking posing?

His stomach churned as she laughed—no, cackled—at something Hinata said. It was a laugh that sounded rehearsed, like it had been polished in front of a mirror for maximum charm. Her hand brushed against Hinata’s arm, and his chest tightened in a way that felt both irrational and completely justified. There was no reason for her to be so close to Hinata. None at all. She had invaded his personal space like some kind of overly buzzing and buzzed mosquito with no regard for boundaries or basic human decency.

“What could possibly be that funny?” he murmured to himself, glaring at Hinata as though willing him to stop being so… Hinata about everything.

Hinata, oblivious as ever, stood there with his usual open grin plastered across his face. His dimples were out in full force—traitorous little craters of charm that made it impossible for anyone to stay mad at him for long. But right now? Oh, right now, he wanted to grab Hinata by the shoulders and shake him until he realized that she was not someone you casually smiled at. No one should be smiling at her. Smiling at her was dangerous territory.

His attention snapped back to her as she reached out—a perfectly manicured hand darting forward like some kind of predatory bird—and brushed Hinata’s arm. His chest tightened immediately, a pang of something hot and territorial surging through him before he could shove it down. That hand didn’t belong there. It didn’t belong anywhere near Hinata’s personal space.

“Really?” he muttered under his breath again, his voice dripping with incredulity. “What’s next? Is she going to start measuring his biceps? Maybe ask for his blood type?”

Hinata laughed at something she said—an easy laugh that sounded so genuine it made him wince internally. Of course Hinata would laugh; Hinata laughed at everything. It was part of his charm, but still, did he have to look so completely unbothered while this human commercial for conceitedness hovered around him?

He shoved his hands into his non-existent pockets and rocked back on his heels, trying (and failing) to look casual as he continued to glower from afar.

Hinata remained blissfully unaware—or worse, maybe he wasn’t unaware at all. Maybe he just didn’t care because he was too nice to ever assume someone might have ulterior motives.

Hinata darted around, his movements a blur of kinetic energy, while Ayane stood near the net, stretching her arms and rolling her shoulders as if testing how far she could push herself.

"Alright!" Hinata called out, his voice echoing through the cavernous space, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "We’re gonna start with some quick sets! Ayane-san, you stand here—yeah, just like that—and Atsumu-san will set for me. Watch closely, okay?"

Ayane arched a single brow at him, her lips curving into a dry half-smile. Her expression spoke volumes—a mix of amusement and skepticism—but there was something else in her gaze too, curiosity. It wasn’t overt, but it lingered there at the edges of her smile, softening what might have otherwise been a sarcastic quip.

"Got it, coach," she replied evenly, her voice carrying an undercurrent of light teasing. But she didn’t dismiss him outright; instead, she shifted slightly on her feet, settling into place where Hinata had pointed.

Off to the side, Atsumu stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he exhaled sharply through his nose. "You’re actin’ like she’s never seen volleyball before," he muttered under his breath, though there was enough volume in his words for them to carry across the court.

Kita leaned casually against the far wall, his arms folded loosely in front of him as if he had all the time in the world. His gaze flicked toward Atsumu—not sharply or with reproach, but with that unshakable calm that made every word he spoke feel weighted with purpose.

"Maybe she hasn’t seen it played like this," Kita said simply, his voice low and measured. As always, there was no judgment in his tone—just an unspoken confidence that left no room for argument.

Atsumu scowled slightly but didn’t bother replying. Instead, he uncrossed his arms and bent to pick up a ball resting near his feet. His fingers closed around it tightly for a moment before he straightened back up and began walking toward the net with deliberate strides. There was tension in every movement—a simmering frustration that he couldn’t quite shake off no matter how hard he tried.

"Fine," Atsumu said curtly as he positioned himself beneath the net. His hands moved almost mechanically as he spun the ball once in his palm before tossing it up and catching it again with practiced ease. The motion was smooth but rigid—too perfect to be natural—as though he was forcing himself into control."Let’s get this over with."

Hinata didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps he chose not to acknowledge—Atsumu’s mood. Instead, he turned back to Ayane with an encouraging grin that practically radiated.

"Watch how fast Atsumu-san sets for me," Hinata said brightly, his ebullience undeterred by Atsumu’s visible irritation. His voice carried an almost childlike excitement as he gestured animatedly toward his setter. "It’s all about timing and trust between teammates! You gotta feel where they’re gonna be before they even get there!"

Ayane tilted her head slightly at his words, her brow furrowing in thought as she considered them carefully. "Like anticipating their movements?" she asked after a moment.

"Exactly!" Hinata exclaimed, snapping his fingers for emphasis like he’d just cracked the code. "It’s like… like dancing! But cooler." He shot her a thumbs-up so enthusiastic it was almost ridiculous before turning back toward Atsumu without missing a beat. "Ready?"

Atsumu rolled his eyes skyward as though summoning patience from some higher power but positioned himself regardless. "Just don’t miss," he drawled flatly, though there was a flicker of challenge buried somewhere in his tone.

The ball sailed into the air with perfect precision—a testament to years of relentless practice—and Atsumu’s hands moved in a blur as he set it expertly for Hinata. There was something mesmerizing about how seamlessly they worked together: Atsumu’s calculated control meeting Hinata’s explosive energy in perfect synchronicity.

Hinata launched himself off the ground with enough force to defy gravity itself; for an instant, it felt like time had slowed down as his body arced through the air like a star reaching for the sky. The crack of his hand meeting the ball echoed like thunder through every corner of the gym before slamming into the opposite court with devastating precision.

Ayane blinked once—then twice—as her gaze darted toward where the ball had landed. It bounced once against the floor before rolling lazily to a stop against one of the far walls.

"Whoa," she breathed softly—so quietly that it might have gone unnoticed if not for how genuine her awe sounded. Her mouth parted slightly as she turned back toward Hinata with wide eyes that betrayed just how impressed she truly was.

She looked stupid.

Hinata landed lightly on his feet and immediately spun around to face her, grinning from ear to ear like a kid who’d just pulled off the ultimate playground trick. "Pretty cool, right?" he said breathlessly, cheeks flushed pink from exertion and exhilaration alike.

Atsumu hated how quickly Hinata turned to Ayane for validation—the way he sought out her reaction as though it mattered more than anything else in that moment. He told himself it didn’t bother him—that it shouldn’t bother him—but no amount of logic could quell the unfamiliar hatred seeping into every corner of his being.

"Yeah," Ayane admitted after a beat—her voice quieter now but no less sincere—as a small smile tugged at one corner of her lips. "That was… impressive."

"Impressive?" Atsumu’s scoff cut through the air like the crack of a whip, though the sharpness in his tone lacked the venom he usually wielded so effortlessly. He caught another ball from Kita’s casual toss and spun it over his palms with practiced ease, as though the motion itself could distract him from the way Ayane’s gaze lingered on Hinata. "That’s just basic stuff," he added, his voice carrying an undercurrent of dismissal that felt hollow even to his own ears.

Ayane tilted her head slightly, one brow arching in a way that was both questioning and subtly challenging. There was something about her expression—cool yet unyielding—that made Atsumu’s pulse tick faster despite himself. Crossing her arms over her chest, she replied evenly, "Basic or not, it’s still pretty amazing to watch."

Atsumu opened his mouth, a retort already forming on his tongue—but before he could speak, Hinata bounded over like an overexcited puppy who’d just found a new companion.

"Okay! Now it’s your turn!" Hinata declared with unbridled enthusiasm. His grin stretched from ear to ear, revealing a row of gleaming teeth, and his cheeks dimpled deeply as if they might crack under the strain.

Ayane blinked at him, startled. "My turn? To do what?" she asked, laughter edging into her voice despite her obvious confusion.

"To spike!" Hinata proclaimed. Without hesitation, he grabbed her wrist—not forcefully but with an easy confidence that made Ayane’s cheeks flush ever so slightly—and began tugging her toward the net. Atsumu hated that stupid flush, she could very well walk on her own.

Ayane dug her heels in just enough to slow him down. "Hold on," she protested with a laugh that sounded half-nervous and half-amused. Her free hand gestured vaguely at the net towering before them. "I’ve never done this before!"

"That’s okay!" Hinata chirped back without missing a beat, his optimism practically growling. "I’ll teach you! It’s really easy once you get the hang of it." He released her wrist only to place both hands on her shoulders, gently steering her into position like a coach guiding a rookie.

From where he stood beneath the net, Atsumu snorted loudly enough to break through their bubble of shared enthusiasm. He leaned lazily against the pole, arms crossed over his chest as his gaze flickered between Ayane and Hinata with thinly veiled disdain. "Good luck with that," he muttered under his breath—but loud enough for Ayane to hear every word.

The look she shot him in response was nothing short of piercing—a sharp-edged glare that seemed to say ‘watch me’. For a brief moment, Atsumu faltered under its weight; there was something unnervingly resolute in her expression that caught him off guard. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, she turned back to Hinata with a determined nod.

"Alright," she said firmly, squaring her shoulders. "Show me what to do."

Hinata’s face lux. "Yes! Okay! First things first—you’ve gotta stand here." He guided her closer to the net and crouched slightly, miming the motion of jumping and swinging his arm in an exaggerated arc. "When you jump, keep your arm straight but loose—kind of like this! Oh! And make sure you time it with—"

As his animated instructions continued—complete with wild gestures and sound effects—as they giggled and laughed. It seemed like her focus never wavered; she watched Hinata intently, nodding along as though committing every word to memory.

Atsumu hated it—the way they stood so close their shoulders brushed whenever Hinata leaned in to adjust her stance or demonstrate another move; Hinata’s hand hovered over Ayane’s wrist, guiding her through the motion with an ease that set Atsumu’s teeth on edge. Their movements were fluid, natural, like they’d done this a thousand times before, like there was no awkwardness between them—no hesitation.

And that laugh. Atsumu’s glare darkened as their laughter ringered across the empty gym, bouncing off the high walls and curling in his ears like a taunt. It wasn’t just any laugh—it was their laugh. That kind of easy, shared laughter that felt private even though it wasn’t meant to be.

He hated the way it sounded, like they existed in some little bubble where no one else mattered. Ayane’s head tipped back slightly, her ponytail swaying as she giggled uncontrollably at whatever joke Hinata had cracked, and Hinata—Hinata had the audacity to grin wider, his eyes crinkling with unrestrained joy as if he’d just won something.

“You’ve got to keep your elbow loose,” Hinata said, his voice light and teasing as he demonstrated again, leaning just a bit too close for Atsumu’s liking. “Like this, see? Otherwise, you’ll struggle to hit it again.”

Ayane laughed again, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Okay, okay! I’m trying! I swear yer worse than my old coach.”

“Worse?” Hinata gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest like she’d wounded him. “Usami-san, I’m offended! I’m only trying to help you achieve greatness here.”

“Oh yeah?” she teased back, nudging him lightly with her shoulder—her shoulder touching his shoulder again.“Pretty sure you just want me to do all your work during practice.”

“Caught me,” Hinata admitted with a failed wink that made Ayane laugh even harder, doubling over slightly as she tried to catch her breath.

Atsumu dug his nails into his palm, forcing himself not to look away but regretting it all the same. His stomach churned uneasily as he watched Hinata rest his chin on Ayane’s shoulder for a fleeting second—a split-second too long in Atsumu’s opinion—as they both dissolved into laughter again over some shared joke he hadn’t heard.

The casual intimacy of the gesture burned itself into Atsumu's mind like a brand. He could practically hear the way their laughter would sound up close—the soft hitch in her breath when she laughed too hard or the way Hinata’s voice would dip into something warmer, more genuine when he was really amused.

Atsumu felt like an outsider staring through a window at something he wasn’t invited to be part of. His fingers twitched at his sides as an overwhelming urge leaked inside him—to storm over there and wedge himself between them somehow, to say something witty or biting or whatever it took to break up that stupid little moment they were having. But what could he even say? What right did he have? He didn’t even know why it bothered him so much.

Finally, when it came time for Ayane’s first attempt, she inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders once more before turning toward Atsumu. Her eyes met his with an intensity that made his grip falter ever so slightly on the ball he held. She nodded—a silent signal that she was ready.

For half a second longer than necessary, or ten, Atsumu hesitated. He simply stood there, holding the ball like he wasn’t sure if he trusted her with this moment. His golden-brown eyes narrowed just slightly, scanning her form, as if searching for cracks in her resolve. From the sidelines, Hinata’s voice rang out like an impatient drumbeat against the tension in the air. “C’mon, Atsumu! What are you waiting for?”

It jolted him into motion. With practiced ease, he tossed the ball into the air, his hands moving fluidly as he executed the set. But as the ball left his fingertips, Atsumu felt it—a strange sensation he couldn’t quite place. This set wasn’t like all the others he’d done today or in any game before. It wasn’t just precise; it was purposeful. Intentional. And not just for Ayane’s sake. No—there was something personal woven into that toss, an unspoken challenge daring her to meet him on equal ground.

Ayane’s body seemed to react before her mind caught up, muscles coiling and springing her into action—or at least something resembling action. Her jump lacked grace; her knees bent unevenly as if every part of her was shouting conflicting instructions at once. But what she lacked in finesse, she made up for in sheer determination. Her arm swung down hard against the ball with a force that seemed almost reckless. The contact reverberated through her bones as the ball shot across the net—not cleanly, not powerfully—but just enough to graze Kita’s outstretched hand and tumble awkwardly inside the bounds of the court.

For one agonizing second, there was silence.

The ball hit the wooden floor with a dull thud that echoed through the gym like a question mark hanging in the air. No one moved—not until Hinata broke the stillness with a cheer so loud it practically ricocheted off the walls. “YES! That was awesome!” His voice cracked slightly with excitement as he sprinted over to Ayane faster than anyone thought humanly possible.

He skidded to a stop beside her and thrust his hand into the air for a high-five that landed with such enthusiasm their palms echoed like a thunderclap. “You nailed it!” Hinata beamed at her like she’d just won nationals instead of barely scraping together a point.

Ayane let out a breathless laugh—half from exhaustion and half from disbelief. Her cheeks flushed pink from exertion and maybe something else entirely as she glanced back over her shoulder at Atsumu. Her lips curved into a small smile that she quickly tried to suppress, but it lingered in her eyes—a spark of pride mixed with mischief as she raised one eyebrow in silent challenge.

Atsumu stared back at her longer than he meant to, his expression unreadable except for the slight furrow between his brows. Something about that look of hers—it got under his skin in a way he didn’t quite understand yet. He opened his mouth to say something—maybe ‘Not bad’ or ‘Don’t get cocky’—but nothing came out. The words stuck in his throat like they were too heavy to push past his ego.

Instead, he clicked his tongue softly and spun another ball idly in one hand, breaking eye contact with an air of forced nonchalance. “Lucky shot,” he muttered under his breath, though it wasn’t clear if anyone even heard him over Hinata’s continued cheering.

But inwardly? Inwardly, Atsumu seethed—not with anger exactly, but something sharper and more irritating because he couldn’t name it outright. Jealousy? No way—it wasn’t like Ayane had actually accomplished anything impressive. And yet… That look she had given him—that quiet confidence wrapped up in stubborn defiance—it grated on him in all the wrong ways.

Chapter Text

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

It was way past midnight, but Atsumu could not sleep. The silence of the room felt laborious. His bunk creaked softly as he shifted for the fourth time in as many minutes, the mattress doing little to comfort him. The faint glow of moonlight seeped through the thin curtains, casting long, uneven shadows across the walls and floor. He stared at them, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, but the tightness there—just beneath his ribs—refused to loosen.

After crying in Hinata’s arms, his emotions had been chafed, frayed. And it was there—in that moment of vulnerability—that the cruel realization had struck him, he had to let his brother go.

The thought gnawed at him now, relentless and unforgiving. It wasn’t just about separation; it wasn’t just about Osamu leaving to chase his dreams while Atsumu stayed behind to chase his own.

It was about admitting that things were changing—had already changed—and that their bond as brothers wasn’t something static or unmalleable. It had to evolve into something new, something different. But how? How could he even begin to find the words to explain what was lodged so painfully in his heart? How could he tell Osamu something that felt so impossibly big, so fragile?

Atsumu dragged a hand through his disheveled hair, gripping it tightly for a moment as though the pressure might ground him or force clarity into his muddled thoughts. His sigh came out in a shaky exhale, frustration bleeding into every fiber of his being. He’d been stuck in this loop for hours now, turning over every possible way to approach the conversation, trying to piece together a beginning that didn’t feel wrong or inadequate. But every attempt fell apart before it even left his lips.

His gaze flicked toward the top bunk where Osamu lay motionless—or at least appeared to be. The slow, even rhythm of his twin’s breathing might have fooled anyone else into thinking he was asleep, but Atsumu knew better. Too slow. Too measured. It was a performance—one they’d both perfected over the years when avoidance felt easier than confrontation. They’d been doing a lot of that lately, pretending. Pretending everything was fine, pretending nothing had changed between them when both of them knew better. The act had been mutual at first—an unspoken agreement to keep things light and easy for as long as they could. But now? Now it only made everything hurt more.

"Fuck it," Atsumu muttered under his breath, the words barely audible in the quiet room but carrying all the weight of his mounting frustration and resolve. He swung his legs over the edge of his bed, letting them dangle there for a moment as he hesitated on the brink of action. The cool air brushed against his bare feet, sending a shiver up his spine and grounding him just enough to push forward.

Clearing his throat tentatively at first—a low rumble that barely broke through the silence—he tried again, louder this time, forcing himself beyond hesitation. The sound grew more insistent until it became impossible to ignore.

“Oi,” he called out gruffly, his voice cracking slightly despite himself. “Samu.”

From above came Osamu’s voice, groggy with feigned sleep but laced with irritation softened by years of familiarity. "What is it, Sumu? Tryin’ to sleep here."

Atsumu hesitated for just a heartbeat before plunging ahead.

"I think… I think yer an artist," he said finally, the words clumsy and awkward on his tongue but carrying a sincerity that couldn’t be missed.

The room seemed to hold its breath after that. The kind of stillness that makes every tiny sound feel magnified—the faint rustle of fabric as one of them shifted slightly, the creak of old wood beneath their weight.

Osamu’s response came after what felt like an eternity but was likely only seconds—Atsumu had no notion of time or space—cautious and tinged with curiosity. "An artist? What’re ya talkin’ about?"

Atsumu leaned forward further now, gripping the edge of his bunk as though anchoring himself to this moment. "When I see yer meals," he began slowly, each word deliberate as though he were piecing together something brittle and inestimable from fragments scattered in his mind.

"Sometimes I don’t even wanna touch ’em 'cause they’re… perfect." He paused briefly before continuing, his voice thick with emotion he didn’t bother trying to hide anymore. "Like somethin’ you’d see in those snazzy magazines or somethin’. But then I do eat ’em—and Samu… it’s not just how they look."

He swallowed hard against the lump rising in his throat before pushing forward again. "It’s how they taste," he admitted quietly, almost reverently now. "It’s like… like you put pieces of yerself into them—like they’ll never lose what makes ’em special. Like they’re alive somehow—even after someone eats ’em."

Osamu didn’t respond right away—didn’t even move—but Atsumu could feel it, the shift in energy between them as those words settled into the space they shared.

"I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is…" Atsumu faltered for just a moment before taking a deep breath and diving back in headfirst. "Yer talented, Samu—really talented. And if anyone can do this—if anyone can make somethin’ outta this dream—it’s ya."

He rushed ahead then as though afraid hesitation might stop him entirely. "And I wanna be there when ya do it—I wanna see ya happy; I wanna see ya succeed." His voice softened then—a rare vulnerability creeping into his tone as he added quietly. "I want us to be proud—of ourselves… and each other."

A shaky laugh escaped him as he finished with a teasing grin that Osamu couldn’t see but would undoubtedly hear in his tone. "Oh—and I wanna eat in yer restaurant for free."

Silence followed again—not empty this time but full of an unspoken understanding neither brother could put into words. This was no longer the silence of avoidance or hesitation.

It was thick with emotion, saturated with feelings too vast to capture in speech—regret, love, forgiveness—all swirling together between them. The old wooden bunk beds creaked faintly as if reacting to the shift in the atmosphere.

The room felt smaller now, not because of its cramped size but because every corner seemed to hold the importance of their shared history.

Finally came Osamu’s response—not in words at first but in soft, broken sobs muffled against the pillow above him. He froze for a moment as if trying to commit this sight to memory, Osamu, vulnerable and unrestrained in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

The sound unraveled something deep within Atsumu—not painfully, but rather like removing old bandages to allow the wound to finally breathe. Before he knew it, his own tears poured , hot and unbidden, spilling down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them away. He didn’t bother hiding them this time. What was the point? Pretending had only ever widened the crevasse between them.

They moved at the same time without saying a word—Osamu climbing down awkwardly from his bunk while Atsumu sat up on his own bed—until they met in the middle of their small room near the edge of Atsumu’s mattress.

Their hug was anything but graceful. Atsumu practically stumbled into Osamu’s arms, accidentally knocking their foreheads together in his haste. “Ow,” Osamu muttered with a weak laugh, rubbing at the spot as tears continued streaming down his face. But he didn’t pull away; instead, he wrapped his arms tightly around Atsumu’s shoulders and held on.

The embrace was messy and desperate and strong all at once—the kind where fingers dug into fabric and breaths hitched against each other’s necks. Neither wanted to let go first. Letting go felt too much like goodbye—a goodbye neither of them was ready for.

“I’m sorry,” Atsumu whispered finally, his voice breaking mid-sentence. It wasn’t the first time he’d apologized to Osamu—not even close—but this time, those two small words carried a gravity they never had before. They weren’t just an offering; they were a confession, a plea, a crack, an opening.

“Me too,” Osamu murmured, so softly it was almost swallowed by the stillness of the room. His voice vacillated but didn’t falter entirely, as if he were carefully balancing on all the unsaid. “I… I should’ve said it sooner.”

His words were jagged, unpolished, but they carried a sincerity that cut through the awkwardness. He lifted his eyes then, meeting Atsumu’s gaze with guilt and relief—a look that said everything he couldn’t articulate.

They stayed like that for several moments, just holding on. Time seemed to fold in on itself, suspended in the fragile peace they’d found.

Then, without warning, something shifted. A hiccupping sob escaped Atsumu’s lips—a sound so abrupt and unguarded it startled even him. But before it could spiral into full-blown despair, it twisted into something else entirely: a snort of laughter that burst out with such unthought impulse it left him momentarily dumbfounded.

"What?” Osamu asked, pulling back just enough to look at him with red-rimmed eyes and a faint hint of suspicion.

“This,” Atsumu managed to choke out through a watery grin, gesturing vaguely between them as another laugh bubbled up despite himself. “This whole thing—it’s such a disaster.”

Osamu blinked at him before letting out a shaky laugh of his own—a laugh that quickly turned into a full-blown fit of giggles neither could control. It wasn’t pretty; it was loud and ugly and punctuated by sniffles and hiccups, but it was real. The kind of laughter that came from somewhere deep inside—the kind that healed wounds you didn’t even realize were still open.

“Yeah,” Osamu managed to choke out between fits of laughter and fresh tears streaming down his face. “But… it’s ours.”

Atsumu nodded fervently, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie but failing miserably to stop the flow of tears. “It’s ours,” he repeated softly, sacredly.

And just like that, they fell into another fit of laughter—misshapen, treasured snorts that shook their shoulders even as new tears welled up in their eyes. But this time, there was no sadness clinging to their edges.

For now,for this moment, they let themselves exist exactly as they were; messy and flawed and human. And as their laughter finally gave way to silence once more—they knew they’d found something worth holding onto after all.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

Hinata’s pov

Hinata had officially been on the volleyball team for three weeks now. Three weeks—it wasn’t a long time, not really, but for him, it felt like a lifetime had passed since he’d first stepped into the gym with wide eyes and shaky hands.

He’d felt like an outsider at first, but three weeks later, something had shifted. It wasn’t a big, dramatic change—more like a gradual settling, a quiet realization that he was starting to belong here. The uniform didn’t feel so foreign anymore; it had softened with wear, molding to his frame as if to say it was his now. And though he still had a long way to go before he could match the skill of his teammates, he no longer felt completely out of place among them.

For one thing, he’d started getting to know the other first-years who were joining the team. Not everyone was aiming for a starting spot—some just wanted to be part of something bigger than themselves, drawn in by their love for the sport. Hinata had made it a point to learn their names and faces early on, memorizing each one.

There was Yuuki—a tall, lanky guy whose awkwardness seemed almost endearing once you got used to it. His nervous laugh always bubbled up at the worst times, especially when Coach barked orders during drills. It was the kind of laugh that made everyone pause—not because it was funny but because it sounded like Yuuki might spontaneously combust if someone didn’t join in. Hinata had learned early on to throw him a pity chuckle when necessary.

Then there was Reiru, who appointed himself comedian despite his negative success rate. His jokes were often met with groans or blank stares, but every now and then he struck gold. Reiru’s unrelenting optimism in the face of failure was weirdly inspiring though; it reminded Hinata to keep trying too—even if trying sometimes meant crashing face-first into the floorboards during practice.

And then… there was Raiko Hayashi.

Raiko was everything Hinata wasn’t; calm under pressure, effortlessly skilled, and exuding this quiet confidence that made you want to sit up straighter just by being near him. He wasn’t flashy—no dramatic spikes or show-off moves—but he didn’t need to be.

As a libero, Raiko’s presence on the court was known, invisible yet undeniably powerful. His sharp eyes missed nothing—not even the embarrassing moment last week when Hinata tripped over a ball he was throwing on his foot. He still hadn’t lived that one down.

Their first real interaction came after practice one day when Hinata was busy wiping sweat off his forehead with his jersey—a rookie mistake he’d been told approximately 84 times would ruin the fabric. Raiko tossed him a towel with such casual precision that it landed perfectly draped over his shoulder.

“Nice spike earlier,” Raiko said in that maddeningly even tone of his, as if compliments were just facts he dispensed without ostentation.

Hinata froze mid-wipe, staring at him like Raiko had just announced they were best friends. “Oh—uh—thanks!” His voice came out louder than intended. He cleared his throat awkwardly before adding, “I’m still working on my form though! I mean—it’s not great yet or anything…”

Raiko tilted his head slightly, studying him with an intensity that made Hinata feel seen and scrutinized. It should’ve been terrifying—but instead, it felt… reassuring? Like maybe Raiko saw potential in him despite all his flaws.

“You’ve got raw talent,” he said simply. “It’s rare to see someone with your energy.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he added, almost as an afterthought, “Just don’t burn out trying to do everything at once.”

The words hit deeper than Hinata expected—they weren’t just advice; they were insight. Raiko didn’t know him well enough yet to understand how much those words resonated, but even so, they sparked something in Hinata, respect.

From that moment on, something shifted between them—not quite friendship (Raiko didn’t seem like the type to hand those out easily) but definitely more than mere acquaintanceship. Hinata found himself glancing at Raiko during practice after that moment, noticing things he hadn’t before. It wasn’t just what Raiko said; it was what he did. Covering for missed receives or offering an encouraging nod when Hinata managed to pull off something halfway decent. It wasn’t flashy or loud; it was steady and reliable—the kind of support that made you want to work harder without ever feeling pressured.

One afternoon after practice, Hinata lingered on the court longer than usual. The others had begun packing up their gear, their chatter fading into the background as they trickled out of the gym. Raiko was still there, though—kneeling by the edge of the court as he adjusted his kneepads.

“Hey,” Hinata called out hesitantly.

Raiko glanced up, his expression unreadable as always but not unkind. “What’s up?”

Hinata scratched the back of his head, his orange hair sticking up even more untamed from sweat and exertion. “I just… wanted to say thanks,” he blurted out awkwardly.

Raiko raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For… you know,” Hinata gestured vaguely toward the court, “always having my back out there.”

Raiko straightened up slowly, slinging his towel over one shoulder as he studied Hinata for a moment. His silence stretched just long enough to make Hinata fidget nervously.

Finally, Raiko shrugged lightly. “That’s what teammates are for,” he said simply.

But there was something in his tone—not dismissive but matter-of-fact—that made Hinata feel like those words carried more weight than they seemed. Teammates. Not just acquaintances or classmates sharing the same jersey—teammates. The word settled warmly in Hinata’s chest as Raiko gave another small nod before heading toward the locker room.

Off the court, though, it was Ayane who quickly became one of Hinata’s closest friends. Where Raiko was reserved and demure,

Ayane had this sharp-tongued wit that could perforated through any strain. She had this uncanny ability to zero in on someone’s vulnerabilities—not to hurt them but to disarm them entirely with her sarcasm and blunt honesty. Her sardonic remarks often left Hinata laughing so hard his sides hurt—though she seemed to reserve most of her biting commentary for when Atsumu was around.

One morning before class, Ayane caught him sprinting down the hallway like his life depended on it. His hair was still damp from an early practice session, sticking up in wild orange tufts that made him look like he’d been swimming.

“Yer late again,” she called out dryly as she fell into step beside him.

“I’m not late!” Hinata protested between breaths. “I’ve got three whole minutes! Plus—you’re not even in your class either!”

Ayane arched an eyebrow at him, her smirk equal parts amused and exasperated. “Three minutes isn’t ‘on time,’ Sho—it’s ‘barely made it.’ And for yer information,” she added with mock primness, “my class is boring enough that I can afford to be fashionably late.”

Hinata groaned dramatically but didn’t argue further. As they rounded another corner together, Ayane glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and sighed softly—so softly he almost didn’t hear it.

“Yer going to run yourself ragged if you keep this up,” she said lightly, though her tone shifted just enough to catch his attention.

Hinata blinked at her in surprise but didn’t respond immediately. There was something about the way she said it—not judgmental or scolding but genuine—that made him pause.

“I mean it,” she continued after a beat when he didn’t reply. Her voice softened further—rare for Ayane—and she nudged him gently with her elbow as if to punctuate her point. “Yer obsessed with volleyball—and that’s fine… but maybe take a break every once in a while? Ya know… like normal people?”

Hinata opened his mouth to argue instinctively but stopped short when he saw the look on her face; concern with just enough seriousness to make him think twice about brushing it off.

“I’ll think about it,” he mumbled finally, though they both knew it was an empty promise.

Still, there were moments when Hinata couldn’t shake the feeling that Ayane didn’t like him all that much—not really. It wasn’t anything overt; she never said anything cruel or dismissive, but there was something in the small, quiet moments that gnawed at him. Like the way her gaze lingered on him sometimes, not quite sharp but unreadable, before she quickly looked away.

Or how her responses to his enthusiastic volleyball rants occasionally felt clipped, like she was humoring him rather than sharing his excitement. And even though her company was steady—her presence a constant he had come to rely on—he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she had just grown used to tolerating him.

The thought itched at the back of his mind one afternoon as they sat together outside the school building. The air was warm and lazy, as the sky stretched wide above them, streaked with wispy clouds that drifted unhurried and aimless, mirroring Hinata’s wandering thoughts. Ayane sat cross-legged beside him, her hands resting loosely in her lap as she tilted her head back to watch the sky. Her hair caught the sunlight in a way that made it look softer than usual, and for a moment, Hinata almost forgot what he’d been worrying about.

But then it crept back in—the doubt, the nagging voice in his head that refused to be silenced. He shifted uncomfortably, picking at a stray thread on his uniform pants before finally blurting out, “Hey… do you… not like me or something?”

The words tumbled out clumsily, more abrupt than he’d intended, and he winced inwardly as soon as they were out. His voice had wavered despite his best efforts to sound casual, and now there was no taking it back.

Ayane turned sharply toward him, her brows furrowing in confusion before her expression softened into something unreadable. Her lips parted slightly before pressing into a thin line, as if she were carefully choosing her next words.

“What makes you think that?” she asked finally, her tone measured but not unkind.

Hinata hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck as heat crept up his face. He felt exposed now that he’d voiced the thought aloud, and he wished he could just laugh it off like he did with Kageyama or Noya whenever things got weird or awkward. But Ayane wasn’t Kageyama or Noya—she wasn’t someone he could simply brush things off with. There was a weight to her presence that made him want to be honest, even if it scared him a little.

“I don’t know…” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the ground as he scuffed the toe of his shoe against the dirt. “Sometimes it just feels like—you know—maybe I annoy you or something.”

His words trailed off into an uncertain silence, and for a moment, Ayane didn’t respond. Hinata risked a glance at her face and immediately regretted it; her expression was unreadable again, her dark eyes flickering with something he couldn’t quite decipher. Was it annoyance? Amusement? Or maybe… pity? What if he’d completely misread everything? What if asking this had only made things worse?

Just as panic began to foam up in his chest, Ayane suddenly laughed—loud and abrupt. The sound wasn’t mocking but genuine. She shook her head lightly, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

“Yer’ such an idiot,” she said finally, but there was no malice in her voice—only a kind of affection that softened the sharpness of her features. A rare smile tugged at her lips as she reached out and shoved his shoulder lightly—a gesture so casual and familiar that it chased away some of the nervous energy buzzing in Hinata’s chest.

“If I didn’t like ya,” she continued with a teasing edge in her tone, “do you really think I’d waste my time sitting here listening to you talk about ‘volleyball’ for hours on end? Or practicing with you and shit for brains?”

Hinata blinked at her, momentarily stunned into silence by how easily she dismissed his doubts. He felt dulcified, although he did not understand the implications behind the word volleyball. Ayane might not always be easy to read, but in her own way, she cared—and maybe that was enough.

“Thanks,” he murmured quietly but sincerely.

Ayane smirked again but didn’t say anything this time; instead, she bumped her shoulder against his lightly.

After a beat of silence, Ayane tilted her head slightly toward him and asked casually, “Hey, Sho,” she began, her tone light but deliberate. “Do ya like someone?”

Hinata’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest at the sudden question. His eyes widened as he stared at her, caught completely off guard. “W-what?” he stammered.

“Ya heard me,” Ayane said smoothly, leaning back on her hands with a small smirk playing on her lips. “Ya’ve been acting weird lately—getting all flustered over nothing.” Her gaze flickered toward him knowingly. “So? Is there someone?”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Hinata blurted out quickly, his voice cleaved slightly. He could feel his face burning now, hotter than before, and he desperately wished for some kind of distraction—anything to steer the conversation away from this.

Ayane raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t press further right away. Instead, she studied him for a moment longer before saying simply, “Yer’ a terrible liar.”

“I don’t—” he started weakly but stopped himself short. Did he like someone? The question echoed in his mind now that Ayane had planted it there. He wasn’t sure if he had an answer yet—or if he even wanted one.

“Uh-huh,” Ayane drawled, clearly unconvinced. She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on one hand as she studied him with an intensity that made him squirm. “Yer’ turning redder by the second,” she pointed out with a teasing laugh.

His thoughts wandered against his will, fleeting memories of stolen glances across gymnasiums, the smell of lilac, the sound of bright laughter, ravenous eyes, those moments when time felt like it slowed down just enough for him to notice things he wasn’t sure he should’ve. Scars on a chin, a mouth bitten in want, passion, dedication, hunger. But was that… liking someone? Or was it just admiration? Respect? Friendship?

Ayane didn’t push further after that; instead, she let out a soft laugh and turned her attention back to the sky above them. “Ya’ll figure it out eventually,” she said lightly but with an undertone of certainty that made Hinata glance at her curiously.

She always said things like that—calmly and confidently—as if she knew more about him than he did about himself sometimes.

They sat quietly for a while after that, and for once, Hinata found himself grateful for Ayane’s ability to leave things unsaid when they mattered most.

“Oh,” she said suddenly, as if remembering something important. “I’m throwing a party tomorrow night.”

Hinata blinked at her in surprise, startled by the abrupt shift in topic. “A party?” he repeated dumbly.

“Yeah,” Ayane replied with a grin that hinted at mischief. “My parents won’t be home.” She stretched her arms lazily above her head before adding nonchalantly, “Ya can invite golden boy and his brother if ya want.”

At this, Hinata’s face ignited up instantly as euphoria dripped up inside him, momentarily washing away his earlier embarrassment. “That sounds awesome!” he exclaimed eagerly before pausing thoughtfully. “Can I invite Suna-san too?”

Ayane rolled her eyes but smirked anyway. “Yeah,” she said with mock reluctance, “it was fun to bully Goldy with Suna-san last time. We could do that at the party as well.”

Hinata laughed nervously but quickly added, “Don’t be too mean, Ayane.”

“Don’t worry,” Ayane said lightly, though there was a glint in her eye that suggested trouble was inevitable. Her voice softened slightly when she added almost teasingly, “I’ll behave… maybe.”

"Also…" He hesitated for a second before continuing with a grin that was half-pleading and half-impish. "Let’s use honorifics in front of Atsumu! You know he’ll freak out if we don’t."

Ayane raised an eyebrow at him before breaking into a mischievous smile of her own—the kind that spelled trouble for anyone on the receiving end of it. “That would be too bad.”

Hinata groaned dramatically but couldn’t stop himself from laughing along with her anyway. Moments like these—where banter flowed easily and laughter came without effort—were what he treasured most about their friendship.

And yet… somewhere in the back of his mind lingered Ayane’s earlier question.

The thought refused to leave him alone now, settling into a quiet corner of his heart where it would undoubtedly stay until he had no choice but to confront it fully.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

The next evening arrived faster than any of them anticipated. Ayane’s house buzzed with energy as people filtered in one by one—or sometimes in pairs or trios—turning what might have been an ordinary Saturday night into something far livelier. Music played softly in the background—not too loud to drown out conversations but enough to add a rhythm to the ambience.

The living room had undergone a transformation: furniture pushed to the edges, blankets and cushions sprawled across the floor in a chaotic yet inviting arrangement. It was a space that begged for intimacy and openness—a space that seemed to whisper secrets were meant to be shared here.

Hinata had arrived early, bouncing through the doorway with his characteristic energy. “I’m here!” he announced unnecessarily, proudly holding up two bags of snacks.

Ayane glanced up from where she was adjusting one particularly stubborn strand of lights near the window. She narrowed her eyes at him in mock exasperation, her hands still tangled in wires. “Hinata,” she groaned, her tone teetering between fondness and frustration. “I told ya everything’s already ready. Ya didn’t need to bring extra snacks.”

“And yet!” Hinata interrupted cheerfully, dropping his bags onto what had become the unofficial snack table—a surface already crowded with bowls of chips, candy, and sodas. He rolled up his sleeves with exaggerated determination. “I’m here to help anyway!”

Ayane shook her head but didn’t argue further.

By the time Atsumu showed up Osamu and Suna trailing behind him like reluctant shadows—Hinata was practically vibrating with excitement.

He darted from task to task, his movements a blur as he adjusted pillows ‘They need to look fluffier!’, replenished snack bowls ‘We can’t run out of chips before we even start!’, and greeted each new arrival with such enthusiasm that some joked he should’ve been the one hosting.

“Chill out, Shouyou,” Atsumu drawled as he stepped inside, slipping off his sneakers with a practiced kick that sent them tumbling neatly to the side. His eyes flicked over Hinata’s frenetic energy with mild amusement. “Yer’ gonna tire yourself out before we’ve even started.”

Hinata paused mid-step, turning toward Atsumu with a grin wide grin. “Can’t help it!” he chirped back, his voice fueled with adrenaline. “This is gonna be great!”

Atsumu looked effortlessly put-together as always—his black shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at casual rebellion paired with dark burgundy pants that hugged his frame perfectly. The outfit was simple but striking, every detail meticulously chosen to enhance his natural charisma. Hinata couldn’t help but notice how good he looked—not that it meant anything, he reminded himself quickly. Not in that way. His gaze lingered for only a moment before he forced himself to focus on something else—anything else.

The initial hour unfolded in a flurry of activity: people grabbing snacks from bowls scattered across the room; voices overlapping as old friends caught up and newcomers were introduced; Ayane darting around like a general marshaling her troops, ensuring everyone had what they needed. Laughter rippled through the air in waves, rising and falling with each passing story or joke shared.

It wasn’t until everyone had finally settled down—cross-legged on blankets or sprawled across cushions—that Ayane clapped her hands together sharply, commanding attention. She stood near the center of the room, her arms crossed over her chest in a way that radiated authority despite the playful smirk tugging at her lips.

“Alright,” she declared, her voice cutting cleanly through the chatter. “We’re playing Truth or Dare.”

A collective cheer erupted from most of the group—loud and enthusiastic from Atsumu, quieter but no less amused from Osamu—but not everyone shared their enthusiasm. Hinata tilted his head slightly, his brows knitting together in mild confusion as if trying to remember if he’d ever played before. Across the room, Suna leaned back against a pile of cushions with an expression that could only be described as dubious.

“Do we have to?” Suna asked lazily, though there was a glint in his eye that suggested he already knew the answer.

“Yes,” Ayane said firmly, her smirk widening into a grin that promised deviltry. “Participation is mandatory.”

Hinata shifted uncomfortably, his legs crossed awkwardly beneath him as if they’d forgotten how to sit properly. The room was alive with a chaotic energy that buzzed and swirled, buoyed by the reckless thrill of shared secrets and dares that teetered between harmless fun and unspoken malice.

The air smelled faintly of soda and potato chips, mingling with the musk of too many bodies crammed into one small living room. The candles combined with the dim overhead light cast long shadows across their faces, exaggerating expressions and making each smirk or grimace seem sharper, more intense.

He wasn’t sure when exactly the game of truth or dare had taken this turn—when playful giggles had morphed into sharp-edged laughter and glances that lingered just a little too long. It had started innocently enough: questions about embarrassing childhood memories, dares to eat questionable combinations of snacks.

But somewhere along the way—as it often does with games like these—the tone began to change. As Suna leaned back against the couch with a dangerous glint in his eye, it was clear that the game had become something else entirely. Something darker. Something meaner.

Hinata watched Atsumu squirm under the weight of Suna’s smirk, for all his bluster and confidence, Atsumu looked almost small now, his shoulders hunched defensively as if bracing for an invisible blow. Hinata’s chest tightened at the sight, though he couldn’t quite place why.

“Atsumu,” Suna drawled lazily. His eyes gleamed dangerously as he leaned forward just enough for his words to feel intimate—and threatening. “Truth or dare?” His voice dripping with faux sweetness that only made the challenge sting more.

“Dare”

As Suna chose the dare, the room erupted around them—gasps, laughter, the kind that bordered on cruel. Osamu let out a barking laugh, elbowing Atsumu in the ribs as if to say ‘good luck with that’. Ayame raised an unimpressed eyebrow from her corner but said nothing, content to watch the drama unfold from a safe distance. Even Riseki stifled a chuckle behind his hand, though his eyes darted nervously toward Hinata as if gauging how he was taking all this.

“I dare you to admit who you have a crush on,” He tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence, but the curve of his lips betrayed him.

Atsumu’s face flushed crimson, the color spreading rapidly from his cheeks down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. “What kinda dare is that?!” he sputtered indignantly, his voice cracking ever so slightly as he flailed for some semblance of control over the situation. His hands flapped awkwardly at his sides before clenching into fists on his knees, betraying just how off-balance Suna had thrown him.

“You picked dare,” Suna replied simply with an infuriating shrug, looking far too pleased with himself for Atsumu’s liking.“Don’t blame me for your poor choices.”

“Well,” Atsumu huffed after a long pause filled only by muffled giggles and poorly concealed whispers from around the room. His voice was defiant but tinged with an underlying uncertainty that hadn’t been there before. “Ya just wasted it ‘cause I don’t have a crush on anyone.”

Hinata’s lips curved into a faint smile at Atsumu’s declaration, but the movement felt strange—off-kilter somehow. The words themselves shouldn’t have meant much to him; they were simple enough, almost expected. But why did they make something inside him tighten even more? Why did they leave him feeling as though he’d lost something he hadn’t even known he wanted? He quickly buried that flicker of emotion beneath another bright grin—a mask honed over years of awkward social situations.

“Yes you do,” Suna shot back smoothly without missing a beat, his tone sharper now—not cruel but cutting nonetheless—as if peeling away layers Atsumu hadn’t realized were exposed. “But whatever.” He leaned back lazily, stretching out like a cat basking in the sun before adding almost as an afterthought.“If you can’t admit i, then kiss the prettiest person in this room.”

The words hung in the air like smoke—thick and suffocating—and for a moment, everything seemed to still. The laughter died down into an expectant hush as every pair of eyes turned toward Atsumu once again, waiting to see what he would do.

Atsumu seemed to freeze completely, as if every muscle in his body going rigid, as if he’d been turned to stone. His gaze darted around the room wildly, landing briefly on each person before skittering away like a frightened bird. When his eyes finally met Hinata’s—just for a split second—it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

Hinata’s breath caught painfully in his throat, his heart thundering against his ribcage like it was trying to escape. There was something raw in Atsumu’s eyes that Hinata couldn’t decipher—panic? embarrassment? something deeper and more complicated? But before he could even begin to figure it out, Atsumu broke eye contact and turned sharply toward Osamu.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Atsumu muttered under his breath before leaning forward suddenly and planting a quick kiss on Osamu’s cheek.

The room exploded once more—this time with chortles and exaggerated groans of disgust from those who claimed they’d been scarred for life by witnessing such sibling affection. Osamu shoved Atsumu away half-heartedly, wiping at his cheek with an exaggerated grimace.

“Gross,” Osamu deadpanned, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he added dryly. “Learn not to slobber so much.”

Atsumu shot him a glare but didn’t respond; instead, he slumped back with an air of defeat that didn’t quite match his usual theatrics.

"Of course you'd be that vain" Ayane's tone sounded disappointed in a way Hinata didn't like. 

Hinata laughed along with everyone else—loud and carefree and just convincing enough to mask the deluge imbued inside him. But even as he smiled and joked and played along with the others’ teasing remarks about Atsumu chickening out or wasting such an easy dare, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

The game continued around him—truths and dares flung like jagged daggers, disguised as harmless toys but cutting deep when they landed. Loud and carefree laughter masked the ever-burning tension. It was amusement for everyone else, but for Hinata, it was just noise—white-hot static that only pushed him further into the confines of his own mind.

His gaze darted across the room, desperate for a hook, something tangible to focus on. The music hummed faintly in the background, its bassline a steady thrum beneath the chaotic chatter.

The fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling flickered softly, their glow casting warm pools of light that couldn’t reach the shadows creeping into his mind.

His eyes lingered on Suna for a moment—the way he lounged against the armrest with calculated ease, his sharp-edged smile cutting through the room as he effortlessly delivered dares that hit their mark too precisely. There was something about Suna’s confidence, his ability to unearth vulnerabilities with such precision, that made Hinata uneasy.

But none of it held his attention for long—not the lights, not the music, not even Suna’s dangerous charisma. His thoughts kept circling back to one thing. One person.

Atsumu.

The name settled heavily in his chest, how it felt like a stone lodged in his chest, hefty and immovable. It was ridiculous, really—how much power that name held over him. Atsumu. Just saying it in his mind felt like pressing on a bruise, tender and aching.

He thought about the glance they’d shared earlier—the fleeting moment when their eyes had met across the room. It had been nothing more than a second, a brushstroke of time so brief it could have been imagined. But it wasn’t. Hinata knew it wasn’t because he still felt the aftershock of it now, lingering in his chest like an echo.

There had been something in Atsumu’s gaze that unraveled him—a hesitation, an uncertainty that Hinata couldn’t decipher but also couldn’t forget. For that single heartbeat, hope had bloomed unbidden in his chest, fragile and foolish. Maybe—just maybe—there was something there. Something worth holding onto.

But then Atsumu had looked away.

And now here he was, stuck in this suffocating room with its too-loud laughter and too-bright lights, drowning in emotions he didn’t know how to process.

As another round began, Suna once again took up the role of provocateur.

This game—it wasn’t just about fun anymore. It wasn’t even about crossing boundaries or testing limits like it pretended to be. No, it was something darker than that. It was people hiding their pain behind reckless dares and hollow laughter. It was hurt people hurting others because they didn’t know what else to do with all the serrated pieces inside them.

And maybe—just maybe—Hinata wasn’t as immune to it as he wanted to believe.

His fists clenched against his thighs as waves of emotions surged within him—frustration, longing, confusion—all threatening to spill over if he wasn’t careful. He pressed his nails into his palms until they bit into the skin, grounding himself in the sting of it.

“Shouyou-san,” Suna’s voice rang out suddenly, drawing every eye in the room toward him. The grin on Suna’s face widened like a predator who’d found its prey. “I dare you to kiss anyone you want.”

The room fell silent for a moment too long, Hinata’s pulse thundered in his ears as heat flushed across his skin, spreading all over. He didn’t need time to think about who he wanted—it wasn’t even a question.

Atsumu.

The answer was there before Suna had even finished speaking, etched into every corner of Hinata’s heart with undeniable clarity. But knowing who he wanted and acting on it were two entirely different things. Because wanting Atsumu meant stepping off the edge and free-falling into vulnerability. It meant risking rejection or worse—the possibility that whatever flicker of connection he thought he’d seen was nothing more than wishful thinking.

And Hinata wasn’t sure what would hurt more: reaching out only to have Atsumu pull away or staying silent and living with the ache of never knowing what might have been.

So he did what he always did when faced with uncertainty, he ran.

Not physically—not yet—but emotionally, mentally—he retreated into a choice that felt safer even as it left something bitter lingering on his tongue. With a steadying breath and a forced smile that felt like armor slipping into place, his feet carried him with false purpose. Step by step, he crossed the room—not toward Atsumu, as every nerve in his body screamed for him to do—but toward Ayame. The decision felt like walking away from warmth and plunging into cold water, numbing and unforgiving.

Her wide eyes blinked up at him in surprise as he approached her amidst the chaos of murmurs and whispers filling the room. Her confusion was painted plainly across her face, her brows knitted together as she tilted her head slightly, searching for some answer in his expression. But despite her uncertainty, she didn’t pull away when he stepped closer.

“Hinata?” she asked softly, her voice barely audible beneath the weight of the room’s attention. Her gaze flitted between his eyes, seeking something—reassurance? An explanation?—but finding only shadows of what he couldn’t bring himself to say.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, Hinata offered her a small smile—apologetic but hollow, like an replica of something once genuine but now long gone. His hand moved before his mind could fully process the action, reaching out to cradle her neck gently, almost piously. His palm was warm against her skin, though his touch trembled ever so slightly.

“Sorry,” he murmured under his breath so softly that only she could hear it. The word slipped out like a secret he hadn’t meant to share, fragile and uncertain. Was it meant for her? Or himself? He didn’t know. Maybe it was both.

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft or tentative like first kisses usually were. The kind that came with fluttering hearts and nervous smiles and the delicate sweetness of something new. This kiss was none of those things.

It was desperate—a collision rather than a connection—born out of frustration and longing and everything he couldn’t have. His lips pressed against hers with an urgency that bordered on recklessness, trying to erase what had already etched itself too deeply into him.

His mind betrayed him almost instantly. Even as Ayame’s lips moved hesitantly against his own, even as the cheers and whistles erupted around them, that wasn’t his to claim, all he could see behind closed eyes was someone else entirely.

Honey-blonde hair catching the light in golden strands.

Sharp brown eyes that always seemed to cut through every wall he built around himself.

A laugh that was equal parts infuriating and intoxicating.

Atsumu.

The thought carved him, sharp and unrelenting. He tried—God, he tried—to push it away, to focus on Ayame’s soft strawberry scent or the way her hands fluttered awkwardly at her sides before settling against his shoulders. But it was no use. Atsumu lingered in every corner of his mind, every crevice of his being.

When Hinata finally pulled away moments later, it felt like surfacing after being held underwater for too long—gasping for air but finding no relief in it. Ayame blinked up at him again, her confusion deepened but still unspoken. She offered him a small smile—it wavered at the edges—and then looked down at her lap as though retreating from whatever this moment had become.

The room exploded into applause around them—cheers and whistles and playful shouts that made Hinata’s stomach churn uneasily. To everyone else, it was just another harmless round of dares or games or meaningless fun. But to him? It felt like something inside him had cracked open and spilled out for everyone to see. He felt utterly naked in his shame.

He dared to glance up across the room—and there Atsumu stood.

He wasn’t laughing or cheering along with the others. He wasn’t smirking or teasing or doing any of the things Atsumu usually did so nimbly to command attention in any room he entered. Instead, Atsumu watched him with an expression misty yet sharp all at once, something that sent an involuntary shiver down his spine despite himself.

It wasn’t anger—not exactly—or jealousy or even indifference. No… it was something else entirely—a quiet intensity that made Hinata’s chest tighten painfully because what did it mean? Why did Atsumu look like that?

And then Atsumu turned away.

Just like that.

No words. No gestures. Nothing but a single moment stretched unbearably thin between them before it snapped back into reality.

Hinata swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat as he looked down at his hands—the same hands that had held Ayame only moments ago but now felt empty and cold.

One thing became painfully clear—clearer than anything had been all night. He liked Atsumu more than he cared to admit—and realizing it now felt like stepping on cracked thin ice.

But there was another truth buried beneath that one, one he feared more.

No matter how much distance he tried to put between himself and Atsumu tonight… no matter how many choices he made that felt safer but left bitterness clinging to him…

It would never be enough.

Because this wasn’t love—not yet—but… he knew.

He knew it could be someday, and that terrified him more than anything else ever had.

Atsumu

Chapter Text

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

The gym was a racket of sound and motion, but Atsumu didn’t care about any of it. It wasn’t the kind of energy that got his blood pumping; it was the kind that grated on his nerves. Competitive? Sure. Motivated? Absolutely. But for Atsumu, today it was the kind that made his skin crawl as if ants were marching under it. Maybe it was the looming match against Itachiyama, or more likely, it was them.

Atsumu stood near the sidelines, absently flipping a volleyball in his hands. The smooth leather rolled beneath his fingers, the repetitive motion soothing in theory but doing nothing to quell the irritation seething just beneath his skin. His eyes found their usual target—not the court, not the drills, not even Sakusa’s flawless serves. No. His gaze snapped them.

Hinata and her. Ayane.

She was perched on the edge of the bleachers like she owned them—legs crossed, looking every bit as casual and composed as someone who wasn’t about to be hit by a stray volleyball (a thought Atsumu entertained repeatedly). Her chin rested lazily on one hand while her other draped over her knee like she had all the time in the world to sit there and hang on every fucking word Hinata spewed out like it was gospel.

And Hinata…oh, Hinata.

He stood beside her, his hands flying through the air in wild gestures as he talked—no, as he performed—because Hinata never just talked; he commanded attention like gravity itself bent around him. “And then Kageyama’s face—oh man, you should’ve seen it! He looked like he was actually ready to kill me!”

Ayane laughed again—a bright, tinkling sound that grated on Atsumu’s last nerve. She leaned even closer to Hinata now, her hand brushing his arm as she swatted at him playfully. “You’re such a troublemaker,” she teased, her voice light with this underlying softness that made Atsumu want to scream.

“Oh, come on!” Hinata grinned wide as his cheeks flushed pink from laughter, exertion or both. “It wasn’t that bad! Okay, maybe it was kinda bad…but it was so worth it.”

Atsumu felt his grip on the volleyball tighten until his knuckles cracked audibly. His gaze flicked back to Ayane, who was now leaning closer to Hinata.

It wasn’t fair that Ayane got to sit there next to Hinata, soaking up every ounce of his sunshine like a fucking plant photosynthesizing happiness. It wasn’t fair that she got to laugh with him, talk with him, share these little moments that should’ve been Atsumu’s by default, because he was supposed to be the one closest to Hinata. Not her.

 He could feel the ridges of the ball digging into his palm now, grounding him just enough to keep from lobbing it across the gym like a lunatic in some misguided attempt to interrupt whatever stupid little moment they were having.

Not that he hadn’t considered it, day and night.

Not that Ayane didn’t deserve it. Oh sure, she hadn’t technically done anything wrong—not unless you counted existing within five feet of Hinata as a crime (and honestly? Atsumu was seriously considering drafting up legislation to make that illegal). But still—her presence felt intrusive, invasive like she’d wormed her way into a space that wasn’t hers to occupy, into every crevice, until it felt like there wasn’t enough space for Atsumu anymore.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that she got to sit there next to his Hinata—laughing with him, talking with him, sharing stupid jokes that left them both grinning like idiots. It wasn’t fair that she got to see him up close like this—to see how his eyes lit up when he talked about something he loved or how his whole body seemed to vibrate with energy when he got excited.

Fuck her.

“Oi,” Sakusa’s bored voice drawled. “You gonna keep standing there glaring at them like a creep? Or are you actually planning on doing something productive today?”

Atsumu’s head snapped toward him, scowl firmly in place. “I ain’t glaring,” he shot back defensively, though even as the words left his mouth, he knew how ridiculous they sounded. Of course he’d been glaring, hell, he’d probably burned holes into both their skulls by now—but admitting that out loud? Not happening.

Sakusa raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “sure you’re not,” Sakusa he flatly, tossing a towel over his shoulder with one hand while gesturing vaguely toward where Hinata and Ayane were still chatting animatedly by the bleachers. “Because you don’t look like you’re five seconds away from committing a felony or anything.”

“Mind yer own business,” Atsumu muttered darkly, turning his gaze back toward the court and trying (and failing) not to glance at them again.

But Sakusa wasn’t done yet. He paused mid-step as if debating whether or not it was worth continuing this conversation before finally glancing back over his shoulder with a pointed look. “You know they’re just talking, right? You look ridiculous.”

Atsumu bristled at the comment but didn’t bother responding this time—not because he didn’t have a snappy comeback ready (he always did) but because Sakusa wasn’t entirely wrong…and Atsumu hated him for it.

The truth was, Atsumu did look ridiculous standing there with his arms crossed and his face twisted into what could only be described as a jealous glare aimed directly at two people who probably hadn’t even noticed him yet today. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

“Focus,” he muttered to himself, dragging his feet toward the court where players were beginning to line up for warm-ups.

But focusing was impossible when Hinata existed within twenty feet of you—and when Ayane existed anywhere at all.

A whistle blew sharply across the gym floor as Coach Kurosu clapped his hands together loudly enough to gather everyone’s attention. “Alright! Let’s get started!” he barked out.

Atsumu didn’t look at the coach. He didn’t need to. His eyes were already glued to him. Hinata bounded onto the court with that stupid, boundless energy of his, every step screaming exuberance that was almost offensive in its purity; like he didn’t know how to exist without smiling or laughing or radiating this infectious joy that made everyone around him feel lighter somehow, except for Atsumu.

For Atsumu, it was suffocating.

But Atsumu’s attention didn’t stop there. No, because there she was too—Ayane, lingering near the sidelines, not on the court where she didn’t belong but close enough to remind Atsumu that she was there and wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Her eyes followed Hinata like she couldn’t help herself, as if he were some golden idol worthy of devotion—and Atsumu hated her for it

He hated her.

No—that wasn’t fair. He didn’t hate her exactly; what had she done to him? Except for how easily she could put her hands on Hinata, caress his cheek, fluff his hair, squeeze his arm, lean on him.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that she got to exist in some orbit with Hinata while Atsumu was stuck here on the court pretending not to care, pretending he didn’t notice every little thing about him—the way his hair stuck to his forehead when he sweat, the way his voice cracked just slightly when he yelled encouragement across the net, the way his hands moved with such precision when he set up for a spike.

Most of all, it wasn’t fair that she got to kiss him. And that Atsumu saw it happen—he had tried to look away, to look anywhere else—but he knew. Everyone knew. 

Yeah. Maybe he hated her a little.

“Focus,” Atsumu hissed again, louder this time as if sheer repetition might somehow make it work. He forced himself into position on the court, shaking his arms out like it would loosen more than just his muscles.

But focusing was easier said than done when Hinata was right there.

Hinata who played volleyball like it was a love letter to life itself—diving for impossible saves without a second thought for his own safety, spiking with a ferocity that made every play feel like his last. He wasn’t just playing; he was living. And that fucking orange hair—it caught every beam of light in the gym and refracted it back tenfold until it felt like Atsumu was staring directly into the melting, bloodied sky. A living flame.

It wasn’t fair how effortlessly hypnotic he was.

A whistle blew for a break, yanking Atsumu from his spiraling thoughts. He jogged toward the bench but slowed as soon as he saw her. Of course she was there. Because where else would Ayane be if not buzzing around Hinata like some kind of overly eager bee? She handed him a towel and a bottle of water with that same infuriatingly bright smile on her face—a smile so sugary sweet it made Atsumu’s teeth ache just looking at it.

“Fuck me sideways with a knife instead,” Atsumu muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face as he turned away before he could witness whatever nonsense they were about to share next. Every muscle in his body felt tense, coiled tight enough to snap. He wanted to grab one of those volleyballs and chuck it across the gym just to let off some steam—or better yet, aim it straight at Ayane’s stupid perfect head. He wondered how much force he would need for her head to crack, or dislocate itself from her body, he’d have to research it later.

“Oi! Atsumu!” A sharp voice snapped him back to reality—or at least as close to reality as he could get while simmering in unresolved feelings and unchecked murderous intent.

He turned just in time to see Osamu stomping toward him from across the court. His twin didn’t look impressed—in fact, he looked downright annoyed, which wasn’t exactly new but still managed to grate on Atsumu’s nerves in record time.

“What?” Atsumu snapped defensively before Osamu could even open his mouth.

Osamu stopped in front of him, crossing his arms and giving him that long-suffering look only siblings could master—the kind that said ‘I’ve put up with your shit for too long and I’m officially done now’. “Quit daydreamin’ and get yer head in the game!”

Atsumu forced a grin—a sharp one that felt more like baring teeth than anything resembling actual humor—and threw up a hand in mock apology. “Yeah, yeah! I’m on it! Certainly ya can survive without me fer five minutes.”

But even as he jogged back onto the court, his mind refused to cooperate. Every set felt off—just slightly too high or too low—but enough to throw off their rhythm. His teammates shot him looks ranging from confused to outright annoyed, but Atsumu barely noticed. All he could think about was her—and him—and how much he wanted both of them out of his head forever.

By the time they moved into scrimmages against Itachiyama’s second-string players—because lord knew their first-string would’ve obliterated them today—Atsumu’s frustration had boiled over into full-blown furor. Every missed set felt like salt rubbed into an already inflamed wound; every scolding glance from Coach Kurosu felt sharper than it should have; every off-kilter toss another reminder that he wasn’t good enough today—not for his team and definitely not for Hinata.

When the final whistle blew, Atsumu ripped off his headband with more force than necessary as he stormed toward the bench without bothering to mask how pissed off he was anymore.

“You’re off today,” Osamu observed bluntly as he tossed a towel onto Atsumu’s head.

Atsumu yanked it off with a growl low enough to mimic a cornered animal’s snarl. “Gee,” he spat back sarcastically, “thanks fer noticin’, Sherlock. Any other brilliant deductions? Wanna tell me I’m sweatin’ too?”

Osamu raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing for a moment—just studied him with that irritating intuition that always made Atsumu feel more exposed than he wanted to be.

Finally, Osamu sighed and jerked his chin toward where Hinata stood—still laughing with Ayane because apparently fate had decided Atsumu hadn’t suffered enough yet today.

“This is about Shouyou,” Osamu said flatly, not even bothering to dress it up as a question because why would he? They both knew it was true.

“It ain’t,” Atsumu snapped so fast it made even him flinch. Too quick. Too defensive. Too obvious.

Osamu snorted—a short, sharp sound full of disbelief and derision—and shook his head slowly like he was lamenting whatever cosmic force had cursed him into having this conversation. “Yer actin’ like someone stole yer favorite toy.”

Atsumu bristled at that—actually bristled like some feral cat ready to hiss and claw at anything within reach—but instead of responding directly, he turned his glare toward where Hinata and Ayane still stood together. The sight made something ugly churn inside every fissure.

“It’s not me who’s distracted,” he mumbled darkly under his breath before shoving past Osamu and storming out of the gym without so much as a backward glance.

“Idiot,” Osamu muttered to no one in particular before turning back to help clean up after practice.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

A few days later, Atsumu lounged with the rest of the team on the sidelines. Laughter echoed off the high walls as the team was relaxed, sprawled out in little clusters, joking and chatting while they practiced freely. Atsumu had leaned back on his elbows, his sharp grin aimed at Riseki, who was patiently enduring yet another one of his teasing remarks.

But then she walked in.

Ayane’s entrance wasn’t just an interruption—it was an invasion. Her presence hit the gym like a grenade lobbed into still water, rippling through the air with obnoxious force. The sound of her voice preceded her like a herald announcing doom—high-pitched, saccharine, and absolutely intolerable. Atsumu’s grin faltered as his eyes snapped to her. She strolled across the gym like she owned it, her long hair swaying behind her in a way that felt entirely too deliberate, as though each strand had been choreographed to mock him personally.

Her steps were light but purposeful, each one carrying an annoying certainty that grated against Atsumu’s nerves. She didn’t hesitate—no, she never hesitated—heading straight for their group with all the grace of a wrecking ball. Atsumu’s grin returned quickly, sharper now, edged with something feral and unpleasant.

“Oh great,” he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with venomous sarcasm. His eyes tracked her movements with predatory precision, narrowing slightly as though sizing up prey—or an intruder that needed to be eliminated. Every step she took felt like an affront, every sway of her ridiculous hair another nail driven into his patience. What the hell did she want now?

“Sho!” Ayane greeted him brightly, her tone warm but carrying just enough mirth to set everyone on edge. “I thought I’d keep you company.”

Sho? Atsumu inwardly bristled at the nickname, his jaw tightening as he shot Hinata a look. Since when did she get to call him Sho? That was their thing. Or at least, it would’ve been if Hinata hadn’t outright rejected every nickname Atsumu had ever tried out on him.

And now here was Ayane, breezing in uninvited and acting like she’d earned some kind of special privilege.

Hinata’s reaction only made it worse. His cheeks flushed that stupid shade of pink that always tugged at some buried part of Atsumu’s chest, and he scratched nervously at the back of his head. “Uh—sure?” Hinata stammered, his voice cracking slightly because apparently even his voice was conspiring against Atsumu today.

The rest of the team exchanged looks, their expressions ranging from barely suppressed laughter to outright glee. Atsumu was the first to break the silence.

“Well, well,” Atsumu drawled, letting his Kansai accent thicken as he leaned lazily against the wall with feigned nonchalance, crossing his arms over his chest as his grin stretched wide enough to show teeth. “Looks like Shouyou’s got himself a fan club already.”

“A very pretty fan club,” Osamu added with a smirk, throwing a look at Suna.

“Pretty?” Suna chimed in from where he was lounging against the wall like he had all the time in the world. His voice was as monotone as ever, but there was no mistaking the glint of amusement in his sharp eyes. “She’s gorgeous.” He tilted his head toward Ayane in mock reverence. “You’ve got good taste, Hinata-kun.”

Ayane didn’t even blink at their comments. She turned her head slightly, fixing Atsumu with a look that was equal parts bemused and imperious. “He had a fan club before I ever got here,” she said smoothly, her voice dripping with faux modesty as she gestured vaguely toward Hinata with one hand. “I’m just here for moral support.”

The audacity—the sheer fucking audacity—of this leech! As if Hinata needed her support! As if she hadn’t just waltzed into his space uninvited and started acting like she belonged here!

Hinata laughed nervously at Ayane’s remark, scratching at his neck again in that endearingly awkward way that made Atsumu want to become an itch.

Suna and Osamu both snickered at that, while Hinata looked hopelessly confused—his wide eyes darting between Ayane and his teammates as though searching for some kind of explanation or escape route. Atsumu wasn’t about to give him either.

“I-It’s not like that!” Hinata shook his head vehemently, waving his hands around in frantic denial as though trying to fend off their teasing physically.

“Ohhh,” Atsumu interrupted with mock seriousness, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Is this why ya’ve been so distracted lately? Thinkin’ ‘bout yer new girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Hinata blurted out immediately—and loudly—but all it did was draw more laughter from their teammates.

Ayane didn’t look fazed in the slightest by any of this; if anything, she appeared downright pleased with herself. Her smile widened—not sweet or shy or anything remotely humble—just smug. Smug and pleased with herself in a way that made Atsumu’s blood boil hotter than molten iron. She tilted her head at Hinata, her big doe eyes widening dramatically as if she actually gave a fuck about him.

“They’re so mean to you,” she said lightly, her tone dripping with this syrupy overdrawn sympathy that made Atsumu want to gag. It dripped with fake sweetness, like honey laced with arsenic. She leaned in closer to Hinata, her voice dropping as if this whole room full of people wasn’t even there anymore. “Poor Sho.”

Oh, fuck her.

Atsumu resisted the urge to groan aloud—barely—but his irritation must’ve shown on his face because Suna took that exact moment to pivot toward him like a shark sensing weakness.

“Y’know,” Suna began lazily, his tone as flat as ever but carrying just enough inflection to suggest he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He tilted his head toward Ayane without breaking eye contact with Atsumu. “She kinda reminds me of you.”

Atsumu blinked, thrown by the comment for half a second before narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “What?”

Suna didn’t miss a beat. “Loud,” he offered with a deadpan delivery that made it impossible to tell if he was joking or being brutally honest. He let the word hang in the air for a moment before adding, almost as an afterthought, “Evil.”

Ayane gasped dramatically—like the over-the-top attention-seeker she clearly was—and whirled on Suna with murder in her eyes. “I am rude, not evil!” she declared, like that was somehow better.

“Uh-huh,” he replied flatly. “Rudely evil.”

Before Ayane could launch into one of her long-winded comebacks—because she always had to have the last word—Raiko decided to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. He stepped forward with that stupid calm expression plastered across his face, like he thought he was some kind of peacemaker or diplomat or whatever bullshit he told himself in the mirror every morning.

“Don’t worry,” Raiko said smoothly, his voice low and warm that made Atsumu want to hurl even more than Ayane’s fake sympathy did. He glanced at Hinata with a faint smile that felt way too familiar for Atsumu’s liking. “I think it’s cute how flustered you get.”

Hinata’s face turned bright red—redder than Atsumu had ever seen it before—and he pressed himself back against the bench like he was trying to disappear into it entirely. “C-Cute?!” he stammered, his voice cracking again as he stared at Raiko with wide eyes.

Atsumu felt something hot and ugly twist in his arteries—a sharp, searing pang that made him want to scream or stab something or maybe both at once. His gaze snapped to Raiko’s stupid face, and for a split second, he imagined slamming him into the nearest wall until his skull cracked.

Atsumu’s sharp eyes flicked toward Raiko briefly, narrowing dangerously before snapping back to Ayane. This girl was already causing enough chaos just by existing—he didn’t need Raiko adding fuel to the fire with his dumbass comments. Atsumu clenched his jaw, feeling that inexplicable irritation grow.

And then—because of course it had to happen—Suna decided it was time to turn his attention back to Hinata. His timing was impeccable in the worst way possible.

“So,” Suna drawled lazily, tilting his head ever so slightly toward Ayane without breaking eye contact with Hinata. His tone remained flat and detached as always, but there was an unmistakable glint of mischief in his fox-like eyes. “How was it?”

Hinata blinked rapidly, looking utterly lost. “H-How was what?”

“The kiss,” Suna clarified matter-of-factly, gesturing vaguely toward Ayane with a flick of his hand like it wasn’t already obvious who he meant.

There was an audible gasp from Ayane as her cheeks flushed pink. “Suna!” she hissed, swatting at him ineffectively as he leaned back just far enough that her hand missed by inches, looking wholly unbothered by her outrage. 

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Suna said with a lazy shrug, still not sparing Ayane a single glance. His attention remained laser-focused on Hinata, who looked increasingly like someone who wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. “I’m just trying to get a sense of things here. Purely out of curiosity, of course.”

Purely out of curiosity my ass.

How dare Suna bring up that kiss? How dare Raiko call Hinata cute? How dare Ayane exist within five feet of him?

And most importantly, how dare Hinata laugh along with all of them like none of this mattered? Like none of this hurt?

Because it did hurt—it hurt worse than anything Atsumu had ever felt before—and no amount of sarcasm or anger could cover up that fact.

Hinata opened his mouth but no sound came out at first—just an awkward exhalation that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so strangled. “Uh… I mean…” he started weakly before trailing off again. His hand came up to rub at the back of his neck once more, a nervous habit that wasn’t doing him any favors in this situation.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Suna added helpfully, or maybe not so much. “Take your time.”

Atsumu, standing just off to the side, felt his blood pressure spike dangerously high with every word that came out of Suna’s mouth.

When Hinata finally admitted softly that the kiss had been ‘special,’ something inside Atsumu shattered completely—not loudly or violently but quietly and irrevocably—as though someone had reached into his chest and crushed whatever fragile hope he’d been holding onto without even realizing it.

And then Ayane leaned closer to Hinata again—their foreheads nearly touching—and giggled softly as she added teasingly, “It was revelatory.”

Revelatory.

The word echoed mockingly in Atsumu's mind over and over again until all he could taste was bile and bitterness and coppery tang of blood spilling into his mouth and drenching every corner from biting down too hard on his tongue just to keep from screaming.

He winced, the metallic taste mingling with a rush of adrenaline that sent his heart pounding in uneven, frantic beats.

He wanted them both gone.

No—not gone—he wanted them erased entirely from existence. So he wouldn’t have to feel this stupid ache in his chest every time they looked at each other.

He wanted her gone.

Ayane dissolving into nothingness right before his eyes, her stupid grin fading into a void of nonexistence. No more shrill laughter, no more smug little smirks or overly familiar touches on Hinata’s arm. Just silence. Blissful, perfect silence where it was just Hinata and him. Where it should be just Hinata and him.

His fingers dug into his thighs hard enough to leave marks through the fabric as he tried to keep himself from snapping entirely.

Instead, he glared at them—his gaze bouncing between Ayane’s hand clutching Hinata’s arm for support and Hinata’s stupidly radiant face as he doubled over in laughter. It was too much. Too loud. Too close.

What was so fucking funny?

“You okay there?” Suna asked innocently—well, as innocently as Suna could manage—which wasn’t very convincing at all.

Atsumu shot him a glare that could’ve melted dry ice and possibly set fire to water. “Peachy,” he deadpanned, his voice dry.

“You sure? You’re kinda looking a little pale there.”

Hinata and Ayane were still laughing softly together, their heads tilted toward each other like conspirators. The sight of it made Atsumu grind his teeth he felt one of them slightly chip.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Atsumu snapped, his words dripping with sarcasm as he gestured vaguely toward Hinata and Ayane. “Am I interrupting your little comedy hour over here? Should I leave so you can all laugh yourselves into an early grave?”

Hinata and Ayane either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him—which only made Atsumu’s blood boil hotter.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of enduring their absurdity, Atsumu muttered under his breath loud enough for them to hear but not loud enough to sound like he cared too much. “Yeah, It was revelatory for me too.”

Hinata’s laughter tapered off at that, and he turned to look at Atsumu with wide, curious eyes that sparkled with genuine interest that felt borderline offensive. It was infuriating how sincere he looked—like he actually wanted to know what Atsumu meant by that. He was infuriatingly earnest, as though Atsumu had just uttered some profound truth instead of a thinly veiled insult. How could anyone look that sincere while being so completely oblivious?

“What do you mean by ‘revelatory’?” Hinata asked, tilting his head slightly in a way that made him look even more insufferably innocent.

Atsumu opened his mouth to respond—probably with something scathing and entirely unproductive—but before he could get a word out, Suna chimed in again.

“He means,” Suna drawled lazily, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, “that watching you two has been a life-changing experience for him. Right, ‘Tsumu?”

“Don’t call me ‘Tsumu,’” Atsumu snapped automatically before realizing he’d just given Suna exactly what he wanted, a reaction.

“Awww, come on,” Suna cooed mockingly. “We’re all friends here.”

“Speak for yourself,” Atsumu grumbled murkily.

Ayane sadly recovered enough to chime in, her voice still tinged with laughter. “Yer such a grump today,” she teased lightly. “What’s wrong? Did ya mess up yer sets again? Or maybe ya didn’t get enough beauty sleep last night?”

Atsumu’s eye twitched involuntarily at that—an actual physical twitch as his body couldn’t contain the sheer amount of irritation coursing through it anymore. “Oh yeah, that must be it! Definitely not because someone decided to bring themselves where they’re not needed.”

Ayane’s grin widened as she leaned in closer, clearly enjoying herself far too much. Her gaze turned speculative, and when she spoke again, her tone was almost sing-song. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, drawing out the words like she was savoring them, “I think yer jealous.”

Jealous.

Atsumu froze at the word and for one horrifying moment, he actually considered bolting from the room. Just getting up and walking out without a single word. Maybe even leaving town entirely. He could start fresh somewhere else—somewhere far away. He did want to visit Morocco or any place without Ayane and her smug revolting smirk. A place without Hinata.

No. Not without Hinata.

“I am not jealous,” he said firmly once he’d recovered enough to speak again. He enunciated each word with precise clarity as if Ayane were too dense to understand otherwise. Which she probably was.

“Sure,” Ayane replied breezily, clearly unconvinced but equally uninterested in arguing further. She waved one hand dismissively, as if brushing off his denial entirely. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Suna snickered quietly from the sidelines but didn’t add anything further—for now—which only made Atsumu more suspicious of what was brewing in that devious brain of his.

Meanwhile, Hinata remained blissfully unaffected. He shifted closer to Atsumu on the bench and tilted his head again—because apparently once wasn’t infuriating enough—and asked in that same maddeningly sincere tone, “So…what exactly about this has been life-changing for you?”

Atsumu’s throat tightened as though the words he wanted to say had crawled up behind his ribcage and decided to lodge themselves there permanently. Why did he have to look at him like that? The light in Hinata’s amber eyes wasn’t just warm; it was scorching. Almost unbearable—too ardent, too sincere. It was like staring directly into the midday sun, knowing it would burn and blind him but unable to look away.

Atsumu stared at him for a long moment—too long really—as his brain scrambled to come up with some kind of response that wouldn’t completely unravel whatever shred of dignity he had left.

“I…” Atsumu started, his voice hoarse and unsteady. He faltered immediately, dragging a hand through his already unruly blond hair in frustration. His fingers trembled slightly as they combed through the strands, but he clenched them into a fist against his thigh before anyone could notice.

“I didn’t mean—” Another sharp pause. He exhaled roughly through his nose, trying to release some of the tension coiled tight in his chest. It didn’t work.

“Forget it.”

But of course, Hinata didn’t forget it.

Instead, he tilted his head again—not quite as exaggerated this time but still just enough to make Atsumu grit his teeth in frustration. “Nope,” Hinata replied brightly, his tone carrying that provoking mix of chipper determination and teasing warmth that only he could pull off without sounding insincere.

“Not forgetting it.” His grin widened slightly—playful but never mocking. A grin that only made it worse because Atsumu couldn’t hate him for it no matter how much he wanted to.

“You said life-changing,” Hinata pressed on relentlessly as if he hadn’t already reduced Atsumu’s composure to rubble. He leaned forward ever so slightly—just enough for their shoulders to brush lightly in passing—and Atsumu nearly jumped out of his skin at the contact. It wasn’t much—barely anything at all—but somehow it felt like everything.

“So now I wanna know what you meant.” He paused, studying Atsumu with a glint of impishness in his eyes before adding with a lopsided smirk, “Unless you were being dramatic—which honestly wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Dramatic?” Atsumu snapped, turning sharply toward Hinata, his brown gaze blazing against molten amber. “I’m not bein’ dramatic! I don’t do that!”

From somewhere off to the side, Ayane let out an exaggerated snort of disbelief loud enough that he wondered if it would finally render her mute. “Oh sure,” she droned. “Because yer totally known for bein’ calm and rational all the time.”

“Oi!” Atsumu shot back at her, jabbing a finger in her direction like she was the root of all evil in his life—which, at this point, she might as well have been. “Nobody asked for yer opinion!”

Ayane shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. “Didn’t need to,” she retorted breezily.

Meanwhile, Hinata remained utterly unfazed by the banter swirling around them. If anything, he seemed even more determined now to get an answer out of Atsumu. His persistence was like moonlight breaking through thick trees—relentless but not forceful, mellow but unyielding. As if the very act of trying to understand Atsumu was something he couldn’t abandon, even if he wanted to.

“So?” Hinata prompted again, leaning forward just enough that their knees brushed this time—a fleeting touch that became the only thing he could feel. The heat of it lingered far longer than it should have. That brief contact overpowered his already frayed nerves.

Atsumu stared at him, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as he searched for something—anything—to say that wouldn’t betray him. Words felt slippery, elusive, as if they were mocking him for thinking he could ever explain any of this. How could he possibly put into words what was so life-changing about this? About him?

How could he put into words what it felt like to sit next to someone who seemed to carry the sun itself within their chest? Someone who radiated warmth and light so effortlessly that it made everything else seem dull by comparison? How could he describe the way being near Hinata made his heart race, stop, stutter and ache all at once—as though it were trying desperately to keep up with something far greater than itself?

And then there was Ayane—fucking Ayane—who got to kiss Hinata at that party like it was nothing, like it didn’t matter, like it didn’t rip Atsumu apart from the inside out. The memory burned in his brain like a brand, sharp and unbearable; her lips on Hinata’s, his hands on her face, hers holding his shoulders.

That should’ve been him.

“It’s… complicated,” Atsumu muttered finally, his voice low and rough. He dropped his gaze to the ground, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to meet Hinata’s eyes any longer.

Hinata frowned slightly but didn’t push further—for now at least. Instead, he shifted back slightly on the bench and crossed his arms over his chest, studying Atsumu with a thoughtful expression that gave him an almost otherworldly glow under the late afternoon sky. The light hit him just right, painting him in soft shades of burgundy and gold that made him look less like a person and more like some divine being who had wandered into Atsumu’s miserable existence by mistake.

“Well,” Hinata said after a moment, tilting his head yet again (and seriously, did he have any idea how distracting that was?), “I guess if it’s complicated, you’ll just have to explain it to me later when you figure it out.”

Atsumu blinked at him in surprise, caught off guard by both the casualness of the statement and the subtle implication behind it—that Hinata deemed it, he, was worth a ‘later’. His stomach twisted at the thought. Not unpleasantly, just intensely. Something inside him was pulling tight and refusing to let go.

Atsumu’s gaze flickered, almost without his permission, down to Hinata’s lips. His eyes darted away almost instantly, but the damage was done. They’d looked soft, slightly parted as if waiting for a secret to slip out or, worse, an invitation. He wasn’t about to start romanticizing a pair of lips. No way. Not him. And definitely not his.

Yet when he dragged his focus back up, his heart performed a humiliating routine in his chest.

Because Hinata wasn’t just looking at him—no, that would have been too easy. Too normal. Hinata was looking at his lips. Or at least, Atsumu thought he was. Was he? The uncertainty gnawed at him immediately, sinking sharp teeth into his already fragile composure.

His pulse quickened, roaring in his ears. He felt exposed, like Hinata could see straight through him, reading his every thought, every ugly thing running wild in his mind. Like he could see himself through Atsumu’s eyes.

His breath hitched, shallow and unsteady, a traitorous attestation of just how screwed he was. Because if Hinata was looking at him like that, if there was even the slightest chance, it meant-

But then again… what if Hinata wasn’t? What if Atsumu had imagined the whole thing in some pathetic, desperate act? God, he hated this. Hated feeling like his skin didn’t fit right anymore, like it was stretched and taut over brittle bone.

Before either of them could react—or combust—Ayane let out an exaggerated groan and stood up from her spot nearby. “Alright, losers,” she sighed, brushing off her jeans with dramatic flair as though she’d been doing something far more strenuous than eavesdropping. “Ya might wanna remember you’ve got practice.”

Atsumu turned to her with an expression of pure indignation, his cheeks still faintly flushed from the moment she’d so rudely interrupted. “Yer literally the one who came over here ta bother us,” he shot back, his voice brimming with exasperation.

Ayane smirked, entirely unbothered by his tone. She leaned slightly toward him with a mischievous glint in her eye. “What can I say? Am I really that entertaining that ya can’t help yourselves?” She pivoted smoothly before pressing a quick kiss to Hinata’s cheek—a gesture so casual yet pointed that it felt like a challenge.

“Oi!” Atsumu blurted out before he could stop himself, though whether he was protesting Ayane’s teasing or his own reaction to it, he couldn’t quite tell.

Hinata laughed softly, scratching the back of his head as if embarrassed but not entirely displeased by Ayane’s antics. “She’s always like this,” he murmured with an apologetic smile that only made Atsumu’s stomach flip again.

Ayane didn’t bother sticking around for further protests; she simply waved over her shoulder as she sauntered off toward the gym, her confidence radiating with every step. “Don’t overthink it too much,” she called out without looking back. Her voice was light but carried a weight that hung in the air long after she disappeared.

Don’t overthink it? Don’t overthink it? Was she out of her fucking mind? What else was Atsumu supposed to do when she pulled crap like that? Just sit there and take it? Smile politely while she waltzed all over everything sacred.

Suna stood up next, stretching lazily before turning his attention to Atsumu. His grin was infuriatingly smug yet impossibly amused, like he knew exactly what was going on.

“She’s got a point,” Suna said casually, his tone so torturously blasé that Atsumu nearly saw red all over again. “Try not to overthink it too much.”

And then he walked off without another word.

He wanted to scream, to yell after them or throw something or maybe just self-ignite on the spot, but instead, he forced himself to look at Hinata.

It was a mistake.

Hinata hadn’t moved from his spot beside him—hadn’t shifted an inch. The warmth in Hinata’s amber eyes hadn’t faded; if anything, it burned even brighter now as embers coaxed into a quiet flame.

There was something about the way Hinata looked at him—so soft, so unguarded—that made Atsumu’s chest feel unbearably tight, as though his heart were trying to claw its way out and escape the weight of that gaze. It was comforting in one breath, wrapping around him like fluffy wings on a cold night, and utterly overwhelming in the next, suffocating in its intensity.

“You okay?” Hinata asked gently after a moment. His tone was steady, unwavering, yet there was something fragile about it too—like he was holding his breath for Atsumu’s response.

Was he okay? What a stupid question. Of course, he wasn’t okay. How could he possibly be okay when everything was so catastrophically, mind-numbingly wrong? But Atsumu couldn’t say that, so instead, he nodded stiffly.

He couldn’t scream it in Hinata’s face like his brain demanded. Couldn’t shout, ‘No, I’m not okay because you’re standing there looking like some kind of sun-kissed idiot with your dumb perfect smile and your stupid, stupid face that I can’t stop thinking about!'  Instead, he swallowed the venomous longing up inside him and nodded stiffly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak out eventually; though the word tasted foreign on his tongue, hollow and brittle. His voice sounded thin and strained—tight in a way that betrayed him utterly. Even to his own ears, it was unconvincing, more a desperate attempt to fill the silence than an actual response. 

Words felt far too dangerous right now—too revealing—and he couldn’t trust himself not to say something stupid or worse; something true. He dropped his gaze hurriedly, aiming for anywhere but Hinata’s eyes.

Don’t look at him.

But even as he tried to look away, his eyes betrayed him. They betrayed him in the most humiliating way. They slid traitorously downward without permission or control, landing squarely on Hinata’s lips. Those lips. The same lips that had caught his attention earlier without warning or reason—pink and slightly chapped from practice, they were imperfect in the kind of way that made them even harder to ignore. The kind of imperfection that felt real.

Touchable

And now he couldn’t stop staring at them. Couldn’t stop wondering what they might feel like if—

Nope. Nope nope nope nope.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Atsumu bit down hard on his own lip, as if to physically imprison the burgeoning thoughts that threatened to morph into reckless actions. His canines sharpened like chisels as if by intent, gnawed painfully into the flesh, coaxing forth a slender stream of blood that bore a damning, almost sinful, flavor. A visceral pulse thundered through his veins, resonating so hard in his ears, that it obliterated all other sounds.

With a breath held tight in his chest, Atsumu dared lift his gaze once more—just a fleeting moment intended to fool himself into denial—and he stilled.

Hinata was watching him too.

Not merely observing him in passing—Atsumu couldn’t dismiss it with a laugh or feigned ignorance. This was profoundly different. Hinata’s eyes were not aligned with his; they did not drift aimlessly through space.

His stare was anchored to Atsumu’s lips.

This time there was no room for doubt; Atsumu was not victim to his imaginings nor was he misinterpreting ephemeral glances as one desperate for meaning might. Hinata's focus remained with an intensity that masticated Atsumu's composure. And worse—far worse—there lay an undeniable hunger in that look. It wasn’t borne of desperation or vulgarity but something quiet, deliberate, and utterly overwhelming for Atsumu to endure.

The world seemed to pause for a heartbeat, just the two of them caught in this splintery moment where everything felt unbearably close yet tantalizingly out of reach. And then as if on cue they both turned abruptly, breaking whatever they had so quickly it almost felt like running away.

Why did he always do this? Did he have to look at Atsumu like that? Like he saw something more than just the cocky setter everyone else saw? Like he actually cared? It was sickening.

Atsumu’s heart pounded with a ferocity that threatened to break free from his ribcage. The taste of iron lingered on his tongue, he wondered how his blood would look on Hinata’s lips

What the fuck.

Was this longing? This unbearable ache in his chest that made him want to shout and giggle and wail all at once? The same ache that made him want to retch, wither and crumble.

What did it mean to want someone so vehemently?

Society’s scornful whispers clawed at him, reminding him of the deviancy of such desires.

He forced himself to focus on anything else—the vivid orange hues streaking across the burning sky, the faint hum of cicadas in the distance—but none of it could drown out the lingering warmth of Hinata’s gaze or how it had felt like sunlight seeping into places Atsumu hadn’t realized were cold until now.

“You’re really quiet today,” Hinata said after a beat of silence.

“Just tired,” Atsumu lied through gritted teeth. It wasn’t even remotely convincing, not that it mattered because Hinata probably wouldn’t call him out on it anyway. That was just the kind of person he was; too nice for his own good.

Hinata didn’t push further but something was knowing in his gaze when Atsumu dared to glance over again, something patient and understanding but also quietly persistent.

Like Hinata knew there was more going on and was just waiting for Atsumu to crack.

Like he wanted him to.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Atsumu murmured, though the words came out more broken than he’d intended. His voice wavered, and he hated how weak it sounded—how vulnerable he sounded.

Hinata tilted his head slightly, his brows drawing together in soft confusion. “Like what?” His hands rested loosely in his lap, fidgeting slightly with the hem of his shorts—a subtle sign that maybe he wasn’t as calm as he looked.

“I don’t know…” He gestured vaguely toward Hinata, avoiding meeting his eyes again. “Yer the one doin’ it.”

“Doing what?” Hinata pressed with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Looking at you?”

Looking at me like I matter. Like you see me for everything I am and still want me anyway. Like you yearn for me as much as I yearn for you.

The words sat heavy on Atsumu’s tongue, meaty and unwieldy, too dangerous to release into the open air. Instead, all he managed was a frustrated click of his tongue as he turned his head sharply away again, jaw tight with restraint. “Tsk, whatever,” he muttered under his breath.

But it wasn’t whatever. It was everything.

He wanted him so much it hurt—an ache so deep it felt like it had carved its home into his very marrow. He wanted to hear Hinata’s laugh—not just from across the court or in passing conversation but pressed against his skin, close enough to feel the vibration of it echo through him. He wanted those sharp ochre eyes on him, only him, he wanted to bask in their warmth and intensity without flinching away. He wanted to see him fly—to watch him soar with that grace that had drawn Atsumu to him in the first place.

“I just…” Atsumu’s voice cracked slightly as he trailed off, shaking his head sharply.

Hinata didn’t move at first but then shifted closer with a quiet rustle of fabric against wood. The space between them diminished by inches that felt like miles. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Hinata said softly after a moment, his voice steady despite the slight tremor in his hands.“But… I’m here if you do.”

Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to be so patient? So kind? So… Hinata?

“I wish ya wouldn’t be so nice about it,” Atsumu muttered bitterly.

Hinata blinked in surprise but didn’t pull away, if anything, he seemed to settle more firmly into place beside him. “Why?”

Because it fucking aches. Because every time you look at me like that—with those eyes full of something I don’t think I deserve—it tears at me. It burns me from the inside out and leaves me raw and unveiled in ways I never thought possible. It changes everything I thought I knew about myself… and I don’t know how to deal with that.

“Because then I can’t be a dick.”

Hinata snorted softly, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Never stopped you before.”

If only he could say it—if only he could be brave enough to take all those rotten feelings unkempt inside him and lay them bare for Hinata to see. But bravery had never been Atsumu’s strong suit, not when it came to things like this.

So instead, he stayed silent.

And hoped that somehow… maybe Hinata could hear everything he wasn’t saying anyway.

Chapter Text

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

The air between them hung heavy with unspoken words, a tension that wasn’t hostile but carried a weight all its own. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it wasn’t easy either.

“Thanks for sticking around,” Hinata said finally, his voice softer than usual, like he didn’t want to disturb whatever fragile balance was holding this moment together.

Ayane glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her expression unreadable. “Figured you wanted to talk,” she replied simply, her tone carrying none of its usual teasing edge. She shifted slightly, uncrossing her legs and letting them dangle over the edge of the bleachers. “You’ve been acting weird.”

Hinata let out a short laugh—more an exhale than anything else—and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah... I guess I have,” he admitted, his voice tinged with something between embarrassment and self-awareness. He hesitated for a moment before adding, “It’s about... you know. The party.”

Ayane’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Ah,” she said lightly, drawing out the syllable as she leaned back slightly, bracing herself with her hands against the floor. “The kiss.”

Hinata winced at how bluntly she said it but nodded nonetheless. He straightened up and turned to face her fully, his amber eyes earnest and apologetic as they searched hers for some kind of understanding.

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly, the words tumbling out in a rush, as he’d been holding them back for too long. “About that. About everything.” He gestured vaguely with one hand as if trying to encompass all the things he didn’t know how to put into words. “I—I didn’t mean for it to be weird or make you feel... I don’t know... used?” His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and he winced again.

Ayane raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t interrupt. She waited patiently, her gaze steady and unwavering as she let him stumble through whatever he needed to say.

“It’s just...” Hinata continued after a beat, his hands clenching and unclenching nervously in his lap. “When they dared me to kiss someone I wanted to kiss—I panicked. I didn’t know who else to choose.” He laughed awkwardly, though there was no humor in it. “And you were right there and—you’re my friend.” His voice softened on the last word, almost like he was reminding himself of it as much as he was telling her.

For a long moment, Ayane didn’t say anything. She just looked at him, her dark eyes thoughtful and searching in a way that made Hinata feel like she could see right through him—like she was peeling back every layer he’d wrapped around himself to hide from the truth.

“You didn’t know who else to choose,” she repeated slowly, her tone carefully neutral as though testing out the words to see how they felt on her tongue. Then she shook her head slightly, a small, almost imperceptible movement that carried more weight than it should have. “No,” she said quietly but firmly. “That’s not true.”

Hinata blinked at her in confusion, his brow furrowing slightly as he tried to process what she said. “What do you mean?” he asked hesitantly.

Ayane sighed softly and leaned forward again, resting her forearms on her knees as she gazed toward the empty street before them.

“I think you knew exactly who you wanted to choose,” she said finally, her voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper—something raw and unguarded that Hinata wasn’t used to hearing from her. “You just went against it.”

Her words hit him like a spike to the chest—direct and remorseless in their precision. For a moment, all he could do was stare at her, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as he tried to come up with some kind of response that wouldn’t sound like a pathetic excuse.

“I...” he started weakly before trailing off again.

Ayane turned back to him then, her gaze sharp but not unkind. She knew. Was it so obvious? Did anyone else notice? Did he?

“It’s okay,” she said after a moment, her voice softening slightly as though sensing his internal struggle. “I get it.” She offered him a small smile—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes but still carried a warmth that made him feel like maybe he wasn’t completely terrible after all.

But then she looked away again—her gaze dropping down to where her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap—and when she spoke next, there was a vulnerability in her voice that Hinata had never heard before.

“It just... hurt,” she admitted quietly without looking at him. Her fingers tightened around each other as though trying to ground herself against the weight of what she was about to say. “Not because I liked ya like that or anything—I don’t—but because...” She hesitated briefly before letting out another soft sigh and forcing herself to continue.

“Because I thought ya saw me differently,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper now but steady nonetheless. “Like... not as someone ya could use like that—even if it wasn’t intentional.” She glanced up at him then—just briefly—but it was enough for Hinata to see the flicker of pain in her dark eyes before she looked away again.

“I’ve always struggled with being friends with guys,” Ayane continued after another beat of silence stretched between them. Her tone was matter-of-fact now—like she’d rehearsed these words in her head countless times before but never found the right moment to say them out loud until now.

“They usually want more,” she explained simply with a small shrug that belied just how much those words weighed on her shoulders every day. “And I thought maybe ya didn’t—that maybe we could just be friends without all that... extra stuff gettin’ in the way.” She let out another soft sigh before adding quietly. “But then...”

She trailed off again but didn’t need to finish; Hinata knew exactly what she meant without her having to say it outright.

“I’m sorry,” he said again—this time more earnestly than before—as though somehow repeating those two little words over and over might be enough to undo all the hurt he’d caused without even realizing it until now.

“It’s not just that,” Ayane said softly after a moment. She glanced up at him then, unsure.

“What is it?” Hinata asked hesitantly after another long pause stretched between them like an ocean neither knew how to navigate across yet.

Ayane hesitated for just a moment longer before taking a deep breath and finally meeting his gaze head-on—her dark eyes steady despite the vulnerability etched into every line of her face.

“I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh,” he said finally, his voice flat and dumb, betraying none of the swirling confusion and surprise he felt inside. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, a slow burn that made him want to hide his face in his hands. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? He stared at her—at the way her brows creased ever so slightly with worry, at the way her lips pressed together like she was bracing for something worse than this silence.

The weight of her vulnerability hit him then. She’d trusted him with this, opened herself up in a way that left her exposed, and here he was just staring like an idiot. He blinked once. Then twice. And then suddenly, as if his brain had been jump-started back into action, he blurted out.

“I—I’m not—I like boys.”

The words tumbled out in a rush, uneven and clumsy, but they were out now, hanging in the space between them. For a moment, there was nothing but silence—thick and expectant—and then she smiled. Not a big smile, not the kind that lit up the whole room, but a small one. A knowing one.

“Glad we found each other then,” she said softly, leaning against him with an ease that made Hinata’s breath hitch. Her shoulder brushed against his arm as she settled in, her body relaxing as if all the tension had seeped out of her at once. “I forgive ya, just don’t put that nasty boy kisser mouth near mine.”

Hinata let out a shaky breath as he chuckled, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and tentatively wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Thank you,” he murmured softly into her hair, as his fingers absentmindedly combed through strands of her hair—a gesture so natural it surprised even him.

She tilted her head slightly to look up at him, her eyes curious but warm. “Have ya ever had a boyfriend?”

Hinata froze for half a second before shaking his head quickly, the movement jerky and stiff. “Not really,” he admitted, though the words came out heavier than he expected. He hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip before adding, “I… I had something with my ex-setter.”

Her eyebrow arched at that, and she gave him a look that was equal parts amused and incredulous. “You really have a type, don’t ya?”

“Atsumu and Kageyama are nothing alike,” Hinata shot back defensively, an instinctive need to protest.

Her grin widened slightly, teasing but not unkind. “Well, at least ya didn’t deny who it was.”

“What’s the point?” Hinata sighed dramatically but couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face. He leaned back against the wall, letting his head tip back slightly as he stared up at the ceiling. “I finally have someone to talk to about these things.”

Her expression softened at that—not pitying but understanding—and she nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “What’s he like?”

Hinata hesitated again, this time longer than before. How was he supposed to describe Kageyama? It wasn’t like there were simple words for someone like him—for everything he felt when they were together or even when they weren’t. But slowly, carefully, he tried.

“He’s… a genius setter,” Hinata began haltingly. “He’s passionate—to the point of obsession sometimes—and competitive. Really competitive.” He paused for a moment as memories flickered through his mind: Kageyama’s intense gaze during matches; the way his hands moved so precisely when setting; the rare moments when his stern expression softened into something almost gentle. “He’s kind too… but he can be kinda arrogant.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully as she listened, her lips curving into another small smile by the time he finished speaking. “They do sound alike, Sho,” she teased lightly but without malice.

Hinata huffed out a laugh despite himself and shook his head again—this time more in exasperation than denial. “I suppose you’re right,” he admitted reluctantly before glancing at her curiously. “Have you ever dated a girl?”

“No…” she said slowly, drawing out the word, “but I want to.” Her voice carried an edge of determination now—stronger than any hesitation that might’ve lingered before—and it made Hinata smile despite himself.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone as cool as you,” he said earnestly because it was true—she was cool in ways that Hinata could only dream to be someday.

She snorted at that but didn’t argue—not really—and instead shot him an amused glance out of the corner of her eye. “I better,” she replied with mock seriousness before adding with a grin. “I won’t settle for any less.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Hinata agreed easily because it seemed obvious, but then hesitated again as something else weighed heavy on his mind now—a thought that had been lingering quietly until now when it suddenly felt too loud to ignore anymore, “I don’t think I can do anything with Atsumu.”

Her brow furrowed slightly at that in concern, and she turned more fully toward him this time as she asked gently. “Why not?”

Hinata swallowed hard before answering—not because he didn’t know what to say but because saying it aloud made it feel so much more real somehow. “Because I think he’s afraid… and I don’t want to feel like that again.” His voice cracked slightly on those last few words.

She didn’t respond right away—not with words, at least—her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before nodding wisely.

“Maybe...” Her voice broke through the silence softly, carrying an almost tentative hopefulness that didn’t feel forced or naive but genuine instead. “Maybe ya can teach him that it’s not so scary?”

Hinata blinked at her suggestion, his immediate instinct to dismiss it before he even had time to think about it properly. “I don’t know,” he replied after a beat, shaking his head faintly as if trying to dislodge the doubt tangled up inside him.

“It feels scary when I’m with him,” he admitted after another pause. “Like it’s too much... Like this is something fragile and I’ll end up breaking it.”

He exhaled sharply after saying it,  releasing the thought into the open air had taken more effort than he expected. His gaze dropped to the ground between them then—anything to avoid meeting her eyes in case what he saw there only confirmed what he feared most.

But instead of pity or exasperation or anything else he might have been bracing himself for, her response came firmly.

“Ya don’t break things, Sho,” she said simply, her voice steady in a way that made it impossible not to believe her even if part of him wanted to argue otherwise. “Ya put things back together.”

Hinata found himself looking up again despite himself. There was a sincerity in her expression that made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t sure how to explain but didn’t entirely hate either.

For the first time since the conversation had started, something inside him loosened—just enough for a flicker of hope to slip through the cracks. Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn’t have to run from this—not yet anyway.

But for now... For now, all he could do was nod faintly in acknowledgment of her words and hope that someday soon he’d find the courage to believe them too.

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

The beach stretched out before them, its golden sand shimmered faintly under the embrace of the late afternoon sun. Each fine grain sparkled like scattered flecks of amber, shifting gently as the breeze whispered across the shore. The waves rolled in with a quiet rhythm, their frothy edges kissing the sand tenderly before retreating, leaving behind a delicate lacework of foam.

Above, the sun hung low in the sky, its warm, honeyed glow spilling across the horizon and painting everything it caressed in hues of gold and tangerine. Even the air seemed alive, balmy but not oppressive, carrying with it the fresh, briny tang of saltwater and a faint sweetness that hinted at some distant bloom.

Hinata crouched down suddenly, his knees pressing lightly into the cool sand as his fingers sifted through tiny shells and smooth stones scattered along the shore.

His hand paused over one particular shell, a small, delicate thing with soft ridges and a pale orange hue that seemed to catch and hold onto the sunlight like it was dear. He plucked it up carefully, turning it over between his fingers with an expression of wonder, his lips parting slightly.

“Look at this,” Hinata said, his voice tinged with excitement as he held the shell out for Atsumu to see. His grin was wide and boyish, all teeth and unrestrained energy. “Doesn’t this kinda look like your hair?”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching at one corner as though caught between amusement and offense. He squinted dramatically at the shell, leaning in closer until his face hovered just inches from Hinata’s hand.. “What’re ya talkin’ about? My hair’s way cooler than some dead shell,” he demanded in mock indignation.

Shrugging lightly, Hinata tucked the shell into his palm with an air of finality. “I think it’s pretty,” he said simply, his tone losing some of its teasing edge and dipping into something quieter, more sincere. He didn’t look at Atsumu when he said it, but the weight of those words hung in the air between them like a secret whispered against cupped hands.

Atsumu stilled for a moment, caught off guard by the shift in Hinata’s tone. His gaze flicked away toward the horizon as he scratched absently at the back of his neck—a habit Hinata passed on to him.

They fell into step again, their footprints trailing behind them in uneven patterns that were quickly erased by the encroaching tide. Hinata darted forward every so often, crouching down to inspect another shell or stone that caught his eye. Atsumu followed at a more measured pace, occasionally stooping to pick something up as well—though unlike Hinata, he never showed his finds. Instead, he slipped them quietly into his pocket without a word.

“You’re like a little kid,” Atsumu remarked after Hinata excitedly showed him yet another find—a tiny spiral shell this time, its surface glistening with remnants of seawater.

Hinata straightened up abruptly, brushing sand off his knees before spinning around to face Atsumu with an exaggerated pout that quickly morphed into a cheeky grin “Better than being an old man,”

he shot back without missing a beat. For good measure, he stuck out his tongue.

“Here.” Without warning, Hinata stepped closer and pressed a small spiral shell into Atsumu’s hand. Its surface was smooth and pearlescent, catching faint hints of gold where the sunlight glanced off it. “This one suits you.”

Atsumu blinked down at the shell cradled in his palm, momentarily speechless. Hinata loved how happy and grateful he was anytime he gave him something.

“Why’s this one me?” Atsumu asked after a beat, his voice quieter now.

Hinata tilted his head slightly, considering how much truth to reveal.

He couldn’t very well say what he really thought, that despite its polished surface feeling cool to the touch initially, when held long enough it seemed to radiate warmth from deep within its core. Or that there was something about its understated elegance, the way it caught light so effortlessly, demanding attention, that reminded him so vividly of Atsumu himself.

So instead, he smiled—a softer smile this time—and shrugged lightly as if it were no big deal. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally, though there was an unmistakable tenderness in his tone that belied the simplicity of those words. “It just… feels like you.”

For a moment too brief to measure but long enough to feel significant, Atsumu stared at him, really stared, like maybe he was trying to find the meaning behind those words but couldn’t quite bring himself to ask outright.

Then he cleared his throat abruptly and looked away again toward where waves lapped lazily against the shore. “Yer so weird,” he muttered under his breath, a deflection more than anything, but there was no mistaking the faint curve of fondness tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Hinata laughed again and turned back toward the water without waiting for Atsumu to follow because somehow, he already knew he would.

As they reached a spot where the waves stretched further onto the sand, Hinata suddenly kicked lightly at the water, sending a small spray toward Atsumu’s legs. He turned back with an impish grin that dared Atsumu to retaliate.

“Oi!” Atsumu barked in mock outrage. “You wanna start somethin’, shrimp?”

“Me?” Hinata asked innocently, blinking up at him through long lashes that caught the golden light of sunset. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Atsumu narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion, taking a slow step forward. “Oh yeah?” he drawled, his voice dropping slightly as if issuing some unspoken challenge. His lips twitched too, betraying his amusement even as he tried to look stern. “Guess I’ll just have to teach ya not to mess with me.”

Before Hinata could react, Atsumu stepped into the shallows beside him and kicked up a much larger spray of water in retaliation. The arc of droplets caught the low sunlight, transforming into tiny prisms before raining down on Hinata’s legs.

Hinata yelped and stumbled back a step, laughing so hard he almost lost his balance. When he recovered, he splashed back without hesitation, both of them dissolving into laughter as they waded further into the shallows.

“Oi! Yer askin’ for it now!” Atsumu shouted through his own laughter as he stepped closer for another attack.

They waded further into the shallows as their playful assault escalated, neither willing to back down first. Laughter rang out across the empty beach—Atsumu’s deep and rich, Hinata’s lighter and breathless—as they splashed and teased each other like children left unsupervised by the sea.

Eventually, their skirmish tapered off when both were soaked through and panting from exertion. They drifted apart slightly but stayed close enough that their movements still felt synchronized somehow.

The sun had dipped lower now, painting everything in richer shades of orange and crimson that danced on the water’s surface like molten gold. Hinata was the first to break the silence that had settled over them.

“It’s beautiful,” Hinata murmured softly, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

“Yeah,” Atsumu agreed after a moment—but his voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful. “It is.”

Neither of them moved for a long moment until Hinata shifted slightly closer, not enough to be obvious but just enough that their arms brushed faintly when another breeze passed by. It wasn’t intentional—okay, maybe it was—but Atsumu didn’t pull away, so it must be okay.

After a beat of silence, Atsumu crouched down suddenly and picked up something from where it lay half-buried in wet sand near their feet. When he stood again, his fingers cradled it carefully. He turned toward Hinata, his expression unreadable for a moment—serious in a way that felt entirely unlike him.

“Here,” Atsumu said, holding out his find—a seashell no bigger than the curve of his palm. It was a delicate spiral, its surface faintly pink like the blush of dawn stretching across an early morning sky. “This one kinda reminds me of ya.”

Hinata blinked at him in surprise before accepting the shell carefully, holding it up to inspect it against the fading light. A smile spread across his face. Atsumu picked a shell, for him. He saw something and it reminded him of Hinata. He cared enough to want to give it to him.

“Why?” he asked teasingly though there was warmth in his tone. “Because I’m small? That better not be it.”

Atsumu scoffed but didn’t take back what he’d said. “Nah,” he muttered after a moment’s pause, his hand dropped back to his side as he shifted from foot to foot on the sand. “It’s just… I dunno. Bright? Kinda makes ya wanna look at it longer or somethin’. Like ya.”

Hinata froze. His heart gave an unsteady little jolt—it wasn’t a jolt, it was a punch, a stab, a shot—and for one wild second, he wondered if he’d heard that right. That was flirting… wasn’t it? Or maybe not? Maybe this was just Atsumu being Atsumu—saying weird things without really thinking about how they sounded. After all, Hinata said crazy things to his friends all the time too, didn’t he? This could totally be normal! Completely platonic! Definitely not anything to overthink or panic about or—

Oh no.

He realized belatedly that he’d been staring at the shell like an idiot for way too long without saying anything back. His mind raced frantically for a response—something casual, something cool—but all that came out was a high-pitched and embarrassingly squishy-sounding, “I really like it! Thank you!”

Atsumu coughed awkwardly in response, shoving his hands into his pockets and glancing anywhere but at Hinata’s face. The tension between them buzzed louder than the sea before them.

They started walking again after that, falling into step side by side along the shoreline. But Hinata couldn’t shake the lingering awkwardness wrapping itself around him like seaweed clinging stubbornly to wet skin. He wanted to run—to sprint down the beach until his lungs burned, his legs ached, and the air filled with nothing but the sound of rushing wind in his ears—but instead, he forced himself to match Atsumu’s slower pace. His thoughts spiraled helplessly.

God, had he made it weird? Maybe Atsumu thought—no, knew—that Hinata was into him now. Not that he was into him! Not necessarily! Okay, fine—maybe there were some feelings there… potentially. But that didn’t mean Atsumu needed to know about them! What if he regretted giving Hinata the shell? What if this whole thing ended up ruining everything between them before it even had a chance to-

“Hey,” Atsumu’s voice broke through his internal meltdown.

Hinata blinked up at him just in time to see Atsumu kick lightly at the shallow water near their feet, sending tiny sprays splashing against Hinata’s legs. “So,” Atsumu began casually, though there was a hint of something more beneath his tone—curiosity? Hesitation? “How’re ya already so good at this beach volleyball stuff? Don’t tell me you’ve been secretly training or somethin’.”

Hinata laughed, a bright, unguarded sound that seemed to ripple outward like waves on the ocean surface.“No secrets,” he answered, his head shaking with a playful smile. “This is my first time playing on a real beach.”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow skeptically but didn’t interrupt.

“But…” Hinata continued after a brief pause, his gaze drifting out toward the horizon, thinking of all that was waiting there. “I’ve been thinking about switching to beach volleyball in Brazil someday… maybe after graduation.”

The words left his mouth softer than he’d intended, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The breeze carried the quiet admission between them before settling heavily on Atsumu’s shoulders.

“After graduation?” Atsumu echoed finally, his voice quieter now too.

Hinata nodded slowly, still staring out at the sea like it held all the answers he hadn’t figured out yet. “Yeah… I mean, I’ve been thinking about Brazil for a while now.” His lips curved into a small smile—wistful rather than excited—as he added softly, “Playing out here under the open sky instead of inside a gym… It’s different. Feels freer.”

When Hinata glanced back at Atsumu, he caught something unexpected flicker across his face—ire and sorrow.

“That’s… pretty cool,” Atsumu said eventually with a crooked grin that didn’t look right. He shoved one hand through his hair in what might’ve been an attempt at nonchalance before adding lightly, “Guess I’ll have to start practicing too then. Can’t let ya get too far ahead of me.”

Hinata snorted at that despite himself—the sound breaking through whatever heaviness had settled over them moments ago—and shot back teasingly, “You? Keep up with me? You’d trip over your own feet before we even started.”

He didn’t miss the way Atsumu’s jaw dropped—dramatic as ever—before snapping shut, his brows furrowing as if the sheer audacity of Hinata’s words had personally offended him. “Oi!” Atsumu barked, his voice pitching higher than usual as he scooped up a handful of water and hurled it in Hinata’s direction. Droplets scattered like tiny gemstones in the sunlight before splashing against Hinata’s chest. “Don’t ya get too cocky, short stuff!”

The water was cold, but Hinata barely felt it. His chest still buzzed with laughter, and he leaned back, blinking lazily at Atsumu through his lashes.

He tilted his head just so, enough to feign nonchalance as though he were perfectly relaxed, perfectly at ease. But inside? Inside, his heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might bruise his ribs. Each beat seemed louder than the crash of the surf behind him, and he was sure—absolutely sure—that Atsumu must hear it too. Still, he wasn’t about to let that show. Not now.

“Why?” Hinata asked, letting his voice drip with syrupy sweetness. He tilted his chin up slightly, narrowing his eyes in mock curiosity. “Are there... consequences or something?”

Hinata watched with barely concealed glee as Atsumu froze for just a heartbeat—the slight widening of his eyes, the twitch of his mouth like he wasn’t sure whether to smirk or scowl.

Then came the spluttering—a sound that was somewhere between indignation and outright denial. It burst out of Atsumu like he hadn’t meant for it to escape, and Hinata had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing outright. Instead, he let his grin stretch wider, teeth flashing in triumph.

“Actually,” Atsumu said after a beat, recovering with a quick toss of his head like he hadn’t just faltered under Hinata’s gaze. “Yeah.” His voice had dropped an octave now—it sounded almost serious, but Hinata could see the something dancing behind those earthy eyes, sharp and dangerous but impossible to look away from.

“Such as?” Hinata pushed, dragging out the words just long enough to test Atsumu’s patience. He leaned closer, leaving very little distance. His face remained calm, but he was buzzing. The giddiness bubbled dangerously close to the surface, but he fought to keep it buried. He couldn’t give himself away yet; not when Atsumu was looking at him like that.

Atsumu narrowed his eyes suspiciously, his lips curving into what might’ve been a smirk if he hadn’t looked so flustered. “Don’t run yer mouth too wild, Shouyou,” he warned in a tone that was almost threatening but was nullified by the faint pink dusting his cheeks. “Or ya might find out.”

“Maybe I want to,” Hinata shot back without missing a beat, letting his grin widen into something bordering on cocky. He swore for just a split second—barely longer than a blink—that Atsumu’s blush deepened.

Was it real? Or just the sun catching him at just the right angle? Hinata didn’t know for sure—and honestly? He didn’t care. All that mattered was the way Atsumu’s composure seemed to teeter precariously on the edge.

But then Atsumu turned abruptly toward their towels spread haphazardly on the sand and waved a hand over his shoulder as if dismissing the entire exchange. “C’mon,” he said gruffly without looking back. “Let’s set up proper ‘cause it’s still hot enough to swim.”

For a moment, Hinata considered pushing further—just one more jab to see how far he could go before Atsumu snapped. But then he caught sight of the way Atsumu avoided meeting his eyes entirely, and something about it made him pause.

He lingered where he was for half a second longer before finally following him with a small huff of breath.

Later, when they were back in the water—cool waves lapping against their skin and moonlight glinting off the steady brine.

Hinata floated on his back, staring up at the plethora of silvery stars. The night sky stretched above them, like it was looking at them right back , and for a moment, he let himself drift, weightless, under its expanse.

The water was warm, cradling him like a second skin, but there was still a lingering chill on his cheeks from smiling too hard earlier. Atsumu had been his usual self; cocky, loud, impossible not to tease. But now? Now Atsumu was quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

Hinata smirked to himself. Quiet Atsumu was always an opportunity. A rare one.

“I see you’re the one who stopped running his mouth,” Hinata teased, tipping his head just enough to glance at Atsumu nearby. He didn’t even try to hide the grin tugging at his lips, wide and sharp with mischief. Floating lazily on his back, he kicked his legs just enough to send a gentle ripple toward Atsumu’s direction.

Atsumu snorted—a short, indignant sound that nearly made Hinata laugh outright—and treaded water with a practiced ease. His arms moved fluidly through the waves, keeping him steady as he bobbed in place. “Don’t start with me just ‘cause ya got me earlier,” he fired back, his accent thicker than usual, Hinata grin harder. It always got heavier when Atsumu was flustered.

Hinata’s grin widened into something downright devious. Gotcha.

“Oh? That was me getting you?” Hinata asked innocently—or at least tried to sound innocent—but the glint in his eyes betrayed him as he flipped upright in the water."You were making it pretty easy."

Only his head broke the surface now, his orange hair darkened to copper under the moonlight and plastered messily across his forehead. The rest of him hovered just beneath the surface, submerged and weightless.

Atsumu rolled his eyes so hard Hinata swore he could hear it over the gentle lap of waves. “Yeah, I’m kind like that” Atsumu muttered, sarcasm dripping from every syllable like water off his chin.

“Hmm,” Hinata hummed thoughtfully, pretending to mull it over as he drifted closer—just a little closer—letting the current do most of the work. “So you were feeling generous towards me?”

Atsumu squinted at him suspiciously but didn’t move away. That alone felt like a win to Hinata. He stayed put, floating just out of reach but close enough for Hinata to see the faint pink creeping along the tips of his ears.

“I didn’t say that,” Atsumu grumbled finally, looking away like maybe if he didn’t meet Hinata’s eyes he could somehow escape this conversation unscathed.

“Ohhh,” Hinata drew out the word with mock understanding, nodding sagely as if everything suddenly made sense. “So you weren’t being generous—you were just losing fair and square.”

The splash that followed was almost instantaneous. Hinata sputtered dramatically and wiped at his face with both hands even though most of it was for show, he was in the water after all.

“You did not just splash me!” he accused once he recovered enough to glare at Atsumu—or at least try to glare; it was hard when he couldn’t stop grinning.

“Ya deserved it,” Atsumu shot back without missing a beat.

“You know,” Hinata said after a moment when they’d settled back into an easier rhythm—floating side by side under the stars while waves lapped gently against their shoulders—“you’re fun when you’re flustered.”

Atsumu groaned again—louder this time—and tilted backward into an ungraceful float like someone who’d given up on arguing entirely. His blond hair now dark fanned out around him in wet streaks that caught glimmers of moonlight as he stared up at the sky with exaggerated resignation.

“Ya think yer so funny,” Atsumu muttered after a beat, voice muffled slightly by the water rippling around him.

“I think I’m right,” Hinata corrected cheerfully, paddling closer now until they were only an arm's length apart. He treaded water effortlessly despite the grin threatening to split his face in two.

For a moment neither of them spoke; they just floated there together under the stars while gentle waves lapped against their shoulders and ankles.

“You’re lucky I don’t dunk ya right now,” Atsumu said finally without glancing over at him—it sounded almost… fond?

“Try me,” Hinata shot back immediately because challenging Atsumu was practically second nature by now—and besides, if anyone was getting dunked tonight? It wasn’t going to be him.

Atsumu turned then—just enough for their eyes to meet across the shimmering surface of the water—and for half a heartbeat everything else fell away: the waves rolling softly against them; the distant hum of cicadas onshore; even Hinata’s own heartbeat seemed to pause mid-thump.

Then Atsumu smirked—a slow thing that crept across his face like sunrise breaking over mountains—and suddenly Hinata felt very aware of how close they were floating now.

Hinata sputtered out a mouthful of seawater, blinking rapidly as he came up for air. The moonlight caught the droplets cascading down his face like diamonds, and he couldn’t help but feel a rush of exhilaration. Okay, that was unexpected—and kind of impressive, he thought, wiping a hand across his forehead.

“Did you just dunk me?” he asked, chortling uncontrollably.

Atsumu smirked even wider, clearly enjoying the laughter he’d unleashed. “Yeah, I did! And I would do it again.” His tone was teasing, like he was challenging Hinata to come up with some ridiculous response.

Hinata’s heart raced—not just from the cold air still brushing his face, but because the way Atsumu looked at him right then made it feel like they were the only two people in the world. Focus. He needed to come up with something clever.

“It doesn’t do much, does it?” He raised his chin defiantly, trying to channel all that confident energy from his volleyball matches into this moment. “You’ll have to do better than that!”

Why was he saying this? He felt a mix of exhilaration and fear coil within him—like standing at the edge of an expansive cliff and being told to jump without knowing if there was water down below or rocks waiting for his skull to crack.

Atsumu raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Hinata’s answer. “Oh really? That sounds like a challenge.” He pushed off from where he'd been floating and moved a little closer, and Hinata’s breath hitched for a moment as the space between them shrank.

This was bad, right? Really bad. What if he jumped too high? What if Atsumu didn’t actually want any sort of… anything between them? Maybe this whole thing had just been one big fluke—a friendly beach day gone terribly wrong! What if he thought Hinata was being weird.

Ignoring the frantic thoughts spiraling through his mind like leaves in autumn wind, Hinata instead settled for an exaggerated nonchalance. “Well,” he declared boldly while trying to keep his voice steady, “Let’s see how creative you can be.”

Then Atsumu suddenly lunged forward, not quite reaching out to grab him but close enough for Hinata’s stomach to flutter with adrenaline. “You think you can dodge me forever?”

“Oh no!” Hinata blurted before instinctively kicking backward in an awkward flail that sent waves splashing over both of them again. What’s wrong with him?! Was he going to end up drowning right here because he couldn’t keep it cool?

With how close they were now, the sound of their laughter mingled with the waves—a sweet pulse that made the air around them hum with warmth.

“You’re not escaping this time,” Atsumu teased, inching closer until their knees brushed beneath the cool surface of the water.

His heart was going to implode on itself. Each pulse surged through him like he was sprinting down the court during a game—loud and electric—a reminder that somehow this moment felt bigger than winning any match ever could.

“Challenge accepted!” Hinata said suddenly, buoyed by some reckless burst of courage he didn’t know he had. “You wanna see how quick I am?” He grinned wide enough to show off all his teeth as he kicked off from where they floated together and shot forward into deeper waters.

But before long, Hinata sensed Atsumu closing in on him faster than expected—wasn’t that cheating?! He can’t be this fast! Not fair! He felt the urge to scramble away but instead was met by another wave—a sudden splash against his back as Atsumu surged ahead with surprising speed.

And then there was nothing else—just them against the ocean and stars—all other worries washed away by laughter carried on salt-kissed breezes.

“You’re slower than I thought!” Atsumu announced breathlessly as they broke apart after what felt like forever under those brilliant celestial lights; his voice slightly teasing but tinted with admiration too.

Hinata's cheeks flushed hotter than ever at yet another compliment disguised beneath banter. Yup. Definitely blushing. He leaned back against a gentle wave, buoyed by warmth creeping under his skin. “You know what? Maybe you’re faster than you look.”

“I am pretty great,” Atsumu scoffed lightly but grinned so wide it felt like they were in the middle of the day.

“But let’s settle this later on dry land!”

“Dry land?” Atsumu quirked an eyebrow curiously but didn’t bite back immediately; instead letting something flicker behind those earthy eyes—hope or anticipation?

ˋˏ ༻𖤓༺ ˎˊ

Atsumu’s pov

The moon cast its pale glow over the waves, which whispered softly as they lapped against the shore. The air was cooler now, the warmth of the day replaced by the crispness of night, but neither Atsumu nor Hinata moved to gather their things or head back.

Instead, they lay sprawled on the sand, their bodies close enough that Atsumu could feel Hinata’s warmth radiating through the small space between them. Close enough that he could hear Hinata’s steady breathing, slow and even, as if the entire world had quieted just for them.

Atsumu rested on his back with one arm tucked beneath his head, staring up at the dizzying swathe of stars. His other arm lay at his side, fingers idly sifting through the cool grains of sand. He could feel it sticking to his damp skin, gritty and grounding.

To his left, Hinata mirrored his position—or maybe not exactly mirrored, because nothing Hinata did was ever still or quiet for long. Even now, Atsumu could see him out of the corner of his eye, fidgeting slightly as he picked at a stray piece of seaweed stuck to his wristband.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable—far from it—but it felt charged somehow, like an unspoken question lingered in the air, waiting for one of them to be brave enough to voice it.

Atsumu’s mind kept drifting back to earlier—to the way Hinata had looked at him while they were in the water. That teasing grin that didn’t quite hide something softer beneath it. The way Hinata’s laughter had rung out over the waves, luminous and unfettered, making Atsumu feel lighter than he had in years.

What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like this was some kind of big deal or anything. They were friends—teammates even—not whatever else his brain kept trying (and failing) not to think about. But then Hinata would do something—like smile at him a little too warmly or nudge him playfully with an elbow—and suddenly Atsumu felt like his chest was too small to hold everything he was feeling all at once.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hinata said suddenly, gentle but probing. When Atsumu turned his head to look at him, he found Hinata already watching him with those wide amber eyes that always seemed to catch every bit of light around them.

Atsumu shrugged, trying for nonchalance even as heat crept up the back of his neck. “My thoughts are worth more than a penny,” he quipped easily because what else could he say? That he couldn’t stop thinking about how close they were lying right now? About how easy it would be to reach out and—

“Well, a penny is all I have,” Hinata countered with a shrug, his tone devoid of hesitation, but brimming with playful determination.

“Guess ya won’t hear my thoughts then,” Atsumu rebutted, trying for dismissive, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him, twitching upward despite himself.

“I will have to coax them out of you,” Hinata said, his voice teasing though there was an undercurrent of sincerity that made Atsumu’s pulse quicken.

“Coax all ya want," Atsumu muttered as he turned his gaze toward the stars overhead. “I actually wasn’t thinkin’ of anythin’.” The lie felt weak even as it left his lips.

“Liar,” Hinata interrupted, cutting through Atsumu’s excuse before it could take root. “You’re never quiet unless you’re thinking about something serious.”

That caught Atsumu off guard—not because it wasn’t true—it absolutely was—but because Hinata had noticed. He didn’t think anyone paid that much attention to him outside of volleyball—not really. But then again, Hinata wasn’t just anyone.

“And what if I am?” Atsumu shot back after a beat, arching an eyebrow as if daring Hinata to push further.

Hinata didn’t rise to the bait—not in the way Atsumu expected anyway. Instead, he shifted closer, rolling onto his side so their faces were nearly level. His elbow dug into the sand as he propped himself up casually while his free hand moved idly, fingers tracing abstract shapes into the ground between them.

“Then maybe you should talk about it,” Hinata suggested simply, as if baring your soul wasn’t like tearing yourself apart; as if it were easy to unravel the twist and laceration in your throat with mere words.

“As if yer ever serious about anything,” Atsumu deflected with a playful nudge.

Hinata chuckled softly. “Hey, I can be serious when I need to be,” he protested, though his smile gave him away.

Atsumu raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “Oh yeah? When was the last time ya were serious?”

Hinata paused for a moment, then grinned mischievously. “Well, I was serious about beating you in that race earlier.”

Atsumu let out a snort of laughter. “Savor it. The victory is mine next time.”

Hinata’s eyes sparkled with challenge. “We’ll see about that.”

Atsumu snorted softly but didn’t look away from him this time. “Yeah? And what makes ya think I wanna talk about my secrets with ya?”

Hinata’s grin widened, a crooked curve that rode the fine line between annoying and endearing. “Because I’m awesome,” he replied without missing a beat. Then, after a brief pause filled with faux gravitas. “And because I let you dunk me earlier without holding a grudge.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching upward despite himself. “Yer insufferable is what ya are,” he muttered under his breath.

“And yet," Hinata leaned forward ever so slightly—just enough for Atsumu to catch the faint smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose—“here we are.”

There it was again—that charge in the air between them. It scorched, it hissed, it shone and it fizzed and cut, and Atsumu didn’t know whether to lean into it or run as far away as possible.

But then Hinata’s expression shifted slightly, the grin softened around the edges; the teasing glint in his eyes dimmed ever so slightly as something more serious settled over him.

“I mean it though.” Hinata’s voice dropped lower now—barely louder than the rhythmic sound of waves gently licking at the shore nearby. “If there’s something on your mind… you can tell me.”

Atsumu hesitated—his breath hitching as he tried to navigate through emotions he didn’t fully understand himself. He didn’t do this; he wasn’t someone who sat around spilling feelings like waterfalls. Especially not when those half those feelings revolved around, well, who was right next to him now.

“You ever feel like ya don’t really… fit anywhere?” The words tumbled out before he could stop them—rough-edged and raw from disuse—but he didn’t stop there. “Like yer always surrounded by people but they don’t see you?” He swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep going even as heat crawled up his neck. “I dunno. Guess I never really felt close to anyone before now.”

Hinata blinked at him once—twice—and for a second Atsumu braced himself for some kind of teasing comeback or awkward silence. Instead, Hinata tilted his head slightly with an unreadable expression.

“I get that,” Hinata murmured finally. “I mean… people always expect me to be this guy who never gives up or gets tired or feels sad because,well,” He gestured vaguely before continuing, “That’s who I’ve always been around them, y’know? The one who keeps smiling no matter what.”

Atsumu stared at him silently—his throat tightening inexplicably as Hinata’s words sank in deeper than he cared to admit.

“But…” Hinata hesitated briefly before pressing on carefully: “…it’s nice not having to be that person all the time.” His eyes flicked back up toward Atsumu’s hesitantly before adding softly, “It’s nice having someone accepts all of you.”

Atsumu’s breath caught, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. The world around them—sand, sea, stars—blurred into an insignificant backdrop to the clarity of Hinata's words.

Atsumu cleared his throat roughly, trying to steady himself. “But what if there’re parts of ya that even you don’t know?”

Hinata reached out instinctively, his hand stopping just short of Atsumu’s arm. Close enough to offer comfort without pressure. “You learn to navigate through them,” he said gently, his eyes never leaving Atsumu’s face. “And you don’t have to do it alone.”

Atsumu let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding erratically against his ribs. “You sayin’ you’d put up with me while I’m bein’ all edgy and unhinged?”

“Yup,” Hinata replied with such easy certainty that Atsumu couldn’t help but believe him.

“Even when I’m grumpy and foul?”

Hinata laughed—the sound bright and pregnable. “Especially then.”

Finally, Atsumu broke the silence with a soft scoff. He let himself flop back onto the sand, stretching his arms above his head as if to capture the entire endless sky. “Yer gonna regret saying that,” he warned playfully.

Hinata flopped back beside him, mimicking the pose and staring up at the same sky. “Nah,” he said confident, warm like sunbaked sand. “I won’t.”

And maybe that was what made it okay—the thought that even as messy and tangled as everything felt right now, there was someone willing to wade through it all with him; someone who saw him even when he barely saw himself.

“Guess this means yer stuck with me then,” Atsumu said finally—more serious than teasing though there was a lightness to his voice now that hadn’t been there before.

Hinata turned his head slightly so he could shoot Atsumu a sideways grin, a slow blooming thing full of genuine joy. “Guess so.” He stretched one arm lazily toward Atsumu’s side and poked him gently in the ribs.