Work Text:
Hinata’s checking his Instagram again or more precisely, Kageyama’s Instagram, judging by the crinkle of his nose. Bokuto’s right and Atsumu should confiscate his phone. It’s been thirteen agonizing months and Hinata has yet to let go of his pre-breakup routine of falling asleep to his boyfriend’s volleyball matches.
Atsumu won’t be the judge of how soon is too soon to move on since he’s never had anything worth moving on from, but everyone on the team can and has agreed on multiple occasions that it’s time for Hinata to stop being a little bitch and come clubbing with them so he can forget all about Kageyama dumping his sorry ass when Hinata flew home to visit.
Was it shitty? Yes. Did it suck? Yes. Are they doomed to live in this moment forever? Apparently, yes because Hinata’s the idiot who doesn’t see he’s better than Kageyama treated him, and Atsumu’s the idiot, who (as Sakusa put it) would fight god if it made Hinata smile. Atsumu should stop venting to him about this but Bokuto can’t keep his mouth shut and everyone else assumes Hinata and Atsumu are a thing in hiding. The only thing in hiding is Atsumu’s constant boner for the kid.
“Hina,” Atsumu tries when Hinata’s mumbling escalates to self-flagellation.
“Mhm?”
“Thought we were watching a movie. If you don’t stop following and unfollowing your ex, I’m going back to my room.”
“No, don’t,” Hinata says, looking up. “I’m done, look.”
He drops his phone on the bed and scoots next to Atsumu, mashing his face on Atsumu’s stomach. Atsumu shouldn’t. He told himself (and Sakusa) he wouldn’t. Rarely sticks to that decision when he’s alone and Hinata needs him.
So he’s touch-starved, sue him. Hinata’s gentle and loving, the one initiating. It’s not like Atsumu’s taking advantage of his heartbreak. It’s not like he noticed how much closer they’ve gotten since Kageyama, how they fall asleep in the same bed, and Hinata can’t stand to be away from him—or maybe that’s Atsumu who can’t, but what does it matter as long as Hinata’s happy.
“What do you think will happen if you stalk him every day?” Atsumu asks, running his fingers through Hinata’s hair.
“I wasn’t,” Hinata mumbles into his sweatshirt. “He happened to be on my feed because I follow him. Because it’d be petty not to since we br—”
“Broke up on good terms, I know,” Atsumu finishes the sentence for him. “I know, sunshine.”
By ‘good terms’ Hinata means he sobbed his voice raw for four days straight while Atsumu held his wracking body and tried every tactic short of begging to get him to stop crying long enough to explain what tragedy had befallen them. When Hinata hiccuped through the story—Kageyama giving him one good night before leveling him with the shattered state of their long-distance relationship—Atsumu didn’t know whether to cry with him or slap him senseless.
“You think he stalks you?” Atsumu asks because Hinata wants to rage and Atsumu hurts less knowing all the details. They’ve both latched onto the ghost of Kageyama’s shittiness in their own strange ways.
“He never likes any of my pictures,” Hinata mopes. “It’s fine, doesn’t matter. I just wish he cared a little.”
“He does,” Atsumu lies, wishing he could do what Sakusa keeps insisting and rip the bandaid. Not only does Kageyama not care but he has forgotten all about it because it’s been over a year and Hinata was the one holding the relationship together way before that anyway.
Hinata sighs, his shoulders locking. Atsumu slides his hand through the collar of his sweatshirt to massage the pain away. It’s an Inarizaki hoodie, big on Atsumu, extra big on Hinata. Atsumu knows what it looks like. That’s why he lends it. He used to hate sharing clothing. Having a twin with your exact body-type and none of your good taste does that to you but seeing Hinata in his old jerseys—MIYA on Hinata’s back—drives him rabid.
Hinata melts under his fingertips, splaying all his weight on top of him. He mumbles something Atsumu can’t make out, too taken with the softness of his skin.
“What was that?”
“You’re my safety blanket,” Hinata picks up his face to say.
He lays his cheek on Atsumu, looking at him with those puppy-dog eyes that rob Atsumu clean of any complaints about the uselessness of monogamy. Such a cliche, pinning this rehabbed fuckboy narrative on someone who’s emotionally unavailable. But it’s true too. Some days, some nights, he’s embarrassed to admit he does it for Hinata, the whole facade. Bringing girls back to rub the loneliness off his scent. Letting them stay for Hinata to see them scurrying out.
“We can make him care?” he thinks out loud and this idea is definitely not Sakusa-approved, the opposite of what the team asks of him. He’s about to act real selfish but the spark in Hinata’s sulky face and the high Atsumu gets, flirting smiles out of him, makes it worth the Bokuto scolding to come.
“How?” Hinata chirps.
Atsumu shrugs. “Make him jealous?”
“Jealous?”
“You know,” Atsumu says. “He always has your panties in a bunch when he’s with someone else, so.” He falters under Hinata’s stare, trusting to a fault. “Like, come here,” he gestures when words won’t happen.
Hinata crawls on his hands and knees to get closer, laying his chin on Atsumu’s collarbone. Up close the hope in his eyes is more pronounced. And Sakusa’s right and Sakusa can suck Atsumu’s dick, because Atsumu isn’t wrong to want to bring back the Hinata they all fell for.
Atsumu blindly pats the bed for Hinata’s phone, finding it before flipping them both on the side so they’re spooning. They look at Hinata’s screen as Atsumu types in his passcode and clicks on the camera.
Hinata makes a silly face at the reflection, cheesing big, his eyes crinkled shut. Atsumu cozies up to him, lips pressed to Hinata’s hair, giving the camera his signature smirk—snaps the picture. Cuddles him further to click a few more. Shit, he wants this. But the pictures will have to suffice.
“It’s unfair how good you always look,” Hinata comments. He turns on his back, missing the point. “No wonder you have so many fans. Your face is perfect all the time.”
Atsumu rolls his eyes and hands him his phone. “Post that with some vague caption like we might be dating and trust me, he’ll care.”
Hinata blushes, looking at the photo now with the correct context. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“We’re on the same team!”
“So?” Atsumu says. “It ain’t illegal. Our contracts say nothing of dating.”
He fails to mention everyone thinks that’s what they’re doing anyway. Why else would Hinata ask for Atsumu’s room key every time he goes to bed early? (To drive him crazy.) Because if he doesn’t, Atsumu will stumble to his room, wonderfully buzzed and extra cuddly, to pass out, still dressed with his face on Hinata’s heart.
Hinata blushes deeper, his ears and neck bright red. “But you... they’ll think you’re, you know?”
“Into guys?” Atsumu guesses. Hinata nods. “I am. I’m into both.”
“What?!” Hinata flings himself. “You never told me! I thought we were best friends.” Best friends!! Atsumu wants to wheeze with how tight his chest gets. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why, would you have done anything about it?”
Hinata’s practically sizzling. “No,” he warbles out.
“No?” Atsumu jokes, and only half of his heart disintegrates into dust. It’s stressful even for his masochism. He doesn’t do well with rejection, had both too much and not enough of it growing up the least liked twin. He’s fragile, weirdly sensitive, and Hinata’s rejection stings the most because Hinata loves everyone.
“Oh, I ain’t your type then? Thought you loved ‘em tall setters, or is it the blond?” He fluffs his hair sheepishly. “Cause for you, I can go back to my natural.” Why is he talking?
Hinata looks at him, really looks, skims his jawline, his lips, his smirk and the solitary dimple that comes with it. He’s staring at Atsumu the same way Atsumu thought Hinata had when they first met and Atsumu felt his brain wring dry of any charm, had this intense, predestined feeling that they would play together, couldn’t shut up about it for weeks. When he called Osamu to announce he was psychic because they had in fact landed on the same team, Osamu said, “You just wanted to fuck his brains out, Tsum.”
“Let me guess, you prefer Samu. He’s the hot twin—”
“You,” Hinata interjects, “Definitely you.”
“Lit.” Lit?!
“Sorry!” Hinata panics, waving his hands in front of him. “That was weird.”
“Relax, pumpkin, I’m teasing you,” Atsumu folds. “I know you’re not over him. Yet. Somehow.”
“Let’s do it.” Hinata leans over him. “The selfie, the fake selfie.”
“Didn’t you take one with Oikawa last week?” Atsumu says, though he promised himself he wouldn’t bring this up because it’s the stuff of stalkers to get jealous over something as trivial as his best friend going on a day-long date with a hot setter he used to admire, while Atsumu sat on his bed eating microwaved ramen.
“People will think you’ve a setter kink,” he chuckles, he’s a moron.
“You’re right,” Hinata mumbles to himself. Atsumu should have learned to shut up as a child and blames Osamu for not kicking his ass more when he spazzed. “We need something more,” Hinata figures, re-determined.
“More?”
“That’s friendly,” Hinata explains, “We need something romantic, something boyfriends would do.” His eyes drop to Atsumu’s lips before trampolining back to his eyes. “To—to sell the story,” he hurries to add.
“Like?”
Hinata sits back on his knees. “You know.”
Without the delicious, prickling claustrophobia of Hinata’s fit, lithe body, Atsumu’s relieved to find he’s as cocky ever, cool as a cucumber, the man of many girlfriends, the school hotshot, the fangirl fan-favorite, face of the team, fucker of all genders, the flirtiest flirt you’ll ever encounter.
“You’re the one with the ex-boyfriend.”
It’s weird bringing him up, a bit of a mood-ruiner, but it’s not like Atsumu doesn’t know what’s happening. It’s not like he hasn’t been this person before, the rebound, the replacement boy-toy. He’s gonna pathetically want it too, devour any scraps Hinata throws his way, but he needs Hinata to be on the same page because sometimes it’s hard to remember Hinata sees him as nothing but a warm body when Hinata tucks into his chest after a nightmare and whispers, “Please, don’t ever leave me.”
“You’ve never been in a relationship?” Hinata asks.
Atsumu shrugs. “Don’t look at me like that, I’ve fucked plenty of both, just never for too long or too exclusively, you get me?”
“Ah,” Hinata says, probably thinking Atsumu’s some sort of heartless douchebag, which yes, he is, was, still is, but would gladly not be, maybe, horribly, certainly, with Hinata he could be anything—especially a badly-written, wannabe love interest.
“You know then.”
“I know what hookups do,” Atsumu teases. “Not boyfriends, Shouyou.”
Hinata groans, falling on his side, his toes picking at Atsumu’s sweatpants. “You know. You just want me to say it.”
“Say what?” Atsumu grins. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweet thing.”
They get stuck in these banter loops way too often, Atsumu happy to tickle him pink and Hinata equally set on not telling him off until they’ve gone and made each other speechless. It’s not flirting, but it’s not not it. Foreplay, Sakusa calls it, and that’s how it feels too.
“Boyfriends kiss,” Hinata counts on his fingers, “And cuddle, and hug,” he pauses to glance at Atsumu, who nods, faux-serious, as if he’s listening intently and learning a lot. “You know, you bastard.”
“And what, Shouyou?” Atsumu chuckles, delighted that he’ll have Mr. I-Never-Curse mention fucking.
“Care about each other.”
“I’d literally die for you, babe,” Atsumu confesses. It’s meant to be a joke except it comes out as anything but. Hinata gets all blushy again, avoiding his eyes, and Atsumu retreats back into his comfort zone of half-lies and funny self-sabotage. “Guess that makes me your boyfriend then, huh?”
Hinata rolls his back towards him, reaching for his phone. “Forget it, go to bed.”
When Atsumu speaks, the words reek of bitterness because they’ve been dripping through a jilted filter for months, “And leave you to cry over an ex that doesn’t deserve you and probably didn’t fuck you right?”
Hinata flips around way too fast. Atsumu flinches—boy, he’s done it now. “No, he did… do that.”
Rad. They’re nose to nose and Hinata’s talking about perfect Kageyama fucking his sweet, hot tush perfectly.
“Was it good though?” Atsumu asks because he’s probably a closeted cuck and deeply whipped.
“How should I know?” Hinata smiles sweetly. “I don’t have anything to compare it to but Kageyama’s good at everything, so yeah, it was good.”
“I’d fuck you better,” Atsumu blurts.
Hinata’s eyes go wide. Atsumu can feel his mouth running, it’s always worse when he’s scared, “What? I’m better than him at setting for you so by that logic I’d be better at that too, I’d be good for you.” What a mortifying recovery he now has to recover from.
“You’re flirting with me!” Hinata calls him out.
Atsumu rolls his eyes, playing it off. “It’s just that you don’t want me to but I’d probably be really good at it since I know your body so well.”
He was wrong before. Now he has officially done it.
Hinata rejects him with a solid, “Ummmmmm.”
“I’m teasing, don’t freak out, I’m being dumb—took it too far. It’s a joke, silly.” Atsumu laughs, groveling on the floor to pick up what’s left of his dignity, while Hinata kicks his balls in, and why is that kind of hot too?
“Oh,” Hinata says.
“You’re so red!” Atsumu diverts, “You’re easy to get flustered, you virgin.”
“I’m not a virgin,” Hinata huffs but he’s not stopping the conversation so Atsumu feels empowered to continue his bullshit.
“Technically,” he says, mentally strangling himself. “You haven’t fucked anyone, right? Kageyama doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d share that.”
“Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“The kind of man who’d share that?” Hinata lowers his voice to drawl.
“Oh,” Atsumu says, as in ‘oh’ this is what you look like when you want people and fuuuuck, I’ll be your goddamn bitch if you asked me in that tone.
Hinata knows he has him and, being a sore winner, reaches out to touch Atsumu’s side, hand settling above Atsumu’s hip bone, and oh. “Would you let me fuck you, Atsumu-san?”
Atsumu doesn’t know if it’s the touching or the cursing or the honorific but he all but ends his own career by almost blurting a super eager, do it, please.
“If—if we were dating, yeah,” he stammers out instead.
“So you’re kind of a virgin too,” Hinata smirks.
“No.”
“You said you’d let me if we were dating but you’ve never dated anyone so by that logic, you’ve never let anyone and so you’re the same as me, half virgin,” Hinata announces proudly.
Atsumu’s brain has short-circuited from the number of times in the last minute and a half he has imagined Hinata on top of him, fingers laced in Atsumu’s own.
“I… oh fuck off, we’re not talking about me here,” he mumbles, shoving Hinata back before his impulsivity decides to embarrass him further by reaching. “Stop flirting with me and get back to your ex who you’re in love with,” he says to remind himself more than Hinata.
“Who?” Hinata laughs. He shuffles so he’s closer than before, head tilted up to look at him. “Didn’t you promise me a picture? It was your idea, Tsumu, or are you too scared now?”
“Yeah, okay.” Atsumu takes the bait. “What would be convinc—”
“Kiss me.”
Atsumu did not hear that right. He must still be malfunctioning because Hinata’s pressing so many parts of him at the same time and looks ready to want him.
“Kiss me,” Hinata repeats, holding his eyes. “That would be really convincing.”
Atsumu leans down without thinking. One of his hands comes up to cup Hinata’s cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his lips. “Shouyou-kun?”
“Yeah?”
“If you’re gonna back out, now’s your chance.”
“Are you?” Hinata asks, fingers gripping Atsumu’s shirt like a contingency plan.
“No,” he swallows. “I’m gonna kiss the shit out of you. That’s why I’m telling you, if there’s any chance you don’t want that, please—”
“Kiss me already,” Hinata whines.
He tugs Atsumu down by his clothes. Their lips brush. Hinata’s breath fans butterflies into his mouth. Atsumu’s stomach quivers, his whole body vibrating. He’s never felt this nervous kissing before.
“Sho,” he whispers against Hinata’s mouth. “You know how bad I want this.”
It’s the most open he has been and the completely wrong moment for it too. That he’d dump his naivete on the equivalent of a revenge plot. It’s not his line to say, he’s not the endgame, just a stepping stone.
“I want you,” Hinata replies.
Atsumu gives him the sloppiest kiss of his life, laughing between tongues, teeth, and meshed lips. It’s nowhere near romantic or sexy but Hinata giggles, instead of helping him fix it.
“You didn’t take the picture,” Atsumu says when they separate to laugh properly.
Hinata smiles, holding his face with both hands. “Practice round. I’ll get the next one.”