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Maybe it was a glitch in the matrix. Honestly, Atsumu has no idea.
Atsumu had grown up thinking that he’d never get to experience real, true love until his life eventually sparks into color before his eyes—in other words, until Atsumu finally meets his goddamn soulmate. Before that, though, all he can see before him is an array of dullness; of black, grey, and white merging and dissipating and forming new shades everywhere he goes. Atsumu had grown up listening to his parents gush over how beautiful the color of his eyes are, and how beautiful the tiny balcony garden his mother fusses over is when sunlight shines down on their home.
Ever since Atsumu found out that his universe revolves around these rules, he has waited impatiently to experience for himself the vibrant colors of the world around him that come in the package deal of being with the love of his life, which would finally put an end to his monochrome misery.
On a side note, people weren’t not allowed to date other people before meeting their soulmate. There isn’t a significant rule in place for that. Hell, Atsumu had dated plenty of times himself, but the feelings were all, in a somewhat distasteful way, the same—they were empty. He’d felt absolutely nothing for them. It’s the norm to enter and exit meaningless relationships like these in this world, because finding one’s soulmate from the thousands upon thousands of people a person meets throughout their life is just so, so incredibly difficult. Yet, “it’s this difficulty that makes it worth it,” as Atsumu’s parents have said time and time again.
Maybe it was a glitch in the matrix—or maybe it was just Hinata Shoyo, plain and simple.
__☀__
“I think we should probably stop seeing each other.”
Atsumu raises an eyebrow groggily, eyeing the dark haired man lying next to him on a bed foreign to his touch. Grey sunlight drips in from the bedroom window, and all of a sudden, despite the heat that swamps the two of them in their afterglow, Atsumu feels icy shivers run down his body.
“Oh?” Atsumu’s one-word answer comes out more like a question and he winces quietly, not wanting to sound like he actually gives a shit. Suna lets out a sigh, a weary twinkle of something all too familiar to Atsumu shining in his eyes, running cold fingers through a disarray of fucked out, post-sex hair.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Suna starts, but his words immediately halt to a stop upon seeing the knowing glint in Atsumu’s eyes. Atsumu sits up from his entangled position, ripples of annoyance washing through him in waves.
“No harm done,” Atsumu throws an emotionless grin in Suna's direction, his heart suddenly seized with a strange, impotent anger. “The sex was good.”
“Yeah,” Suna blinks, undeterred by the sheer flatness in Atsumu’s words. “Yeah, it was.”
Without another glance in Suna's direction, Atsumu hops off his worn out bed with a light spring in his footsteps, throwing his clothes on without much thought.
___☀__
The way back to Atsumu’s shared apartment with Osamu is a long, arduous one, especially underneath the glaring heat of the summer sun, but he isn’t complaining. Despite a familiar vexation towards the colorless world around him eating his heart away as per usual, Atsumu has to admit he and Osamu had chosen a good spot to live through the daunting four years of college glaring at him with subtle menace.
The afternoon sun shines soft yet piercingly, basking the road in pale shades of white as Atsumu walks begrudgingly towards the apartment. Shop windows glitter in the grimy gusts of summer wind, and Atsumu feels himself melting into the small crowd that shifts and transforms with his every movement.
But as his shoulders continue to bump into those of complete strangers on the busy street, he can’t help but grimace at the memory of Suna's words; at the color of his vacant ink eyes and the shape of his silvery lips, lacking even a single drop of emotion.
This is the last fucking straw, Atsumu mutters in disgust, a sudden surge of quiet rage threatening to burst through his veins—directed towards whom though, he has zero clue.
Atsumu shudders, momentarily closing his eyes to gulp down the incessant stream of curses hanging by the corner of his mouth. The jolts of anger had appeared so abruptly he isn’t sure how to react, apart from clenching his teeth so hard his jaw might break as he continues walking down the street in extra large paces.
Ever since he and Osamu had officially left for college in the spring (and that was one year ago) he hasn't felt any other emotion apart from anger, anger, and more anger. In the past, there was at least familial love and some sprinkles of happiness here and there back home, existing in the blurry memories of childhood and his juvenile years in middle school and high school. But after that, after breaking off an impressive number of relationships and hookups that left him with nothing but a sour taste in his mouth, the suffocation began to seep in. Having his anger directed towards some of the nicer guys on the scale (like Suna, for example) isn’t exactly helping him in any particular way, but right now he honestly doesn’t give a fuck.
God, Atsumu just wants to feel something. Anything. Hell, he’s willing to have his heart shattered into a million pieces for all he cares. He just needs to feel.
The fury that is continuously simmering in his body reaches a peak as he slams the apartment door behind him, ignoring the age-old creaks emitting from the screws groaning in protest under his unexpected force.
“Fuck,” the word spits out from Atsumu’s mouth, voice ringing powerlessly, feebly, across the liquid grey of his living room.
__☀__
Atsumu inhales deeply before shuffling his backpack over his shoulder, staring up at the entrance of the local art museum. He can already feel the kinks in his shoulders relax and the stormy thoughts in his mind scatter and disappear as he thinks about the next few hours he’s going to spend here, Atsumu’s number one ideal hiding spot from the constant ripples of irritation in his heart about this whole soulmate bullshit. Atsumu’s face unconsciously breaks out into a smile at that.
To be honest, Atsumu sucks at art. He can’t draw for shit, and he doesn't have a distinctive amount of talent in other types of artistic creation either, be it music, photography, creative writing, or anything else. What he can do, though, is appreciate. Atsumu’s broad knowledge in art history often surprises the people around him and even himself sometimes. For someone like Atsumu, who’s constantly craving for something, anything, to touch him or move him in some way, he would find himself spending hours upon hours just going down the hallways, admiring the artworks on display. Despite being unable to see any color other than black and white, Atsumu is constantly in search of just one inkling that would ignite even the tiniest of fires in his eyes or a spark in his bleached surroundings.
Atsumu walks through the double doors, breathing in the familiar scent of the old wooded floors. Immediately, he feels his heart bounce back to life, and suddenly the world around him doesn’t seem as terribly dull as before.
Every week the museum holds an exhibit for local artists to show their work, and this week’s works are, to Atsumu’s surprise, unexpectedly good. He studies the strokes in every piece as he walks down the hallway, a nagging voice in the back of his head constantly reminding him that the art displayed in front of him would look so, so much better if lush colors filled up his vision instead of the usual dreariness. Ugh.
As Atsumu walks past each painting, he can feel from the corner of his vision someone on the other side of the room with a similar pace as his own, examining each artwork with total concentration. It’s an odd sight, as the place is usually empty apart from Atsumu himself and an elderly couple whom he sees quite often. From what he struggles to outline through his already terrible eyesight, the only thing Atsumu can confirm is that the person has a small frame, and is probably around the same age as him.
It isn’t until the distance between the two of them closes, as the two follow the line of paintings from opposite sides of the hall, when Atsumu dares to throw a sideways glance at the unusual presence of this particular boy. He’s dressed like a normal college student, except the way he carries himself emanates an air of something Atsumu can’t exactly pinpoint; a soft white cardigan fits snugly across his chest, pulled over dark colored shorts with a leather bag slung across his torso. Just from his side profile alone Atsumu can tell that he’s undeniably attractive, and for some reason the quiet solemnity in his aura makes Atsumu more than curious.
Then it happened. As though he’d felt Atsumu’s shameless gaze piercing through him, the boy’s head turns and a pair of dark eyes meet Atsumu’s, the world slackening into slow motion.
And then he feels it.
The rush of impeccable, absolute fervor that runs through his blood is not unlike continuous shocks of electricity, Atsumu’s eyes widening as his heart strickens in the most painfully beautiful way possible. The boy stands in front of him, dumbfounded, the two of them taking each other in as though some strange pulse is traveling through both their bodies at the same time. Atsumu gasps, frantically attempting to tame the pounding in his wild heart, because he has never felt more alive than he is right now, at this moment— Could this be...?
Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut for what feels like a thousand years before opening them again, the sputtering in his chest undeniable, unstoppable-
But something feels wrong. Something feels very, very wrong.
And then he realizes it.
Everything around him is still in hues of black and white.
The boy’s dark eyes haven't turned into whatever color they really are, and the world is still a monotone desert of washed out grey.
“Um…” The boy starts with uncertainty, a hand nervously tugging at the edges of his cardigan. Atsumu’s eyes concentrate on him for the first time and he feels a tingling on his skin, his throat strained, mind slightly delirious.
His face is beautiful. The gentle line of his eyes curve across his cheeks and downwards to a cute button nose, lips soft with a somewhat delicate texture to it that draws Atsumu in irresistibly; sunlight from the ceiling window above splashes onto pale, fluffed hair and the luminous glow that reflects in Atsumu’s eyes puts him right into a dream-like trance, the world slipping like graphite underneath his feet.
Atsumu blinks twice, the thrashing in his heart slowing down to a gentle thrum; but he can still feel the genuine heat that brushed his cheeks for the first time in his whole life, his body featherlight and nearly dissolving into the glow of the sun from above.
What in the world?
“What the hell just happened?” Atsumu croaks out in a voice two notches higher than he had anticipated, and his stomach recoils a little in embarrassment at the sound.
“No idea,” the boy’s voice is thoughtful yet bright, reverberating in the empty hallway and even more so in Atsumu’s heart. He looks up at Atsumu under dark lashes, brushing against soft shadows underneath a pair of smiling eyes. “But I think something really messed up just happened.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Atsumu lets out a laugh of disbelief, and the boy’s smile widens at the utter incredulity that trills in Atsumu’s voice, much like the one that resonates in his own.
“I don’t know about you,” the boy says suddenly, turning back to the painting in front of him, expression unfathomable. “But this is my favorite piece from this week’s exhibit.”
“Huh?” Atsumu asks dumbly, still in a stupor. Is this guy really pretending like nothing even happened? He is. He’s acting like the shocks of electricity that burst through every nerve in their bodies were just fantasy on Atsumu’s part.
The heavy silence that hangs insufferably long between the two of them hits Atsumu in the face and he shakes himself out of his daze, taking three timid steps forward until he is standing only a meter apart from the boy. The clean smell of his body wash wafts through the air and Atsumu’s heart starts hammering again like a drum in the night; primal, consistent, an enigmatic feeling that Atsumu’s never felt before.
“This one,” the boy nods in the direction of a simple watercolor piece, painted over a thin sketch on canvas. “Pretty, right?”
Atsumu tries to turn his focus towards the wall, still slightly fazed by the way the boy’s eyes had glanced subtly over every detail on his face before directing them back to the painting. “Uh, yeah, it’s very nice.”
“You don’t sound so sure,” the boy laughs a little, the sound not unlike wind chimes floating in the air. It’s a beautiful sound and Atsumu feels like crying.
“Well, I don’t really know much about art,” Atsumu clears the thickness in his throat and admits sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “I like it a lot though; I like anything that can make me feel at peace.”
A silence.
“Then...” the boy trails off thoughtfully, quietly. “Looking at this painting, you feel at peace then, even if you can’t see it in color?”
The sudden question slaps the air out of Atsumu.
“Yeah,” a shudder runs through Atsumu’s body, suddenly feeling unbearably cold despite the fire still dancing rapidly in his veins. “I wonder why.”
Atsumu slowly turns and faces the boy head on, feeling hot tears well up on their own, threatening to fall from the lines of his eyes. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair.
“Why isn’t the world in color?” Atsumu demands, his voice high, ringing across the sunlit, washed out gallery. “You felt it too, didn’t you?!”
The boy in front of him flinches at his words, staring down at his shoes, a pained expression taking over his face. It’s as though the reality of the situation has finally sunk into him as well, right down into the marrow of his bones. Atsumu takes this reaction as confirmation. The blaze they had both felt in their hearts was real. This is real life, and the beautiful boy standing in front of him really is the one for him. His soulmate.
And yet...
“Your world isn’t in color either, is it?” Atsumu urges, already feeling a hot stream trickling down the curve of his cheek to his mouth. The saltiness envelopes his taste buds, Atsumu clashing his teeth together to remove its trace.
“N-no, it isn’t… And I have no idea why…” The boy stammers, seemingly more alarmed at how worked up Atsumu is getting than being shocked at the situation himself.
“Why ?” Atsumu feels like throwing up, the patches of black and white and everything in between that occupy his vision suddenly becoming too much to bear. “I’ve found you; I’ve finally found you! And yet…”
You’re the one.
Atsumu wants to shout; he wants to scream out, at the top of his lungs, these three words that should make sense but don’t, because the monochrome world in front of him continues to deceive him. The pale hair, the piercing eyes, the light grey dusted on his cheeks. The flares should have appeared, the so-called “spark” that should’ve painted his vision with colors he can’t even begin to imagine should have seeped into everything around him the second his eyes met the boy’s.
“Why are you so calm?” Atsumu breathes out after what feels like eons of pained silence, his throat clawing for air.
The boy blinks, the rigidness in his posture loosening a little as Atsumu’s harsh breathing slowly subsides. “I’m surprised, definitely, but…”
“But?”
“I’ve finally found you too.” The boy says slowly as his face breaks into an ear-splitting grin, joy simmering in the crinkles of his eyes.
Atsumu blinks, his mind not quite processing the simplicity of the boy’s answer. “...What?”
Atsumu heard him the first time. What he couldn’t comprehend was the sheer effortlessness, the sincerity, the straightforward tone of his voice that sounded like music to Atsumu’s ears. It left no room for hesitation, for despair; it was warm, gentle, welcoming Atsumu into his arms as though nothing else in the world matters in this moment.
As though leaving the world as they’ve known it all their lives, in splashes of grey, as it is right now, is completely okay.
Everything will be okay.
“My blood is pumping so loud I can’t hear myself properly,” the boy laughs brightly, stretching his arms out wide without a care in the world. “Feeling it in my entire body, just knowing that you’re the one for me... God, I honestly couldn’t care less about what color my world is in!”
Atsumu stares at the boy, whose dark eyes are clearer than the clearest summer days, with nothing to hide and nothing to fear.
Atsumu feels the corners of his lips curve upwards, and laughter bubbles from deep within him. In seconds, the two of them are laughing; they probably look like they’re out of their minds to the old couple who’s probably somewhere down the hallway, but Atsumu really doesn’t care anymore. Atsumu brushes away the strands of hair in his eyes and stands up straight. The two of them drink in the sight of each other, never wanting to pull away, ever again.
After a long pause, the boy speaks up.
“I’m Hinata Shoyo,” he introduces himself, one hand on his hip and the other placed firmly above his heart, as though he’s laying himself bare in front of Atsumu. “And I’ll be in your care from now on!”
Atsumu laughs at his pose, warmth seeping through his body from the tip of his head to the soles of his feet, planted firmly on the wooden floor. Atsumu feels like a cup filled to its brim; he’s never felt more satisfied than he is right now, standing in his favorite place, laughing with the love of his life.
“Nice to meet you, Shoyo-kun,” Atsumu steps forward and places his hand against the one above Shoyo’s heart, gripping it tightly. “I’m Miya Atsumu. Please take care of me too.”
“I hope I’m in good hands, Atsumu-san.” Shoyo takes Atsumu’s hand into the palm of his own, smiling brilliantly—and Atsumu’s heart bursts into flames once more.
Underneath the white summer sun, Atsumu doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone, or anything, as lovely as the person standing before him now.
For the first time in his life, Atsumu finds monochromes beautiful.
__☀__
And the world goes on.
Staring out the open window of the new apartment he shares with Shoyo, Atsumu sighs into the winter air, mist forming and dissipating with each breath he takes. As far as the eye can see, there is only black, white, and everything in between.
However, this time around, a soft, firm hand holds on tightly to his own. Atsumu looks down and grins at a messy head of pale, fluffy hair leaning against his arm. Shoyo seems to feel Atsumu’s gaze on him as he looks up and throws a brilliant smile in return, a face so beautiful it never fails to knock the breath out of Atsumu’s lungs.
“Hey, Tsumu-san," Hinata calls Atsumu's name softly, squeezing Atsumu’s hand as he snuggles into Atsumu’s chest. "Remember when we first met at the museum, I asked you if you still felt at peace looking at the painting in front of you even though they weren’t in color?”
“Mm, yeah,” Atsumu wraps his arm around Shoyo, rubbing circles on Shoyo’s hand with his thumb. Contented sighs brush lightly against the threads of Atsumu’s sweater.
“It’s kinda embarrassing to say this after so long,” Shoyo rubs his nose sheepishly. “But when I asked that, I was actually referring to myself.”
Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Shoyo blushes, light grey dusting his cheeks. Atsumu’s heart does a somersault.
“In the five-ish seconds when all those soulmate-y thingies were happening—” Shoyo stops, pouting at the way Atsumu snorted in reaction to his wholly unromantic description of their fateful encounter. Atsumu receives a punch in the arm and a shut up, Tsumu-san!
“...Anyways, I figured out pretty quickly that something must’ve gone wrong. So when I tried to turn your attention to the painting, I was actually panicking, thinking: ‘what if all of this was never meant to happen?’ ‘What if what we’re feeling right now isn’t real?’ ‘Where are the colors?’ ‘What if...?’ So many what ifs...”
Shoyo trails off and Atsumu is silent, taking in Shoyo's unspoken thoughts of their shared past. Rather, Atsumu's mouth feels glued shut as he watches a tranquil look unfold in the darkness of his favorite eyes.
“But then, when you said that you liked the painting in front of us, that you liked anything as long as it made you feel at peace, I realized that maybe my concerns didn’t matter,” Shoyo turns his face upwards, leaning in and planting a soft kiss on Atsumu’s cheek.
“Because whatever our eyes were telling us, I knew that what I felt for you was real, and I wanted you to feel the same way, too.”
Atsumu stares at Shoyo, the words failing to reach his lips. After all this time, taking all of Shoyo in is still too much. The honest ring in his voice, the way he trusted himself despite the protests in his mind, and the firmness in his final decision to just say: fuck it. I love you. And that’s all that matters.
Before Atsumu even realizes it, his mouth is on Shoyo’s. The kiss is slow, their bodies warm in each other’s embrace, unperturbed by the coldness of the winter night.
__☀__
“It’s this difficulty that makes it worth it,” as Atsumu’s parents have said time and time again. Growing up on these words, Atsumu endured and endured and endured. He yearned for his soulmate to come one day and bring him out of this lifeless, colorless world that he resents so much.
But now, maybe he doesn’t resent it as much anymore.
Maybe it was a glitch in the matrix—or maybe it was just Hinata Shoyo, plain and simple.