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The official first practice of the men’s national volleyball team is just Atsumu’s high school reunion, except worse because he was intending on skipping all his reunions. It’s bad enough that it’s become a gimmick, with papers across the country giving increasingly terrifying nicknames to his generation of volleyball players and calling them into group interviews in combos that are absolutely intended to be hilarious. Throwing sweet Komori-kun out there between Kageyama and Shouyou is just plain cruel, and Hyakuzawa and Hoshiumi can’t even be in the same picture together without the proportions looking off.
At least there are a couple players from other teams that Atsumu hasn’t gotten to know that well, which he believes only happened because the JVA didn’t want to acknowledge the Jackals’ superiority and stack the national team with nothin' but winners. Omi-kun told him he was being ridiculous when he presented the slideshow outlining his theory but still kissed him before bed, so. Guess he likes ridiculous.
They’ve got Hakuba from the Falcons, and someone from Russia who’s not as tall as you'd think a Russian would be, which Atsumu says out loud to him immediately.
Their new libero stares him down just long enough for the people around them to feel uncomfortable. (Not Atsumu, though. Never Atsumu.) His eyes look like they’re glowing under the gym lights. Atsumu shivers a little and pretends he didn't.
“Huh. You’re not as cool as your fans say you are,” the libero says, critically. Atsumu hears the blessed sound of Omi-kun cackling on the other side of the gym, which, what the fuck, they kiss like, all the time. Omi-kun thinks he’s the coolest.
“Keepin’ up with my fans, libero-chan? You one of 'em?” Atsumu asks, flashing a grin at him.
“My name is Yaku. Consider shutting up before the next time I have to interact with you,” Yaku says, and walks away.
Atsumu watches him go with a bemused expression and ignores the sound of Omi-kun trying to catch his breath. What a strange way to introduce yourself.
“Psst,” Bokuto hisses from where he's crouched behind Hoshiumi, which, haha. He waves him over while Hoshiumi glares at Atsumu for refusing to make eye contact with him. In Atsumu's defense, he wouldn't keep doing it if his reaction wasn't so goddamn hilarious.
I can’t look down that far, my neck doesn’t bend like that, Atsumu thinks and doesn’t say, because he’s working on having a filter when it comes to things people have no control over.
“Excuse me,” he says kindly, patting Hoshiumi on the top of his head. He squawks and whacks him with his gross sweaty towel, stomping off before Atsumu can remember his project.
“Tsum-tsum!” Bokuto says as a greeting. Atsumu wants to tell him that hearing that nickname makes him want to vomit, but in a good way, like after eating too many cupcakes at you and your twin's sixteenth joint birthday party. But it might get back to Akaashi that he said that and he’s pretty sure Akaashi has tried to kill him five times already, possibly six if he counts the incident on the train that he hasn't been able to prove. At any rate, he’s not eager to add another attempt.
“Hey hey hey, Bokkun. What’s up?”
Bokuto beams at him and then freezes, looking over his shoulder. Atsumu turns slightly in time to see Yaku crush a water bottle on his forehead while making eye contact with him. The water bottle wasn’t empty.
“That’s Yaku,” Bokuto whispers. “I played him a bunch in high school.”
“Yeah, we met,” Atsumu says, attempting pleasant and sounding petty.
“He’s, uhh...” Bokuto looks lost for words, the tips of his hair quivering.
“Kinda the bossiest?”
“I was going to say super intense and always honest even though you didn’t ask him to be honest and really strict about a lot of things,” Bokuto says. “But also bossy, I guess.”
“Did you two not get along?” Atsumu asks, with genuine sympathy this time, he actually likes Bokuto.
Bokuto blinks. “No, he’s the coolest. We’ve got the best libero in the world this season!”
“Haha! You bet!” Atsumu agrees, twitching.
What the hell? Yaku can’t be the coolest.
He’s the coolest.
---
They play a scrimmage and it’s as exhilarating as Atsumu had dreamed it would be. Ninja Shouyou ends up on the opposite side of the net with Kageyama, just to demonstrate what they’re capable of together for anyone lucky enough to have never faced the duo. He called dibs on Omi-kun for life the minute they showed up to practice, though, so it’s a close match. Kageyama matches each of his dumps with that creepy grin on his face and Bokuto hasn’t stopped performing perfectly for him this entire year. Yaku and Komori split up, Komori to wave cheerfully at Omi-kun from across the net and Yaku to...glare at the back of Atsumu’s head and maybe do some receiving while he's at it.
He looks away whenever Atsumu turns around, but his neck is burnin’ up the entire time.
Funnily enough, the only issue with their play Atsumu can pinpoint is that whenever he serves, Yaku is talking. It’s not as big of a deal as it would have been in high school. He actually has matured a little, no matter what Osamu and Suna and Aran and Kita and Ginjima and Akagi say. But everyone else is dead silent, and the content of what he's blabbing about--
“What’s with the fist? You realize we’re the only ones here, right?”
Atsumu flubs his serve.
He's gritting his teeth in righteous anger throughout the rest of the scrimmage but thankfully it helps keep his mouth shut, because goddamn Yaku is good. He really is always watchin' his back. Atsumu’s just a little too slow getting to the ball one time and Yaku hops the line to set it for Hyakuzawa, like some demon from Karasuno. And it’s a perfect flippin’ set, too.
“Nice kill, Hyakuzawa,” Atsumu says pleasantly, then throws a dirty look at Yaku.
“Oh my god,” Omi-kun mutters in a disappointed tone that Atsumu probably likes to hear too much, but he can't tell Omi-kun that because he would either stop forever or start talking like that all the time.
Atsumu rubs the back of his head in what he knows is an endearing gesture, turning to face the net again as he assumes that's the end of it--
“What, asshole?” Yaku says. “You got a problem?”
Omi-kun lets out a spluttering sound like a popped balloon, then wipes at his mouth using the cleanest part of his arm.
Atsumu stiffens. “Pardon me? You say somethin'?”
“You’ll pardon my fist the next time you look at me like that,” Yaku snaps, getting into his crouch. He twirls one finger in a circle. “Face front, setter-chan.”
Bokuto’s eyes dart between them nervously. Atsumu knows his own face is twisted up into something highly unphotogenic as he refuses to turn his back on Yaku. He meets Atsumu's glare with a calm confidence that Atsumu is not jealous of, because he is completely capable of that level of cool, one hundred percent.
“Heh,” Kageyama snorts, muffling his laugh into his elbow. Shouyou spins around to stare at him, mouth hanging open like a fish.
“Gwuohh, Tobio laughed!” he shouts, leaping up to poke him in the cheek. A sound of muted appreciation settles over the team in respect for this rare event, Komori pulling a phone out of-- somewhere, to add to the small, but growing every time Atsumu is hit with a ball, team album. Hoshiumi even moves closer, squinting up at Kageyama suspiciously.
Tension broken by Bokuto awwing at Shouyou's chants to do it again, come on Tobio, I missed it, Atsumu glares at Yaku one last time to find him grinning smugly. That’s Atsumu’s trademark facial expression, he can’t do that.
“We good to move on or what?” Atsumu asks.
“I’m good,” Yaku answers. “You figure out for yourself if there’s a we in this situation.”
Their side wins the scrimmage, and Atsumu is a little suspicious that the team agrees with Yaku and doesn’t recognize his own highly significant contributions.
Ushiwaka pulls them together at the end for what is typically the time to give an inspiring speech, but under his leadership is a time to get into a debate about the proper way to hydrate after exerting oneself. Apparently more than half the team has very strong opinions on self-care. The current debate is how many water bottles is too many, and Bokuto and Kageyama are stuck on the issue of how full, exactly, the water bottles are, since that changes the math. Omi-kun is offering answers with examples too quick for him not to have solved this problem on his own already and Atsumu is highly pissed that he isn't embarrassed on his behalf, and is possibly actually a little proud.
He would’ve thought that electing a captain would cause some problems, mostly ‘cause he was gonna cause some problems if he didn’t agree with the nomination, but Ushiwaka is good at delegating and doesn’t go around saying I’m the captain, you have to listen to me the way Atsumu did in his third-year. So he hasn’t started shit for laughs, yet, and the team causes enough problems on accident without his interference anyway.
“Well done today,” Ushiwaka concludes after they garner a majority agreement that three water bottles filled to 75% capacity spread out over the span of two hours after practice is the optimal level of hydration, the highest praise Atsumu’s ever heard from him.
“It’s easier to identify what we need to work on after a game like that,” Hoshiumi says, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "We used plays that rely on trust between teammates that we don't have yet." There's no way he's looking at Atsumu right now, nuh-uh.
“But it’s not much to work on,” Bokuto says slyly. “We’re looking good.”
Shouyou holds his hands out for their 15-step handshake and Atsumu steps back to observe, endeared as usual.
“We look good, but are we gold medal good?” Yaku comments over the sound of tapping feet and chanting, except he’s only staring at Atsumu for some reason.
It could've been harsh, but he manages to say it in a tone that doesn’t have Bokuto deflating -- instead, he puffs his chest out more. “If we’re this good today, then we’ll be gold medal good by the time the Olympics come!”
“I hear that,” Atsumu says emphatically, smiling with his eyes closed at Yaku.
Shouyou leans to the side, stretching his shoulders and happening to latch onto Kageyama’s arm. “Who else is staying for extra practice?”
Bokuto and Hoshiumi slide over to join them immediately, Ushiwaka wandering over at his own pace while sipping from his first water bottle.
"Next time," Omi-kun says, which makes the decision for Atsumu. "I've been in this jersey too long, I can feel it sticking to me."
He looks over the group that’s left while packing up his bag, careful to give Omi-kun’s stuff a wide berth. He could stand to bond a little bit with Hakuba. And Yaku could overhear the invitation and know he was excluded.
“Team dinner?” he suggests. He subtly slips an arm around Omi-kun’s waist, which is a little sticky actually.
“Are you going to be there?” Yaku asks, violently shoving his white and red sneakers into a bag and changing into a nearly identical pair. He glances at Omi-kun with sympathy in his eyes that quickly disappears when he returns to glaring at Atsumu.
“...Yeah?”
“I’m busy tonight. Bye.” He turns to Hyakuzawa. "Nice blocks today. Looking forward to building up our defense." And then Hyakuzawa blushes, landing himself on Atsumu's shitlist.
Atsumu huffs a laugh, watching Yaku's back as he leaves. He stomps when he could just walk, leaning forward slightly, reaching the exit head first and shoving his way out.
Always honest, huh?
“Another bad first impression,” Omi-kun says, tugging him in the opposite direction to Hyakuzawa and Hakuba.
“Hey, he’s a work in progress. Remember how bad our first training camp was?”
Omi-kun snorts in a way Atsumu is maybe in love with. He hasn't decided yet. “Everyone on this team is a work in progress when it comes to dealing with you.”
“Babe, yer my favorite work in progress,” Atsumu says, dropping a kiss on his shoulder.
“Get-- get that away from me. What does that even mean. Disgusting,” he snaps, but he tugs up his mask to cover everything below his eyes.
Atsumu sighs happily and snuggles closer.
They’re getting dinner with two people that, when stacked on top of each other, add up to 4 meters. They’ve got the most powerful spikers, decoys that are monsters in their own right, and genius setters.
If he was pressed to answer, he might also admit their liberos are gold medal good.
There's no universe out there where they lose.