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Atsumu and the rest of the team are gathered together after a long day of practice for an “important announcement” or some other meaningless variation of official bullshit—Atsumu was too busy antagonizing Sakusa to listen properly. Atsumu’s brain naturally filters out information like this anyways, he’ll find out from Hinata or Bokuto later. If they bothered to listen, that is. He moves to poke Sakusa again and snickers at the resulting hiss.
A hard glare from Yaku is enough to get him to listen, however.
“…new athletic trainer, Iwaizumi Hajime.”
Kageyama jolts and yelps, “Iwaizumi Hajime?”
Atsumu looks over in amusement. Sensing weakness, he smirks. “What’s that, Tobio-kun? Gotta crush?”
To his disappointment, Kageyama ignores him in favor of whispering to Hinata, who’s practically vibrating with excitement. Which, admittedly, is nothing new, but vibration like that paired with an unfamiliar name may be cause for concern. Kuroo Tetsurou, for example, did not make a good first impression.
The coach glares at the two idiots and they quiet down. Sakusa snorts.
The coach confirms that yes, Iwaizumi Hajime will be their new athletic trainer. Yes, Bokuto, our athletic trainer. No, Bokuto, I really don’t think he’d practice with you, but you can ask.
Kageyama squeaks at this, which is hilarious. He didn’t know that Kageyama could do that.
They’re let go after that and as Atsumu ambles to the locker room with the rest of the wrung-out team, he turns over this new information in his head, dear Tobio-kun and Sho-kun’s strange reactions sparking a quiet curiosity.
Who the hell is Iwaizumi Hajime?
…
Iwaizumi Hajime, it turns out, is the most attractive person Atsumu has ever seen.
He’s introduced to the team at practice the next day and everyone just gawks at him for a while. Because, yeah. Iwaizumi Hajime, man.
Atsumu lets himself stare unabashedly as Iwaizumi talks to Ushijima (Ushijima? He thinks. Him???) He’s on the shorter side, yeah, but Atsumu and the rest of the team are all freakishly tall tree people. Hyakuzawa is 6’7, for fuck’s sake. (Except for Shouyo and Hoshiumi, those losers. He’d say Yaku too, but he’s really not that short. Seriously.)
(He’s not afraid of Yaku. Seriously.)
Anyways. He’s got killer bone structure and cute, angry eyebrows and this wild, spiky hair that somehow works for him and Atsumu immediately wants scrub his fingers through it, mess it up even more. He’s muscular and lean in the way that childhood athletes always are and has incredible arms and why is his shirt that tight? And—
And he really should stop staring because even though, yeah, Iwaizumi’s hot, Atsumu’s not interested. Nope.
Yaku sidles up to Atsumu while he’s picking up a ball. “Holy shit, is he really holding a conversation with Ushijima?” Atsumu nods and looks back to where Iwaizumi’s standing. “I think tha bastard is smilin, too,” he mumbles.
Yaku shakes his head. “Incredible.”
Ball in his hands forgotten, Atsumu keeps staring.
…
Apparently, Ushijima and Iwaizumi were high school rivals turned friends after meeting years later in California.
So. That’s how Iwaizumi got so tan.
…
Also, Atsumu doesn’t have a crush on the athletic trainer.
…
It’s been a full week and he still really doesn’t know what to do about it, “it” being the one and only Iwaizumi Hajime and his—
At first, whenever the athletic trainer walked into the gym, the air would become stilted and wobbly, as everyone tried to adjust to this new and intimidating aura that seemed to float heavy over the court. However, everyone seems to have calibrated to Iwaizumi’s presence by now, rendering practice back to its relatively normal equilibrium. ('Relatively' because everyone on this team is either a dumbass or a complete basket case or both, himself included. Atsumu may be an idiot, but at least he’s self-aware.)
(Fig. 1 – Bokuto’s put his practice jersey on inside out or backwards at least four times this week.
Fig. 2 – Ushijima’s whole thing.)
So: in conclusion, everyone’s back to their resting competence B.I. (Before Iwaizumi.)
Well, except for Kageyama.
It’s very embarrassing for all involved and everyone makes fun of him for it whenever Iwaizumi leaves the room. What makes it even more hilarious is that as a group they’re all just as enamored as Kageyama, but they’ve all just managed to find a better way of dealing with it. They’re all fucking full-grown men, for fuck’s sake (Maybe? Full-grown idiots? That’s it.) so the only way they know how to deal with their own feelings is to tease Kageyama mercilessly about his. Ah, friendship.
Honestly, Kageyama’s permanently flustered state of being is very entertaining. Spices up practice, y'know? Sure, Atsumu may or may not think that Iwaizumi is maybe sorta attractive, but at least he’s not that obvious about it. Despite what Sakusa says, he’s got some shame, dammit.
Atsumu watches from across the court as Iwaizumi reaches up to ruffle Kageyama’s hair, snorting at Kageyama’s subsequent red face and embarrassed stammering. Hinata, standing next to Iwaizumi and his disciple, notices Atsumu staring.
Hinata grins and cocks one stupid orange eyebrow.
Atsumu flips him off and turns around.
…
He tells a very smug Hinata that he was not staring at Iwaizumi-kun earlier.
“Sure, Atsumu.” Hinata winks.
He hates Hinata.
…
Atsumu still doesn’t have a crush on the athletic trainer.
…
Atsumu’s there when Sakusa twists his wrist. It’s nothing major, but it’s getting close to the games and everyone is on edge, just waiting for something to go wrong. Everyone’s holding their breath and it’s suddenly freezing in June, the sun frosting over. Sakusa’s glowering at his wrist and then back up to Atsumu, daring for him to say something. He—
And then Iwaizumi is there. Atsumu understands now how someone so young got such a prestigious position: he smiles soft, moves his hands slow and sure, explains what he’s doing in layman terms so Sakusa can understand what’s going on, that he’s going to be okay. The electric shards of panic melt, then, around Iwaizumi.
Atsumu can feel his spine straighten, sees Hoshiumi stop twitching. Ushijima’s frown looks less jagged.
Practice resumes as normal, with the notable exception of Sakusa, of course. Except, this time, he’s just to the side of the court, waiting to return, not long gone and banished from the games like they had feared.
When Iwaizumi’s done, he gathers up his bag and sits Sakusa down on the bench, murmuring something gentle. His eyes flick up, once: Atsumu is staring. His eyes are green and Atsumu looks away.
…
Okay, yeah, Iwaizumi Hajime is attractive. Nice to look at. Big whoop. So is Starry Night and Atsumu for sure isn’t in fucking love with a crusty old painting. So there.
…
…maybe comparing Iwaizumi to one of the most beautiful paintings of all time doesn’t exactly showcase how disinterested he is in the man. Because he isn’t. Interested, that is.
…
At all.
…
A week before the games, their coach drags them off of the court and out of the gym. They’re going to play baseball.
Apparently, switching up sports like this would break the tension, make it easier for them to focus back in on volleyball once they were back on the court, the dissonance giving them the clarity they need to return with new eyes and win.
They were down a player, so Iwaizumi was asked to join in, considering he’s buff as hell and that they’re all disgustingly enamored with him. This whole thing is probably a scheme concocted by Bokuto and Hinata in order to bond with Iwaizumi more or whatever. Not that Atsumu’s complaining.
Atsumu’s eating cherries with Hinata, seeing who can spit the pits the farthest, when Iwaizumi arrives at the field with two unfamiliar faces. He introduces them as his old high school friends who are staying with him until the games, and that he had to bring them with him or they’d destroy his apartment because they’re terrible. (He says all this with a stupidly charming smile.)
Their names are Matsukawa and Hanamakki and they fit well with Iwaizumi, leaning towards him in lazy, confident lines, standing close and sure because they know how to, assured by years and years of practice.
When Atsumu’s stomach jolts he thinks that those cherries from earlier maybe gave him some sort of indigestion, which is really fucking annoying. He scowls.
Iwaizumi’s wearing normal clothes, for once. The polo and khakis he wears while working are nice (really nice, and really tight) but this is good too, because he’s in ugly shorts and an old band tee and a baseball hat that says “Sequoia National Park” and looks like some college kid home for break and he’s beautiful, goddammit.
“Want to join in?” Iwaizumi asks his friends, smiling again. That’s beautiful too.
“Absolutely fucking not,” Hanamaki says, swiping at something on his phone. Yaku muffles a startled cough, obviously trying not to laugh.
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, it’s a no from me too, ace. Not competing with Olympic athletes,” Matsukawa says. “No offense,” he says, nodding to the team. They all preen, just a little bit, because yeah. They are Olympic athletes, aren’t they? It’s still new, recognition like this. It’s nice.
And Atsumu doesn't think it's cute that his old teammates still call him their ace. Doesn't think about the level of respect they probably still hold for him to call him that, an old holdover from days gone impossibly past.
“It’s not even their actual sport,” Iwaizumi snorts, obviously fighting a grin. Atsumu watches it happen despite Iwaizumi’s attempts. It’s boyish, sweet. He doesn't think about it all the time. “Plus, I’m not on the team either.”
They glare at him in tandem. “You’re the only one who played baseball in high school, asshole, and you’re disgustingly athletic. If anything, they’re at a disadvantage.” Matsukawa drawls, considering the rest of the team. Hanamaki nods in agreement.
Atsumu raises an eyebrow. As fit (and attractive) as Iwaizumi may be, he’s got to be no match for a dozen trained Olympic athletes. Right?
Hoshiumi cocks his head. “But Iwaizumi-san, weren’t you on the volleyball team in high school?” Everyone’s listening in now if they weren’t before because they’re all curious about their mysterious athletic trainer. Despite knowing him for several weeks now and despite Iwaizumi being a very kind and generous human being, he’s not one to talk about himself all too often. His two friends, thankfully, didn’t seem to have the same problem.
Hanamaki rolls his eyes, an action he seems to be very partial to. “Iwaizumi’s good at every single sport known to man. We’re lucky he chose to stick with volleyball.” He snickers. “Not like he had much of a choice, with Oikawa around.”
“Yeah, other teams would try to, like, poach him all the time,” Matsukawa says, gesturing to a bemused Iwaizumi. “Oikawa would throw a fit every time.”
Iwaizumi snorts. “You’re making it sound more dramatic than it actually was. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Hanamakki glares at Iwaizumi. “God, you’re so humble.” He narrows his eyes further. “Disgusting.” Iwaizumi flips him off.
The Atsumu and the rest of the national team watch this exchange with poorly concealed interest, eyes wide. Iwaizumi’s different around his old high school friends: looser, carefree, his face more mutable from its gruff countenance. Basically, this is an Iwaizumi vastly different from the Iwaizumi they’re used to. And not in a bad way, either. (Not that any version of Iwaizumi could be bad, exactly. Just different. He doesn’t think that Iwaizumi has a bad side, that every facet of his must be perfect in mathematical symmetry.) He’s lost the professional veneer that he wears at practice, usually only stripped away for the other folks from Miyagi, and even then just for moments at a time.
Atsumu’s stomach hurts again.
Iwaizumi talks to Matsukawa and Hanamaki with his shoulders a sloped curve, his hat softening the hard edges of his face; making his lips look fuller, the slant of his neck more prominent. His height is all the more noticeable now, flanked by his tall childhood friends who have known him longer than Atsumu has, standing closer than he ever could. There’s a cherry pit in his stomach, he thinks. That’s it.
Atsumu wants to hear more about this younger Iwaizumi, the one who belongs to every sports team and is dragged around everywhere by Oikawa, but they’re all walking off towards the field now. And it’s not like he can ask probing questions about Iwaizumi in the most normal of circumstances, let alone now, so he follows. He lopes his way over to to the baseball diamond beside an ecstatic Hinata, eyeing the back of Iwaizumi’s neck.
…
“Hell yeah! That’s our handsome ace!”
Hanamaki and Matsukawa are cheering Iwaizumi on from beyond the field. Matsukawa lazily raises a fist, which Iwaizumi returns, laughing.
So: Iwaizumi is, in fact, disgustingly athletic. So far, playing as the pitcher, he’s struck out two out of three hitters with these insane fastballs he whips out like they’re nothing. Atsumu’s glad he’s on Iwaizumi’s team, because honestly, it’s embarrassing that their athletic trainer is beating them into the dirt like this, even if this isn’t their official sport.
Atsumu cackles as Sakusa strikes out, signaling the end of the inning. (He thinks that’s how baseball works? He’s a fucking volleyball player, remember? Just be happy the glove went on the right hand, okay?)
Sakusa snarls at him, probably because of the previous jeering.
“Hey, no hard feelins, Omi Omi!” He smirks. “Better luck next time, huh?”
Thankfully, Ushijima intercedes for him and manages to calm down a downright demonic Sakusa and prevent Atsumu’s unfortunate and untimely death. Atsumu wonders if Iwaizumi would cry at his funeral if he had died by the hand of an unhinged teammate. Food for thought.
The whole team is admittedly, a bit out of sorts with this whole “baseball” thing, and are made even more so when Iwaizumi just seems to take to it like a fish in water. Honestly, they should have expected it. This is Iwaizumi Hajime they’re dealing with, right?
However, the real surprise comes when Iwaizumi’s up to bat.
They’ve put Bokuto up on the pitching mound, and presumably he knows what he’s doing because he’s just struck out Atsumu. Who is definitely not moping, by the way.
“Stop moping, ‘Tsumu!” Hinata chirps. “I’m sure Iwaizumi-kun will get this next one.”
“Shut yer trap, shorty,” Atsumu grumbles. He’s not moping, for fuck’s sake. This is his normal, non-moping face. Asshole.
They all watch as Bokuto flings a nice and fast pitch (probably—remember, volleyball player) right at Iwaizumi.
Aaaaaaaaand Iwaizumi hits a fucking home run, practically smashing the ball with the bat with a deafening crack. Everyone watches in stupefied silence as it's flung over the tree line lining the diamond
Of course he did. Well, shit. That baseball is lost forever.
...do they have a back up?
“Holy shit,” Yaku says, softly, but with feeling.
Iwaizumi’s laughing at Bokuto’s wilted figure while the rest of them just stand there and attempt to quantify the Otherworldly Being That Is Iwaizumi Hajime.
Iwaizumi doesn’t even bother to run around the bases, just ambles with his hands behind his head, making his way back to the home plate. Mattsukawa and Hanamakki are booing him from the sidelines and Iwaizumi throws his hat at them. He’s fucking gorgeous and Atsumus thinks, oh no.
…
Maybe Atsumu has a crush on the athletic trainer.