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Summary
When he was in high school, Atsumu learned to hold the world in his fist and keep it there. Standing at the Olympic stage, five whole steps behind the crisp white line of the court, he curled his fingers around the brass band normally hanging on his neck. It weighed heavier in his palm than any medal ever would.
Not many people know this about him, but win or lose, Miya Atsumu was already the happiest he had ever been.
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Bookmark Notes:
i have officially lost it this ship now lives rent free in my mind and this fic imprints itself along with it