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Yamato was running late, and there was very little that he hated more than being late.
It was one of the few days (AKA the only day) of the week where he wasn’t rehearsing with the orchestra or practicing with the marching band and the boys volleyball club. As the leader of the orchestra club, he was the one who handled most of the organizing of… well, everything.
He was the one who talked to other club captains and the faculty about events. He planned rehearsals and worked on assigning instruments to entry-level students. Most didn’t come to the band with extensive experience, so Yamato sent them to the marching band to get trained up. It was easier to learn the trumpet than the violin after all, and there were fewer embarrassing situations resulting from poor trumpet playing in marching band than poor trumpet playing in orchestra. The instrument required less finesse and becoming passable was just quicker.
Yamato himself had been a conductor from middle school. He loved music, but no particular instrument ever called out to him. He liked control, and the position of conductor was important enough to appeal to his ego. All it took was a single practice for him to grow attached to the role. He’d lucked out in high school considering the conductor at the time had been looking for a successor and was reluctant to build one from scratch by randomly selecting a first year.
He took great pride in being the student leader when only a second year.
Unfortunately, the side roles of being the student leader were far less attractive. Planning everything was exhausting and that was before he had to coordinate with the needs of other clubs. The sports teams in particular, were demanding and annoying in equal measure. At least he could delegate some of the rehearsal planning to the section leaders, but most stuff had to be run through him anyways so it didn’t save that much time or stress.
The orchestra club had first made a deal with the boys volleyball club in Yamato’s first year. The team had apparently made quite the splash at the Interhigh tournament with the addition of the Miya Twins. Apparently they were very skilled. Yamato really knew nothing about volleyball, but he did know about the twins.
He had no trouble with Osamu, the grey haired one. He was calm and polite when not around his twin. Smart, but not arrogant – he quickly became the gifted kid’s sweetheart. Even when it was revealed that he was homosexual, he didn’t catch shit because he was well-liked. Yamato respected him.
Atsumu on the other hand, was a little shit. He performed better academically than Osamu and somehow put less effort in. Despite that he managed to be an arrogant monster and alienated his class with his attitude. His classmates were all too eager to tell stories to anyone who asked, although they were always careful to keep their mouths shut around anyone who would be an avenue to report back to Atsumu. Yamato didn’t know how they managed it, but that meant keeping the rampant rumours away from everyone on the boys volleyball team. None of them could really be trusted, or so the rumours claimed.
Considering half of the stories that Yamato had heard were pertaining to volleyball, clearly Atsumu had pissed off some of them.
All of the hearsay really painted an awful picture for Yamato and he definitely wasn’t expecting much.
Due to the success of the Interhigh tournament (apparently there were multiple so they had to be differentiated), the school had prompted them to work with the volleyball club for games. That meant working with the players for music and join strategies. It was all going swell until Miya Atsumu.
The kid was supposed to have some kind of miracle serve, but very time the band played alongside him, he fucked it up. Yamato was unbelievably annoyed. After numerous trials, they finally decided that they needed to teach Atsumu how to cut off the band because Atsumu just could not get it. For a genius it was rather embarrassing.
That task was unfortunately left to Yamato, so he had to spend even more time with Atsumu.
Atsumu was unbelievably irritating and juvenile. He lived up to every story Yamato had heard about him and seemed wholly unrepentant. If he wasn’t such an inconvenience, then Yamato would actually be impressed.
All the same, despite all of this, Atsumu was a willing student. He listened diligently and followed instructions, even if only when he deemed them necessary. He was very serious when he got in the zone, and when he was actually able to make the serve, Yamato had to admit that he was intimidating.
So he had mixed feelings about Miya Atsumu.
These mixed feelings only became more jumbled the more time he spent with the guy – and he spent way more time than he would’ve liked with him.
Atsumu was such a bizarre character. Most of the school resented him for one reason or another, but that didn’t stop them from putting him on a pedestal either. He was a very obvious genius both academically and athletically. He made the school look good and there was a certain something about him that could be inspiring or endearing at times. He drew admiration and disgust in equal measure. It baffled Yamato.
To Yamato, he was an annoying colleague. He seemed to have a weird fascination with Yamato and never missed an opportunity to tease him about something or another. He seemed to think that Yamato was too much of a ‘hardass’ even though he knew full well that Atsumu practiced just as much as the band did and maintained his place as one of the top students in the school. In his opinion, Atsumu was one hell of a hypocrite.
Yamato hated dealing with him, but by the time they were in third year, Atsumu was captain so Yamato had to deal with him since they were Inarizaki’s most successful team. Yes, Spring High Nationals of second year was an embarrassing failure, but they recovered in the third year Interhigh by once more reaching the finals. Yamato didn’t care past knowing when and where his band needed to be. Atsumu was damn near obsessive in organizing programs for the band and maintaining the relationship between the two clubs. Yamato could appreciate Atsumu’s urge to build a legacy through their two clubs.
And so, despite the weird mutual respect they had (more of an understanding than respect, really), Yamato didn’t like Atsumu.
So yeah… he was rushing through the halls eager to get the fuck home because he wanted to jump in bed. It had been a long ass day – he’d had 3 tests and had to sort out in-club arguments all throughout lunch and for an entire hour after classes finished. He must have looked absolutely furious because people were practically diving out of the way as he stalked past them.
He was so close to getting out of the building when he took a back route to avoid crowds. That was a mistake because he was then confronted with the last person he wanted to see; Miya Atsumu.
At first glance, it just looked like Atsumu had sat down against the wall. But as he looked longer, the more a sense of unease began to creep up his spine.
Atsumu wasn’t sitting against the wall, he was slumped against it and trembling slightly. He was even slumped forwards, more on the floor than leaving against the wall. His limbs were splayed haphazardly around him, and if Yamato had to take a guess, it almost looked like Atsumu had fallen – or worse, been thrown down.
Now, Yamato knew that there were plenty of people who resented Atsumu (for various reason) but somehow, he’d never entertained the idea that someone would actually attack him. Oh, he’d wanted to slap the other teen plenty of times, but he’d never actually act on that urge. He wouldn’t dream of it! They were just thoughts born out of frustration.
He didn’t know for sure that Atsumu had been attacked, but the more he though about it, the less that he liked the conclusions he was drawing.
If Atsumu had simply fallen, then surely, he would have gotten up by now. He’d have at least been standing or making moves to get up. He, however, remained on the ground.
He also showed no signs of registering Yamato’s presence.
Now, Yamato didn’t exactly walk like an elephant, but he wasn’t quiet when walking either. He had always preferred marching band to orchestra (something that typically shocked people since it seemed rather uncharacteristic) and as such, the whole marching thing had snuck its way into his everyday walk. There was a solid clack whenever his heel hit the ground. It had the added bonus of making him sound commanding and powerful.
It had a different effect than the strut that the boys volleyball club preferred. A good walk can really make or break a show of power. Devil Wears Prada, blah, blah, blah.
The point was that Atsumu should have noticed his presence. He’s always been a little slow at noticing people if he wasn’t staring directly at them, but the hallway was silent except for Yamato’s steps. Even Atsumu was deathly silent.
Yamato’s footsteps faltered, but he was already halfway down the hallway and he was no coward.
He approached with caution, coming to a stop a few feet away from Atsumu’s prone form. “Miya?” he asked softly, inwardly cursing how weak his voice sounded. Any moment now, Atsumu was going to pop up and make fun of Yamato for falling for his act.
Only… Atsumu remained silent and frighteningly still.
Yamato dropped to the floor and nervously rounded to Atsumu’s front. His head was dropped and hanging limply and Yamato’s heart clenched. He reached out hesitantly, nudging Atsumu’s shoulder and nearly jumping out of his skin and falling himself when Atsumu proceeded to fully slump to the ground.
Okay, so he was definitely unconscious.
Yamato took a deep breath. This was not the first time he’d had to deal with someone who was unconscious. Band practices could sometimes be a lot, after all. Yamato was a senior member and a leader.
Okay. Okay. Okay.
Okay.
He should… he should turn him over.
He reached forward to ease Atsumu over onto his side when Atsumu abruptly jerked up, accidentally smacking his head off the wall with a crack.
“Miya-san!” Yamato exclaimed, hands still outstretched to reach for Atsumu. The other teen’s eyes were hazy which was very concerning. Yamato was very alarmed for Miya Atsumu – something he never thought would happen. “Are you alright?”
Atsumu’s eyes flashed up to meet Yamato’s and (thankfully) his vision seemed to be clear. “Yamato?” He frowned slightly in confusion.
Yamato repressed the urge to insist on an honourific and focused on the fact that at least he was no longer stuck with an unconscious teen in an abandoned hallway after school hours. “Yes. Are you okay? Do you remember what happened? Or uh… can you tell me what happened?”
Atsumu’s frown deepened. “I was… heading home early. ‘Samu’s running practice because I had… to meet with the principle.” Atsumu was speaking slower than normal, but at least he was coherent. His accent was as thick as always – no additional slurring. “’Decided to head home ‘cause… felt sick.”
It was a well-known fact that Miya Atsumu did not miss practice. He had to be publicly forced to go home when he showed up with a high fever. The fact that he felt sick enough to willingly take himself home meant that it was bad.
Yamato felt like the rug had been pulled out from under his feet. Miya Atsumu was not meant to look like this.
Now that he was actually vertical – even if still sitting down – Yamato was able to get a better look at Atsumu. He’d never been aggressively tan, but now he looked almost ghostly. Fine tremors wracked his frame every now and then and he was sweating slightly.
He’d just… always been this untouchable figure; an unrepentant asshole. On the court he was pure strength and power. In the classroom, he was an intimidating almost villain-like force. To see him like this just felt wrong.
(Yamato can’t remember where along the way that he forgot that Miya Atsumu was human too.)
“Did you hit your head?” Yamato asked hesitantly.
Atsumu’s frown deepened. “I… don’t think so,” he settled on. “Just have a headache. It’ll go away soon.”
That was less than reassuring and Yamato was sure that it showed on his face. “Are you sure? You were unconscious when I found you.” He couldn’t say why he was pushing so hard. He could have just taken Atsumu’s words at face value and gone home. Atsumu was none of Yamato’s business and he’d done a token check. He could just leave–
–but he didn’t.
Clearly, Atsumu was also puzzled by Yamato’s reaction. Numerous emotions flickered across his face. Displeasure and resentment clear for a precious few moments before settling on his normal, charming yet irritating, arrogant smirk. Yamato was suddenly struck with the realization that it was false – that it had been fake all along. He settled on the expression so quickly and so perfectly. Had Yamato not seen the dark emotions flicker across his face, he would have thought the smile was his genuine reaction to Yamato ‘catching his attention.’
“Hmm. I must’ve been more tired than I thought,” he laughed brightly, his eyes squinting as if to say ‘look, isn’t this emotion genuine?’ The scary part was that Yamato couldn’t find any flaws in Atsumu’s demeanor. Even the rest of his body language had changed – it just looked like he had sat down for a moment. There was suddenly no indication of weakness; everything looked purposeful. Hell, his frame had even relaxed.
Yamato almost thought that the Miya Atsumu he’d witnessed only moments before was the one that was fake. The Miya Atsumu in front of him now was the one that he was used to dealing with.
“Oh,” Yamato said a little dumbly. “Do you… I’m sure the school nurse is here? I could take you to her? I could get your brother?” He still didn’t know why he was pushing, but he just couldn’t reconcile the image of Miya Atsumu sprawled in a pile of disjointed limbs, and the cocky shit that was currently in front of him. He was getting whiplash.
Atsumu’s demeanor didn’t so much as flicker. “Oh no, ‘Samu’s running practice. I’ll be fine to make it home by myself,” he said easily. “I’m sure that you don’t want to spend anymore time with me than you absolutely have to.”
Without waiting for Yamato to pick up his jaw off the floor, Atsumu stood up and shouldered his bag. For a second, Yamato really did doubt his instincts because Atsumu stood strong and seemed wholly unbothered. Then Atsumu stalked off down the hallway with only a cursory wave behind him and not a single glance backwards. That’s when Yamato saw it.
He’d been in band long enough to spot fatigue and shakiness in someone’s gait. He also knew what it looked like when someone covered up those hints of weakness because the ‘show must go on’ and they couldn’t afford to stand out. His steps may be confident, but they weren’t as solid and definitive as they should have been. All the same, if Yamato hadn’t been looking, he wouldn’t have caught it.
Some part of him continued to spiral about how he had no way of knowing how many times this had happened and no one had noticed.
He tried not to think about how he was also going to keep silent about this incident.
This was none of his business. He was better off forgetting that this interaction happened at all. His bed was calling him, and he’d feel better after he slept. This incident would be noting more than a passing moment.
The next time he saw Atsumu, neither of them mentioned how Yamato found him collapsed in a back hallway.
Status quo was maintained. After all, they had the last volleyball tournament of their high school careers to prepare for.