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(7)
When seven-year-old Atsumu totters his way into his schoolroom at eleven minutes past seven in the morning, he certainly doesn’t expect to see any of his classmates or, as a matter of fact, anyone at all to be in the classroom.
Back at the beginning of the month, after learning he and his twin weren’t going to share classes this year, both of them made a bet to see who would get to the first day of school first, placing as prize the largest amount of Häagen-Dazs ice cream their saved pocket money could afford. And since the kids from his neighborhood often head to school in groups, Atsumu went ahead, waking up an hour and a half before the usual time classes started and heading alone.
He even planned it all out in advance for the past week. That is because, as his mother had taught him and his brother, doing so was something smart people only do—being early to class. And Atsumu, actually, is very smart, thank you very much. Which meant that he’d easily win the bet and that he would be the first one to pick a chair in class by mere default.
Imagine his surprise when, indeed, he was not the first one to pick a chair in class.
Frankly, he should have known from the telltale signs of bright artificial lights and rackety fans being turned on in the hall room, but he still couldn’t help but scowl a little when he spotted another boy who he had never seen before in the room, slouching in the seat beside Atsumu’s favorite spot by the large and panoramic window stretched from side to side that offers the place where he could view the sprawling old cherry tree in the courtyard of the school.
He sighs heavily, frustrated.
“G’morning,” Atsumu eventually greets the boy, because he actually has manners, mind you. It is not like his little brother Osamu tells the truth when he vehemently swears that Atsumu does not. He goes and claims his favorite seat as he does so. When the boy doesn’t respond after a few seconds, Atsumu turns his head around to face him and gives him a piece of his mind about being rude and not having proper manners and making him second in class! But, before he can do so, Atsumu leans in a bit and realizes, with a whispered ahhh,– that the raven-haired boy next to him is actually sleeping.
Cute.
All of a sudden, that little word popped up right into the front of his mind at the image of the sleeping boy. He does not quite understand what the word means or implies, only hearing it once or twice from the afternoon dramas his granny loves to watch when taking care of him and his twin, but yet the word, somehow, just works in his head right now. Tilting his head a bit for inspection, Atsumu stares at the boy silently and curiously, careful not to make any abrupt or boisterous sound resulting in waking him up.
Several minutes pass since he entered the classroom, and Atsumu feels more and more conflicted. A part of him just wants to wake the boy up and talk to him, yet another part of him just wants to observe the boy in comfortable silence. Only when another classmate walks into the room does he make a split-second decision and gently poke the boy next to him. The boy stirs awake slowly, blinking at Atsumu awkwardly for a few seconds before staring right at him, sparkling blue eyes meeting Atsumu’s foxy amber ones.
“Oh,” the boy whispers.
“Yer cute,” Atsumu immediately blurts right after, smiling a little proudly at the knowledge of the word as he sees the other boy blinking at him again, long shady eyelashes fluttering owlishly.
The raven boy then frowns at him, clearly offended, his thin eyebrows reaching high like a rainbow as he takes with his chubby fingers his name tag, huffing before pouting, “No, I’m Tobio.”
The way the boy meticulously sounded his name out was almost endearing to such an extent that Atsumu started feeling a little giddy.
“And I’m Miya Atsumu!” He greets him high-spirited after giggling a bit, which leaves the boy—Tobio—utterly confused as to what was so funny all of a sudden.
Now that he can take a better look at him, Tobio is, without a single doubt, a year below Atsumu, if the way his stiffly pressed and embroidered new uniform and his slightly short height for his age are anything to go by. Therefore, as a clever deduction, it means this is not his classroom, of course, and so Atsumu informs him. The boy just stares at him for an instant too long, processing his words for a bit in his sleepy and fuzzy head, before walking out of the room lazily.
Tobio doesn’t say goodbye.
Atsumu still won the bet.
**
Atsumu has always been tall for his age; he is two inches taller than Osamu, even when his twin loves to deny it. He’s taller than all his classmates, and even some in the years above, and it has gained him an indisputable amount of respect and dread from others.
Only, of course, he’s seven, so he’s not quite that familiar with the concept. All Atsumu knows is that when he decides they’re all going to play hide-and-seek instead of kicking the old football around at lunchtime, everyone listens and goes along with it, automatically agreeing.
As he is walking out the courtyard searching for his brother and group of friends, he sees a small crowd of three to five kids huddled near the school’s main door. It doesn’t take long to ascertain why they’re all there when he sees a white fluffy cat meowing near the gate, the clear protagonist of the show, and a now familiar raven boy crouching aside the school gate passing his small bony hands within the free space of the bars to reach over the immense cat.
Then Atsumu hears more than sees what happens next: a loud hiss directed at the crowd and a sob followed by boisterous laughing. Using the ruckus and fuss as his chance, the big cat takes his leave into the streets.
Tobio’s voice is barely a soft whimper but is thick with grief and misery, and he makes such a wretched picture crouching sadly on the floor that Atsumu finds his heart thrumming very uncomfortably in his chest.
The other year-above children surrounding him are still laughing or mockingly talking trash about him like he can’t even hear them— ‘How dumb!’ ‘Haha even strays don’t want you to play with them!’
Atsumu tsks and starts walking towards them.
“Yo, Tobio-kun! Finally found ya! Leggo! Come play with me!” he says as he pushes briskly past the other kids, and everyone parts immediately. He ignores the small jolt of satisfaction he feels from being important enough to have everyone scattered in his wake as best he can and leans down to put a gentle hand on the crestfallen boy’s shoulder. “Y’okay?”
Tobio’s bottom lip wobbles tremulously, but he nods once in response, and Atsumu doesn’t have the heart to say more than just keep playing along and try to distract him. “So, ya like cats?”
“I really do,” he mumbles, followed by a question of his own, “And you, Atsumu-san?”
A small thrill runs through him in those three short letters after his name.
Technically speaking, they are both kids. There was no difference in equals—children who cry and eat snot, so there was no need for formalities or politeness to someone barely your own age, Atsumu knew.
Because he’s always been the younger one among his group of friends and cousins—the slight difference with Osamu didn’t count, because his twin had never treated him like the older brother that he actually is—and though his older friends and relatives treated him okay and are very nice and all, it’s kind of cool being the older one for once.
Grown-up, sort of. Like the title came with responsibility or some sort, like he needed to protect this little kid from any wrongdoing.
“Sure, they’re cool,” Atsumu says after coming to terms with his brand-new title, and squeezes Tobio’s bony shoulder in his hand in what he hopes is a comforting manner and hums, making an inquisitive hmm.
“Y’know, Tobio-kun, ya should ’elp me find Samu and we can all play together. That sounds ok? Th’more, th’merrier right! And ya don’t hafta worry, he’s really nice, but I’m obviously the better brother,” he assures him.
“B-brother?” Tobio repeats, biting hard on his wobbly bottom lip as he fixes his blue-glassy eyes on Atsumu’s countenance.
“Yep!” Atsumu exaggeratedly sounds out the P, "My own evil twin! Isn’t that cool?”
He knows that between the two of them, the majority usually grant the title of evil twin to Atsumu, but he likes to differ. No one knows Miya Osamu’s slaughtering when someone tries to steal one of his sweet snacks more than himself. The same chaos and hell can be unleashed, but Tobio doesn’t have to know that. He should be okay if he doesn’t come near Osamu’s food or bento.
Tobio looks up at him from underneath his floppy head of dark hair and smiles tentatively.
“I guess so; I have a sister too,” he replies easily.
“Oh, nice! So, what d’ya say? Should we meet ‘im?” Atsumu is actually surprised at how patiently he waits, with a hand outstretched, as the boy seems to assess his offer. After a few more seconds, Tobio finally looks at him solemnly and accepts before unwrapping his tiny arms from around the bars at the iron gate.
“Okay, I’ll help find him.”
When he stands up, Atsumu sees two red fresh scratches of cat’s claws on the boy’s knees. At the same time, Tobio notices them too, and Atsumu panics.
There’s a moment when the two of them make eye contact, and then Atsumu sees him inhaling, long and shakily, the way children do when they’re about to scream-cry.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay! Don’t cry!!,” He leaps forward to wrap his arms around the boy. Being as tall as he is, Atsumu’s nose tickles when he gets a wad of silky hair pressed up against it.
“Don’t cry, please! Ya need to meet ‘im so we can play and have lunch together! We’ve onigiris for lunch, ya wanna see? They’re really nice, my granny does ‘em for us, but ya can’t eat ‘em if yer gonna cry,” Atsumu blabbers desperately in a frenzy.
The little body in his arms shudders before a stuffed-up, “How nice?” emerges from Atsumu’s very damp shoulder. He pulls back and grins winningly.
“Super nice. The nicest. But ya can’t cry if ya wanna eat ‘em.”
The boy takes a wet, shaky breath and then nods; his small face is screwed up in determination. “Alright. I won’t cry, I promise.”
Atsumu beams and takes Tobio’s small hand in his, and starts tugging him along.
“Great! We hafta hurry back to my classroom, I haft ‘em in my backpack,” he says, and Tobio nods again, like that makes perfect sense.
The walk back is quiet; the earlier throng of children surrounding the white furry near the entrance has dissipated back to their scattered groupings of two and three kids.
“Hey, so, did ya pet that cat?” Atsumu asks curiously as they both alight on the stairs. Tobio’s movements are a little jerky, the tender skin around his scuffed-up knees pulling probably with every step up the stairs.
“I couldn’t,” he disheartened whimpers, looking forlornly down at his scratches. Atsumu squeezes Tobio’s tiny hand in comfort once again.
“Just one more flight, ‘kay? And then ya’ll eat the onigiris. They’re delicious. Yer goin’ to love ‘em.”
“Okay,” Tobio says, “I’m excited.”
Atsumu laughs out loud at that. It’s not something that’s strange to say, but the easy admission is just—cute. It’s hopelessly endearing somehow from this quiet, serious little boy, and Atsumu wants to take the next flight of stairs two by two, or pinch Tobio’s cheeks or—or.
He settles for laughing again, and slings his arms around Tobio’s shoulders playfully, just for the boy to push it away the second it touches him, even though he didn’t have a problem when they held hands the whole walk.
“Yer funny,” Atsumu casually says, and Tobio’s nose scrunches up instantly.
“No, I’m not,” he mumbles with a frown on his lips, slowing down at the top of the stairs. Atsumu’s classroom is just down the hallway.
Atsumu lets out a sharp cackle at the boy’s reaction and leans forward to squeeze Tobio’s squishy cheeks.
“Yer funny, Tobio-kun! So, so~ funny,” he chuckles warmly, pinching and pulling Tobio’s baby fat.
Tobio nods after a few more strokes, accepting this new feature of his, “Yes, Atsumu-san.”
Atsumu shrieks after his reply, patting Tobio viciously on the head, probably a little too hard based on the way the boy winces, but Atsumu doesn’t stop because Tobio deserves all the pats in the head; because he is such a good kid. Such a cute kid.
“We’re here.” He tugs Tobio’s hand that’s again in his. It’s gotten a little sweaty, but neither of them lets go. When they get to the classroom, Atsumu pulls his jacket and schoolbag off his designated hook and rifles through its contents.
“I like your jacket, Atsumu-san,” Tobio says suddenly. “Blue is my favorite color.”
“Really?” he asks distractedly, looking inside the bag. “It’s okay, I guess. I like black. Black’s my favorite but Mama wouldn’t lemme buy it cuz it was a bigger size.”
Beside him, Tobio snorts a little bit and rocks back on his heels.
“Black’s not a color,” he explains, and he’s only six, but he sounds derisive, not that derisiveness is a concept available to Atsumu yet, but he’s vaguely aware he should be offended by the tone. “Black’s a shade,” Tobio adds, like that means something totally different from color.
Atsumu frowns at him from where he’s leaning over his schoolbag on the floor. “Black is too a color,” he snarks back.
Tobio huffs at him, and his thin eyebrows make something squiggly when he looks away.
“Alright,” he ends the discussion with a shrug, even though Atsumu can tell he doesn’t mean it.
“Don’t get smart with me, Tobio-kun. I’m the older one here,” Atsumu scolds. Tobio glances back at him, then flashes him a toothy grin.
“Right, sorry, Atsumu-san,” he chirps animatedly, sounding not very sorry at all but still, inexplicably, adorable.
“Here,” Atsumu grunts after taking every item out of his bag, shoving his lunch box under Tobio’s nose. He’s feeling strangely anticipatory for some reason, almost nervous, like if this little boy doesn’t think his tuna onigiris are nice, Atsumu will feel awful somehow. “They’re foxes.”
Tobio’s eyes go cosmically wide.
“Foxes?” His boyish voice sounded full of wonder. Small, chubby fingers trail reverently over the glossy lid of the bento, tracing around the shape in the air of the rice forms full of foxy ears and whiskers made with nori.
Honestly, Atsumu had thought the characters were a little childish for them when his granny had given them that day. Surely, his twin wouldn’t give them a single glance before devouring them criminally in two big bites, but now he’s glad. Tobio’s eyes are wide, blue shining bright like crystalline marble, and his ruddy cheeks flush with excitement.
“They look so nice,” he says in awe. He sounds tooth-achingly envious, and Atsumu feels a rush of giddy joy flood through him.
“Yeah?” he asks, delighting in Tobio’s immediate fervent nod. “Ya can haft ‘em all.”
It’s impulsive.
He had only really meant to give Tobio two, one for lunch and maybe one extra to take home or to have another if the other’s still hungry, but Tobio’s eyes look glossy and bright under the yellow classroom lights, and his small knees are blood-red with welts that look worse somehow, all pulled open, and the words are leaving Atsumu’s lips before he can even think to stem their flow.
“What?” Tobio’s mouth falls open. “I can have them all?”
Atsumu bites his lip and smiles. “Uh-huh.”
“But—Atsumu-san you—”
“It’s fine! ‘mnot that hungry anyway.”
“You need to eat even if you’re not hungry; that’s what Kazuyo-san always says to me,” the boy preaches with a frown on his thin lips.
“Is that so?” Atsumu asks, amused at Tobio’s sternness.
Tobio nods twice with determination. “You can have my lunch then, Atsumu-san. Let’s trade bentos.”
“Okay,” he accepts easily with a laugh. “Ya hafta take care of those wounds first before we can have lunch, Tobio-kun. I’ve some bandages in my backpack pocket. Come here, lemme help ya get ‘em on.”
Tobio complies, assenting dutifully, gaze shining with resolution as he plops onto the cold floor and rolls his khaki shorts higher up his thighs. He frowns a little when he sees the speckles of dirt still caught in the raw ridges of his knee, but he sets his mouth in a firm line before brushing them away briskly with his left hand.
“I won’t cry again, I promised,” Tobio informs him solemnly. Atsumu grins proudly and sits down in front of him, closer.
“I know ‘bout that, silly! Yer a good boy!! And good boys always keep their promises, right, Tobio-kun?”
Tobio approves, nodding his head so hard his charcoal hair flops into his sapphire eyes, and Atsumu can’t help the silly smile at Tobio’s earnest expression. He carefully unwraps two band-aids, one after the other, fiddling with the sticky bits to make sure they don’t get stuck together, and soon enough, Tobio’s small, milky-white, knobbly knees are all bandaged up.
“Wow,” Tobio breathes softly, patting them tentatively. “They don’t hurt anymore, Atsumu-san.”
And although technically, Atsumu’s father has told him many times that lying is wrong and he shouldn’t do it, he doesn’t think it’s that wrong when he says, “They’re magic plasters, Tobio-kun, yer goin’ to heal superfast now!” and delights in the reactions of the boy as Tobio’s jaw goes slack in astonishment.
Little Tobio had a great reaction to everything, and if you were like Atsumu and thrived with attention, he found himself having a feast as he still didn’t learn to abstain. Even effortless jokes and a little teasing get a rise out of the boy and Atsumu is loving every second of it. He wouldn’t mind spending his time with this kid. Moreover, just thinking of being able to spend more and more time with Tobio makes him feel a rush of adrenaline through his veins.
Miya Atsumu has no shortage of friends by any means, but the thing is, he feels a little left out on those evenings when Osamu ditches him to go play with a boy who lives down the street called Rintarou. Or how their next-door neighbor friend, who is really cool and three years older than them— already has a best friend in his basketball club, so he doesn’t spend that much time with the twins now, and so, what the real thing is, is that Atsumu is jealous, and he would very much like to have a best friend of his own, more so if his so-called new best friend could be such a very cute and very kind Tobio, yes please.
Atsumu calls Tobio, pulling him out of his amazement at the superb skin-colored magic band-aids, and asks him, “Tobio-kun, wanna be best friends?”
“Best friends?” he asks with curiosity.
“Yeah! We can always play and eat lunch together. And if imma with ya no one is goin’ to say bad things to ya, I won’t let ‘em. That’s what best friends do after all, Tobio-kun!!” he entreats, feeling kinda nervous, thinking that Tobio’s denial of his proposal of being his new friend is going to be brutal, and he’ll take actual damage and make him extremely sad.
Tobio looks at him with bright eyes and soft pink cheeks. “Yes, let’s be!”
Atsumu’s answering beam is so broad that he’s sure his smile is going to be painted on his cherry lips for a week.
He can’t wait to tell his twin the news and rub in his face how his best friend is much cuter and prettier than Osamu’s.
**
That same evening, Atsumu hangs out with his group and tells them about how Tobio became his new best friend and asks them what they think 'cute' actually means.
“It means endearing!” someone replies. Osamu and the rest hummed in agreement.
“Uh-huh! It means adorable, too. My mom always calls that to my baby cousin,” Rintarou recalls.
Atsumu nods vigorously at their definitions, totally agreeing, as it definitely describes Tobio.
Osamu then looks up from his coloring book, a worn-out crayon in his right hand and a sweet wrapper in his left, as he stops painting blots of blue as pretty as Tobio’s eyes on his sky drawing to cast a dubious glance at Atsumu, “Wait, someone called ya cute?”
“Nah, I told Tobio-kun that he was cute,” he replies, chewing hard on a strawberry lollipop, baby tooth and cavities be damned.
“Ah,” Osamu hums, losing interest and focusing again on filling in his drawing with colors.
At the revelation, his old next-door neighbor almost jumps three feet from his chair, green eyes wide open as he gapes at Atsumu. He has known the twins forever, being friends since the Miyas were in diapers. So, he tries to be a good influence and a role model to them, as Atsumu and Osamu’s father says in every opportunity given to him, he needs to teach them the how-to and not-to-do, because he has three whole years of more experience in school and social life because lower and upper elementary school aren’t exactly the same, and after all, he is a good friend.
After contemplating for a while, he drops his own colored pencils and climbs next to Atsumu on the chalk-printed sofa.
“Tsumu,” he began saying in the most serious tone a ten-year-old can achieve, which was apparently way too serious, as Atsumu felt himself shrinking three sizes smaller as his friend continued speaking.
“That word is very, very scary,” he whispers, so that only the two of them share the secret, grabbing a lollipop from Atsumu’s pouch and starting to wave it around as he explains, “Grown-ups can call everyone cute, boys can call girls cute, girls can call other girls cute, but when a boy calls another boy cute…”
He suddenly stops and starts peeling off the lollipop wrapper, creating a dramatic pause in the conversation.
“What happens?” he asks, eager to know what’s next. “What happens if a boy calls another boy cute?”
“They get into serious trouble.” The neighbor simply says, shrugging a little as if it’s totally normal. He then hops off the couch and skips to his chair, sucking the strawberry-flavored candy as a deserved reward after doing his expected job. “It happened in my school once, and they were brought away to the principal’s office.”
Atsumu gulps and frowns at the news. So, he can’t call Tobio cute, or would they get into big trouble? Even though the boy was the cutest thing Atsumu had ever encountered in his young life? He decides then that he will not say that word out loud to Tobio-kun ever again, since getting them into trouble is the last thing he wants.
Atsumu really doesn’t want to lose his best friend.
Atsumu likes him.
He likes how honest Tobio is, how his calm and quiet personality makes a 180-degree turn when talking about topics of his interest, and how he grins with all the warmth of the sun whenever he succeeds at petting the neighborhood’s cats.
For all that Atsumu hates school, he could at least say that he will never hate the times spent at school with Tobio in the years to come.
(9)
Atsumu wants to cry as he sits in the library, checking the definitions of words that he doesn’t even understand on the library’s computer for the sake of his reading project. He pouts a little as he types again and again, wishing he could be playing with his friends—read Tobio—instead. He sighs as he writes explanation after explanation on multiple yellow and pink post-its.
After a few more words, he decides to call it a day, closing his thick literature book and stretching a little.
As he gets ready to leave, he grabs his flip phone and realizes that he has a few messages from Osamu.
Atsumu is already smiling as he sees the wallpaper of them making silly faces his twin shared with him as a lock screen. As he opens the chat, the first message is a picture, and the photo shows Tobio on Osamu’s left, which is why Atsumu only catches his profile. His dark and long fringe covered most of his forehead and cornflower eyes were shining brightly in the afterglow sunset.
4.49pm
samu: [picture]
samu: ya done? buy some gungun yogurt in the library’s vending machine.
samu: tobio-kun is staying.
5.27pm
!hello to you too samu i’m very much fine thank u for asking
5.30pm
samu: i didn’t ask
5.30pm
[read]
5.32pm
samu: tobio-kun says ‘hi (*^ω^*)’
5.32pm
toOBIOoO kuUN
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!HELLO!!!!!!
He couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the emoji the younger boy asked his twin to use; after all this time, Tobio was still very cute. Atsumu’s mind unconsciously flashes backs to the day they had first met and the ‘serious’ talk he’d had with his neighbor afterward. Fast fingers move across the black keyboard, searching for the definition of one last word.
Cute /kjuːt/
adjective
. appealing in a pretty or endearing way.
“a cute kitten”
Synonyms: endearing, adorable, lovable, sweet, lovely, appealing, engaging, delightful, dear, darling, winning, winsome, charming, enchanting, attractive, pretty, as pretty as a picture, cutesy, pretty-pretty […]
Antonyms: unattractive, unappealing
Cute (ATTRACTIVE)
. (especially of something or someone small or young) pleasant and attractive.
“His baby brother is really cute”
. INFORMAL · NORTH AMERICAN
trying to be clever or cunning, especially in a self-seeking, rude or superficial way.
“Don’t be cute with me, Vicki”
Cute (DECEIVING)
disapproving
. too carefully designed to get approval or appear attractive, and therefore seeming dishonest.
“He thinks it’s cute to misbehave, but it’s not”
Atsumu ponders about that one time he used the word out loud. He had said that Tobio-kun was cute, but it never occurred to him that the word could have more than one different meaning…on second thought, perhaps that’s why his friend had told him that it was a scary word.
He sets his mind to call the younger cute out loud one more time that night at home, to say that he genuinely thinks that Tobio is, in fact, cute in a pretty way. In the ‘adorable,’ ‘as pretty as a picture,’ ‘pretty-pretty’ kind of way.
The corners of Atsumu’s lips lift a little as he logs out of the computer and recalls Tobio’s in the recent picture, seriously thinking of changing it as his new wallpaper.
Those are definitely Tobio’s best descriptions.
(10)
Atsumu thought those moments with Tobio would last forever. He was the good friend Atsumu made by his own efforts, and if he could, he’d spend all of his free time playing with him for endless hours and more.
But one cloudy morning, dark as night, when Kageyama Tobio was nine and Miya Atsumu was ten, Tobio had to go to Miyagi, and everything took an unexpected turn for change.
Atsumu doesn’t say much about the news, even when Tobio follows after him and Osamu to pack his stuffed toys, color pencils and luggage. He doesn’t say anything even as Tobio’s older sister, Miwa, pats his head after his twin, carrying a sad smile all the way into the car. He doesn’t say anything while they pack all of Tobio and Atsumu’s memories in big brown cardboard boxes, and he keeps that silence even when they part ways.
It’s the first time Atsumu has been so quiet around Tobio in the years he’s known him. He should have realized then that it meant something that he’d been quiet for most of the hours that came after.
It takes days of Tobio being gone from school, of Atsumu waiting and seeing no sign of that familiar warm smile after school, for him to eventually find out from his parents that Tobio had moved out.
His mom had said it in passing—that Tobio’s grandpa was sick, and his parents had found a job near him that required them to move somewhere as far away as Sendai—that Atsumu hadn’t almost processed it until he felt his heart clenching hard and his throat closing at the realization.
Atsumu didn’t even say goodbye to Tobio.
He’s left to think over Tobio’s last words to him before waving the twins goodbye from his father’s car window, again and again, replaying the tender touch of his small finger closing over Atsumu’s own in a pinky promise, over and over, like a short scene from a movie in a continuous loop.
Atsumu likes to believe that their friendship will remain as strong as ever, even when there’s now a long and vast distance between them, that Tobio will keep his promise—as he always did—of coming back home on every summer break and vacation with souvenirs, as Osamu assures him.
Still, Atsumu calls Tobio to make sure and confirms it.
Still, Atsumu cries the very first moment Tobio answers, waterfall tears moistening his flushed cheeks and dampening his black phone case.
That night, even with the current static noise of the call, Tobio’s rich and reassuring voice plays a lullaby to his ears. A conversation full of promises and comfort that cradles him to a slumber until the next rising sun.
(11)
Tobio keeps his promise.
Of course, he does.
They met again during winter break; they spent Tobio’s birthday, Christmas, and New Year together.
Atsumu is glued to his hip the moment Tobio gets off the train, hugging and locking arms tightly as in fear he’ll lose his little friend in the myriad of people on the platform after his long-awaited arrival.
He’s finally back. Here, in Hyogo.
Tobio comes wrapped in a super long hoodie that hugs his tiny frame like a fluffy, cotton-like blanket; he has his face buried into his favorite navy scarf—the one Atsumu and Osamu gifted him when Tobio spent his first birthday with them and turned seven—while they walk home side by side.
Tobio looks exactly the same; he is still the cute little kid Atsumu once met. He still smiles warm as the sun, he still has blue round eyes vast like the sea, and he still smells like a summer day even in the bitter cold of winter.
Everything goes back to the normal pace, life keeping the same humdrum routine as prior to, and yet, Atsumu’s heart isn’t fully fulfilled as before.
On the first morning of New Year, Atsumu dreams a dream of nothing more than Tobio, whom he unconsciously keeps thinking about throughout the morning, leaving him feeling all weird and conscious of his friend’s presence around him.
After breakfast, they all went to the nearest shrine in the neighborhood along with his parents and Suna’s family, and when it was the boys’ turn to pray and wish for prosperity, safety, and good health, Atsumu noticed himself being more focused on Tobio’s face than on his own prayer.
He watches the moment unfold before his hypervigilant hazel eyes, how Tobio’s cheeks are painted crimson from the wind’s bite while the rose-gold sun catches the colors of his silky hair, showing the shimmering shades of blue steel and jet-black ribbons tousling in the breeze like a dance, and a sickness that follows a burning fire stuck in his gut at the scene.
Atsumu feels more than sees how his left hand automatically wraps Tobio’s right hand in a tight grip, his cold fingers interlocking with another rosy, slender pair, immediately standing his ground and stopping his thoughts. While his friend blinks curiously at the tight grip the brunet holds him in, Atsumu feels his heart more at ease with the grounding feeling of Tobio’s hand weight on his.
He starts smiling in relief as the wild commotion of sensations finally stops as he scoots a little closer to the raven boy, resting his head on Tobio’s shoulder to gaze up at the blinding sky around them, more than pleased, before leading the boy hand in hand to buy some amulets and try their luck drawing some random fortunes papers.
Tobio had been lovely before, as lovely as he is now, but Atsumu doesn’t know why he looked at him in a new light that very same morning. He doesn’t understand what the reason is behind that irking feeling nipping at the back of his head.
When Atsumu and Osamu walk Tobio back to the train station at the end of the week, Atsumu finally asks his twin about that chaotic morning slash existential crisis.
Osamu calls him an idiot.
Atsumu is the only one who still calls Tobio cute.
(14)
At fourteen, Atsumu discovers that cute isn’t just a word he could exclusively use for Tobio.
He finds this girl in his class who sits three seats away from him really cute. She has a cute round nose she scrunches when laughing, and she’s always wearing soft baby blue pins in her light brown hair, looking so pretty.
And there is also a boy at Atsumu’s swimming lessons that he finds cute. He has a sweet voice and beautiful curly hair that stands out when he matches the color of his swim caps and goggles to be as green as his eyes.
But after a few weeks, when some of Atsumu’s classmates ask if he considers some of the girls in his grade ‘pretty or cute,’ he finds himself saying no. The boy in his swimming class is way cuter than his classmate, though Tobio is still the cutest one out of all three.
At some point, Atsumu had started appreciating the aesthetic of boys more than girls; being cute or not, being pretty or not, wasn’t that significant, as it didn’t vary from gender in what he could find attractive.
However, he doesn’t know what to make of those conclusions yet. Sometimes he can do so little to keep his feelings and emotions at bay. Sometimes there are nights when his heart and mind play a dirty trick and keep him awake for hours and hours, giving him intrusive thoughts and asking so many questions that he still can’t find the answers to.
From time to time, there are nights when he dreams a similar dream from years ago. The nature of the dream hasn’t changed with the passing of time, the essence of it all still remains being Tobio, until a few months ago when it kept switching. Now, not so much of a remembrance of his friend but a handsome male silhouette behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes.
Now that dream haunts him constantly, becoming pretty soon a regular nightmare as that same old dream changes completely, making his heart skip a beat after subconsciously imagining an attractive boy taking his hand in his and whispering pretty nothings in his ear, flirting. But one rainy night like any other, Atsumu’s eyes slam open, his heart in his throat as the dream flashes still fresh in his mind, because that night when that faceless male silhouette took shape and form and became a familiar raven boy taking his hand delicately in his and whispering everything and nothing in his ears, his heart seemed to be engulfed in flames, all burning and scalding. The feeling’s not that unfamiliar nor that unknown.
When he picked up his phone, he searched with trembling hands.
Crush /krʌʃ/
noun
1. 1. a crowd of people pressed closely together.
“a number of youngsters fainted in the crush"
2. 2.INFORMAL
a brief but intense infatuation for someone, especially someone unattainable.
"she did have a crush on Dr Russell"
Synonyms: infatuation, obsession, love, passion, puppy love
If his yelp woke up Osamu after reading the second part, no one but him needed to know.
When he saw Tobio again that year, Atsumu had dyed his hair blond and confided in him that he was attracted to boys. At the confession, the thirteen old boy just looks at him a few seconds too long, almost intrigued.
Right then Tobio skips a breath, while Atsumu skips a heartbeat.
In the end, the raven boy smiles, kind and warm like the smile he gives when agreeing with Atsumu’s ideas for holidays, giving his full support like every single other time before, and Atsumu lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
That same summer, he took the boy from his swimming class on a date.
Osamu still calls him an idiot.
Atsumu prays he is the only one who still calls Tobio cute.
(18)
The last time the Miya twins and Kageyama Tobio shared a summer or winter break together was two to almost three years ago, given that school wasn’t that nice to them, especially with brainless people like Osamu and Tobio that go wasting almost every one of their breaks and holidays with complimentary classes through the whole three years of high school.
So, when one Friday afternoon, he received a call from Tobio to meet him that same night, he was ecstatically euphoric.
Miya Atsumu, now eighteen years old and a graduate, currently lives in Tokyo attending college. They live closer again now, since getting from Miyagi to Tokyo takes as little as ninety minutes by Shinkansen bullet train—a dream distance his younger self could only wish for, as the distance from Hyogo Prefecture reaches five hours.
Given the short distance, he didn’t need to prepare that many hours in advance, and in the late evening, he took a shower and went out as fast.
**
Atsumu feels off-kilter the moment he meets Tobio again.
Not because he’s unsure, or nervous, or scared of what Tobio might think of him now that they are face-to-face again after years of just texting and calling, but because Tobio looks more beautiful than Atsumu thought he would, and he’s not entirely prepared to digest thinking such a thing when the person in question is right in front of him.
It’s not even just the physical sense of him, not the familiar azure warm eyes, nor his too-toned arms, nor his brazen new height, but the way he carries himself, the way Atsumu feels just from looking at him.
Tobio, as a child, had been Atsumu’s cute little friend, the second first person after Osamu he’d share his secrets with because he could trust him with them, and Tobio now feels like someone else entirely, even if he stupidly claims he’s still the same.
“Don’t see how I am any different,” Tobio grumbles, bottom lip in a pout while reading through the café’s menu.
It was thrilling to watch his sea-colored eyes both relax and harden when something caught his attention. Thanks to Miwa, they had been framed by stylistically pristine eyeliner, looking absolutely distracting. Everything that Tobio did, beauty and grace were built into his movements.
Atsumu had already liked him before, but at this very moment, he doesn’t know why he feels that it’s just way too different.
“You’re a lot different. You’re taller now, and bigger.” He really hopes he doesn’t sound that odd.
“Oh. Well, I’m reaching almost six feet now,” Atsumu thanks the heavens that Tobio’s still oblivious to his inner conflict.
At some point in the conversation, Tobio asked about how Osamu was doing before video-calling him, and next thing he knew, Atsumu’s twin and friends walked in demanding to go to karaoke together, something about a Tokyo night's parade or some bullshit.
Now, Tobio sits by Suna for the majority of the night.
Atsumu hasn’t been watching, honestly. He’s just sitting on the opposite side of the table with Aran, Gin, and Osamu. Meanwhile, Suna hangs off Tobio—literally, arms around his shoulders—as Tobio listens attentively to one of Aran’s many anecdotes of the night, and Atsumu clamps down his urge to go and drag Tobio to his side.
Atsumu has always thought about how insufferable Rintarou was when he teamed up with Osamu to make his life a living hell, but something about this—about the way he whispers in Tobio’s ear, the way Tobio laughs softly at whatever Suna is saying while covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he keeps listening, a smile lingering on his perfect face afterward— dislocates something in Atsumu. While his chest is tightening at the sight of Tobio smiling so pretty, something sits uncomfortably in his gut at the scene.
The feeling moves up to make its home in Atsumu’s throat throughout the rest of the night, burning.
Surprisingly, he does find himself having a good time despite his previous predicament. Gin and Suna are singing an idol group song out of tune for the third time in a row when Tobio excuses himself to get some fresh air by walking out of the room, Osamu following right after and Atsumu can finally catch his breath, relieved.
Suna, observing him while sitting on his left, confirms, “Wow, you’re gay.”
“I’ve been told,” he says briskly, “What’s so new about it for you to point it out?”
“Not much, really. I just meant it as you had it bad for Kageyama.”
“What?!” Atsumu blenches. He stares at Suna, slightly wide-eyed, mouth gaping.
“You’re the surprised one here? You were throwing daggers at me all night when we were just talking,” and that Atsumu couldn’t deny, so he preferred to keep his silence.
“You’re so freaking dramatic, Tsumu. I swear, this ain’t like one of those stupid and cheap rom-coms you like so much. Good for you; you are just pining for your childhood best friend.”
Atsumu coughs first to clear his throat and, second, tries to calm down before causing a scene, because how dare he say such a thing about their relationship like that? At the last second, he looks away because he really can’t stand watching Suna right now.
“That’s not true, he just—Tobio just looks different; it caught me by surprise. That’s all.”
“I sure didn’t know you were that possessive towards your friends.”
“It isn’t like that.”
“Right. Of course. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” And that’s Rintarou’s cue to leave and start a whole new conversation with Aran while Ginjima is still singing, the thrumming melody of the song calming Atsumu’s jumpy nerves.
He breathes in deep, closing his eyes—why does it feel so different, liking this Tobio now?
Atsumu should have definitely known. It should have been a given, something not even unexpected. Still, it managed to catch him by surprise; and the thing is Atsumu actually hadn’t expected any of this.
He hadn’t expected that the little boy who’d stained his hands brown when eating chocolate ice cream on the sidewalk after playing all summer afternoons in the park would become—would become the kind of person who makes menu cards look tiny in his comically large hands, who handles every little thing with the same kind of care that he handles tiny kittens, and the real, actual thing is, Atsumu likes him so much.
He likes his childhood best friend so much, in ways that aren’t quite appropriate for platonic soulmates, because Atsumu has been thinking more and more throughout sleepless nights, about how nice it would be to slot his mouth over Tobio’s red lips and search and find out if Tobio would taste like the strawberry milks he religiously drinks.
After what seemed like a century lost in his thoughts, he snaps out of it when he feels his phone vibrate in his lap. It was almost déjà vu. On his smartphone screen was the minimized preview of his and Osamu’s chat with a recent photo of Tobio. Without thinking twice, he opened it to examine it in more detail. It was another profile picture, this time taken from Tobio’s right side.
Tobio had tilted his head back a little, exposing his pearly neck and collarbones, no scarf in sight. The night in the background matches Tobio’s obsidian hair perfectly as the city’s colorful lights play and cast shadows all around his face. The chill of the night left the most beautiful rosy flush flooding across his pristine ivory skin while his sharp nose had a fine glow from the smartphone’s flash that Osamu must have turned on, as well as his cherry lips that outlined a smile in response to some idiocy his brother had said before taking the picture.
The gleam of blissful delight sparkled in those beautiful orbs. And in the bustle of Tokyo’s dazzling screens and mirrored skyscrapers, Atsumu could sort out all the stars in the sky in Tobio’s sapphire eyes.
10.07pm
samu: [picture]
10.12pm
maybe
10.12pm
samu: ?????
samu: took you long enough to reply, creep
samu: enjoying the view a bit much
10.13pm
shut up you ugly ass
bring tobio back inside is fucking freezing outside idiot
I SWEAR TO GOD IF HE CATCH A COLD BC OF YOU ILL SKIN YOU ALIVE
As he contemplates the downloaded picture of Tobio on his phone, Atsumu infers that maybe he should have been paying more attention to his obvious feelings, but in the end, he can't bring himself to regret it.
Maybe Suna Rintarou is right this time.
Maybe he actually likes Tobio that way.
(23)
Atsumu stares.
And stares, and stares, and stares.
Not creepily like Osamu reproaches him, though—he would never. It is just out of admiration.
Admiration for Tobio’s long, dark eyelashes crowning his beautifully blue eyes and his smooth, unblemished, pearly skin too. It’s also admiration for his lips, which are the prettiest soft pinkish-red color he has ever seen.
Since Tobio chose the same university as Atsumu after graduating, watching over him in the mornings and in his shared classes has become his favorite hobby and pretty much his daily routine, which Atsumu had come to find comfort in. It also makes him feel kind of nostalgic, as Tobio hasn’t been around since way back in primary school.
At the angle Atsumu sits, he can subtly notice Tobio’s underbite with the way he slightly pouts at his work sprawled on the desk. He looks way too cute, in Atsumu’s expert opinion.
Seven-year-old Atsumu would definitely agree.
He is snapped out of his daze when Suna leans over and whispers, “Please, tone down the gay vibes, would ya? I can’t focus on my work; it’s so freaking hard.”
Suna smirks when Atsumu rolls his eyes and elbows him back into his seat. Yeah, yeah, Atsumu is gay. Really, really gay, and for Tobio too. Not that Atsumu tries hard to hide it now that he’s done accepting his feelings.
It is just that Tobio has always been oblivious.
He turns his attention away from the boy and back to his work and continues through class until they’re dismissed. While Tobio and Rintarou go to their next shared class, he meets Osamu waiting at the door.
“I’m surprised you got any work done.” Osamu murmurs sleepily as he switches out his books.
“Why?”
“With your eyes on Tobio-kun the whole time, you must not have glanced at your paper even once.”
As he takes his things out, he looks at Atsumu with raised eyebrows and that childish smirk his older twin has learned to hate.
“Well, he’s too pretty to not look at, y’know?”
“Uh-uh, I know.”
“Like, really, it’s physically killing me that I can’t kiss him,” Atsumu admits, his grin falling to a barely half-there smile after realizing mid-sentence what he just confirmed out loud. He abruptly stops walking, biting his bottom lip as gray eyes land on him. Atsumu holds his twin’s gaze, silence never so loud.
They are late for their next class, but neither moves. After a few seconds that seem everlasting, Atsumu just sighs with resignation. He leans his head forward on Osamu’s shoulder for support as he softly admits, “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”
Osamu swings the hand that is at Atsumu’s side and gives it a soft squeeze before speaking.
“Nah, I wouldn’t say pathetic per se, but an 'oblivious, dumb bitch', damn positive.” And Osamu continues before his twin could make a retort, “You’re just in love with him. You always have been Tsumu.”
And Atsumu can do little else but try not to embarrass himself further, as he feels the heat rising in his flushed cheeks, warm inside and out.
They stay that way a little longer before rushing to class.
**
After his last period, Atsumu jogs to the main building, where Tobio should have been, and sure enough, there he is.
Tobio’s Thursday afternoon classes happened to finish at the same time as Atsumu’s, so Tobio would wait for him outside the main building, and they’d walk home together while the sun started dipping below the trees and the streetlamps flickered on.
Since Atsumu last saw him, Tobio has put on a black sweater and he has his phone out and is typing rapidly, most likely informing his sister that he would, in fact, be going home with Atsumu today, and no, she doesn’t have to pick him up and could go to her beauty salon without worrying about him.
But the two have been in this routine for years now, so he shouldn’t really have to update her on it since Miwa already knows, but Tobio still does while he waits for Atsumu—it’s because it makes him look occupied, and no one tries to engage in conversation with him, Atsumu later found out.
He walks towards Tobio and hugs him from behind, resting his chin on the raven boy’s shoulder and wrapping his arms over where the black sweater sits at his hips, running the fabric with the tip of his fingers.
At some point, Atsumu really started appreciating Tobio’s outfits, the winter ones were his favorite because Tobio would wrap himself up in differents V-neck long-sleeve sweaters each day of the week, burying his face in thick cashmere scarves when they walked home and the icy breeze played with his charcoal hair.
And not that unexpectedly, he had started appreciating what lay under the clothes too. Atsumu could feel the way his eyes were drawn down the length of Tobio’s body every time, watching how his thighs flexed and his waist twisted, the way shirts on warm days hugged his body, stretching across muscled triceps, showing off Tobio’s well-toned arms, and if Atsumu was lucky enough on summer days, he colud catch how Tobio would stretch them over his head and Atsumu would get a glimpse of his toned stomach, showing glimpses of smooth, vulnerable skin underneath when Tobio reached up for something.
He has no clue when he notices that he wants his hands on Tobio’s skin all the time, touching and claiming, but he still chases the feeling constantly.
This sweater, though, this tight black one that Atsumu has under his fingers, this one’s new. It clings to his figure brilliantly while somehow still looking modest. The sweater collar hugs Tobio’s pearly neck, the fabric there folding over itself and sitting perfectly against his skin, the color accentuating his already striking features. He looks mature, like he has come straight from an expensive, exclusive art exhibition. Maybe he had, because Tobio itself looked like a masterpiece.
“That damn test totally kicked my ass today,” Atsumu starts the conversation to try and snap out of his thoughts.
Tobio hums, acknowledging his presence, while still typing on his smartphone. “So I heard from Osamu-san.”
When Tobio is done and puts his phone in his pocket, Atsumu moves and stands beside him.
“Ready to go?” After asking, he closes his fingers around Tobio’s wrist by habit and starts dragging him down the sidewalk before grasping his hand, cold from the weather.
“Of course,” Tobio proceeds to walk right next to him, bumping shoulders now and then.
Somewhere along the walk, a conversation starts, and Atsumu listens intently as Tobio recounts a story from class. As he keeps talking, Atsumu notices he may be a little lost in thought, and Tobio has realized it too, because he leans forward suddenly and without warning, and Atsumu is rather promptly confronted with a wave of Tobio’s scent in the overly cold evening—cotton and citrus and maybe a little sweat, too.
“Everything’s okay?”
The branches of the trees above them created blotched shadows along Tobio’s face, the very last shaft of sunlight hitting in all the right places and causing his face to appear bright, giving him a godly glow.
Atsumu, a little intoxicated and a lot overwhelmed, only has the presence of mind to mumble. “All peachy.”
Tobio lets out a small huff of laughter and doesn’t point out that Atsumu has been quiet from the moment they walk off campus.
“But?” He still prods.
“No buts. There’s nothing wrong, Tobio-kun.”
Now that his absurd yet still relentlessly perfect best friend is no longer only inches away—and subsequently, his best friend’s mouth is no longer inches away from Atsumu’s, wherein the two of them run the great risk of Atsumu leaning in and doing something crazy like pecking him—he coughs a bit and more, ears suddenly tinging, mind running a little clearer.
Catching on to his coughing, the younger asks him again, “Are you sure?”
The temptation to brush this conversation off is there. Undoubtedly. After all, isn’t that what Atsumu has been doing for the last year and a half since Aran-kun had exasperatedly pointed out one drunken night that ‘Kageyama-kun is in love with you! You oblivious brat!!’
Hasn’t he brushed off everything—the late nights spent at the library, where Tobio wordlessly drapes his warmest overcoat that still smells like him, citrus and caramel, over Atsumu’s shoulders, the lingering touches, the even longer-lingering stares —previously?
But it’s hard now.
It’s hard, and it’s only getting harder to still pretend that his best friend, who’s seen him through primary school swimming matches and Atsumu’s failed summer flirtations, through coming out and his undergraduate thesis, is still just that.
Because things have been different lately, haven’t they?
Because Tobio had been touching him more without Atsumu initiating it, by laying his warm hands just there at the base of Atsumu’s spine and undercut, or like that time when he had grazed the back of his forefinger along Atsumu’s bottom lip and murmured, ‘Atsumu-san you have a’—before cutting off and staring heatedly at the way Atsumu had bitten down hard on the swell of his plump lip to keep from saying something stupidly embarrassing.
Atsumu’s been thinking way too much about these things recently, and none of them feel appropriate for them, and he keeps trying to stop, to rein them in, even though Tobio-kun’s roommates have started asking him when he and Tobio will be celebrating their anniversary and ‘Oh! You’re not—You guys aren’t together?! But you’re both so’— and Atsumu can do little else but gape at them and hope his ears haven’t spontaneously caught flame with how hot they feel.
So, yeah, Atsumu has a tiny bit of a problem, and it’s getting hard to ignore.
“It’s... just—you look really cute,” he decides to say at the last minute, which isn’t even a lie.
At his answer, Tobio’s mouth twists into a smile. “I’ve been told.”
“And your new sweater looks nice. Black’s my favourite”
“Mmh-hm,” Tobio hums.
“It's kinda distracting.”
“That must be hard,” he immediately counters back, looking for all intents and purposes like he’s fighting down a smirk.
Heat flushes so quickly up Atsumu’s nape and ears that his head spins.
“Fuck you,” he says without real heat, and Tobio blooms with a large smirk.
God, twenty-one-year-old Tobio’s the worst. Atsumu is about to tell him as much when Tobio’s face softens, and he leans in closer—closer than he already had been, which is about seven inches too close already for propriety—and nudges Atsumu’s cheek with his nose.
“'Kay, ‘m sorry,” Tobio mumbles out softly, because he’s a menace.
Atsumu does not lean into the feather-light touch of Tobio’s nose tip on his heating cheek. He makes a noncommittal noise but doesn’t say anything else. He certainly doesn’t point out the fact that Tobio’s hand has tightened on his wrist or that Atsumu’s errant thumb has begun trailing tentative circles around the jut of Tobio’s bone.
Something familiar and warm burned up in Atsumu’s chest when he held Tobio in his arms. Over the past few months, moments when the two of them orbited close to each other weren’t uncommon. It didn’t matter if it was in the calm and quiet of their rooms or on the busiest street in Tokyo or on an outing with friends; if they wanted to hold each other’s hand, they’d do it; if they wanted to hug one another close, they’d do it. Neither of them seemed to care about the judging looks they would receive with their displays of affection.
It’s not like Atsumu cares about people’s opinions anyway, but Tobio, as a child, has always been a little bit more reluctant about these things. Maybe it was the distance that separated them those years that made the younger long for Atsumu’s hugs. Whatever it was, Atsumu was thankful because, lately, if he wanted to hold the boy for hours and more, he’d not hear any protests from Tobio.
When Atsumu finally has the strength of spirit to look up at his best friend of almost two decades, he finds Tobio watching him already with the softest expression on his handsome face. He blinks at him and Atsumu tries to keep his hand from squeezing Tobio’s cheeks. He clears his throat as an excuse and takes his eyes away from Tobio’s. His heart throbs painfully in his chest, as if Tobio is reaching into his ribcage to squeeze with his own palms. It isn’t a new feeling, but it’s just disturbingly more powerful than usual.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“How am I looking at you?” Tobio repeats as he straightens up a bit, reminding Atsumu of their slight millimeter difference in height.
“Like you’re trying to seduce me.” Atsumu gushes just to be difficult.
There’s a beat of silence when Tobio doesn’t immediately reply at his joke, then an “Oh.”
At that, Atsumu looks at Tobio, who looks back at him. There’s something wary but nonetheless hopeful in Tobio’s blue eyes, like a burden has rolled off his shoulders somehow, like a boarded-up window has been pushed open and sunlight and air are spilling through and the funny part is, Atsumu has always known that Tobio is handsome and attractive and charming, but this—this still nameless thing shining in his eyes is warmer than all of that, beautiful and immaculate, because it looks almost, maybe, like—
It feels like it means nothing and everything all at once.
Atsumu’s heart judders like a dinghy caught in rough tides, hapless and buffeted in his chest. He tucks Tobio’s messy locks tousled by the wind behind his ear as a mere distraction and ignores the slight tremble of his fingers.
There’s something thick and salty in his throat as his eyes travel hungrily over Tobio’s face, asking a million questions per millisecond. Atsumu notices, with a mounting sort of hysteria or molten warmth, it’s hard to tell, all the answers in the boy’s eyes. Because maybe this is it, maybe this is the proverbial nail in the coffin, the last drop of water that made the ocean spill over onto land. Maybe this is some sort of proof or sign, Atsumu thinks deliriously, that Tobio likes him back.
The thing about wanting something for so long is that sometimes, even when you know you should be running because everything you’ve ever wanted is right there, not a hairbreadth away, it feels like it’s all you can do to stay upright and still.
“All this time, Tobio-kun?” Atsumu croaks, tears prickling at the base of his eyelashes, hoping Tobio understands.
“I didn’t think you noticed,” he admits, accompanied by a little shrug.
“Since when?”
At the last question, Tobio frowns at him before letting out merry sounds like something between a laugh and a shaky exhalation. He shakes his head for a bit, ruffling messily back the locks Atsumu tucked seconds ago, and catches Atsumu’s cold hand with his own, like blankets of snow capping a mountain.
“You didn’t know?” He asks, somehow sheepish and admonishing at once. He meets Atsumu’s gilded gaze directly, and he could see the way Tobio’s eyes are catching light at this angle, the auric amber of the sun seeping through the willow branches burnishing their blue color, somehow, like the glow of resin. “It’s always been you, Atsumu-san.”
Atsumu’s throat bobs noisily, and in the sudden muffled silence of the evening, he’s almost inclined to be embarrassed by the sound.
“Right,” he says hoarsely.
“Right,” Tobio echoes softly. His lips curled upwards into a heart-stopping grin. “You only noticed today? I thought you were just ignoring me before…” He cocks his head to one side. “Suna-san says it was a good idea since I like you.”
Atsumu felt his cheeks burn at Tobio’s abrupt frankness. His heartbeat dangerously soars up as Tobio cards his fingers to Atsumu’s waist and lightly tugs him closer to his side, and he falls like a magnet to his arms.
Atsumu steps close, closer, until all he can feel is the phantom warmth of Tobio’s sweater.
Tentatively, slowly enough that Tobio has time to move away if he wants to, he lifts one hand to touch the smooth rise of Tobio’s cheekbones with just the tips of his fingers. Tobio’s eyes flutter shut anyway, and before Atsumu can react, he turns his face to nudge his chilly cheek against the cradle of Atsumu’s warm palms, tender and gentle but taking all the same. Sunbathing in warmth like a cat.
“I apologize,” Tobio murmurs. “I should have said something sooner.”
The dark sweep of Tobio’s eyelashes flickers, and then he opens his azure eyes to gaze at Atsumu with such aching, painful want that Atsumu feels rather like his knees will give way in the freezing air.
“It’s okay.”
“But I kept you waiting for long, didn’t I?”
Holy crap, he knows. But that isn’t a big surprise in itself. Tobio is more observant and perceptive than Atsumu, after all. More graceful, too, even if he doesn’t strike people as the type, so Atsumu is not surprised that he has danced around things even better than Atsumu himself.
“No,” Atsumu’s voice cracks out, wet. “It didn’t feel like waiting, Tobio,” he murmurs, his voice drowning in the sound of his heart ricocheting inside his ribs. “Loving you has never felt like waiting.”
“Alright,” Tobio agrees and Atsumu catches the sight of Tobio’s lips helplessly tugging upwards before he tumbles forward and presses his face into Atsumu’s long neck, melting against him. Warm yet cool and very pliant. Like he fits nowhere else.
Atsumu’s left hand tangles into the short hair of Tobio’s cut, and the shiver he gets in response is both delightful and entirely overwhelming.
“Tobio-kun, would you do me a favor?” He questions with some difficulty, as he keeps drowning in the way Tobio squeezes his hips, his gaze darting at Tobio’s handsome face. He looks back at Atsumu with that same weird intensity as he’s always looked at him, and looking back, Atsumu feels kind of foolish that he didn’t figure it out way earlier, years earlier.
Tobio smiles ear to ear. His lips are twitching like he’s trying not to laugh, and his eyes soften as they study Atsumu’s honey ones.
“There’s very little I wouldn’t do for you, Atsumu-san.”
And damn, if that didn’t make shivers run into Atsumu’s skin, he still feels the little bolt of adrenaline that happened whenever Kageyama Tobio managed to surprise him, even after years of knowing one another. But Atsumu is not going to be left behind. He’s also the kind of person who always throws the first punch, and so it isn’t a surprise when he moves minimally closer, trailing one hand all the way up Tobio’s body until it rests on the line of his jaw.
“What about a kiss?” He inquires, breathless.
“As long as it’s with you, I would like that.”
Atsumu’s honey eyes glint up, and then he tilts his face a bit up and finally presses his cherry lips to Tobio’s pink ones as he has always dreamt of doing.
Maybe all the other Tobios through the years would have done this. He doesn’t know.
But he does know this.
Miya Atsumu, twenty-three, is kissing him,
And Kageyama Tobio, twenty-one, kisses him right back.
(∞)