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There was something that simultaneously felt humbling and grand when you were in love with Hinata Shoyo, Atsumu thought.
“What’s wrong, Atsumu-san?”
“Nothing.”
Atsumu focused on looking for his water bottle inside his gym bag to avoid looking at his boyfriend. Almost immediately, even from the corner of his eyes, he could see how Shoyo’s body went taut beside him at his answer. An uninvited dread began to form in his stomach, and truly, Atsumu should’ve answered the question better.
Because if previously he thought that he could fool Shoyo that he was currently not in a bad mood, the chance was now completely gone.
There was a light tug on his shirt, followed by a quiet. “Let’s go outside for a bit, Atsumu-san.” And Atsumu knew that he couldn’t get away from this.
He held it back, the heavy sigh that threatened to come out. It would only make the supposedly happy day murkier just because of his mood swing. “Okay,” he mumbled in the end, and let his little lover practically dragged him out of the team’s locker room, which was funny, as Atsumu would follow Shoyo anywhere even without force. But he could see why his boyfriend would think that he was unwilling to go.
The locker room wasn’t that crowded to begin with, but a few pairs of eyes still followed them out of the room with little chuckles of understanding that made Atsumu glare at them–mainly at Suna and Komori. Team A, the made up all-star team that was formed for today’s special match, consisted of some people that were familiar with his antics, after all.
Outside the room, the hallway was bustling with the JVA staff and the match’s volunteers, busy with the last minute preparation. Atsumu’s eyes locked at the person before him, noticing the familiar height that forced him to look down at the crown of his orange head, and the broad shoulders that had become one of his favorite places on earth. The left and right turning of his head as he was searching for an empty spot for them gave Atsumu a glimpse of the worried scrunch of his face. Shoyo’s fingers still clutched onto Atsumu’s front side of his MSBY Black Jackals’ shirt, like he was afraid that Atsumu would run away.
Ah, his silly, silly Shoyo-kun.
And silly Atsumu, too. For thinking that this little lover of his, his wing spiker, could be snatched away by anybody.
Atsumu grabbed Shoyo’s rough hand, forcing that precious, little hand to let go of him for a while, then linked their fingers together. “Let’s go this way,” he said. This time, he was the one who led them through the crowd. His steps hastened, the dread in his stomach diminished, replaced by the violent need to just. Hug him.
At the first empty bench they found in the middle of a deserted corner of the hallway, Atsumu immediately pulled themselves onto it, bringing Shoyo to sit on his lap while he was at it.
Shoyo let out a tiny yelp, a playful chuckle, and finally relaxed, his hands came around Atsumu’s waist, just the way he liked it. Atsumu’s own hands crept upwards to bury his fingers in his hair, while the other one settled on his hip.
“Ah, Shoyo-kun’s smell. Exactly what I needed right now.”
“Atsumu-san’s trying to distract me,” Shoyo pouted, but the playful hint in his eyes mirrored Atsumu’s. “Don't act like we weren't assigned in the same hotel room last night.”
“Well, you arrived from Brazil in the evening, jet-lagged, and we didn’t do anything other than cuddling because Tetsu-kun said “No funny business before the match, Miya” in exchange for allowing us to room together. I haven’t gotten enough doses of Shoyo-kun, sue me.”
A tremble, and Atsumu realized that Shoyo was letting out a breath, before he leaned back enough and Atsumu was met with a pair of sparkling eyes on him. Soft yet stubborn.
He guessed his attempt to stir the conversation into a different direction wasn't working, huh?
“What’s wrong, Atsumu-san?” His boyfriend repeated the exact question he uttered in the locker room, the one which Atsumu so poorly avoided.
Atsumu tilted his head, giving him a lazy smirk. “Would Shoyo-kun believe me if I said it’s nothing?”
“No.” The answer was immediate. See? So stubborn.
Atsumu leaned in to kiss his temple. “I was feeling pathetic, what’s new, Shoyo-kun.”
The crease in his boyfriend's forehead deepened. “Atsumu-san is never pathetic.”
“I know. Which makes me even more pathetic because I know I’m not.”
The hands around his waist tightened. Seemed like Atsumu wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “Tell me what’s wrong, Atsumu-san.”
Now it was Atsumu’s turn to sigh. There was zero chance that he could deflect this, and it wasn’t like Atsumu wanted to hide from his boyfriend either. If there was one thing they were good at, it was the ease between them that they could tell each other anything. No matter stupid, no matter unreasonable, no matter harsh.
So Atsumu put their foreheads together, and let out the frustration that had been bubbling inside him without his permission.
“Must Tooru-kun be on our team?”
He didn’t need to say anything anymore. Shoyo just blinked at him, before his face broke with a fond smile, he understood. “VNL was just a month ago. Was setting to me for a whole two months not enough?”
“I had to share you with Tobio-kun, and I have to do it again now? Do not even remind me about VNL. We lost to Argentina again. And do you see the way Tooru-kun provoked me in the bathroom earlier? He's so! How do you even get along with him– Wait, no, don't answer that.”
There was no question whether Atsumu and Shoyo would be in one team or not for this match. It was just simply a no brainer decision. Besides, no way in hell that he would let Tetsurou put him on the opposite net from his boyfriend in this rare opportunity of a match. The problem was Tooru and Tobio, and it was a matter of which of them would go along well and work the best in the eyes of the match’s organizer. The answer was easy, Tooru had to be with Shoyo, or else, this match wouldn't proceed. And while Atsumu begrudgingly agreed with that, he silently cursed that he had to share his wing spiker again with someone else.
It was irrational, he knew, but he was allowed to feel like that, at least, right?
“Do you think he could get along with Kageyama and Ushijima-san, then?”
“No, but it’s not like it's my problem.”
Shoyo laughed at that. He was clearly unbothered by the stupid team line-up formed by Tetsurou, but Atsumu was, so that became mattered to Shoyo and he respected that Atsumu was bothered by it.
“Tetsu-kun said that he wanted to see you fly even higher with Tooru-kun,” he said, letting his sentence trail off in the end, and Atsumu saw how the gears turned inside Shoyo’s head as he processed what Atsumu just said.
The moment it clicked, Shoyo gasped. “He doesn’t mean it like that, Atsumu-san.” The way he said it was almost too comical to the point Atsumu had to hold back a snort.
“He totally thinks that Tooru-kun is better than me and Tobio-kun, that he could make you fly even higher than we could.”
“You’re putting words into his mouth.”
“Okay, maybe, but it surely crossed his mind.”
“We don’t know that.”
Atsumu made a sound akin to a kid that just got told that he couldn’t eat ice cream, wanting his boyfriend to indulge him in his opinion just this once. But Atsumu was a complete fool if he thought that Shoyo would let him put himself down.
The hug around his waist tightened once more, nearly painful, and Shoyo’s eyes hardened on him, his eyebrows furrowed deeply. Defeated, Atsumu let out a tiny chuckle, and finally let go of his pathetic, stubborn self-loathing, which wasn’t really deep to begin with. He knew Tetsurou didn’t mean it like that, but sometimes, Atsumu was just built dramatic–he just had to–and it was nice to hear the absolute disagreement from his own lover anyway.
“Alright, alright.” Atsumu once again leaned down, but this time, he planted a kiss on Shoyo’s lips. When he pulled back, his lips formed a smile. “No matter how many great setters in the world…”
“You’re my favorite,” Shoyo completed the sentence, and Atsumu’s smile got even wider, so much it hurt his cheeks.
Atsumu wasn’t some over-confident, blind player. He knew he wasn’t the best setter out there. Hell, even official stats that were given out in every official worldwide tournament could prove that. He wasn’t at the number one spot. Close, but not on the throne. And that was what made all of this exciting, wasn’t it? The fact that he was not yet at the top.
Shoyo had said it repeatedly that Atsumu had lost count of it. That the rank didn’t matter, that Atsumu was a great setter nonetheless. That he had the most fun every time they played together, and Atsumu loved to see him have fun playing too, no matter who the setter was.
He guessed it all came down to it, the fact that they were having fun. Playing the sports that they loved so much, was the most important.
“But just so you know, as soon as he fails to give you a good toss, I’m gonna swap right in,” Atsumu threatened.
“Oikawa-san is a monster in adjusting with any kind of players, though,” Shoyo reasoned, when Atsumu really didn’t want to be reminded of that. “You know that each one of us will take turns to play, right? This was a friendly match anyway. You don’t need to worry about not playing, Atsumu-san.”
They needed to go back now if they didn’t want to be scolded by the staff for escaping when they shouldn’t go around the venue other than the locker room and the bathroom. Atsumu sighed, then slowly got up, bringing his little lover to stand up too, without loosening his arm around him at all. Only when they took a turn to a more crowded hallway did Atsumu move his arm from Shoyo’s waist to his shoulder.
“You know that it’s not what I worry about,” he finally replied, walking side by side with his spiker slash boyfriend back to their team locker room. That cursed Team A. Ugh. “If in all three sets I don’t get to pair up with you even once …”
Shoyo looked up at him. “Three sets? So sure that we’re gonna win this in straight sets, Atsumu-san.”
“Of course,” he grinned, returning back the stare, and if it wasn’t for the people around them, Atsumu would give him a third kiss right there and then. “Anyway, have you seen the uniform? Shoyo-kun, it’s green.”
“I know, right, Atsumu-san? If only the shade is a little bit lighter, it'll be the color of our green scarf.”
“Baby, it’s designed by your senpai. I’m allowed to complain about it. You're not.”
Later when they finally played on the court, and his worry was proven futile, the sweats on his forehead slowly rolled down the side of his face as his eyes were locked onto the ball right above him, his instinct was hyper aware of everyone on the court–all his spikers, his opponents, his Shoyo-kun, Atsumu thought that, ah, this was it. The high that consumed him every time he got to play with these monsters.
At the back of his mind, the thought just casually popped up as he saw how his lover started his approach way earlier than the others. Shoyo did the run up right from the back line, flying as he jumped with the support of the concrete ground, and Atsumu smiled as he acknowledged it. The thought.
That it was simultaneously humbling and grand to be able to play with Shoyo. That in this whole gym, no one had the most fun other than him when he played with his wing spiker. That in this whole, large, gigantic gym, Atsumu was the one who loved Shoyo the most.