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Romero is an issue.
Fukurou likes Romero well enough. New for their 2018 team, it had been a bit of hassle getting another big, overwhelming alpha personality into the team. He’s loud and chaotic, and struggles a bit with the language, but he’s not a bad guy. So at least there’s that. Fukurou’s only been captain for one season, so he’s still running on instinct and trying to figure things out, which isn’t easy at all with big personalities on the team.
There are arguments that the Alders prove a team has to be majority alpha to win. Their winning streak of three seasons as champions, with only one omega and one beta, is seen as a sign of alpha dominance. For Fukurou, it’s just a headache.
So, adding Romero to the mix is really just more of the same, just with an added language barrier that requires him to fall back on his shakey English.
No, the real problem is that Romero is recently divorced, and is apparently the most eligible bachelor in Japan now. Fukurou and Toshirou, in their more cynical, bitchy moments, would wonder if having a kid with someone you’re not confident enough to put a mating bite on was a sign they were doomed from the start. Tatsuto, like the asshole he is, would point out that Fukurou hasn’t bitten Atsumu yet and then take a pillow to the face. He has no plans to have a kid with Atsumu. He goes to lengths to make sure that doesn't happen and he doesn't get murdered by an angry pregnant Miya.
The real problem comes when they meet the Black Jackals across the net for the first time this season. Fukurou doesn’t play with the national team anymore, so his summers are spent teaching and helping out at camps, while Atsumu travels and wins, and sometimes pouts on the bench.
“What’s the point of being on a team if I don’t actually get to play?” he fumes in his more entitled, childish moments.
Fukurou understands the sentiment, just like he understands Atsumu isn’t really angry about it, just frustrated in himself. He doesn’t really know if he’s more satisfied sitting on the bench in a national team jersey, or teaching kids and saying at least he’s making the most of his time. He understands the conflicted feelings Atsumu must go through every time and feels the same twinge every time he looks at his own old national team jerseys.
So, Fukurou has barely seen Atsumu. Not since the Miya-Hirugami family barbeque at the start of the summer. And that’s fine. It’s fine. He and Atsumu aren’t anything. They’re just friends, who’re close and always have been, who fuck around sometimes - a lot - and nothing complicated like courting or mated or even dating. They’re not even heat and rut partners.
There’s no reason for Fukurou to miss Atsumu, to long for his body or his scent. He shouldn’t be jealous every time Shuugo throws his arms around his shoulders or ruffles his hair, he’s always done that shit and it always pisses him off just because it’s Shuugo. Most of the team are people Fukurou knows from his time on the national team; Bokuto and Atsumu slowly grew closer as omegas, and despite their attitudes, he’s growing close with the alpha Sakusa Kiyoomi and their new boy Hinata Shouyou is just something else.
The real problem though, is Romero.
How Atsumu watches him. Fawns over him. His own team clearly sees it too. They all wear patches for games, but Fukurou knows they’d both be throwing out pheromones like nobody's business. Romero is clearly just as curious, perhaps interested, in Atsumu as Atsumu is him. Fukurou has to bite back the need to growl at him, throw around his captaincy and position as pack alpha to get him to back the fuck off.
“‘Tsumu.”
It’s Shuugo’s growl that gets Atsumu back on track. Shuugo might be a beta, but he can match alphas in almost every way when he wants to. Atsumu quickly turns away and refocuses on his match rather than Romero saving Fukurou a little stress.
The Jackals take the win and Fukurou has to nudge Romero away from watching the Jackals. They shakes hands beneath the net and Fukurou squeezes Atsumu’s hand.
“Locker room,” he murmurs.
Atsumu nods and Fukurou turns away to herd his team. Kageyama is in talks with a team in Italy. Maybe, now Atsumu’s more seasoned in the professional world, not a rookie anymore, he’ll be more willing to sign with the Adlers when he contract with the Jackals comes up for renewal. It’s a cute idea, but Fukuou knows exactly how the suggestion would be taken. He’d very quickly take offense and decide they were looking down at him as second best to Kageyama - as if they hadn’t reached out to Atsumu before they recruited Kageyama.
The only way Fukurou’s playing on the same team as Atsumu again is if Shuugo retires and he moves to the Jackals.
“You’re going to want to back off from Miya,” Kourai says to Romero as they’re heading towards the lockers. He’s already pulling off his scent patches, filling the room with his ocean scent. Romero frowns at him. “Him and Fukurou have been a thing since high school.”
“We haven’t,” Fukurou snaps, tugging off his jersey.
“Please, you were groping him under the table the moment you got a whiff of his scent,” he says.
That Kourai knows that is highly concerning. He's got to stop forgetting how perceptive Kourai is.
“Ah, sorry, captain,” Romero laughs. Fukurou’s pretty sure Romero's not as light hearted about this as he seems. The divorce must still be pretty raw. “He’s a pretty thing. You can’t blame a guy for looking.”
Fukurou rolls his eyes. “You can do whatever he’ll allow you to, Romero-san. If you need a pretty omega to get you back on track, see if he'll let you. He’s not mine, we just hook up sometimes.”
“Far more sometimes than it used to be,” Atsumu says. Fukurou glances over and Atsumu slips between him and his locker. “Been a while.”
He’s still in his match jersey and drops his bag on the bench, making his intentions clear. Fukuou doesn’t argue, doesn’t care for everyone else in the locker room - most of them are used to him and Atsumu, anyway - just wraps him up in his arms and nuzzles into his neck lovingly.
“You don’t smell like me anymore,” Fukurou murmurs.
“None of yer stuff at my place smells like ya either,” Atsumu says softly. “So fix it.”
Fukurou hums, pulling the patches from Atsumu’s wrists. He massages the scent glances on his wrists with his thumbs until he’s rewarded with bursts of sweet plum and sake. Then he pulls the patches from his neck, desperate to bath in his sweet, addictive scent.
“There’s my omega,” he purrs.
He runs his wrists over Atsumu, covering his omega in his own scent in return. His omega. Even now, the thought lingers. No matter how long they’ve been screwing around, that quiet voice of his primal instincts still tells him this is his omega. Fukurou’s made peace with the fact that it won’t stop. Atsumu is the closest omega he’s closest to outside of his relatives, who he’s known for a long time. His alpha instincts are going to insist Atsumu’s his omega.
“They’re not together?” Romero says heading towards the showers.
“They’re ridiculous,” Kourai sighs. “It’s been, what? Four or five years now?”
“It is a question many people have asked,” Ushijima says.
“Come on, baby,” Fukurou says, pulling at his jersey. “Let’s get you in the shower.”
“Right,” Atsumu says with a grin and pulls off his jersey.
He strips off his uniform and follows Fukurou towards the showers. Fukurou takes his hand loosely in his hand as they step under the warm water. They pull off their scent patches and Fukurou wastes no time cupping Atsumu’s face and kissing him deeply. It’s moments like this, with Atsumu naked and melting against him and sharing sweet, loving kisses, he’s reminded how much he longs for Atsumu.
“Missedja,” Atsumu whispers against his lips.
Fukurou’s heart melts and his arms tighten around Atsumu. “I missed you too.”