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He found out entirely by accident.
He didn’t know how to feel about it.
He supposed he was flattered. For one: that there were that many people discussing it in the locker room. Secondly: who exactly had been in the locker room agreeing with everything. He was also a little weirded out because Atsumu and Aran were two of those people.
It had all happened on a regular Tuesday afternoon. It was practice season for the national circuit, so the team had once again amassed in Tokyo to train and be a general nuisance to the locals. Practice had been okay, not too intense, but there hadn’t been any slacking off either. It was an olympic year, and Ushijima’s first season as captain, so there was a lot to do and new dynamics to get used to. But overall, Rintarou felt good about the session. He’d swarmed the showers with the rest of the guys, poked fun at Atsumu (it was purely habitual at this point), and packed up for the day.
He’d been halfway to the apartment he was sharing with Atsumu while they were in the city when he realised he’d forgotten his jacket. He sighed and pulled out his phone, pulling up Atsumu’s contact.
[TO: TSUMU]
Frgt my jacket will u get it fr me?
He was a block away from the apartment when he checked his phone again. No answer. He sighed, mentally complaining at his phone about airhead volleyball idiots who don’t check their phones. Atsumu was almost as chronically online as Rintarou himself; if his phone wasn’t in his hand it wasn’t far away. Why was it now, when Rintarou actually needed him, that he decided to pretend the thing didn’t exist.
He stared up at the sky for a moment, and then turned around and walked back to the national training centre. The place was deserted when he got there. The way his footsteps echoed in the halls as he trekked back to the locker room was a little eerie. He poked his head into the gym because a few of the guys had thought about staying back a little longer, but it was empty. He had the fleeting thought that maybe Atsumu and the others had already left and he had just somehow missed them on his way back.
He quietly made his way down to the hallway access to the change room and slipped through the door. He stopped dead when he heard someone say his name. He caught the door before it could slam, and gently eased it shut. He pressed himself against the dividing wall that hid the room from view of the door and listened in shamelessly.
“He’s already fuckin’ pretty, what does he need that sharp ass eyeliner for!”
That was Atsumu. Rintarou couldn’t be a hundred percent sure, but he thought Atsumu may have been talking about him. What he couldn’t figure out was why.
“It makes his eyes look really nice.” Hinata. “I thought Suna-san’s eyes were pretty in high school, but now they’re just…”
“Sharper. Intimidating almost.”
Rintarou blinked at the painted tile of the wall. Was that Ushijima?
“Whaaaahh! I thought he was hot before but ever since he changed the way he does his eyeliner I get nervous just looking at him!” Bokuto cried. “The way his eyes are all tired and lazy makes me–”
“Dude,” Atsumu interrupted. “If yer about to say ya jerk off to my best friend, please don’t.”
“Okay. I won’t.”
Rintarou wheezed and tried not to make a sound. What on earth had he just walked into?
“I understand what ya mean though, Bokuto. I remember when he first started wearin’ it. I think Gin actually choked on his water when he noticed.” Aran–Aran!?–said.
“Back then he used that pencil stuff. It was so wobbly,” Atsumu chuckled. “But I’d take that back over the paint shit he has now. A lot less distractin’ when I couldn’t see it from the other end of the court.”
“It’s called liquid eyeliner, Miya-san,” Ushijima said sagely.
“I know what it’s called Ushiwaka!”
“I really like the way he does it now,” Hinata said innocently, like the rest of the conversation hadn’t happened.
There was a moment of silence, like they were all mentally mulling over the ginger’s statement.
They were talking about his eyeliner? He was kinda confused, after all it was just makeup. He’d started wearing it in high school because his younger sister had gotten into makeup and wanted to use him as her model. Her hands had been very unsteady and she’d poked him in the eye with the pencil a few times, but honestly she hadn’t done half bad. He’d stared at himself for a good five minutes that night before bed, makeup wipe in hand. He’d liked the way it looked, despite how shaky the lines were. He’d gone out the next weekend without telling anyone and picked himself up a cheap black pencil. That night when the rest of the house was asleep, he’d sat on the floor in front of the body length mirror in his closet, youtube open on his phone. He’d spent all weekend practising.
He remembered being nervous as hell on the Monday when he’d made the decision to wear it to school. He didn’t think anyone would make fun of him or anything, it was just that he’d never come across a guy wearing makeup before. He didn’t remember Gin choking on anything that day, or the days after when he’d gotten a little more confident with it after a girl in his class had complimented his work.
After high school, when he started playing for EJP and he had the money to afford good eyeliner, he’d put the pencil down for good and moved on to the liquid stuff. It had been hard to use in the beginning, but it was darker and bolder and he loved it. He’d gotten really good at wings by the time he was twenty-one. It had been his signature look for the last few years.
The change Hinata and Bokuto were talking about was fairly recent. And the result of an accident he’d attempted to save. His hand had slipped when he was applying the liner to his top lid, streaking toward his nose a little too far. His attempt at making it look intentional was to make a smaller, inverted wing in the inside corner of his eye. After finishing his other eye he’d inspected the look and actually really liked it.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one.
Aran hummed. “It does kinda give him perpetual bedroom eyes though. Or maybe that’s just his face.”
“That’s what I was saying!” Bokuto agreed.
“Yes, he is very distracting,” Ushijima intoned. “I much prefer it when I’m not on the opposite side of the net from him.”
“Oh ho? So the captain can be shaken.” Atsumu was smirking. Rintarou just knew. He could hear it.
Ushijima hummed in acknowledgement, still completely serious. “He’s put me off my game before.”
“Wait, is that why you served a ball into the back of Bakayama’s head yesterday?” Hinata screeched.
“Yes.”
Rintarou was fairly certain he’d entered the Twilight Zone. Ushijima messed up a serve because he was distracted by his eyes? In what fucking universe. He blinked dumbly at a spot of peeling paint as that revelation processed. He tensed at the sudden sound of bodies moving and the rattle of locker doors slamming.
“Ah, Aran-kun, is Rin’s jacket over by his locker?” Atsumu asked.
At least now Rintarou knew why he hadn’t checked his phone. He left the change room as silently as he’d entered it, trying to get out of the building before he could be seen. He veered left out of the main doors, walking toward the closest place to get food. It was partly an evasive manoeuvre; he wasn’t confident he could look Atsumu in the eye after what he’d just heard. So he walked the six blocks to a small cafe and picked up something he could pull apart while he took the long way back to the apartment.
He stuck his head around the door when he got back, casting his eyes around the genkan and the front hall before letting himself fully into the house. He kicked his runners off and dropped his bag beside Atsumu’s. His jacket was hung up by the door.
Atsumu was standing at the stove lording over a pot–probably instant ramen–when he walked into the main room of the apartment. Atsumu turned around and shot him a small smile.
“What took ya so long? Thought ya woulda been home before me.”
“I was hungry,” Rintarou said.
He took a seat on the couch and turned the tv on. He drummed his fingers against his thigh as he found something to watch and Atsumu went back to his dinner.
“Ya went fer food without me?” Atsumu cried indignantly.
Rintarou shrugged, trying to act like he normally did. “You took too long.”
He snuck a glance over his shoulder. He wondered now how in the hell he’d never noticed before, because the man was shit at hiding things. Atsumu’s reaction was damning. His jaw snapped shut and an awkward grin twisted his lips. Rintarou caught red blossoming across his cheeks just before he turned back to the stove. The back of his neck was red. How had he never seen this? They’d known each other for years. Eleven of them! How could he not have noticed somewhere in the last weeks, or months, or hell, maybe it was years, that one of his best friends was attracted to him? That said friend was distracted by him. Nothing had ever been able to tear Miya Atsumu’s focus away from volleyball before.
He was on a team with a bunch of harebrained volleyball-obsessed idiots. A lot of them had been to the Olympics, they’d all played on the national stage many times. Iwaizumi Hajime glowering from the sideline hadn’t ever been able to sway their attention or make them fumble during practice. But his eyes, the green things in his face, had made their captain, the Ushijima Wakatoshi–Canon of Japan, serve a ball directly into the back of his setter’s head.
He’d laughed along with everyone else when it had happened and he knew Kageyama was okay. But he’d never considered it was his fault. He didn’t feel much like laughing right now.
He stayed out in the living room long enough that him eventually slinking away wouldn’t seem suspicious and bid Atsumu goodnight. He got ready for bed and burrowed under his blanket, phone two inches from his nose.
[TO: SAMU]
Your brother thinks i’m hot
[FROM: SAMU]
Well duh he has eyes
He blinked at his phone.
…
Twilight Zone.
Or he was dead.
<0 _ 0>
In the bathroom the next day he hesitated before putting his usual eyeliner on. Would it be suspicious if he didn’t? Would they figure out that he had heard them last night? He stared down at the pen in his hand and then rolled his eyes. It took almost five minutes per eye to get the liner the way he wanted it, but once he was done he did one last look-over and then finished getting ready for practice.
He tried to subtly watch Atsumu for his reaction when they were putting their shoes on. He’d gone a little more dramatic than usual. Not much, but the points of the wings were a little sharper, the strokes bolder. The blond blinked at him and then smacked a smile onto his face, almost shouting his good morning in Rintarou’s face. He mumbled his own greeting, and then they left.
The walk to the training centre wasn’t anything special. Atsumu seemed to have regained what mental faculties he had and was talking to Rintarou like normal. A few of the guys were already getting changed when they entered the locker room. Rintarou dumped his bag into his locker, pulling out his practice gear. He heard the moment Bokuto walked in, loud laughter following him as it so often did. Rintarou stripped his shirt off just as Bokuto rounded the first wall of lockers. He had to pass Rintarou to get to his own. With his shirt half off and the heat of Bokuto walking behind him, he remembered the man’s contribution to the conversation he’d overheard last night.
“Dude, if yer about to say ya jerk off to my best friend, please don’t.”
“Okay. I won’t.”
He could feel his face heating. Bokuto said good morning to him, but Rintarou couldn’t look at him. It was one thing to know that someone found you attractive, but to know they got off to you? He didn’t know how to handle that. Bokuto was nice and they got along great, and the man himself was very attractive. This whole situation was just weird. He nodded to acknowledge the greeting and finished getting changed.
His racing thoughts calmed as practice got underway. Volleyball was familiar, it was safe. Muscle memory took over and he almost didn’t need to think when he positioned himself for a receive, when he jumped up for a block, when Kageyama sent him a scarily accurate toss that he still couldn’t get over even after all these years and he swung his arm, hand connecting with a satisfying sting. They started playing mock matches later into the morning. Rintarou checked back in when olive eyes met his across the net.
“I much prefer it when I’m not on the opposite side of the net from him.”
Ushijima was the same height as him, maybe a smidge taller. He had more muscle and his face was a blank stone wall most of the time, especially during a game. Only his eyes blazed with a fire that could set the whole arena aflame. Rintarou’s lizard brain piped up–totally unhelpfully–that Ushijima was also attractive. His eyes were definitely brighter than usual, but Rintarou couldn’t figure out what they were burning with. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed a block.
He forced himself to focus for the rest of the match. They rotated through as the matches continued so every round they were on different teams. Atsumu and Aran were on the opposite team this time. Rintarou read the play before the ball had even touched Atsumu’s fingers. He shut Aran down, the ball slamming onto the floor behind him. Rintarou smirked reflexively like he had since their years at Inarizaki as he watched his former senpai watch the ball roll away. When Aran turned back and they met eyes, Rintarou noticed his posture change. Aran’s shoulders drew back the slightest bit and he stood a little taller. Something flickered across his face too fast for Rintarou to catch it.
“It does kinda give him perpetual bedroom eyes though. Or maybe that’s just his face.”
He turned away and left for the bench when break was called. He grabbed a water bottle and stood closer to Iwaizumi. Rintarou knew at least he was safe. Iwaizumi nodded to him, and then his eyes narrowed a little as he seemed to scrutinise the very fabric of Rintarou’s being.
“You all right?” the athletic trainer asked.
“Fine,” Rintarou said.
“You seemed a little off out there.”
One brow raised and Rintarou was effectively under The Mom StareTM as the team called it.
“I’m not hurt, I just–” He chewed on the top of the bottle. “I’m a little distracted, I guess.”
“Something you want to talk about?”
Rintarou considered it for a moment. Iwaizumi was a good guy, if Rintarou told him about what he’d overheard last night the man wouldn’t laugh.
Too much.
Eh, what the hell.
“I overheard some of the guys talking in the locker room last night.”
“Ah, so you finally found out about their little meet-ups.”
Rintarou jumped at the new voice. Hoshiumi stood at his elbow, his own water bottle in hand. Iwaizumi scoffed, an amused smile stretching across his lips. Meet-ups? As in plural? Hoshiumi took pity on him with a slightly mean laugh.
“Oh yeah, they do it all the time. Been going on for about… a year or so I would say. What was it about this time?” he asked.
“Uh, I changed my eyeliner,” Rintarou said.
“Yeah, I can see how that’d set them off,” Iwaizumi said.
Rintarou blinked at him. Iwaizumi stood with his arms loosely crossed over his chest, green eyes sweeping over Rintarou’s face. The man’s expression turned amused when he caught Rintarou staring at him.
“What? You have nice eyes. The eyeliner looks nice.”
Heat crawled up his neck. “Um, thanks.”
“Bet Bokuto freaked,” Hoshiumi chuckled. “God, you should have heard them a few months ago. I think Aran almost had an aneurysm when you cut your hair.”
Huh?
“Remember the party from the end of last season when you got your bellybutton pierced on a dare?”
“I thought Hinata was going to start drooling,” Iwaizumi laughed.
Rintarou barely remembered that night. He’d been very drunk. He still had the piercing though. He’d exchanged the simple stud for a longer piece some months back. It was gold with three flowers made from white diamonds, decreasing in size. His sister had bought it for his birthday when she found out he had one. He took it out when he played, just to minimise any risk of it being torn out by a stray ball or something.
“I was honestly expecting Ushijima to jump you after EJP’s last win against the Adlers before he left for Poland. The way he’d been watching you the whole match hadn’t seemed all that appropriate for a game being broadcast on live television,” Hoshiumi added. “And Atsumu’s had an embarrassingly fat crush on you since we were in high school.”
“Do you need a minute, Suna-san?” Iwaizumi asked suddenly, his tone entirely too pleased.
Hoshiumi looked up at him and cackled in his face. Rintarou had no idea what expression he was wearing, but it must have been an interesting one. He blinked very slowly down at his water bottle, trying to string together any sort of logical explanation for anything he’d just been told. None of what he’d just heard was computing.
Twilight Zone.
Or dead.
There was no other explanation.
“Anyone else I should watch out for?” he rasped, only half serious.
His stomach dropped when Iwaizumi’s expression turned contemplative.
“Shittykawa was pretty interested in you during last year’s VNL. He spent almost two weeks going on and on about you. Honestly, I kind of hated you when I first got started here because of that. But I can see where they’re coming from.”
“Huh?”
Oikawa? Oikawa?
“Suna,” Hoshiumi said in a tone that suggested the shorter man thought he was being stupid, “I’m not part of the simp squad, but even I think you are ridiculously good looking.”
Oh.
Well.
That was…
“Dude, I think we broke him,” Iwaizumi muttered.
If they were in a cartoon, Rintarou imagined his brain would have just fizzled out in a cloud of smoke above his head. He blinked at the floor.
He was definitely in the Twilight Zone.