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When Atsumu first hears the news of Suna’s debut match with EJP Raijin, he feels happy for his semi-estranged friend and quickly follows up Osamu’s grats dude with his own nice, can’t wait to face you.
riceball.miya: oh i bet he’d like to face ya, ain’t that right @suna_rin?
volleyball.miya: ????
suna_rin: thanks atsumu
riceball.miya: wow guess i’m just air now
suna_rin: i have nothing to say to gatekeeping assholes
riceball.miya: oho?
volleyball.miya: am i missing something??
riceball.miya: no
suna_rin: no
volleyball.miya: ah i get it
volleyball.miya: sunarin yer trying to get samu’s onigiri recipes
suna_rin: the fuck i am
riceball.miya: lmao
volleyball.miya: what else is samu gatekeeping?? (·•᷄ࡇ•᷅ )
volleyball.miya: besides his restaurant he has like no redeeming traits
riceball.miya: aight, square up bitch
suna_rin: lmao
The familiar banter washes over him with comforting ease, even with the other two’s cryptic nonsense. It makes sense to Atsumu, this feeling of being out of the loop, since it had been something he’d done to himself. That’s what he gets for sinking himself into the joys and pains of the professional volleyball circuit, not to mention moving to a new city alone, and essentially disappearing from the lives of everyone he knew after graduation.
Still, being able to fall back into a conversation with his brother and friend just like they’d done back in high school is reassuring, even if the thought of seeing Suna in person in the vague future still made him freeze in his tracks.
suna_rin: atsumu can we meet for a bit after the match?
riceball.miya: uh no
suna_rin: shut up, i’m talking to atsumu
riceball.miya: tsumu don’t be shy, tell him no
Atsumu goggles at his phone.
volleyball.miya: what match
suna_rin: our match?
suna_rin: ejp and msby?
suna_rin: that you just congratulated me for?
It clicks.
“Oh shit,” Atsumu wheezes.
{
Atsumu slipped out the door in the middle of Ginjima’s butchered pop song rendition, and only made it a short distance before he stumbled into the wall, hand tight against his mouth. He coughed in between bouts of dry heaving, breath coming in short gasps. He slipped down to the floor and curled in on himself, a flimsy curtain guarding him from the world.
The exertion made him feel entitled to a bit of drama, so he pondered at the karaoke joint’s carpeted hallway, wishing one of the darker spots could turn into an abyss and swallow him. Then he wouldn’t need to go back into the room. The room where his volleyball team, give or take a few people—Kita and Akagi somehow having found the time outside of their work and studies—were holding a sendoff party for Atsumu and the other third years. The room that, as much as Atsumu loathed to admit it, held the trigger for his present suffering.
Ginjima’s next pop abomination returned to ear-piercing clarity for a few seconds as the door opened and closed. Atsumu hoped unrealistically, at the approach of footsteps, that the person wouldn’t see him, or would at least leave Atsumu some dignity by pretending not to see him huddled in the hallway.
No such luck.
There was a light touch on Atsumu’s leg, and a low voice tinged with concern asking, “Atsumu, you good?”
Atsumu gave a tight nod but didn’t speak, eyes clenching shut as soon as he recognized the voice.
”Want me to get Osamu?”
He shook his head in fervent denial.
”Oh good, I didn’t want to go back and listen to Ginjima sing for another second anyway.”
Atsumu snorted out a particularly ugly laugh. He felt something brush against his arm, followed by a warm weight draping over his shoulders. He peered next to him, trying to be sly about it, but found the back of a phone inches away from his face instead. Click.
Suna lowered the phone to his mouth, not quite hiding a satisfied smile. “One for the road.”
”Hey! Delete that,” Atsumu demanded.
”Nope. I’m making it my wallpaper.” Suna expertly slid his phone into whatever pocket dimension he kept it in, and hugged Atsumu closer to his side. They sat there in silence for a while, Suna absently running his fingers through Atsumu’s hair, and Atsumu letting him because it felt nice.
It felt like Suna cared for him the way Atsumu wanted him to.
Atsumu brushed the thought away as quickly as it came. He tried to shrug off Suna’s arm from his shoulders while he was at it, but it only slid down to playfully clutch his waist. “Sunarin, get offff,” he whined.
Predictably, Suna didn’t. What he did was lean all his weight where he was pressed against Atsumu, as if willing them to meld together, and said, “So?”
Atsumu hummed, questioning, and received a lazy smirk in return.
”Come here often?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because I like to sit on dirty carpets as a hobby.”
“That’s a pretty niche hobby, but I guess I like you despite your flaws,” Suna joked.
It was always a joke. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it.
Atsumu clenched his fists. His head swam, I like you a grating loop in his brain, the words filling spaces inside Atsumu’s chest painfully tight with their impossibility. He forced a grin and dug an elbow into Suna’s stomach. “You like my flaws,” he said, staring down at his shoes with false interest.
He missed Suna’s expression soften.
Atsumu would keep this memory—perhaps the last moment he and Suna would spend together for a long time, if not forever—tucked into his heart as the days sped by. Their graduation passed in a haze of mixed emotions, and so did Osamu leaving for university, their mom helping to pile the last of his boxes into the car while Atsumu hung back unforgiving.
On the day Suna departed for his own university, Atsumu decisively refused to go to the train station. He messaged a perfunctory have a safe trip and retched over the mess of clothes and other items that had yet to find their way into his own luggage.
This must be what it felt like to tiptoe on the edge of a cliff, buffeted by the wind, was the thought that ran through Atsumu’s mind.
Sunarin
< you too. wanna call when you get to osaka?
Atsumu doesn’t reply.
He takes a deep, steadying breath, and plunges blindly into the future.
}
“I can’t see it,” Sakusa says, eyes not straying from his laptop.
Atsumu stares at him. “Can’t see what exactly?”
“I can’t see which part of this is relevant to your health.”
“As I’ve said over and over, Omi-kun, my health is fine,” Atsumu insists.
Sakusa looks like he doesn’t believe him, which is fair since Atsumu must not have improved his communication skills much since high school. But it’s also not fair because Atsumu isn’t even the one who blocked himself at the locker room door, dragged him into MSBY’s shared kitchen, and sat him down at the dining table to interrogate him on the state of his health. The least Sakusa could do as the perpetrator is take his dead fish eyes off the laptop screen for a few minutes.
It’s not Atsumu’s fault that the moment he found out about the EJP Raijin match and Suna wanting to meet him afterwards after a whole five years of barely being in each other’s lives, he’d not-unexpectedly re-developed a gagging anxiety response. And it also isn’t Atsumu’s fault that his admittedly bad attempt at hiding his condition drives Sakusa so close to insanity that he corners Atsumu and forces him to admit that, “No, Omi, I am not fallin’ ill, I am in perfect health, and do not need ta isolate maself!”
“Then explain.”
“I was explaining! You were the one who interrupted!”
“I’m not asking about whatever it is between you and the middle blocker from Motoya’s team. You said you’re not experiencing nausea and you’re not sick, then what? Is it GERD? For god’s sake, Miya, I am going to spray you in the face with alcohol if you don’t tell me what on earth is going on right now. I’ll tell Meian. I’ll tell Coach,” Sakusa hisses.
“Omi, you nasty, no-good snitch.” The threat of being benched, no matter how unlikely, stabs Atsumu in the gut and silences him. He groans, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. “It’s... it’s just anxiety, okay?”
Sakusa stares at him like he grew a second head in the past few seconds. “What.”
“Ugh. See, this reaction is why I didn’t wanna say any—“
“No. No, no, no.” Sakusa has his arms akimbo like he doesn’t know what to make of this situation. “No.”
Mood, Atsumu thinks.
“So you’re saying this whole thing,” a wide gesture that seems to encompass everything that makes up Atsumu as a person, “is pre-game jitters?”
“Uh, no? That ain’t what I said.”
“But that’s what I heard. And it’s what I’m telling the rest of the team if you—”
“Omi-kun, has anyone ever told ya that yer a menace?” Atsumu interrupts in a sickly sweet voice.
“Not recently, but you’re more than welcome to.” Sakusa smirks at him. “I like to hear it.”
Atsumu crosses his arms defensively, pouting.
Sakusa keeps smirking at him.
Atsumu pushes his bottom lip out further and scowls for good measure. “Okay, fine! I’ll tell you!” To Atsumu’s relief, he sees Sakusa finally drop his stupid, annoying smirk for something more neutral and expectant. “But ya ain’t allowed ta laugh at me.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Atsumu echoes doubtfully.
“Okay, I will not laugh at you no matter how ridiculous what you’re about to say turns out being.” Sakusa heaves a put-upon sigh. “I solemnly swear.”
Atsumu fidgets with the hem of his shirt as he tries to word his dilemma in a way that leaves him with the most amount of dignity. “Well ya see, Omi-kun...” He stops, his face screwing up in consternation.
“What is it now, Miya?”
“Well ya said ya didn’t wanna listen ta the thing about Sunarin, but I can’t cut him outta the story... and like, do ya want me ta start again from the beginning an’ edit him out or...?”
Sakusa shuts the lid of his laptop with care, sets it aside, and pins an acidic glare at Atsumu. “For the love of god, just start talking,” he growls.
Atsumu starts talking. A decision he comes to regret half an hour later, screaming into his hands while Sakusa’s unrepentantly sniggering ass slithers back into his own room.
(Though if there is one good thing that has come out of the interrogation, it’s Sakusa’s begrudging promise to be a supportive teammate and not leave Atsumu to humiliate himself on the day of the match in exchange for a small favor.
”Did you memorize it?”
“Easy-peasy, Omi-kun. But... yer sure this is really all ya want?”
“Nothing would make me happier.”
“Oh-kay. Ya got a deal then.”)
{
In a strange reversal of their usual routine of Suna following the twins home, Atsumu was the one who had trailed Suna home this time, ostensibly to study for their final exams together. He wasn’t sure how much studying they would get done, but if it got Atsumu away from the house and Osamu...
Which brought him to the dim entryway of Suna’s house. Alone. Well, alone with Suna. Alone with Suna, without his (fired!) emotional support (former!) second brain cell Osamu as a convenient barrier. Atsumu’s one remaining brain cell had nothing to rub against so it focused on Suna’s tall frame brushing past him to lay down the guest slippers, on the familiar scent of sweat that comes with the afternoon walk home, on sharp eyes drilling a hole into probably the back of Atsumu’s head as he bent down to take off his shoes.
After a moment’s thought, Atsumu planted his butt on the entryway’s tiled floor self-consciously.
“What are you doing?”
Atsumu kicked off his shoes and laughed off the question. “Just makin’ sure yer not starin’ at this booty,” he said a lot more jokingly than he felt.
“Not like there’s anything to look at,” Suna said.
“Oho?” A grin played on Atsumu’s lips to hide his growing unease. “Now I know yer lyin’. I’ve been told I have a very nice hip line.”
“Who?”
“Who what?”
“Who lied to you?” Suna chuckled at Atsumu’s offended gasp.
And that’s what he said, but someone tell Atsumu why Suna suddenly crouched beside him and snuck a hand under his butt, grasped a generous handful, and squeezed. “What—Rin?!” Atsumu squeaked, frozen in shock.
Suna didn’t respond, but he also didn’t remove his hand.
”Kinda feelin’ sexually harassed over here,” Atsumu said through gritted teeth.
That seemed to get his attention, and the offending limb finally pulled away. “It’s a nice butt,” Suna concluded blandly.
Atsumu, wild-eyed and bewildered, scrambled to his feet and turned his head away, clapping his hands over too-warm ears. “Thanks?” he said, before backtracking. “I’ll wait fer yer butt slander apology video tomorrow.”
For some reason, Suna actually looked like he was considering it. “I could do that...”
”Yeah, no, I changed my—“
”... Or I could apologize to your butt in person.” Suna’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “I’ll be very sincere.”
Atsumu swung his palm up to block Suna’s face. “Hold that thought,” he said desperately. “Can we study? Let’s just study. If I don’t get any knowledge in ma brain soon, it’s gonna shrivel up and I’ll drop dead right here in yer house. Do ya want that on yer conscience, Sunarin?”
Suna cuffed him on the side of the head with a soft chuckle. “Come on, then,” he said, and led Atsumu down the hall.
}
Atsumu wants to commit. Murder? Adultery? Himself to the Lord? Himself into an institution? If it’ll get him out of this impending disaster, he won’t even think twice.
In the days that followed Sakusa’s distressingly revealing ambush and leading up to the dreaded match against EJP Raijin, Atsumu has been fighting the constant urge to flee. Or vomit. Or flee while vomiting. He eventually makes it to match day, just barely stomping down on the anxiety to follow his team onto the court with passable confidence. It’s not as if MSBY Black Jackals is facing EJP Raijin for the first time, or even for the first time with Atsumu on the team.
The problem, which Atsumu had sworn Sakusa to tell absolutely no one, is Atsumu’s irrational terror from the prospect of seeing his former teammate, Suna Rintarou, after five years of trying to get over his painfully unrequited crush by way of near-radio silence.
Sure, neither of them dropped off each other’s radar entirely, what with exchanging the flattest happy birthday, merry christmas, and happy new year like clockwork. But it’s nowhere close to what Atsumu assumes is a constant barrage of memes sent to Osamu’s phone, which he’d noticed on the rest days that Atsumu can spend hanging out with his twin. He never bothered to peek at Osamu’s screen, but his brother’s occasional snort of amusement had been telling enough.
So Suna doesn’t spam Atsumu anymore as much as he does Osamu. So what? Atsumu is strong and independent and doesn’t need memes from no man.
Atsumu takes deep, calming breaths that he may or may not have ripped off of a pregnancy and birthing website last night, ignoring Bokuto’s open-mouthed interest and subsequent mimicking. He even gets around to almost hee-hee-hoo-ing himself into a focused zone when it happens.
The Raijin players start filing into the court area.
Against his better judgment, Atsumu resolves to take just one look at the other team, meets Suna’s bland stare, and immediately drains of all color, falling weak-kneed against Sakusa. To his teammate’s credit and Atsumu’s surprise, Sakusa deigns to support Atsumu for however long it takes him to recover his balance.
Sakusa leans in close to Atsumu’s ear as he keeps a steady pressure on his back. “Miya, stop being an emotional wreck and calm down.”
“’M calm,” Atsumu responds feebly.
At the opposite end of the court, Suna is paying no mind to Komori’s friendly chatter. Atsumu could shiver at the creepy single-minded way Suna tracks his motions, frowning at the unspoken question hidden in the slow rise of Suna’s eyebrow. He ducks behind Sakusa with a grimace. “Thanks fer catchin’ me, Omi-kun.”
“Just don’t faint mid-game.”
“I did not faint!” hisses Atsumu.
Sakusa’s mouth quirks. “And that thing just now was, what, a swoon? Are you swooning for the enemy?”
“I didn’t swoon either!” Atsumu’s hand flutter-pats on his chest at the accusation. “Don’t ya make me out to be a... an old-timey maiden!”
“I don’t have to. You’re doing a very good job at being a delicate, faint-hearted little miss on your own.”
“Omi-kun!” Atsumu gasps.
Bokuto waggles his eyebrows at the two of them. “Don’t worry, Tsum-Tsum. If Omi-Omi can’t catch you, I will.”
“I will too, Atsumu-san!” Hinata chips in. “If Omi-san can’t, of course.”
“... There’s no need fer that, really. I’m not gonna faint.”
“What do you mean if I can’t catch him?” Sakusa sounds offended at the implication that he can’t do something.
Atsumu digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and, for once, tries to escape the brewing chaos by dropping into his stretches. Still shaky from nerves, he keeps his head down as the rest of his body runs through the routine, not knowing if those familiar green eyes are still affixed on him from the other end of the court, or if they’ve moved on to something more interesting. He’s not sure which one he prefers.
He only notices that he’d zoned out face down when he feels Bokuto attempting to drag him up by the armpits and hears Hinata asking if he’d already fainted.
“Miya.” Sakusa levels a disgruntled glare at him. “If you pull this shit during the match, I swear.”
Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Daddy, chill. I’m fine.”
Bokuto and Hinata ooh in tandem.
Sakusa’s glare intensifies, and Atsumu sneers back as obnoxiously as he can manage. To the collective dismay of the team, Meian clears his throat and gestures everyone over for a huddle.
Briefly distracted, Atsumu’s eyes flit over again, this time to Suna just turning away.
{
The afternoon drifted by with messy splashes of oranges and reds on asphalt, the resulting haze of heat driving Atsumu into a daze as he lagged behind on the way home. Vaguely he noticed Osamu turning his head every so often—likely checking that Atsumu was still following them and not passed out on a different street.
On the other hand, Suna had his head tilted up, warming his face in the sun like a true freak of nature. Little beads of sweat left a shiny trail down to the collar of his shirt, drawing Atsumu’s eyes to the pale column of his neck.
Atsumu’s cheeks heated up and he stopped abruptly, overcome by dizziness, the distracting buzz in his head growing louder and louder, drowning out the surroundings. Atsumu tried to wait for the nauseating cacophony to subside until he came back to himself, reflexively blinking away the dry and itchy feeling in his eyes. His face was bathed in shadow now, the only lingering warmth on his left jaw where a broad hand hovered hesitantly, not quite touching skin.
“Atsumu?” Suna stood close in front of him, and Atsumu wasn’t sure if he was blocking the sun on purpose. Something pulled Atsumu in, but he stopped himself from moving. From taking Suna’s hand and pressing it onto his cheek.
Instead he let his eyes slide past Suna to where his brother was making his way back as well, brows furrowed in worry, but possibly also in anger. As soon as Osamu reached them, he slapped Suna’s wrist down carelessly and stuck the back of his own hand on Atsumu’s forehead. “Yer a bit warm, dumbass.”
“It’s hot,” Atsumu snarked.
“Does it feel like, whatsit, heat stroke?”
Biting his lip, Atsumu shook his head, paused, then shook his head again. “I dunno what heat stroke feels like.”
“Well shit.”
Identical faces turned to Suna, who blinked owlishly back at them, sore right hand now curled in his pants pocket. “... I’ll google it.”
Later, Osamu and Rin did chalk up Atsumu’s condition to a mild case of heat stroke and quickly ushered him home to rest. Atsumu felt a bright burst of relief, followed by the faintest wisp of inexplicable disappointment. It’s only when Osamu went downstairs to help make dinner, leaving Atsumu alone in their shared bedroom, that Atsumu reached up a hand to trace over the phantom warmth on his left cheek.
}
The game ends with a close win by MSBY, and a frazzled Atsumu has to be pushed and dragged all the way over to the net to shake hands with the other team. Suna’s palm is similarly warm and damp with sweat when it slots against his own.
“You didn’t suck too bad,” Suna whispers, tugging him just a bit closer.
Atsumu splutters, trying and failing to pull away from Suna’s grip. “Ex-cuse me? Were we playing in different games just now?”
“Just calling it like I see it.”
”Get yer eyes checked then. And I’ll have ya know, I’m fantastic at sucking.” What did he just say?
Suna looks back at him, dumbfounded and grip loosening enough for Atsumu to slip away.
On Atsumu’s one side, Hinata is only stopped from face-planting onto an equally shocked Komori by the net in between them, and on his other side, Sakusa mutters something that sounds like, Miya, you fucking disgrace.
Fortunately, Atsumu is saved from hearing Suna answer when Sakusa passionately urges (kicks) him to shake hands with the next person, but he stays conscious of the two lankiest edgy bastards in his acquaintance staring each other down in his peripheral vision.
“Miya-kun,” Komori greets sincerely.
“GG. Next time get on our level, noob,” Atsumu recites from memory just as sincerely.
Komori chokes.
Sakusa is once again poking at Atsumu to move on to the next Raijin player, smirking at Komori as the two clap hands in lieu of a handshake.
Atsumu catches a hissed, “Kiyoomi, stop corrupting your teammates with your toxic gamer behavior!” and a goading, “L. Get rekt,” before the distance between him and Komori, and beyond him, Suna, grows further.
{
“‘Tsumu,” Suna said one day apropos of nothing, the sudden absence of clicking on his phone dropping them into a strange silence.
Atsumu just blinked at him, not responding, but feeling bewildered and flustered at the same time.
Suna met his gaze, his own eyes unreadable. “‘Tsumu, can I call you that? Or is it one of your exclusive twin things?”
“You can’t.” Osamu was the one who answered, dropping onto the chair next to Atsumu where four desks had been pushed together for lunch. He passed three juice boxes to Ginjima’s grabby hands to distribute, keeping one for himself.
“Really can’t?” Atsumu asked, confused.
“Can’t ever,” Osamu confirmed.
“What about Aran-kun?”
“What about Aran-kun?”
Atsumu squinted at his twin, but didn’t bother to question Osamu’s logic. Seems like picking out their nicknames after finding Aran’s name cool still didn’t entitle Aran to call them by said nicknames. Whatever. He just shrugged at Suna. “Apparently ya can’t.”
Suna snorted. “Thanks. I couldn’t exactly hear the conversation you were having right in front of me.”
“Yer welcome!” Atsumu quipped back. He’d thought that might be the end of that conversation as he watched Suna lower his gaze back to his phone busily, but Osamu had propped his head on one palm, the corners of his mouth dragging down in suspicion.
“Why d’ya ask anyway?”
“Hm?” Suna didn’t look up from scrolling and tapping on his phone.
“Why d’ya wanna call him ‘Tsumu? Ya never asked ta call me ‘Samu.”
Atsumu bit his lip, feeling hot around the collar for some reason. He held his breath and waited for the answer.
Suddenly three phones simultaneously buzzed, and the topic derailed with their laughter at the weird photo Suna sent to the team, to which Aran had responded with an eye-roll emoji.
}
Sunarin
< atsumu, can we talk? this is my 666th time asking
Miya Atsumu, 23, professional athlete, successfully catches his phone before it smashes into the locker room floor. But not without dropping painfully to his knees, slamming his hand on the locker door, cursing from both panic and pain, and causing a general ruckus.
“‘Tsum-‘Tsum?”
“I’m okay!” he yelps.
Bokuto shuffles over to poke and prod at Atsumu’s hand, which thankfully looked uninjured. “All good, I think,” he pronounces.
Atsumu turns up a strained grin. “Thanks, Bokkun.” Once the other leaves, Atsumu flips his phone over in a hurry.
Pig
> samu
> samu help
> sos
> [screenshot]
< ugh
< ok i know i joked about saying no
< but you should meet him
> omg really?? ((((；゜Д゜)))
< no, that wasn’t a joke 🙄
< say no
> ᕙ( ᗒᗣᗕ )ᕗ
> samu come on!!
< well, what do you want me to say?
> idk, some not-shit advice to your most deserving brother whose team just won
< then go meet him
> ok...
< and then when you’re done talking things out between you
< drive him out to the mountains
< i’ll meet you there with a shotgun and a shovel
> samu!!
< ok ok, you can help me dig his grave
> samu wtf
< 💁🕳️🚶🔫
> rin is?? our friend?????
< most days
< today ain’t one of those days
Hearing a low laugh over his shoulder, Atsumu throws back, “That’s invasion of privacy, Omi-kun.” He turns around and sure enough there’s Sakusa, fully dressed and masked up.
“You can’t prove it in court,” Sakusa deadpans.
Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Curse that flawed judicial system.”
He puts the phone down on the bench. He zips up his jersey. He slings his duffel over his shoulder and picks up the phone. He unzips the top of his jersey and the phone almost slips out of his hand. And then his throat rolls uncomfortably. ”... I can’t do it,” Atsumu groans, grinding the top of his head against the locker door.
Sakusa silently leans on the locker next to him, arms crossed and fully judgmental, but otherwise doesn’t intervene.
”No, go away. I don’t want anyone ta see me being lame.”
”It’s two decades too late for that,” Sakusa says.
”Shut up.” Atsumu scowls at his phone and considers making Sakusa spike it ‘accidentally’. He gags again and covers it up with a cough, wary of Sakusa’s eagle-eyed stare and tense grip on an alcohol spray bottle. “Omi-kun, hype me up,” he whines.
Sakusa is offensively quiet for a few seconds, before saying in a begrudging tone, “You’re a decent setter, and sometimes you’re not as dumb as you look.”
What did Atsumu even expect? “We’ll revisit that later,” he grumbles, pulling up Suna’s chat log.
Sunarin
> ok
> i’ll come to you
Message sent. Atsumu worries at his bottom lip, breath quickening.
Suna messages back almost immediately.
Sunarin
< i’ll be waiting
Surprisingly, Atsumu doesn’t get the chance to wheedle Sakusa into coming with him, because Sakusa offers to walk him to EJP Raijin’s assigned locker room on his own volition. “I have to meet Motoya anyway,” he offers by way of explanation.
Atsumu doesn’t cling to him on the way over, but it’s a very near thing.
{
Miya Atsumu, 16, future volleyball superstar, sat with his back against the gymnasium wall, completely focused on his clubmates doing drills and not pouting at all.
Osamu smacked him in the head. “This is yer fault! Now we can’t do anythin’ until the end of practice.”
“Me?! I’m not the one who spiked a ball straight ta the captain’s face!”
“I was aimin’ for ya! Ya shouldn’ta dodged—“
“And let maself get hit?! ... Yer right, maybe I shoulda stayed still, not like yer weak-ass spike coulda caused any damage.”
“Hey Miya,” a bored voice interrupted, causing both twins to swivel around with matching scowls at the source. “Whoa.”
“Oh, it’s just Suna.” Osamu deflated at the sight of his classmate and went back to elbowing Atsumu in the side.
“Ow, ‘Samu!” Atsumu attempted to scoot away, to no avail as Osamu only followed him relentlessly. “Ugh, what is wrong with ya today?”
Suna crouched down in front of the twins, though it started to seem pointless when the two kept inching away from Osamu’s pestering. “Miya,” he said.
“What?”
“What?”
Both twins answered, Osamu even stopping his assault on Atsumu’s side for a moment.
“The meaner one,” Suna appended.
Atsumu glanced tentatively at Osamu who gazed back at him as if to say, That’s obviously ya. Atsumu tilted his head a bit to the side, hugging his legs close and jutting out his bottom lip. “Ya wanna talk ta me?”
Suna’s eyes widened, a minute enough change for Atsumu to miss. He coughed. “Unless it was your secret triplet who was shouting at our teammates earlier for missing the ball.”
“It was deserved,” Atsumu huffed. He wouldn’t have had to shout if everyone just practiced more and did their jobs properly, instead of whining to the captain that Atsumu could be nicer or needed to work on his communication skills. “Did I say somethin’ wrong?”
“No, but you could’ve said it better.”
“Didn’t know I was playin’ with toddlers that need ta be babied.”
“Speak for yourself, 16-year old fetus,” Osamu scoffed.
“I ain’t no fetus, ya—“
Suna cut in before the other two could lose themselves in another argument. “Just saying, you would get less ballboy duties if you played a bit nicer,” he said, and promptly realized Atsumu saw this as another dressing down by the way he reddened from frustration and buried his face in his knees. He reached out a hand to pat gingerly at Atsumu’s shoulder, ignoring Osamu’s bodily twitch. “Hey.”
Atsumu’s droopy amber eyes peeked out from behind tufts of brown hair.
“I wasn’t scolding you or anything,” Suna offered, sounding vaguely guilty. “They really were terrible.”
“Yeah?”
Suna’s arm was getting tired from keeping his hand on Atsumu’s shoulder, but he was too arrested by the rare sight of a shy Atsumu to care. “Well, I was also calling them names. In my head,” he added, eyes subconsciously wandering towards Atsumu’s fluffy hair. He might have taken the chance to run his fingers through it if not for the way Osamu started baring his teeth at him, looking seconds away from biting a chunk out of the hand still holding on to his brother.
Suna quickly took back his hand and let out another cough. “Anyway, I’m agreeing with you that they suck, okay?”
“Really really?”
Suna found it ridiculously easy wrestling down the impulse to say don’t be a baby to that face. “Really really.”
Atsumu sniffled, eyes glistening gold. “Suna, you’re so nice.”
}
The two of them watch Sakusa and Komori round the corner, listening to footsteps grow fainter and fainter.
“That’s your new best friend, huh?” Suna’s face is blank, but his voice reveals a hint of bitterness that pokes into the heart of Atsumu’s bundle of guilt.
“Yer still my best friend, Suna...”
Suna just stares at him.
“...rin. Sunarin,” Atsumu corrects himself. “Because we’re friends. We never stopped.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes it doesn’t feel like it,” Suna scoffs. “We didn’t see each other for five years and now you can’t even look me in the eye anymore.”
“Sure I can!”
“Then look at me now.” There’s a forcefulness in Suna’s tone that Atsumu has never heard from him before. He stalks closer, crowding Atsumu against the wall with both arms on either side of Atsumu’s head, as if making sure Atsumu can’t look at anything else—but Atsumu can only maintain eye contact for a second before the blistering heat of Suna’s gaze makes him turn away in embarrassment. “That’s what I thought.”
Atsumu clears his throat, hands clenched tight where they’re trapped between their bodies. “In my defense... I also had a hard time looking at you five years ago,” he admits.
Suna’s breath hitches. His voice sounds raw when he asks, “What does that mean?”
“Ya,” Atsumu pauses to lick his lips and glances up and away from Suna, whose blown out pupils are locked on to his face with laser sharp focus, like he’s committing every inch to memory. “Ya made—make me nervous. Every time I think of ya, I feel hot and light-headed and nauseous. I get dizzy and confused. Um.” He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Those are my symptoms. So what’s the verdict, doc?”
Silence stretches between them, tentative and thoughtful, soon broken by a clattering of footsteps and boisterous voices nearby. Suna’s arms slide down from the wall to briefly grasp Atsumu’s shoulders, and then there’s only strong fingers circling Atsumu’s wrist, keeping him close as they make their way out of the building.
“Now I’m no DoctorMD,” Suna finally starts once they’ve settled into a relatively secluded area in the arena grounds. “But your symptoms sound a lot like heat stroke.”
Atsumu rolls his eyes. “It’s not.”
“I distinctly remember the time you had heat stroke—“
“... It wasn’t heat stroke back then either.”
Suna’s eyes curve up subtly. “That’s too bad.”
Atsumu squints up at him. “And why is that?”
“I was looking forward to taking you home this time.”
Red suffuses Atsumu’s face in an instant. Is that flirting? That sounds like flirting. Is Suna flirting with him right now? “Haha, nice one, Sunarin. You don’t even live in Osaka.”
“I could bring you back to your place,” Suna tries again, a tinge hopeful. “Take care of you for a bit.”
“My place as in... the MSBY dorm? That I share with a bunch of other people?” Atsumu does his best to swallow down the tickling in his throat. He ventures, “To do what?”
“How specific do you want me to be?” Suna looks surprised, as if he didn’t expect to get this far, or for Atsumu to play along to this extent.
“How specific would you be if ‘Samu was standing behind me?”
“Atsumu. I would literally confess to murder right now if it meant I can get you in a room alone.”
“Jesus.”
“With the plans I have in mind, there won’t be any space left for Jesus,” Suna says frankly.
Wow. Atsumu’s head starts to spin. “Where the fuck was this shamelessness five years ago?” The hand on his wrist slips down to interlace their fingers together, and suddenly Suna is toe to toe with him, so close they’re practically breathing the same air. It brings to mind flashes of a hazy orange afternoon, the same feverish intensity, but this time Atsumu is looking straight into Suna’s fervent green eyes.
This time, Suna doesn’t hesitate to touch his jaw gently with his other hand, a lot more tender than Atsumu ever imagined. “I need to make sure we’re on the same page. Atsumu,” he whispers, a pent-up emotion bleeding into every syllable of his name. “Please don’t make me go another five years without being sure of this.”
“Rin.” Atsumu winces when his voice comes out in a faint warble. “Have you...” He forces himself to breathe. He clutches onto both of Suna’s hands like they’re the only things tethering him together, eyes damp and mouth trembling. “Have you been flirting because you liked me this whole time, you incomprehensible piece of shit!” Atsumu wails.
“Yes. God, yes, you dumbass, yes.”
And then Atsumu is yanking on their joined fingers until Suna’s nose almost bumps into his. He plants a chaste kiss on thin, chapped lips and lands back down on his heels, sniffling wetly. “You’re the dumbass,” he refutes. “Absolute doofus. I can’t believe I liked you so much for so long.”
“... Liked?” Suna asks, quiet and uncertain.
“Like,” Atsumu whispers back. “You shithead.”
Suna guides Atsumu’s hands to his shoulders, freeing himself up to cradle Atsumu’s face. He’s grinning helplessly, wiping at the tear tracks on reddened cheeks. “I like you,” he murmurs into Atsumu’s lips before pressing into them again. And again. And again. Stroking the corners, willing Atsumu to part them so Suna can slide his tongue in, swallowing Atsumu’s gasp. He lets Atsumu run his fingers through his hair, hands meeting at the back of Suna’s head to draw him in deeper. “Atsumu.” Another kiss. “Atsumu.” And another. “Be my boyfriend?”
“Yeah.” Atsumu knocks their foreheads together when he nods too enthusiastically. “Ow.”
“Yeah, ow.” Suna laughs breathlessly and, feeling lighter than he has in years, Atsumu laughs with him.
{
An outraged cry followed by a wild burst of laughter caught a dark-haired student’s attention as he passed through the school gate.
Further ahead, a boy dashed past other students with a lunchbox haphazardly held in each hand, turning his head every now and then to stick his tongue out at an identical boy giving furious chase.
“‘Tsumu, give it back!”
All this elicited was another gleeful cackle. The two disappeared into the building in a chaotic flurry, leaving a gaggle of perplexed, sleep-deprived students in their wake.
One of them turned up later in his class, hooded eyes perpetually affixed at something out the window, while the other twin seemed to flicker in and out of existence. He springs to life in flashes of laughter in the corridors, a face popping up by the classroom door, round-eyed and soft-cheeked, calling out, “‘Samu!” excitedly.
In between classes, the dark-haired student kept his head pillowed in his arms, head always turned towards the hallway, half-mast eyes betraying slight anticipation.
Today, ‘Tsumu skipped into the classroom, shouting his twin’s name. For one unforgettable moment, that gleaming amber gaze met his own, blinking in surprise at the eye contact, before sliding away in disinterest.
He was tempted to follow the other’s figure as it beelined towards the window. Instead, he burrowed his face into his arms, heart pounding in his chest.
How dangerous.
It felt like the start of an obsession.
}
Fin.