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Atsumu Miya wasn’t the kind of guy who needed an app to land a casual hookup—he really wasn’t.
But, and this was a big but, he was in a bit of a dry spell lately. “Lately” meaning he hadn’t even made it past the talking stage with anyone in months. It had gotten so bad that even Osamu, his eternally unimpressed twin, had said, “Yer whining’s givin’ me headaches. Go get laid already.”
So, in what Osamu described as an act of brotherly love (and what Atsumu privately thought was a covert attempt to shut him up), Osamu made him a Tinder profile. Atsumu had watched with growing horror as his twin lazily cobbled it together, barely giving a thought to how it showcased Atsumu’s undeniable charm.
The profile was basic. Too basic, if you asked Atsumu. A couple of decent photos and a bio that read, “Setter. Love volleyball, good food, and terrible reality shows. If ya can’t serve a volleyball, at least serve a good pick-up line.”
“That’s it? Yer not even gonna mention my amazing personality?” Atsumu had whined.
Osamu’s deadpan reply? “Tinder ain’t about personality, ‘Tsumu. It’s about not lookin’ like a serial killer.”
And now, here Atsumu was, sprawled on their couch, phone in hand, glaring at profiles like they’d personally wronged him. Most of the guys on there seemed allergic to taking proper pictures. Why was carrying a dead fish in photos a thing? And don’t get him started on shirtless mirror selfies. If he saw one more bio with “DTF”, he might throw his phone across the room.
(It took a quick Google search for him to figure out what “DTF” even meant, and the realization made him gag.)
Swipe left. Swipe left. Swipe left.
He’d lost count of how many profiles he’d rejected. Occasionally, he’d swipe right by accident, and the notification that he’d “matched” with someone made him recoil in panic. It was a nightmare.
Until he stumbled across a profile that stopped him in his tracks.
The guy—Shoyo, 21—had a smile that was bright enough to power an entire stadium. No shirtless mirror selfies in sight. Instead, he was wearing snug athletic wear that showed off just the right amount of muscle. And freckles. He had freaking freckles. Atsumu zoomed in on one of the pictures and whispered to himself, “I’m not usually into gingers, but damn… he’s cute.”
Scrolling down, Atsumu noted the guy’s bio was littered with emojis: a volleyball, a beach, the Brazilian flag, and… the Japanese flag? His interest piqued. “Yo ‘Samu, check this one out,” he called, waving his phone at his twin, who was busy demolishing enemies in some Xbox game.
Osamu hummed, pausing his game to glance at the profile. “Looks decent enough. Shorter than yer usual type, though.”
Atsumu rolled his eyes. “He’s, like, 1.70 m. Ya remember that libero I had a fling with? He was shorter than that.”
Osamu raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “If ya say so. Go for it.” He tossed the phone back to Atsumu, who barely caught it, shrieking as he fumbled to avoid swiping by accident.
But fate had other plans. Just as he went to swipe right, his finger betrayed him, and he swiped left instead.
“Fuck! No, no, no, no, no!” Atsumu gasped dramatically. “I didn’t mean to swipe left! ‘Samu, fix it! Bring him back!” He shook his twin’s shoulder like a man possessed.
Osamu clicked his tongue in annoyance, pausing his game again. “I really should’ve eaten ya in the womb,” he muttered, snatching the phone from Atsumu’s hands.
“Ya can bring him back, right?” Atsumu asked, voice tinged with desperation.
Osamu sighed. “Yeah, but I gotta get ya Tinder Plus for that.”
Atsumu recoiled like he’d been slapped. “Ya mean I gotta pay for a hookup app? Are ya insane?!”
Osamu shot him an unimpressed look. “Do ya want the tan little ginger back or not?”
Atsumu huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine. But make sure it doesn’t renew itself, scrub.”
Osamu smirked, clicking through the subscription process. “Yer welcome, by the way. Might even put this on yer card for the trouble.”
Atsumu glared. “If ya do, I’ll make sure ‘Ma knows it was you who broke her favorite bowl last week.”
“Fair enough,” Osamu deadpanned, handing the phone back once the deed was done. “Go get yer ginger.”
Atsumu didn’t even bother with a reply, his full attention back on Shoyo’s profile. This time, he swiped right with the precision of a setter aiming for a perfect toss.
“Yer not gonna regret this, Shoyo, 21,” Atsumu murmured, smirking at the screen. “Yer about to match with greatness.”
Osamu rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “Ya do know yer still on a dry spell until he swipes right on ya, right?”
Atsumu ignored him, grinning at the screen as he waited.
And when the notification popped up: “It’s a match!” Atsumu’s smug grin turned triumphant.
“Told ya,” he said, tossing his phone onto the couch with an air of victory. “Greatness, ‘Samu. Greatness.”
-
After an hour of not getting a text message, Atsumu was starting to whine to his brother again. “‘Samuuuu, why hasn’t Shoyo, 21, texted me yet?”
“I don’t know, ‘Tsumu. Maybe he looked through yer profile again and thought yer a jerk,” Osamu replied, killing another enemy in his shooter game without missing a beat.
“But ya said my profile doesn’t come off douchebaggy,” Atsumu whined again, draping himself dramatically over the sofa like a tragic hero.
Osamu sighed, finally sparing his brother a glance. “Why don’t ya just text him first? Maybe he doesn’t like textin’ first.”
“But what do I even text him?” Atsumu moaned, kicking his feet against the couch like a petulant child.
“How ‘bout hi?” Osamu suggested with a deadpan expression, now glaring at his brother. “Why do ya always make yer problems into mine as well?”
“‘Cause ya love me,” Atsumu shot back with a cheeky grin before finally opening up the message section of the app, hovering over Shoyo’s name.
He scrolled past the unread messages from previous matches without a second glance, laser-focused on the cute ginger who’d stolen his attention. With a deep breath, he started typing:
Atsumu, 22
Hi there, cutie 😏 Gotta say yer profile really stands out from all the fish-holding guys on here
He hit send before he could overthink it and let out another dramatic sigh, sliding off the couch until he was sprawled on the floor in a heap of self-pity.
“Yer always so dramatic. I blame ‘Ma for lettin’ ya watch K-Dramas with her when we were kids,” Osamu said, eyes never leaving the screen as he continued his game.
“Ya literally watched them with us,” Atsumu fired back, his voice muffled by the carpet.
Osamu bit his lip to hold back a smirk. “Yeah, but I’ve never been as insufferable as ya.”
Atsumu shot him a glare from his spot on the floor. “Keep talkin’, and I’ll tell ‘Ma it was you who spilled soy sauce on her fancy tablecloth.”
Osamu’s smirk vanished. “Ya wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” Atsumu quipped, finally sitting up as he checked his phone obsessively for a reply from Shoyo.
After not getting an immediate reply, Atsumu scrolled through his Instagram feed, laughing loudly at the funny animal reels and occasionally shoving his phone in Osamu’s face to share the humor.
“Look, look, ‘Samu! This dog’s trying to skateboard and eat pizza at the same time!” Atsumu cackled, shaking his brother’s shoulder insistently.
Osamu, to his credit, graciously paused his game to give the reel a glance before deadpanning, “Yeah, hilarious. Almost as funny as ya still waitin’ for a reply from Shoyo, 21.”
“Rude,” Atsumu huffed, retreating back to his side of the couch, but his lips twitched upward as he resumed scrolling. For another hour, he stayed glued to his phone, only abandoning it when his stomach growled loud enough to rival the game’s sound effects.
“Guess it’s lunch time,” Atsumu declared dramatically, tossing his phone onto the sofa before heading to the kitchen. Much to everyone’s surprise, Atsumu actually knew how to cook. Not as well as Osamu, of course—the guy had a freaking restaurant, after all—but Atsumu could hold his own.
He stirred the stew on the stove, the warm aroma filling the apartment as he took a spoonful to taste test his creation. “Not bad, not bad,” he muttered to himself, feeling oddly proud.
Lost in his culinary trance, he didn’t even notice his phone buzzing on the couch. The loud hum of the range hood drowned out the notification entirely. It wasn’t until Osamu appeared behind him, smirking like a cat that caught the canary, that Atsumu snapped out of it.
“The shortie ginger texted ya back,” Osamu drawled, leaning casually against the counter.
Atsumu’s eyes widened as he fumbled with the spoon, accidentally dropping it into the pot in his rush to grab his phone.
“I hope for yer sake yer plannin’ to fish that spoon out before ya serve the stew,” Osamu said with a pointed glare at the pot.
“Yeah, yeah,” Atsumu replied absentmindedly, all his focus now on the message notification lighting up his screen.
Shoyo, 21
Haha, thanks! I’ll take that as a compliment. And yeah, fish pics are weird… Guess it’s nice to know people have hobbies, though? 😂
Atsumu’s lips curled into a triumphant grin as he typed back
Atsumu, 22
Yer too nice, cutie. What’s yer hobby then? Stealin’ hearts with that smile? 😉
Osamu rolled his eyes at the cheesy line. “Yer layin’ it on thick already? Guy’s gonna think yer a creep.”
“It’s called charm, Osamu. Somethin’ ya wouldn’t understand,” Atsumu shot back, his grin widening as another reply from Shoyo came in almost immediately.
Shoyo, 21
Haha, wow, bold much? Volleyball mostly, but I guess you could say I’m into beaches, too. What about you? Besides flattering strangers online? 😅
“Oh, he’s sassy. I like him,” Atsumu declared, earning a snort from Osamu, who returned to his game.
As Atsumu furiously typed back, Osamu muttered under his breath, “Hope he knows what he’s signin’ up for.”
-
And that’s how Atsumu found himself texting back and forth with Shoyo, 21 for the next couple of days. Shoyo, as it turned out, lived in Brazil but had family in Japan, so he was here visiting them. He’d be staying for another two weeks, which meant Atsumu needed to grow some balls and meet up with him before time ran out.
Shoyo, 21 was pretty funny and just as passionate about volleyball as Atsumu was—it was like a match made in heaven. He also loved to send laughing emojis whenever Atsumu cracked a joke, which clearly meant he appreciated Atsumu’s unparalleled sense of humor. At least, that’s what Atsumu told himself. Osamu, ever the realist, just rolled his eyes when Atsumu shared this insight. Fresh off a grueling 12-hour shift, Osamu had no patience for his brother’s romantic delusions.
Thankfully, Atsumu was on a break from training at the moment. He hadn’t mentioned to Shoyo, 21 that he was a professional volleyball player, deciding instead to disclose that he had a college degree in marketing—a degree he’d earned part-time while pursuing his career. What could he say? His mom had insisted he have a backup plan in case volleyball didn’t pan out.
But right now, Atsumu had one goal in mind: meeting Shoyo, 21 before he flew back to Brazil. Getting laid by a cute, tanned ginger was top of his priority list. And maybe, just maybe, there was something more to this.
Atsumu, 22
So, Shoyo-kun, wanna meet up before ya leave back for Brazil? 😏
This time, Shoyo didn’t take long to reply. Quite frankly, he rarely took long to reply to Atsumu, which only fuelled the setter’s delusions that Shoyo was just as interested in him as he was in Shoyo.
Shoyo, 21
Is this a hook-up meet-up or a date kind of meet-up? 👀
Now, that was a good question. Atsumu had no doubt he wanted to hook up with Shoyo—the guy was smoking hot. But Shoyo was also so cute and funny that Atsumu kind of just wanted to take him out and toss to him. And for Atsumu, that was basically a love confession.
Atsumu, 22
Whatever ya want it to be, Shoyo-kun 😘
And that’s how Atsumu found himself on a train to Sendai to meet Shoyo, 21. It was quite the commitment, considering it took 4.5 hours to get there from Osaka by shinkansen train—not to mention the cost. Atsumu shuddered at the thought of his next credit card bill. This was, without a doubt, the most he’d ever paid for a hook-up. But as he stared out the window at the passing scenery, the butterflies in his stomach told him it might just be worth it.
-
Sendai was different from Osaka; it had a more urban, bustling vibe. The city streets were alive with activity, busier and slightly more fast-paced than what Atsumu was used to back home. As he stepped off the train, a nervous excitement bubbled within him. What if Shoyo didn’t show up? But those doubts quickly evaporated when his gaze landed on a pair of wide brown eyes scanning the crowd.
The pictures hadn’t done Shoyo, 21, any justice. Standing before him was practically a Greek god in human form, his tanned skin glowing under the summer sun. The tight t-shirt he wore emphasized his toned upper body, while his basketball shorts revealed muscular thighs that made Atsumu do a double take. Even his sneakers seemed to complement his athletic, carefree vibe. And his hair? It was wild and curly, the summer humidity giving it an unruly charm that only added to his appeal.
“Oh wow, so you’re not a catfish. You’re actually as hot as in your pictures,” Shoyo said without hesitation, his eyes unabashedly taking in Atsumu’s appearance.
Atsumu barked out a laugh. “What can I say? I’ve got more charm than a dead fish.” His humor earned him a snort from Shoyo, and he couldn’t help but beam at the sound.
“It’s nice to officially meet you, Atsumu-san, 22. Are you really 22, though?” Shoyo teased, extending his hand.
“Likewise, Shoyo-kun, 21. Why? Do I look older?” Atsumu asked, feigning horror as they shook hands. Shoyo’s hand was smaller but fit perfectly in his own. Atsumu made a mental note of how warm it felt.
“Nope, just messing with you,” Shoyo replied with a grin that could light up the entire train station. Atsumu had never encountered someone who could take his breath away with a single smile. Shoyo was even more attractive in person than he’d imagined—and Atsumu’s imagination had been pretty generous.
The two fell into step together, strolling through the city. Atsumu had booked a hotel near the station, preferring to be prepared for however the night unfolded. The conversation between them was easy, seamless, as if they’d known each other for years rather than just a week of texting. Osamu, ever the cautious twin, had made Atsumu share his location “just in case the cute ginger turned out to be a murderer.” Atsumu had rolled his eyes at the suggestion but obliged nonetheless.
“So, Atsumu-san,” Shoyo began, his tone light and teasing. “I noticed a scheduled game at the arena featuring the MSBY Black Jackals and Schweiden Adlers. There’s this interesting poster with a guy who looks an awful lot like you.” He quickened his pace to keep up with Atsumu’s longer strides, his grin full of mischief.
Atsumu started whistling, feigning nonchalance as a grin tugged at his lips. “Maybe that was my twin brother.”
“Oh, so Osamu-san is your twin then? You only mentioned him as your brother,” Shoyo said, tilting his head curiously. “But you failed to mention that you’re a pretty famous setter. I thought you just played for fun with how much you were flexing that marketing degree.”
“My ‘Ma made me get it,” Atsumu replied with a dramatic huff, throwing his hands in the air. He paused, then facepalmed. “I was hoping I could keep that a secret a bit longer. Can’t go revealing all my secrets to ya just yet, Shoyo-kun.”
Shoyo laughed, the sound bright and infectious. “Don’t worry, Atsumu-san. I think I can handle a few surprises.”
Atsumu smirked, a playful glint in his eye. “Oh, Shoyo-kun, surprises are my specialty.”
-
The date was going pretty well. It felt almost surreal how naturally the conversation flowed between them. Shoyo animatedly shared stories about his life in Brazil—his days training on sunlit courts, the street food he swore was the best in the world, and the endless energy of Rio during Carnaval. In return, Atsumu regaled him with tales of his chaotic life as a twin, describing Osamu’s constant eye-rolls and how their sibling banter often left their teammates confused and entertained. Every word exchanged between them seemed to stitch an invisible thread, pulling them closer as if they’d known each other their entire lives.
Shoyo led him through a mini culinary adventure. First, they indulged in sushi, where Shoyo hilariously fumbled with his chopsticks, pretending it was on purpose to make Atsumu laugh. Then they went for fresh gelato, Atsumu insisting on trying every flavor Shoyo picked before deciding they both liked pistachio best. Finally, Shoyo pulled him to a boba tea stand, Atsumu dramatically squinting at the menu and complaining about how complicated it was, making Shoyo laugh so hard he nearly spilled his drink.
By the time they finished, Atsumu was on cloud nine. Shoyo’s endless energy was intoxicating, like an unstoppable force of joy that left Atsumu in awe. Shoyo wasn’t just captivating—he was magnetic. His laugh, his freckled smile, the way his hair bounced with every movement; it all left Atsumu yearning for more. It wasn’t just physical attraction anymore. Shoyo was a drug, and Atsumu was a man dangerously close to addiction.
They ended the night at Atsumu’s hotel bar, their laughter softening as they sipped on cocktails. Shoyo was mimicking Kageyama Tobio’s intense serving face, and Atsumu couldn’t stop laughing. Apparently, Shoyo knew Kageyama from his time as an exchange student in Japan during his third year of high school, where he’d played volleyball at Karasuno. Atsumu couldn’t help but imagine Shoyo on the court, leaping into the air with that infectious grin of his—it only made him fall harder.
Shoyo’s touch lingered on Atsumu’s hand as they talked, his fingers brushing Atsumu’s knuckles like it was second nature. Atsumu’s pulse quickened every time, the heat of Shoyo’s touch leaving a trail that burned into his skin. He’d always considered himself a confident guy, but right now, he was hopelessly smitten.
“You know, Shoyo-kun,” Atsumu said, his voice quieter than usual as he leaned closer. “Yer really beautiful.”
Shoyo, who had just finished smoothing his hair back into place, froze mid-movement. Atsumu expected the confident, self-assured Shoyo to brush it off with a cheeky retort. Instead, a deep blush spread across his face, the kind of blush that turned his freckles into constellations against his tanned skin. He looked away, his hands fidgeting with his drink.
“Thank you, Atsumu-san,” Shoyo murmured, his voice softer than Atsumu had ever heard it. “I think you’re really handsome too.”
The compliment sent Atsumu’s heart racing, and his own blush rivaled Shoyo’s. He didn’t think it was possible, but somehow, the ginger became even cuter.
Trying to regain composure, Shoyo grinned and quipped, “You know, you were the first guy on Tinder who didn’t immediately send me a dick pic.”
Atsumu nearly spat out his drink, his blush deepening as he let out a loud laugh. “Not gonna lie, I even took some in case ya sent me one first,” he confessed, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.
“You took dick pics just for me?” Shoyo asked, his grin widening even as his face remained flushed. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”
“Depends,” Atsumu shot back with a smirk. “Do ya wanna see?”
Shoyo tilted his head playfully, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I mean, sure. Might as well see if it lives up to the hype.”
Atsumu hesitated for a second before pulling out his phone. He scrolled through his gallery, carefully avoiding some less-than-flattering selfies, before landing on the picture he had taken earlier that week.
Shoyo leaned closer to the screen, his breath hitching slightly. “Well,” he muttered, a coy grin spreading across his face as his eyes lingered on the image. “You definitely don’t disappoint, Atsumu-san.”
The way Shoyo said it, his voice dipping into something sultry, sent a jolt of electricity through Atsumu. He couldn’t help the cocky smirk that tugged at his lips, his voice dropping as he teased, “Told ya my photography skills were top-notch.”
Shoyo chuckled, his fingers brushing Atsumu’s arm again. “If this is what you’re capable of through a lens, I can’t wait to see what you can do in person.”
Atsumu’s grin widened, his heart pounding in his chest. Shoyo wasn’t just beautiful; he was bold, confident, and absolutely irresistible. Atsumu wasn’t sure where the night would lead, but one thing was certain—he wasn’t letting Shoyo go anytime soon.
“Say, Shoyo-kun,” Atsumu said, his voice low and teasing, his golden eyes fixed on Shoyo’s. “Why don’t we move the party to my hotel room?”
Shoyo’s lips curled into a small smile, his cheeks still flushed from both the alcohol and the way Atsumu’s gaze seemed to devour him. He nodded, his words failing him for a moment.
Atsumu’s grin widened, a spark of excitement flickering in his chest. He flagged down the bartender, settled the bill, and led Shoyo toward the elevator. They stood side by side, the confined space amplifying the tension between them. Their arms brushed as they waited, the silence charged with an energy that neither could ignore.
Shoyo glanced up at Atsumu, his wide brown eyes holding a glimmer of mischief. Atsumu could feel his pulse quicken, the anticipation thrumming in his veins. The soft ding of the elevator arriving seemed to echo louder than it should, and they stepped in together.
The ride to Atsumu’s floor felt like an eternity, even though it was just a few moments. Shoyo shifted slightly, leaning against the elevator wall, his shoulder brushing Atsumu’s arm again. The casual contact sent sparks up Atsumu’s spine. He turned his head to look at Shoyo, who was gazing at him with a mix of curiosity and unspoken desire.
By the time they reached the room, Atsumu’s hands were trembling—not from nerves, but from the barely restrained need to close the distance between them. He swiped the key card, and the door clicked open.
But before Atsumu could even step inside, Shoyo was on him. His lips crashed against Atsumu’s, urgent and demanding, their bodies pressed together in the dim hallway light. Atsumu barely managed to kick the door shut behind them before his hands found Shoyo’s waist, pulling him closer.
The kiss was electric—Shoyo’s lips soft yet insistent, his hands tangling in Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu felt like he was drowning in the sensation, in the way Shoyo tasted faintly of the boba tea they’d shared earlier, mixed with the hint of something uniquely him.
Clothes began to scatter across the room in a blur of movement. Shoyo’s hands were everywhere—on Atsumu’s chest, his shoulders, his back—exploring with a hunger that mirrored Atsumu’s own. The heat between them was overwhelming, their breaths mingling as they pulled back just enough to tug off shirts, undo belts, and let their inhibitions fall away along with the fabric.
Atsumu’s fingers brushed over the freckles dotting Shoyo’s shoulders, marveling at how warm and real he felt under his touch. Shoyo let out a soft laugh as Atsumu’s lips trailed down his neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses that made Shoyo’s breath hitch.
“You’re beautiful,” Atsumu murmured, his voice husky as he looked at Shoyo, who was now flushed from head to toe. The compliment only seemed to make Shoyo bolder, his hands sliding over Atsumu’s skin with newfound confidence.
It wasn’t just lust driving them—it was the connection, the way their bodies seemed to recognize each other even though they’d just met. It was messy and passionate, a culmination of the night’s tension spilling over into something raw and real.
As the night wore on, the city’s hum faded into the background, leaving only the sound of whispered names, shared laughter, and the quiet intimacy of two people discovering each other for the first time.
-
The morning sunlight streamed through the hotel room window, the golden rays landing directly on Atsumu’s face. He stirred, groaning as he turned his head away, trying to cling to the remnants of sleep. Eventually, he gave up, his eyes fluttering open as he stretched out across the bed.
His hand instinctively reached for the other side, only to find it empty.
Frowning, Atsumu sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. The space beside him was cold, and there was no sign that anyone had ever been there. No rumpled pillow, no stray clothing, nothing.
Atsumu's brows furrowed further as he scanned the room. The only traces of the night before were the lingering scent of Shoyo's cologne and the faint aroma of sex that clung to the air. His gaze landed on the small trash bin by the nightstand, where used condoms were discarded—a reminder that it hadn’t all been a dream.
Dragging a hand through his messy blond hair, Atsumu swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, his body protesting the movement after last night’s activities. He padded toward the bathroom, catching sight of himself in the mirror.
The scratch marks along his back stood out, thin red lines that had him smirking despite himself. “Damn, Shoyo-kun,” he muttered under his breath, tracing one of the marks with his fingers. The smirk faded quickly, replaced by a hollow ache in his chest. The silence of the room felt heavier than it should have, a stark reminder that he was alone.
The hot shower did little to wash away the feeling of emptiness, though it soothed his muscles. Atsumu closed his eyes, letting the water cascade over him, replaying fragments of the night—the way Shoyo laughed, the way his freckles caught the dim light, the warmth of his touch.
By the time he stepped out, the steam in the bathroom had fogged up the mirror. Atsumu wiped it with his hand, staring at his reflection for a moment before shaking his head. He couldn’t afford to dwell. His train was leaving in an hour, and he still needed to grab a quick breakfast and check out of the hotel.
Back in the room, Atsumu picked up his phone. There was a message from Osamu.
‘Samu
How’d it go? Still alive, or did ya get catfished?
Atsumu rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile as he typed a quick reply.
‘Tsumu
Alive. Not a catfish. But he’s gone.
Osamu’s response came almost immediately.
‘Samu
Ouch. Ya got ghosted?
Ignoring his brother’s teasing, Atsumu scrolled through his notifications. There were a few social media updates, but nothing important. With a sinking feeling, he opened Tinder, hoping for at least a goodbye message.
Shoyo’s profile was gone.
Atsumu stared at the screen, his jaw tightening. Shoyo, 21, had deleted his account. No trace, no explanation, no way to contact him. It stung more than Atsumu cared to admit.
Grumbling, he tossed his phone onto the bed and finished getting dressed. As he buttoned his shirt, his gaze swept the room one last time. He hesitated for a moment, feeling like he was forgetting something, but shook it off.
Unbeknownst to him, on the hotel desk sat a small folded note, its edges curling slightly. Written in neat, rushed handwriting was a phone number with a simple message.
“I had an amazing night. Would love to see you again. Call me :). – Shoyo”
The note fluttered slightly in the breeze from the air conditioner as Atsumu walked out, completely unaware of what he’d missed.
-
Atsumu’s adventure on Tinder turned out to be a short-lived one. Shortly after returning to Osaka, he deleted the app from his phone, making sure to double-check that he hadn’t accidentally left the paid subscription active. No need to waste money on something he wasn’t planning to use anymore.
Osamu noticed the subtle changes in his twin almost immediately. Atsumu spent less time glued to his phone, the constant swiping and obnoxious commentary on potential matches replaced with extended gym sessions and longer hours on the court. Osamu wasn’t one to pry, but he couldn’t help but notice that Atsumu hadn’t mentioned the cute ginger since his return. When asked, Atsumu had only shrugged and said, “It was fun. That’s all.”
But it wasn’t just that Atsumu had stopped talking about Shoyo—it was the way he seemed quieter, more introspective. His usual over-the-top energy was still there, but it lacked the same chaotic edge. He wasn’t as annoying, and honestly, Osamu wasn’t about to complain.
Months passed since that fateful night in Sendai—the first and last time Atsumu had seen Shoyo. Despite the initial high of their encounter, Atsumu hadn’t gone out with anyone else since. His Tinder account sat abandoned, and the thought of reinstalling the app made his stomach churn.
Instead, Atsumu threw himself into his craft. Volleyball became his escape, his therapy. Hours in the gym were spent perfecting his jump serves, pushing his limits, and chasing the version of himself he wanted to be. He was determined to be better—stronger, faster, more precise. But no matter how focused he was on his training, there was one thing he couldn’t shake.
Shoyo.
The memories of that night replayed in his mind at the most unexpected times. The sound of Shoyo’s laughter, the way his freckles caught the dim light, the gentle brush of his hand that lingered just a little too long—it was all etched into Atsumu’s brain like a favorite song he couldn’t stop humming.
It frustrated him to no end. Atsumu had always been confident, self-assured, and in control of his feelings. But Shoyo had completely disarmed him. It wasn’t just the physical connection—although Atsumu would be lying if he said that wasn’t incredible. No, it was the way Shoyo had this inexplicable warmth, an energy that made Atsumu feel like he was the only person in the world who mattered in that moment.
And that scared him.
“Yer thinkin’ too hard again.”
Atsumu blinked, snapped out of his thoughts by Osamu’s voice. His twin stood across from him in the kitchen, arms crossed and an exasperated look on his face.
“’Bout what?” Atsumu asked, playing dumb as he shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
Osamu rolled his eyes. “Yer always starin’ off like a lovesick puppy. Ya sure that ginger didn’t break yer brain or somethin’?”
Atsumu scowled, cheeks flushing. “Shut up, ‘Samu. I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh. Sure, ya are.” Osamu smirked knowingly but didn’t push further. He’d learned long ago that Atsumu would talk when he was ready—or he’d bottle it up until it exploded. Either way, it wasn’t Osamu’s problem.
That night, as Atsumu lay in bed, scrolling mindlessly through his phone, he couldn’t help but open his contacts list. The name Shoyo wasn’t there, of course. Why would it be? He never got his number, and now, the only connection he had to him was a memory.
With a sigh, Atsumu tossed his phone onto the nightstand and stared at the ceiling.
“I’m such an idiot,” he muttered to himself.
-
The Jackals were holding tryouts for the new season. Atsumu didn’t need to be there—thankfully—but Coach Foster had “strongly encouraged” him to attend, just to observe and give feedback on potential new teammates. Something about understanding their synergy and evaluating how well he could sync up with them. Atsumu internally rolled his eyes at the suggestion, but he wasn’t one to outright defy the coach.
So here he was, dragging himself into the chilly gym that morning, the MSBY jacket pulled tight around him as if it could somehow shield him from the cold and his reluctance. If it were up to him, he’d be on the court right now, playing and showing these rookies how it’s done. But no, he was stuck on the bleachers, a glorified spectator.
He plopped down next to Bokuto, who was snoring so loudly that Atsumu wondered how no one had kicked him out yet. Their libero, Inunaki, was seated on the other side, gleefully dropping gummy bears into Bokuto’s open mouth one by one.
Atsumu snorted, pulling out his phone to snap a picture of the ridiculous scene. He quickly posted it to his story with the caption: “Some pros take tryouts more seriously than others 🙄”.
For most of the session, Atsumu’s focus remained glued to his phone. He scrolled through Instagram, lazily liking posts about the team and laughing at reels. Every now and then, he’d glance up at the court, but nothing so far had grabbed his attention.
That was until Inunaki’s voice broke through the monotony.
“Oh shit, that shortie really just jumped over a triple block.”
Atsumu looked up, half-expecting Inunaki to be exaggerating. But what he saw made his jaw drop.
There, on the Jackals’ court, was a tanned, orange-haired whirlwind. Shoyo, 21.
“Huh?” Atsumu blurted out, louder than he intended, earning a few stares from his teammates. His heart stopped for a moment before speeding up. “What’s he doing here?”
“You know him, Miya?” Meian asked from where he was sitting behind Atsumu, his tone curious but calm.
Atsumu barely registered the question, his eyes glued to Shoyo as the smaller player leaped into the air—effortlessly, as if gravity had no hold on him—and smashed the ball down with such precision that the blockers didn’t even stand a chance.
It wasn’t just the jump; it was the energy Shoyo exuded. There was a vibrancy to him that radiated across the court, commanding attention without even trying. Atsumu couldn’t look away.
“Yeah,” Atsumu finally muttered, his voice distracted. “I know him.”
He didn’t elaborate, though, his mind racing as he watched Shoyo continue to dominate the court. His heart felt like it was doing somersaults, a mix of shock, awe, and something else he wasn’t quite ready to name.
Bokuto, now awake and rubbing his eyes, leaned over and squinted at the court. “Whoa, that guy’s got hops. Think he can keep up with you, Tsum-Tsum?”
Atsumu didn’t answer, his throat dry as Shoyo glanced in his direction for the briefest of moments. It was like a punch to the gut—the same warm, infectious energy from months ago, but now amplified by the fire in Shoyo’s eyes.
Whatever happened next, Atsumu knew one thing for sure.
This tryout was about to get a lot more interesting.
-
To Atsumu’s luck—or misfortune, depending on how you looked at it—Shoyo made the team. Of course, he did. No one who jumped like that and brought that level of energy to the court was going to get passed over.
Meian, ever the perfect captain, immediately extended an invitation for post-practice drinks. “Team bonding,” he’d called it, as though Atsumu hadn’t already spent years bonding with these people. Still, Atsumu went along, less for the bonding and more because saying no wasn’t really an option.
And to Atsumu’s double-edged luck, Shoyo, now officially Shoyo Hinata, plopped himself down right next to him in the booth at the bar.
Atsumu spent most of the evening trying to ignore him. Not that it was easy. Shoyo had a magnetic presence, the kind that made it impossible to not notice him, even in a crowded room. Every laugh, every grin, every word seemed to draw Atsumu’s attention, no matter how hard he tried to focus on his beer or the conversation Meian was having with Inunaki across the table.
But then, as the night wore on, Shoyo nudged Atsumu’s shoulder, effectively derailing any attempt at subtlety.
“Funny seeing you here, Atsumu, 22,” Shoyo said with a laugh, his smile as bright and mischievous as Atsumu remembered.
Atsumu gave him a sidelong glance, lifting his beer to his lips. “Don’t be too surprised, Shoyo, 21. Been on this team fer years.”
“It’s Hinata,” Shoyo corrected, his voice warm. “My name’s Shoyo Hinata.”
Atsumu hummed noncommittally, finally turning to face him. “Miya Atsumu,” he replied, extending a hand. Shoyo shook it without hesitation, his grip firm but friendly.
“Ya downplayed yer skills,” Atsumu added, narrowing his eyes at Shoyo. “Ya dominated the tryouts.”
Shoyo’s cheeks tinted pink at the compliment, but he shook his head. “I’m nowhere near your level, Atsumu-san.”
Atsumu snorted, leaning back in his seat. “Lies.”
Shoyo huffed, his brows furrowing as he leaned closer, the soft lighting of the bar catching the amber in his eyes. “You seem awfully moody tonight,” he observed, the corners of his mouth tugging into a slight pout.
Atsumu tried not to notice how beautiful Shoyo looked, even more so than before. But it was impossible. The way he looked at him—like he was trying to figure out a puzzle—made Atsumu’s stomach twist uncomfortably.
“I wonder why,” Atsumu muttered, his tone laced with sarcasm.
“I really have no idea,” Shoyo shot back, his voice laced with mock innocence. “If anything, I should be the salty one here.”
Atsumu quirked an eyebrow at that, turning to face him fully now. “Now why would ya be salty when yer the one that left without sayin’ anythin’?”
At that, Shoyo’s face shifted. His brows furrowed, and his lips pulled into a slight pout as he stared down at his fingers, tracing patterns on the table. “I left you a note with my number on it,” he said softly, almost as if he were unsure of himself. “I put it on the desk in the hotel room. You were the one that never called.”
Atsumu froze mid-sip, lowering his beer as his brain scrambled to process what Shoyo had just said.
“Ya left a note with yer number?” Atsumu said, his voice louder than intended, drawing a few curious glances from their teammates. He leaned in, whisper-shouting now. “But ya deleted yer Tinder account right after!”
Shoyo rolled his eyes, leaning in closer as well, their faces now mere inches apart. “Yeah, ‘cause I didn’t need it anymore after meeting you!” he whisper-shouted back, his tone exasperated but tinged with something softer.
“Oh,” Atsumu said, blinking rapidly as the pieces began to click together. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Shoyo said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat with a huff. “Oh.”
Atsumu rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing. The realization hit him like a volleyball spike to the chest. Shoyo hadn’t ghosted him after all. He had tried to reach out, but Atsumu—dumbass that he was—had completely missed it.
Before Atsumu could say anything else, Bokuto, ever the interrupter, leaned over the table with a grin. “Hey, what are you two whispering about? Plotting something?”
Shoyo laughed, the tension breaking slightly as he shook his head. “Nothing, Bokuto-san. Just catching up.”
But as the night wore on, Atsumu’s thoughts kept circling back to what Shoyo had said. He had wanted to see him again. Shoyo had literally deleted Tinder after meeting Atsumu. That wasn’t just some casual fling behavior—that was a full-blown, 21st-century romance gesture.
Atsumu couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips, no matter how hard he tried to keep it in check. He probably looked like an idiot, but he didn’t care. Every time he glanced at Shoyo, who was animatedly chatting with Bokuto now, he felt a strange mix of relief and excitement bubbling up inside him.
Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Atsumu leaned over to Shoyo, nudging him softly with his phone. “Hey, Shoyo-kun,” he began, his voice teasing but warm. “Can I get yer number now—personally this time? Promise I’ll actually text ya.”
Shoyo looked up from his drink, trying—and failing—to suppress the grin spreading across his face. His cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink, but he didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he took Atsumu’s phone with a small laugh and started typing.
When he handed it back, Atsumu glanced at the screen and burst into laughter. “Shoyo, 21 Tinder?” he read aloud, shaking his head in disbelief.
Shoyo shrugged, taking another sip of his drink to hide his smile. “Gotta make sure you remember who I am, Atsumu-san.”
“As if I could forget,” Atsumu shot back, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
Shoyo’s eyes flicked to Atsumu’s, and for a moment, the noise of the bar seemed to fade away. There was something unspoken hanging in the air between them—something both of them seemed too cautious to name.
“Well, let’s see if you keep your promise this time,” Shoyo said, breaking the moment with a playful grin.
“Yer damn right I will,” Atsumu replied, pocketing his phone with a newfound determination.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter, drinks, and the kind of camaraderie that came easily with this team. But Atsumu’s focus never strayed far from Shoyo, and every now and then, their eyes would meet, sparking a silent understanding.
By the time the night ended, and they were all saying their goodbyes, Atsumu felt lighter—like maybe, just maybe, things were finally falling into place.
As they parted ways outside the bar, Atsumu called after Shoyo with a smirk. “Oi, Shoyo, 21 - don’t ignore my texts now!”
Shoyo laughed, waving over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Atsumu, 22!”
Atsumu stood there for a moment, watching him disappear down the street with the rest of the team, his phone burning a hole in his pocket. This time, there was no chance in hell he was messing things up.
And this time, Shoyo wasn’t going to be just a casual right swipe.