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Atsumu boasted in interviews that he loved every part of the MSBY Club season. He craved the satisfaction of a hard day’s work while honing his craft alongside the best of the best. From training camp to play-offs, he did what he loved the most, win or lose, every single day.
But he had one exception.
The MSBY Foundation Gala, kicking off every season during training camp. Ugh.
It was a shock to most. Didn’t Atsumu love a party? Mr. Down to Always Dress to the Nines didn’t want to bust out his tux and waistcoat? The guy that found any excuse to celebrate didn’t want to live it up on the Company’s dime?
They were compelling arguments, but hard pass.
He hated schmoozing with stuffy donors with nothing better to do than pass the same yen back and forth between their foundations, all while patting themselves on the back they were bettering their community. Or listening to the season ticket members and corporate partners yammer about the game like they could control the court from the first row, while hogging the best seats from the real fans. And he especially hated rubbing elbows with the front office execs who pretended they were the only reason the team succeeded while eating hors d'oeuvres out of tiny martini glasses. Who was the ‘product,’ again? That’s right, he was.
Atsumu didn’t hate people, he just hated these people.
And he couldn’t get out of this stupid event, all thanks to that damn appearance clause in his contract. Seven events a year, team choice. Team discretion? More like team coercion.
Three years in a row he’d drawn the Gala short straw. Asking for a swap or to cancel never got him anywhere. The MSBY Player Relations Manager loved to remind him that his attendance alone would bring in another ten million yen! That the donors found him charming!
Charming? Yeah, he knew he was. Omi or Bokkun couldn’t bring in one million yen even if they tried. Atsumu couldn’t be too haughty about it. His charm notwithstanding, Sakusa had a sick putting game and got promoted to MSBY Sponsor Golf Outing ambassador. And Bokuto hoarded all the youth athletics appearances, the damn asshole was excellent with children.
Which left Atsumu stuck at the stuffy charity event.
Sure, the venue was admittedly cool. Every year the Foundation bought out Osaka-Jo Hall, their Osaka home game venue. They’d install the court as usual, then build the festivities around it. The MSBY Foundation Gala was the only sports fundraiser in Japan that could boast it was a party on the same real court used for games.
Tables were scattered across each side of the net, stacked high with elaborate centerpieces that looked too perfect, but the touch test proved had real flowers. Atsumu assumed the net would be an eyesore for the rich folk, but the right design team could zhuzh up anything. By adding twinkle lights along the length of the net and dimming the lights low, it was quite intimate, arguably sophisticated.
The Jumbotrons on each end shouted out all the sponsors with a fancy custom animation which had to cost a fortune to produce. A stage was erected in the lower level of the bowl for the speeches and the live auction.
The MSBY Foundation claimed the money raised that night would go towards youth sports. But an event like this had to cost more than anything they’d raise after all the fancy catering and decoration. It had to.
A useless PR stunt event for useless scrubs.
The only good thing was that Shoyo, the team starlet after his debut season, also drew the short straw and was stuck here with Atsumu. The second good thing was that Shoyo liked his company, even when all Atsumu wanted to do was complain.
“Where’s the justice, forcing us to be here? It’s not like they do anything with the money,” he bitched while he fiddled with his cufflinks. The onigiri-shaped opal inlay was visible in the right light, an excuse to brag about his brother if anyone asked. He hoped Shoyo would ask.
“I dunno, Atsumu-san.” Shoyo glanced around the room like he had never seen a court before. “Didn’t MSBY open a community gym last year in Misaki? Maybe we can get them to build another one! Or five!”
Oh Shoyo-kun, your naïveté will destroy you one day, Atsumu thought.
“I think it’s so cool we’re invited!” Shoyo continued. “You get used to the magic of our job then it’s, like, bwuh!” He flapped his arms like an excited Pomeranian wagging its tail. “There’s a whole new part I never knew existed! Raising money for kids!”
His bubbly enthusiasm forced Atsumu to tamp down the reciprocal excitement in his throat. Being near Shoyo did that too often. The way Shoyo looked in a three-piece suit and coiffed hair didn’t help the fuzzy feeling in Atsumu’s chest, either. Nor did the grin, the full force of the sun beaming directly on Atsumu’s face.
“Plus any day I get to spend extra time with you is a great one, Atsumu-san!”
Atsumu nearly snapped his cufflink off. There Shoyo went again, saying these things like Atsumu meant something to him.
Shoyo had no idea every sentence made Atsumu fall deeper in love with him; it was starting to become a problem.
Unfortunately, this was not the place to profess his feelings.
“Yeah!” Atsumu stuttered, looking for any excuse to relax his rapidly beating heart.
A server holding a tray of champagne passed. Atsumu grabbed two flutes and handed one to Shoyo. Neither drank, especially during season, but fancy occasions were an exception. Atsumu decided this counted.
“Cheers.” Atsumu raised his glass, the bubbles fizzing to the top with a satisfying pop. High-quality champagne needed a high-quality toast. “To our extra time together?”
He cringed as the words left his mouth. Atsumu had never cared if he was cool, only scrubs cared about irrelevant things like that. But the past year, he found himself doing anything to be cool around Shoyo.
Shoyo’s smile grew even brighter. If it was anyone else, Atsumu would think they were an asshole relishing in his simping jester act. But this was Shoyo. Shoyo was sincere, always.
Shoyo clinked his glass against Atsumu’s with a Portuguese toast Atsumu didn’t recognize but needed to memorize pronto. And then Shoyo winked.
That damn wink.
Atsumu drained his glass and grabbed a second. Only then did he feel equipped enough to look Shoyo in the eyes again.
“So, shall we?” Shoyo presented his arm for Atsumu to hold, like a lead in a fucking romance movie. Absolutely clueless of his impact to Atsumu’s nervous system. “We’ve gotta mingle until we get that next gym!”
Atsumu grabbed his arm for the joke, and only the joke. Not for the chance to feel the muscles under Shoyo’s suit, or the fantasy others would think he was Shoyo’s pretty date.
“Alright, alright. You win, Shoyo-kun. Let’s schmooze.” Atsumu relented. He squeezed Shoyo’s arm before letting go to walk at his side.
They walked table-to-table, seeking out the donors on their mandated hit-list. The list was another of the Player Relations Manager’s specials. Each player combo was given a list to make sure every donor got attention from at least one person on the team. Helped avoid the inevitable entitlement riot if their money didn’t give them player access.
Atsumu forced a grin and sucked up the polite conversation and quick photos. But after doing this the last few years, the memories of each person came back to him quickly and conversation came easily. And with Shoyo with him, it was fun.
Atsumu whispered in Shoyo’s ear as they headed to the last person on their list. “She’s the biggest donor and has center court season tickets. They say she spends all her disposable income on the Jackals.” Kotetsushiro Sae was an unassuming middle-aged woman in a simple black gown who was assigned to sit next to Shoyo for the rest of the evening. She sat in the seat of honor, if you knew how to decipher the seating chart's complicated political web. “I’ve only talked to her once, but her family has been friends with the MSBY owners for generations and owns Osaka Steel.”
“The ones that sponsor your service aces!”
Shoyo began humming the ditty that Atsumu couldn’t wait to hear in all its glory once games started up soon.
One of the first things Atsumu learned going pro was you could sponsor anything. The limit was your imagination. It was incredible that someone wanted to sponsor something solely about him. And Shoyo singing his song boosted his ego to the stratosphere.
Any time Atsumu earned a service ace, an animated Jackasuke wearing an Osaka Steel branded hard hat would dance across the LED banners. The chorography would end with him picking up a steel beam from a pile and standing it up vertically, tracking Atsumu’s service ace count for a game. Last season, Atsumu learned they had animated to ten. A few more needed to be added this season.
“Yeah, them.” Atsumu chuckled. “She’s next in line for CEO.”
“Osaka Steel, hmm. What’re we supposed to talk to her about? Tariffs?” Shoyo asked. He was dead serious; his earnestness was Atsumu’s favorite things about him.
“I think you’re safe talking about volleyball,” Atsumu said, before adding a healthy side of flirt to see what he could get away with, “or how cool you think my serves are.”
“I’ll tell her you’re the best tri-wielder ever, ever!”
“But I’m the only tri-wielder!” Atsumu balked before muttering, “At least the only good one.”
“That makes you the best!” Shoyo grinned. “I’ll spend extra time talking all about you, Atsumu-san.”
Atsumu returned the grin. He had never been this happy before Shoyo.
At least he was happy until Shoyo glanced along Atsumu’s body and frowned.
Was it something Atsumu said? Did? Was something on his clothes?
He looked down at himself to make sure nothing stained his jacket or trousers. For good measure he brushed off any dust that might have landed on him.
“Hold on.” Shoyo grabbed Atsumu’s wrist, stopping Atsumu in his tracks. He brought Atsumu’s wrist to eye-level and scrutinized the time on Atsumu’s watch. It was Atsumu’s favorite, given to him by his father when he got his first pro contract. He wore it to nice events.
And yes, it was fancy and deserved to be admired, but Shoyo had his own watch. He didn’t need Atsumu’s to read the time.
Shoyo’s grip tightened as he pulled the watch’s crown and adjusted the time. Time stopped around him. The only thing that mattered was the man he loved was centimeters away. Close enough to smell his cologne, close enough to count each of his freckles, close enough for the blood thrumming through Atsumu’s veins to scream his hopes and dreams loud and clear against Shoyo’s skin.
Shoyo meticulously moved the time to be exactly five minutes fast. Atsumu was certain because of the Jumbotron behind Shoyo. With the time calibrated to an atomic clock, officials were guaranteed games would start at broadcast time.
But Shoyo didn’t seem to care it didn’t match. And if he dictated the time, Atsumu would bend to Shoyo’s whims.
“There.” Shoyo admired his work as he pushed the crown back into place. “Now you’ll have more minutes every time you check your watch. Extra time!”
“Extra time for what?” Atsumu asked, breathless as Shoyo’s fingers pressed against his pulse.
“Whatever you want, Atsumu-san.” Shoyo’s thumb trailed along Atsumu’s skin until it found his cufflink. The soft smile on Shoyo’s lips was sweet enough Atsumu almost dipped in for a taste. “I like the onigiri. I bet Osamu-san is as proud of you as you are of him.”
Atsumu wanted to spend every second of his extra time with Shoyo. There was no competition.
“You two seem close.” A laugh made Shoyo jump a respectable normal-teammates distance away from Atsumu.
Annoyed and desperate to touch Shoyo again, Atsumu wrapped his arm around him. He answered with an eye roll, “Well, he is my wing-spiker, ‘course we’re close.”
Then Atsumu realized who he was talking to.
The heir apparent donor on their list stared at the two of them. She was no longer sitting in her seat like he swore she was a second earlier.
Atsumu had shamelessly flirted right in front of her, extremely inappropriate for their current company, and then talked back to her like she was a scrub.
All his PR training was wasted. The GM was going to kill him. Coach Foster was going to kill him, then bench him. He could still play if he was dead, but he couldn’t stomach Shoyo’s career cut short here because of careless words directed at the most important donor.
He had to fix this.
He shared a look with Shoyo, relaying the gravity of what they needed to accomplish. Shoyo understood immediately. Only Osamu had managed to understand him like this before.
Atsumu and Shoyo bowed, heads as low to the floor as they could reach. Shoyo won due to his daily yoga practice. Their bow routine was worthy of first place at the manzai comedy M-1 Grand Prix, even if they were a double boke duo.
“No need for that.” She beckoned for them to stand properly.
As Atsumu stood up, he analyzed what more he should do to mitigate the situation.
She didn’t seem annoyed, if anything there was a sparkle in her eyes Atsumu could not place. Amusement? Tipsiness? Room for redemption.
“You haven’t had the honor of meeting Shoyo-kun, ma’am. Shoyo-kun meet Kotetsushiro-sama.”
“No need to be so formal. Call me Sae, please.”
“R-right!” Shoyo stuttered. “Sae-san.”
She skipped the formalities and leaned into Shoyo’s personal space, resting a hand on his shoulder. She conspiratorially glanced at Atsumu as she broke into gossip loud enough for Atsumu to hear.
“I’ve never seen Atsumu light up on the court as much as with you,” she said. These donor types always had the balls to refer to the players so familiarly. Normally Atsumu hated it. He wasn’t a racehorse; he was a person like anybody else and deserved respect! Sae, however, came across differently. Atsumu didn’t know why. “What’s your secret, Shoyo? How do you make him so happy?”
Atsumu knew Shoyo had only one drink, but he swore he could see a drunken flush splattered on Shoyo’s face.
“Secret? I don’t do anything special.”
“That type of happiness is rare, Shoyo. Keep it up.”
She was right. Shoyo did make him happy.
There wasn’t a setter happier than Atsumu. His decision when he was seventeen that Shoyo would become an important part of his life, a choice he spent the subsequent years nurturing with encouraging texts, memes, and the occasional international phone call before Shoyo finally finally finally joined him on MSBY, paid off in spades.
Forget setters, Osamu would never catch up either. How could he, when Atsumu was the happiest man on earth.
Shoyo stiffened and nodded. “I plan on it, ma’am!”
“You do?” Atsumu asked, amazed.
He was unable to probe further. The music quieted as the Foundation’s Director made her way to the podium for the next part of the programming. Atsumu’s cue that he should take his seat.
“Atsumu, dear, we’ll catch up after the live auction,” Sae said, pulling Shoyo with her. Shoyo gave him a nervous smile. “Lots to catch up on after I talk to Shoyo.”
Why did he feel like the daughter of a dad interrogating a boyfriend before he asked for the father’s blessing? And why was Atsumu the girlfriend in all these fantasies tonight?
An issue to unpack another day, he had the live auction to sit through first.
Each Gala, the Foundation would steal (receive from the team) important game equipment to sell to the highest bidder. They’d auction not only used equipment and jersey kits (washed, Atsumu hoped), but milestone keepsakes, VIP experiences, access to coaches or management. The stuff the donors went nuts over because it helped them show off to their buddies.
Each player was guaranteed the ball they scored their first official point on, but everything else was fair game. One year, the shoes Atsumu wore when he spiked his two-hundredth service ace were auctioned off for a hefty sum. Sports were statistics. Every game beat some type of record, and every record someone cared about, regardless of significance. Which meant money.
He wasn’t sure how the equipment guys were convinced to give away this stuff, it felt too precious. Couldn’t it be put in a museum instead of a donor’s basement collection?
Thank God Atsumu took fate into his own hands last season and hid the first Hinata-Miya minus tempo quick volleyball. That ball was the culmination of all the hard work he and Shoyo did independently before reuniting side-by-side. It was priceless, and it was his. He had plans to display it when it wouldn’t weird Shoyo out. One day, with time.
The first auction item, a jersey signed by the main roster with the number “19” for the current club season, was presented to the crowd. After the obligatory oohs and aahs, the Foundation Director, who somehow had the skills to double as an auctioneer, began with the starting bid number. She rambled ever increasing numbers as partygoers raised their bid paddles.
After two items, Atsumu got bored. Finding Shoyo’s gaze at the table directly next to his, they pretended their bid paddles were racquets until he got flagged as a genuine bid for a rare wine. A second later, he was outbid, thank God. Being on the hook for an unexpected donation was not in the cards for him that night.
But it was Shoyo’s first Gala, he couldn’t assume the same was true for him.
<Atsumu: You gonna bid on anything, Shoyo-kun?>
Atsumu texted with his phone under the table to keep up the façade he cared about the conversation between a confectionary manufacturer’s marketing executive (donor and sponsor, what good Samaritans) and an Osaka prep school’s principal at his table. His hand jittered with the good buzz of now three glasses of champagne as he tapped against the phone waiting for a reply.
<Shoyo: Nah>
<Shoyo: I’m gonna get us a new gym!>
<Atsumu: ?>
Instead of replying, Shoyo scooted out of his chair.
The Director cleared her throat for the next bid.
“Our next item is the gift of time.” A spotlight shone on Shoyo as he walked on stage. “Two hours of private volleyball lessons with Hinata Shoyo-senshuu! Or as people on social media like to call it, the ‘married-for-a-day’ package!”
Atsumu’s jaw dropped as Shoyo waved to the crowd with a smile. None of their contracts required this type of personal appearance. Shoyo was doing this out of the kindness of his heart to raise money.
Atsumu thought it was fantastic. But then he thought harder.
Private lessons? With his Shoyo-kun?
He clenched his teeth at the thought of some wannabee volleyball-wife winning tonight. She’d pretend to learn how to play and dig the ball with intentionally dogshit form just so Shoyo would touch her. His hands would touch her to correct her. Soft whispers of encouragement in her ear. They’d fall in love, of course. And then she’d take all his time, all that sweet extra time Atsumu hoped Shoyo would share with him. And then he’d be stolen from Atsumu for good.
Man or woman, the outcome would be the same. This married-for-a-day prize was going to become married-for-life.
Atsumu couldn’t have that. Not unless it was him.
“One million yen,” Atsumu called out, his paddle raised high.
The room fell silent. The stage lighting made Shoyo’s cheeks a brilliant red, as he stared at Atsumu in bewilderment.
“Miya-senshuu, we haven’t announced the starting bid yet.” The Director laughed. She checked a piece of paper. “Which was going to be half that, but one million it is! Any other takers?”
A call for 1,250,000 yen came from Shoyo’s table. Sae waved her auction paddle, then turned to Atsumu and raised an eyebrow. A challenge.
This fucking cougar wasn’t taking Shoyo from him. He didn’t care who she was.
“Alright, I hear one million two-fifty, do I hear –,”
“One and a half.” Atsumu cut her off.
“Two.” Sae looked at Atsumu directly in the eyes and had the audacity to smirk at him. “You must really want those private lessons.”.
“He’s mine!” Atsumu growled, knowing the entire arena could hear him. “Two and a half million yen.”
Atsumu was confident all of Shoyo’s time was his.
But then he lost. By a technicality.
Sae outbid him and humiliated him, jumping straight to the buy-out price at five million yen. Only five million yen, for two hours of Shoyo’s time. The fucking staff low-balled the price. Atsumu would have paid his whole annual contract for Shoyo, including his signing bonus.
Auction items passed as Atsumu sat in a daze. He sulked as he watched the votive candles on the table flicker, attempting to extinguish them by force of will alone.
Atsumu ignored Shoyo’s rapid succession of texts asking what happened. The barrage was relentless, but Atsumu kept to his vow of silence to avoid further humiliation, swiping away the notification as he read each message. No read-receipts for Shoyo.
He refused to answer, but in the corner of his eye he watched Shoyo flittering in his chair, eyes shifting between his phone and in Atsumu’s direction. The nerves of having a wife picked out for him must have gotten to him. The future Kotetsushiro Shoyo, Shoyo could do much worse.
Shoyo sent one last text, which finally took Atsumu out of his trance.
<Shoyo: Sae-san wants to meet at the locker room at ten>
Ten cut it close. Closing remarks were at ten fifteen, including the players saying goodbye on stage. But he would oblige to allow Sae to rub her win in his face.
Atsumu finally met Shoyo’s gaze and nodded his agreement.
<Shoyo: Thank you <3 >
Atsumu didn’t think much of the heart emoji, Shoyo sent them to him all the time. He picked it up in Brazil. So, when in Rome, Atsumu learned to mimic it as his standard response.
<Atsumu: <3 >
An eye still on Shoyo, he watched Shoyo immediately relax, Shoyo’s trademark sunshine returned.
Having five minutes until the meeting time, Atsumu dipped out early. He couldn’t stomach more of this mood in public; a better use of his time involved staring at the heart Shoyo sent him, wishing it meant something more.
At exactly ten per his wristwatch, Shoyo and Sae entered the locker room hallway. The moment they rounded the corner, Shoyo ran to Atsumu. There were enough sparkles in his eyes to create his own fireworks.
“Atsumu-san! You missed it!” Shoyo cheered as they returned to the zero personal space Atsumu craved. He looked up at Atsumu with a grin. “They said they’re building another gym! We did it!”
Atsumu had to say goodbye to their potential, didn’t he. Now Shoyo had a future wife snatching him away. He’d miss this.
“How cool, Shoyo-kun.” Atsumu smiled weakly, every muscle in agony as he faked joy for Shoyo’s sake. He patted Shoyo’s shoulder, too robotic to be convincing. “A gym!”
Shoyo hugged Atsumu, rendering him speechless. “It’s all thanks to you! My lessons pushed us high enough!”
“I could make it two. I could call up my Board right now and get a grant approved.”
After hours sitting in the dimly lit arena, the harsh fluorescent light made Atsumu squint. Sae walked toward them. The click of her heels reverberated off the cold concrete walls, echoing an emptiness in a space usually bursting with energy on game day.
Atsumu unwrapped Shoyo from him but kept a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t want to let go yet.
Sae’s amused look was back. Atsumu wanted to wipe it off her face. But he couldn’t. As a top fan and donor, he held his tongue and let her speak.
“I’ll give you Shoyo’s private lessons package, too,” she said. “Since you wanted it so badly.”
“Why?” Atsumu asked. “You won it fair and square.”
“Just give me something in return. Something I want that they’d never sell.”
Atsumu’s mind raced for what he could provide. She had everything he did, amplified to a level regular people couldn’t fathom. Money, connections, access, power. The only thing Atsumu had that she didn’t was a twin, and Shoyo’s attention.
“What is it?” Shoyo asked.
Sae grinned. It made Atsumu sweat in his tux.
“I want you two to kiss each other. On the lips.”
“Why?!” Atsumu managed to choke out. Why would she pimp her future husband out to kiss someone else? Did she have a cuckhold fetish?
“Because I think it could be fun.” She shrugged. “You’ve got on-court chemistry, I want to see it off the court, too.”
Shoyo was quiet next to him. The flicker of a dark hunger danced in his eyes, the hunger he knew so well on the court. He wanted that second gym and was willing to do anything to get it.
“Only if it’s here, not in front of everyone,” Shoyo said.
He had to be dreaming, Shoyo wanted to kiss him. Nothing, not even Osamu quitting volleyball, surprised Atsumu this much.
“I get to take a picture,” Sae said. Before Atsumu could argue, she clarified: “Just for myself.”
“Are you taking Shoyo after we do it?” Atsumu couldn’t say the word kiss, it felt unfathomable. That he, Miya Atsumu, may finally kiss Shoyo. The Hinata Shoyo. The universe had to take something from him to give him something so good.
Sae cocked her head. “Take him? Why would I take him?”
“You outbid me.”
“I know exactly how much you make, Atsumu. Not the wisest financial decision risking spending it all on Shoyo.” Sae laughed as Atsumu tried to argue with her. “You wanted him so badly, I had to help. Besides, I have plenty of cash to spare.”
The gears were whirling in his head. Maybe there was a God or two out there on his side.
“So all I have to do is kiss him and Shoyo gets his gym? No strings attached?”
“None.”
“Let’s do it, Atsumu-san.”
He willed his heart to slow down. This was really happening.
Shoyo took a deep breath and put on a brave face. Atsumu realized Shoyo had never asked for this. Not for the unwanted donor attention, not for the pressure of being Atsumu’s happiness, not for this kiss.
Atsumu wouldn’t embarrass Shoyo further. With the gym on the line, he wouldn’t back down. But he would make it chaste enough for plausible deniability.
He gulped and leaned down as his entire body vibrated, screaming at him to get the kiss he craved. He inched closer until his lips brushed against Shoyo’s. It was the gentlest touch, but Shoyo still tasted like heaven.
After one beat and he heard a camera shutter, Atsumu pulled away, hoping this was satisfactory for Sae.
But Shoyo had other plans. Shoyo’s hand wrapped around Atsumu’s waist firmly, like his hand was meant to hold him. He spun Atsumu into a dip. Before Atsumu could complain, Shoyo’s lips found his.
This was a real kiss. Atsumu turned giddy from dizziness. There was no room for denial. Shoyo’s lips were soft and warm, and dare Atsumu say, wanting. Shoyo’s tongue flicked against Atsumu’s lip, a surprise but a welcomed one. It was bold, but that was Shoyo for you. Atsumu reciprocated in kind.
He placed his hands on Shoyo’s chest to steady himself. Shoyo continued kissing him like no one was watching despite the click of the camera and kissed him like Shoyo’s life depended on it.
With a gym on the line, maybe it did.
But the way Shoyo held him, hand strategically placed to avoid rumpling Atsumu’s tux but holding him so firmly, and the smile Atsumu could feel in the kiss, it felt bigger.
Maybe Shoyo had been trying to tell Atsumu something with every texted heart. With every reciprocated flirting attempt, with every touch and insistence to be glued at the hip.
Maybe Shoyo wanted him, too.
After a lifetime of joy, Shoyo pulled away. Atsumu would have killed to repeat it again in an infinite Groundhog Day of kissing Shoyo. A goofy grin lit up Shoyo’s face, the kind that showed off his dimples, as he continued to hold Atsumu in place. Atsumu couldn’t help but smile back.
“I thought I’d have to tell you to not half ass it!” Sae giggled as she stared at her phone. “Thank you! This is all I’ve ever wanted. I’ll cherish it forever.”
Atsumu realized the compromising position he was in and pulled out of Shoyo’s arms. It didn’t seem to matter; all Sae cared about was her photo.
Satisfied, she began to leave.
Before she turned the corner, Atsumu asked, “That’s it? Why’d you do all of this?”
“I already said that,” she replied. She admired her handiwork with a smile. “I want you to be happy and Shoyo makes you the happiest.”
Atsumu immediately understood. Sae was the type of fan that fantasized about players being together. Delusional, but harmless if they kept their distance. She got lucky with this preferred pairing. Very lucky.
“And looks like you two have a bit of extra time alone together.” She waved them off but added one last request. “Enjoy it before you have to go back.”
Atsumu checked his wristwatch. It read 9:59PM.
“Oh shit, we’ve gotta go!” He grabbed Shoyo’s hand. They needed to get back to the arena!
“We’ve got five extra minutes, Atsumu-san.” Shoyo readjusted their hands to twine their fingers together, keeping Atsumu in place. “Extra time, remember?”
Right, his watch was fast now. And he had five minutes alone with the man who just kissed him senseless. Who was holding his hand.
Neither of them knew what to say next.
Shoyo broke the silence first. “That wasn’t how I wanted that to go,” he admitted. He didn’t let go of Atsumu’s hand.
“Was I bad?”
“N-no!” The shock on Shoyo’s face was palpable, making Atsumu laugh. “It wasn’t fair, I wanted our first kisses to go differently.”
Atsumu swiveled his head, mouth agape. His hands moved instinctively to land on Shoyo’s waist. “First kiss? You’ve wanted to kiss me?”
Shoyo cocked his head. “Wasn’t it obvious?”
No, it wasn’t. Yes, it was. It didn’t matter! Shoyo wanted to kiss him! More than once! And he wanted to kiss Atsumu again.
Again.
Atsumu leaned in for their third kiss. Their first on their own terms.
“You like me, huh?”
Again.
He kissed Shoyo again.
“Yeah.” Shoyo licked his lips. “I much more than just like you, Atsumu-san.”
And he kissed Shoyo again.
“Enough to wanna be ‘married-for-a-day’ during my private lessons, Shoyo-kun?”
Shoyo flushed deeply. His face scrunched up in an adorable display of embarrassment. Atsumu had seen it only once before, the time Shoyo admitted he had spent every day in Brazil dreaming about hitting Atsumu’s minus tempo set.
How long had Shoyo thought about being together, and the distance they’d fly?
Atsumu wanted to know everything. “You hear wedding bells?”
“Let’s try a date first,” Shoyo managed, the redness in his face refused to leave. “See where it goes.”
Atsumu cupped Shoyo’s chin and gave him one last kiss for the road.
Atsumu rubbed his thumb along Shoyo’s jaw and savored their last minute alone. Shoyo stared up at him like Atsumu was everything he ever wanted.
“Deal. I’ve got all the extra time in the world to make more happen, all the time for you.”
“So cheesy,” Shoyo snuck in a kiss before grabbing Atsumu’s hand to return to the party. “Like the leading man in a made-for-TV romcom.”
“I don’t mind if you wanna be the lead.” Atsumu said.
“We both can be the lead!” Shoyo squeezed Atsumu’s hand. “In this one, the couple builds a gym for a small town and revives the whole community! Through volleyball!”
“Sounds like a good movie.”
“The best. Just like you, Atsumu-san!”
He’d endure going to this God forsaken Gala every year, if it meant being with Shoyo.
Atsumu squeezed Shoyo’s hand back.
It turned out Atsumu was a simple man. Aside from volleyball, it only took one thing to make him happy.
Time with Shoyo.