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voleurdesoleil-archive · 3 years

Text

The things you feel inside

Fandom: Haikyuu!

Characters: Ushijima Wakatoshi, Bokuto Koutarou

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: this was a gift for my pe, and I didn't plan on posting it here but I'm really proud of it so here you go

read on ao3

-Wasn't the captain's reunion supposed to be today?

-It is.

-Then why are you still on your phone?

Ushijima stares at Tendou's text, he doesn't know what to answer. He’d like to tell him that it’s because he’s not here with him, but Ushijima knows he can’t say that, it wouldn’t be fair to his husband. He knows Tendou would be capable of giving up his store and buying a plane ticket if he sent that, so he keeps it for himself and lies. He tells him the other captains went out to order food when Kuroo is actually in the kitchen, on the phone with some fast food place, ordering for all of them, while the others are playing video games with Kenma.

"Hey!"

Ushijima lifts his head from his phone as Bokuto flops himself next to him on the couch.

"You're quieter than usual, are you okay?" Bokuto asks, concern seeping through his voice.

He's not. He wants to say it out loud, but Ushijima knows that if he does, it will only result in more questions and he isn't ready to open up. Not yet.

So, when Ushijima's answer doesn't come, Bokuto adds: "You know I'm here if you need to talk. "

Ushijima nods. They aren't close but ever since they met Bokuto always made sure all of them felt at ease or that no one was feeling left out during their meetings. People often seem to mistake MSBY's ace for someone careless or egotistical, but Bokuto has proven on multiple occasions that he is someone with great empathy who cares deeply for people he loves and Ushijima really admires him for it.

Ushijima's attention is drawn away as his phone lights up with another text from Tendou.

"How's Tendou doing?" Bokuto asks as Ushijima types a reply to his husband. "I saw him in a food magazine the other day. He looked super cool with his chef's hat and all!"

"He is doing great. His chocolaterie has been getting a lot of success thanks to social media. He says people really like his "vibe", although I'm not quite sure what he means by that. And-" Ushijima starts rummaging through his photos, until he finds pictures of Vabo-chan and other volleyball related figurines that he shows Bokuto. "-he's been trying to create a volleyball collection, but his colleagues aren't really up for it."

"Wow man! They're awesome! You should put them in the groupchat, the guys would love them!"

Ushijima nods as he gets another text from Tendou telling him he's going to open the shop soon and urging him to have fun.

"You miss him, don't you?"

"I do…"

"Must be hard. I'm lucky that all my partners live around here, but Kuroo and Kenma often have to go away for work and I miss them a lot when they do. So I can't imagine how hard it must be to be so far away from Tendou…"

Ushijima doesn't quite know what to answer to that so he stays silent as his heart clenches a bit tighter in his chest. Bokuto's deduction is correct. Of course it's hard being away from Tendou, harder than what he thought actually.

When Tendou left after high school it was only supposed to be for a couple of years - he had gotten an internship with a renowned pâtissier, he couldn’t let the opportunity go away, so he took it - and he did come back after that. They lived together for a few years, bought their first house together. They even got married.

But last year Tendou decided he wanted to have his own chocolaterie in France, so Ushijima let him go. It was only for a few years, until Tendou could expand and open a chocolaterie in Japan too. They had done it already, so Ushijima thought it would be easy. But this time it was different. Harder. Simply because they had shared a home.

They had learned to live together, to appreciate each other's company. They had cared for the other when he fell sick. They had prepared the other's favorite meal just because they wanted to surprise him. They got used to coming back to the other after a long day at work or after practice. Ushijima got used to trying Tendou's new recipes just like Tendou got used to seeing Ushijima bring home plants on the verge of death to revive them. They got used to each other's quirks and routine.

So it is hard. Coming back home to an empty house. Not having to open the windows because of a funky smell coming from the kitchen. Waking up in an empty bed. Not being able to touch each other. Saying he misses Tendou terribly would be an understatement.

And what's not helping is the fact that he hasn't seen Daichi in a while either. Because in addition to missing his husband, he now also misses his boyfriend.

Until this morning, he thought that he would finally be able to see him but that was only when Kuroo wished Daichi a happy anniversary that Ushijima remembered his boyfriend wouldn't be here tonight as he was taking Sugawara and Asahi out to dinner for their anniversary.

"Do you want to cuddle?"

"What?" Ushijima blinks, thinking he misunderstood.

"I know it's coming out of nowhere, but Daichi said you're a pretty cuddly person and I thought, maybe, it would make you feel a little better, but if you're not comfortable I totally get that, I mean we don't really know each other that well. I just wanna help and you do look like you give the best cuddles…did I say that? Sorry I'm rambling. "

Trying to hide his embarrassment, Bokuto lifts his arms to rub the back of his neck and gives him a sheepish smile, causing Ushijima to let out a chuckle.

He takes a moment to consider the idea. He indeed has been craving physical affection, so Bokuto’s offer sounds appealing. On the other hand, although Ushijima loves to cuddle, it takes him a while to get comfortable enough around someone to even just consider cuddling with them and, as MSBY’s ace stated it, they’re aren’t really close. So Ushijima doesn’t exactly know why he answers:

"I would love that Bokuto"

"For real?"

"If you didn't change your mind, yes."

Bokuto almost throws himself on Ushijima but stops midway. "Wait, how do you want to do this?"

"I don't know?"

"Okay, first maybe we should- can you stand up for a sec?" Ushijima does as he is told and watches as Bokuto folds out the sofa bed to make more room for them. MSBY's ace then runs out of the room to come back carrying way more pillows than they need. "We'll be a little more comfortable like that." Bokuto says before letting himself fall in the mountain of pillows.

Ushijima pushes aside a few of them to make space for himself beside Bokuto. They stay still for a while, facing each other. Ushijima isn't particularly uncomfortable but Tendou often is the one who initiates their cuddling session and while Ushijima has been working on being the one to initiate them with Daichi he still hasn't fully worked out how to.

Bokuto must sense Ushijima's hesitation because he opens his arms and softly says: "You can lay on me for starters, or maybe you'd be more comfortable spooning, you tell me."

Ushijima takes in Bokuto's reassuring smile, which reminds him of Daichi's the first time they cuddled together - they have that same gentle smile that instantly puts you at ease - and finally dares getting closer to him. He hesitantly drapes an arm across his waist and checks on Bokuto's expression to make sure he's comfortable with this before laying his head on his chest. Bokuto's arms instinctively find their place around him.

"Would you like me to play with your hair?"

"Please…" The word comes out of Ushijima's mouth as barely more than a whisper.

This is awkward at first but, as Bokuto slowly runs his fingers through Ushijima's hair, brushing aside the stray hair lying about his forehead, his whole body relaxes and he makes himself more comfortable in Bokuto's arms.

The ace's embrace is tight around him but offers just the right amount of give, so that Ushijima can escape if he ever feels the need to. His own hold on the ace's waist becomes less stiff and Bokuto shifts slightly so that their bodies fit together more naturally. Their legs tangle together and a faint smile makes its way on Ushijima's lips.

He remembers the first time he and Tendou cuddled. They weren't together yet at the time and, just like today, Ushijima had been getting overwhelmed with his feelings. He remembers how grounding and soothing Tendou's feathering touch had been at the time. How all the stress he had accumulated had melted away when, with a simple touch, Tendou's brightness enveloped him. And right now, subject to Bokuto's touch, this is exactly how he feels.

Almost as a way to prove him how vulnerable he is, Ushijima's breath catches in his throat as Bokuto's thumb starts rubbing up and down the small of his back. Daichi once mentioned that one particular detail about cuddling with Bokuto and Ushijima now understands what he meant when he said that felt heavenly as that small movement sends shivers down his spine.

"Is this okay?" Bokuto asks.

Ushijima nods against his chest and mumbles a soft "yes" as his breathing catches up with Bokuto's.

Ushijima hears the door open behind him but he doesn't look back to see who has entered the room. Whistling fills the room and Ushijima has a hunch Oikawa is the one who entered the room. Bokuto's hand leaves his hair and he intimates to the other captain to stay quiet before combing through Ushijima's hair again.

When they're alone again, he brings MSBY's ace a little closer and, basking in Bokuto's warmth, Ushijima closes his eyes for a second and the ambient noise slowly fades until all he can hear is the steady rhythm of Bokuto's heartbeat. He feels safe.

___

Later that night, Ushijima is on the bus back home when he gets a text from Bokuto.

It's a picture of them both, asleep, cuddled up on the couch.

-Kuroo took it

-Look how adorable we are!

Ushijima can't help a smile to grow on his face. He's so glad they're friends.

#haikyuu #ushijima wakatoshi #Bokuto koutarou #they're both polyamorous but they aren't together #I just love them so much and think they'd make amazing friends #I know this is not my usual content but I don't care #ali's writing

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arigatouiris · 4 years

Text

zenosyne // m. atsumu x reader

Author’s Note: I like breaking cocky anime men that I find attractive and giving them a lot of angst because I’m evil and how much I love Miya Atsumu is beyond comparison uwu Hope ya’ll like this angst fest~

Also I understand that cheating is a bit of an iffy topic, and I’m sorry if this material offends anyone here. I can picture this scenario and I’m sorry if some of you don’t agree. Feel free to let me know what you think.

Word count: 5649 words

Pairing: Miya Atsumu x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, trigger warnings, abusive households, alcoholic parent, fluff at the end

The average human being took 21 days to break a habit; but if that average human was Miya Atsumu, breaking the habit was as sporadic as the weather in Tokyo. He never liked Tokyo as much, and found home within Hyogo, but his games had him move so much that it sometimes made him yearn for a place that no longer existed.

Miya Atsumu did not have habits that he wanted to forget. Unless that habit included staring into the stands, searching for you, it was harmless.

After their penultimate win for that season, the MSBY Black Jackals celebrated; the crowd was loud, the cheers were everywhere—Atsumu always hated the loud that came with the audience, but he tolerated it because you would stand among them, waving at him, a large grin on your face, all directed at him. He’d raise his hand and hold it in the air for a couple of seconds, for you to see, and you would—before your grin only got wider. Atsumu would never admit what that sight made him feel, a sight that he believed he’d see for the rest of his life; but there he was, during their penultimate win that season, and you were not there.

It wasn’t even a force of habit, because his eyes never landed on the stands before. Or had they? Did Atsumu always do this? It had been over three weeks since permanently severing ties with you, and yet, his eyes kept travelling back there.

Three weeks—as long as it took to break a habit.

It was no breakup, Atsumu remembered very clearly how the phone conversation went. There was no verbal acceptance of the relationship ending, it was just one fact over another, and a misplaced goodbye from your end. You’d always managed to bag the good person card, and he didn’t mind giving it to you, either way.

“Miya-san!”

Shoyo’s form created a disturbance in the blond’s mind—the shorter male’s hands were raised to give him a high-five, which Atsumu absentmindedly delivered. But his mind was elsewhere. They say absence was also a presence, on a metaphysical level, the absence of scorpions falling from the sky itself contains the absence. The moment the mind comprehends the absence of something, that something is perpetually present. It was inevitable to miss you, because your absence screamed your presence louder. And he hated himself and hated you, too, for the ruin you’d made of each other.

But, you would be there. During every single game.

Starting from high school to how his career passed in the Black Jackals, Miya Atsumu’s sassy girlfriend would be present in the stands, cheering quietly, chuckling at his misses, nervous at his slips, and ecstatic at his victories.

Miya Atsumu wouldn’t call you perfect, but he knew in all angles that you were. Once you let someone in, you were impossible to forget. There was something about you that crawled inside a person and built a nice comfy home there, your goodness expanding until it filled every limb. You were strangely relatable to an M&M, he thought. A reverse M&M, all sweet and smooth on the outside with a tough shell inside.

It went without saying that back in high school, he was a bit of a jerk; not just anyone would catch his eye. And if Miya Atsumu was dating just one girl from his third year till he finished university and entered a sports contract with the MSBY Black Jackals, you were truly something else. In high school, you were in a non-canon school band, you sang, played the guitar, and you were part of the track team. You scored well in studies, you wrote papers based on some research findings that he barely had any idea about—you were practically all over the place and it was hard to miss you.

Miya Atsumu wouldn’t call you perfect, but he knew he’d be an idiot if he used any other word to describe you.

He loved every second of being with you because you wouldn’t make it easy for him. The second Atsumu felt like things were becoming stagnant, you’d either go missing or you’d throw at him a new challenge—you’d even fucking beat him at volleyball if you had to (thankfully, this never happened). You were constantly moving, leading the way, the complete opposite of what Atsumu thought most relationships would entitle with him around. it wasn’t that you tried hard to please him, no; it was that you were this way all this while, and Atsumu was just lucky.

You confessed to him first, serenading him in front of the entire volleyball team—throwing him for a toss and then laughing at his reaction of absolute surprise. It was as if he wasn’t allowed to be surprised at all, because there you were, pointing at his face and gawking, laughing till you had tears in your eyes.

“What’s with that face, ‘Tsumu-Tsumu?”

Oh, how you got on his nerves.

After that incident, when the school walked around talking of how you’d humiliated Miya Atsumu by throwing a pretend confession, he’d known the truth. You’d never pull something like that without a base; he knew that your words and feelings were true, but he also knew that you’d not just stop there. So what if you liked him? That did not mean you were under his beck and call—and god, that drove him crazy.

“Go be someone first, pretty boy,” you’d said and he had no idea what the fuck you meant.

As much as Atsumu loved back and forth flirting, with you, it just got frustrating because he knew that he was the one being thrown under a bus more than you were.

Two weeks went by with air flirting and tension filled winks in the corridor, which thus forced the blond to physically drag you into the broom closet in Inarizaki’s volleyball club gym, and seduce you using the mere power of his lips, tongue and hands. His words were a demand and that made you chuckle, that chuckle that made him want to simultaneously end your life or scream into the skies—he had no idea. But, you would never admit that the way he kissed you right then had stolen your words and the laugh was merely a shy response to maintain the cool demeanor you had so flawlessly carried out till then.

“Miya-san, is everything okay?” Shoyo’s voice alerted Atsumu when they were heading out of the stadium.

Atsumu ruffled the boy’s orange head before chuckling, “Ya just caught me a bit off guard there.”

It had nothing to do with Shoyo. He walked out with his team toward where the bus was, and a slight ringing sounded in the blond’s ear. He was aware that hearing a C minor in your ear constantly when no noise surrounded them was an indication of deafness, but right then, only your face kept flashing in his mind because you were the one who told him that.

You would tell him a lot of things, starting from random facts about volleyball players in Russia, to the way dolphins communicated, or even about the first man who climbed the tallest peak in the world.

But, Miya Atsumu never realized that you would never, ever speak about yourself. The attention was always directed either at him or the world, and it hurt Atsumu to even think of how he never even noticed that she remained invisible all throughout this time. it was as if she didn’t want to speak about herself, like she was living a double life but there was no way Atsumu would know about it because he just never asked.

Dating Miya Atsumu, he realized, was like dating a narcissist; the only difference being, he genuinely cared for you but he wasn’t accustomed to think of others before himself.

No one had told him it was a problem until Osamu had pointed it out, just days after breaking up with you. He was a walking box of angst waiting to spill onto the person who tried to help him, and there wasn’t anyway Atsumu could change unless the person came equipped.

It was unfair, and strangely, close to impossible.

“You were looking at the stands.” Shoyo pointed out, when they got into the bus.

Atsumu blinked before humming, wanting nothing more than to ignore this boy’s curious claims. But, Shoyo’s eyes were nothing like yours—your curiosity was directed at him at all times, but it was never demanding.

Even if you weren’t the sort to direct any attention toward yourself, Atsumu didn’t want to think he was so bad that he wouldn’t have listened if you had just asked. If you had just told him, about anything at all that was bothering you, he’d downright throw everything aside and listen to you; but saying that now, after everything was broken, was rather easy and convenient, even his mind was telling him that these excuses were privileged.

You came with a stubbornness he hated in others, but somehow grew to love in you. And that trait of yours prevented you from telling Atsumu anything about your life at all.

The first time Miya Atsumu tried to break up with you, he wasn’t really thinking straight.

The relationship was moving in a steady pace, something he wasn’t used to with girls. You were busy with track, he was busy with volleyball—what he didn’t know back then was that you were busy with academics, track, your band, and a whole lot of other things he’d only learn of years later. But, the reason Atsumu chose to break up with you for the first time was because you were just never around.

You’d come to his every game; this went without saying, but you’d disappear right after. You’d reply to his messages hours after he’d sent them. You’d come to school earlier than anyone he knew, and he’d see you leave when his practice was about to end.

Communicating you became a task and Atsumu didn’t need to be responsible for that, and while this remained a good, solid reason to break up with you, he still never asked you if you were okay. If Atsumu could go back in time, he’d slap some sense into himself, but things passed in a way only to make him regret in the future—he had no say in it now.

He approached you one evening just before practice, noticed how your winter uniform clung to your skin, your face a bit red from the biting cold, your hands buried in your pockets. Atsumu wouldn’t miss the way his stomach flipped at your eyes sparkling to meet his.

“What’s up, Tsumu?”

“Ya know... This ain’t workin’ out.”

It was the first time he had seen you cry. While 17-year old Atsumu believed it was mainly because he tried breaking up with you, 23-year old Atsumu recalled the way your eyes were already red before he told you, of how there was a mild bruise under your left eye, how your hair was disheveled—and he remembered faintly hearing you tell him that you don’t get cold too easily, so the fact that your hands were shoved in your pockets meant that you were hiding something.

If only Atsumu had known back then.

“H-Hey, (y/n)?”

Just before you were about to tell him it’s alright and it was stupid of you to burst out crying like that, Atsumu’s arms wrapped around your considerably smaller frame and pulled you close.

“We’ll work it out, yeah?”

He was a tad bit annoyed that it didn’t go according to plan, but if he knew how much of a dick he was being back then, Miya Atsumu could have saved himself a great deal of hurt.

Pulling away, he noticed you’d already wiped your tears away. You smile at him, apologetically, invariably throwing his heart to the side, and take his hand in yours.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

And you did. You delivered each time and Miya Atsumu was always thrown for a toss. But, there was a gnawing feeling at the back of his throat, which Atsumu would only realize was guilt years later.

The first time he finds out that your father was a drunk was when you make a dark joke about it.

I’d say that my dad is an alcohol enthusiast, not alcoholic, per say.

The way you said it, it sounded hilarious to him right then. You were laughing, the boys around him were laughing—he should have judged from Osamu’s expression that one of your habits was to turn trauma into humor, but Atsumu ignored his twin brother’s expression and just focused on how intoxicatingly hilarious you were.

As he sat in the bus that was taking the MSB Black Jackals home, Miya Atsumu regretted laughing at that joke.

If only.

Those must be the saddest two words in the world, Miya Atsumu thought.

On some nights, he wonders if his heart would be filled with anything but this regret that was blinding him day in and day out. He had a bad case of the 3:00 am guilts; the ones when he’d simply just lie in bed awake and replay all those things he didn't do right. Because, as he knew, nothing solved insomnia like a nice warm glass of regret, depression and self-loathing.

“Yer a cool girl, aren’t ya?”

“Is that what you see me as, Tsumu-Tsumu?”

He remembers chuckling, ignoring the fact that your eyes looked puffy.

“Yer the coolest girl in the world to me, (y/n)-chan.”

It was then, drowning in regret, while the bus moved him back to his hotel room, did Miya Astumu realize that living with heartbreak was easy if only it weren’t accompanied by regret.

He hates thinking of how you’d been so supportive, and how you’d still visit each of his games being a grad student, and yet—he was the one who went ahead and threw it all away. The itch in the back of his throat, the one that he felt for the first time back when he was trying to break up with you for the first time, was starting to grow. The itch was getting a bit difficult, Shoyo had to give him a bit of water, slap his back—and yet the itch didn’t subside.

Tsumu-Tsumu, did you try breathing?

Why was it so difficult to breathe with you absent? How dare you take his breath away and never, ever return it?

Some part of him wondered how hard you’d laugh at him if you saw him right then. He was the one who hurt you, he was the one that wronged you, yet, he was the one who broke up with you. If there was a class for disgusting people, Miya Atsumu topped that list effortlessly. It’s true, he never really cared about people disliking him but the thought of you greeting him with anything but a smile twisted his heart in painful ways.

When he was signed with the Black Jackals, Miya Atsumu thinks of breaking up with you for the second time.

He’d have to keep moving, which meant most of your relationship would be long-distance. He wasn’t sure if balancing a volleyball career and a relationship would get him where he wanted to be—so he decided he’d just end things with you before it got too serious.

If only he’d understood back then that a three-year relationship was serious enough, Miya Atsumu would not have gotten drunk and would not have made out rather provocatively with a strange woman whose name or face he did not remember the next day.

The love he felt for you was a borderline comfort that he had drawn out during his high school days. Miya Atsumu pictured it to be the sort of love that is mostly evident when you’re around, supporting him, cheering for him in that quiet, endearing way that you do—but thinking that way was giving you way little credit for what it actually was. Loving you was building a time bomb for himself the second you were not there. Loving you was building the anticipation for your exit, which then brought in the tragic, dark, bone-crunching pain that only came because he had hurt you in so many ways that you’re now forced to push yourself away because he is clearly not good for you, and you clearly deserved better.

The first time he saw you ever since kissing someone else, Miya Atsumu took nearly three seconds to come clean. But it was after spilling the words ‘I cheated on you’ did he notice something that inevitably shattered his soul.

You had a bruise on your chin, your eyes are red, your skin dry, your hair looked terrible—you clearly were not having a good time.

How could he have been so blind?

“(y/n), what happened—”

“Atsumu, you what?”

Heh, he thought before his mind reminded him of his narcisism. How many times had he even asked you how you were doing? What you were doing? How many times had he bothered to ask you if you were doing alright?

The answer devastated him.

“So, this is it then,” You said, and it was when you looked away did he find a splotch of red in the white of your eye.

His heart was rummaging in his chest. The gnawing feeling was back at the edge of his throat. He’s standing there, knowing something was clearly wrong with you, yet all he was acting out on was his own selfish desire of breaking up with you because the thought of continuing this and getting hurt later on was scaring him more.

Miya Atsumu was festering his own demise and he had no idea that he was doing it.

The expression in your eyes was as bitter as nightshade. Atsumu could feel his fingers shaking at how your lips were quivering right then, but you were doing everything you could to hold on. He could see now so clearly how your eyes were welling up with tears, but you chose fortitude over displaying emotions in front of him so you shoot him a smile and tilt your head the way you’d always done before—one of the reasons why he chose you in the first place.

“Tsumu, I hope you’re happy wherever you are,” All he wanted was to scream her name out loud, “That’s all I want.”

How much he hated you right then because every word you said you meant it.

The night three weeks ago, he remembered getting back to his apartment and vomiting his guts out. Miya Atsumu released everything out into his commode, the contents of the food he ate the day before and perhaps that morning—tears stinging the corners of his eyes as he sat there, haphazardly, breathless and tired; hair disheveled but eyes constantly bringing your image to him again and again and again.

What’s done is done, he keeps telling himself, but fuck, why does it feel like he just killed someone?

He was so blinded by your apparent perfection that he didn't recognize the tremendous pain behind your work. You gave him hundreds of images, so many chances to see that you were in trouble. He had failed you.

Atsumu shut his eyes and felt someone tap his shoulder. Turning to his right, he noticed Shoyo, looking at him curiously.

“We’re reached, Miya-san. You look ill.”

The gnawing feeling at the back of his throat was growing.

“Oh! And,” Shoyo grabbed something from the back of his pocket. Taking out his new cellphone, he displayed something to the blond, “Today’s the reunion!”

Fuck, Atsumu thought before running a hand through his hair. It was too late to cancel, Osamu was already going. A part of his heart hoped you’d be there, but he knew that it was wishful thinking.

“Did you have a highschool girlfriend, Miya-san?”

“Hm, yeah—”

Her name was (y/n).

Suddenly, Atsumu grabbed his bottle and chugged the water down, hoping the gagging feeling would subside.

“Miya-san?”

“Yanno, I’ll see ya later, squirt.”

The reunion was placed in a dingy looking bar, only because it was the closest to the university. Atsumu chuckled when he saw Osamu sitting at the corner, looking annoyed. Waving at his brother, Atsumu walked over to sit beside him, in absolute silence, before hearing Osamu click his tongue.

“You smell disgustin’.”

“Nice to see ya too, Samu. I just had a game—”

“Couldn’tya shower?” Osamu sighed, running a hand through his hair.

It didn’t take long for Atsumu to bring you up.

“She ain’t here,” Osamu said, rolling his eyes, “Head from ‘er friend, Sakura something, that ‘er life is practically shit.”

Atsumu wasn’t too surprised to hear this, but there it was again, the gagging feeling at the back of his throat.

“Didja even know ‘er father used to drink, Tsumu?”

He did. He knew.

“So fuckin’ self-centered,” He heard his twin whisper to himself. “Tis a surprise to me that she was even with ya for so long.”

He knew. Yet, he never once addressed it. Never once asked you how you were. Never once bothered to allow himself to know; it was as if he was comfortable being praised within the bubble you had created for him, sheltering him from your nasty background. Only now when he thought about it did he realize how terrible he was, as a friend, as a boyfriend, as a lover—he had failed to be a decent human being to you.

“O’er there’s Sakura something,” Osamu said, pointing to a girl Atsumu remembered would always stick by your side. “She was in the track team with (y/n).”

Atsumu normally would have stayed away; maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the deep mourning he had been feeling from the past few weeks, but in actuality, it was the gnawing feeling that was threatening to spill, it was killing him.

“Sakura-chan, it’s been a while.”

The way this girl sent a glare to Atsumu’s direction almost made him laugh.

“Let me guess, you want to know about (y/n).”

“Was it that obvious?” Atsumu rubbed the back of his head.

Sakura sighed, “Listen, I ain’t tellin’ you shit because you asked. I’m tellin’ you because it’ll do her good to see someone right now and it might as well be you because it clearly won’t be anyone else.”

What the hell does that mean?

“A month ago, (y/n)’s father left them,” Atsumu’s eyes widen, “She had to almost quit college, but her mum found a job at a convenience store. But, (y/n) moved out of her dorm and lives at home now, saving up on the grad school money and helping out.”

“Her father... He...”

“Listen,” Sakura snapped, clicking her tongue, “I ain’t tellin’ you no more of this. Go see her or don’t, she doesn’t need you. God knows you ain’t good for her.”

Atsumu almost nodded at the girl’s statement.

“She told you nothin’ because well, did ya ever ask?”

He goes back to his room after that shit-fest of a reunion, Osamu patting his shoulder a couple of times before making a move. Once he was back, Atsumu instantly broke down—the tears stinging his eyes as they fell, it was as if his tears were made of acid because it had been that long since he had cried for anything.

His hands were shaking, and he needed to do something to stop them from shaking—the feeling was intense and he hated every second of it. Throwing a nasty punch to the wall, Atsumu’s hands were bruised instantly before he realized he was a pro-volleyball player. Heading to the sink, he placed his hands under the running water and breathed, noting that his breath was hitching. He looked out into the water and just stared. Closing his eyes, Atsumu’s legs found themselves dragging him to every corner of his hotel room—finding an inch that could comfort him that night. He settled for the balcony, under the stars, where he found himself begging the sparkling lanterns of light to cure him of himself—his past and the kaleidoscope of mistakes, failures and wrong turns that have stacked unbearable regret upon his shoulders.

The loss of their final game of the season did not him him as hard as it would otherwise have. In the dressing room, he felt his phone buzz and his heart jumped out of his ribcage at the name that had popped up on his phone.

(y/n): Jump set, back set, one set, two set, if setting were easy, they might let you set!

It takes Miya Atsumu less than a few seconds to call you.

“Tsumu? Is everything okay?”

“Where are you?” It was eerie that you were whispering, but it was even eerier that he didn’t know where you were.

He always knew; it felt so strange.

“I’m at work, actually—”

At work? Aren’t you a grad student? He wanted to ask, but words refused to slip out of him right then. The silence stretched out, heartbeat after heartbeat – taut, excruciating. And then, finally, came the first sound:

“I want to see you.”

His voice betrayed him; he didn’t sound like himself, but here he was, stretching out far and thin by a person who made zero effort in ruining him but had invariably managed to do so.

It takes Atsumu even less time to book a cab and head to your location. What surprises him is that it’s the very same convenience store that your mother supposedly works at, but why did you say you were working there? Atsumu’s sudden curiosity over your wellbeing, over your life threw him for a toss. This was not how things were, but this was how things were supposed to be.

And there you were, standing outside the door, hands in your pockets, the green uniform of the convenience store over your clothes.

You stood there, in all your candid glory, confident, yet shy, and angel-like. Your (h/c) hair always seemed to capture whatever available light there was, and your skin, much to Atsumu’s annoyance, was flawless. Today you were wearing a black turtleneck that accentuated every curve and your jeans were structured in a way that they made sure they highlighted the best part of your legs. You had a thick aura of battle around you, and your face was almost doll-like, it was so pleasant to look at.

“Ya work here?” Atsumu wasn’t grinning, you felt odd.

Blinking, “Mum’s a bit tired so I’m covering her shift. Are you—”

“Why didn’t ya come to the reunion?”

“I had to submit a paper earlier today. Sorry, I’d have loved to see everyone!”

Your cheerfulness kills him, and he only hopes it doesn’t show. But, he takes a good long look at you. Yes, you’re just as beautiful—but you have dark circles around your eyes now. You’ve lost a bit of weight. You’ve lost that spark in your eye.

Clearly, you were having a difficult time. Miya Atsumu finds that his heart is breaking at the revelation.

“Tsumu, are you okay?”

Fucking hell.

“Stop.”

Your eyes widen, “Eh?”

“How am I? How are you?! Tell me what’s wrong, (y/n)! Tell me what’s happenin’ with you, I never... I never asked ya so ya never tell me? Am I really that fucked up of a guy? That ya can’t... I loved ya, (y/n), I still... Damn it! I fucked up, okay? I fucked up big time! (y/n)—”

You walk over to him and pat his head, but Atsumu instantly slaps your hand away. You shoot him a glare before patting his head once more and pulling him down forcefully, his head on your shoulder, breathing into it.

“Dad left us,” Atsumu freezes at your words. “He used to drink. He’d throw things sometimes. He didn’t really hit anyone until we’d go over to stop him—”

“That’s fuckin’ horrible—”

“He had his own issues.”

Atsumu pulls away before cursing, “Stop bein’ so fuckin’ understandin’ all the damn time!”

You find yourself giggling at his actions.

“It’s okay now.” You said, giving him a kind smile.

Atsumu shakes his head, “It’s not. It’s not okay, (y/n). What the fuck—Why... Why were you even with someone like me? What the hell is wrong with ya?”

He could see how the anger built up in your eyes, but he wasn’t finished.

“You’re so fucking... perfect,” He rubs a hand over his face in frustration, “Grad student, supporting yer mom, you... you came to every single game o’ mine. Every single game, damn it... I never knew ‘cause you barely showed any signs, but why... Why the fuck were ya with someone like me—”

“Tsumu... You kept me alive, you know?” He refused to believe it. “When I was with you, I could forget things from my life that would have otherwise destroyed me. I grew to love you because of how passionate you were and that passion blinded me,” You went ahead and held his hands in yours, not ignoring the freshly formed bruise on his knuckles.

“I was with you as a choice, Tsumu, and I’d choose you every single fucking time. I wasn’t with you because i had nowhere to go. Don’t ever think that, okay? Because I can very well live fine by myself! I chose to be with you because I love you and I’ll do anything for the people I love,”

He had never seen this face of yours. It was enchanting.

“And I get it, people say choose yourself over boys, but maybe, choosing you was what kept me healthy, because look at me, Tsumu,” You point to yourself, tears leaking out of your eyes, “Take a good long look!”

Miya Atsumu’s eyes widen. You’re so tired, it’s as bright as day now. The spark in your eye almost gone.

“Loving you helped me, and I’m not saying that your self-centered assholery is toxic, no. Yeah, sure, it can be toxic, but I needed it at the time. I... I am not perfect, Tsumu. I’m so far from perfect that it’ll knock your socks off!”

You were rambling now and he remembered that trait of yours—a rare aspect from his past; you’d ramble when you got nervous, your hands flailing cutely in front of you, tracing invisible lines in the air as you tried to narrow down your words. Atsumu’s gaze softens, as he lets you.

“P-Perfection doesn’t come from someone hiding their pain well, it’s... it’s dark and gritty and bloody and sweaty, because it’s so fucking hard—” Your voice breaks in the end.

Atsumu doesn’t waste time in pulling you to his chest, shushing you and kissing your cheeks in the next minute; he holds your face like you are the most precious thing ever.

He takes a breath before asking you something he was afraid to, “I cheated on you, didn’t you get mad?”

You nod, “I got hella mad, I’m still a bit mad, of course! Hey, just because I’m madly in love with you doesn’t make me a doormat, yanno?” You fumble.

Atsumu notices how red your face is now, and he smiles. A genuine smile—one that you hadn’t seen on Atsumu in so, so long. Your hand is in his and he bends to your level, his forehead on your shoulder, and it first comes out as a whisper,

“I’m so sorry, (y/n).”

Your eyes widen slowly.

“I’m so sorry, I love you so much. I’m sorry—”

A second later, you wind your hands around him, hugging him, and it shushes him.

You don’t hesitate, “You gotta make it up to me, you know?”

Atsumu smiles so warmly as he wipes the tears off your eyes, nodding. His hand glides down your arm, folds over your hand. His fingers lace with yours, palms kissing. You could feel the fast thud of his heart through this single touch.

“I’ll do that for the rest of my life, (y/n).”

You make a disgusted face a second later, “Stop being so sappy, Tsumu, ewwww.”

Your hands grasp his collar and bring him down to your level, as you plant a kiss him on his lips. Atsumu kisses back but you could feel the hesitation in his bones, and it annoys you. You pull away, and say the one thing Atsumu has been dying to prove to you.

“Kiss me like you missed me, Atsumu.”

They say a kiss is a secret which takes the lips for the ear. When Atsumu kisses you right then, he could have been whispering the secrets of the universe to you, but you didn’t care. His mouth came down on yours. And that was it. All the self-control he’d exerted over the past weeks went, like water crashing through a broken dam. Your arms came up around his neck and he pulled you against him. His hands flattened against your back, and you were up on the tips of your toes, kissing him as fiercely as he was kissing you. He clung to you more tightly, knotting his hands in your hair, trying to tell you, with the press of his mouth on yours, all the things he could never say out loud.

“I love you so much, Miya Atsumu,” You say, your hands on his cheek, “I’m sorry for not opening up to you.”

With a shake of his head, “I’ll never let ya go, (y/n).”

At that second, neither of you realize that Miya Atsumu would never look at another; the gagging in his throat was gone, replaced with the need to constantly wonder about you—a need to have you by his side permanently. Perhaps, this was growth. One would never know. But, whatever it was, Miya Atsumu was glad that he had found a habit he didn’t ever have to break anymore.

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