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Chapter Text

The Miya Atsumu that you knew was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most irritating man you had ever met.
He was the jerk who would hold your things above your head and make you jump like an idiot to grab them back. He was the insufferable prick who would chase your dates away, acting like your boyfriend, delivering rehearsed lines that, if you remember correctly, were something along the lines of “ Y/N, who is that?” “Are ya cheating on me?” with mock hurt trained on his features, you remember the vivid urge you had to slap that pout off his face.
You wholly blame him for your very dry love life in high school.

All things considered, your history with Miya wasn’t the best. He was the kind of guy you'd cross the road to avoid. He was loud and charming, charisma dripped from his every pore, but his actions were coated thick with ego. Everything about him screamed ‘look at me!’, he was a head-turner, you per se were not, deliberately though. Constantly under the spotlight, to be close to him would mean you too would be under the eyes of scrutiny, so you avoided him from your very first day however, unfortunately for you, that’s exactly what drew him closer to you.
He was stubborn and oh so annoying, he’d take your stuff just to get a reaction out of you, blame things on you to get you into trouble with a smirk plastered across his lips the entire time.
You despised him with every fibre of your being.

At sixteen, he made your life a living hell, and unfortunately for you, at twenty five, not much has changed.
It was a long time ago, you had rationalised when you took the job though deep down you had known better, your paycheck effectively blinded you.
The pay was good, like good good, enough to make you swallow your distaste for him. Being the head of the MSBY PR team, that was expected. So, why let some old childish bickering stand in the way of you and your bag?
It couldn’t possibly be that bad, you had thought. Awkward? Maybe. But bad? No, right?
Perhaps if he brought up your far from civil past together, you could laugh it off and settle things professionally and politely. No need to worry, right?

Never had you been more wrong.

It’s barely 1 am when the calls and texts start flooding in. You pull the covers over your head, groaning loudly as the vibrating of your phone becomes unignorable. Groggily switching on your lampshade you turn over to pick up your phone and your suspicions are confirmed.
Fucking Miya.
It’s the sixth time this month, paparazzi pictures of Miya at a club with a new girl on his lap in each one, sucking each other’s faces and a firm grip on their ass, have been released.
Every single picture looked like that.
Every single one.
Fully awake now, you sit up and scroll through the pictures, estimating the damage and then you get into action. Notifying those in the team that didn’t already know. Anticipating this, after the second incident, you had drawn out multiple plans and outcomes in advance, and after a couple of hours of calls and emails, most of the evidence of Miya’s late-night endeavours were, for the most of it, gone. The only thing left to do for the night was berating him.
The anger you had suppressed while cleaning his mess, was now taking over. Your breaths became heavier as you stabbed at the call button.
He picked up on the first ring, almost as if he had been waiting.

“Hey sweetheart,” he drawls lazily, you can almost hear him smirking.
“Fucking again Miya? Seriously?” you exclaim, basically seething at this point, might as well take it out on him.

“M sorry babe,” he says, in a tone that gives away exactly how sorry he is. You can almost picture him smirking, lazily sprawled on his bed, still in his clubbing clothes.

“The nicknames are not helping, I will report you to HR,” you say through gritted teeth. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you let out an exhausted sigh. “You are the worst part of my job.”
“C’mon I said I said I was s-”
You don’t hear what he has to say next because you hang up on him.

You try not to think of how his last few words sounded a tinge deflated. After all, he deserves this.

“Asshole” you mumble as your eyelids begin to get heavy with exhaustion, slowly drifting you off to your well deserved slumber.
Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

The thing is, Atsumu has been everything but civil to you since you arrived, giving no care to professionalism. It was as if no time had passed, he was still the same annoying, insufferable man child he was in high school.
When you finally took the job, meeting him again in a professional setting in front of a shitload of people, after all these years when you held out your hand to shake his and he brought your knuckles to his lips instead, you instantly knew that he was not going to be making this job easy for you.

You did not hide your grimace.

Normally, you wouldn’t need to speak to him as much as you do but Miya if anything was an absolute pain in the neck. You were a fool to think he’d let you get away unscathed. Not a week passes without him spending at least an hour in your office, talking your ear off about something that has absolutely nothing to do with why he was called and unfortunately for you today was one of those days.

“Miya, I couldn’t be bothered with who you hook up with, but at least have the decency to do it behind closed doors.”
“Really, because you seemed awfully bothered last night,”
“Because that’s my job, idiot.” You groan, leaning back into your chair, arms folded across your chest.
He flashes his palm in mock defence, rolling his eyes. “Right.”
“I know this is a huge pill for you to swallow, but not everybody you know is in love with you.”
You find yourself here with him quite often, bickering aimlessly. He absolutely loved getting under your skin.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, sweetheart” he drawls as he leans back into the chair, the fabric of his shirt stretching across his chest.
“What did I say about the nicknames!” you exclaim, palms lightly slamming the table.
He rolls his eyes, lips upturned slyly, “alright, Y/N”
“That’s L/n to you,” you huff with furrowed brows and squinted eyes.
His face falls for a moment but it’s gone as fast as it came and you contemplate whether you imagined it.
And as if to save you from the impending nightmare that is Miya Atsumu your phone rings in your pocket and you make shooing motions with your hand, signalling for him to get out.
“I need to take this, go annoy someone else.” you state without sparing him a glance.
“Who is it?” he asks, getting off his chair to lean over your desk.
“None of your business, leave.”
“Fine, be like that.” he huffs as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket, turning on his heels.
You answer the call, a relaxed smile contorting your features, “Hey, yeah we’re still on for tonight.”
That’s all Atsumu hears before he begrudgingly closes the door behind him.

—

You had a date.
And you were embarrassingly nervous about it, shuffling and trying out variations of outfits in front of the mirror.
If truth be told, despite being 25, you've never had any substantial dating experience from the zero romantic relationships in high school to a college boyfriend you dated simply for the sake of dating. When you were young, you had imagined your love life would look like something akin to what you’d read in all those Shoujo mangas. However, what awaited you in high school was anything but.
If you had to think back to any man that you had an interest in or had an interest in you, you remember how Astumu would go above and beyond to make you look stupid in front of them.
Like that one time.

“Rin-kun..”, you start, standing in the school hallway. Your face feels warm, and your fingers find the hem of your sweater. Suna was cute, quiet and stayed out of trouble and in your sixteen year old head, arguably the perfect match for you. You remember thinking that this is how they do it in the manga, a box of homemade chocolates wrapped in pretty pink ribbon, a note neatly folded inside.

Suna was looking at you with his head tilted in confusion before you heard footsteps behind him.
“SUNARIN!”
The loud shrieking coming from behind Suna makes you jump. That sounds like…-
“Ah, Atsumu,” Suna responds, turning in his direction.
You panic internally, no, no, no, your perfect Shoujo moment!
Atsumu falls next to Suna, throwing an arm around his neck.
“Ah choco!” he exclaims.
“No, wai-” but before your words reach his ears, Atsumu has already ripped the lid of your perfect box off, digging his grubby fingers in and pulling out a fistful of your perfectly made hazelnut homemade chocolates before stuffing them in his mouth.
Your jaw falls in horror.
“Ah, Y/N didn’t know ya made snacks for the class,” Atsumu says through a mouthful.
“Ahh,” Suna hums in realisation to Atsumu’s words.
“Thanks Y/N,” Suna says, shooting you a small smile and picking a piece before walking off. You watch in horror.
A beat passes.
Atsumu is looking at you smugly, hands in his pockets.
“Miya, you absolute fuc-”
“You have something in your teeth.”
“Huh? What-” You pull out your hand mirror, flashing your teeth to check. What’s he talking about? Your teeth look fi- before the realisation falls upon you.
You angrily snap your mirror shut, “ATSUMU GET BACK HERE!!!”
But he’s already walking away, hands in his pockets, his hearty laughter echoes in the corridor.

–

Zipping the nth dress of the night, you checked yourself out in your reflection. Your hands traced the sides of your body, sliding down your curves. You let out a contented sigh as your lips slightly curve at the pretty sight. This is the one.
You don’t know why you were putting all this effort into a Tinder date with a half-handsome, half- okay guy you’d barely spoken to. If truth be told, you can’t remember the last time you’d been to dinner with a man or the last time you put this much effort into your appearance. You lean into the mirror, assessing your features with squinted eyes. Your makeup was done well, mascara perfectly applied, such that there were no remnants smudged on your lids, your base was flawless, and to finish the look, you’d swiped on your favourite lip combo. You smile at the mirror and wonder when the last time you did something like this in your off time was.

Your thoughts were cut short by the frantic ringing of your doorbell.
“Coming!” you half shriek. Much to your annoyance, the constant ringing does not stop, “Jesus fucking christ, I said I was coming.”
Swinging the door open, you immediately slam it shut, but to no avail as Atsumu stops you from doing so with his foot.
“Why are you here?”
“Well, hello to ya too,” he pouts, brows knit together as if he wasn’t expecting you to slam the door in his face.
You glare at him, huffing as you try to shut the door despite his foot still blocking the way. Curse his pro athlete strength.
“Yer wasting yer energy.”
You let out a defeated sigh and look up at him wearily, “Why are you here Miya?”
He waves a bouquet of tulips in front of your face, “to apologise to ya” he huffs.
You blink, there’s a beat of silence. “Obviously” he mumbles, scratching his neck sheepishly.
You snort, “By punishing me?”
“Oh ha ha, yer so hilarious” he deadpans and your lips momentarily curve into a smirk.
He nudges the door open with his foot and slides in, you scowl, “I wasn’t even going to let you in.”
“Yeah, that’s why I let myself in.”
Psychically restraining yourself from punching him in the face, you shut the door behind you with a sigh.
“How did you even get my address?”
He ignores your question and shoves the bouquet into your hands, “m sorry for makin yer job harder for you, considering yer new and all”
“So you apologise by barging into my home and giving me something that attracts insects?” you deadpan, quirking a brow.
But you have a feeling that he isn’t listening as you watch his eyes trace your figure, drinking you up like your his, his adam’s apple bobs and you swear he just gulped.
“Take a picture, it'll last longer.”
Atsumu perks up, eyes wide, and you bite back a triumphant smile.
“Maybe I will,” he responds slyly.
You scoff, rolling your eyes.
“What ya all dolled up for?” he asks all while shamelessly eyeing you. Curse this man.
“A date, so if you would please leave,” you reply, gesturing towards the door.
His smirk, for the first time in a long time, drops. Any signs of joking, completely gone.
His face is solemn as he asks, “With whom?”
“Just some guy I met on Tinder” you shrug, “now why are you asking me this?”
His gaze that you were indifferent to, bore into you with a foreign expression; it took everything in you not to squirm. “Don’t go.”
“What?”
“Don’t go”, he repeats like it’s the most obvious thing ever.
“Now, why would I do that?”
“Where is he takin ya?” he asks, ignoring your previous inquiry.
“And I should tell you because…?”
“Because it’d make you 20,000 yen richer.”
“That Italian place a couple of blocks from here,” you respond.
He scowls, “That dump?”
You roll your eyes and scoff at his audacity, “Oh I’m sorry we’re all not pro athletes that earn 6 figures,” slumping against the door, “now would you please just leave?” you groan.
“How about I take ya out instead, as an extended apology, of course”, he proposes.
“How about no?”.
He rolls his eyes, hands propped on his hips, “You are one stubborn woman, ya know?”
“Are you really saying that after inviting yourself over to my place?” you hiss.
He scrunches up his nose and reluctantly responds, “touché.”
“Anyways,” he continues, “what if I took ya to that Michelin star restaurant ya wouldn’t shut up about in high school? Everything on me, of course”
You blink, the proposal hangs in the air for a bit and Atsumu gets visibly nervous.
“You remember?”
“Yeah,” he replies, avoiding eye contact.
Oh, you think.
“Oh,” you say.
You almost smiled, and then you remembered who the person in front of you was again.
“What’s the catch?”
“Jesus, give me some credit for fucks sake”
“Our past makes this very unconvincing” You scrutinise every muscle on his face, searching for a giveaway.
Finding nothing but an annoying pout that you don’t want to look at anymore, your expression relaxes a bit as you weigh the pros and cons of agreeing to go out with him.
Pros
1. Free food
2. Free good food
3. Free good food at your favourite place of all time.
Cons
1. Atsumu’s yapping
2. Atsumu

Maybe you could reschedule with the Tinder guy? You turn his proposal over in your head. Atsumu's apologising is uncanny and considering he went out of his way to make it up to you,
you sigh.
He smiles genuinely; you almost die of shock.
“Give me five minutes to finish my makeup.”

It’s been years since you’ve been alone with Atsumu, putting aside the time spent at work where you breezed through the banter, often yelling profanities at each other.
More accurately, it’s been years since you’ve been alone with Atsumu willingly.

You can feel his gaze flicker between you and the road every couple of seconds, “What?” you ask, tilting your head away from the window to look at him.
“Nothing”, he responds a touch too fast.
You eye him suspiciously before returning your gaze to the passing scenery, the gears begin to turn in your head.
You saw this coming.
Of course, Atsumu has never been this kind.
He pulls out your chair for you, you cock your brow questioningly, and he shrugs.
You watch him as he scans the menu, so he’s waiting for you to order, huh?
How despicable.
You picked what you wanted and he signalled for the waiter, giving your order as well as his.
“Oh an’ no walnuts please, she’s allergic”
The waiter bows and takes their leave. You blink at him, he gives you a puzzled look, “What?”
“How did you know that?”
“That yer allergic?” you nod and he continues, “Well, you would avoid them like the plague in high school,”
You raise your eyebrows, signalling for him to continue.
“And I remember at our graduation party, you asked someone if there were walnuts in the brownies and later came back from yer ‘bathroom break’ lookin really pale.” He finishes and the last few words come out quieter than the rest.

Your mouth hangs ajar. “You noticed all of that?”
“Yeah”, he replies in a voice softer than you remember, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.
For the first time in what seems like forever, you were dumbfounded.
“Oh, um”, you try to reply with something sarcastic or witty like you usually do, but your chest felt weird, and his words were all you could think about.

As if to spare you from any upcoming embarrassment, the food arrived. It should be any moment now.

You carefully swallow down the first spoon, and as anticipated, he’s looking straight at you, elbows propped on the table, fingers interlaced.
He’s so obvious you might laugh.
“So about the msby anniversary gala, my date cancelled and I was hoping that you’d come as my date instead”
“Huh”
Did you hear him right?
“See, before you get mad at me for lying, in my defence-”
“That’s the catch?” you exclaim, “There is no way that this is equivalent exchange, I was not expecting that-”
“Expecting? Wait, ya knew?” he asks, confused, shocked and slightly impressed.
“I’ve had the unfortunate experience of knowing you in high school, and I’m sorry, but your tells are so very obvious.”
“They are not!” he exclaims, childishly pouting.
“You are a man of ulterior motives!” you exclaim, pointing a finger at him.
“Oh shut yer trap,”
You roll your eyes, “whatever, I’m not going as your date’s stand-in”
“Oh come on, please okay, I’ll ask nicely,” he whines,
“No,” a moment passes with him looking at you with an uncharacteristically pleading look in his eyes.
You scowl, “Is there nobody else you can bother with this?”
“If there was, do ya think I woulda come to ya?” he huffs as he folds his arms across his chest.
You should have left when you had the chance, you thought to yourself. “You must be desperate.”
He grits his teeth and looks away,
“If I were to say yes” you continue, he whips his head in your direction, eyes wide, “What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll leave you alone for a month..?” Atsumu proposes, unsurely shrugging his shoulders.
You click your tongue.
“Okay, okay,” he eases you, flashing his palms nervously.
“Name your price, anything.”
“Anything?” you inquire with a very concerning look in your eyes and a devilish grin on your lips.
Atsumu swallows in fear. Is it too late for takebacks?
“Until the gala, you have to do whatever I tell you. No questions. No complaints. You’re officially at my mercy, then I’ll come with you.”
Atsumu clicks his tongue, eyebrows scrunched. He grins devilishly, “I’m game.”
He interlaces his fingers and with his elbows on the table, he leans in, bordering your personal space.
“Try to make it worth my while.”
This man.
You feel irritation prick your skin. His golden orbs bored into you with his face mere inches away as you held his gaze in contempt. Releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding, when he finally leaned back into his seat, propping his arms on both armrests, manspreading.
Stupid indifference tugging at his features.
You clear your throat.
“Anyways, I don’t have a dress-”
“That’s not a problem, I’ll buy ya one,” he says nonchalantly.
Your eyebrows shoot up, “ I’ll take ya shopping”
“That’s not nece-”
“No”, he places a finger flat on your lips, and you blink in surprise.
You reach to swat his arm away, but he catches your wrist and lays your hand gently on the table, looking you straight in the eye with his standard shit-eating grin. You scowl.

—

Leaning against his sports car, he watched you as you began to retreat into your apartment complex.
“No goodbye kiss?” he taunts with a mock pout.
“Sure.” You shrug, completely indifferent.
You snicker inwardly, he’s not the only one who knows how to get under somebody’s skin.
His eyebrows shoot up, orbs blown wide. “Wh-what?” he stammered. The moonlight catches in his hair, the mixed light from the lamp posts and moonlight reflecting off his car. His hands are shoved in his trouser pockets, and he looks as if he’s gone into cardiac arrest.
You shove down the urge to take a picture for blackmail purposes.
You gingerly place a hand on his cheek, he stiffens under your touch but makes no move to brush it off, tentatively leaning in, his gaze flickers between your eyes and lips, and for a reason unbeknownst to you, heat rushes to your cheeks.
You’re close enough to see the tinge of red that has spread across his cheeks, and just as you think his eyes are about to flutter shut, you smirk.
You pinch his cheek, and he lets out an indignant yelp.

You howl, head thrown back in laughter, and though it’s at his expense, it’s bright and captivating. He swats your hand off his cheek and rubs at the sore patch of skin, “You are so fucking annoying”, he mumbles, rubbing his temples with his pointer finger and thumb.
“Aw, did you actually think I was going to kiss you?” you tease, and for a moment something akin to hurt washes over his features, you blink, and then it’s gone.

In a flash, his hand is right in front of your face, and he flicks your forehead. You jolt back, bringing your hands up to soothe the burning of your skin. You scowl at him. He smirks.

“Whatever, now fuck off.”
You roll your eyes, “gladly.”

The following week flies by with you knee deep in deadlines and paperwork. Atsumu managed to stay out of trouble ever since the incident, and though begrudgingly, you had to give credit where it was due. For reasons you couldn’t pin down, you found your mind going back to the intensity of Miya’s gaze as you leaned in, how his lips were parted slightly in anticipation and what would have happened if you had closed the distance. Your mind wandered without your consent to the possibilities and outcomes, if his lips were just as soft as they looked, what his hands would feel like if they were wrapped around your waist or even better, your ne -.
You mentally slap yourself and push these nauseating thoughts down, your heated face in your hands, accompanied by an accelerated heart rate. What the fuck.

Chapter Text

Your trolley rolls behind you as you inhale the fresh Okinawa breeze, a far cry from crowded Tokyo. With a slow stretch, you lift both arms overhead, easing the tension that’s settled in your body after the long flight.

Hinata dashes past you, springing into the air. “The waves await me!”

In your peripheral vision, you see Meian chasing after him. You grin, glad to see everyone pumped and ready as you prop your hands on your hips.

Pocari Sweat, one of the team’s sponsors, in their long list of contract obligations, required the team to shoot an ad to promote their drink. And, if truth be told, you may or may not have pushed this idea instead of the multitudes of other ones from the agency just because you wanted a short, fully funded trip to the beach.

The sky is a clear cloudless blue and the sun is blinding. 

Sakusa falls into step beside you, uncharacteristically, pulling his mask down and letting out a hum.

You turn to him, “Ready for the shoot?”

He nods, “I studied the script extra hard last night to get some free time to buy extra wipes.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, “Wipes?”

Sakusa’s face turns solemn as if he’s seen a ghost. “Yes…” he begins.

“Public…” A few moments pass, and he looks like he’s gathering the courage to complete his sentence.

 “Sand.”

You sigh, “Of course,” agreeing for his sake.

Sakusa was a germaphobe, and you may have pushed that thought to the back of your head when you approved this script.

You almost rub your hands together super villain style when you think of all the good bts footage you’ll get to film of the team’s antics for their socials.

“Stop being a little wuss,” Atsumu calls out from behind. 

“We’re playing beach volleyball,” 

Atsumu shoots both his fists inwards in a macho motion, surpassing both of you as he finishes his sentence in a backwards jog to the van.

Sakusa scrunches his eyebrows in annoyance before mumbling something along the lines of needing to exterminate Atsumu.

***

The inn is beautiful with old Japanese architecture and even an onsen within. 

The team settles at the seating area behind you and Bokuto and Hinata high five every time they get offered a welcome snack while you and the manager check in for the rest of the team.

From the team, it was just you, Miwa their manager, and an assistant trainer, tagging along. Your job was simple, keep the boys out of trouble till you touchdown in Tokyo.

Easy enough, you had thought to yourself. 

Your room is traditionally japanese with sliding doors and tatami mats, you drop your purse to the floor and make a move to open the window. With fingers at the rim, you lean out to take in the view and waiting for you is a beautiful blue horizon, an expanse of buildings that eventually meets the sea and a cloudless sky. You smile, what a perfect day.

Throwing on a pair of linen shorts and a sleeveless blouse paired with sandals, you nod at your outfit, the perfect mix of work, beach and casual before grabbing a pair of sunglasses and a sunhat to protect yourself from the blazing sun.

You haven’t made much contact with Atsumu since you agreed to his favour and you’ve chosen to not pay much thought to it. This arrangement confused you, why did Astumu have no date to the gala and who was this mystery date before you? You shouldn’t care and you don’t, you tell yourself but every now and then curiosity gets the best of you and you have to go for a run to beat these thoughts down.

***

“MIC!”

“CHECK!”

The camera and production crew are a serious looking bunch, dressed in black on this perfect sunny day at the beach, Pocari sweat means business. 

The boys just finished their hair and makeup and you watch them get into position by the volleyball net as the camera crew prepares to shoot. You’ve slid off your sandals, taking to hold them in your hand to feel the warm sand between your toes, slowly sliding your heels in.

Atsumu is dressed in a pair of trunks and a tightly fitting tee. He looks good, flushed under the sun with a shirt so form fitting that he might as well take it off and you put in a conscious effort to not look his way.

“Stop!” the director calls out, irritatedly.

“Hinata, stop making that face!” Miwa, their manager exclaims, slapping a palm against her forehead.

Shoto’s face is scrunched in possibly the most unappealing way with his mouth ajar and nostrils flared. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not used to feeling like I have something on my face.” Hinata mutters, poking at his cheek.

“It feels really weird.” he slumps his shoulders.

The director shouts for a retake and the boys get back into their designated spots. Bokuto pats Hinata on the shoulder.

“A pro should get used to this.”

New found grit enters Hinata’s eyes, “What do you mean Bokuto - san?”

Bokuto puffs out his chest like he’s about to deliver ancient wisdom.

“I mean, Hinata… a real pro has to endure anything for the camera. Sand in your shorts? Weird sunscreen? A crab staring into your soul? You gotta power through it!”

Atsumu, from the side, snorts. “Crab starin’ into your soul? Really?”

“YES!” Bokuto exclaims, completely serious. “Last summer’s shoot, I had to pose with a seagull on my shoulder! Do you know how scary that is?! It could’ve PECKED MY EYE OUT.”

Hinata blinks. “…But you still looked cool, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto grins, thumbs up. “Exactly! That’s the pro spirit! Let’s crush this shoot!!”

Atsumu snorts, throwing in, “Don’t worry, Hinata, I’ll hold your hand if the makeup gets to ya.”

“Shut up, Atsumu!” Hinata snaps, face red.

A few steps away by the crew, you huff pinching the bridge of your nose at their combined IQ of ten. 

The director sighs. “Can we please just roll the cameras already?”

Hinata dramatically dashes across the sand to save a volleyball. The camera follows his movements as he dives with full energy as per the script.  You nervously bite at your fingers, hoping they’ve read the script enough to not screw up.  

“PUSH YOUR LIMITS!” the voiceover from the speaker screams.

Cueing the next shot, the camera pans. 

“YAHHH” Bokuto yells (not in the script), spewing sand everywhere as he launches off in a spike like motion, smacking the ball with olympic athlete power and leaving a cloud of sand dust. 

Your eyes widen in horror. It all happens like a slow-motion soap opera scene. The ball hits the camera lens in a loud thud, knocking the director off his chair. A black suspicious mass flies off his head, landing on Hinata with a plop. 

Your jaw drops, It’s a wig.

A beat of silence passes before the team turns to chaos. The crew rushes to help their screaming director off the sand, Bokuto is yelling apologies with his head in his hands and Hinata is standing as still as a statue, still in shock. 

Atsumu is holding the sides of his stomach, vibrating in an attempt to hold his laughter.

“There’s no way..” he mutters through heavily stiffened giggles before Miean kicks him from behind.

You groan, there’s no way you’ve been put in charge of these dumbasses. You’re about to signal Hinata to pass you the wig when you hear a shutter clicking behind you.

The chaos attracted a chattering crowd of onlookers who have started recording.

Shit, shit, shit.   

You take a sharp breath, straightening your posture. It’s time for PR head crisis mode.

“Excuse me!” you say, clapping your hands, loud, authoritative. A few heads turn.

You step forward, putting on your brightest fake smile. “This was an exclusive shoot for a confidential campaign. So I’m going to kindly ask everyone to delete any recordings. We wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise now, would we?”

Some people lower their phones, unsure. You press on.

“And hey…” you lean, voice dropping to a stage whisper, “I’m sure the brand will reward the fans who cooperate. I can even give you some early merch samples if you delete them now. Deal?”

The security team follows through, shutting down anyone that continues to film and the crowd begins to awkwardly fumble their phones before putting them back in. 

You breathe a tiny sigh of relief. Crisis… mostly averted.

Mostly.

Because behind you, the disaster is still very much unfolding.

Bokuto is on his knees now. 

“I”VE RUINED EVERYTHING!” 

“No, Bokuto-san,” Hinata says numbly, staring blankly at the wig in his hands. “ We ruined everything.”

“Oh my god,” Atsumu can’t seem to hold down his laughter anymore and even Sakusa shockingly walks up to the doomed duo, “That was quite indignant.”

Bokuto’s cries become louder.

“Enough, you guys.” Miean commands. “We still have a shoot to continue.”

You turn to glance at the fuming director before nervously chuckling, “Do we?” 

But luckily enough, after a few apologetic conversations with the Director and a few comments from you on how bald men are hotter anyways (lie), the shoot started rolling again.

You're glued to your tablet, double-checking the revised shot list, silently praying nothing else implodes today when out of the corner of your eye, Atsumu is casually stretching his arms behind his head as he talks to Inunaki. He laughs at something, and after a while his gaze flickers toward you for just a beat too long mid conversation.

You quickly look back at your tablet. Nope. Not engaging. You have work to do.

Thankfully this time, Bokuto spikes the ball into the sand instead of the director and you breathe a small sigh of relief. 

Sakusa picks up a bottle of Pocari sweat, holding a volleyball against his torso before delivering his final lines,  

“For the team and for the game… stay at your best.”

The camera pans out to the entire team flashing celebrity grins at the lens.

 “With Pocari Sweat!” they say in unison.

You cringe internally, thanking god for their good looks to pull this script off.

“And that’s a wrap!”

You let out a sigh of relief, putting your hands together to join the round of applause before making your way to the other crew members, shaking everyone’s hand individually to thank them for the good work.

It’s around evening now and the sun isn’t ablaze. The sky is a shade of pale indigo and the breeze that runs through your hair is cooler. The crew is almost done wrapping up and the team is sprawled out on the sand.

“Who would have thought that this would be harder than playing an actual match.” Atsumu complains, arms and legs spread like a starfish. 

Oliver adds a half hearted mumbled agreement.

“They seem tired eh?” Miwa’s voice is light and tired from the day’s work and she's sitting crosslegged beside you on the sand.

You hum before getting up and grabbing a crate of Pocari Sweat.

“May I interest you in some post game hydration?” you tease, leaning the crate of beverages towards the tired heap of MSBY members.

Inunaki groans, “I don’t even want to look at it.”

Hinata reaches for a bottle, “I’m beat.” before you distribute a bottle each to the boys.

You try not meet Atsumu’s gaze, he’s been watching you ever since you picked up that crate of Pocari to approach them.

“What about me?” he asks, arms propping him up.

“Here.” You’re hyperaware of how his eyes follow your movements as you pick up a bottle to pass it to him. He reaches for the bottle, your fingers brush through his and waves of electricity shoot through your body. You pause, his gaze remains fixed with an unreadable expression before he takes the bottle, taking a large swig of the beverage. You retract your hand, confused while the rest of the boys go back to their nonsensical chatter. 

“Guys!” Miwa calls out clapping her hands from a couple feet away. “it’s time to wrap up.”

“Nooo,” Bokuto groans, followed by Hinata who is then followed by Atsumu and Oliver.

“C’mon, we barely go out like this.” Atsumu reasons.

Even Meian the voice of reason chimes in, “could we stay for another half an hour?”

Miwa folds her arms, “you guys have an early flight tomorrow, you know that right?”

“And I need you guys to be on top of your game at practice too.” the assistant trainer adds from the background in a Hawaiin shirt, relaxed in a foldable chair that you wonder where he got from.

“Of course,” Hinata adds in mock salute, followed by Bokuta who is then followed by the rest of the team except for Sakusa who is somehow also on a foldable chair a few steps away from you all.

You let out a sigh before shaking your head and shooting Miwa a pleading smile. 

“Fine, but only thirty minutes, yeah?”

The guys hoot in cheers. “Lets race to the sea!”

Hinata and Bokuto get off the sand before rushing to horizon, pushing eachother and stumbling on the way. 

The rest of the team follow suite, tripping over themselves before taking off to the sea and just as Atsumu gets up to join them, he turns to look your way. He’s grinning and though you’ve seen his shit eating grin multiple times before, this time it’s light and if you knew any better, with a hint of mischief.

“How are you with water?”

“I mean I don’t mind it.” You begin, confused at his inquiry. “ Wait, Why-” 

But before you get to finish your question, his hand is already wrapped around your wrist, tugging you with him.

Your confusion falls on to deaf ears and your feet seem to have a mind of their own, matching Atsumu’s pace. His giggles fill the air as you both make a dash into the ocean.

The water is cold and sends waves of shocks into your body as you Astumu pulls you in with him, dropping your hand. You gasp at the icy sea cascading at your waist before snapping your head to your perpetrator. Your cotton shorts are under water with the rest of the lower half of your body, you did not particularly dress for the ocean. You’re angry, you tell yourself. Miya at the ripe age of twenty five pulled you into the ocean with him.

“Atsumu!” you chastise but you’re smiling and your attempt to sound strict drips into the rest of the ocean.

“Y/N?” Hinata glees. The rest of the boys turn to you in surprise.

Miean shakes his head fondly before mumbling something about Atsumu being a dumbass and Bokuto laughs, shooting a fist in the air. 

You give in, mischievous giggles tumbling from your lips before turning to Atsumu and splashing him with freezing sea water as revenge.

Atsumu shrieks dumbfounded, “TIS WATER’S SO COLDD- AHH”

Your chest roars with laughter.

“WATER FIGHT!” Oliver calls out brightily. 

The guys plunge their arms into the sea, swishing and splattering water at eachother.

And despite the icy salt water being launched at him with his hands covering his face in attempt to block some of it, Atsumu is laughing. Large breathy laughs leave his lips and as he stumbles in futile attempts to defend himself. Leaned over, his arms up in a cross in an attempt to block his face but his features were radiating with water dripping down his neck and face. You couldn’t help but pause for a second. But a second was all Atsumu needed to turn the tables on you. A large wave of water splashes into you, you curse his athlete reach. The splashes are unrelenting and you shut your eyes to avoid the saltwater from going in. 

Moving forward to splash him back, you lose your footing. Your foot slides off an ambiguous surface, pushing you forward and just as you’re about to brace for impact into the chilly water, a pair of arms secure you around your waist. 

You peek a lid open, confused as to why you’re still above sea level and find Atsumu’s gaze boring down on you. Your breath hitches in your throat and his eyes are calm with a foreign intensity.

“Sorry,” you mumble, scrambling back to your feet.

Atsumu hesitates, scratching his neck. “ya alright?” 

You avert his gaze, nodding but you're finding it difficult to speak with his hands still gripping your waist. Looking down at the point of contact, you clear your throat. He drops his arms back to his sides. Your clothes are soaked and your hair is nestled at your shoulders, water dripping down your neck. With your gaze fixed downward, Atsumu is still infront of you, unmoving and you wonder what expression he’s wearing right now. You look up finally, mouth agape to say something when Miwa calls from the shore. 

“Time’s up guys!”

You look towards the source of the sound instinctively.

“We better get going,” Atsumu hums quietly before passing you, walking out of the water and leaving you behind him.

***

You realised the hard way that Japanese Ryokan’s , don’t work the same way as your regular run of the mill hotel. You’ve always had the habit of sleeping with at least two pillows under your neck for support because of your tendency for acute migraines. A flat head rest somehow being a trigger for your disposition. So when the your futon came with almost a thin sheet of cotton for a pillow, you turned your room upside down for the landline to call housekeeping. 

Failing to find one, you slide on a pair of slippers and groggily make your way to the reception, still clad in your Hello Kitty Pajamas. 

You make your way down the stairs and wooden hallway to find an old lady seated at the desk.

She’s leaned back into her chair with her arms folded and when you squint, you realise her eyes are shut in a slumber.

You approach the desk, "excuse me,” you whisper with a hand curved at the side of your face.

You blink, she doesn’t budge, a few snores escape her.

Persisting, “Hello?” you whisper but this time a few decibels louder. She tilts her head ever so slightly, eyes still closed before drooping once again. This is awkward.

“Ma’am,” you try slightly nudging at her shoulder, anticipating failure but this time the old lady awakens in a loud gasp as if she were having war flashbacks.

You jump back, “I’m so so sorry, it’s just that-”

“Whaddya want?” she snarls.

“I needed an extra pillow,” you say apologetically.

She opens a wooden drawer at the desk and tosses you a pair of keys. You catch them confused and also equally bewildered at the pissed old lady. 

“Storage room is the second room to the left.”

“Oh,” you look at the rusty keys in your hand, making a mental note to not book a ryokan again.

And as you look up to thank her, she’s already asleep with her arms folded and head drooping.

You trudge down the wooden halls, murmuring “second room to the left” as you walk. 

You notice a wooden door that looks slightly more distinguished than the rest before poking a key in, trying your luck. The door unlocks in a click, opening to a tiny storage room. Your fingers fumble for the light switches and a single yellow bulb flickers on. The room looks dusty and old, and a tad but creepy with barely any walking space as you rummage in search of the pillows to quickly get the hell out.

Your body is fueled with relief when you find them stacked under a few mattresses. “Ah,” you silently cheer to yourself before tugging at one, it doesn't budge. 

You tug again, still not budging.

Strange.

“Need help with that?” A voice from behind you makes you jolt in surprise. 

Miya Atsumu. Your nose scrunches in disgust almost out of reflex.

“Wow, that’s rude.” Atsumu rolls his eyes. He’s against the door frame leaning an elbow to prop himself, his other hand in his sweatpants’s pocket.

“Why are you here?” you ask, turning once again to make failed attempts in pulling out your dear pillow.

Atsumu snorts, “I came ‘ere to get another blanket,” He raises a brow at you continuing to tug at the pillow with your back facing him before he continues, “Ma feet kept stickin out.”

You don't reply, instead you huff, readjusting your feet firmly on the ground before attempting at another pull. Exasperated at the sheer weight of the endless stack of futon’s on top of it. 

Behind you Atsumu is rolling his eyes. “Ignoring me won’t make me go away.”

The last thing you needed or wanted at 12 am was to bicker. Being a fully working and contributing member of society, you didn’t hate Atsumu that much . Especially when the light got in the cracks and he’d act more human than he was ever programed to. You hated that he ran hot and cold instead. Almost as if when he realised that he wasn’t at absolute arse today, he’d need to take an epipen.

“Oh what was that?” your words are laced with sarcasm and if Atsumu rolled his eyes anymore, they’d probably get lost at the back of his head. 

“Stubborn women ‘re really unattractive, ya know that, right?” he says lazily.

This time you roll your eyes, “I’d rather die an old cat lady than attract a man that is even remotely similar to you.”

“Geez,” he says a tad bit surprised before regaining his usual aloof composure, a smirk plastered across his lips again.

“Need that pillow for the stick up yer-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

A few seconds pass in silence before Atsumu sighs loudly. 

“Can ya just move?” His brows are knit between his forehead now. “I could have gotten my blanket and helped you with your pillow,” He checks his watch. “Five minutes ago.”

Something about this statement makes you take on the challenge. “No, I can get this pillow out just fine.” You grunt. “On my own.”

Atsumu throws his head back in annoyance and groans, slapping a hand over his eyes.

He moves over and kneels beside you and you hear a faint click

You stop in your tracks. The wooden door is shut behind you.

No. This can’t be.

You stuff your hands in the pockets of your pink Hello Kitty shorts in search of the rusty metal.

You gulp, “It isn’t there.” 

Atsumu looks at you annoyed, standing back up and towering over you. “What are ya talkin about?”

“The key.” You look up at him. “It’s still in the door.”

Atsumu make’s an exasperated sound, “You overreact to everything,” He moves his hand to the door handle, “I’m sure it’ll open just fine.” he says, waving you off. 

The handle doesn’t budge. His brows furrow, “I’m sure it will-” he murmurs, flickering his gaze between you and the door.

He tries again. The door doesn’t move.

Atsumu gulps with his fingers still wrapped around the handle before he chuckles nervously.

“Third time’s the charm.”

Atsumu positions his feet strongly before yanking at the handle with all his athlete power. 

“Wait Miya, no-” 

But before your voice of reason reaches him, Atsumu falls to the ground in a thud, the door still hasn’t seemed to budge. But, you have a new problem now. 

Your hands fly to your head and you groan. “You idiot.”

“Have some empathy,” he snaps, rubbing the side of his hip until he realises that his right hand might be grasping onto something. 

You watch the puzzle pieces fall in his empty head when he slowly brings his palm up.

Yeah, Atsumu just broke the door handle.

***

“Oh my god we’re going to die here.”

You’re pacing the tiny storage room in circles with a hand at your chin in a state of deep thought and Atsumu has taken to sitting in the corner of the room with his elbows placed on his knees, observing you.

It’s been an hour since the both of you got locked in and Atsumu has gone from “hey, I’m sure they’ll get us” to contemplating whether he has contributed to the world in ways that are meaningful in his short but full life. 

He is inarguably the worst person to be caught in a predicament like this with.

You flail your phone up in the air for the millionth time with your brows furrowed in concentration, clicking your tongue in annoyance when the screen still reads ‘ No signal ’. 

“You’ve done that a hundred times,” Atsumu’s cheek is smushed against top of his hands, in a fetal position.

You shoot him a mean look, “Well, I can’t help it. Considering that only one of us is competent enough to do something.”

He rolls his eyes, “We’re in this because of you in the first place.”

You inhale sharply, “I’m not the idiot that broke the door handle!”

“I’m not the idiot that left the key in this clealry ancient lock.” he snaps back and you bite the inside of your mouth in irritation before mumbling, “whatever.”

“Do you have any other bright ideas to help?” you grumble at the floor.

The singular light bulb hanging above the both of you flickers and you look up and gulp. Yeah, you can't stay here any longer.

“There must be no guests staying at this floor considerin ain’t no one heard us.” Atsumu gets off the floor, dusting the back of his sweatpants. He places his hands decisively at his hips.

Your head is starting to hurt a bit now, you check the time on your phone. “Our flight leaves in 4 hours.” 

You nervously bite at your lip, considering it isn’t tourist season, there are not a lot of flights flying back and you nor the team’s star setter can afford to miss this one.

“By the time they realise we’re gone it’ll be too late.” Atsumu murmurs, now too in thought.

You rub your temples with your middle and index finger at both sides in contemplation and slight pain. Your long day at the beach was finally catching up to you. The skin at the soles of your feet were aching along with your calves and other parts of your leg. The team would probably only note of your absence when they’re all packed up and checking out to leave. You wrack your brain with some sort of solution and Atsumu watches you with his head tilted before he softly sighs. 

“Stop wearing yerself out.”  

You perk up, snapping out of your trance.

“From where i’m seein it, we probably gotta wait till the mornin.” he says carefully. 

Stress washes over your face, your eyebrows knitting in the center of your forehead. 

“I can’t believe I let this happen.” you bury your face into your hands in frustration.

“Hey, hey,” Atsumu’s tone is cautious. “It’s no biggie, I’m sure we’ll be able catch another flight by tonight.” he says lightly with hints of made up optimism.

“You think so?” Atsumu’s features momentarily soften at you. You're looking at him with no bite in your eyes, just an uncharacteric need for reassurance. 

He pauses for a bit and then replies. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure.”

You relax a bit, tension from your jaw and eyebrows dissipating in small amounts.

A few beats pass before his features fall to his usual visage. He squints his eyes at you cockily, “Aren’t ya supposed to be good at crisis management?” Atsumu smirks. 

“PR head-chan?”

Your short termed genuinety snaps shut instantly. 

You open your mouth to give him a piece of your mind, lifting an accusatory finger at him when the above head bulb shakes.

The teeny room is bathed in dim warm light from a bulb that’s hanging above the both of you, tethered by a thin wire and for a moment you’re sure you just saw something move. 

“What was that?” Atsumu squints his eyes, looking up. 

“You noticed that too?” Your heart rate begins to pick up a little bit, glancing upward at the bulb.

“I’m sure it was nothing.” you mumble mostly to soothe yourself until you hear a squeak.

Every muscle under your skin freezes and the hairs on your skin stands in alert. Atsumu’s eyes are blown wide meeting yours that have reacted similarly. 

You slowly and carefully turn your head to the source of the sound at the dusty shelves that have been there for god knows how long when you meet eyes with a grey furry creature.

“What the fuck!” Atsumu shrieks. Reacting to the loud sound, the startled rat jumps off the shelf, lurching towards you.

You jump, screaming profanities. Your hands find Atsumu’s chest pushing him out of the way, ducking just in time. He falls to the ground on his ass in a large thump and you fall a few centimetres shy from him on all fours. The rat pauses three feet behind you, probably in contemplation of what’s going on. Atsumu’s features are a mix of shocked, bewildered and confused. 

“UP, UP, UP!” you scream, scrambling to your feet, Atsumu follows your orders hastily.

“WE NEED TO GET TO HIGH GROUND!” You point to a stack of cardboard boxes that unfortunately have enough room for only one pair of feet. You look back to find the rat pacing towards you and a piercing scream rips through your throat. 

Just in time, Atsumu grabs your hand pulling you up with his other one firmly gripping onto your waist, already on the elevated platform.

At the height of two cardboard boxes you watch the cursed furry creature make circles around the both of you like a shark circling its prey.

Atsumu’s body is almost flush against your’s with his hand still at your waist, your mind too preoccupied to notice or care.  You press both hands at your chest, “Oh my god, oh my god.”

Atsumu’s unsteady breaths are mixed with yours as you anxiously and unconsciously huddle a little closer to him. 

His grip tightens. 

The rat stops in its tracks, resting on it’s hindlegs and if you didn’t know any better you would think that it was in deep in thought. It then scrams into a dark corner under a shelf, out of your sight.

You breathe a sigh of relief finally looking up to meet Atsumu’s eye. 

His skin looks like it’s been drained of blood and all the life force that makes it, looking almost if not more tortured than you.

You snort.

“You have absolutely no right to be the one laughin!” he hisses softly in case the creature comes back.

You roll your eyes at him and maybe at the sheer ridiculousness of this situation. Miya Atsumu, standing at 6 '2 in all his pro athlete glory is latched onto you, steady on a cardboard box in a dusty storage room, terrified of a rat.

You bite the inside of your cheek stifling a giggle but when you open your mouth to pull his leg, become increasingly aware of the lack of distance between your bodies and the calloused palm at the fabric of your hello kitty jumper. Your mind does a few sommersaults and suddenly your tongue feels dry, devoid of your usual jabs. 

Oh . 

It may be best to strictly speak of the matter at hand instead.

“Did you see the fucking size of that thing!” you whisper with faux ease. 

“Not exactly,” He squints his eyes at you. “ Was pushin me really necessary?”

“You were in the way!” 

“Well, ya could’ve just ducked!” he whisper-argues.

“Well, you shouldn’t have startled it in the first place!” you retort, still whispering, pressing a finger into his chest. 

Atsumu repeats your sentence mockingly like an eight year old, making talking gestures with his free hand. “ Well ya shouldn’t have startled it in the first place ”

Your jaw drops in disbelief. This is a twenty five year old man, by the way. You press the heels of your palm into either sides of your head and screw your lids shut, “Miya, you fuckin-”

There’s a squeak.

No.

There’s a symphony of squeaks.

You stop mid sentence, eyes widening. You look up and Atsumu is absolutely horrified. 

This time, he screams first. 

“RATS! PLURAL! RATS!!” 

Your head snaps down and there are not two, not three but five gigantic rats scurrying out from under the shelf. The screech that leaves you is blood curdling as you instinctively wrap your hands around his neck and jump onto him. You wrap your legs around his waist, gazed fixed at the furry monstrosities in terror. Atsumu hesitates but you begin to slide and he brings his palms a little above the back of your knees to secure you. 

“Oh my god they’re trying to climb the boxes!” You shriek.

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” Atsumu shouts. One of them has managed to dip it’s claws into the first cardboard box has begun trailing its way up.

You snap your head to him, “Atsumu you fuck. DO SOMETHING!”

Atsumu desperately tries to kick away at them, balancing the both of with only a singular foot on an unsteady cardboard footing. He’s flailing his foot haphazardly at the large furry creatures, screaming incoherently. 

Your combined shrieking uniting to form the most deafening harmony to land on human ears.

And then all in a split second Atsumu swings his foot a little too far, his balance betraying him. He tips to the ground, your body still tightly woven around him. The rats react to the masses approaching them from above and scurry away just in time, back into their hiding places. 

And for the third time tonight, Atsumu has fallen to the floor, but this time sprawled on his back. 

You blink your lids open hesitantly only to meet Atsumu’s surprised ones. The last few moments are a blur and your body is resting against Atsumu’s with your hands on his chest and his gripping the flesh at the back of your thighs. Your eyes blow wide and for whatever reason your breath begins to stutter in your throat. 

Atsumu looks as if he’s forgotten how to breathe and your faces are so close that you can feel the warmth radiate off his skin. You feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours, your breasts are pressed against him and the skin where his calloused fingers are digging into your thighs burns. His cheeks are littered with specks of red and neither of you move. Your mind darts at how your legs are spread across his hips, memories of you stupidly jumping onto him in your frenzy burn in your mind. You've found yourself enveloped in his arms and gulp. He inhales sharply, his honey gaze locked into yours. 

Confusion devoid of hesitation turns in your mind and the loud thumping of your chest is ringing in your ears making blood rush to your beet face. His gaze is burning into you, it makes your skin feel hot and you don’t want to look away.

The door swings open in a loud thud, breaking you out of your trance. The both of you snap your heads up at the loud gasps from a very bewildered crowd standing by the entrance in their night clothes. 

Meian looks like his eyes are about to pop out of his sockets,  “What the fu-”

Oh this definitely doesn't look good.

Chapter Text

“YOU HOOKED UP IN THE STORAGE ROOM!” Miwa exclaims loudly, peering in from behind your seat on the team bus.

You quickly lurch out of your seat, muffling her mouth to ensure no more cursed words come out from your dear friend’s - no, ex friend’s mouth.

“Can you keep it down?” you hiss, whispering and pointing a chastising finger at her. “And, we did no such thing!”

She rolls her eyes unamused, “Uhuh.” Before plopping back into her seat behind you, still leaning to her right to meet your eye.

“Right and what else would one be doing held up like that with -” she whispers for the rest of sentence shielding the right side of her mouth with her hand, “a hot jock”  

You wince at her words, and she wriggles her eyebrows suggestively. 

“Hot jock? This isn't highschool.” you say, massaging your forehead in annoyance.

She tips off her seat to knudge you with her elbow, “But, loud sex in a storage room?” she lets out a low whistle, “Y/N, I wasn’t aware of your game.” Miwa grins cheekily at you and you want to bash your head into a wall.

Your face ripples exasperation and confusion before you groan. “For the last time, we fell because of the rats!”

“This again, really?” Miwa shakes her head, sighing. “The lady at the desk said that there were no rats in her inn.”

She tilts her head giving you small smile before putting a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t need to lie, we all have nee-”

“Stop,” you plead, flashing your palms and cutting through the air. 

“I can’t do this,” you groan, tipping your head backwards into the plush material of the seat.

“Geez, okay.” Miwa sinks back into her seat. 

A few beats of peace and silence pass.

Miwa peeks into your seat again, “For the record, if voyeurism is kinda your thing there’s no shame in-”

“Stop talking.”

Blessing or curse, your and Atsumu’s shrieks of terror from the storage room were apparently heard by half of the guests at the inn. Awaking responsible Miean, light sleeper Sakusa and Bokuto who was playing games on his switch, along with a ton of other lodgers, who watched while these three pushed down the door. 

They were shocked, to say the least. But, when you fumbled to your feet, talking about rats like a crazy person, they became a little more than shocked. You called the lady at the desk to support your case infront of the little group that had gathered by the storage room but all she gave you was a mean look.

“There ain’t no rats in my fine establishment!” she growled at you.

You make exasperated gestures with your hands towards the storage room, 

“No, but there are.” you plead.

“They came from under the shelves.” Atsumu added, nervously scratching his neck, finally speaking up to help clear both of your names. He’s standing a step beside you, uncharacteristically silent, barely looking up to meet the glances of his team mates or the judgemntally whispering onlookers.

“Yes, Yes.” you point at him speaking in loud movements. “That. What he said!”

The old lady looks furious, “And what proof do you have?” She points a finger at you angrily.

 “I’ll sue your asses for breaking my property and defamation for all I care!”

You take a step back confused and slightly shaken at her volatile reaction.

Atsumu looks up at the lady with his eyebrows knit together in annoyance. “Ya really shoudn’t talk to yer guests like that.” Though his words inherently do not have bite, his tone is delivered with firmness, leaving no room for argument.

“Hey, hey.” Miean intervenes. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that.” He shrugs before turning to the old lady. “I deeply apologise for all the inconvenience we have caused,” Miean has a tight smile at his lips and reaches to lightly hold the lady’s hand. Gleaming with Charisma.

 “Please bill us for the damages to the door when we check out.”  

The old lady’s voice croaks in her throat, “I-I will!” before she snatches her hand out of his grasp and walks away. 

You sigh in relief before bowing and apologizing to the onlookers for waking them, but all you get in return are a few half-hearted 'it's okay's’ and the rest staring at you and Atsumu with thinly veiled judgement. You groan inwardly.

When you turn to explain yourself to Meian, Bokuto and Sakusa, they all look embarrassed and are barely meeting your eye. 

Bokuto’s eyes are blown wide, “You guys were…”

“NO!” you step in, “Oh god no,” You shake your hands vehemently, nervously chuckling.  

“It was the rats remember?” Looking at them pleadingly.

Sakusa shakes his head, sighing and Meian for the first time since you’ve met him looks uncomfortable. 

You gape in disbelief, there is no way that this is happening to you and Atsumu’s silence is definetly not helping your case. 

You snap your head toward him. “Miya, say something!”

He looks at you a little hesitantly and then clears his throat, 

“The only reason she was lying on me was because her legs were wrapped around me when we were standing.” he says with a satisfied hum, nodding to himself.

Your jaw falls in horror.

Miean eyes blow wide in shock and Sakusa’s hand flies over to cover his gaping mouth.

“Oh my god,” you hold your head in exasperation.

“He didn’t mean it like that!” you reach out to them but they’re already uncomfortably walking away. 

“It’s quite late eh?” Miean nervously smiles, “We should go to the bed.” he adds, chuckling hesitantly before turning away and returning to his room.

You’re so doomed.

***

The trip to the airport passes awkwardly. The team members barely meet your eye, shuffling around you and from the looks of it; it seems that word has gotten out. Bokuto never means ill, he’s endearingly honest with the occasional downside of this trait being that he has a tongue too big for his mouth. You liked him, he was sweet and welcoming during your first week, easing you in despite your Atsumu - related troubles. He was one of your favourite members of the MSBY. Not anymore though, you think as you shoot him daggers across the airport security check. You were a grudge holder.

Atsumu has been averting your gaze since you reunited this morning. You’d searched for his eyes when he waltzed in the bus in hopes that he’d read your pleading expression and clear up what had happened last night to the rest. But, much to your confusion as soon as you caught his eye, he looked away and plopped down to his seat. You tried to ignore how your chest panged slightly, pushing the feeling deep down into your subconscious. 

The PR team head getting cozy with a team member was a bad bad look and certainly not the kind HR would approve of. Not to mention, an entire team of men that must listen to you and respect you for your job to go smoothly think you’ve slept with their teammate in a dirty, dingy and dark storage room, college - style.

You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, groaning. Miwa is seated beside you and is peacefully asleep on the airplane, leaned over to the side with her mouth slightly ajar, some drool escaping. You softly sigh, wondering how on earth you were going to fix the mess of what was supposed to be your perfect little trip to Okinawa.

***

Miya Atsumu was everything you were not, his primary traits being loud, annoying and bothersome. 

Maybe it was a silly twist of fate when you transferred into his class in the middle of your first year because all you wanted was a quiet and peaceful high school experience, two things that Atsumu was not.

But you had no preconceived inhibition towards your classmates despite the fact that most of them came from the same middle school and knew eachother long before you. Naturally, your first month or even first few for that matter at your new school were nerve wracking especially after the incident that had taken place. You still remember it vividly, the incident that had begun this entire charade in your spring of fifteen. 

The court smells of muscle relief spray and feels frigid due to the indoor air conditioner. You’re by the bleachers with an arm propped on your thigh, hand holding your face with your posture poorly bent, looking down at your skirt and straightening it out, failing to conceal how nervous you actually are.

You pull out the crumpled piece of paper nestled in your pocket, a nauseous feeling collecting at your throat as you look at its contents once again.

‘Boys can be mean’, you recall how your mother used to comfort you when your male classmates would trip you purposefully or tear pages out of your notebook when you were in elementary school. You’d sniff into the fabric of her blouse, crying over how terrible they were and she would stroke your hair comfortingly, wiping at your tears before continuing, ‘but they become nicer when they grow up.’

Like hell they do, you now think, blinking back into the present.

You’d heard in whispers from the classmates around you, sometimes even when passing through the hall of rumours of fake confessions being planted into seemingly innocent girls’ bags. Humiliating them as when they met these boys to accept their proclamations of love only to be met with laughter and mockery.

You were furious. What kind of guy did you have to be to mess with someone like that? You would love to give them a piece of your mind and funnily enough it seems that the universe responded rather quickly.

Earlier that morning when rummaging for your history textbook you found a little piece of paper, unevenly folded in your bag. The note’s contents were written messily in bad handwriting taking you a good minute to decipher. 

You’re kinda smart sometimes and pretty. Meet at the bleachers after school?!!

You blink looking at the note stupendously. Kinda smart? Sometimes? Pretty? Your head whirls. You were getting pranked. Of course you were because who wouldn’t want the new girl to be the next in line of an already baffling amount of victims. You scoffed at the note perched in your hand. Weren’t these pranks supposed to be convincing? This note looked like it was written by an eight year old, not to mention the message scrawled on it was an almost provoking confession. 

You wondered who would genuinely fall for this half baked compliment. It was appalling but for some reason none of these thoughts bore much on your mind instead your eyes screwed calculatingly at the note. It was time to give these men a piece of your mind. So you rolled up your sleeves and put on your bravest face. 

Their pranks would end here.

Your thoughts on the bleachers end abruptly with the ring of the school bell. You straighten your back instantly at the sound, chest accompanied with a light nervousness. It should be any minute now. 

Your eyes widen when you notice a group of boys approaching, exiting the corridor that leaves the locker room and leads into the bleachers. The inarizaki volleyball team in their black uniforms forms their way onto to the court before you notice one stray away from their pack, casually jogging towards your direction. 

This is it. His team members gazes are trained on to him as he slowly approaches you making a stop right in front of where you’re seated on the elevated bleachers. You hop off your seat and inch towards the railing to directly meet his eye. His hands are now placed on his hips as he angles his head to look at you and you feel the weight of his gaze along with those of his friends behind him that are making a show of pretending to warm up.

You’ve played out this scene at least twenty times. You will be calm and indifferent, you assure yourself. You can do this. You could deal with these bullies. 

You feel an inkling at the back of your mind, he seemed familiar. He was tall with brown hair that swooped over his forehead with a posture and build that was impressive for a fifteen year old.

“Ya got ma note..” He runs a hand through his hair, his sentence trails off as his gaze flickers between you and the ground. His lips are tightly pulled together in a half smile and you scoff at his what you're sure is a faux display of nervousness.

He jumps slightly at your indifference, clearly confused maybe even surprised. The hand that was at the back of his head begins to fall slowly but he clears his throat. “You’re cute…” he perseveres. “Thought I should let ya know.” 

You narrow your eyes at him and his eyes widen in response. “Not like yer face or whatever,”

“Huh?” you scoff, folding your arms against your chest. 

His eyes widen further and he brings his hands up in defence. “No! NO, ” he stops, momentarily in thought. “What I mean is that..” he begins carefully. “The way you get fired up during art is cool.” He pauses momentarily with his arms still hanging in front of his face. You slightly tilt your head to the side, brows furrowed in what you hope was an intimidating glare. Is he blushing?

“Not that yer face is not cute.” He adds, visibly nervous.

 Your eyes widen as the pin drops in your head. 

“Oh my god you’re Osamu!”

His jaw drops and he physically jerks back. “What?”

“HA! I knew it!” you point an accusatory finger at him. “You’re one of those twins from my class!”

He shakes his head, frowning. “I’m not-”

You cut him off, paying no mind to him, shaking your head in disappointment with your arms still folded. “And to think that you would go this low.”

His brows knit together, “what are you talking ab-”

“Ya know, I always thought you were the better one.” You begin, cutting him off for the second time. His mouth clamps shut at your words. “Between the two of you.” You continue, leaning on your left leg, casually popping your hip. His jaw remains tight but you continue anyways.

“Did you think I’d fall of this?” you pull out the note that you’d shoved into your pocket, clearing your throat before making a show of reading it, hoping your voice doesn't shake when you speak. “You’re kinda smart sometimes and pretty. Meet at the bleachers after school?”  You raise an eyebrow and for some reason his face falls along with his arms that go still by his sides almost as if you’d just kicked him. You push your surprise at his confusing reaction down. After all he was pranking you and all of this was an act.

“Is this how you lot pranked those other girls?” Your tone is hard and there is an edge to your words as you spit them at him.

He jolts as he blinks what you said in. “Pranked? What are you talking-”

“Don’t play coy with me! I’m not an idiot.” You huff. “This is all a part of that prank you guys from my grade have been running!”

He blinks, “I really don’t know wh-”

“Osamu, enough with that!” you roll your eyes and you sense he’s beginning to get a bit frustrated. “Again, I’m not-”

“You guys are mean, mean people, if you think playing with someone’s feelings is funny.”

You frown deeply now and the guy seems to be taken aback. Hints of sadness begin to seep from your chest into your visage. If your first few weeks weren’t nerve wracking enough, being pulled into a prank was the cherry on top. You wondered why they must have found calling you cute and almost smart as a joke would be funny, it had hurt your feelings ever so slightly if you did say so yourself and you would be lying if you said that you didn’t have a small glimmer of hope that maybe just maybe the note could be real. So, you showed it to a girl from class who shook her head with a pitiful frown. I mean with the amount of fake confessions going around, she was probably right, you had rationalised. You couldn’t let Osamu get the best of you. Doesn’t matter if you were feeling a tad bit lonely at your new school and it doesn't matter that it has been your fifth week here and you still skip breakfast so your nerves don’t make you nauseous in class. 

Your frown deepens when the guy infront of you simply blinks with his mouth opening and closing like a fish in disbelief. Behind him, his teammates have stopped their pretend movements and stretches and are watching the scene unfold with wide eyes and open mouths.

You sigh inwardly before tossing the note to him, standing below the elevated platform and the approaching note seems to snap him out of his daze as he catches it smoothly. His brows furrow when he opens his palm to find the little letter and he sinks into himself a little.

You take a deep breath, this is almost over and you managed to stand your ground. At least no one will mess with the new girl again.

You look past him at his friends who remain gawking and frozen in place on court before you calmly and hopefully casually look back at him. “Tell your buddies joke’s over. Next time, it won’t be funny.” before you turn on your shaky heels and walk away.

In hindsight you realise this is where your messy yet eventful high school experience began, a stupid prank and you mixing Atsumu up for his twin. But like anything at all, your high school experience wasn’t all bad. It just wasn’t what you had imagined, it was loud and awfully eventful. 

Since that day, you had come to pay closer attention to the twins in your class. They were terribly difficult to distinguish but you soon realised that the one whose stretches were more languid, whose presence was a little bigger and whose eyes met yours periodically between lessons in the silence of your classroom was the boy you had met on that day. You had also quickly come to realise that the boy’s name was Atsumu, not the better twin you thought he was.

You had stood your ground and wanted nothing but to be left alone, especially by him but you weren’t a very lucky person and you knew better than anyone that things rarely ever went your way when the one person you wanted so badly to avoid did everything but avoid you.

Atsumu loved irritating you, getting under your skin, with a burning passion. Sending you lazy impassive glances and crooked grins that made your skin crawl, arguing with you at any chance he got just to piss you off. You passed your days plotting little pranks as pay back for the ones he’d play on you, nothing too smart just annoying. He’d exhibit elementary school bullying patterns that seven year old you knew all too well. He would snatch worksheets that you had been assigned to distribute from your grasp, in an attempt to condescendingly get you to ask him nicely or jump like an idiot to grab them back while he dangles them cockily above your head. Lifting his arm up higher whenever you got ever so close to reaching them. 

But he wasn’t a complete idiot and despite this being a huge pill to swallow, you had realised that his ginormous ego wasn’t all that unjustified when you’d first seen him on court.

It was as if his senses that didn’t aid to the game were dulled. His eyes scanned the court with an intense focus on the ball ahead. You remember being rooted in place, the first time you saw him ‘in his element’. Standing by the edge of the court, you had popped in to pick up a few extra towels for the track and field team. There was an intense air to him almost as if he were a predator zeroing in on his prey. You’d felt your skin prickle into tiny goosebumps across your arms at this version of Miya Atsumu that you’d swear you’d never seen. His limbs stretched across the court with ease, each jump was well calculated and executed with an odd grace in a way you didn’t believe was possible in sport. You noticed the muscles move under his skin in harmony with his entire body, the slow shift of them on his arms as be reached for the volleyball before setting it in motion and gaugaing by the subtle quirk of his brow upon setting it, you knew that he had probably done it almost perfectly. His fluid and well practiced movements were a commendable result of all the training he’d put in and you had found yourself stuck almost as if the air that surrounded him had also enveloped you who was standing by the sidelines, water bottle in hand, in your training clothes until your track teammate called out your name loudly, snapping you out of whatever trance you were in. 

***

You were never too much of a fan of the awful coffee from the coffee machine at work but with the kind of day you were having, today called for a cup of that terrible steaming hot liquid. You stare at the brown swirls in a white mug that reads ‘Work smart, hustle hard.’, a little cliché but you didn’t mind it. 

It’s been two days since your work trip turn disaster in Okinawa and the situation hasn’t gotten much better. Especially since you heard your coworkers gossiping about your ‘sex-escapedes’ while you were sitting in the bathroom stall.

You’d opened the door in a loud bang halting them mid sentence, awkwardly clearing your throat when they scrambled to compose themselves, making displays of fixing their makeup in the mirror.

“That did not happen.” you had informed before politely reminding them of the repercussions of spreading falsities in the office and they had hastily apologised, quickly turning on their feet. 

What you had hoped and prayed would blow over was showing clear signs that it was not and to make matters worse Atsumu was nowhere to be found and neither did he seem to be doing much damage control. Which brings you here, in your office after setting up an official meeting with him to discuss matters that were very much not work related.

Atsumu’s strolls into your office without knocking with his hands stuffed in his pockets to find you nervously pacing, making gestures with your hands as if you were talking to yourself. He halts as the door closes behind him, raising a brow questioningly.

“Are ya finally losin yer marbles?”

You snap your head toward him, ignoring his comment. “You’re here!” 

Puzzled, Atsumu watches as you walk back to your seat, plopping on before smoothing out your hair.

You inhale deeply, placing your interlocked hands on the desk. You’re the PR head, you're supposed to prevent scandals not be the epicentre of one. You needed whatever this was to blow over yesterday and for that you required his utmost cooperation.

Atsumu’s confused and slightly concerned expression remains in place as he takes a seat in front of your desk. 

You swallow before beginning an already thought out plan of action, “I-”

“See before ya say anythin’,” Atsumu is  comfortably leaned into his chair, an elbow propped on the hand rest and his legs lazily spread before he speaks matter of factly. “People will believe what they wanna believe.”

You purse your lips, “but we need to atleast try!”  Leaning a little over your desk, you whisper - hiss, “People are talking.”  

Atsumu sighs, impassive and seemingly extremely unbothered by this predicament you both have gotten yourself into. “Y/N, people will always talk.”

He yawns and then rubs his neck lazily with his hand that's propped on the arm rest. “And, you know that better than anyone, PR head-chan.”

“No,” You screw your eyes shut to collect yourself and briefly summarise your points. He doesn’t care, of course he doesn’t. After all, in situations like this it’s always the woman that’s spoken about. The guy got lucky and the woman did something distasteful. That’s what they will say and that is what they’re saying right now, you’re sure of it. You can’t let a stupid rumour of a sexy getway with a man that you’re supposed to manage, ruin your reputation.

“You don’t get it Atsumu.” you shake your head. 

His brows furrow, “What don’t I get?”

“Did you deny the rumours?” your voice holds an accusation and Atsumu remains silent for a beat.

His mouth opens with an uncharacteristic unsureness, “It’s pointless.” He shrugs.

“It’s not pointless!” Exasperated at his carelessness, a pained expression takes over.  “It’s my reputation!”

“You not denying this makes things worse!”

Atsumu, taken aback by your statement, blinks in surprise. He straightens his back, readjusting himself in his seat but his gaze remains in yours before he speaks with a rare seriousness. 

“Do you think people will say things about you?” He pauses before pressing on, leaning forward towards you with both the palms of his hands facing eachother and his elbows on his knees. “ Like about your character?”

“Of course they will!” you respond incredulously. “Come on, Atsumu. You weren’t born yesterday.” 

“I would never let that happen.” 

He says it like it’s so obvious like any harm to you was never on the table. It makes your head spin and breath halt in your throat. 

“Even the team for that matter would never allow that.” he presses on, exasperatedly.

“I would never let anyone ruin your reputation, Y/N.”

You don’t know if it's because of what he’s reassuring you of or that he’s the one dong the reassuring but, for a reason you can’t pin down, you want to believe him. You want to take his word. 

You exhale deeply, slightly deflating your chest. Pausing in an attempt to remind yourself of who the man infront of you is, a man child, high school and managing him in the present had proven that to you numerous amounts of times. You spent your weekends covering up for the scandals that would erupt from pictures of him drunk out of his mind at night clubs often even passed out in the VIP section a new foreign model in each one of them, models that you’re sure went back home with him later that night. The thought makes you roll your eyes. 

You swallow with a new found conviction, slowly bringing your eyes up from your desk to his bronze ones. His jaw is bunched tightly and his brows are slightly furrowed, his gaze roams your expression for a moment in an attempt to gauge your thoughts and the words that you had kept ready in your throat can’t seem to come out. 

He fills the silence. “I’ll take care of it.” he exhales, his head hangs low with his gaze trailing the floor as if in thought. He seemed serious almost even apologetic. You barely remember the last time you’d seen him so sincere. 

Sincere? 

Your train of thought breaks when Atsumu straightens off his seat in an instant, shoving his hands back into the pockets of his trousers, his shit eating grin plastered back on. 

“Anyways,” he drawls, any hint of the seriousness that he had displayed just moments earlier seemed to vanish into nothingness. You blink in surprise taking a minute to accommodate the sudden shift and just as he’s about to turn on his heels and waltz out of your office, he lowers his voice teasingly, looking at you through narrowed eyes.

“Don’t get ya pretty panties in a bunch, sweetheart.” 

You rear your head back, gaping. “Excuse me?”, but he’s already gone and you throw a pen at the door as it closes behind him.

Chapter Text

“And no getting drunk on champagne, I am not babying you.” you state with a hard emphasis on the ‘no’ and ‘not’.

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t,” he responds dryly, eyes trained on the road.

It’s Saturday and Atsumu had insisted that he pick you up, even though you argued that you could drive yourself. So you decided to make use of the extra time to set down rules for the gala.

“I will leave you there Miya, I swear.”

He rolls his eyes, you glare at him as you continue, “and no introducing me to people until-”

“It’s absolutely necessary, I know I know.” he cuts you off irritatedly, “You’ve said this about fifty times already.”

“Just trying to get it through your thick skull”

He flips you off and you yawn.

It's been two weeks since your conversation with Atsumu and the rumours, stares and whispers have all abruptly halted. You couldn’t be more relieved, people must have gotten bored, moving on the next interesting piece of gossip as they do. 

You hadn’t seen much of him either, other than for a brief meeting with the team. You found yourself mindlessly going back to chaos you found yourself in just a few weeks ago, the flashes of sincerity, your body on his in the storage room and the most important of all, something you’d almost forgotten amidst everything going on, the gala.

The gala that you had agreed to accompany Atsumu for was one of JVA’s most awaited events. An exclusive black-tie event in a fancy ballroom filled with some of the most influential people in Japan. This year, funds are being raised in an auction, the JVA is yet to reach out to you and Miwa with the specifics but you assume they’re auctioning off expensive clothes and bags, maybe even items that are one of a kind, considering the sponsors that usually back these events.

With the date of the gala moving closer and closer, after two long and slow weeks, your phone had finally dinged, reading Atsumu’s name. Which presently, brings you here with him, in his car, going dress shopping.

“Why are we at a luxury mall?”

He turns to you, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he turns off the engine. “Where else would we be?”

“Never mind.”

You’re leaning against the railing, the spacious elevator feels claustrophobic with this six foot something giant of a man a couple of centimetres in front of you. His hands are tucked into his trouser pockets and he isn’t close to you but he isn’t far either. The faint smell of his cologne tingles your nose, your eyes trace the white shirt he’s wearing. Delicately going over the defined muscles of his back, the broadness of his shoulders, you inaudibly gulp. The elevator dings open and he walks out, you hastily shuffle behind him, cheeks burning at the thoughts uncontrollably swirling in your head. You fall into step beside him and he keeps giving you confused glances from the side of his eye, so you grab his arms and walk into the first shop you see.

You’re a bit overwhelmed at first. The racks of designer clothing towered over you and you seemed to forget that your fingers were still wrapped around Atsumu's arms and you failed to notice how he was staring holes at where your skin touched the fabric of his shirt. He made no move to remove it.

The employee bows and greets both of you, “What can I help you with? Is there anything specific you’d like to see?”

“The most expensive dresses you have for her please” Atsumu responds without missing a beat.

You whip your head towards him and whisper hiss, “Most expensive? What are you talking ab-”

He shushes you as the employee leads you towards an aisle of clothing, you shoot him a very confused/offended look and he simply waves, mouthing a bye bye through his trademark smirk.

You were shoved into a fitting room with a heap of dresses in hand by the over-enthusiastic employee who kept cooing about what a wonderful boyfriend you have even after making multiple attempts to explain to her that he in fact was not your boyfriend. You have to say that she knew what she was doing when she handed you these dresses, you slipped the first one on and were in awe with how the black silk hugged your body just right in the right places. It’s a pretty dress, backless with straps running across your skin and the neck cut a little low. 

“Ya decent?” Atsumu drawls from the other side.

You furrow your brows, “Yeah, why?” you respond, tilting your head towards the velvet curtains.

He slides them open in a swift motion. Quirking a brow, he lets out a low whistle. Your cheeks instantly burn red. He fumbles with his words a bit before muttering out a low wow.

Running a hand through his hair, he ruffles it a bit, and some strands stick out of place, looking slightly dishevelled. You turn to face him and silently pray to whoever’s listening that you don’t look as nervous as you feel. You run your fingers through your hair, cocking a brow, “You’re staring.”

He perks up and blinks at you, a moment passes in silence, and you tilt your head in expectation of a response. 

“Oh uh,” he stutters, “sorry,” he mumbles before looking away, and you bite back a smirk at the ego boost this is.

He gestures towards the pile, “You uh continue till you find one,” he scratches the back of his head and looks up as if in thought, “and if you want them all, that’s fine too.” He finally looks you straight in the eye with cheeks that are slightly flushed and ears that are slightly red, you’re a bit confused about where this is coming from, the lack of any and all bite, that is.

 “I’ll uh leave you to it then”, he mumbles before rubbing his neck and sliding the curtains close.

You turn to gaze at your reflection, hands cupping your face, and for the first time in a long time, your lips curve into a slightly giddy smile. 

You walk out of the fitting room with a winner. Atsumu’s waiting for you on a plush chair that looks miniature with him on it. He hasn’t seemed to notice you yet, arms folded across his chest, a leg crossed over the other, the fabric of his shirt neatly bunched over his elbows, and for a moment, you just look at him.

He perks up under your gaze, “ya done?”

You nod, and he gets off the seat, stuffing his hands in his pockets as you trail behind him.

He hands his credit card to the lady over the desk, and she has a sheepish smile on her face as she bills the dress. 

Before handing the bag over, “You both make a very beautiful couple,” she coos. Your’s and Atsumu’s brows shoot up in sync.

She turns to you, “You’re so lucky to have a boyfriend that spoils you.” she continues cheerily. 

“Huh? Oh, um,” you fumble with your words, Atsumu’s gaze weighs heavily on you, and he seems to be enjoying this. How annoying.

“Uh, he’s not..” you trail off, the employee looks at you questioningly, and Atsumu quirks a brow, sensing the gears turning in your head. “I’m sorry, was I mistaken?” she asks with an apologetic look on her face. 

You bring a hand to Atsumu’s shoulder. “No, not at all,” you reply in a cheery tone as you casually glide your hands down the length of his arms, delicately tracing over his well-defined biceps. Atsumu goes stiff as a board, and you gently loop your arm around his. 

Walking out with your hand still wrapped around his arm, you glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s making his best effort to keep a straight face, but his hard features instantly betray him. The smirk you’ve been holding back takes over your features.

Your hand slips away from his as soon as the glass doors shut behind you.

He turns to glare at you, eyebrows knit together. “What was that about?”

You tilt your head, features are impassive. “The face you were making irritated me.” You pause, “So I wiped it off.”

He scoffs, and you glance at your watch. “It’s late, should we stop for dinner?” you suggest.

He hums, tilting his head, “Yeah, sure.”

A couple of years ago, you would have never imagined yourself willingly spending your spare time with Miya Atsumu, not a couple of hours ago, even, but it was an impulse decision, team building, you told yourself. Yes, this was team building. You silently nod to your thoughts.

So here you are for the second time this month, seated parallel to Miya Atsumu, your high school / workplace nemesis. The only man who successfully manages to get under your skin and the only man who successfully managed to wiggle his way back into your life.

Maybe you knew what you were getting into when you were nothing but professional with Atsumu, maintaining a good amount of distance from him but good god did he know how to rile you up in the limited time you ever saw him and before you knew it having to yell at him to be more mindful of the cameras every other Saturday night became more or less routine and it was like you were in high school again, picking up from exactly where you left off.

You wonder now if he ever got over his fear of the dark. It’s a funny memory, club activities dragged on later than usual, and he was the last one left in the locker room, it was too good of a chance not to test your theory. A perfect chance at payback for the time he submitted your homework, scribbling his name on it.  

***

You gently opened the door, creeping a hand in, fumbling for the switches and turning them off. He shrieked and you bit down on your hand to prevent the laughter gathering at your throat from spilling. 

He was trying to tough it out, you knew. You’re behind the door when he thinks aloud, “maybe the power is out, it’ll be back.” in a voice too loud for a whisper yet too soft for it to be considered not. It’s quiet and you could hear the rapid shuffling of cloth on the other side of the door, you pressed a hand to your mouth in an effort to stifle your hearty giggles. It should be any moment now; he must be losing patience.

It’s when the shuffling of clothes gets louder and there’s a loud slam of a locker closing followed by fast footsteps almost as if he’s running, the first giggle tumbled past your lips.

You moved out of the way and the doors slammed open, your eyes went wide. 

Both of his legs were in the same hole of his shorts. You howled, clutching your stomach with one hand and the wall with the other, your lungs felt heavy and light at the same time and you’re laughing so hard that you thought you just might pee yourself. 

His face contorted through a series of emotions within seconds, confusion of why you’re here at first, irritation when he puts two and two together and pure horror when he realises why exactly you’re laughing so hard. He dives back into the locker room at record speed causing your laughter to only intensify.

His face was red when he had exited the locker room with whatever pride he had left, you were still there, still laughing and he sent you what he thought was a mean glare. But his cheeks were burning in different shades of crimson and the events that passed a couple of minutes ago were still fresh in your mind. So, you only laughed harder. It’s a melodious sound really and atsumu seems to be at a loss for words. 

A beat passes with him staring daggers at you.

“Would ya shut up” he grumbles, hiding his face in the palms of his hands.

You ignore him. 

He’s peeking through his fingers as you wipe the tiny tears accumulating at your lash line, and for a split second, his eyes look different, almost unreadable. Something close to warmth was hiding under the layers of bronze, and it made you feel weird in the chest but maybe you had imagined it because when you opened your eyes wide to look at him again, they were devoid of what you saw you flicker.

You clear your throat, sliding your phone out of your pocket. Your lips tugged in a wicked smirk as you showed him your phone screen and pressed play. 

“I take payment in cash by the way.” 

***

“Miya, who has dessert for dinner?”

“What's wrong wid it?” he asks through a mouthful of ice cream, you laugh. It’s a genuine one with no bite hiding underneath the layers, and Atsumu momentarily stops chewing. “You are a child, you know that,” you murmur partly to yourself.

“Here,” he says, a spoonful ice cream with syrup sliding off of it hovers in front of you. “See for yerself, tis stuff is good.” You blink and short-circuit a bit. His gaze is unwavering on you, and somehow, even with remnants of syrup smeared across his lips, heat rushes to the surface of your skin.

You tentatively lean in, your eyes still locked in his. 

“Holy shit” you exclaim through a mouthful of ice cream.

“Right?” he exclaims back.

It’s a genuine moment and you haven’t had the pleasure of having many of those with Atsumu.

“You got some,” he says, gesturing towards the corner of his lips, hoping that you’d mirror his actions.

“Here?” You wipe off the wrong side.

He shakes his head, “No, wait.”

He leans off his chair into your personal space, your breathing stops and eyes widen. He reaches an arm out, and you watch him like a deer in the headlights as he brings his hand closer and closer to your lips. He gently glides a thumb across your lower lip, gaze fixed on them. Your heart speeds up in your chest at how impossibly slow his thumb moves across your lips. Your breathing stutters a bit, and you find yourself unable to form coherent thoughts, scanning his annoyingly symmetrical face intently.

When he’s done, he makes no move to move away, his thumb rests gently on your lips, and he lifts his gaze to meet your eyes, your heart begins to beat at an impossibly fast pace. His gaze is heavy with something you can’t put your finger on. His golden irises bore into yours, your skin feels hot, and your chest heavy. Neither of you moves away.

When he breaks eye contact, moving away to return to his seat, something heavy weighs on your chest. You convince yourself that it isn’t disappointment you’re feeling. “Yer good,” he mumbles, and you mutter out a half-hearted thanks, averting your eyes from him.

You shift in your seat, thoughts still incredibly jumbled and breathing still incredibly erratic.

“Bathroom,” you mumble, shuffling out of your chair. He hums in acknowledgement.

You make giant strides at incredible speed towards the bathroom. Shutting the door behind you, your back and palms against it, you try to gauge what just happened, to try and understand why your body is reacting like this.

Placing your hands firmly on the edges of the sink, you stare hard at your reflection staring right back at you. Your cheeks are a dull shade of red, and you bring your fingers to trace the colour bleeding across your skin. Taking your lower lip between your teeth and releasing it, you graze your finger across it, mimicking his actions. Your eyes widen, and your fingers come to an abrupt stop. Burying your face in the palms of your hands, you let out a loud groan, what are you doing?

Sliding into his car, the air feels static. Unspoken tension lingers, you feel it, and you sense that Atsumu feels it too. The silence is deafening, it’s different, and you don’t know what to make of it. The car comes to a stop outside your apartment complex, and you finally turn to face him. He’s already looking at you, though with the same heavy unreadable eyes and you ignore the odd feeling in your chest. 

“Thank you”, you break the silence, “for today.” 

“It’s the least I could do” he shrugs, “considering the favour you’re doing me.”

You hum, “Well then, I’ll see you when I see you.” He nods, and you climb out of the car.

He waits until you’re in to drive off, you stamp on your floor on entering the elevator and sigh as if you were holding in a long breath, unsure of what to make of today’s events.

Chapter Text

Miwa’s stressed. 

“That would be four different campiains!” 

She shoves four fingers into your face, “FOUR! All at once!”

As luck would have it, four of your athletes have gotten brand deals which would have been great news any other time, a time where all of them weren’t shooting campaigns within the same month. 

Miwa’s been in your office all day since the news broke to her via four casual emails this morning from their personal agents respectively, talk about bad timing. After spending an hour complaining, she has now chosen to sulk in your chair while you hum noncommittally to whatever she says.

“Harpic? Are you serious?” 

“It’s quite like him.” you murmur with your gaze on your laptop, typing away. Miwa spins in her chair.

Sakusa after some constant back and forth with his agent, managed to land a brand deal with …none other than Harpic. The jokes write themselves.

“And I know Hinata doesn’t wear his sunscreen everyday!” Miwa accuses to the air and you hum mindlessly. Hinata received a deal from a popular Japanese sunscreen brand, good for him honestly, would have been good for you too if this had happened any other time. This was going to one busy month.

Miwa lets out a long dramatic sigh before sinking further into your office chair, staring wistfully  at the ceiling.

“Goodbye my weekends.”

You take your hands off your laptop and eyes off your screen to let out a tiny sigh before sinking into your chair yourself, nodding in solidarity. “Farewell to our spare time.”

There’s some silence before Miwa looks at your cautiously.

Along with the rest, Meian received the opportunity to become the face of a hair gel brand but the news that threw you off this morning wasn’t any of these three brand deals, it was the fourth one.

Miwa clears her throat. “CK brand ambassador huh…”

Why is she looking at you like that? “Good for him.” you shrug. 

His fanbase will go nuts, you can already imagine it, him on a billboard in Shibuya, leaned over on a stool, his defined abs stretched across his bare torso with a broad and muscular arm leading a hand into his ruffled hair. The button of his jeans left teasingly open to display the band of the brand’s underwear, packaged with his trademirk smirk plastered across his face. The visual is vivid in your brain and for a weird reason, you feel an odd feeling gather in lower tummy.

What are you doing-

“Are you even listening?” You were not.

“Huh, what?” You blink back into the present and out of Shibuya. What were you talking about again?

Miwa screws her eyes at you, her lips twitch slightly upward and you thank your lucky stars when she doesn't press on, 

“Anyways, good for Miya, I guess.”

She gets off her chair. “But, we have a hell lot of work to do.”

***

You’re sweating and it has nothing to do with your all black outfit.

Miwa, in typical type B personality fashion dropped you a text, approximately two minutes ago as you entered the shooting venue. 

“btw darling, i won’t be in today!!! am sups busy!!!! See you at work tom *kissy face*!!!”

You frown, Sups busy? 

It would've been nicer if she'd told you earlier, you think. Considering that you're the only liaison from MSBY now. You push down at odd feeling of nervousness gathering at throat, this wasn’t your first time at a shoot anyways.

The huge doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing you into a space that smells faintly of steam and cologne. The studio is cavernous with concrete floors gleaming under the blaze of overhead rigs. Light floods the center of the room where seamless rolls of white and charcoal backdrops curve into the wall.

Everywhere you look, people are moving. Assistants wheel racks stacked with Calvin Klein sets, stark black, crisp white, muted gray while a stylist hunches over a steamer, pulling wrinkles from cotton waistbands. The photographer tests his lens in quick, sharp bursts of flash that ricochet through the air. Music thrums low from hidden speakers, bass-heavy and moody, syncing with the steady click of the shutter.

A stool and a leather bench against the backdrop, the only props in the otherwise stripped-down set. You swallow thickly. Atsumu is going to be the centre of all of this, his biggest deal yet.

No one’s noticed you yet, your footprints are quiet. You look around carefully for that familiar blonde mess of hair, scanning the room. He’s probably still in the dressing room, you think, inhaling deeply before exhaling to self-soothe. You smoothe out your hair. You need to get a grip, now.

After the dinner that had proceeded your dress shopping, you had gone back to your apartment with your mind in a haze. The way he slowly glided his thumb across your lips, the sensations that burst through your skin like flames, you must be imagining things if you had gotten worked up over a simple gesture of good will. It was probably nothing, you told yourself. He’s being nice to you because of the gala. He needs you to not bail on him, you rationalise. You were probably just tired and let it get to your head - he didn’t even mean it like that. 

He’d been stuck in your head since then, the warmth of his fingers, the intensity of his gaze felt like sun on your skin. That stupid smirk you can’t stand, so oddly etched in your memory. You must be going insane. On match day, you had found yourself playing closer attention to your appearance, sliding on your makeup with more thought and precision. For the cameras, you had told yourself. Totally not because you’d see Atsumu there. 

You make a mental note to set up a routine doctor’s appointment. Maybe your barren life when it came to men was finally getting to you.

At today’s shoot, your job here is plain and simple, evaluate BTS footage, hold Atsumu’s tongue during interviews and make sure that the shoot doesn't get to…risqué. He has young fans too.

You tap your foot impatiently against the hard concrete floors, creating a rhythmic tapping sound while you look through your notes for today. You stare at the words emptily, failing to make much sense of them. Your mind is everywhere but here.

In T minus a few minutes, Atsumu is going to walk out of that changing room in all his shirtless glory, with his abs bedazzled and defined. He probably even fasted before this shoot.

Stay calm. Don’t think. Just don’t think. Don’t think of Atsumu’s defined abs or his defined chest or his defined arms or-

A tap on your shoulder breaks your train of thought.

“Murata-san!”

Mr.Murata, the creative exec behind this collab smiles warmly at you before extending a hand for a firm handshake. You take it warmly.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.  So nice to put a face to all those email threads!”

Mr.Murata chuckles, “Likewise,” 

With no time to waste, he hands you tablet, “Take a look.” 

Your eyes widen. Woah.

 “This is what we have in mind for him.”

The tablet is filled with slide after slide of sketched out poses and outfits for Atsumu’s shoot and few of them are rather… steamy.

“Before you say anything,” Murata quips good naturedly. “We’ve curated these poses after lots of deliberation! And trust me-”, he leans a bit closer, shielding the side of his mouth in a whisper. 

“The people will go wild!, This man was made for a campaign like this! Why do you think we chose him!” he says excitedly through a grin and you give him a tight toothed smile in return.

There’s no way.

“I’m not so sure,” you say apologetically.

“Ahh, How about this?” he begins to propose. “We’ve already briefed Miya-san, why don’t you go see for yourself?”

You tilt your head, a little lost.

“The appeal.” he says it like its obvious. “You should see it for yourself. I'm sure you will be convinced, once you do!”

He looks past you, calling a few staff members rather sternly. “Show her his dressing room.”

Uh oh, you don’t like where this is going. 

He puts his hands together, his smile still frozen in place, “For our sakes!”, before a staff member ushers you to the direction of Atsumu’s dressing room.

“This is it!” the staff member chirps. “We’ll be waiting till you decide.” She turns on her heels and walks back to the studio. You’re now alone, staring at a door that reads Miya Atsumu in flashy letters. He’s getting treated like an absolute celebrity. You chew your lip, so cool.

You give the door a firm knock. “Who’s it?” His voice is lazy and reverberates through the wood.

“It’s me.” You clear your throat. “Y/N, I mean”

The door opens, he’s in a tightly tied white bathrobe with his hair gelled in way that’s supposed to give both sexy and controlled. You gulp, it is totally giving sexy and controlled. 

He raises a brow at you, “Are ya gonna stand out forever?”

You roll your eyes, letting yourself in and he plops on a long brown couch that almost covers the wall it’s against. 

You scratch your head, “Murata showed me the poses.”

“And?” He leans forward with his elbows on knees. “Whaddya think about them?”

“They’re a little..” you trail off. 

“Too much?” he suggests and you shrug. “We thought you’d say that.” he hums in thought.

“Yeah that’s why they sent me here,” you roll your eyes. “so you could convince me.” You say in air quotes.

“Yeah well, show don’t tell, amarite.”

You quirk a brow, “you’re okay with this, though?”

“Seems alright ta me.” he shrugs his shoulders.

“Except for the one where I havta grab ma di-”

“Yeah, immediately no.”

“Understandable,” 

“Your call then.” Atsumu holds your gaze for a moment while you turn all this information over in your head. Something swirls behind his visage for a moment before you respond.

“Well, show me what Murata-san thinks you’ve got, I guess.” 

He’d probably show you a few poses you’d seen in the catalogue from which you’d have to select and eliminate a few. Totally cool, no biggie.

So imagine your surprise when gets up and reaches for the knot of his robe. 

Your eyes blow wide, flailing an arm to motion him to stop. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Atsumu’s fingers halt at the loosened knot, raising a brow at you like you're crazy. “...Showing you the poses?” 

Ah.

You mentally face palm. If he’s showing you practised poses for the shoot, of course it would only make sense if he did it in costume, obviously. 

Why are you acting like this?

You swallow, he’s still looking at you, part quizzical part amused. There’s a ghost of a smirk at his lips and his fingers remain where they are.

“Yeah,” you chuckle dryly, “right, of course...” 

He huffs out a sound that’s almost like a repressed snicker mixed with what can only be described as fond amusement, probably derogatory you think.

You're frozen in place with no rhyme or reason as to what has gotten into you lately, enough to be acting like this at your job. You're being irrational and high strung and most importantly, unprofessional, you tell yourself.

Atsumu is of course, by no means an unattractive male and you’re a perfectly healthy woman with perfectly healthy responses. Your need of the hour is to keep these thoughts and responses far, far away from your professional life. 

“Anyways,” Atsumu drawls. His fingers quickly pull out the knot of his robe, letting it fall softly to the floor. 

For the love of god.

Your eyes trail along the broad shoulders you’ve only ever seen housed in his tees or jerseys down to the expanse of his wide chest. The ripple of his abs across his stomach, hard and defined from years of training. The taper of his waist contrasts the width of his shoulders, following an inverted triangle. As your gaze roams lower, the V of hips bones protrude right above the line of his underwear and below his set of defined muscles, making your mind sommerault. Despite the appreciating heat in your face and the absolute lack of coherent reason in your brain, you manage to resist the urge to ogle him any lower than the band of his black ck boxers. That would certainly not be something you could come back from.

It is at that moment you realise that Atsumu is pretty fucking hot. 

You find Atsumu pretty fucking hot.

The sharp clearing of a throat snaps you out of your thoughts. Jesus, were you staring? 

Atsumu watches you from under his lashes with thinly veiled amusement and a small but teasing smirk at his lips. Oh my god he must be loving this. His already huge ego is probably inflating by a thousand miles a minute at this very moment. You need to stay calm and normal.

You’re always calm and normal. You shake off your thoughts, plastering on your steadiest smile.

Atsumu continues to hold your gaze with the teeniest almost inconceivable smug look on his face and a faintly raised brow while he sits himself down on the couch.

“Go ahead.” you grit, pointedly forcing yourself to look into his eyes and nowhere else. You make a show of whipping out your tablet, pretending to look at something casually.

“Alright, tell me if any of this is too much.”

You hum after mentally prepering yourself, slowly taking your eyes off your screen.

His arms are behind him propping him up, legs stretched forward with his torso tight but seemingly relaxed in a lazy yet sexy lean.

It is then that you realise how close you’re standing to him.

His legs are spread such that they’re almost trapping you in, you can feel your heart in your throat, thrumming all the way up to your ears. Your grip on your ipad tightens in an attempt to anchor yourself. You really should not have agreed to this.

Your cheeks burn with a foreign intensity as you meet his golden gaze. His eyes are solid like a brick wall with something hiding behind it. Unreadable as they almost often are. An unwelcome heat begins to spread.

You’re about to step away when he speaks, “Is this okay?”

Ah, right.

“Um…ya.” Someone needs to get you a public speaking award. 

He slightly shifts his arms behind him, slumping his shoulders just a little but his gaze is unwavering. “This?” 

You rack your mind of something to say, “Maybe something like this could be okay..” you make random gestures with your hands unsure of what you’re trying to tell him yourself. 

Completely unfazed with not much of a reaction Atsumu eases himself up, closing the distance between his knees and yours, leaving a silver of a gap so small, you wonder if you’d get zapped with static.

“Like what?”

The words roll off his tongue calmly, as if this were your everyday conversation, as if he were fully clothed and sitting across you at a team meeting and not naked in his underwear. 

But if you had looked hard enough, there was a blip. A second where the brick wall in his eyes crumbled. You gulp before responding, collecting your barings.

“This.” You cautiously step forward. One foot in front of the other, stretching out a palm, now standing between his thighs. 

Almost instinctively, he straightens and the palm you’d stretched to gesture him to lean connects flush against his skin. Shock reverberate from the point of contact, rushing down your skin all the way to your feet. You inhale sharply, he doesn’t miss your surprise.

Your eyes burn into your fingers right below his collarbone and your palm against the warmth of his chest. 

His chest pendulates under your touch, rising and falling. You feel the vibrations of the rapid beating of his heart against your fingers and it makes your breath hitch. You feel hot all over. 

His thighs hovering milimeters away from your skin, slowly but surely close, touching the outsides of your thighs, closing you in and the low flame that was thrumming in your belly breaks out into a scalding fire, seeping lower and lower.

You hesitantly lift your gaze from his chest, dragging it upwards. You wonder what face he’s been making, your skin thrums with anticipation.

Anticipation?

His gaze sucks you in, it’s dark and heavy. You’d never seen his golden orbs this shade of brown before. His breathing is heavy and mouth slightly agape and you physically feel all of the little remaining sense you had knocked out of the window when you scan his lips. His eyes widen. 

“Hey, are you guys done yet?”

You scramble away from him and Atsumu hastens off the couch, grabbing his long forgotten robe off the floor.

The door thuds open to a cheery looking staff member blissfully unaware to what she had just interrupted. “Mr. Murata is asking for you Miya-san.”

Atsumu swallows thickly darting his gaze off you and onto the girl, “Ah, yeah. I’ll be out.”

“Yeah, we’re done here.” you babble, clutching your ipad to your chest. You dash out without looking behind you.

***

For as long as you could remember, you’ve had it all figured out. Pin striped socks on monday, kale salad on tuesday, important meeting on wednesday. You were an organiser, with every spare minute planned meticulously on your calendar, you were the last person to ever enjoy being taken by surprise and you rarely ever were. Until you had met Miya Atsumu.

He threw you off, crumbled everything you’ve ever known into nothingness. When you were straight laced and fifteen, he ripped apart who you thought you were, yanking you out of your bubble. You did things you had never done before, said things you had never said before, you rebelled.

You always found it odd that whenever assigned seats shuffled, Atsumu’s seat always ended up next to yours. Back then you were quite the straight A student and it didn’t take you long to figure out that Atsumu was bribing people seated around you with snacks, snagging a seat to cheat off of you. It was exam season right before the winter break of your junior year when you did the unthinkable, you submitted failed tests. You remember it like it were just yesterday, the teacher calling out his name, him smugly getting off his seat to pick up his paper and his jaw dropping with absolute horror when he opened his paper to a failed grade. 

You don’t regret your sweet revenge one bit except for maybe the part where you had to spend the rest of your winter attending remedial sessions with Atsumu, except for that it was epic. Your devilish grin when his head snapped towards you on reading the bright red twenty on his paper. He had stood dumbfounded at the front of the entire class gaping at you perched sweetly in your seat swinging your own flunked paper in his face. You don’t think anyone has ever displayed a failed test as pridefully as you had in that moment.

“Yer nuts..” He had blinked in disbelief.

So worth it.

Point is, Atsumu has always pushed you to do outlandish things. You’d go as far as to get caught in the cross fire if it meant that he would too. He always had that kind of an effect on you. He probably exudes phermones that make you lose IQ points.

Would this explain how you’re feeling right now?

Places he touched feel warm, your thighs, your palm. The warmth of his vast chest, how smooth it felt under your skin, the urge you had to glide your fingers along is collarbones and up his neck. You must be going mad.

For the rest of the shoot you had taken to sitting in a far off corner, pointedly avoiding his direction. You barely looked up, scrolling through absolutely nothing for the rest of the shoot but whenever you ever so slightly lifted your head, you could feel his gaze burning into you even with the bright flashes from the cameras on him. You could tell, he was watching you and it took immeasurable strength to not squirm in your seat from the heat of being observed. And when the shoot ended, you breathed out a sigh of relief, briefly thanking Mr.Murata before taking off without saying as much as a word. 

***

“Woah.” 

Miwa chuckles as you click from one image to the next. Woah is quite the understatement. 

The photos from his shoot came in for approval this morning. You will need to delete this file as soon as you’re done approving of them, they’re definitely in the wrong hands with you.

You hum in agreement and Miwa’s eyes dart between you and the screen with a grin. You raise a brow, questioningly. 

“What?” 

“Nothing!” she huffs defensively.

“What do you think..” She pauses, gesturing towards your laptop screen. “About this..”

“Well, it’s a good opportunity”

“No,” she screws her eyes. “Not like that.”  She inhales deeply tucking her light coloured hair behind her ear. Her fingers glide onto to the top of your laptop, slowly shutting it.

 “About Miya,” she pushes on.

You scan her face for hints of what she could mean. Her lips are pursued together in an expression she often makes when negotiating with sponsors or gathering the guys for press conferences after matches. The sharpness of her eyes and the way she twists her mouth is often an indicator of when she has a singular goal at the forefront of her mind, a goal that she has to achieve.

Your brows knit further.

As if on cue, your office door swings open. “Ya called?”

You straighten in your seat in attention and clear your throat, “How many times have I told you to knock?”

Atsumu casually shuffles in, pulling out a seat infront of your desk. “Force of habit.” 

You roll your eyes as his gaze falls onto you easily, lingering on your forced expression as if practiced. His eyes don’t betray anything, and it makes a small lump form in your throat.

Miwa hops off your desk, dusting off her hands. “I'll leave you guys to it then!”

NO, you scream in your head. Miwa can’t go. She cannot by any means leave you alone with this man. It’s been barely fourty eight hours since what had occurred in his changing room. In physicality when you thought of it later or after all the heat dissolved and the clouds around your judgement cleared, nothing had actually happened. 

“Dontcha you wanna stay though?” You grin forcibly, ear to ear. “We’ll need your help on sorting all these pictures.”

She stops momentarily by the door, turning the words in her head before waving you off. “You’ll be fine. Besides,” she pauses, still cheery, “I have work stuff.” 

Work stuff?

The door clicks softly behind her, leaving you and Atsumu alone. You clear your throat, rotating your laptop sideways, “Lets review.”

The screen glows with a picture of Atsumu leaning on a tiny wooden stool against a white background in nothing but blue jeans. He’s smiling, crinkling his cheeks with his pearly whites on display. If you would have told your highschool self that in less than ten years you’d have to look at pictures of Atsumu shirtless for a living, you would have gone into a psychosis.

He gets up, dragging a chair next to you, coming far too close for you liking. You adjust your laptop now that he’s seated beside you. He holds his chin as he looks over the image in contemplation but as he begins to say something, the words turn into mush in your ears, when his knee slowly bumps into yours. 

You hum along in agreement, clicking to the next shot. You’re hyper aware of every fibre and hair on your body and its proximity to him.

This time thankfully he’s fully clothed, leaning against a wall with his hands in his pocket. His hair is dewy and swept to the side, a few stray strands falling on his forehead. His features are more stoic this time almost as if he’s staring down the camera. Yet he looks terrifyingly good and you’re terrified of how you can’t take this thought out of your head.

“This is pretty friendly right?”

“Huh? Oh yeah.” 

You snap toward him, his gaze feels inquisitive and heavy. It’s not like you to be this spaced out. In your defence, it is very hard to think with your thigh pressed against his. The fabric of his trousers lightly rubs into your skin, only somewhat covered by your pencil skirt. 

You swallow.

You click to the next picture and then the next, sharing simple agreements and comments before sorting each image. You scan your screen at a shot of him in a plain white tee and jeans. He’s lying on the floor with both of his hands rested at the back of his head, his shirt lifts to reveal a silver of torso and he’s grinning cheekily somewhere beyond the lens. Warmth radiates in your chest, he looks stupid and giddy like someone caught him in a fit of laughter.

“This is perfect.” you murmur mostly to yourself, busy imagining how this would look plastered in stores. Silence stretches until you catch on, “Miya?’

When you turn, he’s already looking at you. His ears are red and his eyes wide by just the shortest millimeter. Your heart again, takes on a life of its own. You manage to hum questioningly despite the staring competition you seem to be having with him right now, nudging him with the leg that’s already against his. You feel oddly and unwelcomingly warm again. 

“Oh right. This seems fine.” He blurts.

The brown of his eyes liquify, turning murkier. You wonder whether he’s aware of his leg against yours, not in the physicality of the action but rather in the odd intimacy that it signifies, in pretending to be totally unawarely aware. Neither of you move.

Chapter Text

“Cheers!”

The table erupts in loud hoots and claps. MSBY after consecutive wins, entered the playoffs tonight, calling for a mandatory celebratory night of drinks. 

You throw your arms up in the air, “Go Black Jackals!”

Bokuto, Hinata and a few others holler after you. “WOOOOOO”

The two of them have taken to standing up and throwing their arms in the air and Bokuto is currently in the works of taking off his shirt.

You, also clearly a few drinks down, fall back into your seat in a huff. The sides of your world feel fuzzy and warm, your favourite side effect of alcohol. Miwa plops down next to you, refilling your cup. 

“We deserve this.” 

“Mhm.” You take another big gulp of your drink, licking your lips as you set your glass down. Your eyes dart across the lively table, Bokuto has managed to rip off his shirt and is now flinging it around. Meian surprisingly instead of grabbing him and sitting him in place, is simply laughing at his antics. Sakusa and Oliver seem to be deep in conversation, talking about something intently while periodically taking large swigs from their drinks. Your gaze roams around the table until it finally lands on Atsumu, he’s grinning, leaning his face against his palm, entertaining Hinata who probably has had a little too much to drink by now. He’s always been a light weight anyways. 

Hinata flails his arms around, “And then the ball went like bam and went I bam-”  

You lose the rest of their conversation to the sounds of the bar though you're sure that you aren't really missing out on much. Atsumu hasn’t had much too drink. He’s been nursing his second glass, slowly taking a little sip every now and then but still clearly sober in high contrast to literally everyone else on the table including you. This isn’t like him, you think and you would know considering how many alcohol related issues he used to very usually wind up in. 

It’s been a while since something like that has happened though.

Atsumu catches your eye, sending heat rushing down your already warmed skin despite him being far across the edge of the table. You avert your gaze, feeling your cheeks redden from the alcohol, of course. 

***

“BYE BYE TENCHO-SAN” Your arms are up in the air waving at the sweet old restaurant manager. He waves back warmly with a hand behind his back slightly hunched from age. The air is frigid and the words that left your mouth created small clouds from the cold. The light from the bar pours on you till he lightly shuts the door, leaving only a flickering street light. Miwa rubs her palms next to you, “Are you sober enough to walk home?”

“Em fine.” you answer in a way that isn't really indicative of fineness. Miwa worriedly checks her watch, “I won’t make it for the final train…” she trails off in thought.

Behind her, Hinata, Bokuto, Meian and even Sakusa have their arms interlocked around each other's necks, singing the tune to an ice cream commercial. A sight to behold.

“I’ll take her home.” A voice from behind you proposes. Miwa instantly quirks a brow. “How much have you had to drink?” 

You turn to find that the voice is connected to a very handsome face. Atsumu holds a hand up, coming in peace. “Only one beer and ginger ale since.” 

“Hmph.” Miwa folds her arms before pointing two fingers to her eyes and then back at him. “I’m watching you.” She mouths.

Atsumu looks truly and wholly as confused as you do by this interaction but nods intently. “I’ll take care of her. Ya go ahead n’ catch the last train.”

The words I'll take care of her ring in your ear, making your chest thump. No, you can’t be reacting like this.

“I DON’T NEED ANY TAKING CARE OF.” You proclaim loudly.

Miwa’s eyes fall back to you, “Let him drop you home, it’s late and you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” 

She gives you a rare warning look and you slump your shoulders, “Okay fineee.” you drag. Miwa wraps her arms around you, squeezing you in a hug that you return equally as warmly. “See you on Monday."

The group disperses as you all say your goodbye’s, Oliver trips over his feet a couple times but stabilises himself. They’ll probably get home just fine, you think. You watch their figures disperse as they loudly make their way down the alley. Hinata now has an arm around Miwa’s neck with his hand placed on her shoulder. They’re bumping into each other as they walk, grinning ear to ear. 

Interesting.

You take note and file this information in your brain to interrogate her later. Currently, however, you have bigger fish to fry.

“Let’s go?”

You look up, the street light is positioned right behind his head. Wisps of yellow light sprout around him like through a prism.

“I can go home by myself perfectly fine.”

He sighs tiredly, gaze positioned upwards. His hands are characteristically stuffed in his pockets when he rolls his eyes. “I know you can go but I want to.”

Your stupid heart thumps again.

“Besides,” he continues. “You’re on the way.”

“Fine.” you grumble.

You begin walking and he falls into step beside you. “My car’s only 5 minutes away.” 

You hum in response and the silence stretches on. Your face is warm and fuzzy from the alcohol in your system but the leftover rational part of your brain is screaming at you to act normal.

“Remember Kosaku?” 

You perk up, Atsumu’s watching you from the side of his eye. “Yeah, he was in the team with you guys right?” 

You vaguely remember him from school when you used to wait by the bleachers, he played with Atsumu and Osamu. He was in the class next to your’s and Atsumu’s too if you remembered right.

“Mhm,” Atsumu affirms. “Can you believe that he’s training to become an Astronaut?"

“What? No way!” 

“Right?” Atsumu exclaims. “He was a total dumbass in school.”

You laugh at that, throwing your head back and Atsumu smiles. “But good for him though, he was a really grounded guy.”

“GROUNDED!” you laugh harder at his unintended pun. Ah, alcohol.

“Yer so lame.” Atsumu groans, dragging a hand down the length of his face. He shakes his head, fondly.

Fondly?

Oh and you almost forgot, the playoffs. “Congratulations by the way.” 

“You were really great today.” Atsumu looks at you with a raised brow, “Is that a compliment I’m sensing?”

You smile involuntarily. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

He shrugs jokingly. “Can’t help it if you keep feedin’ my ego,”

“And one compliment is enough to do that?” you counter, lolling your head to the side impassively.

He leans in, “One’s enough if it’s from you.” 

Oh. Your breath quickens as if on reflex.

He’s smiling, it’s small but warm and soft and it makes you feel fuzzier. You look away.

“We’re here.” You walk into an open parking lot and Atsumu takes out his keys, unlocking his car.

You shuffle in, smoothing out your hair and straightening out your skirt and as Atsumu starts the car he turns to look at you soberly. 

“Y/N.” 

You swallow, in alert. His hands are on the steering wheel but you aren’t moving yet. Your chest begins to pick up at his sudden seriousness. 

“Yeah?”

He grins. “Don’t puke in my car.”

“Asshole.” You click your tongue. “I’m fine.”

“Whaaat? I got leather seats.” He pats at your headrest. “Look at these babies.”

Ugh, gross. You roll your eyes. “Just drive.”

He snickers, pulling out of the lot and into the alley to the main road. 

“Don’t blame me, Speedy Spew.”

“Nooo!!!” you groan.  

It was your first race as an official member of the track and field team and you’d skipped breakfast to help with the anxiousness. The pressure was high and everything was going great until the third hurdle when you felt bile gurgle and rush up your throat. Oh how you wished someone had told you that an empty stomach paired with nerves was an absolute recipe for disaster. You had doubled over, hurling right there on the track, giving birth to “speedy spew.” That nickname stuck for the next six months.

“Well atleast, you won.” He laughs. “By default!” He laughs harder. 

“Fuck off, Miya.” you press your palms against your temples.

You were leading and the runners behind you in the worst comedic timing possible, slipped and slid, getting injured, marking your first gold. You’ll probably never live it down.

He darts his gaze between you and the road with a cheeky grin. 

“Relax,” he drawls. “I’m sure no one remembers you accepting your medal with vomit on your shoes.”

“How do you even remember that?”

“Well, i’d argue that its harder to forget.” He teases.

“It was almost ten years ago.”

“Besides, you’re one to talk after the curry incident.”

“That wasn’t remotely as bad as yours!” he retorts.

“YOU WERE COUGHING UP CURRY FROM YOUR NOSE!”

“It wasn’t my fault that they made curry that hot!” he relents, exasperated.

“You chose to eat the one item on the cafeteria menu that everyone avoided,” you pause for air quotes, “because you were, in your words by the way, the toughest guy there.” 

He visually racks his brain for something to comeback with, “well, at least I didn’t throw up.”

“Miya, you didn’t have to because before you even swallowed, you hiccuped out remnants of the curry from every hole on your face.”

You hold up a hand, “No- wait and, and you wheezed curry on all our uniforms, splattering it with literal tears in your eyes.”

His mouth twitches upwards while his eyes that were jumping between you and the road, move back to the course in front of him. Your chest swells with victory. This round is yours. 

He rolls his eyes but you don’t miss the humour in them. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Idiot.

***

You’re getting ready for bed when the doorbell rings, your eyebrows knit in confusion. 

Somewhere along your annoying conversation with Atsumu, you’d fallen asleep and when you guys reached home, he’d gently nudged you awake. You can only hope that you didn’t drool. You had thanked him and naturally he waited till you got in to drive off.

You reach for the door, turning the knob, unsure of who it could be at this hour. The lingering effects of alcohol are mostly gone from your blood stream and you were in the midst of completing your nightime routine when you crack the door open.

“Let me crash at yer place.”

Huh?

You blink in surprise, “What?” you inquire, genuinely confused.

“I lost my keys,” Atsumu deadpans.

You snort, he furrows his brows and grimaces. “Doesn’t Osamu have a spare?”

“He’s on vacation.” Atsumu pauses, “Wait, how did ya know that?” 

“Educated guess”, you shrug, “and how come he’s Osamu but I’m Miya?” he exclaims.

“Well for starters, I like him”, a smirk threatening to tug at your lips as he rolls his eyes. 

“What? Do you want me to call you, Atsumu?” you tease, but his name rolls off your tongue so well for a second you consider it.

“No,” he responds defensively, a touch too fast, and you snicker.

“Anyways,” you continue, “What about Sakusa or Hinata?”

“They’re at a club or something.”

Your eyes widen, “Wait, weren’t  you supposed to be there too?”

Atsumu shrugs, “Did you cancel because you had to drop me back?”

His gaze averts yours, and he brings a hand to rub the back of his neck, “Well I wasn’t too big on going anyway.”

Again, an odd feeling accumulates in the centre of your chest.

“You weren’t too big on partying?” you respond in genuine shock.

He rolls his eyes, “So are ya gonna make me stand here all day or lemme in?”

You open the door wide enough for him to enter, “Come in.”

He shuffles into your apartment, “If you want to take a shower, the bathroom’s there.” you say, gesturing towards it. He nods and closes the bathroom door behind him. You plop down onto your couch, your heart just can’t get a break, can it. There was something enthralling about sleeping under the same roof as Atsumu, something that made your heartbeat accelerate and blood pressure spike. You hear the shower turn on and you gulp, something really must be wrong with you.

“The unused towels are in the basket next to the sink.”  you say loud enough for him to hear.

“Okay.” he replies from the shower and much to your horror you feel a little giddy.

You slap your cheeks, mushing them together as to slap away the unnecessary thoughts.

You try to wrap your head around this situation that you've gotten into so suddenly. Atsumu’s here, in your house for the night.

Here.

Bringing a blanket and some pillows, you place them on your sofa to make it as comfortable as possible. 

The bathroom door clicks open and you turn, “If you need anyth-”

Your mouth drops open and your eyes widen, “Why are you naked?” you exclaim.

“In a towel does not classify as naked.” he responds impassively.

You very pointedly force yourself to only look straight into eyes and nowhere else however that was becoming increasingly hard. Maybe...maybe just this once you could indulge yourself, just for a fraction of a second your eyes could wander...right?

Your eyes trail down his neck to his sharp collarbones, drinking in how the droplets of water were gliding down his neck all the way to his well defined chest. Your eyes trailed a little further to his abs, gulping thickly. 

“My eyes are up here, pretty.” 

You let out an inaudible gasp and he has a wicked grin on his face. He’s absolutely loving this.

Not again.

You scramble for words before letting out a heavy sigh and burying your face in your hands, “Whatever put something on I’ll get you an extra toothbrush from my room.”

He chuckles as you slam the door behind you.

You pop in with the toothbrush in hand. Atsumu’s hands are propped on his hips as he deeply analyses the couch you’ve stationed him on, still naked but this time with pants on.

He perks upon hearing the pads of your foot against the floor, “I’m sleeping…” he trails off, “here?” he asks questioningly, a thumb pointing towards the couch.

“Uh yeah?” you say it like it’s blatantly obvious and he narrows his eyes at you.

“But it’s too small,” he whines.

“Well it’s either that or the floor.”

He sighs loudly and grumbles out a low fine, you toss the brush at him and he catches it with ease, you silently curse his pro athlete reflexes.

He follows your trail to the bathroom like a lost puppy, you hand him the toothpaste as if you’ve been doing this for years and something slightly ignites in your chest when you look into the mirror and instead of only seeing your reflection, Atsumu’s too stares back at you. 

He’s watching you from the corner of his eyes, “Staring is weird.” you say through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“You’re weird.” he exclaims through a mouthful of toothpaste.

You intensely glare at each other for a few moments but your sentences sound like gibberish, and there’s toothpaste dripping down Atsumu’s chin. This whole situation looks stupider by the second and a melodious laugh rips out of your throat. His features instantly relax followed by the soft curve of his lips as he joins you. Your laughs vibrated through the bathroom, bouncing off the walls and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt like this, chest vibrating, face warm, and eyes locked with Atsumu’s.

Atsumu was right, the couch was a bit too small, for him at least. His legs are dangling off the end and all in all, he looks very uncomfortable. You have sympathy painted on your face and you know Atsumu’s biting back a smile because he knows you’re reconsidering. Your eyes flicker between Atsumu and your room, despite everything if you let him sleep like this it wouldn’t sit right with you. He did afterall ditch his plans, going out of his way to make sure you got home alright. You sigh and Atsumu flashes you his megawatt grin, the same grin he flashes the audience when he gets in a service ace. You didn’t even say anything yet and Atsumu gets off the sofa, tucking the pillow under his arm.

Shooting him a look, “If you move to my side I’ll kick you off” you warn.

“Yes ma’am” he salutes you and you narrow your eyes at him.

However, the least of your concerns were whether Atsumu would be too much of a bother, or if he’d move too much or kick the sheets off. What you were really worried about was whether you’d be able get a wink of sleep in, knowing that he was next to you. That despite your long and tangled history with him, you were going to be sharing a bed with Miya Atsumu.

He follows you to your room, gauging his surroundings with great interest. Your heart is in your throat and you can’t for the life of you figure out why. He’s going to stick to his side and you to yours, so it should be fine, totally okay, completely normal, a very very casual, super chill thing to do with your enemy/ coworker/ high school nemesis because whatever may be, you were two adults. He’s snooping around your room like a weirdo, you allow it for a couple of seconds to ogle his back.

You swat his grabby hands when they get dangerously close to your underwear drawer, “enough of that,” you command as you grab his hand leading him to the bed.

Unbeknownst to you, a very wide-eyed Atsumu slightly short-circuited. Ignoring how warm his hand feels wrapped around your fingers, you release it and climb onto your respective sides of the bed. The bed doesn’t seem as spacious anymore and the distance between your bodies is much lesser than you anticipated. Your heart is thumping loud and hard against your chest and you wonder if you’ll be able to sleep tonight at all. The bedside lamp on Atsumu’s side was still on, gently illuminating the room in yellow hues. You turn to him telling him to switch it off. 

Your heart skips a beat when you catch him on his side already looking at you with the same unreadable look heavy in his eyes, skin heating up under his gaze, “uh switch off the night lamp” you sputter out. He hums before leaning over to do so, you curse the fact that he still isn’t wearing a shirt.

Opening your mouth to say something about it, he cuts you off, “Before you say anything, that shirt is very uncomfy.” he whines, a slight pout across his lips and it almost makes you want to smile at how adorable he is, almost.

“Fine whatever” you grumble as you roll over to the edge of the bed, back facing him.

“Quit pulling the covers.”

“Well, this is my bed,”

He grabs the covers, hogging them completely and you turn over bewildered, shooting him the nastiest glare you can muster but much to your annoyance, he has the most infuriatingly smug look on his face as you try to pull the sheets back despite his unrelenting hold on them. 

“Can you quit your little tantrum?” you hiss through gritted teeth.

He rolls his eyes, “Or maybe you could quit being so far.”

You blink and so does he.

A beat passes in silence.

“What?”

“Because the blanket isn’t big enough for us both,” he pauses, “obviously.”

You raise your brows, utterly unconvinced but don’t say another word about it and instead shift a teeny bit closer.

“That literally made no difference.”

Your eyebrows knit together in the purest form of annoyance but your heart is beating so fast you’re scared it may fall out. 

“Fine”, you mutter, shifting closer in one shift motion. 

But this time you’re too close, heads sharing the same pillow, faces mere centimetres apart and fucking hell was he pretty up close. The curtains were drawn open, the faint city lights along with moonlight had the opportunity to grace his skin, highlighting the contours of his face. You always knew he was pretty, always thought so when you sneaked glances at him every now and then but you’d rarely admit how much you thought so. 

Atsumu stares down at you, wide-eyed until you realise that you’ve been admiring him for a couple of seconds now. Just as you’re about to move away and mumble out a half hearted sorry, he places the blanket on your figure, making sure you’re properly tucked in.

You look up at him again, he’s close. Close enough for you to see the tiny swirls of brown in his otherwise honey irises and close enough that if you concentrate you can feel shallow breaths tingle your skin. You can see glimpses of a bruise on his cheek, it’s a faint speck of blue on his otherwise flawless skin and before you can think you lift a hand to touch it. A few finger’s graze it absentmindedly before you realise what you’re doing. You meet his eyes, they’re still locked on you and blown wide. You jerk your hand back, thoroughly embarrassed, averting his heated gaze. Everything feels weird and warm and confusing and for some reason, you can’t help but want to touch him again. 

You’re as shocked as him, confused as to what possessed you and why you can’t stop thinking about how his skin felt against your fingers when he gently grabs your hand and repositions it on his cheek with his hand encasing yours. You perk up and now you’re wide-eyed. Was he always so warm?

Your hand, perfectly slotted against his cheek and his hand perfectly slotted on yours like it was meant to be there. His fingers calloused from hours of practice, timidly curl into yours and he scans your face to gauge your reaction. Something sparks at the feeling of his skin against yours, an ignition of something fuzzy and beautiful like fireworks in the night sky. The heat from his touch is carried and passed on to each and every cell in your body, ultimately reaching your heart where it begins to nurture the neglected seedling that was planted without your knowledge. Mutually flustered, you stare at each other at a mutual loss for words with not a single clue as to what the fuck is happening or what you’re fucking doing but whatever it is you don’t want it to stop. Your senses are heightened and dulled at the same time. Heightened at everything that was Atsumu and dulled at everything that was not. It’s funny to think that just a couple of minutes ago you were bickering. 

You’re still a bit stunned when you finally decided to break the stretching silence, “How did you get that?”

“The bruise?” he sputters. You nod, “Oh the ball hit me during practice.”

And despite the situation, you snort at that. 

“Must you always laugh at my pain?”

“Man, I wish I could have seen that.” 

He shoots you the most offended look you’ve ever seen, “And to think we were having a moment.” 

Something explodes in your chest, like warm and firy liquid at his words and then you laugh, it’s loud and free and it rings in Atsumu’s ears for a while.

And though it’s once again at his expense, he smiles with teeth and all. It’s bright and reaches his eyes and it’s his winning smile as though he brought his team to their match point when in fact all he did was just make you laugh.

You learned something at that moment. The realisation that the giant brick wall labelled ‘hate’ that separated you from each other was just a mere line drawn in the sand and all you had to do now was blow it away.

It’s morning or afternoon, you can’t really tell. You wake up to soft sounds of breathing, and calloused fingers cradling your head in the crook of Atsumu’s neck with your hands loosely resting on his bare chest. The bed is warm and rays of sunlight peep through the window right behind him. His silhouette is illuminated by rays of gold like he’s some sort of ethereal being and honestly, you wouldn’t disagree. Hesitantly nestling out of his hold, you take a moment to admire his sleeping form as you languidly stretch your arms above your head. With his head lolled to the side and hands resting where you formerly were, your heart skips a beat and you wonder what it means to hate someone, what it means to be enemies, because you have a feeling that it isn’t this.