Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock… 

The sound of the clock that sits on the arch above the kitchen door is doing a terrible job of reducing your growing impatience to see your apartment door open. You and Atsumu have been dating since your second year of high school after the Spring Interhigh Nationals, but you have known the Miya twins since middle school before they made the crazy decision to dye their hair by themselves. Although you get along with both twins, the spark between you and Atsumu is undeniable, and it goes beyond anything anyone would consider friendly or platonic. Your relationship with Atsumu has always been fairly stable due to your constant insistence on open communication and his… very straightforward way of saying what is on his mind. Your calm personality balanced his energetic and chaotic one enough for you to be able to see through the cracks of his confident front. For the most part, you have been his number one supporter as he goes through his second season as the starter setter for the MSBY Black Jackals. His enrollment into the division one team last year made it very clear just how occupied Atsumu would be. You always knew that this growth in his career would keep him busy and would challenge your relationship. You truly understood it and supported him to no end. That was until this season took off to reveal that most of his scheduled games were out of town, and they were heavily followed by sponsorships that demand his time, leaving you as a mere afterthought. You would send him good morning/night texts, pictures of mundane things that reminded you of him, and words of encouragement when you knew that he had a game or practice, but his lack of responses did nothing to ease the growing uncertainty of your placement in his life. Everyday made it painfully obvious just how far out of reach he has become. When his inactivity discouraged you from sending him any more text messages that will remain unread, you half expected him to use that as a sign to reply. He didn’t. 

The agonizing wait makes you pull out your phone to look at the last message that you sent him three days ago: 

Y/N <3: Good luck today, my love!! I love you <3

Sighing, you slouch on the couch and watch the time tick away on the kitchen clock. 10:30 PM. He was supposed to be back already, just where was he? Would it kill him to spend a minute to reply to the text or at least mention whether he will be showing up or not? 

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock… 

Maybe ‘Tsumu doesn’t need me anymore. I mean, why would he? His dream of being a professional setter, his dream that he worked so hard for, is taking off more than ever and getting him attention from the entire world. He has always had a shit ton of fans, supporters, admirers. He can have anyone he wants, people much… much better than me… And he deserves much better too, but… 

Just as your mind starts to darken with sullen thoughts that unease your weak stomach, the key pad of your front door chimes open. The moment that Atsumu’s now professionally bleached hair peeks through the door, you feel your throat tightening, yet you force a smile as you sit up to greet him. 

“Welcome ba-” you stutter the moment you notice his lack of suitcases, “back.” 

Smiling like he does when he knows that he has done something he shouldn’t have, he locks the door behind him before giving you an awkward half hug and a kiss on the top of your head. Odd. You feel terribly odd. A small storm begins to brew inside of you, and you cannot do anything about it but frantically try to reason that you are overreacting to something minor. 

Atsumu rubs your back gently, “Hey, baby… sorry I’m late, I went to ‘Samu’s and lost track of—”

“It’s fine,” you spew out a little too quickly. 

Atsumu blinks hard, but dismisses it.

Your nose wrinkles as the smell of a new cologne infiltrates your nostrils. It is not bad, but it is definitely too strong to ignore. The smell emits a strong scent of nature like wood and something that you are having trouble pinpointing. All you know is that it is certainly a stark contrast to his usual fresh scent of citrus.  

“New sponsor?” You look up at him in an attempt to ease the growing storm inside of you. 

“Hm?” His eyes briefly search yours in confusion before he catches onto your sniffing, “Oh! Yeah, it is! It's a bit too strong for my taste, but the sponsors really wanted me to try it out.” He lets out a strained laugh, sensing the unspoken tension between the two of you but choosing to ignore it.

You can also choose to ignore the tension, but it would only leave things unresolved, “I’m guessing you ate at Samu’s right?” 

He nods sheepishly, but he straightens up the moment that he sees your unamused expression. Your eyes wander over towards the stove where the pots of warm curry and rice that you made sit, waiting to be consumed to combat December’s cold. 

“Did your phone die?” 

He tilts his head, “No. Why?” 

Pursing your lips, you look up at him, clearly upset as you rapidly lay it out on him, “‘Tsumu, you haven’t replied to a single one of my texts! And you could've told me that you were going to go to ‘Samu’s to drop your things off and eat! I wouldn’t have made dinner and waited to eat with you had you told me!” 

Atsumu takes a small step back, his face unreadable, and you feel bad the moment that he lets out an exhausted sigh, “I’m sorry doll, it’s just that I’ve been so busy that I don’t really touch my phone. I know ya want at least one sign of life, but I swear I’m not doing it on purpose, things just happen and—”

“You have things to prioritize, I know,” you cross your arms.

“That’s not—”

“Then what is it?” You wince with regret as your voice involuntarily raises an octave, leaving the room with an agonizing silence that is followed by the sound that you are really starting to hate. 

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock… 

The mocking ticking of the clock does a terrible job of calming you down for the second time tonight. To make matters worse, Atsumu looks troubled. He looks like he has a lot to say and nothing all the while. His thick eyebrows furrow, causing wrinkles in between them as he looks at the stove in the kitchen. You start to mentally kick yourself for not letting him finish his sentences. So much for open communication.

“I just…,” he hesitantly starts, “I got used to ya always being there for me without complaint that I–that I just assumed it would stay that way,” his shoulders droop as he realizes the weight of his words. Fuck, that sounded bad.  

“Am I not there?” You mutter in an attempt to keep your voice from rising, “When will I fit into your schedule from here on out, ‘Tsumu?” 

“Y/N, that’s not fair…” 

“What part?” 

His hands thread through his hair as he lets out a deep breath and plops onto the couch, “Ya know how much volleyball means to me.” 

“And you know how much you mean to me,” you retort back.

He flinches at the retort, but looks up at you, “I know! I know, but my career is my career and yer—,” his voice cuts off as if his train of thought suddenly rolled over and failed to deliver him anything coherent. 

You look at him expectantly, your heart hurting with each resounding pound in your chest as you see him struggle to describe what you are to him, “And I’m…?” 

“My girlfriend,” he finalizes quietly, and a huge part of you is greatly disappointed in his response. “I love ya! I really do, but I can’t drop my career for ya!” 

His settling words leave your ears ringing and your mind racing with many thoughts, doubts, and fear. Anxiety makes your hands go frigid cold as you make an attempt to verbalize what is bothering you.

“I never said you should, ‘Tsumu! I would never ask you to do something so unreasonable! I just want some of your time! That is all! I need you to at least try to be here!”

“But baby, ya know how hard it is for me to be physically present all the time! But I’m here aren’t I? I’m here now!” 

“You can’t even text when you’re going to be back or even respond to my texts!” 

“Fuck, but I’m here now, Y/N!” 

“I know! But still!”

“Still what?” 

Chests rise and fall as the two of you try to prevent yourselves from yelling at each other. The cursed ticking of the clock is only agitating you more. With a frustrated sigh, your hands fall hopelessly to your sides, “Is this how it will always be? Me just waiting for you? Hoping to have a day or two out of every month to actually spend time together?” 

He doesn’t even know what to say as you exchange glances. He can’t make fake promises and he knows it. You’re far too logical and calculating for that, and he is far too proud to make promises he cannot keep. His hands seek your cold ones, “I can’t say it won’t, but we can figure it out together, doll.” 

Your hands slowly slip from his, making both of your chests feel even heavier than they already are, “I was ignoring this Tsumu, but I feel like you no longer need me.” 

“Baby,” he sits up and pulls you into a frantic hug, “baby, ya know I need ya. Yer everything to me.” 

Usually you would swoon with this type of reassurance, but your frustration is clouding your judgment. His words feel like nothing but empty words that lack any real commitment or action to back them up. They’re nothing but a desperate plea to reduce the tension. 

Your voice betrays you as it cracks, “We both know that’s a lie. Your everything is your career, the court, cameras. I am not in your orbit ‘Tsumu, and quite frankly… I haven’t been in a while.” 

“Y/N, don’t do this to me,” he desperately slides his hands under your shirt, a habit he developed years ago whenever he wanted to feel closer to you. 

It’s a gentle and innocent habit that you can never push away and yet, “I can’t do this ‘Tsumu. I cannot continue to wait for you and put you above everything else when you cannot do the bare minimum of texting me back! I love you, Atsumu! I love you, but I’m not even in your line of sight.” 

“That’s not true! I swear ya are!! Baby, ya are!!” 

“I am not.” 

He plants gentle kisses on your neck, desperate acts to drive your mind away from whatever disastrous sentence you’re about to lay on him. For a hot second, it works, until your hands slowly push at his chest. 

“Maybe in this second,” you whisper as vulnerability takes over, “but it doesn’t fix things in the long term…”

“So that’s it then? Doll, we can work this out… please…,” his hands cup your face. You know that he is coaxing you to look at him, but you cannot bring yourself to when you have an impulsive decision half way up your throat. 

Your eyes dart away as you fidget with your hands, “Maybe a break will help—”

“A break?,” He says bitterly as he lets go of your face, “What, ya want me to leave ya, but be within arms reach in case ya change yer mind? Is that it?” 

“Atsumu—”

“Listen! Ya know I’m right! Ya love me! I love ya! Y/N, I want to overcome this with you like we always have because to me, ya are it, but,” his voice cracks as he continues, “if I am not providing ya with the love and attention ya need, I understand. I can’t promise ya that ya will always be first, and I hate that I can’t give ya that reassurance, but trust me when I say that I do want ya to be happy. Because of that… I will respect your decisions, even if it breaks me.” 

He regrets his words the moment he says them, but he doesn’t want to continue to be the cause of your unhappiness. 

Your eyes burn with welled up tears as you see how he didn’t put up much of a fight against your rash decision. You don't know if you should be thankful or upset or if you even expected him to fight against this. Maybe he wanted this too. Silent hot tears begin to fall before you can stop them, and it takes you a moment to realize that he has been tenderly kissing them away. 

“It’ll be alright,” he whispers, his hands sliding once more under your shirt. 

You lean in to press your foreheads together, lips ghosting near each other, “I know.” 

The moment that your lips touch, you forcibly choke down a sob. Every touch suddenly feels sacred, and you beg that your brain is able to burn the feeling of his touch deep into your memory. His calloused hands seem to gain a gentleness that you’ve never seen before as he tries to convey all his feelings in what you have sentenced as your final night together. 

The truth of the matter is that neither of you want this to be the end of your shared relationship. It is not right, you guys are meant to be forever. Atsumu was so sure of it. Since the day he nervously asked you out in your second year of high school almost four years ago, he had declared you his forever. For a lifetime. For eternity. Not this. 

The warmth of his body starts to heat up the coldness in your hands as you jointly tumble into your bedroom. Your dimly lit room provides a unique sense of intimacy that builds up the urge to pull Atsumu in and give him everything that you have left. Lamentably, you have a whole lifetime left to give him, and it is impossible for you to ever lose any and all love and devotion for him after today. The warmth of the room contrasts the raging wind outside, just like how the warmth of each embrace and loving act contrasts the cold finality of your relationship. It’s such an odd way to end a relationship really, leaving things unsaid, unsolved, and uncertain, yet letting each other unite one final time. Each gasp, caress, and spoken sweet nothing carried a heavy weight to them. The exchange becomes all that more painfully heartbreaking as you two break into tears throughout it all. You softly peck his tears away in order to prevent him from noticing your own. But he notices, he always does, setters are highly observant people after all. Your fingers roam his body from the thick texture of his bleached hair to his broad back and muscular arms in a futile attempt to memorize his body while conveying just how much you love him despite your hasty decision. 

As for him, his usually energetic self has been reduced to nothing but gentleness as he loves you one final time. His eyes remain on your face, burning your image into his mind, your sounds, your touch. None of his usual upscale in intensity made itself present. He wanted this final time to last, to make an impression on the both of you. It is when he wipes a stray tear from your face while he cleans you up that he makes a quiet promise to himself, a promise that this will not be the end. He cannot afford that. Not with you. He wants nothing more than to work this out with you, but contrary to what many believe, he is not as selfish as to waste your time and make you believe in a change that he knows he cannot accomplish. At least, not now. Atsumu is willing to give you space before coming back to fight for you. He loves you far too much to make tonight the finality of his relationship with you. He kisses you one more time to seal the promise that he silently settled upon. The seed of his promise has been planted, and he is not one to break promises–even if they are to himself and have remained unsaid. 

As the two of you lay there hours later, you hug him tightly for what in your mind might be the last time that you are tangled into each other's arms so intimately like this. He’s fast asleep on his side, facing you. His even breaths make his built shoulders from years of training steadily rise and fall. You shamelessly observe him sleep. The moon’s dim light bleeds through your window blinds, making his features visible enough for you to appreciate them. His sleeping form is relaxed yet filled with sorrow. His strong eyebrows are eased and raised while his lips are in a half pout as he shifts ever so slightly. He sighs deeply in his sleep, and you cannot help but feel guilty and remorseful. This is the man that you wholeheartedly love, the man you would do anything for, the man you want everything with. What the fuck did I do? He wanted to work things out… and I ran from it like a coward. 

 “I love you… please forgive me,” you whisper to his sleeping face as you cuddle into him and give into the depths of sleep. 

The next morning, you wake up to the pain of an empty bed. He has left. You aren’t sure what you expected. If anything it makes sense that he left instead of staying with his now ex-girlfriend. He has another game next week in Sendai, so practice today would start at 8 AM sharp before the team leaves for Sendai in two days. Even in the end, you weren’t in his radar. You let out a bitter laugh. Yeah. What did I expect? 

Unbeknownst to you, Atsumu had a very hard time leaving you. For good or worse, you didn’t get to see how red his eyes were when he left. How puffy they got, or how he did not bother to style his hair. How he choked back his tears as he packed some of the things that he had scattered about in your apartment before leaving. Heck, you did not even notice how he kissed your cheek while you slept and swore to come back to you in due time. All you were able to witness was the last imprint of his body on your bed with the lingering scent of his new cologne. You feel the weight of the world fall onto your shoulders, and you have no one to blame but yourself. All because you were too weak to hold onto your relationship with Atsumu and work through your conflicts together.  

Chapter Text

Anyone on the MSBY could tell that Atsumu was not on his best game during morning practice. Other than the fact that he kept his hair unkempt and unstyled, he has been irritable throughout the entire practice, his serves hitting an all time low success rate. Most of his spike serves became overly aggressive and had too much of a spin to even land within bounds while some of his jump float serves kept hitting the tape of the net. Even Bokuto, who is a showy player that loves over the top plays, has advised him to take it easy or else he will injure himself. Bokuto, out of all people, told him to chill out. Atsumu could not believe it. But Atsumu is Atsumu, and he will keep going even if he wrecks his mind and body to the point of overexertion. Anything to keep his mind from wandering back to how he left you this morning. Anything to prevent the image of your tear stained face from reemerging. Anything to keep his thoughts away. 

I should’ve stayed…

WHACK! He winces as the ball ricochets out of bounds and almost hits Thomas. To no one's surprise, this got the attention of Coach Foster, who wastes no time in pulling Atsumu to the side. 

Initially, Coach Foster was going to chew him out and ask what had him playing like a newbie, but the remaining puffiness from Atsumu’s eyes and disheveled appearance softened his stern demeanor, “Rough night, Atsumu?” 

Atsumu stares at his feet, looking hopeless for once, “The roughest…” 

“You’re not doing so well out there, and I would hate to bench you in the upcoming game next week.” 

His jaw clenches. As if it can’t get any better. 

Atsumu jerks forward as Coach Foster smacks his back, “Calm down kid, I’m not going to actually bench you! But you do look terrible.” 

“Gee, thanks Coach,” Atsumu’s face falls into a deadpan stare, eliciting a hearty laugh from the coach. 

“But seriously, nothing good will come out of practicing in this state. It’s only going to make things difficult for everyone,” Coach Foster hesitates before speaking up, “I’m not sure what’s going on with you or if you want to talk about it, but everyone here is worried about you. You’re not just our setter, Atsumu, you’re like family.” 

“That’s scary,” he tries to lighten the mood and give a small indication that he will be fine, that he is not as wrecked as he feels on the inside. 

“Still, we’re all here for you,” he looks at his watch, “Take today off. Clear your head, do what you need to do, but tomorrow I am expecting to see your stats go right back up before we leave for Sendai.” 

“What–? No, I’m fine, I can keep go–”

“Nope,” he pats his shoulder, “go change and go home. And if you argue, I will bench you.” 

Atsumu was already frustrated and upset, but now he was just seething at himself. He nods, jaw clenching and unclenching as he looks back at his practicing teammates. His eyes dart from Bokuto practicing spikes to Sakusa criticizing Bokuto’s form to Meian trying to keep their rhythm going while the others follow the set pace. 

Begrudgingly, he picks up his water bottle and takes off to the locker room showers. 

__

After a quick shower, Atsumu went to the person that he always turns to when his world is falling apart–Osamu. 

It has been about half a year since Osamu opened his own restaurant, Onigiri Miya, after completing culinary school. Though he is happy that Osamu is steadily becoming successful with his food business, he would be a liar if he said that he didn’t occasionally wish that his brother would have followed him into the professional leagues. He stares at the sign of the restaurant for a while, contemplating whether he should be bothering his twin during working hours. He did not send a text or tell him what happened, yet here he was. Clicking his tongue, he threads his fingers through his hair and opens the door. 

“Welcome,” Osamu says instinctively at the sound of the doorbell chime. Before he can even turn, Atsumu has already seated himself on a stool near the front counter. He immediately deflates onto it in defeat, his face digging into his crossed forearms. 

“Oh. It’s just ya, ya scrub,” Osamu states matter-of-factly.

Atsumu lets out a grunt in response. Not even Osamu knows what that grunt was supposed to convey, but he is aware that his brother is off, “Why’re ya here so early in the day anyways? Ya get kicked to the curb by the team?” 

Atsumu sits up straight, puts a hand on his chest, and looks at Osamu with an offended expression, “I’m the best setter they will ever have! How could I ever get kicked out!?” 

Osamu shrugs as he continues to make his existing orders, “Beats me.” 

With a heavy sigh, Atsumu rests his chin on his palm as he plays with the napkin dispenser in front of him, “But I did get kicked to the curb…” 

“By the team?” Osamu carefully places the freshly made onigiri onto a tray before letting his new employee, Chikako, take the order to the waiting guest. 

“By Y/N.” 

“What?” 

“What?” Atsumu parrots as he looks at Osamu in the eyes, and it is only now that he isn’t as occupied making onigiri that Osamu realizes just how fucked up he looks.

A long stretch of silence follows as they stare at each other. Osamu wants to ask what happened, but he is also trying to be a respectful adult that gives his brother space. Yeah, I should give him space, he reasons, but these are the Miya twins for crying out loud.

“What happened? Didn’t ya buy her a ring? Did ya propose already? Did she say no?” Osamu spouts as he makes his own theories and conclusions.

Almost instantly, Atsumu becomes agitated, “One question at a time, dammit! But I–,” he doesn't even know how to articulate what happened, “I messed up, I guess.” 

“You guess?” Osamu raises a brow at his twin and looks up as the bell on the door chimes, “Let me take care of these customers and then we can talk about it.”

Atsumu half nods, watching as his brother moves to attend the incoming party of three. He takes the chance to check his phone, not that he expects you to send him anything, but a man can dream. Opening his chat with you makes his eyes sting as he finally reads the last message that you sent him. The last message that he failed to read until now. 

Y/N <3: Good luck today, my love!! I love you <3

The screen blurs even more, and he takes a napkin from the dispenser in front of him to wipe his eyes by pretending to blow his nose. 

Ya ain’t slick, ‘Tsumu. Osamu observes him but turns to make the orders, temporarily leaving Atsumu alone with his thoughts.

Atsumu’s fingers slide to display his wallpaper. His wallpaper is still you, and he has no plans of changing it. He is determined to fix things and win you over again, even if it takes him a lifetime. His determination, however, does not get rid of the sickening grief in his stomach. The way things ended so abruptly, your tears, your firm decision. What if I had stayed this morning? Maybe we could have talked it out a bit calmer, ‘specially after last night. She must really hate me now. Maybe I should go see her…

He blinks as he realizes that Osamu has been calling him for a minute straight. 

Osamu motions with his shoulder as he carries a tray of onigiri and miso soup, "C'mon, I left Chikako-kun in charge for a bit.” 

For some reason, Atsumu’s legs feel like they do not belong to him as he follows his twin to the break room and sits in one of the foldable chairs. He grabs an onigiri and takes a huge bite, eyes closing in bliss as the steam travels from his mouth to his nose with each inhale and exhale. As much as he hates to say it, Osamu’s cooking always hits the spot and makes things better.

“Yer good enough to eat at least,” Osamu mutters in between slurps of miso soup, sighing as the flavorful broth warms his stomach. 

“Shut yer trap!” 

“Never.” 

“Scrub.” 

“Ass.” 

Atsumu deflates again as his phone lights up with a notification, displaying your smiling face on his screen once again. He stares at it for a moment. He took that picture when he took you to a summer festival for your 22nd birthday earlier in the year. In it, you’re smiling widely while showing off a fox plushie that he won for you at a ring toss game. He drifts back to that day, recalling how wonderfully excited you became at the prospect of a new plushie. Looking back, maybe you were more excited at the idea of him winning it for you than the actual stuffed animal itself. You do love sentimental things that carry the one thing that you value above all–effort, and he managed to lack that in the end. He feels his throat tighten. The way that you're smiling so carefree in the picture makes his heart ache when he compares it to your tear stained face from last night. When did things start getting sour? 

“So…,” Osamu breaks him out of his thoughts, “what happened?” 

He remains quiet for a bit as he tries to think of a way to summarize it all at once, “I neglected her… I got too busy with practice, my games, and the sponsors that–” his voice lowers as he clears his throat, “that she doesn’t feel like I need her, but fuck, I need her for everything… ‘Samu, I tried to plead with her to work things out, but…” 

As Atsumu explains everything that happened the night prior, minus how it ended with break-up sex, Osamu listens quietly while making judgmental faces here and there.  

Atsumu’s voice comes out in a child-like whine as he vents, “The worst part is that I never got to propose! I was going to do that after the season ended during her spring break! I was gonna take her back home to Hyogo and ask her if she would marry me after getting her parents’ approval… ‘Samu, we ended things, and she didn’t even acknowledge me when I said that she was it for me! Does she even know that I wanna marry her?” 

“Damn, and here I thought that the worst part was that ya made her feel lonely and miserable,” Osamu shakes his head disapprovingly, but quits it the moment that he looks at Atsumu’s distraught expression. Atsumu looks like he is about to break into tears again, and all Osamu can do is pat his back and redirect his attention, “So, ya still wanna marry her?” 

Atsumu nods and digs his pouting face into his arms, “Ya know I do.” 

“So now what?” 

“I dunno…” he mutters, “I’m going to give her space. In the meantime, I wanna get as many sponsorships over and done with and then finish the season with the best ranks that we can so that I fix things during my break.” 

“And if she moves on? It’ll be four months by then. I’m sure she can replace yer ass in—” 

“She can’t!” Atsumu sits up and grabs his phone. 

Osamu crosses his arms and looks at him with interest, “Oh? Hit a nerve, did I? Are ya gonna call her?”

“Yea–,” he snaps his head to look at the younger twin, “Wait, is it too soon?” 

Osamu stands up and stretches, “How would I know? Just don’t make her wait too long. Ya lost her in the first place cause ya assumed that she would always be waitin’ for ya, cheering ya on, supporting yer sorry ass without ever complaining or wanting yer attention. Consider how she may feel if ya make her wait even more.” 

“Yeah, yeah…,” he waves his hand dismissively even though his face falls into a deep thought as he stares at his screen. He stares at it for far too long, too long for Osamu’s liking. 

Frustrated by his lack of action, Osamu snatches his phone, “Gimme that! Ya won’t solve nothing by just staring!” 

“‘SAMU!!!” Atsumu throws himself at him in a panic, trying to tackle him for the phone. He lunges forwards a couple of times as Osamu dodges his swings for the device, “C’MON ‘SAMU, DON’T BE LIKE THAT!” 

Already busy looking for your contact number, Osamu tries to balance himself while keeping the phone out of Atsumu’s reach, “Shut it! I’m doing ya a favor since yer being such a coward about it!” 

“NO YA AIN’T! IT’S TOO FUCKING SOON! GIMME IT BACK!” 

Ring Ring… 

Panic truly sets in, and Atsumu’s pulse spikes. With no way out, he starts to desperately wrestle Osamu for the phone. As it continues to ring, Atsumu manages to drop Osamu to the floor, so he wraps his arm around his twin’s shoulder to keep him from moving while his free hand reaches for the ringing sound. They fumble about on the break room floor, and anyone that walks in on them fighting for the phone will be wishing they hadn’t. Hands flailing at each other, Atsumu ends up smacking the phone right out of Osamu’s hand, causing it to go flying. 

CRACK!

The pair stare at the phone as it makes an echoing collision with the floor, your smiling face on his screen breaking into pieces right before their eyes. The ringing stops. Not because you picked up or anything of the sort but because the phone has shattered like a lego set right on the tiled floor. The twins stop their childish fighting and stand up, dusting themselves off. Osamu stares at the older twin’s back, a sense of guilt riding up his consciousness. 

Atsumu turns to give Osamu a light shove, “Ya broke my shit!” 

Osamu frowns despite the guilt, “Yeah, well I wasn’t the idiot who smacked it to the floor! Or the one who was too scared of calling Y/N.”

“Shut yer trap!” He goes on his knees and starts to pick up the pieces, trying to put it back together without success. 

“Well… now ya get a phone upgrade and ya don’t have to call Y/N just yet,” Osamu peeks at the irreparable damage over his twin’s shoulder. Although he is joking about it, he is already thinking of ways to make up for it. 

Atsumu remains quiet as he looks at his broken phone. He is not upset about his phone breaking. With his paycheck, he can easily replace it this very second, but he is distraught at the idea of you calling him back without getting a response. My SIM card… What if Y/N calls me? She’s gonna think I blocked her or that I don’t want to pick up, and then she’ll actually hate me. 

Feeling guilty, Osamu pulls him up, “I’ll buy ya a new one, any model ya want…I really didn’t mean to. I just thought that if I pushed ya a bit things would–”

“It’s whatever, I’ll buy a new one,” Atsumu mumbles dejectedly.

Osamu fidgets with his hat as he settles it back onto his head, “I’ll make it up to ya, anything ya want?” 

“Free food, and let me borrow yer phone,” Atsumu stores the phone pieces into his pocket. 

“As if ya don’t already leech off of my shop,” Osamu grumbles, but obliges nonetheless. 

“...” 

“Say, ‘Samu.”

“Yeah, ‘Tsumu?” 

“Can ya add extra stuffing on my minced tuna and spring onion rice balls to go?” Atsumu whispers and bats his eyelashes to gain more pity points from Osamu.

“Pig,” Osamu mockingly scolds but leaves to make them anyway. 

He would rather die than verbally admit it, but Osamu feels terrible about the series of events that led to the broken phone. Even though Atsumu has not mentioned it, Osamu is fully aware of his twin’s main concern, which is that you will call him back to a dead line. He has offered to send you a text explaining everything, but Atsumu has flatly refused. He sees no other way to make up for it other than to return to the kitchen to catch up on orders while preparing Atsumu’s order. He makes sure to comply and places extra stuffing portions into his onigiri as a small compensation. In between his hectic tasks, Osamu watches how his twin uses his phone to look for the nearest phone service provider. 

“Order’s ready,” he taps Atsumu’s shoulder. 

Atsumu looks up at the bag in Osamu’s hand and takes it, “Thanks ‘Samu. Here’s yer phone, I’m gonna get going.” 

Osamu stashes his phone into the pocket of his apron. “I’ll stop by tonight, yeah? We can go out or hang out at yer place so that ya can get everything out of yer system… And I’ll pay for half of the phone ya choose since it is partially my fault,” Osamu looks uncannily soft and comforting. 

Atsumu points at him dramatically, “W-who are ya, and what did ya do to ‘Samu?!” 

“Take it or leave it ya scrub!” Osamu throws a cleaning cloth at him, managing to crack a smile from his twin. 

Atsumu throws the cloth back, “I’ll see ya at my place then. Just don’t break the new phone I get.” 

“Don’t be a lame coward then, it doesn't suit ya,” he waves him off. As he walks to the phone service provider, Atsumu takes a deep breath. His world may be falling apart, but as long as he has Osamu, he can slowly pick up the pieces and think of ways to keep it together and going. He knows that Osamu is right, being a coward does not suit him, but man, does he become a hopeless case when it comes to you. 

__

Coming out of your afternoon lecture, you slide your headphones on while you unlock your phone to start the music playlist that you have meticulously curated throughout the years. While music starts to vibrate in your eardrums with energetic instrumentals, your thumb stills in place at the sight of your silenced notifications. There are notifications from apps, texts from your friends, classroom chats, and a missed call from Atsumu. The white bubble with red letters looks back into your stunned eyes.

Missed call from: <3 Tsumuuu <3

You stare at it for a good while before clicking at it, dialing back. The music is replaced by the daunting sound of ringing. Why would he call me? Did something happen? Or maybe he forgot something… 

The abrupt automated voice of the intercept message makes you jump, causing passing students to look at you with concern or disdain. Your heart sinks at the message along with any ounce of hope that you had. 

“The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service. Please check the number that you are trying to reach or try again later.” 

As the music starts to play again, you let your phone drop into your coat’s pocket. Pulling your scarf up to your nose to ease the growing itch inside of it, you blink your eyes rapidly as you walk back to your apartment. The biting cold is nothing compared to the coldness of being blocked by the person that you most love. When you get home, you try to call him again several times, only to be disappointed by the same outcome. That fucking jerk. 

Chapter Text

Towards the last weeks of December, about two and a half weeks after your break up with Atsumu, you take it upon yourself to visit your parent’s home in Hyogo for the holidays. Perhaps it was the stress of your final exams mixed with your break up with Atsumu and work, but you have been absurdly tired all the time. Your usual alertness seems to have dulled down as you carelessly knock out the moment that the train departs from Osaka to Hyogo. Somewhere in between the depths of your slumber, the halt of the train sways you forward, jerking you awake. Embarrassed, you wipe the evidence of drool off your chin and sit up straight, trying to play it off by listening intently for the next stop. Luckily, the overhead speaker announces that the next stop is Hyogo, meaning that you woke up just on time. Thank goodness. Like a ritual, you slowly start to pat yourself down to make sure that you did not drop any of your belongings in your sleep. Once you locate your phone, you pull it out to check for messages and the time. Ever since that missed phone call incident, you have changed your wallpaper out of pure spite. Instead of it being Atsumu setting in his MSBY jersey, your wallpaper is now a picture of the sunset that you took from your apartment’s balcony. It is 12:23 PM. Not bad. Your finger slides down to unlock your phone as a message from your mother comes in. 

Mommy: Hey sweetie! C u in a bit, I’m making ur fav! 

There is something about the way that your mother texts that makes you feel like your messages are way too formal. Perhaps it’s the way that she shortens her words and phrases or her occasional usage of slang words, but it makes you wonder where she learned it from. It certainly wasn’t from you. In any case, you are definitely looking forward to her cooking. If anything can make the past shitty weeks better it is her chicken katsu with curry. 

Y/N: Thank you mommy <3 See you in a bit! 

When the train stops at the Hyogo station, you shimmy your way out, unwillingly rubbing shoulders with several people as you disembark the crowded train. Your ragged duffel bag is making your shoulder ache, the burning sensation making you regret bringing it at all. The train station buzzes with people going in and out, and on several occasions you witness people either departing or reuniting with their loved ones in between hugs and soft smiles. Such a sight should not be bothersome, if anything it should give you a warm feeling, but it does not. It only makes you bitter. No one can pick you up since your dad is working and your mother is busy making dinner. All of your friends have moved out of Hyogo just like you have, so it is not like you can visit them, much less can you expect one of them to be here to pick you up. Unwillingly, you think of Atsumu again. 

His words from that night play in your mind like a bad song, “...we can figure it out together, doll.” 

The repetition of it leaves you wondering. Would he have come along if we worked things out? Nah, he would not have been here either, he has the Emperor’s Cup to worry about… But what if…?

Shoving your thoughts aside, you focus on flagging down a taxi, not wanting to take all afternoon getting home via the bus. After successfully flagging down a taxi, you shove the duffle bag into the seat and sigh in relief as the pressure on your shoulder lessens significantly. In hopes of warming yourself up, you settle into the back seat and rub your hands together before bringing them up to cover your cold nose. The driver does not talk much, not that you wanted them to, so you take the liberty of scrolling through social media, only to stop at a post made by the official MSBY Instagram account. It is a photo gallery of their most recent game, so you mindlessly scroll through them, analyzing the pictures of the team like you always have. The first one displays Bokuto and Thomas blocking the opposing team, their hands hovering over the net like umbrellas. Even in the awkward angle of the photo, Thomas’ height quite literally stands out. Damn, that dude is tall. The next one is one of Inunaki performing a perfect pancake, the photo capturing the exact moment that the ball hits the top of the libero’s hand. Another scroll and your breath catches in your throat. It’s Atsumu midserve. For some unforsaken reason, you zoom in on the photo, your thumb coming close to his face. Pfft, there’s that stupid little pout he does when he holds his breath right before hitting the ball. The moment that you catch yourself smiling at the photo, you quickly scroll past the post, abandoning the other team photos before you give yourself a second to process anything else.

__

Soon enough, your childhood home comes into view. You pay the taxi driver before stepping out and grunting as you pull the duffle bag along. No longer caring about the safety of the bag, you drag it up the porch stairs to unlock the door with the copy of the house key that your parents provided you with when you moved out. Your frosty breath cuts through the front door of the house as you trudge into the warm genkan. 

“I’m home!” You yell, kicking your boots off and tossing the duffle bag to the side. 

Your mother peeks her head out of the kitchen with a warm smile before opening her arms in an invitation for a hug, “Welcome home, my baby!” 

Finally in your mother’s arms, you melt into them with glee, ignoring how your aching shoulder jitters in place. 

“Come! Come!” Your mother ushers you into the kitchen. Your cheeks tingle as the warmth of the kitchen hits your cold skin. 

You joke as you scan the different foods that are dispersed around the kitchen, “Dang, Ma! Are you cooking for the whole neighborhood?” 

She only giggles as you look about. The kitchen is scattered with pots and pans that contain chicken katsu, rice, and simmering steamed vegetables, among an array of other side dishes. Even though your mother is still in the process of cooking, the smell of it is already wafting through the room. Taking a deep breath to indulge in the wondrous aromas of your mother’s cooking, you were expecting for the smell to make you feel at ease, at home, relaxed. Instead, you feel your stomach sink while a sour taste makes its way up your throat. Your hand flies to your mouth while your bottom rests against the kitchen counter. 

Noticing her daughter’s paling face, your concerned mother cups your cheeks, “What’s wrong? Did the train ride upset your tummy? You do get motion sickness easily…” 

“I think so… I–I was alright though,” you force a smile to ease your mother’s concern, “I think that the sleep deprivation from my cram sessions before finals is finally catching up to me.” 

“Goodness! I told you to eat and sleep well no matter what!” She gives you a light smack on the back, “Go rest! We can eat when your dad gets home.” 

I slept through the train ride though… 

Unable to verbally reply, you give in and give her a small nod before going towards the hallway closet to retrieve a towel. Sure, you can waltz your way to your room and lay down on your bed’s clean sheets with clothes that have been exposed to the germs of the outside world, but that does not sound very appealing with the way that your stomach is swirling. The moment that you bend down to get a towel, your stomach revolts even more, making your head spin. It seems like the train ride really did give you delayed motion sickness. Wait… can that even happen? My body feels weird. 

Carefully laying your towel to the side, you start the water as you enter the bathroom. Although you are yet to step into the steady stream of the shower head, the steam from it is already warming you up wonderfully. Unfortunately, the delight of it is short lived as it does nothing to ease your nauseated stomach. Half way through removing your top, the pressure becomes too much for you to bear. Your eyes sting as your stomach pushes against the pressure, making you shift over to lift the toilet bowl seat up as quickly as you can to prepare for the inevitable. In rushed movements, you bend over right as the horrid taste of sour acid travels up your throat and into your mouth before ungracefully splashing into the toilet. With violently shaking hands, you make an effort to hold your hair out of the way amidst all the chaos. The steam from the shower no longer feels nice, if anything, it is starting to make you feel suffocated and queasier. For fuck’s sake, I swear if I get the stomach flu while I’m here I’m gonna throttle myself. 

Once the horror ends, you shakily stand up. Briefly stopping the water from the shower head, you take the time to rinse and brush your teeth to expunge the foul aftertaste of vomit.

The light knocks on the bathroom door recenters your attention, “Sweetie? Are you alright in there?” 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you spit out your toothpaste to reply with more clarity, “My tummy is just upset.” 

Your mother becomes concerned, but she knows that you will not open the door even if she asked you to. Resigned, she sighs, “I don’t have any helpful meds for an upset tummy, but I’ll get you an electrolyte drink or something while you shower and rest…Also, you left your bag in the genkan, so I put it in your room.” 

“Sweet! Thank you, Ma!”

“Don’t mention it… Just… Just call me over if you feel worse or if you need me, alright?” 

You simply hum in acknowledgement through the door, already busy looking for cleaning supplies as your mother’s footsteps retract. The cleaning products in the bathroom sink cabinet become life savers as you spray and scrub the mess that you have created. Not bothering to look at yourself in the mirror when you finish cleaning up, you hop straight into the shower to wash the ickiness away. 

__

When you step out about half an hour later, you wrap your white waffle towel around yourself before tiptoeing across the hallway, reliving the habits that you once had as a child growing up in this house. Back then, you would tiptoe back to your room while imagining that the floorboards were stepping stones that helped you cross a wild river. Now as a grown adult, the magic of it has dulled thanks to your logical thinking that eats away at your creativity, but it is still there. Kind of. The floorboards creak as you move towards your childhood room to dress yourself. Upon entering, you stand in the middle of the room as if standing in a moment frozen in time. The room is still decorated with cool blue colors, and your collection of stuffed animals still adorn the floating shelves above the desk. Your fingers trail over your desk’s rough edges, worn out from previous painting sessions and random handicraft side quests. Oh. Your focus lands on the polaroid pictures that border your old body mirror. Pictures of high school friends, the old Inarizaki team, Suna, Ginjima, Aran, Kita, the twins, Atsumu. Your heart sinks when you look at the picture that you took of him during nationals in your third year of high school after Inarizaki won against Karasuno, and the twins were able to get their revenge against the freak duo. The small print shows Atsumu with the number one displayed on his jersey, his hair sticking onto his sweaty forehead, and his bright smile undeniably joyous as he holds up a peace sign. He was the captain of the team when you two were third years, and you cannot help but reminisce how excited he was when he first received his jersey. If memory serves you right, he bragged about it for weeks before Osamu humbled him out of utter annoyance. One memory leads to another, and you are left thinking about how you would finish your homework on the gym’s bleachers while he practiced late into the night. You are left with nothing but memories of the laughs, the jokes, the vulnerable moments, the innocence of it all. Back when things were simpler, and you were not as bothered by anything like the time spent apart, the lack of his presence, or the possible future. Back when you were able to see him almost daily, and it was simply Y/N and Atsumu, not Atsumu, the world, and maybe Y/N. You give his picture a final glance. It appears that no matter where you try to escape to, something linked to Atsumu will always emerge as a quiet reminder of what you gave up on. 

Shaking your head to clear your ever darkening thoughts, you pull out fresh loungewear from your duffle bag and wrap your hair in the towel before flopping onto your childhood bed. It is much creakier than you remember. You lie on your side, clutching onto your stomach as it twists and turns with each tormenting thought about your relationship with Atsumu. Each thought comes to the same conclusion, I fucked it all up, it was all me. Your eyes sting with unshed tears while pained whines escape your throat. I’m getting overly emotional, how pathetic.

But is it really pathetic to feel everything that has been tightly contained for the past three weeks? All the guilt, ugly, and upsetting emotions swirling inside of you in this given moment are just that–emotions. There is nothing wrong in experiencing them, letting them roam, or letting them settle like dust in the corners of the mind. You know that, and yet you have repressed them beyond your ability to cope. Glistening eyes divert to the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars that still adorn the ceiling as you shift to lay on your back. You wipe away at the tears that are streaming down the sides of your temples before they uncomfortably land inside your ears. Even if it is early in the afternoon, the dimness created by the black out curtains allow the plastic stars to emit a faint glow of pinks and greens. The thoughts in your head go silent as you zone out on a particular star that looks as if it will fall at any given moment. It has looked like that since the day you left the house and moved into your current apartment. Still holding on.

__

The darkness of your room swallows you entirely as the visibility of your hands becomes nonexistent, and all that you can sense is the resonating sound of your own labored breathing. Uneasiness grows within you as you call out into the dark void only for your echo to respond back. Your foot taps the ground cautiously as you try to walk around, hands stretched out to feel for something, anything in this sea of darkness. Within this field of nothingness, you manage to spot a dying sparkle. Without a second thought, you begin to walk a bit faster, no longer afraid of stumbling into something, your fear of the sparkle going out overriding it. In an odd turn of events, touching the sparkle transports you to the dorm room that you inhabited in your first year of university. As you look around the familiar environment, a pair of arms that you would recognize anywhere hugs you from behind, pulling you flush against them by your waist. 

“Hey there, doll~,” Atsumu hums into your ear before nuzzling into your neck. 

Tilting your head to look at him, you stop in your tracks as the cries of a baby interrupt the moment.  

“‘Tsumu?” 

You quickly step away from his hold and turn to look at him directly, eyes popping out as he cradles a baby in his arms. You’re at a loss for words. A million questions take up your headspace, but before you can speak up again, the baby in his arms is suddenly in yours. The rosy cheeked baby whimpers and squirms in your arms, on the verge of tears, making you increasingly nervous. You are certain that you are getting whiplashed from all this nonsense, and the nonsense only continues as a coach’s sharp whistle blows, placing you in the front row of what you assume is one of Atsumu’s games. Everyone on the MSBY team is missing, except for Atsumu, making him a one-man team. He picks up the ball to serve, but he is having a hard time focusing because of the crowd’s loud taunts. Still caught up by the fact that you had a baby in your arms just a second ago, you look down to see that the baby is gone, but its whimpers are still audible in between the voices of the audience. The unease returns tenfold as you desperately look around to find them, but the booming volume of the crowd around you forces you to look down at Atsumu, who is looking at you directly with an angered expression. The same expression he makes whenever his hitters consistently fail to hit his flawless sets. He looks at you as if it is your fault that the crowd is disturbing his serve before storming out. Something possesses you to get up and jump the railings of the bleachers to catch up to him, yelling and begging him to wait for you even as he disappears behind the double doors. The baby’s whimpers turn into loud cries that overpower the volume of the crowd, leaving you torn between searching for the baby or chasing after Atsumu. Overwhelmed by the noise, you cover both ears and shut your eyes tightly. You try to give yourself a moment to think, to reason logically, but by the time that you open your eyes again, it is too late. The dark vacuum blankets over you once more, leaving you alone in the dark void. 

The rest becomes a blur as you wake up in a groggy state, throat severely dry and scratchy as you sit up on your creaky bed to rub your face. What the fuck was that? Aimlessly patting around the bed for your phone, the room eventually brightens up as your hand makes contact with the digital screen. You squint at the sudden change of lighting that stings your eyes before adapting to the light from your phone. 

4:42 PM 

Mommy: We went out to pick something up , reheat the food b4 we get home if ur awake k? 

Groaning, you stretch and remove the towel from your hair to let your still damp hair go wherever it wants to go. It's not like anyone will come to see you or visit your parents today anyways. Walking towards the kitchen, you realize that your stomach has completely settled, almost like it was never upset to begin with. It would be a sin if your stomach continued to hurt after hurling and having… whatever that dream or nightmare was. Seeing that your father’s car is still missing, you begrudgingly start to reheat dinner. Man, I’m the guest here. 

While reheating the food for dinner, you think about your dream’s random events, provoking an itch of a thought. What if it wasn’t a stomach bug? You are quick to dismiss the thought, chuckling to yourself like a deranged person. It’s not like it can be anything else worth worrying about, and you cannot jump to conclusions based off of silly and nonsensical dreams. You have been severely sleep deprived, have traveled an hour back home to visit, are stressed, and a bit depressed. It is only natural for your body to have retaliated in some type of way, right? Surely it can’t be anything crazy like what your dream suggests, you two used condoms like always after all. With this renewed reassurance, you neglect that thought completely and focus on reheating dinner while making your best effort to ignore how the creaking of the settling house increments your loneliness. 

__

The food is fully reheated by the time that your parents return. The moment that you hear the front door open, you make a run for it to greet your father. A part of you feels like you have reverted back to your ten year old self as you skip into his awaiting arms. 

“Woah, there! You’re gonna break what’s left of my good knees,” he laughs in between his firm hug. 

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face betrays you. 

As you all settle into the kitchen table, your mother passes you a liquid IV, “For your tummy… Are you feeling better?” 

Taking the bottle from her hand, you nod, “Yeah! I just needed a nap, I’m good as new!” 

“I’m glad.”

Your father lifts an eyebrow, sensing that he has been left out of something, but he does not push it. Instead, he breaks into the usual runthrough of questions that he asks anytime that you decide to call or visit them. It is usually questions about your job, university work, the apartment, etc. You find yourself becoming overwhelmed. It’s not like your grades are bad or that your work is unbearable, it was more like the structure of his questions made you feel like you were in a job interview, and any unsatisfactory response will make your parents scold you for not reaching out for help. The last thing you want is to burden your parents with things that you can solve yourself as a self sufficient adult. The questions ensue, and although you have been trying to prevent it, questions about Atsumu arise.

You feel a pin drop the moment that your father brings him up, “I saw Atsumu’s game the other day. That boy sure is impressive as ever! Why didn’t you bring him?” 

“Oh…uh-” you hunch forward, your stomach squeezing the food that you just ate.

“Honey,” your mother pats his hand, “you saw his game! Atsumu’s busy right now! His team is in that one tournament… ah, what’s it called?” She looks at you for clarification. 

Not having the heart to break the news to your parents yet, you mumble in between sips of water, “The Emperor’s Cup.”

“Right! The Emperor’s Cup!” 

Your dad looks a bit pensive as he picks up the used plates and places them in the sink, “Then… he won’t be spending the holidays with us? The twins always made a spectacle during mochitsuki events, it’s a shame that they won’t be around this year. I was kinda looking forward to it.” 

Your lips purse as your nails carve half moons into your palms under the table. How on earth do I tell them? Hey mom, dad, you know how much I love Atsumu right? Well, your daughter was selfish and demanded more time from him even though she knows how busy he is, so she stupidly broke up with him instead of working it out.

Realizing that your parents have been staring with concerned gazes, you smile at them with that fake smile that you have mastered to prevent them from worrying about anything, “Not this year, I’m afraid.” 

“That really is a shame,” your mother sighs, “we got him a cute little gift, but I guess we won’t see his reaction to it.” 

“You guys got him a gift?” Your stomach suddenly feels queasy again at the thought of having to somehow hand him a gift from your parents. 

“Of course! What do you think we went to pick up while you were out like the light?” your mother says with a carefree giggle that internally torments you. “It’s not much, but we thought it would be a nice gesture.” 

“Well then, I– I’m sure he’ll like whatever you guys got him,” you manage to answer despite feeling like the air is too thick. 

__

The rest of your stay was an experience of ups and downs as your emotions randomly fluctuated. Whenever you accompanied your mother to the market district, the holiday decorations and colorful lights provided you with a soul crushing sense of melancholy and nostalgia. You would catch yourself undoubtedly yearning for Atsumu as memories of him continuously flickered through your mind with each flicker of the Christmas lights. On some occasions, you would stare at his contact number that is no longer in service, wondering how you would contact him to give him his gift. Sometimes, you would wonder what he was doing for the holidays or in general. On other occasions, you would watch his match highlights where you witnessed his team reach semi finals in the Emperor’s Cup tournament. Other moments, you would forget about him altogether as you spent some much needed quality time with your parents. 

One thing was consistent though, and that was the dread and fear of having to somehow give him his gift. It’s not like you have a direct way of contacting him, and your parents refused to tell you what it was, much like how you refused to tell them the truth about your relationship with Atsumu. The waking thought of having to find a way to contact him makes your stomach recoil every morning until an epiphany makes you think of a way out. ‘Samu!! I can just give it to him and have him hand it down! Though you are fully aware that you have not spoken to Osamu since you broke up with Atsumu, you do not feel awkward with the thought of talking to him. If anything, you feel pretty smug about your idea. I’ll text him tomorrow. Maybe I should buy him something too.