Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Osamu hears it before he sees it.

Upon entering the school, he's greeted by the sound of chaos coming from the passing students as they rush towards the commotion in the gymnasium.

The royal palace had gotten a call from Atsumu's school, speculating that the blond may soon be involved in a fight with one of his teammates come lunch period.

His homeroom teacher had overheard the rumors from his students and immediately thought to bring it to the principal's attention. Which brings him here:

Osamu quickens his pace as the sound of the brawl grows louder with every turn of the hallway.

When he makes it to the gym, he spots the crowd right in the center.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He immediately pushes past the ring of people surrounding the fight with phones on record.

"Are you guys getting this?"

"Move! I can't see properly!"

"Hey wait, isn't that Miya Osamu?"

"Oh my god, that's the crown prince!"

Atsumu has a guy underneath him, blowing punch after punch to the other's face before Osamu has to pry them off each other. 

"Alright, enough! Break it up!" Osamu demands, blocking the guy from getting a punch in.

He heaves and analyzes them both: his brother with a cut lip and the other with a bloody nose and swelling eye. 

If he weren't so fucking pissed at the blond right now, he'd actually be proud. But that's beside the point.

"You have a fucking problem, Miya Atsumu! Crazy piece of shit!" The guy yells angrily.

"Fuck you." Atsumu spits back.

The bicker goes back and forth until both are held back from fighting any further.

The security guards escort the guy out of the gym while the principal calls for everybody to make to their classrooms before the bell rings. 

When there's finally a quiet moment, Osamu looks over to his brother. Atsumu averts his eyes to the side, shame and guilt written all over his face as he swipes the back of his hand on his bloody lip.

Osamu doesn't even feel the need to say anything. They've gone through this situation enough that 

Atsumu should already know by now what he will say.

A moment later, Atsumu and Kurosu, who is the Miya family's immediate and most trusted supervisor, wait in the car in silence until Osamu comes back from his meeting with the principal. 

There was a point when Kurosu had asked "What even happened?" as he looked over his shoulder to ask the blond.

Atsumu only fidgeted in his seat, staring out the window with narrowed eyes, still clearly agitated. 

Kurosu decides not to push it. He knows how the blond gets. He's known the twins since they were eleven while he was freshly 22, and a rookie palace guard. It was the best of times before the twins reached their "rebellious" teenage phase.

By twins, he really only means Atsumu. Osamu grew to be much more tamer and responsible, thank god.

Kurosu can only deal so much with one teenage disaster at a time.

Before he can reminisce into the thought of how much time has passed with the Miya brothers, the passenger door opens and Osamu takes his seat.

He slams the door closed a bit harder than he should, startling the two. Kurosu takes that as cue to start the car and they drive off in pure silence. 

Atsumu doesn't even have the heart to look at Osamu. 

He already knows what kind of look he's wearing. He closes his eyes and thumps his head onto the car window. It's going to be a long car ride home.

Two days later

The crash of drums and sharp riffs of the Nirvana track pulse through Atsumu's headphones, filling his ears with a steady chaos. He taps his foot to the rhythm, oblivious to the world around him.

♫ I'm worse at what I do best

And for this gift, I feel blessed

Our little group has always been 

And always will until the end~

Atsumu never had a clear muse for his drawings. He only cares how it makes him feel. Compared to Osamu, he was always the artistically gifted twin. He couldn't care less about subjects like history, etiquette, or any of the other stuff they expected him to care about. 

The only thing that mattered to him was his art. It was his one space where he could be completely himself, raw and unleashed.

His expression is serious as his pencil glides across the sketchpaper, each line syncing with the beat, testing and adjusting, chasing something better. 

♫ I feel stupid and contagious!

Here we are now, entertain— 

YANK!

A jolt at his ears. The earbuds were ripped out so fast it stung.

"Ow— what the fuck?" 

Atsumu turns to his side to find a very unamused Miya Osamu standing by his desk. Arms crossed over his chest and irritation all over his face.

"Can't ya learn t'knock?"

"I did, dumbass." Osamu deadpans. 

Atsumu rolls his eyes and turns back to his desk, taking his pencil with a quiet huff. He feels a flicker of pain shoot through his bruised knuckles as his grip tightens, drawing a sneer across his face.

"What? Ya here to lecture me again? Did Ma send you as the family messenger?" 

Atsumu's nose crinkles at the pungent scent of his brother's cologne, watching as Osamu fishes for something inside his jacket pocket. 

"Here." He pulls out a folded sheet of paper and gently places it on the desk. It bore the seal of the royal communications office. Atsumu eyes it with confusion before eventually unfolding it with a scoff, eyes scanning down the page quickly until he froze.

"What is this?" The blond asked.

Osamu remained still, unreadable as he replies curtly.

"Your apology statement." 

Atsumu shoots him a look. The words didn't make sense at first. He glanced back at the page, like maybe he'd misread it. The tone was cold and concise, like it had been run through a dozen advisors before reaching him.

"I, Miya Atsumu, Prince of Japan, want to apologize for my actions on the day of the twelfth..."

Atsumu read the words with growing disbelief, the words blurring together until a single sentence stopped him cold.

"...Effective immediately, I will begin a period of reflection and formal diplomatic education at Hoshigahara Academy...in Tokyo?”

His head shook slightly as his brows drew together in disbelief. He looked up, eyes snapping to Osamu,who was staring anywhere but at him, like not looking would make the damage disappear.

"You're sending me away?"

"It's not just my decision. The council has decided on this aswell,"

An excruciating silence settled between them as Osamu watched his brother quietly read the words over to himself. He didn't need to hear them again, he could feel Atsumu's fury building with each repetition, like pressure rising in a sealed room. It was almost visible, the way his shoulders tensed and breath began to swallow.

Osamu feels something coil tighter in his chest. Atsumu stood up, the chair scraping against the floor. 

"Did Ma approve this?"

Osamu hesitates, just for a second. But Atsumu already knows his answer. 

"She knew? She agreed?"

"She signed off on it." 

"Ya went behind my back and dragged her into this?!"

"She's the Queen!" Osamu says quickly, finally looking at him.

"Don't ya get it, Atsumu? This affects the whole country! Ya didn't just throw a punch in a school—ya did it while there were cameras rolling. You threatened a student, the people are calling for a formal inquiry, and the media is tearing ya apart. The public is completely split down the middle. This isn't just about yer pride anymore!"

The blond shakes his head, words taking longer to come out. "She didn't even speak to me. She didn't come to my room. Not a word. She just signed me off like nothing."

"Ma thought it would be better if I handled it. You know she loves you. But her place as Queen comes first."

Atsumu turned away, fists clenched. "No. No, I don't know that. It's not like our whole lives she's always put her royal duties over her own family."

"Don't do this—"

"Do what, Osamu?!" Atsumu whipped around, eyes blazing. 

"All I did was defend my name and I'm the one to get humiliated on a public broadcast? Get shipped off to some posh school for sons of failed monarchs? I ain't gonna smile and pretend I don't see what this really is, yeah? A way to make me disappear!"

Osamu opens his mouth but Atsumu beats him to it.

"You were always the perfect one. Ya followed the rules, played the part like they wanted. And I was just the one y'all tolerated!" Atsumu stepped closer, voice low and cracked. 

"Ya didn't protect me. Ya didn't even try! You saw a chance to clean up yer image and you took it."

"That is not fair, Atsumu.”

"No? Neither is being shut out by yer own family." Atsumu's jaw tightened, his voice breaking. "Ya could've talked to me!"

"I am talking to you!"

"It's too late." 

A silence stretched between the twins, one filled with things neither would say. Osamu looks as if he wants to say one last thing but Atsumu watches as the words die in his throat. Instead, he makes his way to the door. 

"The broadcast is tomorrow at noon. Don't make things worse." The door shut behind him. Atsumu stood motionless in the silence of his room and the letter crumpled in his hand.

For the first time in years, the fire in him didn't feel like anger.

It felt like betrayal.

And it burned worse than any wound.

The broadcast is set in the white drawing room of the palace. Soft chatter fills the room as members of the media crew, security, and speechwriters are all present getting ready for the big event. 

In the dressing room next door, Atsumu sits before the vanity mirror, his gaze fixed coldly and distant on his reflection. 

He eyes his rich emerald suit and crisp white blouse, with a patterned red tie, feeling himself becoming irritated at the stiff and firm material. 

His script lies open before him, its neatly printed lines blurring together despite how many times he's read them. 

He feels a headache start to come in, the silence of the room being the only thing keeping him composed. He draws in the cool breath of autumn seeping through the open window, the faint rustle of the curtains offering a fleeting sense of calm.

In this quiet, he almost wishes he could stay there forever, hidden away from what's to come. But the stillness breaks when he hears someone enter the room.

He doesn't need to look to know who it is, the familiar rhythm of her heels and the soft trace of woodsy, floral perfume give her away.

"Ma..."

Atsumu rises from the chair as she approaches, but the Queen doesn't so much as glance at him. Her attention goes straight to the knot of his tie, which she adjusts with measured precision.

This is the first time Atsumu has seen, let alone spoken to, his mother since learning he was being sent away. The air between them feels heavier than usual, thick with all the questions he's wants to ask.

He needs answers. But standing before her now, he isn't sure she'll give him any.

Their mother has always been a woman of few words. Every gesture she makes carries the weight of authority, and every glance seems to see through everything and everyone.

Yet when it comes to her son, there's an invisible distance, a wall built not of coldness, but of duty. Atsumu always feels like he's talking to that wall.

"Have you reviewed your speech?" She says smoothing down his collar without meeting his eyes.

Atsumu swallows a lump down his throat. 

"You know I won't mean any of it." 

She doesn't react. Her face remains composed, as if she hasn't heard him. Or perhaps she chooses not to. 

"Why is your tie all creased?" She says simply, clicking her tongue. 

Atsumu almost argues. The staff had done everything from choosing his suit to pinning the pocket square. It feels absurd, being corrected for a choice he never even made.

"Ma, will you just listen to me? Please?" He pleads as he watches her eye the different selection of ties displayed at the vanity.

She picks up a simple dark gold tie, holds it up against his suit, and studies the contrast in silence. After a brief hum of approval, she begins to swap the old with the new. 

"I don't want to leave home. I want to stay here in Osaka." Atsumu mutters, tilting his chin just enough to give her room to work. "I know I made my mistakes but I'm willing to fix them now." 

"Then you will do this." She replies firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.  

A knock comes at the door. Osamu stands in the doorway, one hand tucked neatly into his pocket, hair gelled in a handsome manner. He looks every bit a perfect heir in his pressed suit and calm composure.

"They're ready for us." 

Atsumu glances at his twin, then back at his mother. For a brief moment, the air feels too heavy to breathe. She reaches out and takes his hands, squeezing them tightly.

There's a flicker of something behind her eyes. She makes a pained face as she holds his face in her hand, caressing his cheek. 

"We're doing this for your own good, Atsumu. If we can not protect you from situations like this, we have to make sure they do not arise. Hoshigahara will help you adopt the right routines—"

"But Ma," Atsumu whispers.

"It was wrong for us to let you attend a regular school separate from your brother. Osamu was able to graduate early to prepare for his role as King. You as crown prince, as his brother, still have responsibilities, Atsumu." 

Atsumu's head hangs low, he feels his jaw tighten as his eyes begin to sting. It's like he physically feels the words he wanted to say die in the back of his throat.

He recounts his days as a child: being talked over, never being able to express himself because he was told by everyone around him that his emotions were too much for a royal.

The familiar feeling comes rushing back even now, like a wave of deja vu.

Atsumu curses himself quietly as he swallows that feeling away. He knows that no matter how much time passes, no matter how much he's grown, he'll never find the words when it counts. 

In the end, he always just ends up surrendering because it's easier that way.

His mother's hand comes to rest on his shoulder, her thumb tracing slow, soothing circles before she presses a soft kiss on his shoulder.

"Please, do this one thing for me. For our family."

With every step towards the door, Atsumu's legs become heavier and heavier. Upon entering the room, he feels eyes on him from every crew member in every corner. 

And Atsumu knows that once that recording comes out, there'll be thousands more of the same sharp, judgmental stares, quiet whispers of disapproval, making him feel all the more exposed than he already is. 

The three royals sit on the couch, flanked by lights and camera operators rushing around. They sit calmly as their staff begins to mic them up.

"Your posture, 'Tsumu." he hears Osamu whisper beside him. 

Atsumu straightens his back promptly. Then he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

He wonders if anyone can see him shaking quietly. Maybe if he closes his eyes hard enough, everything and everyone will disappear.

That it'll all be just a bad dream.

But then a ringing echoes in his ears, muffling everything around him. He can hear his own uneven breathing, but beyond that, the voice of the woman talking to the cameraman cuts through very distantly.

"We will begin the recording now."  

Then a small red light beside the lens flicks on. The woman behind the camera glances at the monitor, confirming something, then turns to face the family.  

"You may begin, your highness." 

When Atsumu opens his eyes again, he's still, staring into the camera with a forced look of confidence. The woman nods subtly, giving the signal to start.

Suddenly, it's as if he's forgotten his lines. His tongue feels heavy, and his palms grow clammy.

He struggles to meet the camera's gaze, constantly shifting his eyes around the room, searching for something to anchor him.  

"Yes, well... uh. I would...I would like to start off by saying that nobody is more disappointed in my actions than myself."

Breathe, Atsumu.

"I-I've been having a difficult time adjusting, since last summer's confirmation, when I was given a more official role as prince. It came with pressure and expectations I was not fully ready for."

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Somewhere in the back corner, someone clears their throat. Osamu sits beside him but their eyes don't meet, instead keeping his gaze fixed on the polished table, fingers lightly tapping, a stiff lump in his throat. 

Atsumu breathes out and continues once his memory starts to tap in.

"Even so, there is no excuse for my behaviour. I acted without the integrity that my position demands, and for that I am truly sorry...

To my family, my advisors, and all those whom I have let down, I offer my sincere apology and ask for your patience as I make amends."

It's a degrading, vulnerable feeling to be sitting there. He wanted this to end, for the moment to vanish and for the spotlight to flicker out. 

"That said, I-I would like to inform everyone that my parents and I have decided that I will be enrolled at Hoshigahara Academy in Tokyo... to continue my education there."

♛

A week later at the pale break of sunrise, Atsumu stirs awake by the low rumble of the car engine winding down and the gentle shake of his brothers hand.

He exits the car with groggy eyes until the sight before him finally clears.

There it is in all its glory. Hoshigahara Academy was as grand as Atsumu expected.

The campus spread across a broad hillside lined with the tallest of trees, the air cool with the scent of early summer.

The main building stood at the center, a grand Meiji era structure of stone and dark oak, with tall arched windows and curved tiled roofs. Greenery surrounded the walls in thick strands, blending with the nearby trees.

A sudden burst of voices break his quiet awe. Atsumu turned just in time to see someone calling his brother's name with excitement.

Osamu was already stepping forward, pulled into a hug by a familiar-looking brunette dressed in the Hoshigahara uniform. They exchange laughter and warm greetings, their smiles wide and easy, as if no time had passed at all.

Hovering awkwardly a few steps away, Atsumu approaches closer just as another woman joins them near the entrance. 

"Miya Osamu! Oh—at last!" she said warmly, opening her arms. They shared a polite embrace before she pulled back, still smiling.

"We've been awaiting your arrival. How was the trip?"

"Nothing too bad, Kumiko-san. It's good to see you again." Osamu said, the polite smile coming easily to him. The woman returned it before turning toward the blond beside him, extending a hand.

"And Miya Atsumu! We haven't had the chance to formally meet yet. I am Kumiko Aina, Headmistress of Hoshigara Academy. We're very pleased to have you attend here."

Atsumu accepts the greeting with a simple nod.

Kumiko then places a hand on the shoulder of the boy standing beside her. "I'm told you're already acquainted. This is our student council president—"

"Suna Rintarou," The boy cuts in, a fox-eyed smile flashing as he offers his hand. "Yes. We've met."

Atsumu returned the handshake, his grip stiff despite himself.

Suna Rintarou.

Sunarin, according to Osamu.

The Miya family and Suna family had been acquainted for years. It was through formal dinners and long-running charity initiatives that kept their names circulating in the same circles. 

The Suna family's influence was the kind built on reputation rather than spectacle.

Suna hasn't changed much since Atsumu had last seen him—last summer, when Osamu had brought him along to one of those large-scale charity galas both families had hosted together.

Atsumu had spent most of that evening trying to disappear into the background, while Osamu and Suna had moved effortlessly from guest to guest, trading smiles and conversation like it was second nature.

That night marked the start of their closeness.

Osamu came home energized, talking about how well the event had gone, how capable Suna was, and how easy he was to work with.

'He's an amazing guy, Tsumu. You'd like him.'

Atsumu hadn't.

Not because of Suna, atleast.

Osamu had always been good with people. Connections formed around him without effort.

Atsumu struggled just to keep pace. That night, he'd threatened to kick Osamu in the face if he kept going on about the event and everyone he'd met.

He wasn't jealous.

...He really wasn't!

He didn't care that he didn't have friends of his own.

Still, standing in front of Suna now felt strange. He was composed and almost formal in a way Atsumu wasn't used to. Around Osamu, Suna had always been relaxed and casual. This version of him felt distant, maybe even performative.

"I can skip the formalities, right?" Suna asked.

"Yeah. I guess." Atsumu replied, intending to sound casual. It doesn't quite land when the words lingered, and a brief silence settled between them.

Kumiko clapped her hands softly. "Shall we get you settled, then? We have quite a bit to cover. Suna-kun, if you could assist with their luggage."

"Of course."

The brunette joins Kurosu at the trunk as the other three head inside the building. 

Atsumu and Osamu were led through the main corridor in silence, their steps echoing too sharply against the checkered marble floor. 

The pattern stretched endlessly beneath their feet, polished and cold-looking, guiding him between towering stone archways that curved overhead.

The walls were lined with paintings, school achievements, and generations of faces from the previous graduating classes.

It was like the more Atsumu walked, the more he saw. And the more he saw, the clearer the difference became between this place and the other schools he attended before. 

This didn't feel like a school.

This was something else entirely. This was legacy carved into stone.

Expectation lived in the walls here, and it felt heavy and unavoidable. It pressed against his chest with every step, as if the building itself knew exactly who he was and why he had been sent.

His parents had walked these halls once.

And Osamu not too long ago.

The realization came quietly. It was suddenly obvious where their prestige had been shaped and where their mannerisms had been learned. 

This place made them, and now it was waiting to do the same to him. 

Before Atsumu begins to feel uneasy at the thought, the corridor opened into the courtyard.

Stone arches enclosed a square garden, their columns draped in vines, sunlight slipping through the leaves above. Students occupied the space in quiet clusters, some seated along the stone sills beneath the arches, others studying at small tables, books spread open in their lap.

They noticed him as he entered. A ripple of attention passed through the courtyard. A few students straightened. Others leaned in to whisper.

Several girls near one of the arches stifled excited laughter, eyes wide with interest, glancing at him and then at each other with curiosity and admiration. It showed openly across their faces, unhidden and unashamed.

He suddenly feels even more concious of himself.

Atsumu eyes the boys uniform and can't help but picture himself in it too: maroon blazer and dark grey pants, paired with a tie and a crested collar top, all of them looking like the other in a robotish fashion. 

Time moves on, carrying them to the dormitories, the offices, and all the boring places in between. He meets the faculty team whose names all blur together knowing he will forget in seconds as they go in one ear and out the other. 

They circle back to the boys dormitory by noon, Kurosu and Suna joining them swiftly.

"At the Queen's request, you'll be sharing a dormitory suite with two other students," Kumiko explains. "She felt it was important that you have company during your stay. Rest assured, additional security measures have been put in place, and the residence will be monitored at all times."

Osamu places a hand on Atsumu's shoulder. "This is good 'Tsumu. You'll meet more people this way." He says with an encouraging smile. Atsumu raises his eyebrows in faux excitement.

Is he supposed to be glad about that?

Kumiko gestures down the corridor as she continues. "The suite is shared by three residents. Each of you will have a private bedroom, but you'll share the common areas, so a small living space and utilities. Then you have the main common room open to all residents of the male dormitory. You may use that space to relax and socialize with your peers, or for group study. A residential advisor is stationed in the building at all hours, and security patrols the wing regularly."

They walk a bit longer until they reach a stop infront of a room door. Kumiko reaches into her pocket, pulls out a card and hands it to Atsumu.

"You may use this access card for now to enter your dorm room while you wait for your official ID pass on Monday. Room 213—that's where you'll be staying."

Kumiko glances at her watch, looking slightly winded from the lengthy introductions. She lets out a small huff before smiling again.

"It's nearly dinnertime, so I'll leave you to settle in until then. You can join the others at the dining hall at 8. Any questions?"

Atsumu shakes his head, his first conscious movement since he'd zoned out.

"If you run into any trouble navigating the residence or have concerns, you can always ask your roommates." she adds. "Don't worry, i've ensured everyone to be very welcoming."

"Thank you so much, Kumiko-san," Osamu says. "You've been incredibly informative and helpful today. I don't think my brother will have any problems here after everything you've done."

"My pleasure. We're delighted to have him here, just as we were to have you, Osamu-kun." Kumiko smiles warmly.

"I'll see you on Monday, Atsumu-kun."

"Thank you... you too."

She bows politely and turns to leave, taking only a few steps down the corridor before stopping and turning back toward the twins.

"I almost forgot," she says. "No girls in the dormitory. It's strictly forbidden!"

She doesn't turn away again until Atsumu nods in acknowledgment.

After a moment of silence, Osamu does a quick gesture for him to open the door. Atsumu doesn't exactly know what to expect when he enters into his dorm.

The dorm room carries the same quiet luxury as the rest of the school.

Dark wooden flooring spans the space and decorated by a patterned rug with a subtle imprint of the school's crest. To the right, there's a long window sits, offering a scenic view of the school campus and the surrounding hills.

A small chandelier hangs from the ceiling, its warm light gently illuminating the room.

The blond takes a slow breath. The air smells faintly of lemongrass detergent mixed with a trace of male musk. A lived-in scent that welcomes him nonetheless.

When he takes a step in, he stumbles on something in his path. He looks down to find multiple pairs of shoes disorganized in the entrance space. 

His roommates, he assumes. 

He steps over the mess and onto the dark wooden floor. 'It's like a tiny apartment' Atsumu thinks. 

There's a small space with a couch and tv, and a coffee table that sits between them, stacked with school books and what seems to be... dirty socks?

Atsumu tries not to make a face.

He slides his hand on the small narrow island counter and notes two mugs filled with leftover coffee that seems like its been sitting there since morning. There's a small fridge and a sink and laundry machines behind it that still holds clothes inside.

"You know, this might actually be better than me and Rin's shared dorm before." Osamu says, breaking the silence, "We didn't even have a tv. Had this makeshift projector made outta a shoebox and a magnifying glass for our movie nights. If it comes down to it, I'll show ya how to make one, yeah?"

Atsumu only hums and turns the corner into the narrow hallway, not in the mood to entertain his brother's attempt at a conversation. 

Three doors line the walls, two closed, one at the very end creaked open. That one's probably his. Atsumu knocks on the door for good measure before stepping in. 

He's surprised to find it's a decently size. Though, nearly half the size of his bathroom back home, but ample space to move around comfortably.

There's a twin bed pushed against the left wall, and a study desk on the right. A narrow nightstand holds a softly glowing lamp. 

Everything is dark wood, from the furniture to the bed frame, but the floor is covered again by a rug with a similar yet simpler pattern from the one in the living room.

Finally, a single window faces the door, with curtains of a rich navy blue color, and the bags Aran had dropped off earlier are placed neatly beside the desk. Atsumu exhales taking it all in.

"Hm. Cozy." Osamu hums as he stands before the room. He examines it slowly before standing infront the window and pulling the curtains to side, letting the orange of the sunset seep into his room.

"You even got a good view of the lake,'Tsumu! That's something."

Atsumu meanwhile plops down on the bed swallowing hard.

He knows what Osamu is trying to do.

He feels himself become increasingly overwhelmed at this new feeling, this new environment. Everything starting to feel too real. He listens to Osamu's commentary but it muffles out halfway.  

"Look, i'm tired. It's been a long day so maybe you should get going." The blond says quietly.

"Yeah, of course. You're right..." Osamu says. "Just want to make sure you're settling in just fine." 

"Well, everything's fine."

Osamu nods slowly. "Okay... okay, I'll let Ma know then." He thins his lips in a forced smile before making his way towards the door, fingers curling around the doorknob.

"I'm going to say goodbye to Rin before I head out. Make sure to unpack tonight, it takes time."

"Mhm."

"And uh, call if you need me, okay?"

"Mhm."

Osamu lingers, fidgeting like he's searching for something else to say, or maybe waiting for Atsumu to say something first. A few quiet seconds pass before he finally closes the door behind him. Atsumu listens as his footsteps fade down the hall, growing softer until there's nothing left but silence.

He's as still as a statue unsure what his next move is. Too tired to unpack, he eventually pushes himself up and shuffles over to the duffel bag he brought along, fishing around until he finds his earphones.

He plops back down onto the bed and slips the headphones on. Music fills his ears as he closes his eyes, letting the world fade out around him.

Only an hour after Atsumu dozes off, he's startled awake by the sound of thumping outside his door. He slips his headphones off, the sudden silence making his pulse quicken.

For a moment, he wonders if he imagined it.

That thought disappears when something thumps again lightly against his door, followed by a hushed 'Ow! Will you stop pushing me!'

With a sigh, Atsumu drags himself off the bed and reaches for the door.

The moment it opens, two guys come tumbling into his room, tripping over each other and landing in a heap on the floor.

Atsumu steps back in surprise, blinking as he watches the two tall figures groan and scramble to collect themselves.

"S-Shit, Bokuto, I told you not to lean on the door too much!" The dark, rooster-haired guy snaps as he rubs at what's probably a forming bruise on his hip.

"That was not me! I swear it wasn't me this time!" The other, "Bokuto", protests with a frown.

"Hello?" Atsumu can only say, unimpressed.

The two men freeze. They look up at the blond, then glance at each other and scramble to their feet, trying to regain whatever dignity they'd just lost.

"Oh my god! He's real! The crown prince is actually here! In our dorm room!" The gray-haired blurts, stopping himself just short of touching Atsumu like he's some sort of prized possession.

"Bo, will you stop that! Get a grip, man. Sorry about him, this is literally all he's talked about for the past few days." The other offers Atsumu a hand.

"I'm Kuroo Tetsurou, your highness." he adds casually. "And this is Bokuto. We’re your roommates, third year like you." He pauses, brow furrowing.

"Also, is it 'your majesty' or 'your highness'? Or both? Bo, help me out here—"

"Just Atsumu is fine." Atsumu is quick to say.

"We're really sorry, Atsumu! We didn't mean to sneak on you like this. It's just that our afterschool club activities kept us busy and we didn't see you at dinner or get to drop by to welcome you properly."

Kuroo jumps in "We weren't sure if you were in your room but we saw your shoes at the doorway and we had to make sure it wasn't some chipmunk again who snuck in—"

"I get it. Really, it's fine." Atsumu pauses. "Sorry, did you just say chipmunk?"

"Yep. Last semester, Bo left some food out and forgot to close the front door before he left for class. It's a long story." Kuroo's gaze drifts for a moment, like he's replaying it, then he straightens.

"Anyway, are you hungry? We've got a surprise for you!"

Before Atsumu can respond, they're already ushering him out of his room. They settle him on the couch while he watches them move around the kitchen, quiet but coordinated, pulling something from the fridge.

"Tada! Made by yours truly!" Kuroo says placing a cake on the table infront of him. Bokuto trailing behind with the biggest smile ever., looking like he's waiting for applause. 

Atsumu stares down at the cake.

It's still in its glass pan. Slathered with chocolate frosting, and topped with mini rainbow gummy bears and messy writing in red that says "Welcome!"

Actually, no. Not even.

The e is smudged slightly so it really says "Welcomc!"

Funnily, it seems like a threat.

"Bo, I told you to use sprinkles!"

"We had no more in the pantry so I improvised."

Kuroo rolls his eyes, stealing a gummy off the cake anyway. "I promise you the cake is good despite its looks."

"Thanks...I think i'd prefer to have real food first." 

The two look at eachother deep in thought before sharing a mischievous look . 

And so, nearly 20 minutes later, the three of them were sunk into the couch, lazily splitting two large pizzas while talking about absolutely everything and nothing at the same time.

It started with a dumb, almost offended, "You've never had delivery pizza before?" which led to Kuroo picking up his phone to make an order, which led them here.

Atsumu finds himself laughing a lot because Bokuto and Kuroo are funny people.

They don't have humor like this back at home or don't talk as freely as they do and it was refreshing to be around. He's amazed at how naturally conversational they are, and how they finish eachother's sentences.

He learns that Kuroo was accepted into Hoshigahara on the strength of his exceptional academic record and impressive list of extracurricular achievements. He's currently president of Hoshigahara's debate club.

Bokuto, on the other hand, entered through Hoshigahara's prestigious athlete placement program, his volleyball talent was impossible to ignore, and it only helped that he too had genuinely outstanding grades. It was a shocking contradiction to the airhead persona he wore so proudly. As for him, he holds the title of Hoshigahara's shining volleyball team captain.

Both of them come from well-connected backgrounds, with influential families and relatives that place them comfortably within Hoshigahara's upper social circles.

Atsumu learned about their carefree routines, school life, and the things they were interested in.

He feels himself growing a subtle adoration for the two. He likes them because they're different from everyone he's met before.

He likes them because not once have they asked about the scandal, if it's true or not. They don't ask him anything that might put him on spot because within the first two hours he's met them, they can already read him. 

In a way, he finally knows what it's like to be considered.

Time slipped by unnoticed until the moon rose and their teeth ached from all the sugar they'd consumed from the cake.

The blond goes quiet as Bokuto and Kuroo slip into another random banter, third one within the two hours he's known them. He watches them talk and doesn't really feel the need to jump in, content with just listening.

His mind drifts anyway. Maybe there are more people like this here. People like Bokuto and Kuroo, people who he'd actually want to talk to, who are interested in what he has to say and not just because of who he is.

The thought settles in his chest in a strange way. It isn't bad, not really. Just unfamiliar, like something he hasn't quite learned how to hold yet.

And then somewhere deeper down in his mind, another thought comes. If he were more like his brother, maybe Bokuto and Kuroo would find him more interesting.

Maybe the conversations would come easier, and he wouldn't run out of things to say the moment the attention turned his way.

He chugs the soda in his hand and props his chin on his knee, wanting to rid all his intruding thoughts.

He has a feeling that this school holds something different, like it's his last chance to start over and not mess it up this time. But for tonight, it's enough just to sit, to breathe, and to feel that tiny spark telling him he might be okay.

"So, about this chipmunk story?"

Chapter Text

The freaking tie is stupid!

Atsumu twists it to the side. Then back to the left. He loops it over, tucks it under, pulls it through again like he's seen in the videos a hundred times. The striped fabric slides through his fingers, never settling the way it's supposed to.

"Fuck this shit, honestly," he mutters under his breath, ripping it loose and throwing it onto the bed.

He stays there, staring at his unmoving reflection. He's dressed in the uniform now.

The weekend passed all too soon and before he knew it, monday had come and it's the morning before his first class at Hoshigahara Academy.

His hair is lightly gelled, forced into something neater than usual. And his face is flushed, red creeping across his cheeks from the reoccurring feeling of wanting to puke from anxiety.

With the new environment, and new people. It's a whole new era of him.

A him that he can't recognize.

He doesn't feel ready to face it just yet.

Then a gentle knock comes at the door drawing his thoughts away. Kuroo comes peeking into the room with a smile far too bright for seven in the morning. He's already fully put together. His uniform is neat, the tie perfectly knotted, with hair somehow styled in that intentionally messy way that still looks deliberate. Meanwhile, Atsumu has his shirt buttoned halfway, tie abandoned somewhere behind him like he lost a war.

"Ready to head out?" Kuroo says. "Bokuto headed out earlier since he got morning practice, so it's just us."

Atsumu only hums absently and scratches his head before facing Kuroo with his defeated sleep deprived eyes.

Kuroo seems to understand and sighs, going to sit beside him on his bed. He reaches for the tie  on the bed before prompting Atsumu up to fix it on his collar. The blond lets him work with no resistance.

A wave of something unexplainable comes again when there's only silence, and he gets hit with a familiar feeling. Memories of him and his brother getting ready together to attend formal events.

Now Osamu isn’t here anymore, and Atsumu can’t quite put a name to what his absence feels like. He just knows it leaves something off, and it sucks. More than a bit, if he’s being honest.

Atsumu can’t let anyone know there are still things he doesn’t know how to do without him.

Like this, for instance.

He can't ever let anybody know that he doesn't know how to tie a tie since Osamu was always the one doing it for him.

"There you go." Kuroo says patting down his blazer before stepping back. "All ready?"

Atdumu nods silently.

"Then what's with the face?"

The blond only shrugs in no mood to respond. Kuroo gives him a look before relaxing his shoulders.

"Look at it this way. You get to be around new people, learn new things, no family here to tell you what to do."

"Yeah I know. It's just—I don't know how to be…” Atsumu shakes his head looking for the right words “normal enough for this? No one's gonna want to talk to me after everything that's happened—"

Kuroo snorts softly. "That is not true. You're polite and painfully pretty. That'll give ya at least three fans by lunch."

Atsumu stares at him. "That's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

"Testurou!"

"Okay! Sorry!" Kuroo says trying to contain his smile.

"Seriously, the more you overthink, the more you'll doubt yourself. You don't need to be impressing anyone on the first day."

"You don't understand" Atsumu muttered, staring off toward the corner of the room, his voice quieter than he intended. "Maybe i'll just stay in my room for the first few days."

There was a tight knot in his chest that he just couldn't shake off.

Its funny because there are people who are counting on him. His mom, Osamu, and everyone in the country is counting on him to make a better impression for his family. He just doesn't know if he has it in him.

He tried to focus on his breathing, on the floor beneath his feet, on anything to push back the rising panic that won't seem to stop. But then he hears Kuroo fake a cough.

"Chicken."

He turns to see Kuroo leaning against the wall, watching him with a playful expression. Before Atsumu can think he imagined it, Kuroo repeats it, this time louder, not even bothering to hide it this time.

"Chicken!"

Atsumu scoffs. "Me? I'm not!"

”You are.”

”I’m not!”

"Bok! Bok! Bok!" Kuroo squawks, hopping around his room like a deranged animal. Atsumu can't help it the laugh that slips out, shaking his head.

"You're insane."

Then, Kuroo stops his antics to face Atsumu. He places his hands on his shoulders and looks into his eyes, like a father about to give a lecture to a misbehaving son.

”I’d rather be insane than a coward.” Kuroo says a bit out of breath. "Now, it’s up to you whether you want to hide in your room or give this a shot, 'Tsumu. What will it be?"

Atsumu's shoulders sagged a fraction. He drew in a deep breath, willing himself to calm down and consider Kuroo’s words. 

He let his mind wander for a second, noticing the little things he'd been too anxious to register: the sunlight catching in the strands of Kuroo's hair, the brand new pair of school loafers waiting under his desk, ready to be used. Silly as it was, it grounded him.

He’s been too wrapped around his own anxious mind that he forgot these were a reminder to him that this isn't a punishment, but a new opportunity.

His lips twitched upward, a reluctant smile breaking through, almost in spite of himself.

Fucking Kuroo and his ridiculous antics.

"Alright," Atsumu groans, grabbing his bag and shoes. "Let's go."

Kuroo taps him lightly on the shoulder, a smug look on his face. "Bok Bok," he says quietly, and thankfully not flapping this time. Atsumu exhales, letting himself smile properly for the first time that morning.

Fuck my life

Fuck my life

Fuck my life

... is Atsumu's internal thoughts right now.

He doesn't get it! He remembers them saying that the office is located in the administrative wing of campus.

Sooo, where is that exactly?

Atsumu raises his watch and finds it's 15 minutes until first period starts. He sighs and examines the busy path ahead. He's started to regret his earlier moments where he reassured Kuroo that he's perfectly manageable to find his own way to the office building.

He's definitely regretting it right now.

The hallway is scattered with Hoshigahara students . They move with purpose, speaking with familiarity and carrying themselves with the quiet assurance of people who belong.

There is a visible rhythm to them, an unspoken coordination that Atsumu isn't familiar with yet.

The difference, as he sees it, is simple: most of them are here because they chose to be. He, on the other hand, is here because circumstances placed him here. That alone might be the very reason he won't be able to get along with anyone here.

Atsumu chose a direction based on nothing more than the width of the path. Wide paths, he reasoned, led to important places.

Everyone acknowledged him, but no one actually stopped him, which is what surprised him most.

He wonders if they don't approach him because he looks unapproachable. Or if it's just because they don't know how.

They stared unapologetically with the courtesy of pretending not to. The looks weren't prolonged, but they lingered just long enough to satisfy whatever curiosity or judgment had prompted them.

Atsumu told himself to ask for help and actually  rehearsed what he should say to them in his head.

‘Excuse me. Where is the administrative office?’

Harmless. But it could also sound like an invite to a conversation he doesn't really want to start.

Eventually, after an excruciating five minutes of pretending, going up and down stares leading to god knows where, he gets to the part of campus that's a bit quieter than others and finds the office right there. The doors are open and he can see the receptionist from a few steps away. He does a polite knock on the door for good manner which catches the lady's attention.

"Prince Atsumu, good morning." She says like she's been expecting him.

"Morning. Um, I'm here for my school pass. They said it'd be ready for me today."

"One moment, please." She gets up from her chair with a heavy breath before disappearing into one of the office rooms in the hall. She comes back a moment later holding the sturdy ID card with a short clip attacher, and a small paper slip. She comes closer to the counter and slides it to atsumu.

"Please keep your pass with you at all times. It provides access to your residence hall, dining facilities, and other authorized campus areas. This is a printed copy of your schedule in case you haven't received it yet."

Atsumu accepts the items with a slight bow and a polite thank you before stepping away. He brushes his thumb over the plastic card.

The photo—taken two days ago when he first arrived—looks unfamiliar in its stiffness. He slips it into his pocket and makes his way to his first class. Another task he already doesn't have the energy for.

He gets a bit far when a sound stops him in his tracks. Coming down from the other end of the hall, it's faint. So faint he almost thinks he imagined it.

But it's there, soft and delicate.

He freezes instinctively, as if the slightest movement might disturb it. His legs carry him toward it. The melody is slow and gentle, becoming louder the closer he gets. He follows the sound deeper down the hall, until only one doorway remains at the very end. It stands open.

Light spills from the room, bright against the dim lighting of the corridor. For a fleeting second, it feels less like coincidence and more like something destined, as if the music itself had drawn him there.

It's a single violin playing and yet it fills the corridor as though it were an entire orchestra. Atsumu stops beside the doorway instead of stepping into view. He leans against the wall, careful not to make a sound.

The playing is precise. Each note lands exactly where it should, neither rushed nor dragged. He closes his eyes and lets the music settle over him, content to remain unseen and a silent witness.

When the music begins to soften, he musters up the courage to turn his body toward the room, curious to see the owner of the magical hands that can play such a beautiful melody.

The sunlight hits him full in the face. It spills through the tall windows, washing the room in white. Then he sees it.

A silhouette—tall and lean, hands moving with  assurance. Then it shifts and the glare disappears, letting Atsumu see clearly.

See him clearly.

His face is still, eyes closed listening to the rhythm as his brows scrunch in concentration. The soft orange of the morning sun highlights his silhouette. His features are sharp but his expression is soft, like he's trying to melt into the rhythm of his playing.

Atsumu feels as if his world has stopped and he has stepped into someone else's. He watches until the final note fades quietly and he can hear his own breathing.

The mysterious musician opens his eyes, the violin still steady beneath his chin before he relaxes. Atsumu tries to step back, to slip away unnoticed, but his shoes clack against the marble floor, catching the attention of the man.

His dark brown eyes meet Atsumu's. But it lasts only a second before the bell rings, breaking the tension. Atsumu looks away and hurries down the hallway before he can be questioned.

He walks quickly, hoping the boy won't follow or won't call out and ask why he'd been staring like some kind of creep.

He forces the thought of him away and searches for his first class instead. When he finds the right door, the teacher spots him immediately and calls out over the chatter of settling students.

"Miya-kun, come right in!"

All of his hopes to slip in unnoticed completely shatter. He awkwardly enters into the classroom, his peers eyes watching him closely.

"Class, the prince will be joining us from here on out, so please make sure to welcome him sincerely." she says, then turns to him. "Please take any empty seat. We'll begin shortly."

Atsumu nods and scans the room, spotting an open desk near the window. He's grateful the seats are arranged separately so at least he won't be forced to share.

The rest of the class passes in a haze. He stares out the window for most of the time. It goes far more normally than he'd anticipated, and he can't help but think Kuroo might have been right. Maybe it had all been in his head.

He doesn't know why he expected to be targeted like those victims he's seen in those American movies with a "Kick me!" sign on his back, or paper planes thrown at the back of his head. 

He blinks his eyes open when class ends, still groggy. Gathering his things, he checks his schedule for his next class. In the hallways, he keeps his head low, offering the occasional nod and quick smile before heading straight to the room.

He doesn't speak to anyone in his second class. Or his third. By then, he starts to think maybe he should. His classmates seem friendly enough, but he isn't sure he wants to risk it.

It isn't until fourth period where he finally has some type of interaction with someone. There’s a light tap against his foot that pulls him from his daze. He glances down, only to realize someone is nudging him with theirs. His gaze trails up the leg to the girl seated beside him.

She's pretty. Short black hair that fall in natural waves, pale skin and noticeable dimples as she sends a small smile to Atsumu.

Atsumu blinks, a bit taken back. She batters her eyes with a flirtatious smile and at first Atsumu genuinely doesn't know what to do.

He offers an awkward smile in return before quickly looking away, shifting in his seat, unsure what to do with such obvious flirting. The girl, who seemed to expect more, thins her lips disappointed before she turns back to the teacher. Atsumu lowers his gaze to his paper, adding meaningless scribbles just to look occupied, careful to avoid any further contact.

It's not as if he isn't used to attention from girls. In fact, he'd received more than his fair share growing up his at previous schools or the pretentious clubs he'd been forced to attend. He turned heads wherever he went.

And even though he rarely offered anything in return, his indifference only seemed to make them want him more. He feels no guilt in turning them down.

The bell rings, and Atsumu shoves his things into his bag, darting for the door. The hallways fill fast, students laughing and spilling in from both sides, the noise swelling around him.

He keeps his head low, weaving through the crowd. Most move aside, but some don't, and despite the space, he feels trapped. All he can think about is getting back to his dorm.

A sudden shout coming from group of friends catch hes his attention for a bit, he turns to see a group of friends teasing, tackling eachother in a brotherly fashion, causing a casual ruckus.

By the time he looks forward again, it's too late. His shoulder collides with someone else's, sending them stumbling.

"I'm sorry!" The blond says, stopping quickly. The other guy turns, frowning, then relaxes when he recognizes him.

"Oh, Atsumu. it's just you." Suna says. "Are you in a rush? Where are you headed?"

"I'm just going back to my dorm."

Suna tilts his head like he said something strange.

"You're not going to eat? I'm on my way to the dining hall, if you want to join me with my friends?"

"No, uh—i'm just going to eat in my room. I don't have too much of an appetite."

"Alright... you sure?"

"Yeah.” Atsumu says. He starts to walk slowly the other direction but muttering a quick thanks before Suna can say anything else.

He never ends up eating once he gets to the dorm. Partly because he wasn't hungry. But also because there’s nothing there but a slab of the leftover cake from yesterday that no longer looked appetizing.

He found himself sprawled on the couch, staring at the pile of homework already due, reading the same lines over and over until his eyes began to ache. The apartment felt unnaturally quiet without Bokuto and Kuroo around to fill it with noise and argument.

Screw their damn club activities!

He sleeps away his hunger for the rest of the lunch period until the time lets him. And then he musters up the energy to pull through his last classes.

Thankfully it goes by rather quickly. It's the start of his last period, Modern literature, one of the courses Atsumu doesn't entirely hate. He finds himself absorbed in taking notes as the teacher unpacks the structure of the text, line by line.

He's pulled out of his focus when a gentle knock comes at the door. The class watches as a student steps inside and gives a polite bow. He closes the door behind him, then bows again to the teacher, offering a quiet apology for being late.

"Sakusa-kun, welcome. Please take a seat." Is all the teacher says, her face seemingly unbothered. "I will have a word with you later after class."

Silence fills the room as all the attention fixes on him. The boy doesn't react, only nodding before settling into the only open spot. Which just so happened to be the one right next to Atsumu.

The blond can't help but stare with curiosity, pencil in his hold frozen completely.

He looks... familiar. Like he's seen him from somewhere—

Wait.

The curly hair, the twin moles on his forward and that model-like posture— he's the same boy from this morning, the one playing the violin.

Atsumu isn't great at remembering faces, but this one's different. He stares quietly, trying not to be obvious: the pale skin against the red of the uniform, the tight curls of his dark hair, the sharp angles of his face.

How could he have forgotten? And now that he's looking, he can't look away.

This is a model sculpted in heaven, a gift from the gods. Up close, he looks even more surreal.

Atsumu doesn't think he's ever seen a man so divine.

Is that weird to think?

Even as class resumes, Atsumu watches the way the mystery man works. His gentle hold on the pencil, down to his fingers that are slender and soft looking. Even his handwriting is nice too—

"Can I help you?" Comes a low voice beside him.

Atsumu flinches looking up at the curly head, whose eyes are now looking deeply into his, with a concerned expression.

Woah.

"N-no. Sorry." He says withdrawing his stare.

Fuck. Atsumu didn't realize he's been staring that long. He must have seem like an absolute creep.

When class ends, Atsumu packs his things quickly. Sakusa is standing by the teacher's desk conversing about something quietly. His brows are scrunched with guilt as the teacher seems to reprimand him.

When Atsumu bids his bye to the teacher, he walks by, unintentionally getting a wiff of Sakusa's scent. It's warm and balanced, a perfect fusion of cedar wood and vanilla. He closes his eyes as if to indulge in more, before quietly exiting the class.

🜲

It's only three days later until Atsumu finally musters up the courage to spend his lunch period in the school dining hall.

He couldn't stand one more day having nothing to eat for lunch, anxiety be damned. He's eventually came to the realization that skipping out on lunch is the main reason why he's so cranky during the second half of his classes.

He tells himself that's the only reason he's here.

But it isn't. There's also him.

Sakusa. Or as Atsumu likes to call him in his head "prissy perm.”

He doesn't know why he's so fixated on this boy. He considers that maybe it's their shared love for the same music, when Atsumu caught him listening to an artist he loves during their quiet work time in class.

Or maybe it's the way Sakusa looks like he dislikes this place as much as Atsumu does. The way his expression flattens during assemblies, the way he finishes his work quickly and without enthusiasm. He keeps to himself and doesn't try to impress anyone.

Atsumu doesn't recognize the thought for what it is. But if he were ever to single someone out here—if he allowed himself the vulnerable act of wanting a friend anyway—it would be Sakusa.

That's all he figured it was.

His first friend crush.

Atsumu was leaving his class after the lunch bell when he spotted prissy perm in the hallway, seemingly on his way to the dining hall, earbuds in with that same expressionless face he always wears.

Unconsciously, Atsumu found himself going the same direction. He loses track of him amidst the many students in the dining hall.

He quickly collects his tray from the counter before continuing his mission. They're serving up a standard set meal of rice, grilled fish, miso soup, and a small portion of pickled vegetables arranged neatly.

Then he spots Sakusa, tucked away at the edge of the dining hall, his nose buried in a notes, sitting contently by himself.

Atsumu's fingers tighten around the edges of his tray, breathing in before bravely taking steps towards his empty table.

"Hey."

Sakusa looks up, and their eyes meet. The same tight, electric feeling like the few days ago, Atsumu feels it coil in his stomach, dark against his own warm, honey-colored gaze.

Sakusa looks up through his lash, expression stern and skeptical.

"Can I sit here?" Atsumu asks with a quieter voice than he intended.

Sakusa only stares at him like he's heard the most strangest question known to man kind. He seems to realize hes been staring in silence for a few seconds, blinking then nodding hesitantly.

Atsumu lets out a quiet, relieved breath and slides into the seat across from him, heart still racing he can't seem to slow it down.

He's overcome with thoughts on his next move:

Should I start conversation?

Do we just sit here and eat in silence?

What if he's uncomfortable?

Maybe he didn't want anyone sitting with him, maybe that's why no one's around him?

This man's expression is so untelling. Atsumu can't tell from his face if he's mad or if that's just his natural resting face. He can only chuck a fork into his vegetables, cursing his mind for his overthinking.

"So…you have great music taste." Atsumu tries after a while. The raven looks up from his notes again, taking one earbud out.

"Sorry?"

Atsumu clears his throat again before swallowing hard.

"Oh I—um, saw you were listening to Prince yesterday. He's one of my favourite artists."

The blond waits, words hovering awkwardly in the space between them, but Sakusa only stares. His expressions blank, like Atsumu had caught him off guard, or like he never expected Atsumu to speak to him at all. Atsumu swallows and tries again.

"And… I happened to hear you playing on the violin the other day, it was really beautiful. That was Saint-Saëns, right?"

This time, Atsumu catches the faintest shift in his expression. Sakusa's expression loosens, just barely, as if he's let his guard slip for a second. That tiny crack in his composure makes the blond smile, fidgeting in his seat as he scrambles for something to say, only to be beaten to it.

"Yes, it was." Sakusa replies quietly.

Atsumu's gaze drops to Sakusa's hands, watching his fingers toy with the thin pages of his book.

He's nervous. Just like him.

"Thank you." He adds.

Atsumu smiles, picking up his fork and nudging the food around without purpose. "It must take years of practice to perfect anything on the violin."

Sakusa shrugs. "It depends."

"On what?"

"The piece," He says after a second. "Some are easier to play than others."

Atsumu nods, encouraging him to continue. When Sakusa doesn't, he fills the space gently.

"Easier like, slower? Or less finger-twisty?"

"Less shifting," Sakusa replies. "Simpler bowing. You don't have to move as much. That song I was playing the other day, The Swan, it’s easy to play but difficult to master, mostly because the vibrato has to be very controlled in order to get the sound you want. It’s worth the shot if you can shift to upper positions.”

"I see.” Atsumu leans back a little.

There's a pause. Atsumu taps his fork against the edge of his plate.

"When I was twelve, I picked up the guitar. My dad really liked playing it. But then my mom hired all these teachers so I could be half decent." He exhales through his nose. "Kind of ruined it."

Sakusa smiles, a bit amused.

"Violin and guitar are a bit different."

"They're both strings?"

Sakusa nods. "Yeah. But with guitar, you press and pluck. Violin..." He hesitates, searching for the words. "You have to keep the sound alive with the bow. It's different."

Atsumu hums processing the information. Then he innocently says "Well, I'd love to learn."

A small silence settles as they look into each other's eyes. There's something soft there, unspoken and warm, and it lingers a second too long.

Sakusa feels it before he understands it. He's the first to look away, trying to contain the sudden shyness.

"I'm Atsumu." The blond says.

The curly haired gives the tiniest smile in return, amused. His fingers tangle together in a nervous fidget.

"Sakusa," He says slowly. "Kiyoomi."

Atsumu repeats the name in his head.

Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi.

Omi. Omiiii.

He tests the name under his breath. It lingers on his tongue prettily and smoothly. Atsumu blanks quietly, trying to think of more things to get Kiyoomi to talk about himself more.

That's what people do to get to know eachother right? Ask questions about the other person?

"So—"

"Atsumu!"

A voice calls from right behind him before a hand lands firmly on his shoulder. The blond turns to find Suna standing there, a sly, unreadable smile tugging at his lips. Two guys trail behind, probably friends, and they slide to Suna's sides, like a pack flanking its leader.

"Why are you sitting here? Come join us." Suna says.

Atsumu sits frozen in his chair, caught off guard. He glances back at Kiyoomi, whose gentle expression has vanished, replaced with a careful watchfulness. When Suna taps his shoulder again, pulling slightly, Atsumu feels it like it's no longer a suggestion. It's a command, and his body obeys before his mind even catches up.

"Y-Yeah sure."

He looks at Kiyoomi, who suddenly seems so small and fragile in the moment. Atsumu swallows before gathering his things

"I'll see you around, Sakusa?"

But Kiyoomi doesn't meet his eyes. He just looks down, a faint flush rising to his cheeks.

Atsumu watches Suna and his friends slide into their seats with confident ease. Hands draped over the chairs, smiles unreadable, like they're letting him in on a secret he isn't part of.

"I don't think I've introduced you to my friends yet," Suna says. "This is Gin and Aran."

Atsumu gives a stiff, awkward smile. He feels exposed, like he's intruded in their space even though he was invited.

"You started Monday right?" Aran says. He's a tall guy, dark skin with sharp features. Just as intimidating as Suna. "How's it going so far?"

"Oh, it's good. My classes are fine, I guess. Uh..nothing too intense."

Aran nods, satisfied with the answer. Then Gin, he's a little bit more on the smaller side with softer features. But theres some mischievous playful vibe he carries.

Gin tilts his head, watching Atsumu a second too long.

"So... first week and you already know people, huh?"

Atsumu pauses mid-bite. "Not really. I'm trying but it's been difficult."

"Honestly, Thought you'd be—" He grins and gestures vaguely with his fork. "—surrounded by cameras or somethin'."

Atsumu stiffens. Just barely. Suna cuts in, calm as ever. "Gin."

"What? I didn't say it."

Aran studies him in a way that feels less nosy.

"People been treatin' you alright?"

"Yeah. I mean—everyone's been surprisingly normal."

Gin hums, unconvinced. He glances sideways at Suna, like he's checking a line only the three of them can see.

"So," Gin starts, casual as ever, "You get asked out yet?"

Atsumu's fingers tighten around his fork. Suna's voice cuts through the moment, smooth and unbothered.

"Eat your food, Gin."

Gin scoffs. "I am."

"You're circling." Suna says flatly.

Aran chuckles under his breath. "He does that." Gin lifts his hands in surrender, but the grin stays.

"Alright, alright. Just makin' conversation."

Then, Suna turns to look at Atsumu. "You were sittin' with Sakusa earlier."

Atsumu pauses mid-chew. "Oh. Yeah..." Suna leans back in his chair, arm draped lazily over the backrest, posture loose but eyes sharp.

"Why? Did he say something to you?"

"No. I just—" Atsumu shrugs, gaze dropping to his tray. "Couldn't find anywhere else to sit. That's all."

Suna glances at the others, and they exchange a look Atsumu can't read. Now's one of those moments where he wishes he learnt how to read people better like Osamu.

A quiet sigh leaves Suna as he takes another bite of his food. "Sit with us from now on," he says around the mouthful, tone deliberately casual.

Then he adds “There's a reason he's alone."

Aran and Gin don't react. They just keep eating like Suna hadn't said anything out of line. Like they'd been waiting for it. It feels wrong. And it leaves Atsumu wondering.

He glances over his shoulder before he can stop himself. He stares at Sakusa Kiyoomi now sitting alone, one hand holding his notebook open while he eats with the other.

"What do you think of him?" Suna asks.

Atsumu hesitates. He remembers the way Kiyoomi had introduced himself earlier. The softness in his expression. The quiet politeness. There doesn't seem to be anything particularly bad about him?

He seemed gentle.

"I'm not sure," Atsumu says. "He's quiet."

Sure, Kiyoomi doesn't give off inviting-to-chat vibes. There's a certainly a wall there he's built for himself. But Atsumu felt like he was on the verge of cracking it.

"Yeah, quiet's one word for it. He's the type of person you don't wanna hang around with."

"What do you mean?"

Suna shrugs. "Every day, same table, same sad umeboshi. That guy's always staring at everyone else as if we're the problem when really, he's the outcast. He's a non-res. Honestly, surprised they even let someone like him in here."

The blond shifts uncomfortably, not being able to take his eyes away from Kiyoomi.

"He's a total outcast and social reject. I mean, he doesn't even try to blend in. No one wants to associate with someone like that. I can't blame people for ignoring him."

Atsumu can't find himself to continue eating, his mind unfocused as soon as Suna offended all his secret morals. Atsumu know's he isn't the best person. He's competitive, talks back and petty when it suits him.

But he's not mean. And there's something about judging someone you've barely spoken to that sits wrong with him. In his perspective, if he's going to dislike someone, he wants it to be earned.

"Anyway," Suna continues, waving a hand dismissively, "You've got us now. I can't let Osamu down by letting you associate with someone like that."

Atsumu forces a smile as his thoughts short-circuit, like everything around him becomes muffled.

This is the student council president of Hoshigahara Academy? The one everyone looks up to so proudly?

The one even Osamu talked so highly of?

Then someone beside Atsumu snorts. Another laughs and adds something under their breath. Across the room, Kiyoomi tenses before looking over at Atsumu, returning his stare. His brows are scrunched with an expression Atsumu can't figure out.

It's as if he knows they're talking about him. Atsumu feels guilt wash over him as the boys laugh at him openly, ashamed to be part of their group.

The lunch period passes by awkwardly. Their topics consist of things Atsumu can't be any more disinterested in, his mind zoned out since their first comments about Kiyoomi. He kinda wishes he never left Kiyoomi there alone.

When its ten minutes before their lunch period ends, they collect their gatherings as the cafeteria starts to slowly clear out and people head to class.

Atsumu joins the rest as they start to make their way to the exit walking past Kiyoomi's table. For a second, it seems like they're gonna point a snarky remark at the curly head.

But what's even worse is that Suna slowly walks to Kiyoomi, pretends to stumble, and purposefully spills half his leftover juice all over Kiyoomi. The red juice splatters on the raven’s notebook and on his uniform pants.

"Ah, sorry!" Suna says with fake sincerity.

Atsumu is only frozen to watch, shocked by the scene. Kiyoomi only drags his chair back in a quiet surprise but no big reaction. As if he's used to it. He's staring at his now soiled pants and school notes.

Suna smiles sinisterly as they head out the doors, Aran and Gin following swiftly with quiet grins and playful "Really Rin?" and "You're a dick, man."

The worst part is that Kiyoomi looks at Atsumu like he’s apart of them. Because he is.

Atsumu watches as Kiyoomi hurriedly gets his things before running out the dining hall. He wants to stop him, follow him. But he's frozen in his spot.

Atsumu hesitates for half a breath before moving, his feet feeling abnormally heavy.

He doesn't know what to say. What can he say?

He spends class replaying the interaction in his head. He thinks about that hurt look on Kiyoomi's face that he can't seem to erase, burned into his mind, flashing over and over again.

He wonders what Kiyoomi could have possibly done to be pushed so far to the edges. What makes people look at someone, a human being, and decide they aren't worth knowing?

His stomach knots when he remembers he and Kiyoomi share last period. How the hell is he supposed to face him after that?

Atsumu gets to class earlier than he needs to, clinging to the fragile hope that if he catches Kiyoomi alone, they can talk and clear whatever this is before it turns into something worse.

Kiyoomi is already there when he arrives. Of course he is. He's in his usual seat with his earphones in, rewriting notes.

Atsumu pauses at the door, draws in a few breaths before stepping inside. He nods politely to the teacher before making his way over. When he stops in front of the desk, his shadow spills across Kiyoomi's notebook.

When Kiyoomi looks up, his expression is as unreadable as ever. But this time there's something else beneath it. Something colder and meaner. It hits harder than Atsumu expects. He hates it instantly.

"Hi." is all Atsumu can muster up to say.

Kiyoomi doesn't answer, expectantly.

Atsumu bites the inside of his cheek as he scrapes together what's left of his courage. He hesitates as he lowers himself into the seat beside him.

Kiyoomi remains quiet, focused on his writing. His brows are knit with visible effort, like ignoring Atsumu requires concentration. The frown on his face sits deeper than usual.

He should say something but the longer he waits, the harder it feels to start. His guilt hits even worse when Atsumus eyes land on Kiyoomis lap, where his blazer jacket is not doing enough to cover his stained uniform pants.

Halfway through class, Atsumu tries to get his attention again.

"Hey," He whispers. "Sakusa.”

The curly head doesn't even blink. His face only twitches, slightly annoyed.

How is it even harder to talk to him now than it was when he was already unapproachable?

Atsumu tries again.

"Kiyoomi."

The first name catches him off guard, Atsumu seeing the slightest shift in his brows. But he remains unfazed nonetheless. His eyes look down to write something as distraction on his notebook.

He’s close. Atsumu hesitates, then does what Osamu used to do when he wanted to get his attention— foolish nicknames.

"Omi..."

That finally catches a reaction from Kiyoomi. Fuck, he didn't expect it to actually work. Kiyoomi's pen stops mid-stroke, and his head lifts just enough for Atsumu to see the sharp edge in his eyes.

"What did you call me?"

Fuck. He didn't expect it to actually work. For a fleeting second, he wants to feel relieved and proud that it did, but instead he swallows it back.

"Look, i'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't know... I didn't know they would do that. Or that they were even like that at all."

Sakusa doesn't respond. He just stares for a beat, then turns back toward the board, eyes fixed on the lesson.

Atsumu's run out of things to say. Every second feels awkward and silent, he just wants to disappear into the floor beneath him.

It only becomes even more awkward during the in-class activity when they get paired up together. Atsumu could've sworn he saw Kiyoomi roll his eyes when both their names were called.

His expression stayed serious the whole time. Kiyoomi only spoke enough to complete the task, every word short and concise, as if he's not mad at all.

And somehow, that made it worse. Atsumu would rather have Kiyoomi curse him out to his face instead of having his expressions do it for him. At least that'd be something real between them instead of this suffocating pretense.

When the last bell rings, Kiyoomi moves quickly, gathering his things. Atsumu follows just behind, careful not to push. He still wants this to work—wants to fix whatever tension lingers between them.

Before Kiyoomi can slip past him and out the door, Atsumu reaches out and grabs his wrist. The sudden stop is enough to make Kiyoomi pause.

Sakusa's eyes widen, shock flashing across his face at Atsumu's grip. Realizing how forward he's been, Atsumu jerks back immediately, swallowing hard.

"Can we at least be friends?”

Kiyoomi only shoots Atsumu a sharp, unreadable look. Without a word, he shoves past, his shoulder knocking Atsumu's as he disappears through the doorway.

🜲

The smell of Chinese takeout hangs in their dorm room air as the guys settle around the couch, textbooks and notebooks scattered everywhere. Bokuto and Kuroo lounge on the floor, chopsticks in hand, while Atsumu stretches out on the couch, rolling Bokuto's volleyball between his palms.

"Wait, wait, hold on," Bokuto says, setting his chopsticks down. "So Suna just—like—splashes it all over the table, and Sakusa? On purpose?"

"On purpose."

"What a dick." Kuroo says, adjusting his glasses and laying his pencil aside. Atsumu sighs, tossing the volleyball up and down, too distracted to eat.

"I mean, that's insane, right? That's not normal here, is it?"

"Eh. The thing about Hoshigahara is that nobody questions what goes on here," Kuroo says. "They see it, they know it, and they stay out of it. Everyone's already risked too much to be here so they won't do anything that could ruin their reputation or make them the next target."

Atsumu frowns. So... a school full of bystanders?

Shamefully, he fits right in.

He tosses the volleyball high, almost grazing the ceiling, catching it as it drops back into his hands. He sits up, stilling for a moment.

"I feel like a dick for not helping him," Atsumu admits quietly. "I don't know, I was just too shocked!"

"Sh'ont worry thew much, Achubro!" Bokuto says with a mouthful before swallowing. "You were just trying to socialize! You didnt know they were going to do that."

Atsumu stares ahead, Kiyoomi's hurt expression flooding into his memory again. The cruel words, the way they looked at him, Atsumu might just get deja vu.

"How can they treat him like that?" he mutters, frustration creeping into his voice. Bokuto and Kuroo exchange a subtle look, something passing silently between them that Atsumu barely notices.

"Look, I've never actually spoken to Sakusa, but this kind of treatment isn't unusual for non-res students," Kuroo says.

"Non-res?" Atsumu asks, recalling Suna mentioning Sakusa lives off-campus.

"Students who live off campus," Bokuto explains. "I heard Sakusa got accepted into Hoshigahara because of his academic record."

"Mm, I heard that too! Something about how he was top of his class in junior high, right? And he's been competing in music competitions since he was a kid. Our school has one of the best bands in Japan so it's insanely competitive. It's very rare for them to make exceptions like that for people like him." Kuroo says with a shrug.

"Suna-dickface-Rintarou is probably just intimidated. He's been picking on Sakusa ever since he transferred. Probably worried he's going to get overshadowed or something."

Atsumu stares into the distance, quietly processing it all.

So Kiyoomi is a prodigy.

But he's a commoner.

He lays at night in his dorm room thinking about it. All the things he could’ve said, what he could've done differently. There's a feeling waving over him that doesn't let him rest. Just as he closes his eyes, a notification buzzes through his phone.

Osamu:

Hey.

How was your first week?

Atsumu squints at the brightness of his phone and stares quietly at the message.

He contemplates for a minute whether to answer or not, not sure if he's in the mood to get into it. He puts his phone back on his nightstand and closes his eyes to sleep.

Chapter Text

The days at Hoshigahara pass by slowly.

Not a day had passed without perfect weather; bright blue skies, sunlight pouring over the campus, and not a single cloud overhead.

Everyone else seems lighter because of it.

Atsumu just feels stuck.

Like the days keep passing without ever really becoming anything.

Still, he gets up every morning and goes anyway. He tells himself it matters that he's trying, because that’s what his family wanted from him. Even if half the time he feels disconnected from everything around him. 

At least things aren't as bad as they were when he first got here. People talk to him now.

Some of the students in his classes have started pulling him into conversations before school starts, asking for his opinion during discussions or stopping him in the halls just to chat for a few minutes.

Atsumu's gotten good at playing along with it too, grinning when he's supposed to, throwing out some joke, leaning into conversations just enough to seem natural.

Not close enough to really belong anywhere, though. Just sort of to float between people.

Lunch has become its own routine. Most days, he avoids the cafeteria completely. He'll pass through long enough to steal a fruit or two from the side tables before heading back to his dorm to eat alone.

He knows it's stupid. But every time he thinks about sitting in there again, all he can remember is that day. The embarrassment of it still sits heavy in his chest if he lets himself think too hard about it. So he doesn't.

Atsumu keeps himself busy where he can.

He throws himself into schoolwork now, handing assignments in on time, staying up later than he needs to just so he has something concrete to focus on. 

Sometimes after class, he goes to the library and flips through books with topics that mildly interests him.

Other days, he joins Bokuto and Kuroo in the common room, listening to them argue about something stupid while he half pays attention from the couch.

He finds it strange, having this much free time.

Back home, school had only ever been one part of his life. The moment classes ended, there was always something else waiting for him— appearances, meetings, dinners, expectations.

But here? The school itself is his only responsibility. There’s no staff hovering nearby, no schedule packed full for him before he even wakes up.

He still doesn't fully know how to feel about that.

But it's…nice.

This morning, though, Atsumu was sat in his dorm staring at a sheet of paper for the past hour.

Yesterday, his teacher had stopped him before he left class. "Try to decide by the end of the week," is all she’d said. Now the form sat in his hands, slightly crumpled at the edges from how long he'd been holding it.

"CLUB REGISTRATION FORM"

Atsumu sighed and let his head fall back against the couch. It shouldn't be this difficult. Most people probably circled something in five minutes and moved on with their lives.

His eyes drifted back to the two options he'd been looking at:

      ☐ Volleyball Club 

      ☐ Art Club

It has to be between those two.

Volleyball was familiar. He already knew how to play, and he knew he was good at it. More than good, to be honest. The problem was everything that came with it: teams, expectations, depending on people.

And then, obviously, the scandal involving his past teammate which led him in this school in the first place.

He'd never exactly been what anyone would call a good team player. He's selfish on court,  stubborn too. And he gets quick to snap when things weren't played his way.

His gaze moved lower down the page.

Art Club, the complete opposite of the volleyball club. But it somehow felt just as risky.

Art was one of the only things that still felt entirely his. Quiet, private and safe. He liked sketching because there was no audience or expectations to meet besides his own. Being in that club would change that and the thought alone made him hesitate.

The door opens before Atsumu can settle on anything. Bokuto and Kuroo come in mid-argument, because of course, now's the perfect timing to be doing so. 

"You always accuse me of stealing your cereal every time it goes missing," Bokuto starts.

"You're the only one I know that eats it dry over the sink!" Kuroo snaps back.

"Ooookay? That's not evidence.”

"It's pattern recognition."

"There you go using detective words again." Bokuto argues, voice raising.

"I'm literally in the debate club."

Bokuto throws his athletic bag over the couch sassily. "That doesn't mean you’re smart, by the way. It just means you’re loud."

Kuroo gasps dramatically at the comment and Atsumu knows that this is just the peak of their argument. They keep at it, trading insults back and forth while Atsumu tries to ignore it all. It's nothing he isn't used to by now.

Behind him, Bokuto let out an offended gasp at something Kuroo said.

Atsumu exhaled slowly. "Can ya both shut up for like five minutes?"

The room quieted for a second. Then Kuroo snorted under his breath and reached into the fridge anyway, pulling out a protein shake.

"Touchy today," he muttered.

Bokuto wandered around the couch and leaned over Atsumu's shoulder without asking.

"What're ya doing?" Bokuto asked, then his expression brightened. "Oh-ho! Club applications?"

"Exactly."

"Wait, they're actually making you do it?"

"I'm a student, aren't I?" Atsumu says. "But fuck, is this really mandatory?"

"Join debate," Kuroo calls from the kitchen.

Atsumu looks up. "Absolutely not."

"You'd fit right in. All you do is argue."

"Yeah, but debate club people are weird about it. Plus, there are restrictions for some things I can publicly talk about."

"I can see Tsum-Tsum doing something cool. Like kendo or archery!" Bokuto adds.

"I tried that once. Now I got a scar on my left toe.” Kuroo shrugs as he joins Bokuto and Atsumu at the couch. "Why not volleyball? Weren't you a setter at your old school?"

"Yeah, look how that turned out." Atsumu says a bit down. "And plus, didn't tryouts already pass? I need to make a decision by the end of the week."

"I can ask Coach," Bokuto said. "Our team's been kinda struggling lately anyway. One of our guys got injured a few weeks ago, so he might actually consider it."

Atsumu glanced up from the paper. The offer settled strangely in his chest. At least it was something.

"I’d appreciate it, Bo."

"Mm." Bokuto stretched his arms over the back of the couch. "Just come to practice tomorrow after school. If you hate it, you hate it. But it’s worth it to try first.”

Atsumu nodded once. The conversation drifted after that. Bokuto turned the television volume back up while Kuroo argued with him over what to watch, but the noise faded into the background before long.

Atsumu leaned further into the couch cushions, staring blankly at the half-finished application before him.

Thinking about joining another team made his stomach tighten a little. It hadn't been that long since he'd transferred schools. What if his fate just ends up being the same, being someone that's difficult to work with or having too much attitude.

Atsumu pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. It was never volleyball that was the hard part. Other people were.

But maybe this time would be different. Or maybe it wouldn't.

Either way, he supposed he'd find out tomorrow.

Atsumu had passed the athletic building a handful of times since transferring to Hoshigahara.

The gym where the volleyball team practices is just across from the creative arts wing, louder than the rest of campus even from outside.

As he walks down the corridor toward the gym, the noise only grows louder. He can hear the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floors, the whistle blowing, and the sharp smack of volleyballs flying everywhere.

His chest feels tight for reasons he doesn't want to think about. Atsumu takes a deep breath before pushing through the half-open doors.

The gym is already full of movement. He sees some players setting up nets, some stretching, others tossing balls back and forth before practice properly starts.

Everything slowed when they started to notice him at the entrance. Heads turned toward him with the same confused look, and Atsumu fought the urge to turn around and leave right there.

"Tsum-Tsum!"

Bokuto's voice cut across the entire gym. He waved both arms over his head like he was impossible to miss. A few people looked even more confused after that.

"C'mere!"

Atsumu walked over while trying not to look too aware of everyone staring at him. Bokuto practically bounced where he stood beside a taller, older man near the benches. The coach, probably.

He had graying hair brushed back neatly and the kind of posture that made the air around him feel rigid. Even standing still, he looked intimidating. The man extended a hand.

"Coach Minato," he said, his voice rough. "Bokuto mentioned you wanted to speak with me."

Atsumu shook his hand quickly. "Uh, yeah. I did."

Coach Minato waited. Atsumu suddenly became aware of how stupid he probably looked standing there in the middle of a gym he didn't belong in.

"I was wonderin' if maybe I could sit in on practice today," he said carefully.

"Or maybe... if possible, try out for the team."

The coach regarded him silently for a moment. Behind them, a ball struck the floor with a sharp echo.

"Tryouts were held over a month ago," Coach Minato finally said. "Our roster's already been finalized." The answer came out flat and professional. "I'm sorry, Miya, but we don't have room for another player."

Atsumu bit down on the inside of his cheek and nodded, though it did little to ease the tight frustration building in his chest.

He wasn't surprised, which was the worst part. He'd expected it before the words even came out.

Still, he felt disappointed. Before Coach Minato could end the conversation, Atsumu spoke again.

"I can play," he said, sharper than he meant to. "I can set real good. I don't have any other options except this one."

Coach Minato lifted his brows slightly. Not impressed, but not angry either. He seems like he's measuring him, like he was trying to decide whether Atsumu was arrogance or desperation. Or both?

Atsumu braced for rejection again but it doesn't come.

Instead, another deep voice cut in.

"Let him try out."

A tall guy stood a few steps away, olive hair falling slightly into his eyes, expression unreadable. He hadn't been part of the conversation until now, but somehow the entire atmosphere shifted with him stepping into it. He didn't look at Atsumu when he spoke. Just at the coach.

Coach Minato blinked once. "Pardon?"

The guy finally met his gaze. "I think we should let him try out."

Atsumu blinks a bit surprised, and his eyes flicked down automatically.

CAPTAIN

It said, printed on the guy's jersey in clean block letters. Coach Minato exhaled through his nose. Like he was already regretting this entire interaction.

"You’re the Captain. What’s your opinion on this, Ushijima?” he asked.

The captain stepped in closer, lowering his voice. "Oikawa is injured and Nishinoya is gone. Our team is down two players already," he said.

"We've been struggling to fill the gaps properly. With our practice match coming up at the end of the month against Kitagawa Prep... it's a risk to bring in someone new. But we don't exactly have the luxury of turning people away either."

Coach Minato's eyes narrowed. He didn't respond right away. Silence settled again, stretched thin by the sound of practice continuing behind them.

His gaze moved past Atsumu, briefly, toward the team in motion. Then back again.

"You got a change of clothes with you, Miya?" Coach Minato asked.

Atsumu blinked once, caught off guard. Then he straightened. "Yes."

"Then go get changed," the coach said. "Join them.”

🜲

Hoshigahara’s volleyball team trained like a collegiate program, and Atsumu was beginning to realize he’d badly underestimated just how brutal their practices could be.

He starts off a bit sloppy.

His receives come a second late, the ball slipping off his arms with a sting that travels up his shoulders.

Fuck, does Koutarou really do this everyday?

Even his last school wasn’t as intense as this.

He clicks his tongue under his breath, adjusts, tries again.

It's been a while. That's all it is.

He wants to show everyone he can rightfully, and equally, earn a spot on the team. That he can be just as hardworking, and just as dedicated as everyone else.

By the time they move into a proper practice match, he's already starting to find the rhythm and timing again. Obviously, it was a little less compared to the team, who’s been training more consistently, but he was able to keep up nonetheless.

Setting was his specialty. His fingers do most of the thinking for him, placing the ball exactly where it needs to be. They rotate him through positions anyway, like they're testing him, waiting to see if he'll break.

He tries as setter, middle, even back row. Each change feels less like integration and more like inspection. After a whistle, everything breaks at once.

"Break!"

The players disperse to grab their water bottles and towels, some engaging in conversation filling the space again.

Atsumu feels a bit awkward so he doesn't join anyone. He grabs his bottle and sits on the far bench, phone in hand but not really looking at it. After a few minutes, he starts to hear it…

"So what, we're just taking in new players now?! Since when have we ever done that?!"

Atsumu hears a voice complain from the distance. 

He looks up. Bokuto's there, caught in the middle of it, shoulders tense in a way that doesn’t suit him. A couple of his teammates stand opposite him, voices low enough so it's meant to stay between them.

"I mean, c'mon, you know they're just going to let him in because he's the prince right?"

A short laugh follows. "Some of us trained hard to be at this school, on this team! And for what? Just so they can let some royal get in without trying?"

"That's not fair," Bokuto snaps back. "He's being tested just like everyone else."

He feels like the rest of their conversation muffles in his ears. His fists start to clench together as his breathing becomes unsteady. It's an annoyingly familiar feeling, something that he's never got around to learn to control it.

It's not even the words anymore. It's the way they sit there talking like he isn't close enough to hear. Like he isn't already part of the problem they're describing.

He pushes up from the bench without a logical thought. The distance closes all too fast. And with every step, the sound comes back into focus; the laughter, their dismissive tone, Bokuto trying to cut through it and not quite managing.

Then, something shifts and he suddenly feels concious.

Atsumu stops just short of the edge of it, one foot hovering slightly like he's not sure whether to keep going or turn back. His jaw is locked so tight it hurts.

For a second, he just stands there, breathing uneven, eyes fixed ahead.

He starts to become aware of how ugly this could’ve gone. Of the things he could’ve said and how much he’d regret it after.

His foot drops back down and Atsumu turns away stiffly before he can change his mind again. His anger follows him as he pushes through the gym doors and into the humid air outside.

Quiet minutes pass until he's a good distance away from that place. The noise had faded behind him, but it doesn't leave his head. It clings there, stuck in the back of his skull.

Atsumu keeps walking until the hallway opens into a quieter corner of the building, vending machines humming away softly.

He decides he'll drink away his agitation. But it doesn't help when he enters the damn ¥100 and his fucking Pocari Sweat won't come down the machine.

Out of all the days to test his patience!

He kicks it softly at first but it doesn't budge. Then he does it harder at the leg. At the glass. 

"Come on—" Kick. 

"Work—" Kick.

"Fuck-ass piece of—"

"Stop that." 

The voice cuts through cleanly. Atsumu freezes mid-motion and turns his head.

Sakusa Kiyoomi. Of all people. Standing a few steps away like he's been there the whole time and just decided now was worth acknowledging. 

"What are you doing?" he asks unimpressed. His hands are in his pockets, posture straight, and expression as unreadable as ever. "Are you trying to break it?"

Atsumu straightens too fast, heat crawling up his neck.

"O-oh—no..."

Kiyoomi doesn't look convinced. He pulls out his own coin and puts it into the machine. He presses one button and the drink falls almost immediately. Of course it does.

"How d'ya—"

"The only button that works is for this drink." Kiyoomi says, holding up the apple tea beverage in his hand. Then, he twists the cap open, and slides his mask down to take a sip at his drink.

Atsumu tries to keep himself from staring. But god, he can't not look. 

It's been awhile since he's seen Kiyoomi maskless. And not in a class setting. It feels weird.

But… a captivating weird. 

Atsumu coughs his attention away and musters something to say.

"So, ya here for club activities too?"

Kiyoomi shifts awkwardly like he doesn't know if he should engage in the conversation or not. But he gives a small nod in the end anyway. Atsumu nods back as awkwardly. 

It's...quiet.

God, it’s always quiet with them.

There's this unspoken tension between them that Atsumu still cannot differentiate if it's the bad or good kind. 

Before it can last any further, Atsumu catches movement down the corridor and sees Ushijima already looking their way. He gives a simple wave and Atsumu knows he's calling him back to practice.

He clears his throat and takes a step back, already shifting out of the conversation.

"I should head back," he says.

Kiyoomi glances over his shoulder, then follows his line of sight. Ushijima is still there, patient as ever.

When he looks back, there's a faint crease between his brows.

"You joined the volleyball team?" he asks.

Atsumu blinks, caught off guard by the question.

"Y-yeah... well, no. I don't know." He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how that sounds. "It's not decided yet. I just played with them today. To see how they train."

He huffs a quiet breath, trying to make sense of it even as he says it. "They're intense."

"They are," Kiyoomi replies.

Atsumu glances at him. "Do you know people on the team?"

Kiyoomi hesitates just for a second, like he's deciding whether it matters enough to say out loud.

Then, "I'm in the band," he says. "We play for them during games."

Atsumu stares at him for a moment, wires connecting. "Oh,” he says, softer.

He doesn't get to say anything else since Ushijima calls his name again from down the hall, a bit more insistent.

Kiyoomi shifts his grip on his drink, already pulling back into himself, the moment is ending whether they want it to or not.

Atsumu hesitates, like he's trying to find something else to say that isn't stupid or obvious or too much. Nothing comes out fast enough, so he just nods once.

"I'll see ya later, Omi," he says casually, finally walking away.

Behind him, Kiyoomi goes still at the nickname.

As practice goes on, Atsumu can't stop thinking about Sakusa knowing the volleyball team.

Not closely, probably, but enough to recognize people. He's there at the games with the band, somewhere along the sidelines. Maybe if Atsumu had cared to go to any school games, he would have known sooner.

The whistle snapped again which means another drill. Someone shouted across the net. The ball came fast, and Atsumu reacted a fraction too late, his hands adjusting after contact instead of before it.

"Again," the coach called. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and resets. And still, the thought stayed with him.

Maybe this makes things easier?

If Sakusa already spends his time around the gym, then Atsumu doesn't have to force a reason to talk to him. They could acknowledge each other at games, exchange a few words before everyone heads home. It's a small thing, but Atsumu sees it as an opening.

This is his excuse for them to finally be friends. 

He tries to picture what the gym would look like during an actual match; the packed seats, bright lights, the sound of the band playing.

Sakusa Kiyoomi somewhere in the middle of it.

Atsumu wonders what instrument he plays. He can imagine him in uniform easily enough, standing there with everyone else while looking mildly uncomfortable to be there. 

He thinks about what it would feel like to make the team and look up during a game to find Kiyoomi in the crowd. Not even cheering, necessarily. But just being there.

So, he starts playing like he's playing for Kiyoomi.

There's a quiet shift in where his focus lands, like something inside him has decided there's a direction now.

He decides that for now he’ll tuck away all the negative comments he heard earlier into the far end of his mind.

He sets the ball more precise. In the practice match, he stops trying to impose himself on every play. He tries to listens more, read the hitters, and adjusting to the rhythm already there.

By the end of practice, Atsumu is panting hard, sweat clinging to his hair and shirt. His legs feel heavy, his arms a little slow to respond. Some of the team heads off toward the locker rooms, voices groaning now that practice is over.

Atsumu stays where he is. He sits down on the floor, then lets himself fall back slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Across the court, Ushijima is already with the coaches, still talking like practice never really ended. Atsumu watches him for a moment, quiet, catching his breath.

"Miya-san!"

A voice cuts across the gym, loud enough that Atsumu turns before he even thinks about it.

Has someone snuck a child into the gym?

He sees a short boy with bright orange hair jogging toward him, still flushed from practice, energy spilling out of him like he's not tired at all.

"Is it really true you're joining our team?" he asks, eyes shining. "It'd be so cool if you did! You're an amazing setter!"

Atsumu opens his mouth automatically, ready to brush it off until another voice cuts in.

"Oi. Could you be any louder?”

A taller boy stands behind them, dark hair damp with sweat, face unimpressed. The orange-haired boy immediately frowns.

"I was just telling Miya-san it would be so cool if he joined our team as setter."

"Setter?" The dark-haired boy's expression drops, suddenly sharp. "He's replacing Oikawa-san?"

"Well, we don't know yet—

"Tobio-kun, Shoyo, are you bothering Tsum-Tsum?"

Atsumu turns to see Bokuto stride in like he owns the place, arm casually dropping over the orange-haired boy's shoulders.

"You first years better get used to seeing him around," He smiles. "You played really well, Tsum!"

"Thanks, Kou."

Bokuto leans in slightly, lowering his voice enough to reach Atsumu's ears only. "I heard some good feedback. Coaches were talking. They might actually consider you."

He nods subtly toward the far end of the gym and Atsumu follows the glance. Coach Minato is standing there looking like he's contemplating something serious. Then, as if on cue, the coach calls his name and gestures him over.

Atsumu pushes himself up from the floor, brushing off his shorts. "Excuse me," he says lightly, though his stomach tightens as he walks.

He can feel their eyes on his back as he leaves.

The air near the coaches is heavier. Ushijima is still there, listening without expression, while Coach Minato watches Atsumu for a long moment before clearing his throat.

"Good play today, Miya."

Atsumu straightens a little. "Thank you."

"You were a setter at your old school?"

Atsumu swallows. "Yes, sir."

"Hm." Coach Minato looks off to the side, thinking.

The silence stretches long enough for Atsumu to feel it in his shoulders. Then, he looks back at the blond. "I'm inclined to give you a shot, Miya. You practice with us and I'll see if you can be shaped into something useful here. My boys worked hard to get where they are, and I won't be giving you special treatment. Understood?"

Atsumu eyes widen before he nods quickly.

"Yes, coach."

"Good." The coach gives a short, satisfied nod, already turning away. "I expect to see you at practice tomorrow." He leaves, hands behind his back as he heads toward the office.

Atsumu only realizes he'd been holding his breath the whole time, breathing out in relief. Beside him, Ushijima turns as if to leave as well, but Atsumu steps forward before he can stop himself. 

"Thank you for earlier, for convincing him to let me try out."

Ushijima pauses. His expression barely changes, but his eyes shift slightly, focusing on Atsumu like he's assessing something.

"I am only looking out for what is best for the team," he says. "My team has two key players gone. This was a logical decision."

He takes a step closer, and his voice drops even lower, because somehow that's possible for Ushijima.

"I am aware of your recent scandal at your previous school, Miya Atsumu," he adds. "Bring that behavior here, and I will not support your place on this team."

Atsumu holds his gaze for a moment, then nods once. "I won't."

Ushijima studies him a second longer, then turns away without another word. Only when he's alone again does he finally let out a breath.

Across the gym, Bokuto is waiting like he already knows the answer.

Atsumu doesn't say anything. He just gives a small nod and Bokuto grins immediately, already knowing what that means. They meet halfway with their usual handshake and make their way to the locker room. 

"How about eating all of Kuroo's premium cereal as a celebration?"

🜲

The next day at afternoon practice, Atsumu meets the team properly.

There's the first years: Kageyama, Hinata, Tsukishima, Kindaichi. All different, in their own strange way.

Then there's Hoshiumi, the only second year since Nishinoya had moved away. He was one of the few who had his complaints about Atsumu yesterday. And he’s still completely shameless too.

Hoshiumi had been darting him looks since he saw Atsumu walk through the gym doors again, not openly hostile, but not welcoming either.

And finally the third-years which consisted of Bokuto, Iwaizumi, Ushijima and Yaku. 

They were a strong lineup of talented players.

They held a brief meeting before the start of Atsumu's first official practice as a member. He introduced himself formally to the team, and received his own athletic practice wear.

Atsumu could tell the team wasn't too over the moon about the last minute addition to the team. Well, except Hinata and Bokuto really. He still has ice to break and names to remember.

Practice itself was mostly assessment, with coach Minato checking the overall chemistry with the new structure that holds Atsumu in it.

During conditioning, Atsumu ends up beside Iwaizumi, who is helping Kindaichi with his stretches. They glance at him once, then continues without comment.

The only time Atsumu speaks to them is when he makes a random comment on Iwaizumi's potential as an athletic trainer.

He doesn't say it just to be nice, but just as something he couldn't help but notice while discreetly listening to Iwaizumi’s detailed guidance on the most thorough ways to stretch effectively.

Iwaizumi pauses for a second, nodding at his sincerity then resumes his movement with a simple response of "I appreciate it."

During defense training, Atsumu tries to socialize with Yaku and Hoshiumi, small and efficient players who seem to conserve everything that isn't necessary for the ball.

Yaku corrects form when it affects the drill and Hoshiumi answers only when spoken to directly, and even then, briefly.

Atsumu doesn't push it. 

It's fine. He can work on that later.

He knows quickly enough when he isn't being invited in. 

He practices his blocking, which Ushijima and Bokuto were immensely helpful with, constantly giving him pointers as they ran practice matches. Even Tsukishima, who Atsumu thought had the inability to speak, gave him a tip when he noticed the blond kept making the same minor mistake.

"I'm not doing this to help you," Tsukishima said, eyes still on the court. "I'm doing it so you stop messing up the rotation."

Not warm at all, but Atsumu felt gratitude anyway.

Despite their stand-offish behaviour, it felt good to learn. The team is still learning him, and he is still learning them, but there's a strange comfort in that shared uncertainty. 

No one fully trusts him yet, evidently so. 

But no one has closed the door either.

Atsumu tells himself all of this is for the new opportunities his family wants him to take. For the chance to meet people who might actually become his. 

As much as that is true, he’d be lying to himself if he said that’s the only reason he chose this fucking club.

It’s not.

He knows that when break comes and his feet start moving before he decides anything at all. Away from the gym, past the noise of the court, toward the quiet stretch by the art building.

He always ends up in the same place.

Close enough to hear the damn, angelic fucking sound of Sakusa Kiyoomi's violin playing. 

Sometimes he catches him through the window. Other times, he hopes he's lucky enough to bump into him again at the same corner where they had a brief conversation at the vending machine. 

It becomes his secret little motivation. And he's totally content with being just a quiet admirer to Kiyoomi's musicality.

Sometimes, he hears a familiar piece and realizes, after a moment, that it's one Kiyoomi has played before. He doesn't think too deeply about it. He just looks it up later, adds it to whatever playlist he has going, and lets it play while he studies or scrolls through assignments.

It never sounds the same as it does when Kiyoomi plays it, though. Nothing really does.

On the rare occasions Atsumu doesn't have practice, he ends up in the common room or the library, getting work done with his headphones in, a classical music playlist softly playing in the background. Those are the only times he ever really feels settled.

On one of the more... unluckier days, he barely gets ten minutes to himself before a familiar brunette drops into the seat across from him uninvited.

"Is it true you joined the volleyball team?" Suna says casually, as pushy and blunt as ever, his eyes fixed on Atsumu. 

Atsumu pauses for half a second before nodding slowly. "Yeah, I did."

“Huh." Suna leans back in his chair. "Didn't think you'd still wanna do any of that after..." He trails off with a shrug. "Y'know."

"Club activities are mandatory. Didn't exactly have much choice."

"You could've joined student council," Suna says. "People definitely would've voted for you. Better than turning into one of those Hoshigahara volleyball jocks."

Atsumu smiles thinly. "I'm capable of deciding that for myself, Rin. Thank you, though."

Suna narrows his eyes a little at that tone. Atsumu can tell he notices it but thankfully for once he doesn't pry. Instead, he clears his throat and glances at the blond.

"You've been hard to get ahold of recently."

Atsumu doesn't answer. The scratching of his pen fills the silence instead. Then, after a moment, Suna suddenly straightens.

"Oh, right." A grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. "I'm doing something next Friday." 

Atsumu already dislikes where this is going.

"Third years only," Suna continues. "One of my council buds rented out a boathouse a few blocks off campus. Nothing too huge, just drinks and music. You can even invite some of your teammates."

Atsumu stops writing, looking over to him confused.

"I thought parties were banned at this school."

Suna stares at him for a second like he's trying to decide if he's serious, then lets out a disappointed breath.

"I thought this was your kind of thing? Samu said you used to sneak off to parties all the time."

"I'm being serious."

"And I'm saying nobody cares." He rolls his eyes. "We're always discreet." 

Atsumu doesn't respond. His eyes drop back to the paper, but his pen doesn't move. For a moment, there's just the low hum of the room and the scratch of someone's chair somewhere behind them. 

Then Suna stands. "Man," he says, like he's already over it, and walks around the table and claps Atsumu on the shoulder. "This whole scaredy-cat thing you've got going on is getting annoying. I already told people you're coming. So you are."

Atsumu still doesn't look up. He doesn't answer and Suna doesn't wait for one either. He just keeps walking, hands in his pockets, like the conversation was never really up for debate.

He waits until Suna's footsteps fade before tugging his headphones off completely, frustrated and day ruined.

He sits there, staring at nothing with his jaw tight, eventually thumping forward and burying his face in his arms. 

Fuck my life.

Chapter Text

Something weird is going on. 

Not the kind of weird, or more accurately disgusting, weird where Bokuto and Kuroo shared the same pair of boxers last week. Or not in a culinary crime of weird where Atsumu enjoys soy sauce on his ice cream. 

It’s weirder. 

Sakusa Kiyoomi—the boy who arrived to class five minutes before the teacher, notebook squared to the desk, pencil ready in his hand, and overall the most overacheiver student Atsumu might've ever met—had started showing up to class late.

At first, it was only two minutes. Then it became four, which eventually turned into ten.

Kiyoomi being late belonged in its own museum exhibit of Things You'll Never See. 

But there was more to it than just the lateness.

It was Kiyoomi himself.

Everything seemed like his normal anti-social self, perfectly uninterested in the world around him. But Atsumu noticed the darker cricles under his eyes, the slower drag of his pencil when he writes, or the frizz in his curly hair that he normally would never allow. 

Of course, Atsumu considered asking Kiyoomi straight up if he was okay.

He actually came close once.

Class had just ended, and Atsumu had barely started pushing his chair back when Kiyoomi was already out the door, feet dragging and his brows drawn tight like the daylight from the hallway hurt his eyes.

As days passed, he slowly started to look less like himself and more like a zombie running on whatever scraps of energy he had left.

It wasn't his business. 

That's what Atsumu kept telling himself.

What could he even do? He didn't want to pry if it ended up being something personal.

Plus, Kiyoomi wasn't exactly the type of person who welcomed questions, and Atsumu wasn't sure he had the right to ask.

That didn't stop him from worrying, though. 

During class, he tried not to look over at Kiyoomi's desk, but his eyes kept drifting there anyway.

When the teacher dismissed them and told everyone to grab the assignment sheets before leaving, the room filled with the usual shuffle of papers and chairs. 

Atsumu turned to see if Kiyoomi would get up. But he only stayed slumped over his desk. He was sleeping with this bone‑deep weariness of someone who seemed like they haven't let themselves rest in a long time.

It was at that point that Atsumu decided it was his business. Kiyoomi being this out of it meant Atsumu was out of it too, and that was starting to mess with his own focus.

Atsumu stood up, grabbed his bag, and made his way to the front of the room to collect two assignment sheets—one for himself, one for Kiyoomi. Then he headed back toward the sleeping boy.

He hesitated when he reached for him. His hand hovered in the air, halfway to Kiyoomi's shoulder, but he froze. 

He didn't want to cross any boundaries he might have, and touching him feels too... personal.

He let his hand fall back into his pocket and crouched down instead, lowering himself to Kiyoomi's level.

"Hey—Omi," Atsumu whispered.

Nothing. 

He waved a hand lightly in front of Kiyoomi's face. "Psst...class is over,” This time Kiyoomi shifted, but it was more of a twitch than a response.

Atsumu let out a quiet breath and leaned closer. This time, he reached out and set a gentle hand on Kiyoomi's shoulder. The boy felt tense beneath his palm, strangely frail in a way that made something twist in Atsumu's chest. He didn't even have time to process it before Kiyoomi jolted upright, snapping awake like someone had pulled a fire alarm.

"What are you doing?" Kiyoomi snapped, eyes wide and unfocused. Atsumu jerked back, hands raised like he expected to be swung at.

"Sorry," Atsumu said quickly.

"I was just tryin' to wake you... class is over."

Kiyoomi blinked, still half‑asleep, scanning the empty classroom. The silence made everything feel awkward. When he looked at Atsumu again, the blond was watching him with a bit of worry. He let out a tired breath and rubbed his face, then started gathering his notebooks.

"Here." Atsumu held out a sheet. "It's our assignment for the new unit." 

Kiyoomi takes it slowly, nodding his thanks. He keeps his eyes down as he packs up, but Atsumu notices the red warming the tips of Kiyoomi's ears.

"You've been—um.. you’ve been off this week," Atsumu said, clearing his throat. "Ya basically slept through the whole class."

Kiyoomi zipped his bag and stood.

"I'm fine," He said, like it’s a line he practiced. "Just tired."

"Maybe ya should go home, take the day off?"

The curly headed boy only tugged his mask into place and shook his head. "No...it's okay."

"Do ya need anything?" Atsumu asks. "There's medicine and energy drinks back at the gym if you need some,"

Kiyoomi hesitated just a second before shaking his head again. He only mutters his last thank you before dipping his head and leaves without looking back.

It was quite the predicament. Throughout the days, Kiyoomi never accepted any of Atsumu's help.

Even if he had a hard time paying attention in class, or when Atsumu caught him taking a bit longer on their unit quiz.

Kiyoomi always brushed everything off with the same excuses. And eventually, Atsumu let him. The only reason he kept trying so hard was because he knew what it felt like to refuse help even when needed. He knew how heavy things could get when you carried them alone.

Thursday was when everything cracked.

At the end of class, their teacher walked down the rows, handing back the grades from the last unit. The room shifted with quiet reactions, some smiling softly to themselves, some relieved exhales, and a few defeated sighs as papers went folded and tucked away.

Atsumu was honestly relieved when he saw his score—a 97. A jump from the 90 he scraped on the last test.

Not shocking, really. This was one of the few classes he'd actually been keeping up with. Maybe all those English books he tore through during lunch hour were finally doing something.

He turned to Kiyoomi, expecting him to be checking his own grade too, except he didn't have his. The teacher paused at Kiyoomi's desk, said something quietly, and moved on. 

Kiyoomi only nodded, like he'd been expecting it. Even with the mask on, Atsumu could see the way his expression drop. He looked defeated, more than he had all week, and restless in a way that wasn't just tiredness anymore.

A few minutes after class ends, Atsumu ends up hovering near the doorway, close enough to catch the voices inside their classroom.

"This is the third assignment you've submitted late, Sakusa-kun."

Kiyoomi's voice comes softly. "I know." 

"Your in-class participation has dropped significantly."

"I know."

Then there's a pause, the teacher trying to find her next words. Then,

"You're better than this, Sakusa-kun. I know it. If this continues, we'll have to pull you from your extracurriculars, and that's the last thing I want for you. If you're struggling, I can arrange academic support, or move you out of the advanced track to lighten your workload. We'll have you take the second‑year curriculum—"

"No—no. I can handle it." Kiyoomi's voice comes fast. "I'll do better, I promise."

Atsumu has never heard him sound like that before, so much desperation and exhaustion in his voice it almost doesn't sound like Kiyoomi at all.

When Kiyoomi finally steps out, he nearly walks straight into Atsumu. The blond instinctively reaches out, a steadying hand brushing Kiyoomi's elbow before he can stumble back. Kiyoomi stiffens at the contact, eyes widening above the mask.

"Have you been standing there this whole time?"

Atsumu retracts his hand, rubbing them on his pants. "No... yes?"

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. His gaze then fixes somewhere near the lockers, posture tense. 

"It's rude to eavesdrop on other people's conversations."

"I wasn't eavesdropping," Atsumu says, even though they both know he's full of it. Kiyoomi shoots him an unimpressed look.

"Okay, I was," He surrenders easily. Atsumu hears the other mutter something under his breath.

"Look, Omi—"

"No.” Kiyoomi cuts in quick, starting to walk away.

"I'm able to help you, y'know. I heard what she said, about how you're barely focusing in class anymore. I know the material."

"Thank you, but I don't need your help."

"It seems like you do.”

"I can handle it myself." 

"Omi, just let me—"

"Just stop, Miya! What the hell do you want from me?" Kiyoomi's whips around, voice almost pleading under all his frustration. The snap catches Atsumu off guard, his eyes widening slightly as he steps back.

The moment their eyes meet, it feels like everything goes quiet. The air between them thins and the tension only grows even stronger. They've even started to catch the attention of a few people passing by.

Kiyoomi looks away fast like their eye contact burned.

He can see the blond trying to understand him, trying to get him to say something real, and it's making him feel things he wished to avoid.

And the fact that Atsumu won't let him hide makes Kiyoomi feel dangerously close to cracking.

He needs to get away.

He tries to walk again, but Atsumu reaches out and catches his wrist, stopping him from slipping away again.

"What's yer problem, Sakusa? I'm just trying to be nice," Atsumu voice starts to raise.

"Is this still because of what Suna did, because I already said i'm sorry for that. Do ya seriously have to take that out on me?"

"I don't need any more of your pity. I'm not some charity project you can fix to make you feel generous or righteous or whatever it is you get out of this." Kiyoomi fires back. "God, Miya, why can't you just leave me alone!"

Atsumu's face changes in an instant. There's an intial shock, which then turns into something softer, almost wounded. Kiyoomi feels it like a punch to the gut.

Silence drops between them and all that lingers is awkwardness, and a hint of regret. Atsumu drops his hold on Kiyoomi's wrist and steps back.

"Alright," he mutters, barely audible, and starts to walk away.

Kiyoomi's left standing there, all his words he shouldn't have said linger in the space Atsumu left behind. His fingers drift towards the spot on his wrist where Atsumu held him, and the warmth there only stings. 

After that day, Atsumu can't get himself to focus on anything.

He feels restless while trying to sleep, but he can never quite get the sound of Kiyoomi's harsh words to stop repeating in his head. 

Practice goes about as well as everything else lately.

His sets are inconsistent, and his timing is worse. The match against Kitagawa Prep is nearing, and Atsumu's current performance isn't exactly making a convincing case for a spot in the starting lineup.

But classes are the worst of it. He's constantly trying not to be aware of Sakusa's presence near him. He's close enough to notice, far enough that neither of them has to say a word. 

They've gotten good at avoiding each other.

Atsumu wishes he'd stop thinking about it. Every time he gets a moment to himself, his mind circles right back to that conversation.

It's annoying. But more than that, it's embarrassing.

He barely knows Sakusa. They exchanged very few conversations, barely got to actually know each other, and somehow that's enough for Atsumu to spend the better part of a week sulking over being told to mind his own business.

Sakusa was right.

So why couldn't he just leave him alone?

"Atsumu!"

Atsumu blinks, pulled abruptly back to reality. Iwaizumi is standing in front of him, brows pinched together.

"What're you doing?" he asks. "Coach told us to wash up."

Atsumu blinks as he looks around to find the gym half-empty now, Kindaichi and Ushijima are almost finished mopping the floor and putting the nets away, the others making their way to the locker room. 

He drags a hand down his face. He really needs to get his head out of his ass. 

Before everyone is dismissed for the evening, Coach Minato gathers the team near the benches for a brief meeting.

"I'm sure we all know about our upcoming practice match against Kitagawa Prep. They're one of the stronger schools within our prefecture, and they've built a solid reputation to match." Coach Minato says, letting the room settle. "They're also one of the teams we're most likely to face again at the Interhigh regional qualifiers. That makes this more than just another practice match."

Then his gaze hardens. "I want you all you to watch their tapes properly and study their previous matches. I want it in your heads before you step on that court."

"Yes, Coach.” The team answers in unison.

Then, Coach's attention locks onto him.

"Especially you, Miya." He says. From the bin behind him, Coach pulls out a shirt and tosses it across the space between them. Atsumu catches it cleanly against his chest.

It’s a jersey.

He looks down as he holds it up.

It's a dark red and black fabric, trimmed with a beautiful gold stitching, their school colours laid out without anything unnecessary. He turns it over in his hands. His name is there in gold thread:

MIYA 

13

He's seen one like it before, once or twice, hanging off a chair in Bokuto's room. He never would've imagined holding one that was his again, let alone owning it.

He holds it to his chest, a bittersweet feeling overwhleming him.

That weekend, Atsumu ends up at the gym with some of the first-years and Iwaizumi for extra practice.

He'd been the one to suggest it, technically. He said something about wanting to run a new combo before the match. It's not really like him to volunteer his time like this, but lately practice is the only thing that keeps his head quiet.

They start at noon, and by three, Atsumu feels like his arms and legs are barely being held together.

They all take a break outside on the steps of the gym, the air finally cool after hours inside. Hinata sits a step below him, legs bouncing even while he's resting.

"Atsumu-san, are you nervous for the game next weekend? Kitagawa Prep is a strong competitor," he says.

Atsumu takes a slow drink from his water bottle. He swallows, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Not really," he says. "It's not like he'll put me in anyway."

"That's not true. you never know," Hinata says quickly. "You caught up really fast after not playing for a while. And your sets are almost as good as Yama's, right?"

Kageyama cocks his head in confusion.

"I wouldn’t say—"

"You're gonna love it! I know I always do. Getting to go against an insanely strong team, and when there's people cheering you on, it's like everything just hits different. But I love official matches even more because the ceilings run so high, and the band plays really hype music. It's my favorite part!"

"It does sound nice," Atsumu says. He shifts his bottle in his hands. "But I'm sure by the time your setter's back, I'll be right back on the bench anyway."

"Who knows, maybe this change will be good," Iwaizumi cuts in. "Plus, Oikawa's ego can get so out of hand." 

Hinata leans in and whispers into Atsumu's ear. "Oikawa-san and Ushijima-san don't really get along that well either."

Kindaichi snorts. "Yeah, when he comes back, maybe he'll pick a fight with you too."

"Hah! I'd love to see that happen."

"Alright, enough," Atsumu laughs dryly. 

The conversation continues on, drifting from topic to topic until they finally decide to resume their practice. It's only until a few more hours they decide to wrap things up, cleaning up and packing to head out to the dorms.

When Atsumu steps outside, the sky is a pretty sunset colour. The air is humid and the campus is quiet, the kind of afternoon that makes everything feel like a fever dream.

He hangs back, making a detour to the nearest water fountain. He bends over the fountain, grips the edge with one hand, and drinks until his teeth ache from the cold water.

Suddenly, he feels someone looming over him, blocking the sunlight where it had been warming on his neck a second ago.

"Hey." 

Atsumu turn towards the voice and his eyes widen just the slightest. He swallows the last of it and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand a little too quickly. 

Sakusa is standing there before him.

He looks... awkward. Well, more awkward than usual, anyway. His shoulders are tense, looking like he's not entirely sure where to look or put his hands.

How do they keep running into each other like this?

Atsumu doesn't say anything. He only stares, waiting for the other to say something first. Sakusa only glances away under the attention. 

He keeps rubbing his palms together, then stopping, then doing it again like he can't settle on what to do with himself.

"I didn't know you'd be here." He said eventually, caving under the awkward tension.

Atsumu shrugs. "Just getting extra practice in.”

Sakusa bites the inside of his cheek at the standoffish edge in his voice. Silence stretches between them and all that's left is faint noise of the blazing sun and the shuffle of their feet on the pavement.

"I'm guessing you're here for rehearsal?” Atsumu says, finally looking over.

Sakusa nods slowly. He looks like he wants to say something. Like the words are right there, but he can't get them to come.

And because of the nice person that he is, Atsumu waits patiently for him. But eventually when nothing comes, he exhales, trying not to feel too disappointed.

"I'll see you later, Sakusa," he says, and doesn't look back as he starts walking. 

"Wait, Miya,"

Atsumu hears him but doesn't stop. 

He's only trying to grant what Sakusa wanted anyway.

If Sakusa wanted him to back off, fine. He can do that. He wasn't about to keep chasing someone who'd made it pretty clear they didn't want him getting any closer.

🜲

"Streamers?"

"We've got extras in the council storage room."

"Laser lights?"

"Bought."

"Beer pong cups?"

"Uhhh...I think so?"

Atsumu, unfortunately, had ended up stuck with Sunarin and Gin again when they catch him alone in the common room during lunch period.

He didn't even try to join them.
It just happened.

And ever since, their conversation has been about nothing but this fuck-ass party.

Suna talks about it like it's some kind of event of the year, like Hoshigahara's own version of a gala nobody else has heard about but him.

"I need Friday to come already," Suna says, leaning back in his chair. "I've been so done with council work. I need something to take the edge off."

"Since it's our last year," Gin adds, "We've gotta make it bigger. Better too. Especially now that Atsumu's here to join us."

"Oh my god, 'Tsumu," Suna says. "You'd be surprised at how 'Samu loved to go all out for stuff like this. I know you're gonna love it." Then he tilts his head slightly, like it just occurred to him.

"Have you talked to your brother recently, by the way?" he asks. "He keeps asking me about you."

Atsumu clears his throat awkwardly.

"Rin, look. The party... I don't think I can go. I have a match to prepare for—"

"'Tsumu, you can't bail," Suna says easily. "Everyone's already expecting you to be there. Plus, this is a good opportunity for you to—" he gestures vaguely at Atsumu "—get that stick out of your ass."

"What?"

Suna just shrugs, a playful expression creeping up his face. "I'm saying you need to get your dick wet."

Gin snorts immediately and Atsumu just stares at them. "Fuck off."

"Don't you know how many admirers you have at this school?" Gin says. "There's gonna be like three times more people this year at the party since you'll be there. Maybe even chicks from other schools too."

"What happened to the rebellious Miya twin that ended up on the paper all the time?" Suna says "What, the rumors and that scandal fuck you up that bad?"

The words make Atsumu go still. He feels his hands clench anxiously as his eyes lift from his paper.

"Look if it helps, you're free to bring whoever you want." Suna says. "Just no one lame please. And preferably only third years. First year girls are too rowdy."

Gin nods agreeing and Atsumu visibly winces at their words. He looks over at them with an unsettling feeling growing in his chest and their words replaying in his head.

Fuck. 

Has he really changed that much since he's gotten here?

He never expected this place to get under his skin the way it did. And somehow, little by little, he found himself adapting to its world.

This was the part he was worried about. In trying to become better, he was losing the parts of himself that made him Atsumu.

He feels his guilt creeping in because deep down, he knows there's a part of him that wants to go to that party. He wants to have a good time. 

It's been a while since he's let himself be that version of Atsumu, the one who doesn't think twice before doing whatever the hell he wants.

But now, being here also made him realize things about himself he never would've noticed otherwise. Being surrounded by people who pushed him to do better, who expected more from him, had slowly started changing him for the better.

After everything he's done these past few weeks at Hoshigahara, everything he's worked to prove, it could all come crashing down because of one bad decision, one night at a party.

Plus, Osamu's accession ceremony was coming up soon. The last thing they needed was for him to be caught at some stupid party while his twin spent every waking hour preparing to take the throne. It would only give people another reason to look down on him.

Things are different now. He's here for something bigger than himself.

The next day, Atsumu walks into class a few minutes early and immediately feels like something is off. 

It doesn't take long to figure out why.

Sakusa is already there, reading quietly at his desk. He looks a little more rested than he has the past few days, the usual strain on his face eased into something more relaxed.

Atsumu wishes he hadn't noticed. He only hums, shoving his hands into his pockets as he makes his way toward his desk. He doesn't make it very far before he stops.

Sitting right in the center of his desk is a familiar soda can.

Atsumu squints at it, and then blinks repeatedly like he might be hallucinating. He can recognize that damn apple soda brand from anywhere, that same one from that broken vending machine Atsumu visits regularly during practice.

He looks around like he might be getting pranked. And when nothing happens, he slowly takes his seat and eyes it suspiciously. He picks it up, turning it over in his hands and inspecting every side.

It had to be poisoned or some sort of trap.

Then, he notices the small tab of yellow paper stickered on the bottom of the drink, followed with the words in neat handwriting:

ごめん. (Sorry.)

Oh...

Oh he knows exactly who this is from. 

His head slowly turns toward the curly headed boy beside him, the corner of his mouth curled into the smallest grin as he leans in.

"Are my eyes deceiving me," he murmured, "or has this apple soda suddenly learned how to write Japanese?"

Kiyoomi's eyes flickered toward him for the briefest second before dropping back to his book. Atsumu's grin widens.

"Thank ya, Sakusa." 

Sakusa says shifting in his seat a bit awkwardly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do." 

Sakusa doesn't reply, he keeps his attention fixed stubbornly on the page in front of him, though it was painfully obvious he was putting far more effort into avoiding Atsumu than whatever he was reading.

Atsumu let the silence linger for a beat before nudging it along. "So... this your way of apologizin' for snappin' at me the other day?"

"I didn't mean to snap at you."

Atsumu blinks. "So you admit it?"

Silence. 

Atsumu presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, watching the way Sakusa avoids eye contact. His grip on his book tightens as he bites his lips, unsure what to say now.

He's so unbelievably awkward.

Atsumu has to bite back a smile. It feels like a win, somehow. Like he'd finally got Sakusa to crack that impossible shell, if only a little.

In the span of a minute, his mood has done a complete one-eighty. The blond leans back against his chair, starting to get his notes ready on his desk with a quiet smug expression. 

Kiyoomi stared down at the corner of his desk for a long moment before speaking again.

"Miya,"

Atsumu turns to look at him. Only then does Kiyoomi return his gaze, letting out a quiet breath through his nose.

"I need help." He mutters. "More than I thought I did. I tried to handle everything on my own but it backfired, and I said things to you that I didn't really mean.

I was only stressed because of the workload and my other commitments. I... I appreciate you trying to look out for me."

Atsumu stares at him for a second, caught slightly off guard. For once, he didn't have a response ready. He waits for some kind of punchline but it never comes. 

Sakusa Kiyoomi is really asking him for help. He wonders just how much Kiyoomi had thought this conversation over. 

The thought was almost strange enough to make Atsumu laugh, but the look on Sakusa's face stopped him.

It clearly wasn't easy for him to express himself. Yet here he is, being completely open and honest about his feelings.

Truthfully, Atsumu admired it because he knows just how hard it is to ask for help. He won't make Kiyoomi regret giving it. 

Although, he does have one thing to ask.

"Alright." The blond says. "I'll help ya."

Kiyoomi looked up at him, almost suspicious of how easily he agreed. 

"I only have one condition."

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. "What is it?"

The corner of Atsumu's mouth lifted into a small smile. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. 

"How do you feel about parties?"