He Is So Random

cw: fluff and arm wrestling, unedited

"i don't think i'll ever be able to forgive you."

Hajime's hand is rough and calloused, firmly grasping your own. his gaze is locked on your overly confident form seated across from him. Your eyebrows are locked, that big grin is plastered on your face, and if he were to openly admit it, he could feel a tinge of worry in his gut. he knows how determined you are.

"for winning?"

"yeah. my pride as an arm wrestling champion is at stake here."

you laugh out loud and its guttural, unabashed and not an ounce of embarrassment is evident. "right, right, your pride! how could i forget." Your grip on his hand, albeit slightly sweaty and trembling, tightens. "well, don't be too upset when i beat you."

he counts down from five, getting slower and slower until there's an air of suspense around the number one. "Hajime!" You warn, knocking your foot against his own. he smirks, says go, and the two of you begin your arm wrestling battle.

it's not an easy win. you put up a struggle, but ultimately in the end he's the victor. You groan in frustration. "okay, one more time."

"pretty sure you've tried every day this past week."

"okay, but i'm getting better each time i try!" crossed arms, pouty lip—you're too cute sometimes. he stands from his chair, makes his way around the table and crouches next to you.

"you're right. and i'm proud of you for giving it your all every time." his familiar hand is warm against your cheek, and you comfortably lean into it.

"i'll get you one of these days." you embrace him tightly. he threads his arms under yours, one hand on the back of your head and the other caressing your open back.

"i have no doubt you will."

𝟏:𝟓𝟔 𝐀𝐌 | 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐈.

“omi, hey! omi,” you nudge sakusa with your hand. he stirs in his sleep, blinking as his sleep hazed eyes open one by one to meet yours.

“huh?” he rubs a hand over his eyes and groans, and the sight of his tousled hair and puffy cheeks makes your heart beat a mile a minute.

“i’m sorry,” you mumble, looking down. he stares at you like that for a moment, propped up on his elbows as he registers your words—and why you’ve said them.

sakusa promptly turns to face away from you, greeting you with the sight of his bare back.

“hmph,” he huffs, and you pout, shaking his shoulder to gather his attention once more. by now, you’ve learned sakusa kiyoomi is a very stubborn person.

and sure, you had yelled at him rather harshly for asking you a harmless question, but you were in a bad mood.

he should’ve known that, he’s your boyfriend after all.

“omi,” you whine, shoving his shoulder yet again, putting a little more force into it than last time. he pays you no mind, and you all but throw a temper tantrum at the lack of attention from him.

“that’s kiyoomi to you,” he mumbles.

yeah, you think, it seems he’s still mad.

you were really hoping he wouldn’t be—the second he’d grabbed his pillow and stomped off to the guest room, you’d known you’d gone to far, but the words had slipped before you could stop them from spewing.

but you and sakusa were cut from the same stone, and you know him better than you know yourself.

he won’t be mad for long.

“omi, said i was sorry,” you pout—and if he’d seen the sight, he’d have given in, you’re sure of it. you curse him for facing his back to you.

smart bastard, you think. he’s done it on purpose.

“well, i never said it was okay. it’s not nice to be rude to your boyfriend after a long day. especially when he simply asked what you wanted for dinner.”

“i know,” you murmur. “that’s why i’m here to apologize.”

“well, too bad. he’s not here,” sakusa says through his own heavy pout, laying on his side with his arms crossed. your hand runs softly over his back, and the hurt feelings from before completely dissipate. you hold that power over him.

“can you tell him for me then?” you grin slightly, making him shrug.

“i don’t know, you don’t really deserve to leave him a message.”

“aww, come on,” you whine, leaning down and placing your chin on his shoulder, hand finding it’s way to rub over his bare abs now. they flex under your touch. “he’s got a soft spot for me, i know he does. he’ll listen to the message.” it’s silent for a bit.

“fine, i’ll tell him,” sakusa mumbles eventually. grinning, you press a soft kiss to his neck.

“well, tell him i love him, first of all. i didn’t get a chance to tell him that before bed. and then tell him i’m sorry, and that i was wrong. i shouldn’t have snapped at my boyfriend after a long day. especially after he simply asked what i wanted for dinner.” sakusa grumbles something under his breath, and it sounds awfully close to ‘not good enough’. you roll your eyes at his stubbornness. “and tell him that he’s handsome—the handsomest. and that the bed’s cold without him,” you mumble the last part softly.

and quietly, he sighs, and you know he’s not mad anymore just from the sound alone.

“he’s asking if you’re gonna make it up to him.”

“i think i can think of a few ways,” you giggle, and a small grin spreads across sakusa’s face, a soft, boyish chuckle of his own ringing through the room.

he turns, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. he’s warm, and his arms instantly make your eyes feel slightly heavy—sleeping without sakusa by your side is probably your least favorite experience, as evident from your tossing and turning all night.

“you were really mean to me,” he pouts.

“oh, look who’s back,” you tease, poking the tip of his nose. “and i know, i’m sorry baby. i’ll try to be less snappy next time.” tilting your head up, you press a delicate kiss to his jaw.

“and you call me grumpy,” he says—and of course, it’s in a grumpy tone, but you decide not to point it out.

“well, in my defense, you should’ve known i was in a bad mood. that’s your job as my boyfriend.”

“i didn’t sign up to be a mind reader,” he rolls his eyes. and just like every night, sakusa carefully pulls the covers over your body, making sure you’re carefully tucked in before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. you smile, a wave of emotion hitting you at his actions.

loving him is so easy, and you can’t imagine ever stopping.

“hey, you never said i love you back,” you pout, poking his chest. he swats your hand away, closing his eyes and tugging you closer.

“go to sleep,” he grumbles. and, with pure fondness and a soft tone he reserves only for you, he mumbles out, “i love you too. jerk.”

it’s a shame the pettiness holds no exceptions for even you, however.

back on my reposting from old blog bullshit

everybody starts somewhere

imagine atsumu miya always blabbering about his girlfriend to his teammates in msby. apparently his girlfriend was a talented engineer with her own firm (that was included japan's top 30 engineering firms) slash entrepreneur (with more than 10 businesses under her name) and was one of the richest women in the country. he keeps telling everyone that his girlfriend was also a former national level libero. (however, they cannot find anything written in the media about her which then gives them the idea that atsumu might be making things up.) then, atsumu had tried making her meet his team numerous times already but his gf was too busy so everyone just thought "ah, atsumu was just making things up" because his girlfriend does not sound real. one day, after their game, atsumu's teammates found a pretty lady (neat hair, business casual attire) who asked where atsumu miya was and then enter atsumu who is all giddy and lovey and smiley as if he did not drill the opponent down in the court in a match (2-1) a few minutes before. he was eagerly asking you how your project proposal went and everyone stared at the both of you (atsumu being the hyper one and you the calmer one) incredilously because not only were you real, they recognized you as you were also the sponsor of the entire team and your father was a famous former Olympic spiker whom the other members of the team idolize. additionally, your name had been mentioned a few times in business magazines because you dominated the entrepreneurial industry with your genius. a total girlboss. how did atsumu miya even have you? slay.

꒰ NOT SAYING ‘I LOVE YOU’ BACK PRANK ꒱

↳ note ⨾ repost! ↳ genre ⨾ fluff ↳ wc ⨾ 1.1k ↳ feat ⨾ bokuto, atsumu & kageyama

ʚ BOKUTO ɞ

“’kay, babe, i’m off to practice,” bokuto announces, walking past your shared bedroom, swinging a water bottle in his free hand.

“m’kay, have fun,” you reply absentmindedly, looking up from the book in your lap briefly to shoot your boyfriend a quick smile.

“love ‘ya!”

from your bedroom, where you sit on the bed, you hear the front door open and at your lack of reply, bokuto calls out, “i’m leaving now!”

“okay, babe! be safe!” you call back.

“i love you!”

at yet another lack of response, you hear the shutting of your front door and quick steps in the direction of your bedroom. “babe,” bokuto breathes out, oddly out of breath, eyes wide as he clutches onto one side of the door panel.

“yeah?” you look up from your book, raising an eyebrow at him in mock confusion

“i said ‘i love you,’“ he tries again, jutting his chin forward, awaiting your reply patiently.

pursing your lips together to bite back the smile that’s threatening to emerge, you nod stiffly. “mhm.” you hum, voice lilting at the end to cover up the laugh that’s desperate to be released.

“i. love. you.” bokuto repeats once more, taking a step forward into the bedroom, eyes squinting slightly as he analyzes your actions. bokuto may not be sharpest tool in the box when it came to academics but when it came to you? man knew you like the back of his hand. if there was a course called ‘y/n y/l/n’ he’d ace it with flying colors.

“aren’t you going to be late?” you murmur, glancing over at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “you should hurry up.”

“i love you,” bokuto replies instead of answering your question, looking you over you with suspicion and before you know it, he’s at your side of the bed. leaning down, he traps your head in between his large, slightly calloused hands and looks you in the eye.

“y/n?”

“yes?” your eyes flutter as you blink, lightly smiling at the look of concentration on his face.

“i love you.”

you attempt to look away, but he only gently nudges your head so no matter what, you’re looking at him. he lightly squishes your cheeks in, making your lips protrude into a pout.

“i’m not going to leave until you say it back.” bokuto wiggles an eyebrow at you and you want to call him out on his bluff but with his determination, he’ll have you trapped in his hands for hours if he wanted to.

“i love you, too, baby,” your voice comes out garbled from your squished cheeks. your eyes light at the way bokuto’s grin widens and he leans down, pecking your pouted lips softly.

“thank you and goodbye.”

ʚ ATSUMU ɞ

“goin’ to the store, you want anything?” atsumu asks, looking down at your laid down form on the couch.

“no, i’m okay,” you smile up at him, grabbing at his hand to place a chaste kiss on the back. “thanks, though.”

“mm,” atsumu hums with a soft smile. he turns and grabs his jacket before swinging open the door. “i’ll be back in a flash. i love ‘ya.”

“mhm.”

atsumu begins to close the door behind him but when he hears no response, he stares at you through the crack, slowly waiting for your reply. when you don’t reply and the door is nearly shut, he swings it back open.

“hey,” he calls softly and you look over at him.

“did you forget something?”

“um, yeah.” atsumu raises an eyebrow. “your declaration of love for me.”

you shake your head with a confused expression. “what?”

with an exasperated sigh, atsumu repeats himself, “i said, i love you.” maybe losing his accent would make you hear him clearly.

you don’t respond again and atsumu widens his eyes in shock as you look away from him and back at the t.v.

“no, no, what happened in the last millisecond? you were just kissin’ my hand!” atsumu stomps into the living room, staring at you in disbelief.

“what do you mean? nothing’s wrong…”

atsumu steps closer to you and he frowns. “then why ain’t you telling me you love me?”

mister tough and cocky miya atsumu is a softie at heart and seeing his pout makes your heart warm.

“did you wanna come with me?” he prods, thinking aloud. “i know you like goin’ grocery shopping with me but i’m not heading there, i’m going to-”

“i love you.” you cut him off with a smile and he turns back to you, cheeks warming.

“were you tryna get a reaction from me?” he scowls, sad expression long gone. “how dare you? i’m leaving now.”

he straightens his posture and walks back over to the door with a stubborn huff.

“i love you!” you call just before the door closes.

“mhm,” atsumu mocks your light tone and the door shuts behind him. a few second later, the door opens again and with a conflicted look, atsumu mutters, “i love ‘ya, too.”

ʚ KAGEYAMA ɞ

“i’m going for a run,” kageyama announces shortly before opening the front door of your shared apartment.

“be back before dinner!” you shout from the kitchen while stirring the pot you were cooking.

“alright. love you.”

you bite back a reply, pondering whether or not he’ll notice. the door closes behind him and then you’re left alone in the apartment.

huh.

guess not.

you can’t help but snicker in amusement at kageyama’s obliviousness when he has something else on his mind.

about ten minutes later, as you’re sprinkling some seasoning in the simmering pot, you hear the door open again.

“tobio? did you forget some…” your voice trails off as you hear kageyama’s feet patter against the floor until he reaches the kitchen. you turn to him quizzically as he stares you down silently. “you okay?”

“you didn’t answer.”

shaking your head with a blink, your eyebrows knit in confusion. “wh-what?” i didn’t answer?

“when i left,” kageyama murmurs, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. “i said i love you and you didn’t say it back.”

your mouth opens and closes, unsure of what to say. ultimately, you let out a laugh at the fact that although it wasn’t right away, he did notice your lack of response.

“what’s so funny?”

“babe, you left like ten minutes ago and you just realized?” you can't help but grin up at him. your boyfriend was truly something different.

“…yeah.”

“well, in that case,” you muse, walking over to him to peck his cheek. “i love you, too. now hurry up, the food’ll be ready soon.”

“right,” he nods with a slight smile. “i’ll be off then.”

heaven can't help me now

summary: Suna x Reader. dating on a bet but it's ethical

word count: 4.4k

cw: a lot of kissing, cheating (not done to reader or by suna), humor to ??? to angst to ???, no joke this is all over the place, friends to dating the school player on a bet to fake dating to friends to

a/n: shh

“This is the stupidest situation I’ve ever been in,” you say, surveying the mostly-empty early morning grounds of Inarizaki High. The only noises are the breeze rustling through the trees, birds chirping musically, and the grunts of every student athlete running through their morning workout.

“No it’s not,” says your best friend, the demonic entity who put you in this mess.

“No, it’s not,” you agree sadly. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

Getting this over with actually entails waiting until the end of the school day, because you don’t want to face the consequences of your actions and would rather hide at home than suffer publicly in school.

One in thirteen people die via vending machine every year, you remind yourself as you approach the contraption warily. You should be so lucky.

Tragically, the vending machine doesn’t kill you; worse, everything goes according to plan. At 3:23 p.m., Suna Rintarō approaches for his pre-practice snack.

I’m gonna throw up, you text your friend. She leaves you on delivered. You hate her.

“Hey,” Suna says your name, effectively cutting off all trains of thought.

“Hi,” you say. You nearly chicken out, but your pride is on the line. You have to do this. You can do this. You are a badass.

“Thanks,” says Suna. Oops. Your mouth clamps shut involuntarily, so you stare mutely at him while he chuckles to himself, focused primarily on scanning the plethora of processed food the machine offers.

About three things you are absolutely positive. First, Suna is a heartbreaker of the highest degree. Second, you are trapped in a dare to prove otherwise. And third, the way his blazer drapes over his frame and he smiles at you like he’s letting you know a secret makes you feel like a dandelion being blown into the blue sky on a sunny summer day.

Like having butterflies, but instead of merely letting them flutter around your innards, you ascend into the weightlessness of fluttering flight.

Fucking insects.

“Funny story,” you say abruptly, making eye contact with Suna. “I was dared to date you. For over three months. I don’t think I was supposed to tell you but it didn’t seem ethical not to on the off chance that you would, y’know, say yes, against all known laws of physics and aviation—”

Suna laughs. His nose scrunches up when he does it, and his eyes nearly close, and the flush on his face is the same shade of pink all the French lovers wrote about, probably. You bounce on your toes in agitation.

“I know it sounds like a joke but I just really need you to give an answer so I can report back because if I don’t ask you they threatened to dye my cat purple.”

“Isn’t your cat black?”

“I have two cats,” you say. “I knew I shouldn’t have defended you. Asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he waves it off. “Let’s do it. Could be fun.”

“Are you joking?” It’s your turn to laugh.

“No,” he says simply, stepping just into your personal space so he can reach out and brush a piece of your hair back. “Not even a little.”

“Excuse me a moment,” you say, and turn your back to him to message FUCK in the groupchat with unsteady fingers. You are all too aware of his sharp eyes watching over your shoulder while you type the four-letter word three times until it’s spelled correctly. You tuck your phone back into your pocket and face him again with squared shoulders. “Cool. Sweet. Should we shake on it?”

He stretches out his hand. You take it, gripping it firmly to indicate that you will be a reliable and firm business partner.

“Is there money on this?”

“5000 yen from six people each if we last through the three month mark,” you say seriously. “I can give you fifteen percent of the winnings.”

“Fifty percent.”

“Twenty.”

“Thirty,” he says, and you shrug. “But I’m still gonna call it off if I get bored, just so you know.”

“Oh, I know,” you say. You’re still holding his hand.

He changes his grip so your fingertips are barely touching, drawing your hand up to brush a kiss over the knuckles. You want to punch him in the mouth a little bit. It’s not right for someone to be so romantic in an entirely unromantic situation. It’s confusing and upsetting.

“Signed and sealed,” he says. “Walk home with me on Friday, okay?”

Friday goes well. At first, you feel clumsy and stupid, your mind entirely consumed by the fact that you’re fake-dating him. Your friends hadn’t bought that he’d said yes (they didn’t know you’d told him about the bet) until he’d interrupted your morning briefing with them the next day, hair endearingly limp from volleyball-induced sweat and grin sharp and wide. He’d slung an arm around you while you shrieked and tried to get out from beneath him, aggravated by his moistness, and he’d finally put an end to your wriggling by spinning you face to face with him, brushing his nose against yours and telling you to be good.

That had shut you up for, like, ten minutes.

It’s easy to fake it around your friends, playing off an inside joke with him that reads as chemistry to outsiders. One on one, though, you panic.

“So...” Suna says, hands in his pockets and posture slouched while you stew in anticipatory embarrassment. “What do you think of Englebert Humperdink?”

“What?”

“What?”

“You’re weird, Suna,” you bump into him purposely, bouncing off with the efficacy of a tennis ball hitting a brick wall.

“I told you to call me Rintarō,” he bumps you back. “And you’re the one being weird.”

“It’s just weird,” you say indignantly. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“Well, I’m weird too,” he shrugs. “No big.”

Weirder, it’s like a ton lifts off your shoulders when he says that.

“At least you’re weird cool,” you offer. “People like your weird.”

“I don’t really care, though,” he says. “People like you, they don’t like you, it doesn’t matter. You’re still weird.”

“Are you talking about you or me? Or the ambiguous you?”

He only offers a mysterious smile in response.

Your first date with Suna — Rintarō — is five days of walking home with him plus the weekend later. He picks you up fifteen minutes late, has a toxic green energy drink in hand, and refuses to tell you where he’s taking you no matter how you beg, threaten, or bribe.

It’s a classic: the movie theater. By the time you’ve finished reading all the possible movie titles on show tonight, he’s brandishing two tickets to the latest in a series of corny action flicks, smirking lazily at you.

“I wanted to see the one with the assassin romance,” you say while he pays for movie snacks, mocking you relentlessly for your choice of filler food.

“The one who pays picks the movie,” he sing-songs.

“That’s not a rule. And I could’ve paid.”

“It is for me, and I wouldn’t let you do that, because I’m a gentleman and a great time.”

“You chose a movie with four prequels I haven’t seen. I don’t think you qualify for either of those.” He shrugs.

“The tickets are bought. No choice now.”

You get back at him by making snide comments throughout the movie, pointing out every plot hole and snickering at the saddest scenes.

“You are a demon and I never should have agreed to this,” he points at you once you’ve walked out of the theater.

“Aw, no, baby,” you say, pouting exaggeratedly at him. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Not a chance,” he laughs. “No fucking way.”

It turns out that being in a couple can be really good for your social life. You get specials at restaurants, so you go out to eat more. You like pissing off your friends with your success, so you invite them to hang out and bring your boyfriend along. You get to know the infamous volleyball team, who are a lot less intimidating when they run around hitting each other with towels than they are on the court.

Sure, the Miyas seem like they’re constantly laughing behind your back, but you can tell they’re bouncing between making fun of Rintarō and of you equally.

“He’s gonna break up with you, ya know?” Says the gray-haired one to you one day, completely unprompted. You blink up at him, caught mid-soup sip.

“Don’t make fun, Samu,” says the blond. “He’s too in loveeeeee to do that.” He tilts his head coquettishly and flutters his fingers around his face. “He told us you’re not like his exes. He actually said that.”

“I think he says that to all his dates,” Osamu muses. “Male manipulator.”

“Male manipulator my ass,” snorts Atsumu. “Yesterday he saw one of his ex-girlfriends and hid behind me until she went away. The man is a simp.”

“Maybe he still has feelings for her,” muses Osamu, staring at you with laser focus. “Does that worry you?”

“No?” You say, then take a loud slurp of soup.

“You’re borin’,” says Atsumu. “Maybe s’why he likes you so much. Bye.”

“Bye,” says Osamu.

“Bye.”

You’re on your fifth date, getting a special two for the price of one taiyaki deal when you actually bump into his ex, standing behind you in line.

“Hi,” she grins at you. “You know he’s a piece of shit, right?”

“Yes,” you say confidently, at the same time Rintarō says her name pleadingly. You sense suddenly that there is history here you don’t want to make light of.

“As long as you’re clear,” she says, taking your hand and squeezing it. Her fingertips bite into your skin. You look at Rintarō, surprised he’s not making any smart quips, but the gray shade of his skin tells you everything you need to know about the situation.

“The vibes,” you say, suddenly. “They’re arsenic.”

“What?”

“Rintarō,” you grab his hand and tug on it. “We have to go.”

You pull him out of the line, stumbling as he goes and giving her a small, pathetic wave as you storm away.

He doesn’t regain his color until you’re in your room, sitting on your bed while he drapes himself over your desk chair.

“So is there a reason why your ex makes you catatonic or should I make one up?”

“She’s fine,” Rintarō says hoarsely.

“Yep,” you say. “She killed your childhood horse.”

“What? No, you’re insane. She cheated on me.”

“She cheated on you?” You launch yourself to your feet, suddenly filled with the power of a thousand burning suns to strike her down.

“No, no, no,” he says. “Sit down. Sit down. It was my fault, anyway.”

Rintarō’s not a particularly loud guy, but he sounds so quiet now that you nearly ask him to speak up.

“How can her cheating possibly be your fault?” You arch a brow.

“I wasn’t a good boyfriend,” he says. “I was really, uh, neglectful.” He holds a hand up when you open your mouth. “It was worse than you think. She tried to reason with me a bunch of times and I wouldn’t listen. We had a pretty big fight and didn’t talk for a couple days, and when we were talking again, she had... Well. And then it was over.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. So, I dunno, I don’t blame her or anything. Plus, I went on a streak of fucking, uh, flings afterwards so I’m not faultless, either.”

“Bullshit, but okay,” you snort. “None of that is grounds for sleeping with someone else as revenge for upsetting her.”

“It wasn’t revenge—”

“It kinda was,” you point out. “And I don’t think you hooking up with a bunch of people after she hit you in the heart with a golf club is really the same thing. If anything, it sounds like you were just... trying to get over her, which isn’t a crime in anyone’s book, really.”

“It wasn’t hooking up,” he protests weakly.

“You’re running out of arguments, Rintarō,” you say. “Anyway. Um. Sorry for being all in your business. Can I get you anything?”

“I don’t know,” he says vaguely, staring into space.

“Okay,” you say, shoulders dropping. “Sounds good to me.”

You spend the next hour with him in near silence. Halfway through, you ask if he wants to sit on the bed with you, which he gladly accepts. The only noise in the room is the sound of the both of you tapping at your phones and occasionally clicking on a video and playing it out loud. You wonder if your parents would be angry that you had a boy in your room if they walked in and saw the two of you doing absolutely nothing.

“Sorry,” you say, just before he leaves. “Again.”

“No, you’re good,” he responds. “It was nice. Really, really nice.”

Impulsively, you hug him. It takes a second for him to unfreeze, but you eventually feel hands patting your back.

“Night,” you say once you’ve pulled back. “Sleep tight.”

“Hope the vampires bite,” he says, smiling toothily at you.

That’s when you become best friends with your boyfriend.

You can recall the nearly physical feeling of the click of things into place, of the way the universe shifted just slightly so you could see so much more clearly. Dates blur into one long Suna session. Suddenly, you find your afternoons consumed with sitting on the bleachers, even if you're not actually watching practice. You no longer need to invite Rintarō to gatherings; he's there when the plans are made. You text incessantly during class and he sits in your desk chair, playing games on his phone, while you ponder your homework, waiting for you to finish so the two of you can binge dramas together.

"This means we probably would've had more fun if we'd watched the assassin romance instead of General Godzilla 5: Part 2," you say snidely.

"Fuck you," he responds eloquently.

He does the dishes for you when your parents ask you to, and you wash his laundry when you visit his house. This must be what it means to be in a partnership. The two of you encounter new problems and adapt, improvise, overcome.

"Have you and Suna... you know? Yet?" Asks one of your friends.

"No," laughs your best friend (the one you're not dating). "Have you two even kissed yet?"

"Yes, of course we have," you answer extremely truthfully. "Excuse me."

Rintarō opens his front door half an hour later. You promptly scream for fifteen straight seconds. He understands.

"We just need to orchestrate a kiss and get more comfortable with PDA," you reason later, sitting cross-legged across from him on your bed. He nods seriously, fingers steepled and expression wise.

"We can do that. Have you ever kissed someone before?" You throw a pillow at him.

"Of course I have. Just because it doesn't turn into schoolwide gossip doesn't mean it's not happening."

"Low blow, but okay."

"Wait," you pause. "Maybe you're right. Not factually, but spiritually. Do you think we should practice?"

"Maybe," you watch him swallow. "Yeah."

You both scoot slowly toward each other, laughing nervously every time the bed creaks.

"So are you..." You start, throat dry. "Um. Am I or are you gonna—"

Ungracefully, his lips land on yours. Your eyes slam shut and you reciprocate enthusiastically, cupping the back of his neck with one hand to brace yourself. Despite the jerky start, you can tell that he's a good kisser, a really good kisser. He sucks hard on your lower lip, drawing a noise you're embarrassed to hear out of your mouth, which prompts him to shift around and put a large hand on your back, kneeling so he has a few inches on you and can pull you closer. You kiss him harder, desperate to drown out the intensity of your own reaction.

Too hard. You think you black out.

When you come to, your hands have migrated into his black hair and he's pulling away from your neck, which you suspect is freshly marked. He stares down at you with wide eyes, and you suspect the expression is mirrored on your face.

"Do you think that was enough practice?" You ask carefully, unsure of what the correct answer is.

"Probably," he says, leaning back. "It'll be fine. Unless you get performance anxiety and drool on my face or something."

"You're so gross."

"You love me."

"Do I?"

You're half-asleep, walking out of your final period of the day when someone pulls you headlong into a dark classroom.

"Don't scream," Rintarō says. You scream. "Exactly. Thank you."

Then he's kissing you, barely brushing his lips against yours, smirking when you pinch his ribs. You chase him, kissing him fully and turning the both of you so that he's up against the wall, his hands loosely gripping your waist while your hands wander to his hair. He tastes sweet-and-sour, like home and like trouble, a contradiction wrapped in black hoodies and burning yellow eyes.

Someone's calling your name. Someone's calling your name, and the lights are on. You blink blearily at your best friend, who's laughing her ass off, and separate slowly from Rintarō. Your lips are wet and you can't seem to catch your breath.

"It's not what it looks like."

"God, imagine if I'd been a teacher," your friend howls and backs out of the classroom, beckoning you to follow. "Oh, the looks you guys gave me..."

"Remy," Rintarō whispers in your ear as he jogs to catch up with you, slinging his bag on. "You're like the rat in Ratatouille. Pulling me around by my hair."

"You are so, so bad at romance," you hiss. "See if I ever do it again."

"I mean, we weren't going to," he says. "But I'd like to."

You punch him lightly in the arm, but your heart's not in it.

Comparatively, PDA isn't hard after that. Your friends make fun of your hickey, which you shift up your collar to hide self-consciously (and which Rintarō pulls down constantly and secretly, for reasons unknown to you), and you hold hands without even thinking about it. You kiss him hello on the cheek and he hugs you goodbye, and you're starting to become hyperaware of the upcoming deadline.

Will everything change the way it did when you asked him to do this crazy, stupid thing with you? Will it all slip away, like a dream you can't quite remember by the time you wake up?

All these worries add up to something worse, you realize, lying in bed staring at the ceiling. You're not quite sure you can make it to the three month mark without wanting everything that's been smoke and mirrors and espionage to be real.

Only two weeks, you tell yourself, checking over your calendar again and again like it'll make the days pass faster. Fourteen days, three hundred thirty six hours, twenty thousand and one hundred sixty minutes. Everything is fine.

He takes you to the movies again.

He buys tickets for a movie from the fifties, buys you your favorite snacks without having to be asked, wraps his arm around you when you shiver from the air-conditioned interior. He likes the seats in the middle, but you nod toward the back.

"Really?" He asks, voice strangely high-pitched. "Oh. Sick."

You don't remember much of the movie.

Your last date with Suna Rintarō ends on the train. The world is a smear of blue and gray in front of you; behind you, arms embracing you almost too loosely is him. You turn your head to speak into his ear.

"It's been good," you tell him. "Happy three months."

"Happy three months," he repeats, the words nearly foreign in his mouth. "And one day. We're gonna be rich."

"And one day," you smile, and reach for his hand, his bony fingers cold to the touch. "Should we stage a big breakup?"

"I've had enough of big breakups for a lifetime," he laughs. "But if you want to, let's do it. Could be fun."

"No, it's okay," you shrug. "They're gonna know we gamed them, anyway. No need to lay it on anymore."

"Yeah," he replies. "Does that mean this is it?"

The conductor announces your stop, one neighborhood before his.

"I guess so," you feel strangely light, a little out of body. "See you tomorrow, Rintarō."

You should kiss him, maybe. Something dramatic should be happening right now; at least an emotional embrace. That's not how the two of you operate, though, and it wasn't anything real, anyway, you try to remind yourself. He won't be losing any sleep over this, so neither should you.

You lick your lips and smile at him, giving a little wave. He lifts a hand, head down while he looks at his phone. You can close the book on your relationship, and it feels just right. The train starts to move, and you turn around and walk home.

This is the stupidest situation he's ever been in, Rintarō thinks to himself.

It's been two weeks since what should have been the easiest breakup of his life, and things don't feel easy.

At first they were: your friends were annoyed but good natured, handing out the money reluctantly but with knowing expressions on their faces. He'd become too much a part of your life to simply pull out, and vice versa, so things had stayed similar.

But he felt so different, and he couldn't figure out why.

"Good one," Atsumu crows when he hears the truth of your relationship. "Really had me fooled. 'Samu, too."

"Was not!"

"Yes, you were. You thought he was playin' a fling again, not us."

"They were playin' their friends!"

"Are we not their friends, too?" Atsumu asks, wounded. "Hey, since Y/N is single now— or always was, whatever, could I—"

"Are you joking? No," Rintarō says. "What kind of question is that?"

"A perfectly valid one," sulks Atsumu. "Hey, mine!" He dives after a stray volleyball, and Rintarō stares after him distractedly.

It's almost metaphorical, the way Atsumu's easily pulled away from the topic of you by the game. Would that happen to Rintarō again? If he put in effort, and he could tell you how he felt— that he was miserable like this, that he'd gotten addicted to the way you tripped over your words because they came out too fast and the way your room smelled entirely like you and to your all-encompassing presence and touch, and he needed it, needed you back the way he'd had you and hadn't even known it— and by some miracle, you accepted, would he take it for granted? Would he ever be good enough for you?

Would he lose even the half of you he held in his palms now?

He's losing his mind, he realizes. Metaphor? In his volleyball? Unlikely.

He casts a longing look at the bleachers, then shakes his head. He needs to get his head in the game.

It's a Saturday night, and he misses you.

hey, he texts you, after forty-five minutes of agonizing deliberation. do u want to watch something? i think there's a ghibli showing at the theater but we can just stream if u want

sorry :( You respond three minutes later. can't.

rip, he sends. You don't answer. He slams his phone facedown on his comforter and lies on his back, his hands shaking. It's not until he rolls over and feels wet fabric against his cheek that he realizes he's been crying.

You feel so distant and only now he knows what he's doing wrong.

Rintarō's fallen in love with you.

"I don't know," you're saying. "I think I prefer the little jelly strawberries."

He can't focus. Every time he's around you, he nearly works up the courage to confess, to spill out every bloody, messy feeling he's had since you broke up and pray that you'll bear with him for it, but he always talks himself out of it. He can love you like this, he tells himself. His emotions aren't any less real for not being validated.

"What do you think? Rintarō?" You're snapping your fingers in front of his face. He hunches his shoulders and leans away.

"I think about your mom," he musters. You peer at him, your face far too close to his. He imagines bonking himself in the head with a thick textbook several times to remain stoic.

"You're being weird."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Walk home with me today."

"Are t— what?" He shrugs. "Okay."

He sits a little straighter. He can make it another few hours. You got this, man, be normal.

He's pretty sure he fails miserably in that regard, but he recalls you looking at him with sparkling eyes and telling him people liked his weird. He hopes you were talking about yourself.

The sky is clear and he's nearly too hot beneath his school blazer. Beside him, your steps are light, taken to the beat of a song he can't hear. Cars honk in the street and dogs bark in their backyards. He bites his lip.

"Is everything okay?" Is somehow the way he chooses to open the topic.

"Yes," you say. "But I don't think it is with you. Tell me." He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. What is he doing? He's not sure.

"It's really stupid," he says. "Well, not really, I just think it's kind of weird, maybe, and you might not like it. Or me. I guess that's the gist of it. I like you. I think I love you. And it hurts like we broke up for real when we weren't even dating for real. You're a really good friend, and I don't want to lose that, but," he flounders. "If you wanted to try dating, again, for real, I would love to try dating, again, for real, because I think I could... I don't think I did badly, but I want to show you that I can do better." He laughs, quietly, self-deprecatingly, and slows to a stop, turning to face you.

You stare at him, lips parted and brows raised.

In the eternity stretching between the two of you, he feels something inside him crack. It's not a clean break, either. He can feel shards of himself falling to the sidewalk while you look on, his usually icy demeanor revealing the lovesick boy beneath.

You take a deep breath, and he swears he can feel it inflating his own lungs.

"Oh."

+

part two here

the feminine urge to run away to a faraway place, to build a cottage, to bake pies and cakes, to make cookies, to have a wildflower garden, to have bee hives and bird houses, to take care of fluffy cows, to have an apple orchard, to have a strawberry field, to read books underneath willow trees, to play songs on my guitar at sunset and sunrise, to go swimming in a nearby lake, to wear floral dresses, and to always have satin bows and flowers in my hair.

introducing my cottagecore desires.

"Hey 'Samu. What's up?"

"Sorry ta bother ya Sunarin, I know yer packin' but yer roommate had a stressful day and is uh," Osamu clears his throat, "not safe ta get home. I'd drive but my car's-"

"In the shop, I know." Suna sighs and there's a soft jingle of keys. "I'll be there soon."

Osamu clears the bottles of sake off the counter cleaning around your slumped, sleeping form. He softly nudges you. "Sunarin's on his way ta get ya home."

You whimper pathetically, words slurring, "i'snot gonna be his homemuch longer."

Osamu feels a pang of his own pain.

It was bittersweet, his best friend being recruited by a division one team. He was mostly overjoyed and proud, knowing how long Suna had been playing volleyball, but a small part of him hurt because it meant his best friend moving away.

He knows Suna's always going to be his best friend so the distance won't damage their friendship but you...

His employee, the first one he hired who's been working for and with him since the beginning

Who got to know Suna from his frequent visits and became friends, accepting the spare room he offered when your old lease was up...

You don't have that history with Suna. Though you celebrated with him just as hard as Osamu, the part that hurts over him leaving is much larger.

After a few nasty customers today Osamu offered you a drink as you closed up. It quickly escalated as you poured your heart out and swore him to secrecy at the same time.

Osamu lets Suna in when he knocks and watches the middle blocker help you to your feet, draping one of your arms over his shoulders as he wraps one of his around your waist.

"What's gonna happen when you leave? Osamu asks quietly.

Suna snorts. "You're gonna need a bedroll in the office."

Osamu shakes his head. "No, Rin." He motions to you with his chin. "What happens...when you leave?"

Suna searches his friend's expression, not answering.

Osamu holds the door and keeps his promise, keeps your secret, but simply offers. "I think ya need ta talk about it."

Suna tucks you into the front seat, Osamu's words replaying in his head as he drives home, you slumped against the door in sleep.

"Suna!" You jump. "You scared me, I didn't see you there." You try to laugh it off, the surprise of finding him standing in the dark as you take out Onigiri Miya's trash, but you're clutching your chest. He can see through your false bravado. "What uh...what's up? Why are you standing out here like a creep?"

"I...got drafted."

You raise your brow and smirk. "What by the army?"

Normally he'd quip back but his heads spinning too much. "No. By EJP Raijon."

"Oh." Your expression clears in shock. "Oh damn, like drafted, drafted."

"Yeah." He shifts his gym bag.

"We'll that's, that's great right? That's what you were hoping for!"

"I guess." He shrugs.

"Tch, what do you mean you guess!" You grab his arm and drag him inside announcing to the whole restaurant that your roommate was going to play professional volleyball.

After one too many jokes that night about having to find a new roommate he started to get frustrated but when he asks "is that all you think of me? Your roommate?"

You stutter.

He'll never admit that his heart stopped beating in the few seconds it took you to answer.

"N-No, you're my f-you're my friend." You blink owlishly under his gaze and he wonders what else he could have been searching for.

Nothing.

Nothing happens, he already knows nothing happens when he leaves.

He helps you into the apartment and you robotically leave your shoes by the door and shuffle past the kitchen but you don't go to your room.

Eyes closed you sleepwalk into his room.

He quickly kicks his shoes off and chases after you with a gentle call of your name but you pull out of his grasp.

"Leavemelone Samu," you groan. "Jus lemme go tobed."

"I'm trying but this isn't your bed," he protests handling you far more patiently than he would anyone else.

Your features crumple like you're going to cry and you're still slipping out of his hands. "Yesi'is..." Your bottom lip trembles. "Sunasgone Samu, an' imtaking his room."

He stands helplessly in the middle of his own room as you climb into his bed, under his covers and wrap yourself tightly. He sees how you bury your nose in the blanket and inhale.

"Stil'smels like him, too..." You exhale shakily like you're still on the verge of tears. "Imnot gonna tell him he left this either..." Your breathing evens out as you drift. "...I's all I'll have to 'member him..."

Suna feels a strange pain in his chest as he watches your lips slack open.

You stretch, twisting your wrists as you flex your arms straight, and yawn. You slept surprisingly well given the last thing you remember is falling asleep on the counter at Onigiri Miya but your horizontal orientation clearly means you're in bed. And when you open your eyes and take in the piles of moving boxes you realize you're not in your own room.

Cringing in embarrassment you tiptoe out of bed, pausing at the door until you know the apartment's empty, you scurry to the bathroom.

After the longest shower you can stand, you get dressed to find your soon-to-be ex-roommate moving boxes closer to the door.

He regards you with his usual smirk. "Morning sleeping beauty."

There's a rush of heat to your cheeks and you don't know what to do with your hands. "I-I'm so sorry about last night."

"Which part?" He teasingly asks "the part where I had to drive all the way to Onigiri Miya to pick you up or the part where you stole my bed?"

You grimace. "Both."

"Don't worry about it," he chuckles dryly.

"Do you want any help?" you offer, doubting your ability to actually be helpful to a professional athlete and he smirks, thinking the same thing.

"Nah, I'm good." He goes back to his room and looks around, patting his pockets, before picking up the last box and adding it to the stack by the door. "The mover's are parking now."

You nod and try to stay out of the way as his things are moved out. As the last box is taken he goes back to his room and brings out a small cardboard box.

"Here."

Your brow dips as he hands the box to you. "What's this?"

He shrugs, dropping his keys on the counter for you. "Just a small going-away present."

"Oh, but I don't have..." Your words fade when he shakes his head.

"I'm good." He holds your gaze in his strange quiet intensity. "Take care of yourself."

"You-You too, Rin."

With the box in your arms you don't have to overthink giving him a hug versus a handshake or something equally awkward. He just waves once, leaves,

And you're alone.

Still holding the box you numbly shuffle into his room, taking in the vast emptiness from corner to corner.

Outside the moving truck rumbles, loudly at first until it drives off, leaving you in quiet.

You slowly sit down on Suna's bare floor and let yourself cry. You're going to miss the movie nights, shared meals, incessant jokes...

You're going to miss your old roommate...but he was never just your roommate, was he? From the moment he walked into Onigiri Miya you had been in love. And becoming his roommate, seeing him walk from the bathroom to his bedroom in just a towel, the way he would leave a cup of coffee on the counter for you in the mornings...only made you fall harder. Fall deeper.

But he was out of your league and your boss's best friend...so you never wanted to risk what you had.

Wiping tears and snot from your face you open the box, the sight of his blanket sending another wave of tears crashing down.

You pull it out and wrap it around yourself, crying harder, as a letter with your name in his scrappy writing falls out.

Hands shaking you pick it up and read:

I'm in love with you. I've loved you for a long time and was hoping you'd ask me to stay but you'd never do that, would you? Because you're a good person who supports me but I can tell you with 100% certainty that if the roles were reversed I wouldn't do the same for you.

You unfold the paper and something extra falls out. You absentmindedly lift it up as you read the end:

I know I'm moving and all but...I'm still gonna need a roommate....

Speechlessly you look at the extra thing, heart racing as you see it's an airline voucher.

...And I'd like that to be you.

꒰ HE STOOD YOU UP PT.2 ꒱

↳ note ⨾ repost! ↳ genre ⨾ angst to fluff(ish) ↳ feat. oikawa, ushijima & atsumu ↳ parts: one :: two

ʚ OIKAWA ɞ

“y/n?” oikawa whispers into the night, facing your back beside him on the bed in your shared apartment. he’s somewhat surprised you didn’t ask him to sleep on the couch, knowing he wasn’t exactly your favorite person at the moment.

then again, you weren’t exactly saying anything to him either.

you stir a little bit, probably in your sleep, but don’t reply. it is an ungodly hour, there shouldn’t be any reason for either of you to be up.

but oikawa’s been alone with his thoughts.

“y/n,” he tries again. he reaches his hand up as if to shake you awake but decides against it. he really shouldn’t disturb you; he doesn’t need another reason for you to be angry with him. retracting his hand back to close to his chest, he stares at your back and the way your body moves up and down with each passing breath you take.

“what is it, tooru?” your voice, drunk with sleep, catches him off guard, making him blink a few times and wonder if he was just imagining it. it’s not too much of a stretch, since the man has been up since seven in the morning the day before.

“i can feel you staring at me,” you huff, shuffling around into a more comfortable position still facing away from oikawa. “what is it?”

“i’m sorry,” he blurts. he swallows thickly as he listens to the sound of your breath inhaling and exhaling.

“yeah,” you mutter, bringing a hand up to rub at your eyes. “you already said that … the past million times.”

“i mean it,” he whispers, eyebrows furrowing sadly. he wishes he could see your face.

“and how is this different than the other times,” you sigh out, probably exhausted of his apologies and empty promises.

“you could leave,” he croaks, attempting to keep the air between you quiet. “it never occurred to me until tonight that you can walk out that door and never have to deal with me again.”

you pause your moments craning your neck around but it’s too dark to see. so, you turn over, now facing the ceiling. oikawa follows suit and lays on his back, only moving his head to the side to face your side profile.

“i’d deserve it,” he continues, playing with the sheets between his fingertips. “i’ve been nothing but neglectful and haphazard with you, unknowing to the consequences for my actions. and for that, i’m sorry.”

“your words mean nothing, though,” you mumble. “after so many apologies, how can i just trust you this time?”

you’ve been so hurt, so tired of being hurt by him, you can’t believe his words.

oikawa nibbles his lip, in attempt to keep it from trembling and quickly clutches your hand with his.

“i’ll make you trust me again. there won’t be a doubt in your mind about how much i care for you.”

he doesn’t know how long you two stay like that, his hand holding yours. oikawa is just about to say goodnight (with another apology probably) and take his hand from yours to allow you back into a comfortable position, when you squeeze his hand and intertwine your fingers.

ʚ USHIJIMA ɞ

the next morning, you wake up in an empty bed. with furrowed brows, you sit up, glancing around the room in search of any remnants of your boyfriend; his closet door was open, volleyball bag hanging on the hook on the inner side of the door, signaling he must be home.

it isn’t until you peel the covers off you and slide into your slippers when you hear the distant sound of clanking pans from inside the kitchen. opening the door of your bedroom, you cross your arms in attempt to keep warm as the morning chill sends goosebumps scattering along your skin.

your feet pad toward the kitchen, now following the smell of … pancakes? eggs?

“oh, you’re awake,” ushijima announces as he sees you step into the kitchen, taking note of your confused expression. whether it’s from the morning deliriousness or the fact that he’s cooking breakfast, he can’t tell.

“don’t you have practice?” you rasp, morning voice lining your tone. you clear your throat and continue, “it’s nearly ten.”

ushijima turns away from you, looking back down at the skillet in front of him. “no practice today.”

“oh.”

the air is cold between the two of you. not only is it from the weather as winter creeps closer, but the silence, too.

“i told them i couldn’t come in.”

you nod slowly at that. “are you feeling alright, toshi? you don’t have a fever, do you?”

ushijima shakes his head firmly. “no, but i’m not alright either.” he pauses his stare at the skillet in front of him to turn to you with sad, droopy eyes. “i’m sorry i forgot about last night.”

“oh.” you’re slightly taken aback by his expression. “it’s alright, tosh, you had practice-”

“i stayed late,” he mumbles quietly, lifting the fried eggs from the skillet with a spatula and places them on a plate. shutting the stove off, he turns around fully, leaning against the counter with arms crossed. “i wanted to get a few more serves in and i forgot about our date.”

his words, truthful as they are, twist your heart uncomfortable. that’s something you could always count ushijima for: honesty.

he looks over at you with his lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed. “how long did you wait for?”

“until they kicked me out,” you murmur your reply, twisting your arms behind your back.

ushijima sighs, lifting himself from leaning against the counter. “y/n, i’m so sorry. it won’t happen again.”

“okay, toshi.” you muster up a smile, gulping down the lump in your throat.

when he reaches you, he takes a side of your face in one of his large palms. he looks between your eyes, searching them and when he finds doubt, the crease between his eyebrows deepen. “you don’t believe me.”

“it’s not that,” you sigh, averting your gaze from his. “volleyball has been your number one priority since we met, and i love that! i love that you’re so passionate about something … it just…” you trail off, not knowing how to form your next words.

it hurts knowing i’m second to your career.

ushijima reads your expression clear as day. “i shouldn’t have made you feel this way,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, as he takes in your averted eyes and knitted eyebrows. “volleyball is my career,” he says firmly, “but you’re my priority. i’m sorry i haven’t expressed that as i should’ve.”

“you don’t have to say that-”

“i mean it. and i’ll prove it to you.”

ʚ ATSUMU ɞ

“y/n?”

the soft thuds against your bedroom door make you look up from the book in your lap. you hadn’t read much of it, the event that occurred a few hours prior plaguing your mind instead.

“come in.”

the door opens a few inches, just to allow atsumu to slip inside and shut the door closed behind him. he wears a deep frown on his usual confident-looking face as he stares longingly at you.

“yes?”

you notice he’s changed his clothes; where previously he was wearing a pair of joggers and an athletic jacket, he’s wearing jeans and a jacket better suited for the cold weather outside. you presume that he managed to snag the outfit form your shared closet when you slipped into the bathroom for a shower about an hour prior.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs, looking down.

“okay, atsumu,” you sigh, returning your attention back to the book in between your hands, fingers carding through a page as you attempt to reread the section for about the nth time.

he gnaws on his lower lip, keeping his eyes trained on you, waiting for the possibility that you flit your eyes up to meet his once more; maybe with that adoring gleam they always have around him.

yeah, he doesn’t think he’ll be seeing that tonight.

“i really mean it,” he announces, jutting his chin up. “what i said, how i acted, i shouldn’t have done that.”

“mm,” you hum, nodding in agreement, eyes never leaving the beige pages of the book.

huffing slightly, atsumu shuffles out of the room, leaving the door opened behind him. you’re about to call out that you much preferred it being closed but atsumu soon returns with a plastic bag in hand.

“you did eat, right?” he asks tentatively, walking closer to your shared bed. he recalls your words a few hours prior but he isn’t sure if they were just a jab in retaliation of what he’d asked you to do for him.

“yes, i ate.” your tone is clipped, making atsumu flinch slightly but slumping his shoulders he holds out his arm, gently urging your to take a peak.

“well, ‘m assuming you didn’t have any dessert so…” he shakes the bag when you don’t look inside immediately.

curiosity getting the better of you, you straighten yourself up and lean over, not before scowling at the man – he has to know you’re still not pleased with him. you use a finger to pull the bag toward you, giving you more view of the contents inside,

“ice cream?”

the man bashfully brings a hand behind his neck to rub at. “i wanted to get’ya a cake but all the bakeries are closed. i had to head to the convenience store on the corner instead.”

you don’t speak as he takes out the mini tub of ice cream and spoon, placing it in front of you on the bed. with a pressed frown, rocks on his heels.

“i’ve been a shit boyfriend lately,” he declares with a look of regret. “i’ve been an ass and you don’t deserve that. all you’ve done is be supportive of me and my career and i’ve done nothing to give you the same love back. for that, i’m sorry. i’m not asking for your forgiveness now, but i’ll make it up to you, baby, i promise.”

you stay silent for a moment as atsumu searches your face, as if a look or a twitch of your lips could tell him exactly what you’re thinking. he thinks you’ll stay silent for the rest of them, stewing with his words.

instead, you pick up the ice cream, peeling off the cover and holding it out for him, as if to share. “you got another spoon?”

and atsumu’s heartbeat relaxes and the ghost of a smile reaches his lips as he takes a seat beside you on the bed, digging into the bag for an extra spoon.

I love the vibe Zhongli gives off