the walls are thin - ch6
in which atsumu is your college neighbor with whom you share a wall. previous | ch6 | next [masterlist]
// flirty, surprisingly sweet, now super close neighbor ~ ᴀᴛsᴜᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 7955 ᴡᴏʀᴅs
a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni eventual smut, masturbation, incessant flirting (as always), this is the angst chapter boys, cute fluff before tho, closure for hanamaki takahiro sidepiece, afab she/her pronouns
send an ask and i’ll add ya to the taglist! ~ ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡
if there was any time that your feelings of anxiety from a change in events would be most valid, this would be it. the two of you had finally moved from flirty friends to what the fuck even was that last night flirty friends. there were other steps, of course, a few more, really, but in terms of lines to cross, this felt like a big one. sure, you hadn’t slept together, but this was brand new territory even with the boundaries that each of you pushed.
and yet the only thing you feel the next morning is giddy.
maybe it’s just the joy that you’re feeling in your chest or the fact that he’s never made you feel weird and off for how things play out. you trust him, as a plant sitter and a friend and now perhaps something more.
there’s no expectations that you’re feeling either, no underlying guilt in that something more.
it could also be the fact that you’ve woken up in atsumu’s bed, sun shining through the tiny cracks in the blinds as you try to recall your surroundings. you rub the sleep out of your eyes as you sit up, stretching before feeling around on the bed for your phone.
you find the pillow between your legs first, muttering a soft, “oh shit” as you pull it from the position it’s been all night. your hips ache slightly as the pillow allows your legs to rest comfortably again. you push yourself up, notice the faint, but also definitely noticeable to your naked eye, large dark stain on the front of the case.
“oh my god, oh fuck,” you say, heart beginning to race. you lay the pillow behind you just for the time being and you locate your phone because someone has a lot to say to you this morning. bzz bzz. bzz bzz. bzz bzz. bzz bzz.
> tsumu ♡ / 12:43 pm > hey i’ll be back to my dorm at 2 to pick ya up?
> tsumu ♡ / 12:44 pm > then we can go get food with samu
> tsumu ♡ / 12:44 pm > he’s really excited to meet you
> tsumu ♡ / 1:38 pm > yn???? are you even up??
> tsumu ♡ / 1:38 pm > how are you still asleep i was literally out later than you
> tsumu ♡ / 1:38 pm > i was up at 10???
> tsumu ♡ / 1:55 pm > i’ll be there in 5
> tsumu ♡ / 1:55 pm > barging down the door
> tsumu ♡ / 1:55 pm > climbing in bed with you so that we don’t have to go to lunch w my brother
> tsumu ♡ / 1:55 pm > jk.
> tsumu ♡ / 1:56 pm > but seriously i’ll b there in 4 mins
oh fuck. you scramble to your feet. you no longer have the luxury of a chill morning, not when your underwear is somewhere in the room and atsumu’s pillow is stained with your drunk endeavors last night. shit. sure, in the moment, you thought it was the hottest thing in the world, and still, some of the deepest parts of you still think that, but it’s mostly just regret.
and you don’t even have the time to process what happened last night before he left. there’s a countdown in your head and you spend more than half of it just finding your panties. you spend your remaining time making his bed trying to think of what the fuck to do with his pillow.
knock knock knock. the knocks are just warnings. he has the key to his room. the key that he’s using to unlock his door right now. you turn the pillow over, seam side up. there’s no way that’s good enough, but the door knob turns. that’s just going to have to be good enough.
“did you make my bed?” is the first thing that he says when he sees you.
your voice comes out hoarse and you’re thanking god that you can blame it on the alcohol last night instead of having to admit the real, much louder, reason that you’ve almost lost your voice. “i’m a guest here.”
he chuckles, nodding, “just cute, is all.” your stomach flips. you can’t even think of a rebuttal, you’ve just woken up. he’s been up for 4 hours. you’re really just happy that you’re back to normal after everything that happened last night. “samu is going to meet us in 10,” he explains, “so you should probably get back to your room and get ready.”
you walk towards him, where he’s standing against the door frame. “10 minutes?!” you complain.
“hey,” he says, putting his hands up, “i’ve been texting you all morning.”
you grab your keys from the small shelf beside the door where you left them last night and then you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself into his chest. if he asks, you’ll blame it on the alcohol or the fact that he left you last night or the fact that he took the time to make everything right last night. but he doesn’t ask any questions, just wraps his arms around you and squeezes you just the same, “missed you too, doll.”
you pull away with reluctance, half tempted to ask him to sit with you while you get ready, but knowing that 10 minutes is barely enough time without atsumu there to distract you. plus, you’ll take the 10 atsumuless minutes to reflect, you suppose. “okay. i’ll be ready in 10.”
“9, basically now. wasted 1 minute on a hug,” he teases.
you throw his door open, not even answering as you make it back into your room.
/++/
the whole entire walk across town, you can feel your heart in your palm, and you’re sure that atsumu can feel it too, fingers interlocked with yours as you go to meet osamu. you have so many questions that you want to ask about him, but your nerves are getting the better of you.
his friends were one thing, but his brother? the literal most important to him in the entire world? there’s more weight there. you go to open your mouth to ask a question, but you shut it quickly. you don’t even know what you want to ask. what questions could you ask to make this encounter go as smoothly as possible?
you turn your head, looking up at atsumu as he walks along, and there are no anxieties on his face, no worried wrinkles in his forehead or concern behind his eyes. and, yea, that might’ve been a bit contagious.
it didn’t take a genius to notice osamu immediately. you feel a bit stupid when you’re surprised at how similar they look, but as you get closer, you can see all of the little differing details that maybe someone who hadn’t looked at atsumu as closely as you have would never have seen. osamu is smiling the entire time that the two of you approach him. even their smiles are different.
as soon as you’re close enough, osamu raises his arms for a hug, one arm higher than the other as he leans forward with that side to bring you into an embrace. you drop atsumu’s hand to reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his back as he pulls you into a hug. the hug lasts for a few moments, none of them awkward.
“it’s really great to meet you, yn,” osamu says as he pulls away and your heart flutters, not because you’re suddenly attracted to osamu, but because it’s so genuine and your name flows off his tongue so easily in a way that doesn’t happen if someone hasn’t said it numerous times before.
“i’ve heard so much about you. it’s nice to put a face to the kid photos and stories,” you reply.
osamu flings his arm around atsumu, “what kinda shit are ya tellin’ her about, sumu?”
atsumu pushes him in a way that you only do to the people you love the most, “what kinda shit are ya too embarrassed for me to tell her? quit it.” you don’t even try to hide your grin and you add this encounter as evidence to the list of situations that cause atsumu’s accent to flare up.
“what kinda shit are ya too embarrassed for me to tell her?” osamu asks, quirking his head.
“don’t-” atsumu starts, but osamu waves him off.
“nah, nah, there’ll be time for that, i’m sure,” osamu says, walking next to you before gesturing the way of the restaurant he’s taking you to, “now, i’m most interested in gettin’ to know ya,” he says to you.
“oh, i mean, i’m not that interesting,” you say, shaking your head.
“c’mon, you’ve caught this guy's attention enough for him to let me meet ya,” he says, nodding back towards his brother, “gotta be doing something right…” he pauses, “or really really wrong, i guess.”
“hey!” atsumu says from behind the two of you. you look back long enough to see the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen in your life before turning your attention back to osamu.
“what are you going to school for, at least?” osamu asks, just simple questions prodding into your life that you’re happy to answer.
he asks you about yourself the entire way to the restaurant, what you want to do for work, your favorite hobbies, your family life, and the questions keep coming as you take a seat at the table in the restaurant. you barely have a chance to breathe, spewing facts and trivia about yourself and the things that you like and your friends.
osamu sits next to you, forcing atsumu to sit across from the two of you, and you can see the tiniest bit of jealousy mixed with mostly gratitude that you guys were getting along so well. the jealousy on his face subsides when you place your arm on the table for him to rest his hand on top of as you continue talking with osamu.
“y’know,” you laugh, quickly saying as soon as you’ve finished another one of osamu’s question. “we can talk about things other than me.”
“alright, alright, just wanted to know more about my brother’s girlfriend,” osamu says, hands up, and if the last word of his sentence wasn’t weighing so heavy, you’d have mentally noted how cute it was that they share the same mannerisms. your eyes flick to atsumu who looks at you before the two of you mutually start shaking your head, laughing somewhat awkwardly as you don’t necessarily deny, but definitely don’t confirm the label.
“shit- er- not girlfriend? sorry,” osamu says, evidently embarrassed about the assumption he’s just made, “sorry, no, i just meant- yea, he just talks about ya a lot, i kinda just-.”
“it’s fine. not a big deal,” you say, which is definitely somewhat of a lie because you can still hear the word in your head, “talking about me to people just seems like a theme, i guess,” you joke, hoping that it brings some lightness to the conversation.
“what? you don’t want me to talk about ya?” atsumu asks, essentially admitting that he does, indeed, talk about you to a lot of people.
you laugh, shaking your head, “no, no, of course i do, i’m flattered, really.”
the quiet that comes after isn’t as uncomfortable, but it is noticeable. it’s partially saved by the waitress that comes by to take your order. the rest of the saving comes from osamu who brings out his phone and starts showing you pictures of atsumu from when he was a kid, ones that you haven’t seen, but some that you know the story behind.
there are no embarrassing photos or shitty stories. every story that he tells you makes you feel warm inside. you’re able to fill in the details, place each story in the timeline you’ve already established of atsumu’s life in your head.
“yea, geez, sorry you had to meet suna that way,” osamu says, shaking his head. “honestly if i would’ve known, i would have warned ya.”
“probably would’ve been smart, yea,” atsumu quips, reaching across the table and casually grabbing something off of your plate.
“i wanted to surprise ya!” osamu says, back on the defense.
“how well did that work out for ya?” atsumu replies, snarky.
you’re waiting for osamu to match it, to yell back at him, but he only shrugs, “next time i will warn you so that you guys have enough time to get ready and meet me.” you guys. ba-bump.
“good,” atsumu says, narrowing his eyes. “you leave tonight, right?”
“yea,” osamu says, exhaling deeply as he sits back in his chair, “was supposed to get in super early saturday so that i could see ya all day, but you know how well that turned out.”
“well, ‘m glad i got to see you at all,” atsumu says, clearing his throat.
“what? miss me or something?” osamu replies, same snarky tone that atsumu had before. “besides, we’ve still got plans with bokuto and sakusa, right?” atsumu nods at this. “and next time, you guys get to come visit me instead.”
atsumu doesn’t answer for you, not at the mention of a weekend trip to wherever his brother is at, doesn’t want to make assumptions for you. you speak up, “of course. looking forward to it.”
the three of you chat, tell stories, joke around, and when the check comes, osamu insists, steals it out of atsumu’s hands and places his card on top of it and sets it down out of reach of atsumu. even when the waitress comes to take it, atsumu tries to give her his card instead. when she looks at you for some sort of answer, you nod your head towards osamu and atsumu starts jokingly yelling at you as osamu puts his arm around your shoulder and thanks you.
there’s a pit that fills you when the waitress sets the card and receipt back down on the table, one that comes with the fact that you’re going to have to get up and leave the comfort of the company at the table.
as you’re standing outside of the restaurant, osamu smiles warmly. “didya want to come see bokuto and sakusa with us later? honestly, probably won’t be very fun for you, we’re just playing volleyball before i leave.”
“no, no, i have dinner plans,” you shake your head, “my friends come back from their trip today, haven’t seen them all weekend.”
“i can walk you back to the dorm?” atsumu asks, body fully positioned to walk in that direction.
you shake your head, hitting his shoulder playfully, “spend time with your brother. i’m good.” the smile on your face is enough to convince him. he pulls you into a hug.
“i’ll see ya tomorrow, yea?” he asks.
you nod, “obviously.”
“alright, alright, you’ll see her tomorrow, but i won’t, so move,” osamu says, nudging atsumu out of your way and enveloping you in a hug once again. “it was so nice to meet ya,” he says into your ear.
“thanks for taking the time out of your small trip to meet me, yea,” you say as he pulls away.
“are ya kiddin? of course,” osamu says, the look on his face almost offended that you’d even think he wouldn’t. “was on my list of things to do this trip.”
“well, i will see you soon, i’m sure,” you say back, body warm. it was one thing for them to make the assumption that you’d make the trip to see him, it was a completely different thing for you to say it.
“definitely,” osamu agrees, as if it isn’t even a second thought.
/++/
it’s been a really good day.
waking up in atsumu’s bed, not feeling guilty for what happened last night with atsumu, quickly getting over (but definitely not forgetting) what happened in his bed last night, meeting osamu, and now you get to see maki (and the others) for the first time in a few days.
it’s been a really good weekend.
“maki!” you scream as soon as you notice him, bags in hand, but that doesn’t stop you from basically tackling him. you throw your arms around him, speed and force all but knocking him to the ground. you knock the tiniest bit of air out of him as you do so, a tiny oof leaving him.
with his bags in his hand, he can only support you with one arm, tightly situated around your waist with a grip that communicates all at once god, i missed you. “hey you,” he says, nose pressing into your neck. neither of you move, just standing there, hanging off of maki’s neck, squeezing so tight that it eventually causes him to laugh.
maki doesn’t move his arm from your waist as he leans down, no longer on your tippy toes for a moment while he sets his bags down. as soon as the bag has left his hand, he wraps his other arm around your waist reciprocating the pressure that you’re creating. neither one of you wants to let go first, but one of you has to so you unthread your arms from his neck, smiling huge at him, leaving your hands on both of his shoulders.
“i’ve gotta drop my bags off and then we can go to dinner?” he asks.
you push the hair out of his eyes, “sure, yea, i’ll come with you?”
“that’s cool, but the guys are gonna want to ask you all about your weekend and then we won’t actually get to eat for another hour or two,” maki warns, picking his bag back up from the ground and starting to walk towards his dorm, just assuming that you’ll follow him.
you do, picking up to walk right beside him, “no! no, i’ll be strict and straightforward and we will leave in exactly 10 minutes. just 10 minutes of catch up.”
he rolls his eyes, “alriiiiight. if you saaaay so.”
“just 10 minutes!”
over 2 hours later and you’re all still sitting in oikawa’s room talking about your guys’ weekends. iwaizumi is sitting in oikawa’s desk chair. matsukawa is beside him on the floor. oikawa is sitting on the bed. maki’s sitting next to him, legs hanging off the bed, and you’re sitting between them, his hand subconsciously smoothing your hair.
“i don’t know exactly what’s so funny,” oikawa talks through gritted teeth, “about almost drowning.”
not a single one of you can stop laughing, toppled forward, tears in your eyes.
“i think it’s the almost part of it, kawa,” iwaizumi points out.
oikawa jumps up from off of the bed and almost knocks iwaizumi out of the desk chair. if iwa wasn’t as used to these antics, they’d both be on the floor right now, but iwa holds on to oikawa, arms strong as he stabilizes both of them. “you’re so mean to me,” oikawa says, furrowing his eyebrows and pouting.
“you’re so easy to be mean to,” he says back.
“i don’t understand how i’ve been on blast all night when yn hung out with volleyball guy all alone all weekend and we’ve barely even grilled her about it!” oikawa yelps, doing what he does best, shifting the blame.
it works better than you wish it would have, eyes on you now instead as a million questions come flooding to everyone.
“we. hung. out,” you say, “maybe the reason that we haven’t talked about it is because nothing happened.”
“did you kiss him,” oikawa asks, finger pointing softly in your direction when he says you.
you’re quiet, going over the events of everything that happened. what comes out of your mouth is not technically a lie, but the hesitance definitely raises some suspicions, “no.”
everyone is quiet, but knowing, and it only takes a few beats for them to start throwing questions your way all at once. “what does that mean?” “are you sure about that?” “woah what’s with the thinking?” you wave your hands at all of the confirmations.
“i’m not lying to you guys!” you defend yourself. they all quiet down again, but it’s not the calm before the storm this time. they seem to believe you for the most part. so why did you have to dig this hole for yourself? “we haven’t kissed yet, god.”
the glances that they exchange are quick, rushing to their, almost in unison, cry of, “yet?”
“i- i didn’t mean yet, i just meant,” you stammer, looking for a way to pull yourself out of the spotlight.
“have you done other things?” issei asks.
“oh my god, we’re not in high school,” you say, trying to hide how hot your face is burning. you swallow harshly.
“oh my god, that’s not an answer,” iwa replies, leaning forward with oikawa in his lap, as if that would get him answers quicker.
they’re patient for your reply, but you don’t want to speak. the hand in your hair has ceased and maki has been uncharacteristically silent. “we haven’t slept together,” you speak plainly.
“and do you plan to?” oikawa asks, leaning forward just as much as iwaizumi, the only thing keeping him from falling onto the floor is iwa’s arm around his waist.
“guys,” you say quietly, fiddling with your fingertips, brushing them against one another, interlocking them and pulling them apart.
maki puts his hand up. “alright, alright, that’s enough grilling for tonight,” he says, swinging his leg overtop of you so he’s able to stand up. he offers that same hand to you to help you up. ba-bump. “yn and i were supposed to go get dinner 2 hours ago.” you take his hand as he helps you to your feet. “i was told we would only be here for 10 minutes and i think this is her karma for lying to me,” he explains.
“it’s just because you don’t want to hear about it. if it were anything else about yn, you’d be just as relentless,” oikawa calls out to maki as the two of you walk to the door, “because you don’t have plenty to say about it.”
“he just-,” maki sighs, “he better not hurt you.”
that would have been enough of an exit line, but as you scan the room, the mood shifts and changes from this funny grilling to this somber realization that maybe they’ve taken it too far. oikawa’s right, though, if this were anything else, you would be spilling details left and right, and if atsumu is going to become anything more to you than your flirty, surprisingly sweet, now super close neighbor, then you would have to start telling them things. they are your best friends.
maki’s hand ghosts on your waist, guiding you along until you stop at the doorway. “i met his brother today,” you offer. you don’t exactly know where else to go from here. “his brother referred to me as his girlfriend, which I’m not, but he thought i was,” you say, inflection more like a question than a statement.
“and i don’t know if that sounds like a big deal, that i met his brother, but it felt like a really big deal?” you pause, “so, i don’t know. i guess, i’m just seeing where things go, but i think i might-” you’re sure that the pause isn’t as long as it feels, because it feels like decades. your stomach is churning and your palms are sweating and you feel like you might vomit, “i might really like him?”
there’s that quiet again. it’s much worse this time.
oikawa’s the first one to speak up, slowly, carefully choosing his words, “well, then, we’ll have to meet him.”
you quirk your head at this. “you’ve already-”
“like, actually meet him,” oikawa says, “not as the annoying neighbor who fucks other people really loud, but as whoever this guy is that you’re talking about.” the other two men nod at you and you nod back and you’re surprised you’re not in tears right now. “now go to dinner,” he shoos the two of you, “go.”
the two of you listen, taking your leave and finally walking to dinner. the walk is cold, mostly in temperature, only somewhat in tone, and you just want to talk. you have one question weighing on your tongue and you can’t seem to psych yourself up to ask it.
but the distance to your destination is getting smaller by the second and you’re fearful that once you’re in a confined space, it’ll feel more real for some reason, so you blurt, “is it weird for me to talk about atsumu to you?”
maki’s quiet, thoughtful, chooses his words with care, “i had my chance.” what’s that supposed to mean?
“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, mimicking your thoughts exactly.
“breaking up with you was the hardest thing i’ve ever done,” maki explains, “but i did it. and sure, yeah, maybe i thought at some point we might get back together-” what? “but we didn’t. and yeah, a delusional part of me thought that maybe we would just be whatever we are forever, but that’s not the case, and that’s okay.”
his words feel like they float upwards, no ceiling to catch them so they just lift completely off of your shoulders. you reach down and grab his hand and he lets you take it. “none of that stops us from being best friends,” he stops in his tracks. this one seems to get caught on something, the tree above you maybe, or perhaps the wind changed directions, because this one stays right in your heart.
“if you’re really into this guy,” maki says, “then of course i want to hear about it, just like i want to hear about your shitty friends from your past and the things that you’re learning in your classes and the trips that you want to take.” he stops walking, linked hands stopping you as well.
he shrugs, “besides, i know you’ve got good taste. i’m not worried.” he’s looking down at you, warm smile on his face, and if you just stood on your tippy toes, you could kiss him right now.
you’ve known maki too long to not know there’s something else that he wants to say. you’re so close to him, you can see him swallow nervously. “if you have something you want to say, you should probably just say it,” you say, soft and low.
he lifts his hand to your chin, tilts your head upwards, “i know that i said everything i just said, but-” he smooths his thumb over your cheekbone, curls his fingers against your jaw, “i just want to…,” he trails off, trying to figure out how exactly to say this. “can i kiss you one last time?”
if maki’s hands weren’t on you, your knees might have buckled. you nod against his hand, heart beating violently, stomach in knots. he tilts your head towards him just a tiny bit more, doing the rest of the work and leaning down to meet you. when his lips press against yours, it’s not enough. you step forward as much as you can, pressing your lips up into his harsher, palm flat against his chest as he frames your face with his hands. your hand closes around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, you want him closer.
you part your lips, tilting your head in the other direction against his hold, and you swipe your tongue against his lip. you wrap your arms around his neck, absolutely preparing to jump into his arms. if he carried you the entire way back to his dorm, lips locked with yours, you know exactly how the night would go.
instead, he pulls away, breathing labored, eyes wide, soft tint of pink on his cheeks. in the time during your break up, there have been plenty of kisses, especially in the beginning. in the beginning, it was like you weren’t even broken up. even as the hookups faded and the passionate kisses faded as well, the forehead kisses and cheek kisses and cuddling all stayed. this was the first time you’ve kissed maki in well over a year.
“i just-,” he breathes, “i didn’t know the kiss before that would be our last one and i-,” huff “i really wanted to savor it this time.”
“can we go back to your dorm?” he doesn’t say anything, just looks like he’s contemplating the most difficult decision of his life. you really were always too honest with him. “if we kept kissing, i’m not sure i’d be able to stop thinking about anything else until we did.”
“that’s why i pulled away,” maki says, and it’s soft. he clears his throat. he looks so torn, but he reaches down and grabs your hand and you let him. “let’s go get dinner.”
/++/
it’s late when you get back to your dorm. it didn’t take long for you and maki’s banter to get back to normal, which is maybe saying something. maybe you and maki kissing in the middle of the street is something that’s just normal for the two of you. though, you’re not sure that the thoughts in your head or where you wanted the night to go was very normal.
you unlock your door, push inside to your dorm, set your bag in the corner where it always resides, hang your newly acquired jacket on your bedpost.
you get into bed, tuck yourself under your blanket, eyelids heavy already. it’s been a long day. you have classes tomorrow and things to think about in the upcoming week and your perfect weekend is coming to an end. you really didn’t notice how exhausted you were until just now.
but you hear it.
it’s tiny.
it’s quiet.
you don’t even feel the movement in the wall, it’s so small.
your first feeling is gut wrenched, not betrayed because you’d have to have been established to feel betrayed, but just hurt. he knows that the walls are thin, so he just gets quieter? he doesn’t stop because of all that’s happened, he just becomes more conscious?
you press your ear against the wall, listening for anything. he’s not saying a word, you can barely hear the sound of the mattress sinking and rising, every time sending a painful pang into your heart. but then you listen closer, longer, and you can’t hear any voices. usually by now, you would’ve heard something feminine, breathy moans or tiny laughter or pleading asks.
your hurt quickly very quickly morphs into need, into holy fuck he’s masturbating, not fucking another girl. your hand instinctively finds its way between your legs, anguished to relieve any amount of desperation you’re feeling there. you press your ear against the wall harder, slowing your own breath to hear the tiny movements and the breaths on the other side. you’d not breath forever if you got to hear how good he sounded holding back.
it’s not just the sound of his hand, not just a slick tell of his fist sliding around his cock, there’s something there, something more textured. now, you can’t catch your breath for other reasons. his movements are so cautious, but you can hear the slow sound of his hips lifting off of the bed and falling back into the plush mattress beneath him.
he’s fucking the same pillow you were.
the moan escapes you, violent and involuntary and maybe a bit too loud, but it really couldn’t have been helped. you let your mind wander, happily go from thought to thought as you map out what you think happened to get to this moment.
he probably came into his room after being out all day, saw that his pillow wasn’t the right side up. he laughed at the fact that you probably were too tired when you made his bed and flipped it over. he didn’t notice it at first, changed out of the clothes he’s been in all day. he didn’t notice it until he’s getting into bed, sees the weird spot that’s on his pillow and he doesn’t remember that being there before.
you think about him as he leaned down, looked at it closer. it smelled like you, of course it did, you’ve just slept in his bed, but he got closer to it and it fucking smelled like you. he couldn’t stop himself, tried to figure it out in his head, but can’t come up with any answer, but it didn’t matter. he was so fucking hard just thinking about anything that could’ve happened for this to be the result. he was throbbing. he got into bed, nothing on his mind except you.
his hands were shaking as they gripped into the pillow, cock leaking against the fabric as he pushed the tip against the rough cloth of the pillow. he hissed as his sensitive, drooling head made contact, grunted lowly as the underside of his cock fucked into the pillow, head thrown back as he thought about you, all about you, like it was your fucking thighs he was fucking into right now.
he almost blew his load at the thought. he lifted his hips up into the pillow repeatedly, quickly, chasing his high, breath heavy and whimpers falling from his lips, and then he remembered how close you might be to him right now, just a wall separating the two of you, and he gets much quieter, much slower.
it’s fine, though, he didn’t mind. the slower that he fucked the pillow, the longer that he got to think about you. he squeezes the plush cushion around his cock, fucking into it slowly, just thinking about how much better it would be if it were your tight fist, your pretty wet mouth, your plush pretty thighs, your clenching walls. and then he heard a moan from beside him, violent and involuntary and he couldn’t fucking help himself.
you can’t either, driving your fingers into yourself as fast as you can, elbow hitting the wall, body shaking the bed, you don’t fucking care. you can’t say anything, no sound coming out of you, not because it doesn’t feel good, but because it feels too good to focus on anything else. the sound on the other side of the wall gets louder, more violent too, no longer soft hip raises, but harsh ones, bed moving against the wall.
and you’re so fucking glad that he’s lost the consideration that he found moments ago, because when he comes, he comes hard and loud and forceful.
and so do you.
/++/
“it’s just a practice game,” atsumu explains for maybe the 16th time on your way to the court. “and i don’t even know why you’re coming with me early, really, because you’re just going to be waiting around while we’re warming up.”
you don’t know why he keeps telling you these things. “tsumu, i know. you’ve told me a million times. i told you i wanted to walk with you so i would just wait around while you guys warm up.”
“yeah, no, i know,” atsumu says, rubbing his thumb over yours repeatedly as you approach the doors, “i’m sorry you couldn’t be here for an actual game, but this is better than nothing, i guess?”
“i want to see you play,” you say, genuinely, “and besides, it would be pretty rude of me not to show up when bokuto invited me specifically.”
atsumu scoffs. “well, practice is over after the game and we’re all probably going to get something to eat if you want to tag along.”
“oh, yea, no, bo already invited me,” you say.
“god, maybe date bokkun then,” atsumu says, pulling you closer.
you put your hand on his shoulder. “i’m trying, miya, i’m trying,” you say.
atsumu narrows his eyes, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss into your temple. “i’ll see you after the game.” he rushes off into another entrance to the gym. you enter through the main doors, follow up the stairs, and find a good seat in the front, not that there’s anyone around to block your view.
when bokuto sees you, he waves excitedly. from your place in the stands, looking down at him, you wave back. it’s a little bit smaller, a bit more timid. bokuto leans over to the short orange haired guy, who you now know is named hinata, standing next to him and whispers something to him. when he pulls away, hinata scans the stands. luckily for him, they’re all but empty now. he sends you a wave just as large as bokuto did. you send one back just as small as before.
atsumu jogs over to the two of them and says something that you obviously can’t make out, but you can see his body language, hands on his hips at first, chest leaning forward, talking with his hands. hinata and bokuto just laugh as the captain starts yelling at the three of them to start their warm ups.
as the warm up goes on, more people show up, trickling in one or two people at a time. there are only a handful of people in the stands when they start their practice game, some family members you’re sure, some fans, some girls, some friends.
no matter what they say, no one was going to convince you that practice games were taken as seriously as real games. you’re grateful for that. honestly, if atsumu was trying any harder, if his form was more perfect or if he was more focused, you’re not sure you could’ve handled that. you’re learning very quickly that, yes, it is possible to be more attracted to him.
but maybe this is more deadly, watching atsumu high five his teammates when he does something particularly cool and useful, or the lightness behind his eyes when he’s really happy with a set, or hearing him call out nicknames to his teammates as he passes the ball their way, or the fact that he gets to turn to you every time he scores a point with a huge grin on his face. the laid-backness of it all. the effortlessness.
you’ve watched the guys play volleyball plenty of times before. you know the moves, the terms, the strategies, and yet, watching atsumu play volleyball feels brand new. you get to see him in his element, get to see the whole thing that’s earned him “volleyball guy” title all while still recognizing this guy on the court so clearly.
the game finishes far too soon, bokuto spiking the winning point from a perfect miya atsumu set. atsumu can’t stop smiling, making his way around to his teammates and spouting some bullshit you’re sure. they shake hands with the other team, and then it’s all over. atsumu makes his way over to the bench, runs a towel over his face, drinks from his water bottle, and then starts chatting with sakusa about something in the game.
everyone else is leaving so you follow, but instead of walking with the handful of people out of the venue, you wait outside the gym doors. you pace around the spot next to the door, almost convincing yourself to leave when atsumu walks through the door, not paying any attention as he talks to bokuto. you throw yourself at him, jumping up and wrapping your arms around his neck.
“you were really good,” you say into his ear.
despite being caught off guard, he still holds you securely, one hand around your waist as he laughs and replies, “you think so?”
you drop back onto the ground, nodding. you turn your attention to bokuto, “oh my god, that was such a fun game.”
bokuto adjusts the bag on his shoulder as sakusa and hinata come out of the doors behind them. “tsumu usually doesnt try that hard at practice games, don’t let him fool you,” bokuto says as the five of you walk towards the exit.
“hey!” atsumu yells. “that’s definitely not true!”
a chorus of different variations of, “oh my god, yea it is.” and “it’s absolutely true.” erupt from his friends.
“i try my hardest every time,” atsumu says back and even you can tell that he’s lying.
“bullshit,” sakusa says, “i think, actually, you’ve said, ‘why would i try at practice when i already know i’m the best?’”
“no, i don’t think- i don’t think i said that,” atsumu shakes his head.
“are you kidding?” hinata says.
“the thing about context is…,” atsumu starts, but is cut off with groans and shut ups. all you can do is laugh, walking hand in hand with atsumu.
personally, you don’t mind one bit.
/++/
in the coming weeks, you and atsumu don’t have a single other encounter like you did that saturday night. honestly, nothing even close. you have nights that are similar to your friday night, cuddled in his bed, watching a movie, the two of you close, really close, but not close like that. maybe he’s as nervous as you are to mess up whatever this is. you’ve met his friends, watched him play volleyball, bonded with his brother. you were intertwined in his life like no one ever has been before. there was no alcohol to fuel the two of you, no liquid courage clouding your judgment, and so neither of you made any attempts. neither of you were ready to let go of everything you built together.
but things weren’t the same.
you promised the following weekend to maki and the next weekend to the guys as a whole and both weekends you were acutely aware of the lack of noises coming from atsumu’s room.
in fact, the longer that you think about it, other than that one night that you really tried to hear, you don’t really remember any night that you heard something from atsumu’s room. you’re back in your bed with plenty of time to not miss what might’ve happened. some nights you actually listen for it.
you hear him get back late, hear the door open and the lock click and you hear him shuffle into bed and that’s it. he’s coming back from parties alone and during the week and on weekend nights and you can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.
tonight, three weeks after the weekend you truly fell for miya atsumu, you’re coming back from maki’s pretty late and you catch him walking in with you. his elevator hits the floor just a second before yours, doors open seconds before yours, and he’s a few seconds in front of you. you jog to catch up with him in the hallway.
he looks incredible, because of course he does, and he smells nice, not too much like booze, and he slows his walk so that you can catch up with him when you call his name. you pull out your phone, connecting the dots in your head as you read the time, 1:49 am. he gets to his door first and waits in front of it. you pass him, waiting in front of your own.
“coming back from maki’s?” he asks, standing in front of his door, not making any moves to open it yet, assuming that he’s going to be talking to you for a few minutes.
“yeah, totally lost track of time, honestly. i don’t normally get back this late,” you reply.
“i know,” he laughs, leaning against his door.
“are you coming back from being out?” you reciprocate the question, ready to fire off an i know as well, not to prove something, just because you know.
he nods at you, “yup. i normally get back this late.”
“alone?” you ask, one eyebrow raised.
“what?” he asks back, plainly, monotonous if not just a bit curious.
“i mean, it’s been weeks, man,” you joke, “what’s wrong? not pulling or…?” you let the sentence trail off, but he doesn’t move to joke back or roll his eyes, not like you expect him to. instead, he almost flinches, tries to hide it maybe, but can’t because of the few beers that are still in his system.
“sorry?” he asks, wanting you to clarify again. he’s moved from leaning on the door, standing straight up in a way that might’ve intimidated you in the past.
“calm down,” you laugh, “i’m just fucking with you.”
“right, and it’s really funny,” he says, deadpanned, eyes squinted, head shaking the tiniest inch. he crosses his arms over one another.
you can’t hear an air of joking, but you’re so stunned that you don’t think it could be anything else. this has to just be a joke he’s taking too far. it has to be.
“come on, man, don’t blame me just because you can’t get me out of your head,” you say, forcing a laugh. you’re desperate to pull the two of you out of this.
“or is this just about you not having something to get off to at night?” he asks, ouch. his face is scrunched up in a way that you know that there’s no amount of joking or even apologizing that could bring you out of this.
you don’t really know what to think, what to do. you didn’t expect this from him, not anything like this. you weren’t even anxious after the joke had come out of your mouth, not like before, not after how he handled it before. you couldn’t have expected this from him. you’ve never gotten a response from him like this before.
“are you kidding?” you ask, heartbeat increasing, not because you’re nervous or because you’re flustered, but because you’re getting angry.
“what? you can say shitty things to me, but when i say shitty things to you, then it’s an issue?” he asks, tone dripping in venom.
“i made a fucking joke, you’re being an asshole,” you snap back. he doesn’t respond, only shakes his head, scoffs, so you push on, “what? no bullshit to say now?”
“fuck you, you’re the one that gets off to me fucking other people. is that really why you’re so concerned with me coming back alone?” he spits.
“fuck you, i was just fucking checking up on you,” you say, finger pointed in his face. your blood is boiling, face is hot, other hand forming a tight fist.
“fine, yea,” he says, pushing your hand out of his face, “check up on me tonight. lay in your little bed, finger yourself real good, and listen to me fuck somebody else.” ouch.
you’re quiet. you feel small again. “atsumu,” you say, voice much softer now, out of hurt or disbelief or remorse, you’re not even really sure. his tone stays the same, strong and lethal.
“no, no, i’ll really give you a show, don’t you worry,” he says, turning around to leave, keys thrusted back into his pocket, steps so heavy that you can feel them in your chest.
you go to say his name again, but you can’t get it out of your throat. instead, you’re stood there in front of the door, tears welling up in your eyes as you unlock your door. your hands won’t stop shaking, can barely get the key in the lock, can barely lock it on the other side.
you think about leaving, about calling maki, about just going over there, about chasing after him and stopping him, about finding him out wherever he is and being the girl that he brings home instead. but you don’t.
instead, you change into your pajamas and then sit on your bed, stomach a mess, mind that won’t stop racing, time that won’t stop moving. you don’t know why you’re just waiting, maybe because you can’t move. more likely it’s because you don’t want to believe it. you want to wait and wait until he comes back alone again.
that doesn’t happen.
you hear laughter outside of the door first, throat tight as the door unlocks. you hear the footsteps in his room. they don’t follow the outer perimeter, not like you got to, but even just knowing that someone else is in there right now is making you sick.
there’s no waiting, no foreplay, no hesitance. you hear the mattress on the other side of your wall, hear the bedframe’s initial thud. she’s giggling, saying his name, her voice sweet like honey in between breathy moans. you wonder if her head is on the pillow you’ve made a mess on.
you can hear him too, no lightness mirrored in his voice, it feels pointed. he’s louder than normal and you know that he’s following through on his promise of making a show for you.
“what? you don’t want to take it slow?” she asks. it’s quiet. the only reason you can even make it out is because of how close you are to the wall.
“speak up,” he says, demanding. you’re not sure he’s ever spoken like this to any of his hookups before. “can’t wait.” it’s all so short, so impersonal. her cut off, sharp intake is signal enough to you to know that he’s inside of her now and it’s even more gutting than you think it will be.
the thumping against your wall comes quickly, harsh, and you can hear how loud she is already. and even though he’s just told her to speak up, you’re really not sure that has anything to do with it. “fuck~ tsumu,” she cries. and the thumping slows.
“don’t call me that,” he grunts, “just my name is fine.” he’s not even trying to mask what’s happening, not that she would even know.
“oh,” she breathes, “sorry.”
the banging against your wall is still there, but it’s not as intentional now, distracted almost, picking up in tiny waves, but mostly irregular and hesitant until it slows completely. “fuck, i can’t do this.” it’s his voice that mutters these words. the thumping stops.
“did- did i do something wrong?” she asks and you almost feel bad that she’s been caught up in all of this.
“sorry, can you- can you just leave?”
she scoffs and it’s getting harder to hear her as she storms to the door, but you do catch her loud, “fucking asshole.”
he sits on the bed, back up against the wall, you assume, in the same position that you’re in but flipped and you feel close to him in some weird way, but you’re frozen again.
now what the fuck do you do.
( c'mon be honest, maki kiss got you fucked up? )
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Now that I had a moment to think about this- what the heck.
I’m so ready for the next chapter. Such a beautifully well done story and I love it so far.
