Ėā āøāø ā¶ summary: you were never good at saying how you feltāand neither was atsumu. but the love was always there, quiet and aching, in the way you almost reached for each other but never quite did.
āyou think coachāll still let me start if i show up late?ā suna asked you, monotone, eyes fixed ahead.
you snorted. ānot if he finds out you stopped for vending machine snacks again.ā
he gave a noncommittal shrug, tapping the volleyball against his hip. ācut me some slack. i just turned eighteen. feels like i should get a pass or something.ā
you rolled your eyes. āyeah, happy birthday, grandpa. we're all eighteen this year. it's not that deep.ā
he huffed a quiet laugh, gaze still on the hallway ahead. ālast year of high school, and weāre still running late to practice.ā
you grinned teasingly, ājust you, sunarin.ā
the gym wasnāt far now, the sound of drills and shouting teammates already bleeding into the hallway. then, without looking at you, he said itācasually, like it was just another update from class.
"atsumuās transferring back here.ā
you stopped walking mid-step, shoes skidding slightly against the hallway floor. āwhat?ā you asked, turning your head so quickly toward suna it made your hair shift over your shoulder.
but he didnāt repeat it right away. just kept casually spinning the volleyball in his hands like he hadnāt just dropped the most shocking news youād heard in years.
ānoāwait,ā you said again, voice a little breathless now. āare you serious?ā
you searched his face for any sign that he was joking. a smirk. a twitch in his eye. something. but there was nothingājust suna, as unreadable as ever, giving a lazy shrug like it wasnāt the one name you never thought youād hear again.
your heart was pounding. loud, quick, all-consuming.
atsumu was a memory youād tucked away so deeply you thought it couldnāt reach you anymore. a name that still made something shift in your chest. and nowāhe was coming back?
he tossed the volleyball up once, caught it again. āyeah. thought it was already going around. he's starting next week.ā
it had been years since you last saw himāback when you were both barely fifteen in the middle of junior high. he said goodbye outside your house, late in the evening. the streets were quiet, just the faint humming of the air. you still remembered the way he stood there under the dim porch light, his bag slung over one shoulder, eyes avoiding yours.
atsumu's voice had barely held steady when he said it, like each word scraped its way out of his throat. his fingers curled tightly into the hem of his hoodie, knuckles pale, like he was holding himself together with the smallest thread.
his eyes never really met yoursānot for long. they kept flicking to the side, then back again, like he couldnāt decide whether looking at you made it harder to leave or easier to pretend he could.
the streetlight outside your house flickered gently overhead, casting his face in dim amber. he looked older in that moment. not because of time, but because of everything he wasnāt saying.
his heart was thudding too loud in his chest. he wanted to tell you it wasnāt his choice. that he hated the idea of leaving. that every time he packed a bag or thought about his flight, it felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind.
āi didnāt wanna leave,ā he said quietly, almost like it was a secret. āit was justā¦ my momās job. she had to move to tokyo, so I had to go too.ā
and then he smiledātight, fleeting. not bright or cocky like usual, but small, like he was afraid that if he smiled any wider, itād shatter.
āiāll see ya, ākay?ā he said, voice barely steady. āpromise I wonāt forget, y/n. not ever.ā
he hesitated for just a second before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around youātight, like he didnāt want to let go. his chin brushed your shoulder, and you could feel the way he held his breath.
āi'll text you. or, likeā¦ send pictures or somethinā. i dunno.ā he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes earnest. āi'll keep in touch. i mean it.ā
and then he let goātoo soonāand took a step back, like staying any longer would make it even harder to leave.
he was gone. and at first, he triedātexts here and there, blurry pictures from tokyo, the occasional call late at night when he couldnāt sleep. you clung to those moments, tucked them away like little keepsakes.
but the messages grew farther apart. the calls stopped. life got louder. you were both just kids, and maybe thatās what growing up doesāit pulls people in different directions before they even realize it.
until one day, there was nothing. no calls. no letters. just silence. and with time, you started to believe that maybe he was never coming back.
and then, like a breath you didnāt know you were holdingāhe was there. a week later, just like suna had said, as if heād never really left.
it was early. the quiet hum of spring had just begun to slip in through the open windows, the scent of cherry blossoms faint in the breeze. your shoes tapped softly against the floor as you stepped inside, half-lost in thought. you enter the room without hesitation, making your way to your usual seat by the window.
as you settle in, you notice that suna isnāt in his seat beside yours. irritated, you grab your phone and quickly typeāwhere the hell are you? i thought we were supposed to come early, then sit back, waiting for his reply.
the room is quiet until a gentle laugh cuts through the silence.
it was the laugh youād known since you were little, in sun-warmed days playing tag in the park, scraped knees and shared popsicles, pinky promises made on random lazy summer afternoons. the same one that used to pull you by the wrist across the playground, that whispered youāre my favorite in a boyās clumsy wayāthrough laughter, and shared snacks, and sheltering you from the rain with a too-small umbrella.
you look up, startled, and there he is, already watching you from across the room.
miya atsumu
he looked the same. and he didnāt. he was taller now, with broader shoulders. his blonde hair still framed his face, and his uniform was worn in that casual, half-cared-for way. but it was his eyes that drew you ināsomething heavier, something older. they held a quiet intensity.
but the way he looked at youāgentle, surprised, as if he was seeing you for the first timeāmade his breath hitch for a moment. his eyes, focused and soft, took in every detail of how different you looked now. he noticed the way your hair now fell in waves, catching the light just so, and how your eyes looked like it could light up the entire world.
in that split second, atsumu thought none of the girls in tokyo, none of them, could come close, his lips parted, just slightly. he looked like he might say something.
ā....y/n?ā he called softly, uncertainty tinting his voice as if he werenāt sure the years had changed you both.
he took a step toward you. then another. and you thought youād forgotten the sound of his voice, but now that it filled the roomālow, a little raspier, softer than it used to beāyou knew you hadnāt.
not really.
ā'tsumu?ā you said, your voice softālike it might disappear if you spoke any louder.
āgod,ā he said, āyouāre really here.ā
the silence between you stretched, but not awkwardly. he looked at you like he was still piecing you back together from memory, and you looked at him like you were afraid to blink in case he disappeared again.
āyouāveā¦changed,ā you murmured, eyes tracing the slope of his jaw, the line of his mouth.
he shrugged, then rubbed the back of his neckāboyish, sheepish, but his eyes never left yours. āyou havenāt. not really.ā
you smiled, and it hit him all at onceāhow much he missed that smile, how many nights heād spent regretting the space that had grown between you. guilt settled quiet in his chest, and he wondered if you were angry with him. if he even had the right to miss you this much. and for a brief second, he found himself thinking if the two of you could ever find your way back to how it used to beābefore the distance, before he left.
but whatever he was about to say got lost the moment another voice chimed in behind you.
āthere you are!ā osamu popped in first, eyes lighting up the second he saw you. āholy shit, i knew it! it was you!ā he grinned, barely giving you time to react before he threw an arm around your shoulders, hugging you tight like you were still in junior high. āyou havenāt changed one bit,ā he laughed, pulling back just enough to look at you.
āspeak for yourself,ā you teased, smiling up at him.
then came suna, hands in his pockets. āyou look the same, but less angry,ā he said casually, lips twitching in the closest thing to a smile.
you gave him a look. āthis why you ignored my text?ā
he shrugged, sliding into the seat beside you. āfigured youād find me eventually.ā
āyeah? next time we make a plan, iām ditching you first,ā you muttered, nudging him lightly with your foot under the desk.
osamu chuckled as he leaned against your desk. āsome things never change.ā
ālike you being late?ā you shot back.
āhey, at least i brought onigiris this time.ā
atsumu hadnāt said a word, but somewhere in between the teasing, heād moved closer. now, he stood just beside youāquiet, lingeringālike something in him had been pulled there before he could think twice. it had been years, but standing next to you again made it feel like no time had passed at all. like if he reached out just a little, you might lean into him the way you used to.
he didnāt, though. instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets, let his arms barely brush your shoulder, and said, ājeez, youāre still short. thought you wouldāve grown a little by now.ā
he let out a soft chuckle, eyes flicking down to you. you could tell he was tryingāsoftening the edges, reaching out in his own awkward wayāand so you tried too.
you glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. āyouāre just freakishly tall 'tsumu,ā you said. āitās not my fault you hit a second growth spurt or whatever.ā the words came easier than you thought they would. like muscle memory. like maybe this didnāt have to be as hard as you feared.
atsumu's shoulders eased, just a bit. he thought maybe you werenāt mad after all. maybe this could still be okay. and when you let out a small laughābarely more than a breath, but realāand flashed him that same smile he used to see after long practices and stupid jokes, it hit him, soft and suddenāthis was home. it always had been. wherever you were.
then, in between moments, the bell rang sharp, but not enough to break the feeling entirely. footsteps echoed into the room as more students trickled in, voices rising, chairs scraping against the floor. the teacher entered not long after, calling for everyone to return to their seats.
atsumu lingered for a second longer, then nudged your head gently with his elbow. āsee ya later,ā he said, tone light, almost too casual.
osamu gave suna a small nod. ādonāt fall asleep in the first ten minutes.ā
they both turnedāand while osamu crossed the room, atsumu circled behind you.
you didnāt turn to look, but you felt it anywayāthe way the air shifted as he sat in his chair just behind yours, of course he did. that was always his seat. still is. and somehow, that small familiarity felt louder now than it used to.
you pressed your pen to the page a little harder than necessary. he was right there. this was going to be distracting. you werenāt even sure why it got to youājust that it did. that he was close enough for you to hear the way he exhaled, the soft scrape of his chair against the floor. that if you leaned back even slightly, you might hear him humming under his breath like he used to.
time blurred after that. one class bled into the nextānotes scribbled half-heartedly, lessons that barely registered. your pen hovered over your notebook, unmoving, eyes flicking toward the window, and then backābecause you could feel it. that quiet, burning stare.
he was seated just behind you. too close. or maybe not close enough. his presence folded into the edge of your awareness like static, never fully gone. always there.
atsumu stretched once, and the motion behind you was slow, languid. a little exaggerated, a little too casual. you felt the back of his shoe nudge the leg of your chair when he settled again, not hard, just enough to make you glance over your shoulder. you didnāt. but he knew you felt it.
the teacherās voice faded in and out, words smearing into the background. when he answered a question, his voice came from just behind your earālow, raspy, but quite soft, like sleep hadnāt left it yet. you didnāt mean to notice it. didnāt want to. but it slipped in anyway, warm and steady. it didnāt matter what he said. it was the sound of it. the way it got to you.
you kept your eyes on the board, but the paper beneath your hand stayed mostly blank. a few scattered notes. a sketch in the margin you didnāt remember starting. you were half-listening, half-drifting, when you felt him lean forward.
āwhat was the thing the teacher said earlier? somethinā about that definition?ā
you blinked down at your notes. āwhich one?ā
ādunno. you wrote it down, right?ā
You hesitated, glancing toward the half-finished sentence on your page. the question wasnāt realānot really. he wasnāt looking for an answer. he was looking for a reason.
āyou could just listen for once."
you dipped your head slightly, lips tugging into a smile before you could stop it.
āyeah, but then i wouldnāt get to bother ya.ā
he let out a faint sound, something like a breath of amusement, like he was smiling into his hand. you didnāt look back, but you could feel itāhis grin, lazy and crooked and far too pleased with himself.
you didnāt turn, just kept your eyes on your notebook. āyou gonna keep staring while you do it?ā
there was a soft shift behind youāthe creak of his chair, the faint rustle of fabric as he leaned forward just enough for his presence to press closer.
ācan't help it,ā he murmured, and you swore you could feel the curve of a smile in his voiceāquiet, a little tired, like it slipped out without thinking.
you told yourself not to read into it. it was just a line. just him being him. still, your grip on your pen tightened, and you had to blink down at your page like it could ground you. first day back and he was already getting to you.
then the final bell dragged itself through the halls like a tired breath. you packed your things slowly, letting the weight of the afternoon settle into your shoulders.
beside you, suna stretched in his seat, back cracking faintly as he let out a quiet sigh. the scrape of a chair. the rustle of bags.
osamu wandered over, dropping his bag beside sunaās desk with a thud. ācoachās gonna go hard today, huh.ā
suna snorted. āyeah, well, itās your fault for skipping practice for three years.ā
ānot my fault we had that whole tokyo thing,ā osamu muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
āyou and atsumu both,ā suna said. āhope you like serving drills. youāre gonna be doing them for the rest of the week.ā
atsumu leaned back in his chair behind you, legs stretched out, arms crossed over his chest like he had something to prove. ātry me, iāll still ace every serve,ā he said, all confidence, even if it wavered just a little.
osamu gave him a look. āyou were complaining about it all lunch.ā
āyeah, well. not in front of suna.ā
suna rolled his eyes, and you kept your head down, slipping your notebooks into your bag. quiet, careful, like you werenāt listeningābut you were.
you were halfway through packing your things, slipping your notebook into your bag while the boys were still talkingāhalf banter, half complaint. suna said something under his breath that made osamu scoff, and atsumu laughed a little too loud, the sound stretching into the space behind you.
you didnāt look back, but you could feel him glance your way. once. then again. like he was waiting for somethingāor maybe just working up to it.
āyou cominā to watch practice?ā
you blinked, unsure if he was talking to you. your hands hovered over your bag, halfway zipped. the question hung there for a moment, light but deliberate. you glanced over your shoulder.
he was looking at you nowāeyes steady, a little too focused for something that was supposed to be casual. and so were suna and osamuāconversations fading, the room dipping into a pause. all three of them watching, like the question needed an answer.
you didnāt say anything at first. just nodded to yourself a little, like you were still thinking about it.
āā¦dunno,ā you said eventually, softer than you meant to.
āshe never misses,ā suna said, deadpan, already slinging his bag over his shoulder.
you shook your head, smile tugging at your lips. ādo you memorize everyoneās schedule or just mine?ā
suna didnāt miss a beat. ājust yours,ā he said flatly, nudging your desk lightly with his foot as he stood. āgotta keep an eye on our number one fan.ā
osamu snorted as he got to his feet, and atsumu was rubbing the back of his neck, trying (and failing) to hide a grin.
atsumu huffed. āweāre headinā now. you should come.ā
you hesitated. āi gotta drop something off with the teacher.ā
he gave a small nod, like he didnāt want to make a thing of it. āalright. see ya there, then.ā
they left together, voices fading into the hallway.
once they were gone, the room felt quieter somehow. still full of leftover noiseāchairs askew, papers rustlingābut without them, it settled into something gentler. something easier to breathe in.
you took your time packing the last of your things, then made your way to the front to drop off a paper with the teacher. your footsteps were unhurried, almost quiet. no real reason to rush.
instead of heading straight to the gym, you circled around the courtyard, taking the long way on purpose. the breeze brushed your face, the late afternoon sun soft against your skin. it wasnāt about avoiding them, not exactlyāit was justā¦ everything had felt a little too much all at once.
you lingered at the hallway corner, just outside the gym doors, fingers curled loosely around the strap of your bag. there were voices inside alreadyāshoes squeaking on the polished floor, a whistle cutting through the air.
and then you stepped in.
the sharp thud of volleyballs hitting the court greets you first, followed by the low calls of names, the rhythm of feet against wood. theyāre already warming upāspikes on one side, serves on the other. your eyes instinctively search for suna, and you find him crouched near the net, focused and loose-limbed, his movements precise.
but itās the opposite end of the court that holds you still.
atsumu stands at the service line, a ball in hand, his body already in motion. you catch the fluid arc of his arm, the way his form slices through the air with such practiced grace that it almost looks like muscle memory brought to life.
then the ball sails.
it spinsāfast, controlled, almost cruel in the way it dips just before the line. a perfect serve.
you donāt realize youāve stopped walking until heās already lining up another.
he looks up. his gaze catches yours.
and itāsā¦ steady. not surprised, not sharp like before, but something softerāopen, maybe. the edges of him arenāt as guarded now. he holds your gaze even as he tosses the next ball, his eyes never wavering until the last second, when instinct takes over and he strikes.
this one lands just inside the corner, making even osamu whistle low from the sidelines.
you shift your weight, unsure of what to do with the heat blooming behind your chest.
suna glances over and gives you a slight nod, as if to say you saw that too, huh? you manage a small smile, one that falters when you look back at atsumuāwhoās still watching you, even as osamu tosses him another ball.
thereās something unreadable in his expression. not arrogance, not pride. just a quiet hope.
you sit where you usually do, just beside the gym wall. a little removed, a little safe. suna jogs over on a water break and tosses you a bottle he probably stole from someoneās bag.
āyou made it,ā he says, voice low and dry.
you nod. ālong practice?ā
ācoach is squeezing blood out of us before prelims.ā he leans against the wall, brushing sweat from his temple. āheās serious about nationals this year.ā
you hum in response, eyes drifting back toward the court.
atsumuās still at the service line, though this time, itās osamu who steps beside him, saying something only the two of them can hear. atsumuās mouth pulls into a crooked grin before he sends another serve flying.
when it hits the court, it echoes.
a few minutes pass, filled with the steady rhythm of shoes squeaking and balls thudding against the court. The gym hums with effort, voices rising and falling as drills wind down. when the whistle blows for a break, the players scatterāsome toward their water bottles, others to the benches lined along the wall.
atsumu makes his way toward you, towel slung around his neck, sweat glinting at his temples. you donāt look up right away, too focused on the notebook in your lap, the corners curled from how tightly youāve been holding it. it's only when his shadow stretches over the page that you glance up.
āoh,ā you say, blinking. ādidn't realize your stuff was here.ā
he doesnāt answer right away, just drops down beside you with a soft exhale, the kind that comes after a training that steals breath but feels good in the chest.
you give him a sidelong look, then smile a little.
āyou're serving really well today, 'tsumu.ā
he pauses, mid-reach for his water bottle, and for a second, something flickers behind his eyes. he masks it quicklyātilting his head, smirking like itās nothingābut inside, the words ring louder than the ball had when it smacked the court earlier.
āyeah?ā he says, casual, wiping his neck with the towel.
you hum in agreement, eyes already drifting back to the court, unaware of how the praise has settled in him.
he chuckles, quiet but real, gaze still lingering on you.
āguess itās ācause youāre watchinā.ā
the words come softer than his usual teasingālighter, but not a joke. and for once, he doesnāt try to cover it up.
you glance at him, but heās already looking away, pretending to be more focused on the court than he is. but you can see itāthe way his mouth almost twitches into a smile, like he knows exactly what heās doing.
thereās a beat of quiet, stretched just long enough to feel like it matters.
āthat place we used to go to after practice,ā he says, voice casual, like itās nothing. āit still around?ā
you nod slowly, zipping up your jacket halfway. āyeah. still there.ā
he reaches for his water bottle, then turns back to you with a look that doesnāt quite match the lightness in his toneāsomething steadier, warmer, a little more certain than before.
āwanna go after this?ā
you pause, caught off guard in that quiet, fluttering kind of way. itās not a big moment. heās not making it one. and maybe thatās what makes it feel like one anyway.
you smileāsoft, barely there, but genuine. āyeah. sure.ā
he doesnāt say anything else, just nods once and turns back toward the court. but the expression on his face lingers like an echo, tucked between something fond and something hopeful.
and for a second, it sits with youāsettles in, quiet and familiar, like something you almost forgot the shape of. not just the question, but everything behind it. the ease of old routines. the echo of afternoons spent in the same spots, sharing food and stories and laughter that spilled too easily.
you donāt breathe too hard around it, afraid it might break the spell. because itās been years, and still, somehow, it feels the same. and maybe, just maybe, it always will.
Ėā āøāø ā¶ tags: bestfriend!atsumu, sfw, one-sided pining, fluff, unrequited love, hurt, slight(?) angst, slow burn(?), not happy ending (room for part two), lots of unsaid feelings, regret, reader is an airhead, pre-time skip to post-time skip, contains manga spoilers.
Ėā āøāø ā¶ word count: 1.5k+
Ėā āøāø ā¶ notes: been listening to taylor swiftās folklore and evermore a lot lately that i got so motivated and inspired to write again after three(?) years so this fic is dedicated to her <3
youāve always seen him as your best friend. you and atsumu go way back to when you were in high school. the two of you were classmates, being coincidentally placed in the same section in your last year at inarizaki. you were sat next to him as you both have surnames starting with the same letter (because, of course, your professor wanted you to be alphabetically arranged), and eventually becoming best friends with him and his circle of friends (mainly his twin brother and suna, and the inarizaki menās volleyball team).
he always wants you to come along when the group goes out together (with you being a massive lazy person preferring to go home). heād be dramatic about it. heāll make that stupid face with a pout, fake-cry, and would pleadābeg even, and told you, āhow ābout this, iāll go with ya to your house and leave that damned bike of yours, then come ride with me. i have plenty of space here in front for ya, hmm?ā, then you think about it.
you didnāt seem to notice how atsumu held his breath in that moment as his nails dug through his palms, raking his brain for lost prayers and thought, āplease, please, please, say yes.ā atsumu looks at you in suspense waiting for your answer, ājust this one time,ā he follows. though thatās not true. heād beg for you to come every single time if heāll have to.
seconds go by, then a minute or two, and you finally said, āfine, but i donāt want to hear you complaining that youāre tired ātsumu.ā his grin broke out and his arms were suddenly around youāspinning youālike a scene straight out of a movie. atsumu puts you down and ruffles your hair, ācāmon, whatācha waiting for?ā while wearing the brightest smile youāve ever seen on him.
time flies when youāre having fun, people say, because the sky is dark and stars are out and atsumu told your friends he would bring you home and for them to go on without the both of you. so for now, itās just you and him riding through the country lanes.
the night is quiet, calming, and serene, neither the two of you talked as you pass the plains of hyogo illuminated under moonlight. you were tired, exhausted, choosing to rest in between his arms as your back pressed against his chest, and atsumu thanks the heavens that youāre tired, because if you werenāt, then you would notice how fast his heart is beating, how his breath trembles, and how his lips slightly quiverāall of that from just being close in proximity with you. so when atsumu finally got home he went straight to his room and laid on his bed. he closed his eyes and hoped, wished, and prayed that he could forever live in that perfect moment in time.
but then youāve always seen him as your best friend, even now when heās a pro-player for the MSBY black jackals. atsumu invited you to an after-game party the team would throw when they won, and besides, his teammates were dying to meet the girl atsumu was always talking about.
āyaā ready to come in?ā atsumu asked, waiting for you to nod before he opened the door to bokutoās penthouseāthe host for tonight.
ādonāt shake omi-kunās hand, heās a germaphobe and would leave you hanging,ā he tells you as you both navigated the crowd with his hands placed at your backānot wanting you to get strayed from him. he leans in again towards your ear so that the music wouldnāt drown out his words, āignore both hinata and bokuto when theyāre trying to pull you in to their antics,ā he pulls away and you laugh.
āyouāre mean ātsumu,ā you say as you lightly slap his arm.
āiām serious,ā he stated before he finally spots them at the second floor railings above the mezzanine. he guided you up the stairs to where his teammates were and introduces you as his best friend, trying not to frown at the word because it reminded him of his place in your life. though, he knows itās his fault for being too scared to confess, scared you donāt feel the same, but at same time scared that you like him too because if the two of you ever got in a relationship and break up, heāll lose you forever, so he continues to choose the path in which youāll always be with him.
atsumu stayed by your side for the entirety of the party. he would always make sure to include you in the conversations and in the photographs being taken. heād notice when you were being quiet and would ask if youāre tired and would want to call it a night. you shake your head and smile, and heād put his arms over your shoulder and pulls you towards him, making sure youāre comfortable and never feeling left out.
and after the party atsumu made sure to bring you home safely to your apartment. he walks you up to your door; the both of you drunkenly laughing in the late hours of the night as you recall highlights of earlierās event. you reach your steps and he stands right in front of you at your apartment door. atsumu stills for a second, eyes hazy with a lopsided smile, āwhat?ā you ask dragging the word, and he just shakes his head and pulls you in for a tight embrace. atsumu kisses your foreheadālike he always does when parting ways with youāand his lips linger a little, breathing you in at the same time. āshe smells so goodā thatās what he thought. you were filling him in every sense that he almost says those three words, thinking this is the perfect time while youāre there in his arms. but you spoke out, ātake care when you drive home ātsumu,ā so he steps back and smiles, āi will.ā
you come inside and close your door just as he starts his car engine. atsumu sighs frustratedly and runs his hands through his hair, wondering when will he ever have the courage to tell you face-to-face, so instead he honked his horn three times before drivingāsignifying the unsaid words that hang from his lips.
and after all that youāve always seen him as your best friend. even when he pulls up at your office building post-practice on valentines day. he told you through text that he wants to eat at osamuās onigiri miya, āmy treatā, he said and would fetch you after work.
you got in his car and sat at the passenger seat, making yourself comfortable as you greeted him in all smiles, āhappy valentines!ā you say and he returned your greeting, āyerā gifts in the console,ā he said while driving, and as expected, it was your favorite starbucks drink. he would buy that for you every valentines day since the day you met him, ācasual giftā, thatās what he always told you. but then heād buy you a thousand roses if the circumstances were different.
ālike clockwork ātsumu,ā you smiled and kissed him on the cheek, āand thatās my gift for you.ā
he lets out a chuckle as an attempt to cover up the change in his tone, how hard his grip was on the steering wheel, how his vision seems to blur, or how everything ceased to exist except for the ghost of your lips on his skin. you do this every damn valentineās after he gives you your drink. he thought he came prepared, but no, because he realized itāll always hit him like the first time.
and when he was finally eating osamuās famous onigiri he steals a look at you, thinking that he wouldnāt spend valentines day any other way, though it will be a million times better if this isnāt just casual.
but something changed that day and it strikes you without warning as you laid in bedāsleep not dawning even when itās way past twelve. you ask yourself, āhave i only seen him as my best friend?ā you thought about everything atsumu has ever done for you, how he treats you differently compared to other people, how his eyes light up brighter for you, smiles wider for you, and his mood seems happier for you. his lingering hugs, longing stares, hell, his ācasualā gifts holds all the answers.
so now gone are the days when youāve only seen atsumu as your best friend, eight years after you first met him. youāre in the crowd of his gameājapan vs argentinaāwith atsumu playing for the national olympic team. heās a monster in court and youāre left blown away for every set or serve that he does, and even with all of that, he never fails to spot you amidst the thousands of people watching him. so when the game was finally over you ran to him and he picked you right up and spun you aroundājust like when you were back in high school.
āiām so proud of you ātsumu,ā you whispered.
āi wouldnāt be here without yaā.ā
but you couldnāt prepare yourself for the ache that would come a week after as he introduces you to a girl, āwe just started dating,ā he said. atsumu has never told you about a girl before and him presenting her before you means that this really might be something. you put up a smile, though it doesnāt reach your eyesāyour heart feeling like itās being ripped a million little times.
āare we just meant to best friends?ā, you ask yourself, wishing you had realized earlier back in time how atsumu felt, silently mourning what the two of you couldāve been.
bestfriend!atsumu who gives you his hoodie whenever youāre cold. you're sitting down next to him at lunch, wrapping your arms around yourself, gritting your teeth to keep some sort of body warmth. atsumu's busy chatting with aran, but then you poke him n you ask him with a whisper- āhey do you have your hoodie with you by any chance? im kinda freezing my ass off here.'
bestfriend!atsumu who initially doesn't think anything of it; his friend is cold n he's pretty sure he shoved his hoodie in his locker from morning training so its not a problem. so he nods, n goes to get it for you, laughing at the way you snatch it out of his hands. but the laughter dies in his throat as he watches you pull it over yourself, a warmth growing in his chest as you cuddle up in the thick hoodie, fisting your hands in the slightly too long sleeves with a sigh.
bestfriend!atsumu who's trying to remember how to breath after you thank him, commenting how it's really comfy and smells like him. he's still in a daze, sitting in the classroom staring at nothing, just realising how good you look in his clothes, wanting to see you in them all the time.
bestfriend!atsumu who now keeps an extra hoodie in his locker all the time, hoping that you ask him to borrow it again- praying that you'll wear it everywhere you go because then people know that you are his. maybe not officially, but there's always a first step.
hey i saw your post on being stressed out over med school and family expectations and i just wanted to say i feel you.. it's been hard hasn't it
i havenāt opened tumblr in ages and i saw this just now and my feelings for med school still hasnāt changed. itās still stressful and time-consuming and really really hard. but right now iāve made it to third year, and iām so proud of myself. taking a breather has never failed to help me. you can do it!
i wrote a fic inspired from something that happened to me irl in which a girl classmate touched my face because i asked her how they did their return demo (a type of practical exam in healthcare majors) and she performed it on me and her hands were so soft and they smelled so good and i SWEAR i was entranced i got lost in the moment and i never forgot that and she was so pretty :<
to oikawa hoes out there, watch kimi ni todoke. the male lead has the same va as oikawa and he's got a very cute laugh and idk i'm addicted to it because it's like hearing oikawa, like it's oikawa but in a shoujo anime, and the guy is really really sweet.
when you are the first-born in an asian family and they're pressuring u to go to med schoolāno nursing school is killing me at this point i don't even know if i'll make it out alive.
perfect union ;
Ā pairing: atsumu miya x f!reader
Ā warnings: cursing, explicit nsfw content (towards the end, easily skippable)
Ā summary: (slight college!au) ā five times atsumu suggested getting married + the one time he actually proposes.
Ā authorās notes: ngl, this was a little rushed, but i really wanted to get this out & iām happy with how some scenes came out and i hope youāll like it too!!! <3 a little bit fluffier than what i normally do, but here we are hehe
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