exhusband!atsumu doesn't really understand the whole "divorced" thing.
granted, it wasn't really over anything he did, but rather, the things he didn't do. the distance proved to be much more difficult than you ever could have imagined. weeks away at training camps, only to be followed by months away at tournaments. every spare moment he had that wasn't dedicated to the game was devoted to commercials, sponsorships, interviews, charity events. the list felt endless.
you tried to be understanding. really you did. but the quiet nights alone, the dinner he promised he'd be home for going cold in front of you, birthdays spent alone with just a phone call, his voice cutting in and out between airports, the countless holidays you'd spent explaining to your family that he "really wanted to be here."
you'd served him the papers, all tucked neatly in a cream manila folder, on a rainy afternoon. you watched as he read them over once, twice, three times before placing them back inside and walking to the bathroom.
"'tsumu, we have to talk about this," you sigh, leaned against the door of the bathroom as you listen to the shower run for what feels like hours.
"talk 'bout what?" to your surprise, his voice sounds bright, even through the rush of the water. he's thankful you can't see the way his tears mix with the droplets that slide down his face. even still, he puts on a cheerful tone. for your sake. "i'll be out in a second, hun. go 'head and get comfy!"
days pass by like this, with atsumu evading the topic like the plague every time you bring it up. the word makes his skin crawl. divorce? the thought of being without you feels like some horrific alternate reality, yet here he is, living through it.
when you'd showed him the papers, he swears his heart sinks through the floor. he hadn't realized just how alone you'd been feeling, and now you're telling him that you'd practically be better off without him?
all he does is think about you when he's away. if you've eaten, how you've slept, if you're aching to be with him just as much as he was you. he hasn't even told you the amount of times he's booked a last minute flight back home to you, nothing but a frantically filled backpack over his shoulder, only to be stopped by his manager or his coach telling him that he'll be letting down the fans, letting down the team if he ditches them like this.
he's had so much pressure on his shoulders. people constantly telling him to do more, be more. more more more. that he hadn't realized he'd given up so much of himself to others until there was nothing left for you.
then you'd handed him those goddamn papers.
and atsumu decides, then and there, that he's going to change your mind. no matter what it takes. fuck the team. fuck the brand deals. fuck it all. because if it isn't you, it isn't anyone.
suddenly, atsumu's home 24/7. he's there when you leave for work and, for the first time in what feels like forever, he's still there when you get back. he wakes up early to pack your lunches. he does the laundry, folding the clothes just the way you like them.
he leaves notes everywhere, messy pen scrawled on sticky notes sporadically placed in the areas of the house he knows you'll look. have a good day, beautiful! and got you a new toothbrush! it's next to mine :) and leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry! and i miss you's and i love you's galore. thinking maybe, just maybe, if he can make up for all the time he'd wasted away from you, that you might find your way back to him.
but when he returns home from a grocery run, he immediately notices something is very wrong.
there's an emptiness to the space that wasn't there when he left. he drops the bags, cans rolling onto the floor, and rushes to the bedroom. all your stuff; clothes, pictures, little trinkets he used to tease you for keeping â everything, all gone. the closet door hangs open, the empty hangers inside taunting him. the bathroom counter is nearly spotless, cleared of your perfumes, skincare, hair ties.
his heart's pounding so hard he thinks he might throw up, knees going weak when he finally catches sight of your wedding picture, the only frame you'd left behind, laid face-down on the dresser. a small note stuck to the back of it.
he grabs it with shaking hands, reading the short, careful writing.
please don't follow me. i can't do this anymore.
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