i hope the eclipse makes a comeback soon. i love that smau so much i keep rereading it every once in a week❤️ your writing is absolutely amazing.
Aww thank you ^^
I wasn't sure anyone still cared about it lol
I'm getting crushed by uni work rn and probably will be until the end of the semester, but I'll try to post a little anyway <33 (I can't wait to graduate aaaaah)
Also I've been struggling to write cause it feels like the world is on fire but yeah
Atsumu Miya is not as smooth as he thinks he is. The first time he realizes this is when you two meet. You’d just started working at Osamu’s shop, waitressing during the day.
He was pestering Osamu about naming a dish after him when you walk over, polite smile on your face. It’s the softest, prettiest smile he’s ever seen, and he immediately loses everything he was saying, argument instantly dying on his tongue.
Osamu raises an eyebrow at his twins sudden silence, turning to look at you. “Oh, this is y/n, my new waitress”
The blonde doesn’t say anything at first, just sits there staring at you with wide, unblinking eyes. His face feels warm, words suddenly failing him. Osamu scowls, smacking him in the back of the head, “Don’t be a rude, say hello!”
The antics make you giggle and Atsumu knows he’s screwed, he’s never heard something so sweet. He puts on his best charming smile, “Hey there”, he practically purrs. Osamu rolls his eyes.
You smile shyly, cheeks warming up ever so slightly, “Hello”. You move to place a water down in front of him and he reaches out at the same time, trying to help. Instead, he moves too quickly and knocks the glass right out of your hand. In an instant, your pants are soaked.
The three of you stand there in shocked silence for a second, Osamu the first to react. He instantly starts berating his brother, frantically handing you the towel on his shoulder.
Atsumu’s red in the face, frantically babbling out apologies and trying to clean the water off the table. Any and all charm he’s ever had is quickly dwindling away, he feels like a fucking mess.
He leaves immediately after cleaning the mess, tossing you a quick bow and apology. He avoids the restaurant for a solid week after the mess.
The second time he recognizes his true lack of game is when he happens to run into you at the grocery store.
You’re browsing around, tote bag in hand, when you both end up in the egg section. He notices you right away, straightening up and trying to act like a man who didn’t absolutely embarrass himself the last time you met.
Second time’s the charm he tells himself, “Hey” he greets, with a confident grin.
You glance up at him, warm smile on your face, “Oh hey”
“You followin me around?” he teases, eyebrow playfully quirked.
You scrunch your nose at the awful attempt at flirting but can’t help the smile that follows, “That the best you got?”
His cheeks heat up, clearing his throat and forcing out an awkward laugh, “Sorry i’m not normally this.. weird. I’m usually way more charmin, promise”
This pulls a genuine laugh out of you, one he thinks he could never get tired of hearing. You make him feel dumb, like he’s never spoken to a woman before. He wonders if you can tell. He watches as you reach for eggs.
“Oh, let me!” he quickly says, grabbing the carton. If the universe hates him, it decides that now is the time to show him. He goes to hand you the carton and it practically crumbles in his hand.
He stares down in horror at the shattered eggs and your now dirty shoes. The silence that follows is deafening. Neither of you react, simply staring at the mess. You’re torn between laughing and sparing his dignity, he’s just deciding whether he should run into oncoming traffic or not.
“You’re real clumsy, aren’t you?” you finally say, amused smile playing at your lips.
He finds himself at Osamu’s apartment later that night, retelling the story and cringing at himself, “I don’t know, she just makes my brain feel all fuzzy and stupid!”
“No” his twin quickly corrects, “ya really are just that fuckin stupid”.
Atsumu lets out a big groan, sinking deeper into his seat until he’s slumped onto the kitchen table, arms hanging off the edge, “She hates me, she’s gotta”
Samu rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue as he shoves a small glass of water towards the sulking blonde, “She don’t hate ya, she was jus askin about ya actually”
Atsumu’s head immediately shoot’s up, eyes blown wild, “when?!” he asks quickly.
“Yesterday”, Osamu mischievously grins, “She asked if you were dropped as a baby”
The blondes face immediately falls and Osamu bursts out laughing. Atsumu groans, gently banging his head on the table while his brother cackles over his misfortune.
The last time, the time he truly accepts it for what it is, is when you make the first move.
You’re standing in front of him, cheeks burning, nervously playing with your fingers. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights, mouth agape.
“So… is that a no?” you ask quietly.
He quickly perks up, “No! I mean, yeah, not no”
You just blink at him. He feels stupid again. He takes a deep breath, finally deciding that he’s got no dignity left anyways, “yes” he says firmly, “I’d love to go get coffee”
You let out a little sigh, finally relaxing your shoulders. He doesn’t know which is more surprising, the fact that you asked him out after everything or the fact that you actually seemed nervous about it.
“Just promise me one thing?”, you suddenly say, eyes glimmering.
He thinks he’d promise you anything, as long as you kept looking at him like that. Instead he simply says, “yeah?”
“Don’t spill anything on me”
His cringes, covering his face and groaning loudly as you laugh, beautiful and bright. Despite wanting to crawl in a hole, he can’t help but smile at your laughter.
Atsumu Miya is nowhere near as smooth as he thinks he is, but with you, somehow it still works out for him.
————————————————————————
A/N: this was a looooot better in my head lol. I just wanted to get the idea out before I forgot it !
there is no one she hates more than miya atsumu, and no one that can make her feel bad for what she’s doing to him
tags/warnings: enemies to lovers, office au/coworkers, workplace bullying, cyberbullying, catfishing, mention of suicidal ideation, hookups/brief smut, unreliable narrator, yn is a loser, atsumu is a dick, yn has body image issues but nothing specific, unhappy ending, takes place in 2007, angst, everyone will probably be out of character, no one here is a good person, mdni
an: i wrote this in a possessed frenzy with no idea if it's actually any good or not. i loved writing this. i have not loved writing something this much in a while so i hope you enjoy <3
word count: 7k
Her life is boring, monotonous.
She stands outside the imposing office building in which she works her tiresome, repetitive job, and watches with a cigarette in hand as people pass her by. Her life is boring, monotonous, but this is one of its perks. The old women who walk by with full bags of groceries, green onions poking out holes they tore in the plastic. The high school boys who skipped out on school to push each other around on the sidewalk and laugh as if they’re the only ones there. The busybodies running errands for bosses they hate. The recently heartbroken. The ones madly in love. She gets to see them all, sitting on her perch.
She has this thing about people, about watching them. They’re easier to observe than they are to interact with, and they’re more interesting that way too. She likes the faces they make when they think no one can see and the way they talk to each other and mumble to themselves, even if it's just for a fleeting moment as they pass her by.
Because it’s like, for a moment, she can look at someone as they walk by, and she can imagine that their life is hers. Like, for a moment, she can look at someone, and know what it feels like to be them. As she flicks the end of her cigarette and leans against the concrete base of the building, she can pretend to be someone else.
And then, her lunch break ends, and she has to go back to her tiresome, repetitive job.
A tingle runs down her spine, and she shoots up straight. And then, she hears his voice in her ear. “Baby, please don't tell me you’re not done with that report yet.”
She whirls around her in her chair, abruptly ripping her attention away from the report she had been agonizing over. Leaned down to her level, is a pair of annoying, sparkling eyes and a grin that makes her skin prickle with irritation. Without realizing it, her lip furls up in disgust. He has that effect on her.
More than she feels anything else, she hates Miya Atsumu. She hates everything about him that there is to hate, from his cockiness to his slacked posture to the way that he just can’t seem to fail. She hates how he speaks and she especially hates how he speaks to her.
He straightens out, and looks down on her like he’s meant to. “I really need that by the end of the day,” he tells her. “So I guess it’s a good thing I know you don’t have any plans tonight.”
Heat rushes to her cheeks. This is how he humiliates her. In small, subtle ways that are easy to get away with. She figures, at this point, she should’ve gotten used to it by now, but there’s no getting used to someone like Atsumu.
Her jaw locks and her teeth grind together. “I’ll get it to you before the end of the day, okay? So don’t worry about it,” she says, and turns back around in her chair to face her work again, hoping that will mark the end of it.
But he lingers, hands in his pockets and rocking on the back of his heels. “Man, your work ethic is so admirable. This is why I love boring girls like you.”
Her fingers hover over her keyboard. One twitches, but she doesn’t type anything. In her head, she counts to three, and breathes slowly. There’s no use in saying anything now, she tells herself. She will get her moment to bite back. “Goodbye, Miya,” she says in a deliberately even tone.
He can’t ever leave silently, like she’d want him to. Instead he scoffs, this irritating little sound that elicits a flinch from her. “Looking forward to that report, baby.”
Her teeth grind harder against each other until her jaw hurts, and she holds her breath until she can feel the looming, intense presence of Miya Atsumu fade away.
God, she really, really hates him.
Her skin feels greasy and her tired eyes burn. She's sitting cross-legged on her bed, with her laptop burning the tops of her thighs. The room smells of the stale, half-eaten takeout container that sits next to her on her unmade bedsheets. The only light in the room is from her glowing laptop screen, the only noise from the hum of its fans.
She has thirteen open tabs. Some articles she's read only half-way through. Some games to pass the time. Some forums where she's in an argument that's over a hundred comments deep. Her brain's starting to get fuzzy. Her vision too. She wonders aloud what time it is. She yawns. There's a familiar ping. Her heart skips.
It never ceases to make her uneasy. She always feels this nervousness that makes her chest contract and her hands shake. Sometimes she feels excited, like a kid with a crush. Sometimes she can't shake the feeling she's about to get caught.
cyb3r_tsumu: hey pretty
cyb3r_tsumu:ive been thinking abt u all day
Miya Atsumu is the only person that ever messages her, and he does so under the impression that she is someone else.
222angel: hi cutie >.<
222angel: ive been thinking abt u too. i couldn't wait to msg u all day
Atsumu was surprisingly easy to trick. Though, she's not sure exactly what compelled her to do so in the first place. All she knows is that, one day, when she was filled with rage over some transgression he committed against her, she found his profile. And as she was staring at his stupid posts and his terrible music and his awful friends, something compelled her.
Setting up a fake profile with a fake name and a fake picture was easy. The most laborious part of all of it was building up her list of friends and posts before she added him to her list of friends-she figured an empty profile would be suspicious. It only took a hundred fake friends and a flirty line in her biography to get him to accept her request.
And that was it, Atsumu was her friend. It took him twenty-nine minutes to message her first.
cyb3r_tsumu: it's so hard dealing with all the jerks and losers at my job knowing i could be talking to you instead
cyb3r_tsumu: life is so cruel @_@
She has the urge to light a cigarette. The words stare up at her, ink black against a bright white screen. This is how she humiliates him.
Atsumu tells her everything about himself. He talks about the things he dreams of accomplishing and the life he could've had as a volleyball player had he not had a career-ending injury. He gushes about his feelings like he's been cut open and he can't stop them from spilling out. He complains about work and his friends not understanding him and how lonely he feels. He comes into work and he insults her and belittles her and then he comes home and whines to her about it.
She really, really hates him.
222angel: aww my poor baby :(
222angel: tell me all abt ur day!
Maybe she should feel worse, about what she's doing to him. Maybe she should feel the weight of it when Atsumu so easily trusts her, when he tells her anything that she asks without thinking twice. Because really, she knows what she's doing. But, she figures, it's Miya Atsumu. And that makes it okay.
09:12AM
From: Miya Atsumu
To: Sales Team
Subject: Office Poll - Please Send in Your Answers!
What do you think is more likely? That our sales meeting will get cancelled, or that Y/N got laid last night? Send in your answers before noon!
It's not easy being hated.
She opens each reply, one by one, and reads them with tired, heavy eyes. 'I think it's more likely hell freezes over - is that an option?' 'Two impossibilities, but my bets are on the cancelled meeting.' 'I'd stake my house on that fact that she's never gotten laid.'
He'll get disciplined for this. He always does, but never enough for him to care. Atsumu is too much of a valued talent at this company to let go over some girl who doesn't accomplish half of what he does. She thinks, bitterly, with a metallic taste in her mouth, that if they're going to let anyone go over this, it'll be her.
She tilts her head to look up over her desktop, across the span of the office, to get a good look at him. He's there, leaned back in his office chair with his black tie loose around his neck. He's grinning. Atsumu's always grinning. There's always something funny, always something to be smug about.
Her body heats up, either from rage or humiliation, and it's like Atsumu can feel it, like he's attuned to her horror. He turns his head, and catches her eye. Miya Atsumu, with his pretty blonde hair and his dazzling grin, gives her a wink, and she thinks about killing him.
That night, she messages him first.
222angel: im having a hard time at work :(
Music plays loudly in her bedroom. Her neighbors might complain. They have in the past. She wears long Spider-Man socks that cut off circulation halfway up her calf, and plays with a loose string that dangles off the top of them while she waits for his response.
Sometimes, she tells him things that are real. Not usually, though. And really, most of the time they talk it's all about him, anyway. But every once in while, she just gets this urge to make Atsumu feel sorry for her. To tell him really, how he makes her feel, tell him exactly what he does to her, and have him coddle her over it.
It's satisfying, in a way that it probably shouldn't be. She likes to hear him admit that the way he treats her is abhorrent.
cyb3r_tsumu: is that guy still treating u like shit?
222angel: yeah :( i just can't get him to leave me alone no matter what i do
cyb3r_tsumu: i wish u'd let me just kick the shit out of this guy
cyb3r_tsumu: yknow id do it for u
She smiles, face illuminated in blue light. There's this pleasant feeling that bubbles in her chest. Satisfaction, she tells herself. It's simple satisfaction.
222angel: ur too sweet to me
222angel: talking to u makes me feel better abt it
cyb3r_tsumu: just wish i could be w u to defend u. makes me sick to think that someone's not treating u right
The CD player stops. She's too engrossed in her screen to get up and hit play again, so she sits in the silence, hands shaking, fantasizing. Her head is playing drawn out, anguished scenes, just picturing Atsumu's reaction to finding out that the person who's hurting the girl he cares so much about is him.
She bites down on her lip, and decides to push the line.
222angel: i wonder if ur like this in person
cyb3r_tsumu: like what?
222angel: kind. caring. would u be like that if i met u in real life?
222angel: or would u be mean?
cyb3r_tsumu: not to u i wouldnt be
It's hard to be hated. Sometimes she forgets she's a person.
The bathroom mirror in the small, cheap dive bar is cloudy and scratchy and the corners are covered in faded stickers. She can't tell if her reflection is distorted or if that's just the way she truly looks. Strange, like the details of her face were arranged incorrectly. Strange, like she's just shy of being a real person.
She stares at herself for too long. She gets the distinct feeling that her face might start to melt off if she looks for a moment longer.
The water in the faucet runs cold. She uses warm, sweaty hands to splash some of it on her face, and figures it won't matter, because her eyeliner is already smudged and she didn't bother to put on foundation. Her patchy and discolored skin is on display for everyone to see.
She's at this bar with the sole purpose of bringing someone home. Despite the constant harassment insisting that she spends all of her nights alone, she is able to find occasional companionship. Someone's who drunk and desperate enough to overlook just how off putting and strange she is. Someone who will spend the night in her bed long enough for her to forget, just for a night, that she's alone.
She looks back up at the mirror, disappointed to see that nothing on her face has changed, and takes a deep breath. Her breath smells strongly of cigarettes and there's a sheen of sweat over her skin. She doesn't look like someone she would want to take home, but she tells herself, surely, there's someone out there who won't mind.
And there is. He's rude, and he has this annoying habit of licking his lips too often. He forgets her name twice, and he eventually does fuck her, it's quick, maybe five minutes. But he stays afterwards, and cradles her to his chest, so she figures she doesn't have much to complain about.
"Who drew this?"
She's standing behind Atsumu's desk, chest heaving with heavy breaths and a small piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand. When Atsumu turns around, smirking like he always is, she holds it up to his face, jaw clenching.
He chuckles at the sight of it. "Nice work," he comments. "You look good there."
It's a cruel drawing of her. Her worst features over-exaggerated and drawn crudely. Her tongue is hanging out of her mouth like a dog, and the artist even went as far as giving her a pair of pointed, fuzzy ears and a long, floppy tail.
The Office Bitch, it's titled.
"Did you draw this?" she demands of him. She's surprised that she's not crying. Her eyes burned when she first saw it on her desk, but now she feels to hollow to produce any tears. "Tell me if you drew this."
Atsumu looks satisfied with himself, like this reaction is more than he could have hoped for. "If you ask nicely, I'll sign it for you."
She wants to ask him why he hates her. She wants to ask him if it's really that bad, to be as ugly and as lonely as she is. If there's some social code that she's unknowingly breaking, and that's why they keep punishing her.
Her throat feels too dry, though, and she has a report to work on. She reaches around Atsumu, and slams the drawing down next to his keyboard.
tsumu, every day gets harder. sometimes i don't even feel like a person at all. all the time i find myself wondering if you ever feel like this. do you? do you ever feel so low that sometimes you think it'd be better if you'd just end it already? do you ever feel like the world wouldn't miss you if you were gone? do you ever feel like the world is slowly tearing you apart from the inside out? i think about you all the time. every time i find myself knocked down lower and lower, it feels like the only person i can turn to is you. i don't know if that's a good thing or not. i just want to be happy, but it's so lonely. i don't know what to do.
angel, i feel pretty horrible most of the time. i don't think i'm a good person. i think there's a lot wrong with me. i wish i was more like my brother. i wish my life had turned out different. sometimes i look around at my life and think that nothing had turned out like i had hoped it would and everything that i had feared came true. but every day, i get to talk to you. and i think that makes it all worth it. i don't know if it's a good thing or not. but at least knowing you're out there makes me feel better. i want you to be happy. i hope i can make you feel less lonely. i hope one day you'll let me meet you in person, and i can show you just how much i care about you. please stay strong, im waiting for you
love,
your tsumu
She has a meeting with her boss. He tells her that she meets expectations well enough, but that she works slower than the rest of her colleagues. There's nothing particularly special about her, but she manages to get the job done. The office drama, though, always seems to center her, and she needs to find a way to stop causing so much conflict. It's unprofessional, and she should be better at keeping her head down and focusing on getting her work done.
She goes outside, sits on her perch with a cigarette in hand, and watches the people around her, wishing she was them.
It doesn't make sense to her. In every way she can be, she is better than Miya Atsumu. She's smarter than him and her work is more thorough and she's certainly more dedicated to the job than he is. He's just a stupid jock, someone who settled at this company because he couldn't have the life he wanted.
And what is it about him that everybody seems to like so much? He's pathetic. Just a loser with a charismatic facade that everyone can't help but fall for. If he didn't have his good looks and his charms, he'd be nothing. He'd be just like her.
It's cold outside. An early autumn day with a light breeze and a blinding sun. Her eyes squint against the brightness and she inhales her cigarette. A couple passes by on the sidewalk, their hands intertwined and their steps aligned. She watches them as they go, disappearing among the crowd of people.
Atsumu's there to greet her as she walks back into the office. He's leaning against the doorframe like he was waiting there, just for her. It almost makes her feel special. "Get fired yet, baby?" he questions, a slight pout to his lips and faux tone of concern.
She ignores him, storming past him to get to her desk, keeping her head down like the good, obedient girl she was told to be. But of course, Atsumu follows her. "I really hope not. I'd be so lonely without you around."
"Fuck off," she barks out, quiet as she can be, as she takes a seat at her desk.
Atsumu frowns. It looks almost plastic. She wonders if this is what he looks like at night, when he emails her and tells her about how good she makes him feel, about how sweetly he wants to treat her. She tries to imagine Atsumu as genuine, and she can't conjure the image in her mind. "Don't be so mean, bab-"
"Do you just feel like this all the time?" she snaps, cutting him off. "Are you just so fucking miserable that you have to make me feel the same? Is that the only way you don't end up blowing your fucking brains out?"
She doesn't know why she says it. It probably rings too close to home. It probably sounds too familiar. And for a second, when Atsumu's face drops, she thinks she might be caught. But Atsumu smiles again, forced and tight, and says, "Sure. You caught me."
He returns to his desk without another word.
cyb3r_tsumu: there's this girl at work i want to tell u abt
All at once, her skin becomes hot and her head is filled with static. Her living room is dark and quiet, but in her head, she can see Atsumu's mouth move as if he's telling her to her face, can hear the words as they float in between them.
She adjusts on her couch, suddenly unable to find a comfortable position. And she keeps making these small movements and rereading his message and adjusting all over again because it's not settling well within her.
222angel: aww do you have a crush on someone ^^
Her front teeth gnaw on her bottom lip, rolling it back and forth. She stares at the screen, heart thumping in anticipation.
There's nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Ping!
cyb3r_tsumu: no i dont think its like that
cyb3r_tsumu: i do think abt her all the time
cyb3r_tsumu: i just think i hate her
Her fingers lightly tap against the keys, brain running through responses, trying to think of how his angel would react.
'why? did she do something to u?' she types out, and then deletes it. She types it out again, and then deletes it once more.
222angel: then i hate her too
222angel: anyone u don't like i don't like either
222angel: did something happen?
It's silent, but her head feels loud. She places her laptop on the couch cushion and pulls her knees up to her chest, folding into herself.
cyb3r_tsumu: idk. she just kind of drives me crazy. something abt her bothers me and idk what. she looks at me like she can see right thru me. it makes me feel like somethings wrong with me
Her hands hover over the keyboard. One of her fingers twitch. She feels sick and nervous and angry all at once. It brews in her gut and creeps up to her chest, tightening it.
222angel: maybe she just sees u for who u are. maybe that's not such a bad thing.
Atsumu doesn't respond for a while. The whole time, she sits there, unmoving on her couch. Her right foot starts to go numb.
cyb3r_tsumu: yeah. maybe.
cyb3r_tsumu: anyway. whats up with u today?
She's outside smoking a cigarette. The bar got too crowded, too loud. It's overwhelming. It's not easy to be surrounded like that.
It's cold out. Her free arms wraps around her middle, trying to conserve warmth. The streets smell like puke and alcohol and the dumpster hidden behind the back of the bar. The pavement is wet. Her head is slightly throbbing.
Despite the crowds and ample amount of men, no one's made any attempt to speak with her. She's approached two people. One brushed her off. The other pretended not to hear her.
She figures she might as well cut her losses. Just go home and argue with some other loser online about some comic book she doesn't even really care about. It'd be a better way to spend her time than enduring this kind of humiliation.
Halfway through her string of self-pitying thoughts, someone appears beside her. She doesn't look at him, because she doesn't want to be ignored again, but he leans up against the wall behind him and asks, "Can I bum a cig?"
She fishes around in her back pocket for her carton, flicking it open. She keeps her head down as she lifts it in his direction.
"Thanks," he says, grabbing one. She retracts her hand. "I won't bite, y'know."
As if commanded to, she lifts her head to look at him, and can't help the small breath that escapes her, because for a second, she thinks it's Miya Atsumu. But it's not. His hair is darker, natural. His nose is shaped slightly off, a touch more crooked. And there's something about his eyes that's just unfamiliar.
She knows exactly who he is.
Miya Osamu grips tightly onto her sides as he drills into her, rhythmic and hard. Her head drops back, and she tries to keep her hips up with his movements, but her brain is too fried and she just can't move quickly enough.
He reaches up and hooks a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her down to meet him. Miya Osamu kisses her as hard as he fucks her, their teeth gnashing together. It feels ugly and animalistic.
She pulls away, lingering over him, a line of spit still connecting their lips. "Tell me I'm pretty," she says, breathless and heavy.
Osamu slows for a moment. "What?"
"Tell me I'm pretty," she repeats, firmer now, surer.
He looks at her. His eyes are wide and shining, pupils blown out. "You're beautiful," he says. And then again, "I think you're beautiful."
She thinks that maybe a small part of her falls in love with him, at that moment.
Later, he lies in her bed, a lit cigarette in hand. She normally doesn't smoke in her apartment, but figures she can make an exception for him. She lays on her side, looking up at him, and he has one hand resting on her bare shoulder. It might be the most intimate moment of her life.
"Did you mean it?" she asks, feeling clingy and cloying.
Osamu's attention is on his cigarette. "Mean what?"
She shuffles a bit. "When you said I was beautiful."
"Of course I meant it," he replies, his words a billowing of smoke that rises to her ceiling. "Why else would I be here?"
Osamu leaves in the morning. She doesn't talk to him again.
222angel: you have a brother right?
cyb3r_tsumu: yeah, why?
222angel: you just never really talk about him. are you guys close?
cyb3r_tsumu: we used to be a lot closer. but after i got injured things just started to change. idk.
cyb3r_tsumu: tbh i think i just might be jealous of him.
cyb3r_tsumu: i mean, he got to live his dream of opening a restaurant. like, he gets to do what he was meant to do. and im just stuck in some office
cyb3r_tsumu: how could i not resent him? and i think he knows that too. i think its hard for him to be around me
222angel: it must be hard to drift apart from your brother.
cyb3r_tsumu: it is. sometimes i miss him.
cyb3r_tsumu: actually i miss him a lot
222angel: i bet he misses you too
She feels like she's won something.
There's a pile of paperwork on her desk. It's hard to focus on it. Atsumu's quiet today, keeping his head down at his own desk, wired office phone pressed to his ear and his fingers never leaving his keyboard. She keeps looking at him. He does not look back.
It's been a few days of this, now: him ignoring her, save for a few curt emails about sales reports and meeting schedules. In a way, it's almost concerning. There's usually nothing that gets between Atsumu and his punching bag, not work, not scoldings from his boss, not anything.
She looks up from a report she's made very little progress on. Atsumu has his back to her, hunched over his computer. His shoulders look broad, and the ends of his dyed hair reach the collar of his short. She gnaws on the inside of her cheek. There's an odd part of her that wants to move closer, to get a better look.
Her eyes drift back down to her computer only to flick back up towards him once more. She wants to get a closer look, to study the details of his face, see if there's anything she might've missed before -freckles, scars, moles. She wonders if his teeth are crooked. She wonders if he tastes anything like his brother.
His shoulders roll back, and his head drops from side to side, before he straightens back out and resumes his typing. He's working harder than he usually does. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. There's an open can of an energy drink next to his desktop. When Atsumu lifts his hands above his head to lean back and stretch, the muscles in his arms flex. He looks too big for his desk, too grand.
When she looks at him then, she doesn't hate him. She wishes he would turn around, so she could see his face, and see what it looks like when it's not turned up in hatred. But Atsumu keeps working, with his back turned to her all day.
cyb3r_tsumu: thinking abt quitting my job. im just not happy there.
222angel: if you're unhappy, you should do something else. find something that does make you happy. any idea what else you might want to do?
cyb3r_tsumu: no idea
cyb3r_tsumu: maybe work for the jva if i can. something involving volleyball.
cyb3r_tsumu: but idk if i'll leave. it feels like i'd be leaving something behind unfinished
222angel: wym?
cyb3r_tsumu: it's hard to explain
cyb3r_tsumu: i just feel like maybe it's not time to leave yet
There's an office party on Saturday. They rented out a karaoke room. She goes, and doesn't know why.
The can of beer in her hand is too full and warm. She has plans of abandoning it on the table in front of her, but she doesn't want to move, for fear of drawing attention to herself and being forced to sing some hyper, upbeat song. Both seats on either side of her are empty. Someone sings loudly and off-key. She wants to go home.
Atsumu sits on the opposite side of the room. He hasn't yet let up on his new habit of ignoring her, and she hasn't let up on hers of watching him. He looks too sober for an event like this, where his cheeks are usually flushed red and his step more of a stumble.
One of her coworkers, Ito, plops down on her left. His arm goes over her shoulder, and the beer in his hand sloshes, some of it spilling on her top. He says her name, sloppy and with too much familiarity. "You don't look like you're having any fun."
She takes a sip of her own beer, so she'll have something to do with her hands. "I'm having plenty fun," she insists, plain and flat.
"Are you going to sing anything?" Ito asks her, tilting his head towards her and grinning. She supposes it's supposed to be endearing.
Her eyes flash over to Atsumu. His roots are growing in. "Wasn't planning on it."
"You know, this is why everyone in the office has a problem with you," Ito tells her, somehow still keeping his voice as upbeat as the music that plays. "You act like you're better than everyone. Like you're too good for this. I bet if you just drank a little more and had some fun every once in a while, people would like you more."
Atsumu finishes the rest of his drink, and slumps back in his seat. "Oh," is all she can manage to say.
Ito continues. "I mean, I like you fine. And really, I think everyone might be a little too hard on you. But you don't make it easy on yourself, you know."
Atsumu stands, so she does too. She copies his movements without even thinking about it, and Ito's arm slides right off her shoulders. She looks down at him, and swallows, finally abandoning her beer. "I have to use the bathroom," she says curtly, because it's the only excuse she can think of.
As she leaves, she hears the unmistakable mutter of, "Freak," come from under Ito's breath.
The bathroom's tile is too red. It's too bright and aggressive and it makes her head hurt. The small amount of beer she did drink isn't sitting well. She feels queasy, and like she needs a cold bottle of water. All of her belongings are in her pockets, the only thing she left in that karaoke room being the warm can. She can slip out, and go home, and she doesn't think anyone would notice.
The tap water runs slow. The soap dispenser is almost empty and she has to squeeze the plastic sides of it to get enough out. Carefully, she washes her hands, and does her best not to look up.
Mirrors are never her friend, and this one might be the worst of all. It is big and clear and the room is bright and well-lit, so if she looks up at sees herself, there will be no room for interpretation. There will be no way to talk herself out of a reflection, and she does not want that feeling to linger on her for the night.
She dries her hands on the tops of her jeans, and leaves the bathroom with her head down.
Miya Atsumu is waiting for her, just outside the door, standing close enough that she almost bumps into him on her way out. A small yelp escapes her, and she jumps back on instinct, a hand over her mouth. It's a small, narrow hallway, and it feels like he's trapped her in it. "What the fuck are you doing?" she barks out.
His gaze is fixed intensely on her, lowered and severe. She swallows, and he takes a step towards. "I wanna try something, okay?"
He's never spoken to her like that before. His voice sounds soft, raw. Like there's been something stripped out of him and what's left is unfamiliar and ragged. It disarms her. She stammers for a moment, taking another step back. "Wh-what do you mean?"
Atsumu shushes her. "Calm down," he says, stepping closer. He raises a large, warm hand, and presses it softly against the side of her face. He tilts his head down to look at her.
She starts to go numb, at that point, overwhelmed. She holds her breath. Atsumu stands before her, too close and with his hand cupping her cheek. His eyes look warm. All of him looks warm. The florescent light above them flickers. Her heart beats violently and uncomfortably.
"Stop me if you want," he whispers, and then, he dips his head down, slowly inching closer and closer to her.
She could stop him, if she wanted to. He moves slow enough for her to. She thinks she is going to, and then she does not.
Atsumu kisses her. She doesn't react, at first, and though his eyes are fluttered shut, hers are wide open, watching him, stuck in disbelief. For a moment, she can't even feel him. There is just this warmth pressed against her, moving slightly. And then Atsumu pushes his hand back, fingers spreading out into the roots of her hair, and her nerves bloom to life. Her eyes flutter shut.
His mouth is soft and wet. His tongue drags along her bottom lip, and hers presses back against it. He leads, and she follows. His free arm goes around her waist. Her hands press against his chest, fingers spread, moving up to hold onto his shoulders.
Atsumu tastes bitter, like alcohol is lingering on his tongue. His arms are strong-she can feel his strength from the way he holds onto her, keeping her in place. And as he kisses her there, in the middle of an empty hallway outside the bathroom, she wishes she had told him to stop, but makes no effort to pull away.
When Atsumu does eventually lift his head, he drops her completely. Arm removed from her waist and hand sliding out of her hair. He steps back, and turns his back to her. "You can come back to my place, if you want," Atsumu says over his shoulder. He walks then, striding down the hallway without looking back at her.
And if she had half as much pride as she acted like she did, she'd go home. Her head hangs as she follows him.
Atsumu's home is shrine to his past life. Photos of him and old teammates in black jerseys adorn the walls. There's trophies hanging off of trophies. An old team banner, messages written across it in silver marker, all addressed to him. There isn't one photo of him that isn't at least ten years old.
She lies in his black sheets, blanket pulled up to cover her chest, but the fresh marks left on her neck are exposed to the cool air of his apartment. Atsumu stands in front of a dresser, back to her, a sight she's gotten used to.
When he turns around, there's a loose t-shirt in his hands. He tosses it at her, and it lands on her lap. Clutching the blanket to her chest, she sits up, and does her best to hold it up as she shrugs the shirt on over her shoulders.
"Don't hafta be modest now," Atsumu says, and the bed besides her dips. She pokes her head out of the top of the shirt. "A bit late for that."
"I'm allowed," she mumbles, pushing each of her arms through. She's finding it hard to look at him. She imagines right now, she'd have a harder time looking at herself.
Atsumu hums. There's a bit of distance between them. His legs dangle off the edge of the bed, his torso half-titled towards her. The air feels stiff, and she doesn't know what to do with her body. She shuffles under the blankets. "Did you-" she stumbles, and tilts her head at Atsumu. "Did you sleep with me just to humiliate me?"
"No," he answers easily. "Did you?"
Her jaw tightens. "I slept with you because I wanted to."
He shrugs. "Well, there you go."
It feels like a lie. She doesn't really know why she did sleep with him, or why she didn't stop him when he kissed her. Something inside her burns at the thought of it. She thinks she should've hit him.
She pushes the blanket off and stands, his t-shirt falling down her thighs. Her jeans are lying somewhere on the floor, and once she finds them, she can leave. Leave, and maybe find a new job. Delete her stupid angel profile and forget about Miya Atsumu.
They're in a crumpled pile by the door, and as she's dipping down to grab them, Atsumu asks her, "Was any of it real?"
Her head snaps back in his direction. "The sex?" she questions.
"No. You know what I mean," he says, voice sounding tighter now. "Don't play stupid with me."
She doesn't know what she means. She tugs on her jeans and buttons them up and says, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Was any of it real?" he repeats, sounding just agitated enough to make her pause. "Or were you just fucking with me the whole time?"
It dawns on her then. Her hands drop to her side, and her throat gets tight. "I don't know," she replies. Her eyes find the ground beneath her feet. "Maybe some of it was."
Atsumu feels very far from her. "Maybe this is a stupid question, but why did you do it?"
"Because I hated you," she answers at once, and maybe it's the most honest thing she's done all night. "I thought you deserved it."
"Do you still?"
She looks up at him, then. His hands are folded neatly in his lap, and his eyes are watering. She's not sure what he's asking-if she still hates him, or if she still thinks he deserves it. Either way, her answer is, "Yes."
Atsumu looks past her, and she gets what he means. About how it felt to be seen right through. It makes her fists clench. "I thought you might've been the love of my life."
"How did you know?" she asks.
"I always thought something was off," Atsumu says. "I just didn't think it'd be this bad. When I thought it might be you, I went through your email at work while you were in a meeting."
She should be affronted by the invasion of privacy. But it doesn't even bother her, anymore. That kind of thing is just what she expects, when it comes to Atsumu. He fucks with her, that's what he does.
And she bites back.
She opens her mouth, apology on the tip of her tongue, and then promptly closes it when she realizes what she's about to do. It's Miya Atsumu, she tells herself, no reason to feel bad. It's nothing he doesn't deserve, and there's no one that can make her feel bad.
On Monday, she sits outside on her perch, cigarette in hand, and watches as the people pass her back. Miya Atsumu is gone. His desk is cleared out, and the space he used to occupy is empty. Her coworkers have started ignoring her. No one seems interested in her, anymore.
It calms her, to watch the people as they pass her by. She likes to picture their lives, imagine an entire world based off the few seconds she sees them on the street. She likes to pretend that she could be them, the strangers in her city. She likes to pretend she could be someone else.
Her cigarette tastes bitter. It's getting too cold to sit outside and smoke, but she'll keep going, disappearing for thirty minutes a day, doing this instead of getting a proper lunch. Then, she will work her tiresome and repetitive job until it's time to clock out. At home, she will sit on her laptop with the television playing in the background and she will get into arguments on forums over thing she does not care about until her eyes are too heavy to keep open. The morning will come, and then she will do it all over again.
For all intents and purposes, she won. She doesn't have to deal with Miya Atsumu anymore. He's gone, out of her life for good, her stupid profile deleted. And really, everything worked out better than she ever thought it could. She finally gets to be left alone. She doesn't have to endure any more humiliation.
She looks down at her watch. Only four more minutes left before her break ends. She stomps her cigarette out on the ground, and stretches her arms above her head. Might as well head back up early.
an: if u got to the end pls tell me what u thought i love u thank u for reading
just wanted to tell u that I keep coming back to play dumb and reading it again and again for some reason. idk why but it means a lot to me. it's so beautifully written I love it so much. also it may or may not have motivated me to paint again.. anyways sending lots of love!!
That's so sweet thank you :')
I'm really touched something I wrote had a positive impact though I have a hard time wrapping my head around it lol
you have a good hold on your mouth when you’re drunk. you learned early and hard not to let things slip, even when you’re bent over a toilet, even when you’re in an unfamiliar bed.
you don’t even have to be drunk to want to tell iwaizumi everything.
he just has this vibe that attracts gossips. you know it well, all the people who go to strong, solid iwaizumi to confess. you can count on one hand the things you haven’t told him on purpose.
you know, even now, slumped in his lap before the new year turns golden and fireworks shower around you, your feet over the arm of the courch and your eyes full of stars, not to tell him how pretty his mouth looks, stained with red wine, how bitable his throat, how thick his shoulders.
but you’re bubbling over, a champagne fountain, so you let yourself have this:
“not fair,” you say.
“isn’t it,” he says, indulgent. hard, strict iwaizumi, indulgent with you because you are soft in his lap. you let yourself pretend for a moment.
“mmh,” you say, trying to look pathetic. your hair is probably flopping into your eyes in a bad way. no one has ever believed your crocodile tears. “sad. sad, sad day.”
“why is that?” he rubs a thumb back and forth over your cheek, cool against your warm flesh.
“everyone else knows,” you pout. “but you wouldn’t get it. everyone else thinks—thinks i’m pretty, the prettiest. you must be blind or stupid.”
he doesn’t respond, just makes a shape with his mouth you can’t read.
“see?” you shake your head. your hair grits between your skull and the fabric of his pants. “so tonight i’m not pretty.”
“don’t say that,” he covers your mouth loosely with the palm of his hand. you nose toward the heel, seeking the salt leftover from the shots you’d taken together earlier. “you know not to talk like that.”
“but i’m drunk,” you say into his palm, spreading your hands wide like a lawyer on a tv show. you feel loose, ungrounded—you accidentally knock into his chest. he takes the warm weight of his hand away to fold your hand carefully in his before you can do more damage. like you could break that brick wall. “i can say whatever i want. who cares?”
“someone’s gonna hear you,” hajime says. “someone you care about more than me. they’re gonna get the wrong idea.”
“who’s that?” what a stupid statement. stupid iwaizumi, who doesn’t know that you’ve lived and breathed for his good opinion since you were a kid.
“i don’t know,” he says. “you tell me. which one of them were you hoping to be your new year’s kiss?”
you squint up at him, blocking out his features through your drunken haze. his caramel skin, the dark hollows of his eyes, the scar at the corner of his mouth that matches the starburst on his shoulder, souvenirs from trying to teach you to ride his too-big bike down the big hill behind kitagawa daiichi.
“how much did you drink?” you accuse.
“only what you told me to,” he laughs. “and i can hold my liquor a lot better than you, little one.”
you choke on your inhale, caught between a snort of laughter and a flustered gasp.
“i could drink you under the table any day,” you retort. “who’re you gonna kiss?”
he pauses. “nobody.”
“i don’t believe you.”
“don’t disrespect your elders like that,” he says. “i’d never lie to you.“
you want to believe him, but you’ve been coming to his family parties for years, watched every time he’d brought a girlfriend back and the one time he kissed mattsun because neither of them had one that year. you’d sent a video to oikawa out of spite, knowing he’d take the revenge you couldn’t.
around you, the beginnings of a countdown chant start.
“shit, it’s later than i thought. you gonna go find your kiss?” iwaizumi asks.
“uh-huh,” you say, wiggling up a little so he’s pinned further by your weight.
“thirty!” shout the people around you. he waves a hand in your face, wiggling his fingers.
you grab at him and suck a finger into your mouth.
“twenty!” the chorus around you sing-songs. he stares down at you, jaw slack, keeping his hand carefully still as you lick between his digits.
you pull away with a pop! that echoes in his head like firecrackers. you’ve always had a good hold on your mouth when drunk.
he hauls you up into a sitting position, a look on his face so fierce you half-sober up, an apology climbing up your throat.
i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i know i’m not the one you want.
iwaizumi kisses you and you only faintly hear the cheers around you, not for you but they feel like they could be. he wasn’t yours but he feels like he could be. his right hand presses into the small of your back like he can’t take you close enough, his mouth less yielding than you’d imagined, just on the verge of hurting so you know this is real. his left thumb strokes your face; when you pull away for breath, he ducks to press kisses into your neck and you think you hear something like not pretty, my ass, always the prettiest, idiot.
“not nice,” you whisper into his hair and feel him smile as he kisses you again.
“i’ll be nicer to you from now on,” he vows right into your mouth. iwaizumi, who’s always been indulgent with you, who feeds you with his own chopsticks, who bears the scars of his determination to teach you, makes you a promise.
falling in love with your doe-eyed coworker (he hates it)
contains: office AU, enemies to lovers, suggestive and not sfw language, mention of alcohol, mention of drugs (in a jokingly manner and not consumption), MSBY are terrible wingmen, this should have been a multichapter but i crammed it into an oneshot, everything is deeply unserious. i cannot begin to describe how silly this is
a/n: i really do want him so bad it makes me look stupid
in true fashion of "what if we loved these guys so much we gave ourselves a little homework about them" it was my absolute pleasure to organize this little hq x reader fic exchange! together we wrote over 100k words and i think that's beautiful.
my warmest thank yous to all participants (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) ♡ the love for your craft shows in every line and i adore every single one of you.
… akira · @inkpetrichor // something like home ; kuroo
… alex · @honey-decadence // acts of love ; ennoshita
… april · @kentocalls // fall(en) for you ; iwaizumi
something i’ve kind of noticed with the surfacing of this whole “the best smut is a character study” kind of mindset is the pipeline to a borderline “when i write porn i do it intellectually unlike some of you SICKOS” type of mindset and i just wanted to remind you especially in our current political atmosphere that writing porn doesn’t have to be intellectual to have value. it can be just horny. thanks
They’re both a little tipsy, the kind of buzz that slows things down, softens the edges. Keiji’s leg rests against Rin’s under mismatched blankets. A half-eaten bag of popcorn lies between them, next to a bottle of cheap red wine. The laptop quietly hums with a movie neither is really watching. A pillow fort sits precariously above them, even though it resembles more the leaning tower of Pise, they both pretend it’s the coolest thing they’ve built in years, grinning like idiots as they look up at it.
Rin takes a long swing from the bottle, makes a face, then passes it over.
“Why does this taste like it’s gone through someone already?”
Keiji chuckles, slow and quiet. “We found it in your kitchen. That’s on you.” Still, he lifts it to his lips after a quick sniff.
Rin chuckles, eyes scanning his expression. “My bad.”
The movie flickers, uneventful, on the screen.
“When is something gonna happen?” Rin asks, yawning mid sentence. He leans in, head dropping on Keiji’s shoulder. He almost nuzzles–almost–but he catches himself at the last second. Guess cheap wine makes him cuddly.
“I don’t think anything’s supposed to happen,” he says eventually, voice hushed. “Not in movies like this.”
Rin lets out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “Great.” He tugs the blanket, half heartedly. “Stop hogging.”
“You’re not even under it.”
“I’m trying to be,” Rin mutters, scooting closer. Purely for warmth, obviously. “You seriously like this kind of movie?”
Keiji gives a small shrug. “Sometimes. When don’t I want to feel anything real, you know?”
He thinks the movie fits perfectly then. Nothing about this feels real.
There’s a long beat of silence, broken only by the muffled voices from the movie. Then Keiji speaks, so quiet it barely reaches Rin’s ears.
“I feel so… lost, like I’m holding my breath all the time, waiting for things to feel right. Do you ever feel like that?”
Rin doesn’t answer right away. He tilts his head back against the couch, thinking. His voice, when it comes, is softer than usual.
“Yeah… I do.” He reaches over and takes the wine back, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “But I don’t feel like that when I’m with you.”
Keiji turns his head to look at him, really look. His eyes linger on Rin’s profile, on the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the faint pink in his cheeks from the wine. When Rin glances back, their eyes lock. Rin’s gaze flickers down, just barely. Keiji feels it. His lips part, maybe to say something, a slow, easy, exhale slipping out.
But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tears his gaze away and leans back, rubbing his face in his hands as if to scrub the weight of Rin’s gaze off his skin.
His palms drag down slowly, muffling his voice as he mumbles, “I should get back with her.”
“Yukie?”
“I won’t find better,” he adds quietly. Like it’s a fact he’s resigning himself to.
Rin blinks, exhaling a sharp breath through his nose. “Stop putting her on a pedestal, she treats you like shit.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Keiji.” His tone softens slightly.
Keiji drops his hands. His face is flushed, hair sticking up in every direction in soft little tuffs. “But when it’s good… it’s so good.”
“If you say so.” Rin sits up, untangling himself from the nest of blankets, and climbs out of the fort. “I’m gonna smoke.”
On his way out, he doesn’t slam the door, but it closes louder than usual. He almost runs down the stairs, feeling like his lungs are on fire. Keiji sits in the flickering light of the laptop, staring at the ashtray overflowing on the coffee table. His chest feels tight. Outside, Rin leans against the door of his building, cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. He counts the passing cars, trying to erase the thoughts that crossed his mind.
Almost in sync, they reach for their phones. Not to address what almost happened, not to bridge the silence stretching between them.
But to chase the noise. To thumb out half-hearted words to the safe, easy options.
And, slowly, the ache settles deeper, because neither of them reaches for the one they want.
fun facts
after the first texts with suna, akaashi asked yukie to meet up and talk about their relationship. they went out for lunch and their waiter turned out to be the guy yukie slept with.
yn might have stalked yukie's social media when they had their drinking horror night, and showed everyone her pics
the best gift akaashi could offer bokuto would be to block yukie
yn has accepted the fact that she likes akaashi as more than a friend, which is one of the reasons she's so confused
rin and keiji are both in denial about their sleepover, they won't address it, ever.
They’re both a little tipsy, the kind of buzz that slows things down, softens the edges. Keiji’s leg rests against Rin’s under mismatched blankets. A half-eaten bag of popcorn lies between them, next to a bottle of cheap red wine. The laptop quietly hums with a movie neither is really watching. A pillow fort sits precariously above them, even though it resembles more the leaning tower of Pise, they both pretend it’s the coolest thing they’ve built in years, grinning like idiots as they look up at it.
Rin takes a long swing from the bottle, makes a face, then passes it over.
“Why does this taste like it’s gone through someone already?”
Keiji chuckles, slow and quiet. “We found it in your kitchen. That’s on you.” Still, he lifts it to his lips after a quick sniff.
Rin chuckles, eyes scanning his expression. “My bad.”
The movie flickers, uneventful, on the screen.
“When is something gonna happen?” Rin asks, yawning mid sentence. He leans in, head dropping on Keiji’s shoulder. He almost nuzzles–almost–but he catches himself at the last second. Guess cheap wine makes him cuddly.
“I don’t think anything’s supposed to happen,” he says eventually, voice hushed. “Not in movies like this.”
Rin lets out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “Great.” He tugs the blanket, half heartedly. “Stop hogging.”
“You’re not even under it.”
“I’m trying to be,” Rin mutters, scooting closer. Purely for warmth, obviously. “You seriously like this kind of movie?”
Keiji gives a small shrug. “Sometimes. When don’t I want to feel anything real, you know?”
He thinks the movie fits perfectly then. Nothing about this feels real.
There’s a long beat of silence, broken only by the muffled voices from the movie. Then Keiji speaks, so quiet it barely reaches Rin’s ears.
“I feel so… lost, like I’m holding my breath all the time, waiting for things to feel right. Do you ever feel like that?”
Rin doesn’t answer right away. He tilts his head back against the couch, thinking. His voice, when it comes, is softer than usual.
“Yeah… I do.” He reaches over and takes the wine back, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “But I don’t feel like that when I’m with you.”
Keiji turns his head to look at him, really look. His eyes linger on Rin’s profile, on the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the faint pink in his cheeks from the wine. When Rin glances back, their eyes lock. Rin’s gaze flickers down, just barely. Keiji feels it. His lips part, maybe to say something, a slow, easy, exhale slipping out.
But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tears his gaze away and leans back, rubbing his face in his hands as if to scrub the weight of Rin’s gaze off his skin.
His palms drag down slowly, muffling his voice as he mumbles, “I should get back with her.”
“Yukie?”
“I won’t find better,” he adds quietly. Like it’s a fact he’s resigning himself to.
Rin blinks, exhaling a sharp breath through his nose. “Stop putting her on a pedestal, she treats you like shit.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Keiji.” His tone softens slightly.
Keiji drops his hands. His face is flushed, hair sticking up in every direction in soft little tuffs. “But when it’s good… it’s so good.”
“If you say so.” Rin sits up, untangling himself from the nest of blankets, and climbs out of the fort. “I’m gonna smoke.”
On his way out, he doesn’t slam the door, but it closes louder than usual. He almost runs down the stairs, feeling like his lungs are on fire. Keiji sits in the flickering light of the laptop, staring at the ashtray overflowing on the coffee table. His chest feels tight. Outside, Rin leans against the door of his building, cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. He counts the passing cars, trying to erase the thoughts that crossed his mind.
Almost in sync, they reach for their phones. Not to address what almost happened, not to bridge the silence stretching between them.
But to chase the noise. To thumb out half-hearted words to the safe, easy options.
And, slowly, the ache settles deeper, because neither of them reaches for the one they want.
fun facts
after the first texts with suna, akaashi asked yukie to meet up and talk about their relationship. they went out for lunch and their waiter turned out to be the guy yukie slept with.
yn might have stalked yukie's social media when they had their drinking horror night, and showed everyone her pics
the best gift akaashi could offer bokuto would be to block yukie
yn has accepted the fact that she likes akaashi as more than a friend, which is one of the reasons she's so confused
rin and keiji are both in denial about their sleepover, they won't address it, ever.
origamiaround
prguitarman
yousharknotpass
stormborns
snowghoul
blakekathryn
jacobvanloon
tangentwithtanner
