You Don’t Have to Be Strong Alone
Not because of the early alarm, or the cold air biting at your skin as you walk to school—but because you know exactly what’s waiting for you when you get there.
The way your name gets twisted into something ugly.
You keep your head down as you walk through the gates, shoulders slightly hunched like you’re trying to fold into yourself. It never works, though. Someone always notices.
“Wow, look who showed up.”
You pretend not to hear it.
“Thought you’d finally quit.”
Your grip tightens around your bag strap. Just keep walking. Just get through the day.
That’s always been your strategy.
It’s loud, chaotic—there’s nowhere to hide. You linger near the edge of the court, hoping to go unnoticed while everyone pairs up. But, like always, you’re the last one standing.
A familiar snicker echoes.
“Guess no one wants you again.”
The voice cuts clean through the noise—sharp, irritated, unmistakably confident.
Blond hair. Sharp eyes. A presence that practically demands attention without even trying.
He’s already looking at you.
“Yer just gonna stand there all day?” he says, tilting his head. “C’mere. Yer with me.”
He clicks his tongue. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
There’s something in his tone—not cruel, not mocking. Just… certain.
Like it’s already decided.
Slowly, unsure, you walk over.
The whispers start again, but different this time.
“Seriously? He picked them?”
“Name?” he asks, spinning a volleyball in his hand.
He nods once. “I’m Atsumu.”
Like you didn’t already know.
Of course you know. Everyone does.
“Don’t just stand there,” he says. “We’re practicing receives.”
The ball comes at you before you’re ready.
Heat crawls up your neck. “Sorry—”
“Why’re you apologizin’?”
He’s frowning, but not at you—at the others.
“Ball’s mine to serve better,” he mutters, grabbing it again. Then his eyes flick back to you. “Get ready.”
This time, he tosses it slower.
Your arms sting as you make contact, but the ball actually goes up.
Not perfect—but not a failure.
“See?” he says. “Not that hard.”
You stare at him, confused.
By the end of class, your arms ache and your lungs burn—but something feels… different.
No one laughed after the first few tries.
Mostly because Atsumu didn’t let them.
Every time someone started, he’d glance over—sharp, unimpressed—and the noise would die instantly.
As everyone starts packing up, you linger, unsure if you should say anything.
He looks at you like the word doesn’t quite register.
“For… earlier. You didn’t have to—”
He tosses the ball into the cart with a dull thud. “Didn’t like the way they were actin’.”
Your chest feels tight again, but not in the same way as before.
“Does it happen a lot?” he asks suddenly.
The question hits harder than anything else today.
Then shrug. “It’s… whatever.”
You look away. “It doesn’t matter.”
He stops right in front of you.
And for the first time, you realize something about him.
Like when he decides something, the whole world better adjust.
“…It matters if it’s botherin’ you,” he says, quieter now. “And it is, ain’t it?”
Hate how easy it is for everything to spill over when someone actually notices.
“I’m fine,” you insist, but your voice betrays you.
Atsumu exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.
“…Yer really bad at lyin’.”
You almost laugh. Almost.
Instead, your vision blurs.
You turn away quickly. “I said I’m fine.”
A hand catches your wrist.
“Yer not gotta deal with that crap alone, got it?”
You don’t trust yourself to speak.
“So,” he continues, like this is the most natural thing in the world, “I’ll walk with ya. For now.”
“After school,” he clarifies. “And in the halls. Practice too, if ya want.”
He shrugs again, but there’s something softer in his expression this time.
That’s not really an explanation.
But somehow… it feels enough.
Later, as you leave school, you notice something strange.
The whispers are quieter.
Walking beside you like it’s normal.
He snorts. “Took ya this long to figure that out?”
A small smile slips onto your face before you can stop it.
And for the first time in a long while—
Walking home doesn’t feel so heavy.
