𓂃⋆.˚ ( hq!! ) he catches you gushing about him ! ⤷ ゛akaashi, iwaizumi, atsumu ˎˊ˗ atsumu isn't a smooth flirt when he actually likes someone imo, repost from my old account
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────────────────── keiji akaashi
“I’ve only ever seen him in two places; in class and in the school gym. I’ve never actually interacted with him in either one,” you admit sheepishly to your friends, who are giggling and smacking you in excitement.
“No stop! We’ve talked to him before because we know Bokuto, he’s actually super sweet! He’d totally like you if he doesn’t already—if you just talk to him!”
You practically swoon at the idea, your squeals alongside the similarly high-pitched noises of your friends reverberating through the school’s backfield. Initially you had gathered after class to have snacks and talk after school, but that turned into intense fangirling and wingwoman-ing.
“He’s so cute I could just—agh,” you whine, rubbing your palms on your eyes as you pout at the near certainty of never being able to be with him. He’s so out of your league; playing for the school’s volleyball team, being friends with one of the most popular guys in school, having the calm demeanour that practically every girl looks for in a man.
Alongside the aforementioned and your lack of spatial awareness, you’re entirely oblivious to the person approaching the bench you’re sitting on, until one of your friends has to grab your face to make you stop talking - stop talking about the very person who’s now observing you curiously. You don’t take the hint until you hear Akaashi clear his throat from behind you and bend down to pick up the volleyball that landed by your feet.
“Sorry about that.”
“O-Oh,” is all he receives from you in response, to which he smiles kindly. A smile that has you inches away from bursting into tears about how much you miss someone who isn’t yours.
He eyes you once more before jogging back to the corner in which he and Bokuto appeared to be practising, your eyes following him as he did so and observing his every jog and step.
Following that interaction, your group falls silent for a few seconds, until you slam your head onto the bench table and let a muffled scream rip from your throat—enough to express your humiliation but also keep it among your friends, unlike your previous conversation.
“Kill me, I can’t ever look that man in the eyes again. Do it now, quick and painless while I’m not ripping my hair out.”
One of your friends snorts out a laugh and smacks the top of your head. “Girl, as if you could ever look that man in the eyes. Don’t worry about it, he was smiling.”
At that, your head snaps up and you launch yourself across the bench until your face is centimetres away from your friend’s. “Was he really? Don’t lie to me, I didn’t see him smiling.”
She shakes her head. “That’s because you were too busy wallowing in your self-pity and staring at us to realise. He walked off like he got the biggest birthday present of his life.”
And as told, Akaashi had jogged back to Bokuto with a massive grin, rather uncharacteristic of the man who typically—at most—cracked an amused smile. Thus, when Bokuto sees him coming back with such an expression, the ball becomes the last of his concerns. He leans over to observe Akaashi closely, humming curiously.
“Did something happen?”
“Ah, nothing really. Don’t worry about it.”
“Akaaaaashi.”
“Bokutoooo.”
The owl-like man groans and snatches the ball in mock frustration, to which Akaashi chuckles and gently pats him on the back. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to inform anyone that he’d started grinning at the mere sound of you giggling about the prospect of interacting with him.
────────────────── hajime iwaizumi
For the past ten minutes, you and your friends had entered a routine of squealing about the prospect of being Iwaizumi’s lover and shushing each other when the excitement became too loud. Eventually, it reached a point where the latter was no longer done—no one was supervising the volume of your swooning and dreaming.
“He’s so dreamy,” you sigh, resting your right cheek on your right fist.
“And jacked, I mean he could probably pick you up easily,” one of your friends comments, waggling her eyebrows and laughing at the drastic change of colour in your face.
You’ve interacted with Iwaizumi a few times, enough to classify him as a friend, but not enough that you’d expect to see him frequently or even anticipate him thinking about you. In actuality, the man doesn’t go a day without you crossing his mind, to the point where he starts questioning where the hell he developed his interest for you from. That’s not to say you’re not an intriguing person, just that he hadn’t had a serious conversation with you that wasn’t interrupted by something—whether that was the both of you needing to head to class or Oikawa yelling his name.
“I’m telling you, I’m getting taller, you asshat,” Iwaizumi grumbles to a very tired and sluggish Oikawa.
“And I’m telling you I don’t care whether that’s true or not as long as you’re still a reliable spiker.”
Iwaizumi smacks the top of his head with a passion so strong it would seem as though the two were words away from killing each other.
The two continue to walk through the school’s lengthy corridors until they approach the gym’s open doors. A message was sent out to the Seijoh team group chat, following which all that came as responses were thumbs up reactions to the message. At least they weren’t ignoring it.
As the two men walk into the gym and toss their bags in a corner, Oikawa can hear chatter and laughter from people other than him and Iwa, sufficient enough to distract him from the impending practice match. After greeting the others and agreeing on a rotation for the game, Iwaizumi’s ears perk up at the sound of his name. He knows it doesn’t come from his lot since they’re too busy stretching to care, so he’s fairly certain it’s coming from the group of girls he can see in the gym’s far other side—the spot reserved for basketball. His interest is only truly piqued when he notices your familiar face.
Though, he can’t just walk over there and question you.
Matsukawa has his hands on the ball, tossing it into the air and catching it. He’s not really paying attention to what Oikawa is babbling about behind him, so Iwaizumi seizes the opportunity and politely asks for the ball from him. Once Matsukawa hands it over with a heavy sigh prior, Iwaizumi practically launches it to the other side of the gym.
“Oikawa, you absolute trash,” Iwaizumi grumbles with faux annoyance before jogging over to get the ball, providing him with enough of a chance to get within your close proximity and overhear your conversation.
“Iwa’s so hot. I need him as mine so so bad. I die every time he talks to me.”
“That is highly concerning,” Iwaizumi intercepts into the conversation after retrieving the ball, to which you scream and slap your hands over your mouth as if you were caught leaking confidential information (which isn’t too far from the truth).
Your friends are gaping and avoiding eye contact with both you and Iwa in an attempt to appear apathetic to the whole situation, something they fail at tremendously.
“T-That was not about you,” you sputter.
Iwaizumi raises a brow and feigns consideration, though he doesn’t say anything to point out the fact that there is no other Iwaizumi in the school, let alone one that talks to you. “I’d hope not. Wouldn’t want you dead now, hm?”
And that’s all he says before flashing you a knowing smile and heading back to his group.
────────────────── atsumu miya
"His brother is so much more my type, but I definitely get why Atsumu's causing your heart-eyes," your friend snickers, nudging your shoulder a little roughly as if to knock you out of your "daze."
You glare at her lightheartedly. "Heart-eyes? No such thing, never experienced it," you object weakly, to which your friends share a knowing look.
Because heart-eyes was the exact way to describe how you looked at Atsumu. Even if it was the quickest glance, you seared the sight of him into your mind and made him your incentive for even attending school. Well, that and needing good grades.
The group of you are walking home together, an hour past school's final dismissal bell. The streets were empty aside from a few locals walking their dogs or coming back from the supermarket, and it was the main reason you liked staying after school—it meant no crowds and no rowdiness that made your head split.
Atsumu has just finished up practice and is tying his school shoes as he walks, hopping on one foot and desperately grappling with the other. He has the paper documenting next month's line-up between his lips.
Osamu deadpans at his stupidity. "So you couldn't change shoes when benched?"
Atsumu snorts. "Yeah, like that ever happened," he retorts, words mumbled from the fact that he could barely part his lips to not risk dropping the paper. "You're a sore loser."
"You're an arrogant winner."
"Still better."
It's Osamu's turn to scoff then, though there's no real malice behind it.
The two wave goodbye to Kita and the others as they go they separate ways, and once Atsumu finally ties his shoes, he lands flat on his feet and shoves the paper into his bag, sighing loudly.
"He's cute, I know... no, I'll never talk to him... out of my league," Atsumu hears, ears twitching at the intriguing snippets of conversation.
When he and Osamu turn the corner onto the main road, they see a familiar group of girls waiting for the light to turn red to cross. Osamu spares them a brief glance before sliding a pineapple bun out his bag and unwrapping it. Atsumu instinctively tunes out Osamu's chewing sounds when he sees you amongst the group, eyes lit up with something akin to excitement.
"This light always takes forever," one of your friends groans, checking the time on her phone.
You hum and nod your head in agreement, staring at the still-red pedestrian signal.
"Atsumu's playing a match next month, I think it's against Karasuno. No doubt that we're winning," the same friend mentions suddenly, glancing at you.
"Karasuno's getting good. I wouldn't underestimate them," you mumble, placing your foot forward when the pedestrian light turns green.
"Nah, we're winning for sure."
You yelp at the familiar voice and almost trip over your own feet. Managing to actually not fall flat on your face, you look over your shoulder and see the very topic of your conversation(s).
"Atsumu," you murmur idiotically, as if reunited with a past lover.
He grins at that and nods at the green signal. "This light takes forever, remember? I'd get a move on if I were you."
You raise a brow, and he pales a little.
"Not in a rude way—I don't know why I said that, I just meant we should walk now—" Atsumu's cut off by his own pained grunt when Osamu nudges him in his ribs. Compose yourself, is what Osamu was essentially communicating. You like her. She won't bite as long as you don't mess up... anymore.
"So, you were talking about the match?" The blond asks, clearing his throat as the lot of you begin crossing the street.
You purse your lips. "Yeah..."
Ten seconds pass in complete silence, nothing but the sounds of your footsteps and the low purrs of car engines reaching your ears. Until another one of your friends speaks up.
"We can leave if you guys wanna, like, kiss."
"Oh my gosh, no—" you gasp out, slapping your hands over your face.
"W-what? That's not—" Atsumu stutters, swallowing thickly to steel his voice and expression.
Osamu huffs out an almost inaudible laugh. "This guy wouldn't have it in him to kiss her before a ring."
Atsumu glares at his brother but makes no effort to deny his accusation.
