two cups of coffee, please
miya atsumu x hinata shouyou (coffee shop! au)
tags: post-haikyuu! time skip, aged-up characters, college/university, strangers to friends to lovers, slice of life, miya atsumu-centric, pining miya atsumu, hinata shouyou is sunshine, established bokuto koutarou/akaashi keiji, barista hinata shouyou
word count: 12, 299
status: completed
summary: Miya Atsumu doesn't drink coffee. It's bitter, diabolical, and makes his heart skip a beat every two seconds until his hands tremble from palpitations and he starts feeling lightheaded.
Coffee is the devil's drink—Atsumu swears by it.
Atsumu doesn't drink coffee, but he's approaching the counter like a man on a mission.
or
in which miya atsumu despises coffee but finds himself following hinata shouyou into a coffee shop
(also: in which hinata shouyou has the worst handwriting in mankind and miya atsumu can’t fucking read)
Miya Atsumu doesn't drink coffee.
It's bitter, diabolical, and makes his heart skip a beat every two seconds until his hands tremble from palpitations and he starts feeling lightheaded.
Coffee is the devil's drink—Atsumu swears by it. His face scrunches up at the mere thought of it that not even the pleasant smell of the brewing coffee grounds can convince him otherwise. He's drank it once before—and he'd made the grave mistake of doing so before a big game during his first year in university.
He'll never forget how awful of a game that had been. He'd played like a damn rookie—as though he'd never set a ball before in his entire life. Buttery fingers, miscalculated serves, and failed attempts at something as mediocre as receiving a ball.
It's bad enough that his coach had yelled his ear off that day and the fans watching had pouted and offered sympathies to him for a pitiful performance.
But Osamu had the fucking nerve to FaceTime him just to laugh at his face and call him the biggest scrub he's ever known.
Since then, Atsumu calls it The Coffee Curse.
It's a real thing—you can quote him on that.
Atsumu has never considered himself as superstitious, it had been something middle-school him had snorted out laughing at. But now at his third year of university, Atsumu has taken every single pre-game ritual of his since The Coffee Curse with extreme seriousness. Everything he does from waking up to swaggering in the court has to be followed in precise order down to wearing his lucky underwear.
It was as absolute as law—and no, Atsumu doesn't make the rules.
The game is at one o'clock in the afternoon today, which Atsumu has already taken into account any adjustments needed to fit every step of his routine. He'd woken up at the ass crack of dawn this morning in the generously-sized dorm room he and his fellow teammate Bokuto share. The monochrome-haired boy was still fast asleep and loudly snoring in his side of the room when Atsumu snatches on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers and a white t-shirt he always uses on his pre-game morning runs.
He walks out into the crisp autumn air, a breeze rustling his hair—chilly enough that he feels it lick through his undercut and he shudders. He stretches for a minute, idly watching another student from the far corner of his eye biking along the campus grounds. It feels oddly comforting—like going on a morning exercise with some stranger he's never actually met, but enough for him to recognize as a fellow morning person who likes to sweat it out this early.
Atsumu gets to work. By the time he's halfway through his ten-mile run, the sun peeks through the horizon over where the library stands. It's the tallest building on campus, and seeing the day break and orange filter across the navy skies that loom over the library signals Atsumu how far along in his run he is.
He finishes the rest of his run, stumbling to a stop in front of his dormitory building where he braces his hands on his knees. He can hear his heart hammering against his ribcage, his lungs burning to greedily suck in as much oxygen as they can—Atsumu welcomes the pain. It makes him feel alive.
Bokuto is still sleeping when he strides inside, but shifts in bed when he hears Atsumu lock the door behind him. "Tsum-Tsum, that you?" he grumbles drowsily, face buried in his pillow.
Atsumu snorts, shucking his running shoes off by the entryway. "Who else would it be, dumbass?" he asks playfully, stripping his sweat-damp shirt off him and rolling it into a ball which he aims to the dirty hamper across the room. "Want breakfast?" he asks, popping open their rackety refrigerator for some eggs. He juggles to grab the pan and his and Bokuto's shared giant tub of protein powder.
Bokuto yawns loudly, stretching like a cat as he reaches for his phone. "Nah," he declines with a thank you. "Akaashi wants to have brunch today before the game. Says he's got a paper to turn in by noon before heading to the gym."
Akaashi's his boyfriend that he’s known since high school, the two finally getting together last year after a drunken confession from Bokuto that made Atsumu get on his knees and thank God for making it finally happen. If he had to listen to his mopey teammate whine about how much he thinks Akaashi's eyes are the prettiest he's ever seen . . . Atsumu might actually pull his hair out.
The two were disgustingly cute—enough to make Atsumu hide his smile whenever he sees them act all sweet on each other. (Bokuto would cling onto the other boy while Akaashi would very politely say: "Bokuto-san, you're cutting off my blood circulation.") But as much as the two warmed Atsumu's heart, it also made him feel utterly lonely. Like a damn third-wheel who yearned for someone of his own to also cling to his arm and sweetly chirp in his ear about anything and everything.
Atsumu throws Bokuto a glance over his shoulder as he turns the stove on. "How's Akaashi doing?" he asks, not having seen the literature major in a while since he's been swamped with schoolwork.
Bokuto practically beams and begins chattering Atsumu's ear off as the latter hums and nods while cooking his massive pile of eggs and blending his protein shake. And because Atsumu adores his friends, he smiles and lets Bokuto show him all the adorable photos he and Akaashi took in the aquarium last weekend.
When Bokuto finally leaves the dorm, Atsumu continues his pre-game routine without skipping a beat. He hops on the shower, getting dressed shortly after in a pair of track pants and their volleyball team's zip-up jacket that had his last name and number on the back. Checking the time, he finds he's actually slightly ahead of schedule, so he slides into his desk and goes through some emails that he's been leaving unopened the last week.
Atsumu leaves the dorm a few hours later at half past ten, his gym bag slung across his chest as he makes his trek across campus. He shoots Osamu a text, letting his twin know that he's on his way to his restaurant for lunch. Another thing that Atsumu realizes that is an absolute necessity for his game day rituals is Osamu's fatty tuna onigiri.
Call him dramatic, but Atsumu cannot perform out there on the court without his dumb brother's onigiri.
Not only does there have to be two pieces of them, but it has to be fatty tuna and it has to be specifically Osamu who makes them. (But Atsumu would rather die than admit that to Osamu.)
He sends the text, rounding the corner as he scowls at the reply Osamu sends back about him being annoying as shit for bothering him when the store doesn't even open until eleven. Atsumu's about to get all pissy at him and text something back when something catches his eye.
And his feet come to a full stop.
Atsumu doesn't drink coffee, he swears it's the devil's drink. There's nothing on this earth that can convince him to change his mind.
But there, in front of him, a couple of feet away, stands a little chalkboard next to the campus coffee shop with what he can very eloquently call the cutest fucking drawing of a drink—complete with cartoon eyes and a cheerful smile and all. There's a boy crouched down by it, unruly orange hair brighter than any sunset Atsumu has ever seen, with his back to him. He's sticking tape on the back of a little banner that he presses atop the chalkboard to accompany the drawing.
It reads: Tapioca Latte! Try our special drink for a limited time only!
Atsumu still doesn't move—something about the stupidly cute drawing holding him hostage.
Someone walks by the tangerine-haired boy, waving with a smile. "Nice! I love today's drawing, Hinata!" the student compliments before entering the café.
The boy whom Atsumu assumes is Hinata, beams back with the brightest smile he's ever seen as he feels his stomach churn. And then Hinata gets to his feet, brushing off the front of his apron before excitedly bounding inside the coffee shop to speak to the customer.
Atsumu stares at the drawing that Hinata did.
And he's walking before he realizes it.
His hand is curling around the handle of the café's front door and pushing it open as the little bell chimes to indicate a new customer.
The aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans hits him like a tidal wave—strong and earthy and grounding altogether as he finds himself inhaling deeply like it's his favorite scent in the world.
Being the campus's only coffee shop, Atsumu isn't surprised to see it large enough to house several tables to accommodate groups as many as ten people or smaller tables for two. There are already a couple of college students inside, scattered throughout the place with drinks sitting next to their opened laptops. It's cozy, he thinks to himself, as his eyes graze along the warm colors of the wall and the fake vines snaking around the counter where the baristas stand behind making coffee. Music plays in the background, there's small chatter and laughter, and the occasional hiss of steam circulating the shop.
Atsumu doesn't realize how long he's been lingering by the front door until he hears someone call out from behind the counter.
"Hi, welcome! Would you like to place an order?"
His eyes dart instantly to the source of the voice, and Atsumu fucking swears he feels his heart lurch in his chest.
The same boy from earlier is standing on the other side of the counter—flaming orange hair cut short to appear kept yet it's all ruffled atop his head like he's ran his fingers through it multiple times; he has a grin on his face that Atsumu thinks rivals that of the sun; and he's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet like he can't stay still, fingers playing with the apron's ribbons tightened around his waist.
Hinata. Atsumu remembers his name. The barista he saw a minute ago crouched in front of the chalkboard that had his drawing of a tapioca latte.
Atsumu's blankly staring at the poor boy who probably thinks he's a creep.
But Hinata's smile doesn't waver from his face as he lightly waves at him. "Hello, do you want to come in?" And the small laugh that leaves his lips makes Atsumu's stomach flip like a hundred butterflies were just released from a cage.
Atsumu doesn't drink coffee, but he's approaching the counter like a man on a mission.
One step.
Two steps.
He has to stop walking when his gym bag collides with the counter, nearly tangling with the fake vines. His shoulders are stiff, breath catching in his throat when he finds himself directly in front of the tangerine-haired barista. Up close, Atsumu notices many more things about him that only make his hands turn clammy.
Hinata's short. Much shorter than Atsumu, making him come up to barely past his shoulders as he has to crane his neck to keep eye contact. His skin is tanned and glows like he's spent years under the sun in some tropical country. And when he smiles once again at Atsumu, he sees the color of Hinata's eyes are brown. Carved like autumn itself, warm and incredibly soft like the leaves that fall on the pavement when the wind blows. It's like staring at molten sunlight, the perfect moment when the sun filters through the trees and catches in a mixture of brown and amber. Flaming with the glow of radiance and copper, yet gentle with the subtle touch of the earth and something woodsy.
Beautiful.
This boy—this stranger that Atsumu has never met before—is the most beautiful person he's ever laid eyes on.
And he wonders if he's blushing as hard as he feels how hot his face and ears burn.
But Hinata is patiently smiling at him, waiting for Atsumu to finally say something. Anything.
"I—" Atsumu starts, and he wants to die because why the fuck is his voice all squeaky. He jerks a thumb behind him at the direction of the front door. "I'd like a cup of whatever drink that was outside please." Oh, my fucking God, has his voice always sounded that high-pitched?
If Hinata noticed anything, he didn't say so. He simply bops his head enthusiastically, punching Atsumu's order into the POS computer between them. "Of course!" he chirps. "Tapioca latte—that's our special of the week."
Atsumu's eyes drift down to the polo shirt uniform Hinata's wearing, lingering on the small name tag pinned at the top of his apron: Hinata Shouyou.
He mouths his name, silently testing how his lips curl around each syllable.
"Sir?"
Atsumu snaps his gaze back to Hinata and realizes with embarrassment that he'd just asked him a question he didn't hear. "O-Oh, I'm sorry, could ya say that again?" He's never been conscious of his accent before, but now he wonders if it's obvious. If Hinata thinks he sounds stupid or if Hinata likes the Kansai drawl that Atsumu can never seem to shake off.
And now that he's standing in front of an attractive boy that's making him all sorts of flustered, it only seems to make his accent even thicker.
Hinata laughs again, the sound striking Atsumu deep in his chest. "No worries! Just wanted to know if you had a preference for the kind of milk you wanted."
He blinks. "Oh, uh . . . " Atsumu doesn't know what he's supposed to say, he's never ordered coffee before except that one time in freshman year where it was plain black. Was he supposed to say cow's milk—?
"We have regular two-percent, whole, oat, soy, almond?" Hinata's kind enough to recognize the blankness on Atsumu's face as his blatant lack of knowledge on such things.
Atsumu awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, his face no doubt carrying splotches of pink on either cheeks. "That's a lotta options . . . ," he mumbles with a faint chuckle. "Could ya pick one for me?"
Hinata blinks, seemingly taken aback for a slight second as he curiously watches Atsumu. But his bright grin is back instantly as he taps away to complete Atsumu's order. "Alrighty, that'll be five hundred yen."
Atsumu fumbles with his credit card, swiftly tapping it to make the transaction.
"And can I have a name for your order?" Hinata asks as he picks up a large plastic cup and uncaps a marker.
He swallows hard, ignoring the way his pulse spikes against his throat at how Hinata has to crane his neck to meet his eyes. "Atsumu," he offers.
Atsumu doesn't think he's vain, but as the school's official setter, he's earned enough of a reputation himself to be well-known by the students. He's seen the way eyes follow him when he strides in his classes, at the whispers that spread around when he and his team show up anywhere together. Just as how he can feel a couple of stares on his back at this very moment (especially since he's wearing his team jacket that has his name and number perfectly clear on his back).
But the fact that Hinata doesn't have a slight clue on who he is . . . it sends a strange warmth spreading across his chest. Like he feels giddy about it.
"Atsumu," Hinata repeats back, scribbling something on the cup. "Atsumu," he says again, still writing something that definitely contains more words than just his name. He sets the cup down to cap his marker, throwing Atsumu a glance as he says, "'Kay, Atsumu—"
Atsumu's face heats up at the third repeat of his name."
"—I'll call your name out when your drink is ready. Feel free to sit anywhere you'd like."
His head jerkily nods at him. "Thanks." And before Atsumu could embarrass himself any further, he walks away to hastily claim the first seat his hands can grab. He drops himself in it as he buries his face in his hands, trying to tame the fire that wouldn't stop burning his cheeks.
What the hell is wrong with him?
He's acting like a fifteen year old boy who's seen someone attractive for the first time ever—it's so unlike his usual self who's confident and cocky and suave to a degree. Atsumu's not a bad flirt either, he'd had his fair share of exes throughout high school and his first two years of college—he's loud and outgoing enough to catch the attention of others and even have them approach him. He's had enough experiences in that department before, but suddenly—
He thinks of those honey brown eyes weaved with golden strands of sunlight, and he finds himself tongue-tied and unable to formulate any coherent thoughts.
There's something fucking wrong with him.
"Coffee for Atsumu!" a familiar voice calls out.
Atsumu's head snaps up as he sees Hinata at the pick-up counter with his order between his hands. He pushes himself off his seat, making sure to slide his chair back in politely before ambling over to the boy.
"Here you go," Hinata says, sliding the cold coffee to him along with a straw. "Thanks so much for stopping by the café today, Atsumu-san. I hope you have a great day!"
Atsumu should say something. He can't just walk away like a loser without even attempting to make some kind of conversation. He should compliment his drawing outside, he should say he'll enjoy the coffee Hinata had personally made for him, he should ask if he was coming to watch the volleyball game later.
But words fail Atsumu, and all he can do as he's trapped in Hinata's golden stare—is smile like a fool.
"Thanks . . . , Hinata," he says, testing the name as he makes a point to flick his eyes down to the name tag. So he doesn't look like some creep who just happens to know his name.
Hinata smiles and moves to take the order of a customer that just walks in. With one more glance at the barista, Atsumu takes his coffee and leaves the shop. The autumn air greets him once more, and he waits until the door closes shut behind him before a shaky exhale leaves him.
He looks down at the coffee in his hand. The coffee he swears is the devil's drink and would do nothing but awaken The Coffee Curse that Atsumu's spent the better half of his college years avoiding like the plague.
He stabs the straw in and takes a sip.
Yeah, he's so fucked.
—
"What the fuck are ya drinkin'?"
Onigiri Miya is perhaps the favorite go-to place of college students in campus. With cheap and affordable prices in exchange for what is undoubtedly the most delicious onigiri one could ever get their hands on, the store quickly rose to fame within the first year of establishment. Miya Osamu defied all odds and expectations as an inexperienced high-school graduate whose dream was to open a restaurant. And Atsumu would never say it aloud, but he's hella proud of his baby brother.
Osamu is standing by the bar with an eyebrow cocked, arms crossed warily as he lazily watches Atsumu stroll inside the still-closed shop fifteen minutes later than he said he would. His eyes are locked on the drink Atsumu is slurping on, the sugar in it making the coffee taste sweeter than he'd expected.
"I don't wanna talk about it," he says gruffly, waving a hand half-heartedly at two of his teammates already sitting on the bar opposite to Osamu, digging in their onigiri.
Sakusa, the ace of the team, shares a questioning look with Meian who's the captain. The former minds his own business, resorting to silently eating his onigiri as Meian whips around to Atsumu, harshly swallowing the big bite he just took as he points at the cup their setter just placed on the bar.
"Wait a minute," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Isn't that from the coffee shop next to the konbini?"
Osamu's dark eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, his focus now entirely on Atsumu like he can dissect him open with just a single glance. "What," he says mockingly with a smirk, "ya finally stopped being a scrub and grew up? Don't believe in that dumb coffee curse of yers anymore?"
Atsumu shoots him a filthy glare. "I'm not a scrub, and The Coffee Curse is real."
Sakusa snorts from where he sits. Meian snaps his fingers at Atsumu. "They're real popular for writing messages on the cups. What does yours say?"
Atsumu blinks. He totally forgot that Hinata had written something on his cup earlier. "Uh, dunno," he says, raising the half-full cup high in the air as he twists it around to find for the words written in black Sharpie. Osamu and Meian lean forward to take a closer look as well. Sakusa couldn't be bothered.
He finds the words, holding it in an angle for all three of them to see.
"Uh . . . , " Meian awkwardly trails off.
"Wow," Osamu barks out laughing, "did ya say something to piss of yer barista?" He shares a snicker with Meian who tries to conceal it by stuffing the rest of his onigiri in his mouth.
Atsumu's face is impossibly warm as he glares at the two. "Fuck ya both," he mutters before rushing to Sakusa's side.
The black-haired boy instantly shifts away, fingers reaching for his mask that he'd tucked under his chin while he ate. "Get the fuck away from me," he mumbles to Atsumu who now bats his lashes at him.
"Omi-Omi," he says as sweetly as he can, practically shoving the cup to his face. "I don't trust those assholes. Will ya tell me what ya think it says?" He flips the finger at the two who are still cackling in laughter.
Sakusa doesn't look very impressed with the honey-laced request, but he lowers his eyes to the writing on the cup anyways.
He reads it.
Atsumu watches as Sakusa's eyebrows furrow in confusion.
He reads it again.
And then Sakusa looks up to Atsumu with a blank expression on his face. "It says 'Fuck you!'."
Meian and Osamu are full on howling by now, bracing themselves against the bar for support. Atsumu scowls and walks several feet away from his dumb brother and friends like a petulant child. He takes a look at the cup for himself.
To be fair—Hinata's handwriting looks like dogshit. It's the true definition of chicken scratch, which comes as a shock to Atsumu who's seen Hinata's drawing on the chalkboard outside the shop. He's always been under the assumption that artists in general all had pretty handwriting.
But that's not the case for Hinata Shouyou whom Atsumu is struggling to decipher what exactly he'd written.
Which was really starting to look like Fuck you! at the moment.
"Go fuck yerselves," Atsumu grumbles with a pout as he crosses his arms. He claims the farthest seat in the bar just to make a point.
When Osamu and Meian's laughter finally dies down, his brother moves to make his fatty tuna onigiri as Meian turns to him. "So what're you drinking coffee for? Don't you hate it or something?"
Osamu snorts. "It's 'cause he's a baby. He can't handle strong, adult drinks."
Atsumu's hands curl into fists, ready to pummel his twin to the ground. "That's not true!"
But then even Sakusa has a smile playing on his lips when he sneakily throws in, "Heard him ask for sugar when his shot was too much for him the other weekend." This makes Meian wheeze out laughing once again, slapping his damn knee and all.
"No, I didn't!" Atsumu's cries fell unheard. "I wish Bo was here—he'd be on my side."
Meian can barely hold himself together, teary eyes from laughing so hard, as he retorts, "Bokuto's only on your side since he can't do bitter things as well." He throws a glance over his shoulder to where Atsumu strode in the front door minutes ago alone. "Where's Bo anyways?"
Atsumu murmurs his thanks begrudgingly as Osamu slides him a plate of two fatty tuna onigiri. He waves an absentminded hand at Meian. "With Akaashi. We won't see him until later for warm-ups."
Meian sighs, propping his chin on his palm. "Must be nice to be dating. Good for Bo and Akaashi."
Sakusa replies Meian as Osamu leaves the bar to check on his employees in the back to prep for opening. Atsumu isn't listening anymore, his focus on his food with his eyes locked on the coffee sitting next to his plate. It leaves a ring of condensation on the bar—one that he knows Osamu will click his tongue in irritation at him later. But he doesn't really care.
All he's looking at is Hinata Shouyou's chicken scratch of Fuck you! and the more careful scrawl of Atsumu with a smiley face next to it.
Atsumu feels warm all over again inside.
—
Atsumu's team wins the game that afternoon to everybody's surprise.
All it took was one blabbermouth to tattle Atsumu's cup of coffee he was slurping on earlier until all that's left were chips of ice—and everyone had been sweating buckets about his performance. Atsumu can't even be offended by the lack of trust in his skills—after all, he'd been the one to constantly go on and on about how detrimental coffee is to him.
Maybe that's why Atsumu can't bring himself to throw the empty plastic cup away.
He's sitting criss-cross on his bed that night, back pressed against his pillows as he turns the cup around in his hands. He'd rinsed it out earlier, making sure to not scrub away the words Hinata had written. And now, like a loser, he's looking up the cute barista on Instagram—wondering if luck was on his side.
He finds Hinata's account instantly, and he nearly strains his back with how fast he sits up on his bed.
Bokuto jolts from where he's lazily draped over his bed, eyes wide as he gives Atsumu a strange look. "You okay, dude?"
Atsumu just waves at him offhandedly. He can hear his own heart when he clicks on the profile—his shoulders slump inwardly.
Hinata's profile was private.
His only next possible step was to send a friend request.
He frowns. He wonders if Hinata would even accept his request, because that would come off as stalkerish. It's not like Hinata would remember him anyways, he probably got hundreds of customers a day with a variety of names that there'd be no way he'd remember Atsumu's.
(A small part of him secretly wishes he did though.)
Atsumu taps on the small icon at the top of the screen that holds Hinata's profile picture, watching as it enlarges and fills his screen.
For a moment, all he sees is the sun.
It's a picture of Hinata standing on the beach, arms outstretched wide as he grins brightly at the camera. His smile was so incredibly large it takes up his entire face, eyes turning into crescents with a blush spraying across his cheeks and nose. Atsumu doesn't think he's ever seen anyone smile like that before or look that happy. It makes his stupid heart flutter in his chest like an idiot.
"Dude, who's got you smiling like that?" Bokuto croons teasingly from his side of the room, snapping a picture of Atsumu with the flash on and all.
He throws a pillow across the room, content with the yelp that follows.
Atsumu sighs heavily as he glances down at the empty plastic cup in his hands.
—
There's a different drawing on the chalkboard a week later.
Try our new fall special Apple Pie Latte!
Below the taped-up sign is a drawing of what looks to be a hot cup of coffee with a smiling face and a tall glass with ice sitting at the bottom of it along with a lazy smile on its face. The two cups are grinning at each other, doodles of apples surrounding it.
It makes Atsumu press his lips together so he doesn't look like a moron in the middle of the street grinning at a chalk drawing of two cups of coffee.
He should really go to Onigiri Miya and stick to his schedule since he has another game today. And his stomach has been growling for the last hour—the half-dozen eggs he had this morning have long since digested.
He walks in the coffee shop.
And the boy with the color of sunshine in his hair and the earth in his eyes is there—standing behind the counter and beaming at Atsumu like they were old friends.
"Hello again!" Hinata greets him, leaning slightly forward over the counter. He has a hat on today, the logo of the coffee shop embroidered on it. It makes the short strands of his hair press against his forehead, brushing the tops of his eyebrows as it gives him a softer appearance.
Fuck—Atsumu can already feel the words dying in the back of his throat.
Atsumu forces his legs to work, taking one step at a time before he's standing before Hinata. He can't mess this up again, he can't make a fool out of himself again in front of him. So Atsumu offers Hinata a smile, the word leaving him breathlessly, "Hi."
Yeah, that's pathetic. Let's try that again next week.
But the smile on Hinata grows as he asks, "What can I get for you today?"
Atsumu jabs his thumb again over his shoulder just as he did last week. "Could I get yer special for this week?"
He gives him a strange look but nods, tapping away on the computer system. "You don't order coffee much, do you, Atsumu-san?"
He chuckles awkwardly at obviously being called out. "No, I don't, wait—" Atsumu blinks. "Ya remember my name?" he blurts out.
This takes Hinata slightly by surprise at the bluntness in his tone. He startles, eyes widening as the prettiest shade of pink streaks across his cheeks and nose. (The very same blush Atsumu had the pleasure of seeing on his Instagram profile picture.) "Oh—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just assume and call you like that—"
"No, no!" Atsumu swiftly cuts in, raising both hands to shake in protest. His chest is all warm and tingly when he laughs softly, the sound making Hinata's shoulders lower in relief. "It's alright, I'm just surprised ya remembered."
Hinata's still blushing, slightly ducking his head so his cap casts a shadow over his face. "Ah, it's because I've worked here for a while now, so I'm quite familiar with a lot of the regulars. And I've never seen you before, so when you told me your name last week, it's not that hard to remember." He coughs to clear his throat. "I apologize if it came off awkward for you . . . "
He wants to see that red flush on Hinata's cheeks again, but the boy wouldn't pick his head up and the hat was covering way too much. Atsumu tilts his head, leaning forward so he's at Hinata's eye level—and then catches his gaze when the shorter boy peeks under his cap.
There's a sort of lopsided grin on Atsumu's face when he sees the blush. "If it makes ya feel any better, I remember yer name too. Hinata," he tells him, not meaning for his voice to lower at the end so it comes out a little rough.
Hinata's face is like a tomato by now, but it makes an odd sense of male pride surge all throughout Atsumu as he chuckles deeply before moving to stand straight. He doesn't realize how hard he's been smiling this whole time until he feels his cheeks start to hurt.
"So we're even now," Atsumu says as Hinata visibly relaxes, the smile returning to his face. "How much do I owe ya for the coffee?"
"Oh, uh—" Hinata pauses as he taps away on the computer system, his eyebrows furrowing slightly in concentration as his tongue pokes out at the corner. Atsumu's mouth twitches as he finds the whole picture rather endearing. "There we go." Hinata meets his eyes and grins widely. "It's on the house!"
"What? Oh, ya didn't have ta do that—"
"No, please—" Hinata laughs softly as he picks up a large plastic cup and slips his Sharpie out of the little pocket in his apron. "I insist. A small token of my thanks for coming back for another cup of coffee." He scribbles something on it with what Atsumu hopes isn't another chicken scratch.
Atsumu's tongue and lips move on their own accord as he smoothly says, "Then let me get the next one for ya."
Hinata's pen hovers over the cup, those golden eyes of his sliding over to Atsumu. His grin is wide and breathtaking. "Okay, deal."
(Oh, God, Atsumu didn't think he would actually say yes.)
Thankfully, there's another barista who takes over the register as the bell chimes behind Atsumu to indicate a new customer. He shifts to the side, content with leaning his hip against the counter as he watches Hinata prepare his order.
"Did you like the last one I made for you?" Hinata asks, fingers expertly moving to flick a few switches on their large coffee machines. Atsumu's eyes drop to the strong forearms exposed from Hinata's polo shirt—lines of veins and corded muscle subtly flexing with every move he makes.
Atsumu tries not to smile like a moron over the small talk the barista makes with him. "I did," he says genuinely, eyes wandering over to Hinata's nimble fingers that work like he knows the art of coffee like it's the back of his hand—his eyes stay fixed on Atsumu, listening intently to his answer. "To be honest, I'm not a fan of bitter drinks or just . . . uh—"
Hinata's lips quirk as mischief glints in his eyes. "Coffee in general?" At Atsumu's sheepish expression, he laughs and adds, "That's alright, I kinda figured when you weren't quite sure how to place your order yesterday."
"That obvious, huh?" Atsumu mumbles to himself with a shy scratch on the back of his neck.
"Nah, don't worry about it," Hinata says lightly, eyes flitting to where Atsumu's thick biceps strain against his long-sleeved compression shirt before swiftly looking away. "So what kind of drinks do you like then?"
Atsumu's nose twitch when he smells cinnamon. "I like sweet drinks. Sugary drinks."
"I'd have never guessed," Hinata says mildly, a smile ghosting his lips as he tops off the drink with a large dollop of whipped cream. Atsumu can tell he puts a little extra for him. He slides a bottle of caramel sauce off the corner, tipping it upside down as he drizzles it all over. And then some more.
Atsumu's mouth practically waters at the sight of his diabetes-overload drink. "Woah," he murmurs. He doesn't even have the heart to tell Hinata he most definitely should not be drinking something like that hours before his game. "That looks incredible."
The blush is back on Hinata's cheeks and nose, and Atsumu decides he doesn't care if a sugar crash is in his foreseeable future. He'll drink whatever Hinata makes for him.
"Alrighty, that'll do." Hinata sets the caramel down and sprinkles some cinnamon powder atop before sealing a lid over the drink. "One special-of-the-week apple pie latte with extra whipped cream and extra caramel for our newest special customer Atsumu." He smiles cheekily, sliding the drink across the counter.
Atsumu's face burns at the sound of his name, but he finds himself reaching for the drink, rough pads of his fingers brushing against Hinata's smaller ones (and he wonders how his hands would feel enveloping around his much tinier ones). "Thanks," Atsumu says, trying not to think about how Hinata doesn't flinch away when their fingers meet. How Hinata still doesn't let go of the drink. "I'll get the next one." He doesn't try to pull the drink away.
Hinata's watching him, eyes taking in every expression Atsumu has to offer. And in a light, casual voice, he says, "You should let me know how this one tastes. If it's sweet enough for you."
He stupidly blinks. "How am I supposed ta let ya know?" It's not like Atsumu has his number or anything.
The shorter boy shrugs. "Find me on Instagram, then." He taps a finger against his name tag. "You know my name."
Atsumu's mouth dries. Is Hinata . . . flirting with him?
Hinata waves at him, turning to clean up what he'd just used when Atsumu grasps hold of the sanity he has left in him and blurts out, "What time d'ya get off work today?"
He holds his breath as Hinata pauses and turns to him with that easygoing smile on his face. "My shift ends at one-thirty. I usually cover the morning shifts." He cocks his head innocently. "Why?"
Atsumu says in one breath, "Would ya like ta watch my volleyball game today?"
A beat.
Hinata licks his lips and then grins. "I'd love to come watch your game."
—
Atsumu's knee won't stop bouncing.
There's ten minutes until the game officially starts and there's still no sign of Hinata anywhere. Not that Atsumu was worried or anything—Hinata didn't even tell him the exact time he'd come watch, all he said was that he'd be here.
"Oi," calls out a familiar voice, and Atsumu glances up from where he's sitting on the bench with his fingers fiddling with his phone. Bokuto has his hands on his hips, chest puffed as he jerks his head in a beckoning motion. "C'mon, Captain's calling."
Atsumu throws one more glimpse over his shoulder, ignoring the shrill cheers of the fangirls as his eyes skim through the crowd for tangerine hair. He's still not here. Trying not to let his disappointment show, he shoves his phone in his gym bag, gaze falling on the empty plastic cup from earlier that he'd rinsed out clean.
His lips twitch at the familiar shitty scrawl on the cup.
Today, Atsumu swears it says: Enemy!
He makes a mental note to ask Hinata about it sometime before pushing himself off the bench to join his teammates on the court. Slapping his signature grin on his face, he deeply exhales and focuses on today's game, trying to put himself in the zone. It's important they win today—it'll allow them to participate in the semi-finals which are two away games where they'd all have to stay in Tokyo for two nights.
And when Atsumu steps into the court, he feels the eyes of his teammates on him. On their setter.
He can't let them down.
The whistle blows and Atsumu pours his one hundred percent into the game. They receive first, easily enough as their libero bumps the ball with perfected accuracy to where Atsumu stands. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, but not from the nerves—from excitement. This was what Atsumu lives for—it's what makes him get out of bed everyday and push past his limits. He lives, breaths, bleeds volleyball—and today is no exception.
His lips curl up into a lazy grin—the kind he knows aggravates the opposing team. "All yers, Omi-Omi," he calls out, stretching his arms high up into the air as he feels the ball graze his fingertips. He sets it far across the court in calculated precision, watching as it soars with absolutely no spin into the ready palm of Sakusa Kiyoomi who spikes it hard into the other side.
They take the first point before anyone can blink.
Roars ensue from the crowd, banners rattling violently as the fans cheer for them like there's no tomorrow.
Atsumu adores them. But there's only one person he wishes is there cheering for him.
He strides to the back of the line, spinning the ball in his hands as he prepares to serve. The orchestra somewhere off the side plays a symphony that builds up, making adrenaline and anticipation rise in the crowd. He can see Meian playfully roll his eyes at him from where he stands, giving Bokuto a look that says: "Can you believe this guy?"
Atsumu's hand slowly ascends in the air, palm facing the linoleum floors of the court as it levels with his face, and then—
He squeezes his fingers shut into a fist.
All music ceases. The crowd hushes to a quiet. Absolute silence rings throughout the court.
Just the way Atsumu likes it.
And then the arrogant smirk on his face smooths away until a terrifyingly calm expression takes over. Nothing but focus and clear cut precision in every move he makes.
He tosses the ball high up into the air, then takes six steps forward, and soars with his arms outstretched. The ball slams into the opposing side of the net before anyone could even dive for it.
A no-touch service ace.
The gymnasium goes wild at the sight that never grows old. Since high school, Atsumu's become used to this. His teammates offer him pats in the back along with short words of compliments (and Bo's over-enthusiastic shouts and jumps). Atsumu grins back at them, opening his mouth to make a reply when he hears it.
"Nice serve, Atsumu!"
It's a wonder how his ears seem to pick up on his voice, considering how loud everyone is and how those words already seem to circulate around hundreds of people shouting their praises at him. He freezes momentarily, feeling his pulse spike and his heart stumble a beat. He turns to the source of the voice as though a thread tugged him to the very direction of where he was.
Hinata Shouyou's sitting in the third row at the very end by the corner. He's in a regular hoodie and jeans, no apron or hat in sight, and he's beaming widely at Atsumu. The setter meets his eyes almost instantly, and he watches as Hinata waves at him when their gazes cross path. And Atsumu can feel the stupid organ in his chest race to a hundred miles per hour when Hinata's smile grows even wider and turns his eyes into beautiful crescents.
Atsumu's ears burn hot as he shyly ducks his head to wave back at Hinata.
A couple of fans sitting around the boy shriek in excitement, thinking Atsumu's waving at them.
The two share another grin—one with reddened ears and the other with a flush across his cheeks and nose.
Both their hearts skip a beat.
—
"Hi."
Atsumu's voice comes out all breathless as he approaches Hinata who's waiting for him outside of the locker rooms, obscured by the large pillar that he nearly misses sight of the boy were it not for Hinata's fiery orange hair. They won the game, crushing their opponent in straight sets without much trouble—Atsumu had noticed Hinata lingering while the crowd already started to dissipate. Please just give me ten minutes, Atsumu had requested before gunning it to the locker room before any of his other teammates could, showering in record time before rushing out.
Hinata's head snaps up at the sound of Atsumu's voice, a smile already tugging on his lips as he watches Atsumu move to stand before him. "Hey, you," he chirps, craning his neck so he can meet his gaze.
Atsumu's hair is still wet from the shower, the bleached blond appearing a little darker than usual. He's not wearing athletic clothes for once, dressed more comfortably in a dark sweater and jeans. His gym bag is slung across his chest, shuffling slightly when he rubs the back of his neck. "Thanks fer comin'," Atsumu says with a sheepish grin. "I didn't think ya'd actually show up."
The tangerine-haired boy cocks his head curiously. "Of course I came, I told you I would."
"Right, ya did," Atsumu murmurs with a soft chuckle. "I hope it wasn't too boring for ya. I know some people don't find volleyball to their taste."
Hinata shakes his head fervently. "Oh, no, I didn't think it was boring at all! I actually—" he hesitates, eyes flickering to the side as he laughs shyly. "I used to play volleyball in middle school and high school."
He blinks. "What? Seriously?" At Hinata's nod, Atsumu's jaw drops. "How come I've never played ya in high school? I swear I'd have remembered ya. And what about right now? Why didn't ya join the team? D'ya not want to? What position did ya play?" Atsumu pauses, face contorting to a cringe as he realizes how loud he's gotten in every question that leaves his mouth. "S-Sorry, I didn't mean ta shout."
There's a pause as Hinata says nothing, merely staring up at Atsumu. His eyes are wide—like he's trying to absorb everything about Atsumu that he can—and his lips are twisted in a smile that Atsumu can't quite pinpoint exactly what's going on in his mind.
Hinata blinks slowly, almost like he doesn't want to miss a second of the way Atsumu's face turns red. "I like how passionate you are about volleyball," Hinata muses, his voice gentle with a hint of something sweet.
Atsumu chokes on his spit. His neck is blazing hot as he tears his eyes away from Hinata in an attempt to compose himself. "O-Oh, really?" He wants to smack himself for stammering. (Why does he always turn into a blushing mess around Hinata?) "A lot of people think I can be kinda annoying. I don't really care about what they think, but—" Atsumu coughs, eyes flitting back to Hinata's. "But I'm glad ya think otherwise."
There's talking in the other end of the hallway, and Atsumu breaks eye contact with Hinata to turn. He sees his teammates peeling out of the locker room, and he doesn't even have the opportunity to ask Hinata if he'd like to get out of here because Bokuto already catches sight of them.
"Hey, Tsum-Tsum!" he calls out, waving obnoxiously as the others follow his line of gaze—falling on Atsumu and Hinata. Standing side by side. Close enough that their shoes nearly touch.
Atsumu flinches, alarm flooding his features as he glances down at Hinata. "Fuck—sorry, that's my team. Uh—would ya like ta meet 'em?" At the sight of Bokuto leading the others down the corridor to them, Atsumu quickly throws in, "Or if not, it's not too late ta make a run for it."
Hinata laughs, however—the sound echoing pleasantly in the halls that Atsumu can't help but to feel the pitter-patter of his heart in response. "I'd love to meet your teammates."
"Really?"
He tips his head back slightly, just enough for Atsumu to see the warmth in Hinata's golden eyes. "I'd really like to get to know you more, Atsumu-san."
Bokuto makes his presence loudly known, sidling to them as he eagerly introduces himself to "Tsum-Tsum's friend" which, in turn, sparks a glint in Hinata's eye at the nickname. Hinata happily offers his name as well, waving hello pleasantly to the rest of the team who'd ambled over curiously.
And Atsumu?
Well, Atsumu's busy pretending he isn't blushing over the fact that Hinata never fails to make his name sound so warm and pretty falling from his lips.
—
Atsumu mans up and sends Hinata a follow request on Instagram later that night.
After the game, Bokuto had taken it upon himself to invite Hinata to their post-win dinner. Atsumu had swiftly jumped in, murmuring low under his breath for only Hinata to hear that he's not obligated to come if he already had plans.
Hinata did not have any plans.
Chewing nervously on his fingernail, Atsumu's eyes flicker to the empty bed on the other side of his room. Bokuto was over at Akaashi's tonight—he wouldn't be able to provide Atsumu the advice he needed in striking a conversation with Hinata (which Bokuto was easily able to do all throughout the night). All Atsumu had done was pathetically sit next to Hinata with his chin propped on his palm, watching the orange-haired boy get along and answer all the questions his team asked him throughout the dinner as they laughed and drank.
Hinata and his sunshine smile and nose blushes invade Atsumu's mind more than he realized they would. More than he expected they would.
He finds he wouldn't want it any other way.
ninja.shouyou accepted your request!
ninja.shouyou is now following you back!
Atsumu shoots up in bed, blankets bunching down to his waist as he stares wide-eyed at his phone. He grips it hard in his fingers, eagerly tapping on the notification as Hinata's now-visible account floods his screen. He flicks his thumb across it, scrolling through picture upon picture hungrily. Greedily.
And then he all but throws his phone across the room and buries his face into his pillows.
How the fuck can someone look so cute?
His phone buzzes with a notification, and it's rather pitiful how fast he scrambles to reach for it. An Instagram message from Hinata awaits him when he taps on his screen.
[Hinata]: Hi, Atsumu-san! Sorry for messaging you so late—
(Atsumu glances at the time and sees it's only ten o'clock at night. He laughs softly at the realization that Hinata must be one of those people that definitely goes to bed at nine-thirty on the dot, but then he remembers him saying he always covers the morning shift in the café. Now he worries if Hinata would get enough sleep before his shift.) (What time does the coffee shop even open?)
[Hinata]: But I just wanted to say I had a lot of fun tonight. Thanks for inviting me to your game.
[Hinata]: Oh, and please thank Bokuto-san for me as well on extending the invite to dinner. That's really kind of him.
[Hinata]: And thank you for letting me borrow your jacket.
Atsumu swallows hard as his mind flashes back to how Hinata even got hold of his jacket.
(Bokuto is the last to stumble out of the restaurant, the color flushed high on his cheeks as he's half-draped over Akaashi who bows politely at the rest of the team.
"We'll take our leave first," Akaashi announces, his face red from his boyfriend's clinginess despite being fully sober. "You all have a good night." And then in a softer, much gentler voice, he murmurs to Bokuto, "Let's go, Bokuto-san."
Bokuto nuzzles his nose deep into the crevice of Akaashi's neck, allowing himself to get dragged away. "You're so warm, 'Kaashi," he sighs out, giggling when Akaashi leans down to whisper something into his ear in response.
Atsumu tears his gaze away from them, suddenly feeling like he's intruding in something intimate. He gives his goodbyes to Meian and Sakusa who walks off with half of the team to the direction of the train station since they lived off-campus. And then he waves at the few who wanted to hop into another bar before going home.
Then it's just him and Hinata who patiently stands by his side. Almost like he belongs there. Atsumu flushes at the thought and blames it on the alcohol.
"You live on campus too?" Hinata asks as they make their way back, Atsumu insisting on walking him all the way to his dorm.
Atsumu nods, and perhaps it's the slight fog of the number of beers he had, but he finds himself easily opening a conversation with Hinata. And it's such a nice night out that he finds himself walking slower, wanting to drag his time out with the boy. Hinata doesn't seem to mind—if anything, he asks if they can stop by the konbini on their way home for something warm to drink (both to sober up and to fight the chilling autumn cold).
They're sitting on the steps in front of the konbini, fingers curled around hot cans to drink—tea for Hinata and something sweeter for Atsumu. They're talking in quieter notes, the kind that makes their breaths fog before them and makes warmth seep into their bones. Eyes shyly meet between words, cheeks and noses turning pink with a blush that only grows the more they realize how their shoulders brush and their legs press against each other's from how close they're sitting.
And Atsumu is stunned by how much he wants more of nights like these with Hinata. Just Hinata.
"Ya cold?" Atsumu asks, voice dropping low as they make their way to Hinata's dorm. The shorter boy's nose is red when he sniffs, a shiver running down his spine.
"Just a little," Hinata admits. "But it's fine, Atsumu-san, my dorm should just be right around the corner."
He stops talking.
Because Atsumu already slides his volleyball team jacket over Hinata's shoulders. It's a little cold because it's been inside of his gym bag for a few hours, but it smells a whole lot like him. And it's big enough that it swallows Hinata, the ends of the sleeves slipping past his fingers when he slips his arms through them.
"Th-Thanks, Atsumu-san," Hinata stammers out, and Atsumu isn't quite certain if the pink on his nose is still from the cold or from something else.
"Atsumu," he suddenly says as he slows down to a stop when Hinata comes in front of a door with his keyring in his hand.
Hinata gives him a questioning glance.
"Just Atsumu's fine," he clarifies, and his heart leaps to his throat when Hinata chews on his bottom lip to hold back a grin.
"Okay. Atsumu." And Atsumu thinks he could combust at the sound of his name from his lips. "Then I'd like for you to just call me Shouyou, if that's alright."
Atsumu slowly lifts a hand, reaching up to fix his jacket on Hinata, the fabric had slid down his shoulder from how big and loose it was. "Okay. Sweet dreams, Shouyou-kun."
He waits until Hinata's inside the safety of his dorm room with the lock clicking behind him before Atsumu makes the walk back to his dorm, it being on the opposite side of campus.
There's a stupid smile on his face the whole way.)
[Atsumu]: hey! it's no problem at all.
[Atsumu]: i didn't want u cold
Hinata's quick to reply.
[Hinata]: I'm going out of town this weekend to visit family, but I was wondering if you're free next week? I don't want to keep your jacket too long with me in case you might need it.
[Atsumu]: i have to go to tokyo next week for a few days w/ the team for semi finals
[Hinata]: Oh! Then you'll probably need this back. I can wash it tomorrow morning before my shift and give it to you before I leave in the afternoon?
Atsumu ponders on it for a second—it'd give him a reason to see Hinata again so soon. Plus, he does owe him a cup of coffee. But he didn't want to inconvenience him either by rushing him and slotting himself into Hinata's already packed schedule.
So he decides against it.
[Atsumu]: why don't u hold on to my jacket for now?
[Atsumu]: u can just give it to me when i come back from tokyo
Atsumu's thumbs hover over the keyboard for a second as he hesitates on a text.
Fuck it, he sends it.
[Atsumu]: ur my good luck charm after all, shouyou-kun
Atsumu damn near throws his phone across the room again, feeling his cheeks already burning hot at what he'd just texted. But Hinata's reply already buzzes through.
[Hinata]: Then I'll happily wear it and cheer you on.
—
The team wins the two away games in Tokyo despite having to play full sets both times. They go to a restaurant later that night with their coach and manager, celebrating loudly as food and alcohol fill the table steadily. Atsumu enjoys himself, soaking up the praises from his teammates with a shy sort of confidence. He can admit that he played extremely well today, the ball felt just right on his fingers.
But the real star of tonight was Sakusa. So when Atsumu decides to retire back to their hotel early, they don't hound him too much for it and wave him goodnight. They're too busy pestering the ace of the team who hides his smile behind his mask.
Slightly inebriated, Atsumu makes it back to the hotel after a ten-minute walk. He drags himself into the shower, moving like a zombie as he dreams about finally falling into bed. His limbs are sore, especially after having just played two back-to-back games that nearly wiped him out. He throws himself face first into the pillows, groaning as his muscles ache in protest before he worms his way deep under the blankets.
It's late, he's seconds away from falling asleep. But he hears his phone buzz with a notification on the hotel's bedside table.
He grumbles under his breath, wondering if it's his stupid brother texting him something dumb.
He cracks an eye open to check the screen, and both eyes widen in an instant.
It's from Hinata. He'd sent Atsumu a text and an attachment on Instagram. He swipes it open right away.
[Hinata]: Congrats on the win! I watched your second game, you did really good! I mean, your team had incredible players but I thought you were amazing. BTW, I wore this to cheer you on like I said I would.
Atsumu taps on the photo Hinata sent—and he fucking swears his entire body turns rigid as his face grows impossibly warm.
Hinata's smiling at the camera in a sort of shy manner, head slightly ducked with his orange hair all rumpled like he'd just rolled out of bed. He's wearing Atsumu's jacket, his body angled in a way where it shows his last name and number on the back.
It's an innocent photo—one that Hinata probably didn't even think too much about when he took it. But he looks so soft and sweet with his smile and with Atsumu's name on him that it has Atsumu typing out his next words without any hesitation on his mind.
[Atsumu]: can i take you out on a date sometime?
His heart is pounding, his phone nearly slipping as his fingers turn clammy in anticipation. Hinata doesn't reply right away, but he can see that he's read the message. It takes a few minutes before his phone buzzes with a response.
[Hinata]: I'd like that a lot.
—
Atsumu goes to see Hinata in the coffee shop a day early.
Their date isn't until tomorrow, but he can't help himself. All he could think of is how much he'd really like to see him again and have another sip of his coffee. A cup of coffee that Hinata personally makes for him.
Hinata does a double take when he sees Atsumu enter the shop, slightly breathless with a scarf wrapped around his neck. It's a little colder outside, the temperature having dropped drastically overnight. His ears are red and his face is flushed, but he can't help the soft exhale that he breathes out when he catches sight of Hinata standing behind the counter in his apron, mouth spreading into a large smile.
"Atsumu!" Hinata calls out, practically leaning over the counter like he's gravitating to him.
He lurches forward, feet moving on their own as he approaches the register. "Hey." Atsumu's grinning back, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. "I saw yer drawing outside," he says, like he's trying to give a reason to justify him showing up.
But Hinata's smiling like he's glad Atsumu's here, regardless of his reason. "Want one?" he asks, already tapping on the computer. "I'll make it extra sweet. Just for you."
Atsumu doesn't think he's ever smiled this much in a long time. He's quick to tap his card this time before Hinata can try to pay for him again, and he watches endearingly as the Sharpie comes out of his apron, the tip pressed to the large plastic cup to create his signature chicken scratch.
"What brings you to the shop today?" Hinata asks as he gets started on making Atsumu's drink.
He swallows hard, tongue moving on its own and decides to go past all pretenses. "I just wanted to see ya."
Hinata's fingers nearly fumble over the cup as he blinks at Atsumu. He clears his throat, returning to the coffee machines. "I'm glad you did," Hinata says as he pours the drink into the cup. "Because I really wanted to see you too."
He cocks his head to the side and croons, "Yer seeing me t'morrow as well, y'know. 'M surprised yer not sick of me yet."
Hinata laughs as he switches on the kitchen torch to brown the edges of the marshmallows. "Not sick of you yet," he says teasingly, and then flicks his eyes up to meet Atsumu's gaze. "Kinda wanna keep you around."
Atsumu nearly hiccups like a moron.
His chest is all tight and warm, his cheeks are starting to hurt with how hard he's grinning, and his body has been leaning over the counter just slightly this whole time. Like he wants to remember how Hinata's shoulders brushed his that night, how their shadows melted together until nobody else existed but them.
Hinata sets his newest creation down and slides it to the center of the counter, to the space between them. And then he holds Atsumu's gaze when he says, "One grilled marshmallow latte with extra marshmallows and extra chocolate syrup. Just for you."
Just for you.
Atsumu thinks he likes the sound of that.
He takes the cup, their fingers grazing each other's. Neither pull back. Neither look away.
He can't wait to see what Hinata wrote on the cup for him today.
And he especially can't wait to see him again tomorrow.
—
Atsumu takes Hinata to the beach for their first date.
He picks him up from his dorm room that morning, two cups of coffee in his hands that he'd proudly brandished to Hinata as he eagerly watches him taste it.
("It's good," Hinata had said with bright eyes as they walked to Atsumu's car. "Did you get it at the coffee shop?"
"No," Atsumu had mumbled back shyly, opening the passenger door for Hinata to slide in. "I made it myself. I borrowed my brother's coffee machine this morning.")
He drives the hour long trip to the beach, listening to Hinata tell him about his coworkers and how he's training a new guy who has green hair and a cowlick that no gel can make stay down. They drink the coffee Atsumu had made, smiling at each other in every red light. Atsumu tells him more about Osamu—what it's like to have a twin brother. Hinata laughs at every anecdote, commenting the differences here and there with him and his sister.
Their fingers brush at some point on the console.
Neither pull back.
They get to the beach not long after ten o'clock in the morning, and Atsumu's heart practically bursts at the seams when he sees how wide Hinata is smiling and how his eyes are glittering at the sight of the crystal blue waters.
It's too cold to swim or to even dip their toes in the water, so Atsumu leads them to the boardwalk where Hinata excitedly runs to the very end of. He looks back to Atsumu, waving his arms around as he points at the seagulls swooping low in the air. They stand side by side, overlooking the gentle waves that lap languidly, the sun reflecting off the waters.
It smells like salt and citrus, enough for Atsumu to forever imprint this moment into his memory.
And when Hinata glances up to him, already finding Atsumu gazing down at him with all the affection in the world—he doesn't look away.
That's when Atsumu kisses him.
Hesitantly at first. Like he's testing the waters.
Their lips barely touch, like a hint of a whisper. Atsumu's eyes flutter shut when he feels how soft Hinata's lips are despite them being a little cold. He pulls back slightly, still in his space so their noses graze and their mouths brush when he asks: "Is this okay?"
Hinata smiles and nods. Those golden eyes closing shut as he bridges the gap between them once again. Atsumu kisses him more fervently, one arm sliding around his back to pull him a little closer. His other hand cups Hinata's jaw, fingertips rough against smooth skin. He kisses him like he's breathing him in—like he's the very air he needs to live. And Atsumu feels like he's never been more alive than he has in this moment.
He can taste the coffee on Hinata's tongue, the bitterness melding with the sugar Atsumu doused in his. And it makes him want to sigh—want to melt in Hinata's arms as he feels him reach up to fist the front of Atsumu's shirt in his hands.
The world continues to move around them, the waves crashing and the seagulls crying. But for Atsumu and Hinata, time stands still with every kiss they share, arms locked around one another with fingers intertwined as a spark of new beginnings light up the sky.
BONUS:
Atsumu lays sprawled on his belly in his dorm room, fingers tapping fervently on his phone with whatever game Hinata's friend has him addicted to. He's met a couple of his boyfriend's friends from high school like Kenma who'd introduced Atsumu to this fuckass game and Kageyama who was a grumpy boy that spoke bluntly. He's also been around the coffee shop enough that he's spoken to Hinata's coworkers and even his manager time to time (and to sign his autograph when one of their kouhai who works part-time asked him very shyly).
"'Tsumu," he hears a voice call out to him from the kitchen.
"Yeah, babe," he calls back, eyes flickering up for a split second from his phone to where he can see the top of Hinata's orange hair peek out behind his air fryer that took up the counter space.
"You want beef or chicken?"
Atsumu hums, thinking for a minute. "Let's do chicken since we did beef last night. And ya said ya liked its soup more so," he trails off, his focus returning to the game.
He can hear Hinata shuffling behind the stove, his music quiet in the background. Then— "'Tsumu," another sweet call to him.
"Yes, babe."
He can see Hinata's head poke out from the side of the air fryer. "Can you season it for me?" he asks with a little whine in his voice. "I like when you do it, tastes so much better."
Atsumu doesn't even hesitate to fling his phone aside and jump out of bed with a small stretch. "Comin'," he says in a sing-song voice, slippers echoing against the floors as he skips to the cramped dormitory kitchen.
Hinata's standing on his tiptoes with the cupboard open, arm stretched out as he tries to grab the spices and seasoning at the second shelf just slightly out of his reach. He's wearing one of Atsumu's hoodies over a pair of old volleyball shorts and some white socks (he'd been sliding across the floors earlier).
The two bowls of chicken flavored instant ramen sits on the opposite side of the kitchen, on the counter next to the sink. Steam curls from it, and Atsumu can already feel his stomach growling from how good it smells.
He watches Hinata struggle for a second, lips curling fondly as he chuckles to himself. "Babe, I told ya I was comin'," he muses, large hands bracketing Hinata's waist as he lifts and sets him on the counter. Atsumu grins crookedly down at him—even with Hinata sitting on the counter, he's still shorter than Atsumu. It sends his stupid heart fluttering.
Hinata sticks his tongue out playfully, legs slightly swinging. "I told you to put the spices on the first shelf since I can at least reach that high."
Atsumu didn't have the heart to tell him he's been putting it on the second shelf because he likes hearing Hinata call his name so sweetly for help. And because he gets to slot himself between Hinata's legs exactly like this.
"Nuh uh, no can do, baby," Atsumu teases, reaching up to easily grab the seasoning packets and powders before leaning down to press his lips against Hinata's, throwing in some tongue action just because he loves how flustered he gets.
He's right. Hinata's face is all red and pretty when Atsumu steps away to attend to their bowls of ramen on the other side. Hinata's phone sits in the corner, playing music that makes Atsumu nod along to the rhythm.
"'Tsumu, you're such a tease," Hinata scolds, hopping off the counter to stand next to him, eagerly watching Atsumu work his magic.
"What?" he asks all innocently. "Thought ya liked when I kissed ya like that, no?"
Hinata gives him the side-eye, but the way his mouth twitches to hide a smile says otherwise.
"Alright, all done. Let's eat!" Atsumu picks up the bowls, carrying it to the little makeshift table in the middle of his dorm room. Hinata scurries over to clear out the mess so Atsumu can set the bowls down.
They sit across each other, legs folded underneath with their knees brushing. For a few seconds, all that echoes in the room is the sound of Atsumu slurping his noodles and mumbling how Hinata always boils them to the perfect amount of time and of Hinata blowing air into his soup before taking hungry sips of it.
"Wanna come with me to the store later today?" Hinata asks suddenly.
"Of course I do, ya don't even need ta ask." He throws him a glance. "What d'ya need from the store?"
Atsumu follows his line of sight and realizes Hinata's staring at the plants Atsumu has pushed against his window sill, sunlight bathing the little leaves. Hinata juts his chin at the direction of it. "I wanna transfer your plants into proper pots."
"What?! Wait—no!" Atsumu splutters out indignantly, damn near choking on a noodle that temporarily wedges in his throat. He scrambles to his feet. "Ya'd have ta pry these plastic-cup pots outta my dead body."
Hinata gives him a strange look. "Why are you acting so weird over some plastic cups?"
Atsumu watches him incredulously for a moment. "Some plastic cups—? Babe—! These are your cups. You made me these cups of coffee when we first met, remember?"
"Oh, my God—are they really?"
Atsumu crouches down so he's eye level with three plastic cups filled with soil and budding plants that he'd potted himself when he and Hinata first started dating. And then he carefully spins each cup around so his boyfriend's shitty chicken scratch of a handwriting is visible to them.
"Look, see—" Atsumu says proudly, pointing to each one. "The very first time we met, you wrote me: Fuck you!—"
Hinata starts choking on his ramen, soup spraying across the table as he coughs violently.
Atsumu goes on talking like normal, "And then on the second time, you said: Enemy!"
"That's not—" Hinata is tearing up by now as he thumps on his chest to not die from a piece of noodle lodged in his throat.
"—Ah, and my personal favorite. Ya made me a marshmallow latte in this one. You wrote: Yum cock!" Atsumu's grin turns mischievous, resembling a fox at the moment as he coos, "Y'know, babe—it's kinda crazy how ya already like the taste of my cock before ya even had me down yer throat—"
"Atsumu!" Hinata shouts, tripping over his feet to get close enough to smack him upside the head. "I didn't—! I never—!" He furiously slaps his arm, enough of a strength from his days as a volleyball player in high school, and glares at Atsumu with tomato red cheeks. "That's not what any of the cups say!"
Atsumu stares at him bewildered. "Seriously? Coulda fooled me with yer shitty handwriting—ow!" he exclaims again when Hinata smacks him. "What the hell do they say then?"
Hinata points at each one with a very filthy glare at him. "Thank you!, Enjoy!, and You rock!"
Silence follows. Atsumu's rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he mumbles, "Sho-kun . . . , we need ta work on yer handwriting, sweetheart."
"You need to work on your handwriting."
"Now yer just projecting . . . "
Hinata flips him off, looking very much like an angry kitten. "Fuck you! Enemy! Yu—" he abruptly stops talking.
"Go on, babe, keep goin'."
Shouts and laughter bounce around the dorm room as Hinata pounces on Atsumu, tackling him to the floor as they wrestle. Atsumu's yelping with every playful slap to the arm as he still coaxes his boyfriend to say the words; Hinata's scolding him in embarrassment, but he's smiling with every smacking kiss Atsumu plants on his face.
Sunlight streams in through the window and bathes the plants with a glow. And further inside on the kitchen counter sits two empty cups of coffee—one for Hinata and one for Atsumu.
