osamu miya is your husband, you just haven’t been informed.
“last orders!” you said, cleaning up after the salary man who just left.
the last customers were a elderly couple who often came for dinner. living a few blocks away from the store allowed them to visit frequently, making them one of the common faces in onigiri miya.
you turned around and walked towards their table, asking for a final time if they wanted or needed anything before closing time.
“efficient as always mrs. miya”
“haha, thank you for your high praise, however i’m not a miya”
the woman looked surprised, as her husband calmly sips on the last bits of his green tea getting ready to leave.
“your not? i’m pretty sure the owner said you were his wife?”
this time you were the perplex one, looking down to your fingers to make sure you didn’t forget marrying your boyfriend.
raising your hand to show your empty ring finger, you felt another pair of hands wrap around the half raised arm, putting it back down by your sides. then you heard a voice from behind you.
“we just got married last month, so she’s still getting used to the new surname”
turning around you look at osamu, who was still holding your hands with a small mischievous smile on his face. you shoot him an inquisitive look, before returning your attention to the customers packing up to leave.
before you could correct his blatant lie, the woman chuckled. “fufufufu, you should’ve told me so earlier, enjoy being a newlywed while you can”
the woman shot you and your boyfriend a sweet smile, as her husband helps her put on her coat.
giving up on clearing up the misunderstanding, you escorted them to the exit.
before leaving the store the woman’s husband handed you some cash which you assumed to be a tip.
“consider it our wedding gift to you”
surprised by the reasoning, you tried to explain and clear up their misconception of your relationship with the owner.
“oh, we’re not actuall—“
“thank you so much for your blessings! we’ll see you next time!”
osamu cuts you off, grabbing your hand from behind again to wave the elderly couple off, wishing them a safe journey home with a wide grin on his face.
you glanced at your boyfriend, as he shamelessly walks back into the store. you followed him in, locking up after entering, shooting him another glance just to see him cleaning up his station like he didn’t just lie to get extra money.
“did you just propose to your employee at work? i’m pretty sure that’s an abuse of power mr. miya. wouldn’t want your business license getting suspended now would you?”
breaking your silence, you decided to question him on the events that transpired in the last 5 minutes.
“i don’t know what your talking about my dear?”
“you just lied to our regulars!”
you heard the grin in his voice as he replied.
“our? i’m pretty sure this place is called onigiri miya, so for them to be OUR regulars, you must be a miya”
“hmmmm, i don’t see a ring on my finger”
laughing at your response, he exercised his rights to remain silent. little did you know about the cake, bouquets, and engagement ring waiting for you at home, along with marriage filing documents he’d already signed.
-
a few months later, the regular elderly couple was back.
“mrs. miya, still as efficient as ever”
“thank you as always, i don’t deserved your high praise ma’am”
she chuckled in response “fufufu, i see you’ve gotten used to your new name.”
you flushed at her observation, not bothering to clear up the misunderstanding from before. as you sheepishly scratched your head flashing the glittering ring osamu proposed with.
being the only person kaz can touch would include:
warnings. haphephobia (the fear of being touched or touching others), some angst and fluff, vomiting, hidden feelings (0.7k)
divider credits. @cafekitsune
being a trusted member of the crows for quite some time, and growing up as part of the dregs with him prior to him earning his high standing position
if anything, he would feel the most comfortable with you as he had known you for years, although that did not make it any easier for him at the start
it isn’t that he didn’t want to be able to touch others, as it was a weakness that repulsed him to his very core, but he just couldn’t
the act of flesh touching his own would slip him into a state of sickness, both mentally and physically. kaz despised it, though he had gotten used to not being able to hold skin to skin contact
but he wanted to overcome the vigorous discomfort that he felt amidst it, and have some relief in conquering a minuscule part of it. even if it was with only a singular person. it would grant him a feeling of power and control over his greatest fear
he asked you, as you were never one to pry in regards to him constantly wearing his gloves and him grimacing at the sight of wounded flesh
the two of you were in his office, just the pair of you when he brought it up in conversation. kaz felt comfortable that you would not judge him, you had known each other long enough for your mind to hardly draw focus to his phobia
he had even in the past trusted you with his gravest secret - the reason for his phobia, and you understood the experience that he had had as a child could contort his mind into repelling human contact
“i know this may seem rash…” his words had you concerned until he explained his motives; he seemed certain on what he wanted, and whilst you wished to abide in helping him, you yourself were afraid of bringing him discomfort, especially when it involved such a hardwired fear he had
nevertheless you agreed on the conditions that you would proceed with the process slowly, and he would let you know if it got too much
kaz agreed to your terms, silently appreciating the care that you had for him, daring not to voice it. he was not the best person at expressing his feelings if they were not within the realm of anger or rage
small steps, he reminded himself, not wanting to overwhelm himself before the two of you started in battling his fears, or let you become wise as to the reason he had wanted you to be the one to help him
when you first touched after years of knowing one another, you held kaz’s hands. he still wore his gloves as you had told him to, and he felt guilty for the bile that rose in his throat and the vomit that left his mouth
the feeling was so foreign, but he knew that it was his own nerves gnawing at him. he still had his gloves on for saint’s sakes, and that did not usually stop him during brawls with the dime lions if it was necessary
but it was his fault, he told himself. kaz had been imagining himself not wearing the barriers of leather, picturing your hands held together with nothing in between
you did not blame him, nor physically try to comfort him, knowing that neither would enlighten or make kaz feel any better. instead, you told him that you could both try again some other time if he wished, making sure that he did not feel any pressure to do so if he either did not want to or did not feel comfortable 
he made a point of continuously calling you to his office after that, to try and try again. and over time, the impulse to vomit subsided, and he got used to holding your hand whilst wearing his gloves
one day, he surprised both of you by removing the leather from his hands, choosing on impulse to touch your own. he had expected to be sickened, but instead his mind distracted him, thinking of how warm your skin was - nothing like jordie’s had been when…
you were shocked, a smile pulling onto your features and pride swelling in your chest for Jim
though you had reminded him to go at his own pace, you could not help but hug him, and he awkwardly embraced you back, feeling comfortable enough due to all of the layers of clothing that were between you
it was a work in progress, but Kaz wanted more, his greed overwhelming him. he did refrain but he had every intent of eventually progressing, fighting his greatest fear so that one day he would be capable of kissing you…
Atsumu can’t take it anymore, as cute as Hisako is in the flesh and bone, she’s one of the most stubborn little girls he’s ever met- granted, he’s only met like, three, but she’s on the top of that list.
He can’t blame her, she’s got Miya blood in her veins, but he’s never seen the effects this potent.
And today? She’s in a goddamned mood.
Atsumu puts her hair up, she takes it down because she doesn’t like it.
She doesn’t want to eat her breakfast because of how it’s arranged on the plate.
She didn’t want to brush her teeth because of how the toothbrush felt in her mouth.
Atsumu told her he’s going to leave without her, she said “that’s fine.”
She didn’t want to buckle her seatbelt, because the seatbelt made her skin itch.
(“No,” he snarls. “This is not a negotiation. You’re getting buckled.”
“But I don’t want to!” She pouts. “You n’ mommy nd’ uncle Samu tell me I don’t gotta do stuff I’m on-comfter-ble with!
“This is different and Miya Hisako, if you do not listen to me, so help me gods-“)
He’s at his limit.
How can she be so precious with her mother, her uncle, the other uncles who is on Atsumu’s team, her granny, literally everyone but him?
Menace.
It takes two hours to get Hisako ready and fed and in the car for school, Atsumu is sure he’s got grey hairs now, but he’s thankful to at least have her in the car. The ride is silent and tense, with Atsumu’s white knuckles gripping the wheel with the force of 1000 gods. In the mirror, he sees her little arms crossed, her lips in a little scowl, and she looks so much like him when he was a kid it’s hilarious- if he ever acted like this as a kid though, he needs to send his poor mother a muffin basket ASAP.
Finally, finally, they’re able to get to school without getting into another spat, and Atsumu sighs and parks his car, but before he gets out to let Hisako out, he turns in his seat with a soft smile.
“Listen, baby,” he says sweetly, trying to extend an olive branch to his damned six year old. “I… I want you to have a good day today, okay?” His tips his head when the pout etched on Hisako’s lips soften. “Do you wanna tell daddy what’s wrong? What I can do to help?”
Hisako sighs and fiddles with her tiny fingers. Atsumu nods softly in encouragement, ready for his babygirl to confide in her favorite person and reach a resolution that would help them both through the day, and-
“It’s you, daddy.”
Uh.
What.
“Excuse me!”
“It’s you!” She whines again, her legs kicking out in her seat for emphasis.
Atsumu is convinced he’s never been more offended in his life. He knows his little girl could be a tiny devil, she was her father’s spawn, but this?
Horrendous betrayal.
“What the heck did I do!”
“Other than breathin’, nothin’!” She grumbles, the scowl on her lip out once again. “You just get on my nerves sometimes!”
“You little-!” He unbuckles himself to fully turn in his seat. “You don’t even know what that means, okay?!”
“Uh-huh I do!” She crosses her tiny arms, “you get on uncle ‘samu’s nerves all t’ time! He tells me!! He goes ‘your dad’s real good at gettin’ on my nerves!’” She huffs, “and now I ‘gree!”
“That’s not-! That’s-! You’re-!” While Atsumu scrambles for words, Hisako is blinking at him with the most wide, angry eyes, and he growls deep in his throat when he can’t find the words to convey how salty he is. Scrambling, he escapes his way out of the car to open the door to his back seat, brows furrowed.
“I hope you have the day you deserve!” He snips, fingers diving in to tickle her sides and up to her neck, and he tries not to soften at the sound of her laughter. “I hope, that none of your markers work, and all of your crayons are broken, and all your letters are messed up!” Tiny hands shove at his, bouncing in her seat to try and fight him away.
“Daddy, no!” She squeals.
“I hope that all your papers get crinkled, and I hope the lunch uncle Osamu packed you doesn’t come with a note! I hope that your friends only want you to swing when you play jump rope, and I hope you get sand in your shoe in the sandbox, you little snot!”
With that, he retracts his hands and unbuckles her seat, still trying to keep an angry facade, despite the fact that seeing her smile is more than enough to break that feeling. Quickly, Atsumu unbuckles her seat and pulls her up and out of the car, passing her backpack to her with a tiny ruffle of her hair. “Get outta here.”
Atsumu cards his hair back and looks to the sky for whoever was listening for patience, but that silent prayer is interrupted by a gentle tug on his sweatpants.
“What?”
She flashes him her biggest set of puppy eyes, and Atsumu quirks a brow. “You didn’t give me a hug…” her fingers clasp in front of her innocently. “‘N I don’t like that. You still give mommy hugs when she mad at you.”
The vein in his forehead throbs but he chuckles at his little girl’s words, because sure, maybe she is right, the little shit. He bends down to scoop her into his big arms, squeezing her tight with a playful groan of effort while she curls her arms around his neck.
“I do hope you have a good day, princess,” he hums, kissing her temple. “Even if I made you mad this morning with my breathing.” Hisako giggles into his neck, and with another kiss to her head, he finally puts her down and sends her back off with her teacher, sighing at the little terror he calls his daughter.
He gets back in the car. He picks up his phone. Immediately, his fingers fly over the keyboard to dial his brothers number.
“It’s 7 in the morning, one of ya better be dying-“
“YOU TELL YOUR NIECE I GET ON YOUR NERVES?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, he hears his twin, his younger twin, the twin he should’ve eaten in the womb, chuckle.
“Yeah,” he says cooly, like this hasn’t been the lead cause of chaos for the first four hours of Atsumu’s day.
“Sometimes, you manage to piss me off with just breathin’, ‘tsumu.”
Atsumu immediately leaps a foot in the air from the small voice of your son, standing on the side of his bed, small arms cradling a stuffed duck. You’re not quite sure what woke you up- your husbands leap of terror, or your son’s tiny, frightened voice.
He groans and smacks a hand over his face, “bud, it’s the middle of the night. It’s too late to try and scare daddy to death.”
“Sorry,” he pouts. You close your eyes and sit up with a grunt, and he offers you a small wave, “hi mumma.”
“Hey, Kousei,” you hum. You press your fingers into your eye sockets, “what’s going on, sweetheart?”
The three year old digs his foot in the carpet, before flicking big brown eyes up at his dad, “know how look f’ monsters, daddy?”
Atsumu nods exhausted, “yeah, I do. What about them?”
“Man in my closet says no sleep.”
Atsumu immediately tenses up, your own eyes flying open as you look down in terror at Kousei.
“….who said that?” Atsumu chokes.
“The man in my-“
“Yeah, okay,” he squeaks. “Good to know I heard you right.” He looks over at you, eyes pleading for support, but when you nod towards the door, he shakes his head in fear. “Just- okay. Come on in bud.” He lifts the sheets for Kousei to climb in, which the small boy does.
You scoff, “isn’t that something you should discuss with your wife first?”
“You can go talk to the man in his closet, I’m all set,” he mumbles, kissing his son’s head.
You sigh and scrub your eyes, “should I get hisako?”
— every thursday, atsumu spends two hours explaining to the internet why y/n is his soulmate while aggressively sobbing into a mic.
miya atsumu x f!reader | fluff
it’s 6am, i’m gonna sleep now. I LOVE ATSUMU
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the first time he hit record, miya atsumu swore he wasn’t gonna cry. he swore it on his setter’s hands, his twin brother’s dignity (which, let’s be real, didn’t count for much), and the entire kansai dialect dictionary. but then he said your name out loud—just your name—and his voice cracked like the surface of an overcooked crème brûlée.
“uh, hey guys,” he sniffled into the mic, “welcome t’ episode one of why y/n should marry me. it’s, uh, self-explanatory.”
the audio that followed was seventy-three minutes of incoherent rambling, seven minutes of crying, one minute of silence where he was clearly staring at your instagram profile, and finally—six minutes of atsumu whispering “she looked so good in that one hoodie, holy crap” like it was a religious confession.
the episode title? ep.1 – evidence that she’s the reason flowers bloom (and other undeniable truths).
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you found out about it from suna.
he sent you the link with the caption: ur man’s lost it. again.
you clicked play because, well, curiosity. and maybe because you missed him—just a little.
and there he was. your favorite idiot. talking like the world spun because you existed.
“like, how’s she so perfect?” he said mid-episode, voice already wobbly. “like—i don’t get it. she chews her food so cute. y’know how some people chew? and you’re like, ew, stop? she’s not like that. she could eat gravel and i’d clap.”
you laughed out loud. actually laughed. which was dangerous, because laughing meant fondness, and fondness meant you were one i-need-him text away from ruin.
the comments were even worse.
@ hoeji: this is the healthiest parasocial relationship i’ve ever seen.
@ yourmom67: bro sounds like he’d fight god if god looked at her wrong.
@ y/nfanclubbyberto: does y/n know she’s in danger? like romantic danger?
dangerous, indeed.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
by episode three, he’d added background music—soft piano, like some lovesick documentary.
“today,” he sniffled (because yes, there were tears, again), “i’ll be discussin’ the way she texts. y/n uses emojis sparingly. that’s class. that’s taste. i send her six heart emojis, she replies with one smiley. restraint. mystery. allure. she’s like the mona lisa of texting, i swear.”
then he took a dramatic pause.
“also, i counted. she used the crying laughing emoji three times in one week. statistically speakin’, that’s true love.”
he was so serious about it you almost believed him.
“like, she’s out there bein’ an angel,” he continued, “and i’m here makin’ a podcast, cryin’ like i just got benched. but that’s love, ain’t it? that’s devotion. that’s pure, unfiltered, top-tier romance, the kinda stuff shakespeare couldn’t write ‘cause he never met her.”
the way he said your name after that made your heart ache in the softest, most ridiculous way.
and sure, the rational part of your brain whispered that maybe this was too much. but the louder part—the one that had seen atsumu try to fold laundry and cry because he “missed your smell”—that part just found it stupidly endearing.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
episode six was titled ‘i saw her once in the produce aisle and now i believe in fate.’
the intro music had gotten fancier. he’d added a jingle. suna’s voice could be heard in the background, clearly forced into co-hosting.
“bro,” suna said, deadpan, “you can’t keep talkin’ about her like she cured polio.”
“she could, though!” atsumu snapped, the sound of a fist hitting the table echoing through the mic. “if she wanted to, she could! she’s that amazin’!”
“okay,” suna muttered, “but last week you said she invented joy.”
“she did!”
there was a crash sound. possibly a thrown water bottle.
and you? you were sitting in your kitchen, clutching your phone, grinning like an absolute fool. because who talks about someone like that? who loves that loudly, that shamelessly?
atsumu, apparently. your atsumu. MY ATSUMU LAWDD
the boy who once asked if your hand “fit perfectly in his or if it was just destiny’s handiwork.”
the boy who recorded two-hour odes to your existence because he didn’t know how else to say he loved you.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
one night, you tuned in to a livestream episode.
“alright,” he said, voice shaky, “today’s special. i ain’t editin’ nothin’. this is raw, real, unfiltered heartache—uh, i mean love. same thing.”
he leaned too close to the mic—you could practically hear his heartbeat through the audio.
“y/n, if yer listenin’,” he said, “and i know ya are, ‘cause i can feel it in me bones—marry me. like, not even jokin’. i already asked ya once, but i’m askin’ again. on-air proposal, baby. i got nothin’ left to lose but my pride, and honestly? i lost that the moment i made episode two.”
then he sniffled. loudly.
“please. i’ll cook for ya every day. i’ll do the laundry without shrinkin’ yer sweaters. i’ll delete the podcast if it embarrasses ya—though i think it’s kinda art, personally.”
the chat went insane.
@ noniquedontmovetojjk: WE’RE WITNESSING HISTORY
@ dnballs: HE’S SO GONE IT’S TRAGIC
@ hoshiumicomehome: SAY YES, QUEEN
and you? you were crying. laughing, but crying. because how could someone so stupidly dramatic make your heart hurt so good?
you didn’t type in chat. you didn’t even text him. instead, you showed up at his door twenty minutes later—sweatpants, messy hair, heart beating like it was doing cardio for both of you.
he opened it mid-ramble, still talking into his mic.
“—and if she ever shows up here, i swear i’ll—oh.”
you. right there.
his jaw dropped. then his eyes went all glassy, like he couldn’t believe you were real.
“atsumu,” you said softly, “you gotta stop crying on podcasts.”
“i can’t help it,” he whispered, blinking fast. “yer just so—”
you didn’t let him finish. you kissed him, because really, what else was there to do?
he made a noise halfway between a sob and a squeal, dropped his headphones, and hugged you so tight you thought you might dissolve into him.
“does this mean yer sayin’ yes?” he mumbled against your shoulder.
“no,” you teased, smiling into his hair, “it means stop recording.”
he turned off the mic.
then kissed you again.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a week later, a new episode dropped.
ep.10 – she kissed me (and i briefly ascended)
“guys,” atsumu said, voice still wobbly, “it happened. she did it. she kissed me. i blacked out for a sec, but i’m back.”
he sniffled. again.
“this might be the last episode,” he said, “’cause she told me t’ stop recordin’... but i just wanted y’all t’ know—she’s everythin’. like, if love was a person, it’d be her. if happiness had a face, it’d be hers. if destiny had a sense of humor, it’d make her fall for me.”
a pause. a shaky laugh.
“i think it did.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the final thirty seconds were just him whispering:
“i’ll love her so good, y’all. like, embarrassingly good. the kinda love poets die tryin’ to describe. the kinda love that makes me cry over her favorite hoodie. y/n, if yer listenin’—and i know ya are—thanks for makin’ my life the best kind of ridiculous.”
he sniffled. wiped his nose.
“alright, podcast over. gonna go make her breakfast or somethin’. bye, internet. wish me luck—no, actually, don’t. i already got it.”
click.
silence.
somewhere in the world, a boy who cried every week into a mic was finally happy.
and somewhere else, a girl who used to roll her eyes at his dramatics was smiling like she’d just married her favorite mistake.
and maybe, just maybe—
no. definitely.
they were disgustingly, deliriously, ridiculously in love.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a: been so tired, i tried using an ai to quickly search for recent citations so i could just double check them since i haven’t had 5 hours of sleep in the past three days. it flirted with me, so now i’m just writing fanfics.
hello atlas i am anonymous anon because anon is shofrt for anonymous and anymous means unknown did you knowi ghat
i am in love with arsumu miya but hea in lvow wirh this giel bamed lyn van you wrie their wedding thank you
CANT TAKE MY EYES OFF OF YOU !!
wedding day with atsumu miya
wc: 517, fluff, fem reader (can be gn but reader has a dress), post-ts, wedding, lovesick atsumu agenda, not proof read
atsumu thinks he’s the luckiest man alive.
he’s aware that almost every man thinks that during his wedding, i mean, who wouldn’t ? to be bounded together by a pretty diamond ring that you’re soon going to show off to all your friends and co-workers, it’s a great ego boost. the greatest, he thinks.
currently, the two of you are standing next to each other, talking to a few group of friends with the champagne that you like, with the jazz playlist the two of you made, and osamus kitchen skills that continues to spread around the large party room.
there’s a soft smile on the blondes face as his loose fingers drum around your waist, taking sneaky glances at you and your pretty white dress whenever he can. he's only barely hearing the conversation you and your friends are having, eyes glazing around the party room and mouthing out words to his twin whenever they make eye contact.
but atsumu is caught a little off guard when you throw your head back and burst out laughing with your maids of honor, the champagne glass in your hands swishing around in the oval glass. your laughter is terribly infectious to him and the blonde feels his smile grow wider, slyly taking the glass from your hands and holding it for you, taking a sip or two himself to conceal his smirk.
from the corner of atsumus eyes, he can see osamu set up the large, towering wedding cake. from the help of aran, suna, kira, a few other guys, the cake is displayed in the middle of the room and as people get a glance at it, the exclamation of awe starting to echo in the room.
he’s been keeping you distracted enough, the blonde thinks. he poked at your side, making you twitch at the ticklish feeling and just before you scold him, he points his head to the cake, basking in your surprises squeal and laughter.
“how the hell did you get this ?” you beam out, rushed steps walking over to the cake with atsumu following behind you.
“he got on his knees ‘n started ta beg for me to make the cake.” osamu comments, putting his sleek dark blue suit back on, dusting off his hands as he nods at you.
“wha ?! hey ! you weren’t ’posed to say anythin’ !!” the blonde bickers back, the cake knife in his hands pointing at his twin. you laugh again, shaking your head and atsumu swears this marked the hundredth time you’ve laughed tonight.
he waits for your smaller hands to hold onto the knife with him and he adjusts the positioning of his hands, placing yours under his warm ones, allowing you to have a firm grip on the knife.
atsumus chest is pressed against your back, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek as you laugh and slice through the wedding cake with him. the matching wedding rings clack against one another ever so quietly, reminding you two of your now shared last name— a testament of your love for one another.
a/n; just a lil drabble inspired by a tiktok i saw by andy & michelle 😋
Atsumu has this annoying habit of pretending that every morning with you is the morning after a one-night stand.
He's halfway through putting on his shirt when he flashes you that typical boyish smile.
"I had a great time," he says.
You roll your eyes.
Here we go.
"No, honestly," he continues, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. He's the image of feigned indifference as he gathers his clothes off the bedroom floor. "I had a really good time."
It doesn't help that he's an annoyingly convincing actor, either.
"Atsumu, seriously? How many times are you gonna do this?”
"Ya have my number, right? If ya ever wanna...." He gestures vaguely at the bed. "...Do this again. Just, uh... Just gimme a ring."
He's zipping up his fly when his grin melts into something lazier, more seductive. And it kills you a little to admit that you find him attractive, when you should be immune to his antics by now.
Not that he needs to know that.
Trying to keep face, you roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest.
"You've had this conversation before," you say flatly.
“No comment,” he quips, to which you click your tongue. You suppose you did walk yourself into that one—maybe that explains why he’s so good at playing the part.
At that, Atsumu finally breaks character—seemingly finding your sulking amusing—and grins as he delivers one last line.
"Just try not to fall in love with me, 'kay?"
He narrowly dodges the plushie you throw at him, the sound of his laughter echoing down the corridor. And it’s infectious—because when he ironically calls, “I love you!!” from the living room, you can’t help but smile.
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