shoyosluver

[shoyosluver]

in the spirit of matrimony

summary: iwaizumi hajime is getting married and you and your ex, oikawa tooru, must pretend you’re still together to avoid ruining his big day. the charade, however, proves to be a lot more complicated than you thought.

⇢ pairing: oikawa tooru x fem!reader ⇢ genres: romance, angst, exes to lovers au, fake dating au ⇢ word count: 3.0k ⇢ warnings: profanity, alcohol consumption ⇢ a/n: reposted from my old blog (@/sokuroo).

Oikawa Tooru is currently using the shower in your hotel room, and you are running late for dinner with Iwaizumi Hajime because of this.

You sit on the plush armchair in the corner of the room, picking at the raised swirls and curlicues embroidered on the cushion. You’re supposed to be meeting with Iwaizumi for dinner in fifteen minutes, but Oikawa seems to be taking his own sweet time getting ready. You can’t say you’re surprised. 

Irritated? Yes.

When he finally bursts out of the bathroom, looking like a Louis Vuitton model, you simply grab your purse and hotel card, and stride out the door without a second glance. Oikawa Tooru isn’t worth your time or energy—for now.

He catches up with you quickly—volleyball legs, and all that—and you can smell his perfume: Cremo spice and black vanilla. You hate the fact that you remember; you’d rather not, but he hasn’t changed the scent in five years and it’s always the little things that are the hardest to forget. In his black button down shirt and with his hair styled carefully with gel, Oikawa definitely looks attractive. He knows it, too, probably, and it gives you a twisted sort of satisfaction knowing that he can’t go about flirting with every person who catches his eye.

He simply cannot, because as far as Iwaizumi Hajime is concerned, you and Oikawa are still together.

“Don’t forget,” you mutter, just low enough that only he can hear you.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand dismissively before tucking it back into his pocket. “It’s just Hajime. Don’t worry.”

You bite back a sigh. It would do you no good to appear so visibly vexed—and it would cause Hajime to worry unnecessarily, which does a lot more harm to everyone involved. The only thing you want him to be worried about is wedding preparations and becoming a husband in three days. 

Your old friend meets you at the hotel lobby, right before Oikawa furtively slips his hand into yours. Iwaizumi looks tired—his clothes look rumpled and he has dark circles under his eyes—but he still smiles at you and Oikawa in the same way: boyish and crooked. You grin back at him.

“Hey, you two.” Iwaizumi opens his arms and pulls you in for a hug. His stubble brushes against your cheek, and you frown. 

“You’re growing a beard?” you ask incredulously, when you pull away.

He chuckles. “I wish. I need to look handsome on the day of the wedding. Akari thinks it makes me look rugged.” He shrugs and adds, “Personally, I can’t tell the difference.”

“How’s Mrs. Iwaizumi doing?” Oikawa cuts in. He smiles at his best friend, a quick flash of his teeth that you haven’t seen in ages. It almost makes you wish he still smiled at you like that. Almost.

“Akari’s great,” Hajime answers, the edges of his smile turning fond. His fiancé is truly the sweetest, and she’s perfect for Iwaizumi in ways no one else ever could be. It’s difficult to doubt their love, and you consider yourself lucky to have witnessed them falling for each other in college. “Really great, actually. She told me to tell you she’s sorry she couldn’t make it today, but she can’t wait to see you both tomorrow.”

Your ex-boyfriend sighs dramatically. “Iwa-chan. The only entertaining person of the evening is missing. Whatever shall I do?”

“I’m sure your girlfriend will provide ample entertainment, Oikawa,” Hajime deadpans.

Your cheeks flood with heat at the implication. You’re the furthest thing from being Oikawa Tooru’s entertainment tonight, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s laughing internally at the predicament.

“She’s good at entertaining me with other things,” he retorts, waggling his eyebrows in that infuriating way of his. “Not funny enough, unfortunately.”

You bristle. “Uncalled for, Oikawa.”

He turns to you—the first time he’s looked at you properly since you arrived at the hotel in their hometown—and, taking your hand in his, rubs his thumb along the back of your palm. You nearly shiver; Oikawa used to do that all the time when you were still together, and the small gesture now makes a lump form in your throat. 

“Just kidding, babe,” he says indulgently. “You know I make up for the lack of humour on your part.”

You have to give it to him. Oikawa Tooru is a magnificent actor. 

The way he talks to you, as though both of you hadn’t walked out of the hotel room without saying a word to each other is a feat in itself. He speaks to you as though nothing has changed, as though everything about the way you’re projecting yourselves to your friend is completely natural. You close the hole in your chest where Oikawa used to reside; you will not fall for his little antics—not when he chose to leave you alone.

You roll your eyes, meeting Hajime’s fond—if exasperated—gaze. “Ignore him.”

“I’ve been doing it my entire life,” he responds.

“You are mean and I hate you both,” Oikawa whines. Both of you ignore him.

“Let’s go,” Hajime says. “The izakaya gets really crowded later in the night.”

You wipe your hands on the soft cotton of the oshibori, scanning the menu taped onto the wall. Next to you, Oikawa digs into the otoshi, and in front of you, Hajime sips on his glass of beer. 

“Yakisoba noodles sounds good,” you murmur, “don’t you think?”

“I wan’ the chmmkn kraagh,” Oikawa says immediately through a mouthful of potato salad.

Iwaizumi sighs and translates, “He wants the chicken karaage.”

You scowl. You and Oikawa Tooru can never agree about things. You’re both too stubborn and hot-headed to budge from your opinions, and towards the end of your relationship, the number of petty arguments that were a result of your clashing personalities was high. At one point of time, you might have said that it was one of Oikawa’s qualities that you admired.

Right now, it just irks you to no end.

“We can order both,” you suggest. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. He makes a show of swallowing, exaggerating the bob of his throat, before he turns to you and states, “I want the chicken karaage, and I know Iwa-chan likes it more than yakisoba noodles.”

“Actually,” Hajime says mildly, “I kind of want the sashimi.”

“Let’s just order all three.” You bring your glass of beer to your lips and take a sip.

Iwaizumi looks curiously between you both. You take another sip of your beer, and you come to the realisation that for an outsider—like Hajime—you and Oikawa look absolutely nothing like a couple.

The fault is yours: You didn’t tell Hajime about your break up with Oikawa, and neither did he. Hajime still thinks you’re together. Neither you nor your ex-boyfriend are tactless enough to tell him that you aren’t dating anymore three days before he’s getting married. Iwaizumi is excited, and you aren’t about to dampen his happiness by telling him his two best friends haven’t spoken to each other in months.

That’s how, for the first time in ages, you and Oikawa Tooru decided that you couldn’t ruin Iwaizumi Hajime’s Big Day, and it was also how Operation: Pretend Like You’re Madly In Love So Your Surprisingly Intuitive Best Friend Doesn’t Feel Bad came about.

You set your beer down again, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Can I try some of that?” you ask, nudging Oikawa’s shoulder with yours.

He pauses mid-chew, chopsticks held high in the air. “Sure.”

You nudge his shoulder again, a little bit more forcefully this time. Oikawa glares at you. You narrow your eyes at him, trying to send him some sort of telepathic signal. His eyes widen.

“Here, babe,” he says, plastering a grin on his face. He picks up a chunk of the creamy potato salad that was served as the otoshi and holds it up. He uses his thumb and pointer finger to gently bring your face closer to his chopsticks. You fist your fingers, nails cutting crescents into your palms, and accept the mouthful he holds out to you.

“Good?” Oikawa murmurs, his eyes not leaving your face.

You hum. It is good, rich and tart with a touch of sweetness, but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to verbalise it. Your gaze flits downwards as you gently pull away from his grasp. Your jaw tingles where he held it.

Iwaizumi grins at you—almost knowingly—when you pick up your beer again. He holds a hand up, calling for the waiter to take your orders.

The alcohol washes down the taste of the food, but your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

It is always alcohol that loosens your tongue, and it’s the same for Oikawa Tooru as well. The beer you had at the izakaya lowers the towering walls between you both somewhat. It’s easier to speak to him, now, and after you switch on the lights in the hotel room and kick off your sandals, you whirl around and face Oikawa.

“What the hell was that?” you seethe, glaring at your ex-boyfriend.

He pauses in the middle of taking off his shoes. “What the hell was what?”

“You almost blew our cover! Didn’t you see the way Hajime looked at us?”

Oikawa cocks his head to the side, and his cluelessness only infuriates you even more.

“God, you haven’t changed one bit!” you rant. Your chest heaves with emotion—you’re not sure what emotion, exactly. Anger? Resentment? Foolish hope? Or perhaps a cocktail of all three that causes you to feel nothing but confusion. “Hajime is getting married in two days, and I know you couldn’t care less, but for his sake, can’t you make this whole—whole act more believable?”

“You— What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Oikawa’s eyebrows raise upwards incredulously. “You think I don’t care about Iwaizumi’s wedding? I met him before I even knew you existed.” He scoffs. “Of fucking course I care!”

“Then would it kill you to act like you still love me?” You take a step forward, eyes narrowed and index finger pointing at him. “Is that it? Is it so repulsive to pretend like you still have feelings for me, so that your best friend doesn’t worry about us?”

“That’s not it, and you know it,” Oikawa snarls, a frown marring his features. “We should’ve told him as soon as it happened.”

Hearing him refer to your relationship as it feels like a slap to the face. You falter, cursing yourself inwardly.

Of course he doesn’t care for you now. Why would he, after he decided that long-distance relationships were too much effort? I don’t see us working out in the long run, he’d explained over FaceTime. I’m sorry.

Two days later, you declared yourself officially single. You burrowed yourself in piles of work and forgot to tell Iwaizumi Hajime because talking to Hajime would remind you of Oikawa, and you weren’t ready for that yet. Eventually, you just… didn’t tell him.

That’s why it came as an unwelcome surprise to you when you walked into the hotel lobby and found Oikawa Tooru waiting there, with his arms crossed over his chest and his suitcase by his feet. You’re here, he’d said, and you wanted to punch yourself for the way your heart somersaulted in your chest.

You finally find your voice again. “But we didn’t, so would it kill you to just… not be so fucking obvious?”

Oikawa remains stoic, though you suspect he’s just as agitated as you are. “Yes. I don’t want to do this at all.”

Something in you breaks. How easy it is for Oikawa to break your heart. You’d given him the fragile thing, made of glass, and he had knocked it over like it was a house of cards more than once. 

“Fine,” you grit out, bending down and picking up your footwear again. The alcohol buzzing in your head isn’t enough—you need to stop thinking, need to find some way to stop yourself from constantly imagining him. “See if I care.”

You shoulder past him and place your hand on the doorknob.

“Where are you going?”

If you really strained your ears, you could almost hear the imperceptible concern in Oikawa’s voice. You brush it off; he doesn’t have any feelings towards you, as he’s made so amply clear.

“Why do you care?” you retort, before pushing open the door and heading in the direction of the hotel restaurant’s bar.

The room is dark when you open the door.

It’s a little past one in the morning—or so one of the bellhops had said when he kindly escorted you back to your room. Your mind is swirling.

It seems even getting yourself batshit drunk isn’t enough to eradicate all thoughts of Oikawa.

The walls spin. You stumble inside. Your hip bumps against something solid—a table, probably—and you let out a startled yelp. 

Oikawa’s voice is like a balm, soothing your feverish forehead, when he says your name.

How are you supposed to get over him? How are you supposed to go back to living alone when you’ve had this taste of what it could be like, regardless of how authentic it is?

The answer is clear as day: You cannot.

A pair of hands guides you by the shoulders to the bed. Oikawa is careful, gentle with his hold on you. You sprawl on the bed sheets, the fabric cool against your cheek. He appears like an outline in the darkness. 

“Are you okay?”

“God,” you mumble, screwing your eyes shut. “You can’t keep doing this to me, Oikawa.”

He remains silent for a moment, before he clears his throat and says, “You asked me why I care about where you go.”

You don’t say anything.

“I just do,” he continues, “and I don’t know how to explain it. But I do care.”

His fingers are warm when he caresses your cheek. The last thing you do before succumbing to sleep is murmur his name—a curse, but somehow reverent.

When you wake up the next morning, the sheets next to you are rumpled. There is no sign of Oikawa anywhere in the room, but there is a tall glass of water placed on the bedside table.

Through the pounding of your head, you squint at the note written using the hotel stationery placed beside it. 

Drink up. Hajime and Akari are bringing us breakfast.

Breakfast is a lively affair. You’re glad to see Akari again, happy to see the to-be-newlyweds so patently in love with each other.

Oikawa keeps his hand on your thigh, steady and comforting, and offers you golden smiles whenever you catch his eye, and you swallow down the awful lump in your throat.

The day passes by in a blur.

It’s on the day before Iwaizumi’s wedding that Oikawa Tooru kisses you.

Wedding photos are unnecessary, you think. After all, you’re not the one getting married. But Akari had been insistent that you and Oikawa take some pictures together, and you couldn’t refuse her beseeching gaze.

Oikawa, clad in his dapper suit, with his hair styled using copious amounts of hair gel, places his hands on your waist and draws you in. His fingers bunch up the material of your dress. The photographer asks you to place your hands on his chest. His heartbeat is a steady thrum underneath the pads of your fingertips. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, leaning in. 

You nod.

His mouth tastes like spearmint and the chocolate muffins he’d shared with you at breakfast. 

The afternoon passes by in a daze.

As you walk through the wedding venue, noting all the decorations and the flower arrangements, Oikawa slips his hand into yours. 

“You don’t have to,” you say. “No one’s here to see us.”

“I want to,” he replies simply. He is serious now, not his usual boisterous self, the way he is around Hajime and Akari. “It’s a nice place, no?”

You press your lips together. His words are oddly reminiscent of what he said the night you were drunk. Your stomach twists into knots, but if you don’t ask him the one question that has been nagging at you since then, who will do it for you?

“Tooru,” you say.

He stiffens. It’s the first time you’ve used his first name since you broke up with him.

“Why didn’t you tell Hajime we broke up?” you ask.

His shoulders loosen and his mouth twists upwards in a crooked, sad sort of smile. 

“Because I love you, and breaking up with you broke me in some way.”

Your voice is quiet when you ask, “Why did you?”

“I didn’t want to be the one holding you back,” he says, just as quietly. “I didn’t want you to be constantly worrying about someone who didn’t even live in the same country as you. You deserve someone who will be there for you. Someone you can come home to after work, and talk about your day, and cook dinner together with. I couldn’t give you that.”

You want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. What a stupid, idiotic fool you’re in love with.

“Silly,” you say. “I only want you.”

The wedding happens on a sunny afternoon, and it is beautiful. Akari is radiant, and Hajime tells her that he’s the luckiest man ever. They are in love, and looking at them doesn’t hurt anymore. Your ex-boyfriend turned current boyfriend presses his shoulder against yours and gives you a small, knowing smile when he catches you almost tearing up. You nudge him back, and his smile grows into a grin that envelops his face in gold.

(“You’re the golden one,” he’ll tell you later, pressing feather-light kisses to your collarbones and cheeks. You’ll say he’s wrong.)

Right before the crowd disperses, Oikawa takes your hand and brings it to his lips. He presses a soft kiss against the knuckle of your ring finger.

Later, he whispers to you that it’s all in the spirit of matrimony.

Oikawa Tooru is using the shower in your bedroom, and he’s running late to catch his flight back to Argentina, and everything is perfect.

[shoyosluver]

little white lies

summary: miya atsumu needs to find a date for his cousin’s wedding, or risk getting hounded by all his relatives prying into his business. unless said business is you—in which case, he’s all for it. maybe he can work up the courage to ask you out for real while he’s at it.

pairing: miya atsumu x fem!reader genres: fluff, mild angst, best friends to lovers!au, fake dating!au, idiots to idiots in love, debatable attempts at comedy were made word count: 9.2k

⇢ warnings: profanity, one (1) scene where atsumu is shirtless

Miya Atsumu acknowledges the fact that he has made several stupid decisions throughout the course of his life. 

There was the time he decided that dipping waffles in hot sauce would make for a tasty food combination. (It did not, and he ended up lying in bed with a stomach ache for three days with a grumbling Osamu looking after him). Then there was that incident where he proudly claimed he could crush an entire watermelon with his bare hands. (He could not, and Suna had laughed his ass off when Aran easily demonstrated the same feat). 

And then, there was the time he tried to comfort you after you watched Hachiko Monogatari together. You’d been sniffling quietly, your eyes red and puffy, when he awkwardly handed you a tissue and said, “‘S okay. The dog’s probably acted in better movies.”  

You’d stared at him, horrified, before bursting into tears. Osamu had walked in just in time to witness you chuck a pillow at Atsumu’s head, calling him an emotionally inept moron; he’d laughed so hard, he dropped the tub of ice cream he was holding and got mint chocolate chip all over the carpet. Atsumu still cringes whenever he thinks of it.

Nothing much has changed in Atsumu’s life. He still has a massive crush on you, and he still makes stupid decisions.

What transpired in the Miya twins’ childhood home’s sitting room fifteen minutes ago is a testament to this tragic fact.

When the Miya brothers’ cousin, Shohei, called them up to invite them to his wedding taking place in two weeks, Atsumu and Osamu were nothing short of elated. Shohei video-called them, and for a good five minutes, all Atsumu did was scream incoherently when he announced that the wedding date had been fixed. Osamu promised to close Onigiri Miya on the Saturday two weeks hence, and Atsumu made a mental note to ask Meian if he could take the weekend off.

Shohei then turned the phone to their grandmother, sitting on her favourite armchair with the pink satin cushion, wrinkles by the corners of her eyes and sagging skin by her cheeks. Atsumu’s heart lifted at the sight of her—he was her favourite grandson, after all—and when she smiled at the twins, her lips were slightly puckered because she didn’t have her dentures in yet. 

But that wasn’t the important bit. It shouldn’t have been what Atsumu focused on most, as he opened his mouth to tease her. He should have been focusing on the knowing, youthful gleam in the Miya household’s matriarch’s eyes—a gleam that spelled trouble when she set her gaze straight at him.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Grandma Miya herself,” Atsumu drawled.

“Grandma Miya won’t be living for much longer,” she retorted, not one to be outdone by her own grandson.

Osamu had frowned. “Don’t say things like that, Grandma. It’s superstitious.”

Shohei had sighed dramatically, making a face at Osamu. “She does it all the time now. You should hear her go on and on. It’s good that you’re getting married, Shohei. This old woman won’t live for much longer, but at least I can see one of my grandsons getting married. Shame on the twins for making me live in suspense!” He said the last bit with an imitation of Grandma Miya’s toothless drawl, and it drew out a giggle from Atsumu and a swat on the shoulder to Shohei from the woman herself.

“Maybe I do have a girl in mind, Grandma,” Atsumu said on instinct, waggling his eyebrows. “I just haven’t told anyone yet.”

Grandma Miya’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Is she nice?”

“The best,” he had promised. “You’ll love her.”

Beside him, Osamu had gone very still. Even Shohei quietened down, letting Atsumu and their grandmother talk. In hindsight, Atsumu probably should have realised what a horrific blunder he was making, but he had a habit of letting his mouth run loose and this was one of those times.

Grandma Miya’s eyes had lit up. She had lifted the corners of her mouth into such a wide, hopeful smile, that Atsumu felt a twinge of guilt deep in his chest for lying to her. He couldn’t take back his words, however, because Grandma Miya excitedly clasped her fingers together and said, “You’ll bring her along to Shohei’s wedding, won’t you? She must meet the rest of the family. It’ll be nice for Sakura to meet her, too.”

Shohei nodded. Sakura was his future wife, a beautiful and kind lady who complemented Atsumu’s cousin perfectly. “Sakura would love to meet someone that’s going to be part of our family.”

Osamu didn’t say anything. When Atsumu looked at him, he had his lips pressed together in a thin line. “Uh—” he began.

“No hesitating,” Grandma Miya had said firmly. “Tell her to come along. It will be fun.”

Atsumu couldn’t deny that; events that took place within the Miya family were always fun. But he couldn’t exactly create a girlfriend out of nothing, could he? Belatedly, Atsumu felt the guilt and horror of his words seep into his brain. He flashed a panicked look at his brother, but Osamu only shook his head and didn’t say anything. 

He looked back into his phone screen, at his grandmother’s happy expression. If there was one thing Atsumu hated, it was letting down the people important to him.

Meekly, he nodded and forced a smile to his face. “Of course, Grandma. Don’t say I don’t do things for you.”

“Silly child,” said Grandma Miya affectionately, and that had been that.

Atsumu has since paced in front of the living room couch exactly eight times after Osamu pressed end on the call. He twirls in his spot, ready for his ninth walk around the living room. His brother sits on the sofa with one leg thrown up, watching him amusedly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Okay,” Osamu interjects. “Swearing isn’t gon’ help your situation.”

“What else can I do?” Atsumu wails pathetically, flopping onto the sofa next to his brother. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Glad to know you’re aware.”

“Samu, what do I do?” Atsumu leans his elbows on his knees and holds his hand in his hands. “‘m so screwed.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you decided to get Grandma’s hopes up for nothin’.”

Atsumu huffs, annoyed at both himself and his brother for being so unhelpful. “I know that, asshole. I jus’ meant— What the fuck do I do about it now?”

Osamu pats his brother on the shoulder, a sympathetic look on his face. “Tsumu, I can think of only one solution.”

“What?”

“You need to find yourself a girlfriend.”

Atsumu wrinkles his nose when you wave a bottle of some sort of bubbly, green-coloured concoction at his face. It looks disgusting even through the translucent plastic, and he has no doubt that it’ll taste twice as bad.

“Eugh. What’s that?”

“Wow. It’s so nice to see you too, Atsumu. I’ve only just flown back from halfway across the world after two weeks. No big deal at all,” you deadpan, staring at him.

“Yeah, I’m so happy you’re back, but what is that, and is it for me?”

Atsumu is glad you’re back—you’d gone overseas on your first ever business trip at the company you work at, and he’d missed your presence at the Tokyo apartment right next to his. He tries to verbalise it, but truthfully, his attention is solely fixed on the green muck you’re holding out to him.

“It is, actually,” you reply, shoving it into his waiting hands so he can scrutinise it better. You turn back and rummage through your open suitcase, pulling out an identical bottle—only this one is filled with something that looks like a cross between a squashed pumpkin and a gruesome shade of brown he doesn’t want to define. “And this one’s for Osamu. Can you give it to him the next time you go back to Hyogo?”

He lets out a sound of disgust, puffing out his cheeks and blowing a raspberry at you. “You couldn’t have gotten us somethin’ more… eatable?”

“Edible, Atsumu,” you correct, walking around the luggage strewn about your living room and plopping down on your sofa with a grunt. “This is what’s popular everywhere now. Apparently.”

“That doesn’t sound very optimistic,” he points out, sitting down next to you. Atsumu holds the drink bottle close to his face and squints at the ingredients printed on the back in a tiny font. “Is that… spinach?”

“Yeah.”

“And…” he continues, “kale? What’s a kale?”

“It’s some kind of leaf? Kinda like spinach,” you say, shrugging. 

“Oh, wonderful. This is a cocktail for cows.”

You huff out a soft laugh, shoulders shaking with the movement. Atsumu grins, pleased that he’s made you smile. 

“It’s supposed to be healthy, Tsumu. And you’re a professional volleyball player so I figured you’d drink stuff like this.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.” Atsumu shudders, but pockets the bottle anyway. It bulges out of the side of his cargo pants and he might look a little silly, but it’s really the thought that counts; the fact that you’d bought this drink with him in mind makes his heart rate spike. He nods at the muddy orange drink you left on the floor, meant for Osamu. “What’s in that one?”

“Carrot and squash, if I remember correctly.”

Atsumu gags. “Did’ya pick the worst flavours or somethin’? You say this is popular?”

You nod, a little embarrassed. “They were selling it everywhere I went!” you defend. “I just figured it was, like, the thing, or whatever.”

“If me and the team promoted this, it’d be sold out in no time,” he says thoughtfully. “Even if it tastes like a gourmet meal for goats.”

“So humble.” You roll your eyes, letting your head fall back on the couch cushion. 

Your airport clothes—a hoodie and jeans—stick uncomfortably to your skin after hours of being airborne, and you scratch your elbow. Atsumu thinks it must be annoying; you must be itching to peel off your clothes and take a warm shower.

But first, Miya Atsumu needs to ask you out.

He tries not to let the wording mess with his head. He’s doing this for his grandmother, and most certainly not because of the self-indulgent fantasies his mind conjures up for him when he’s asleep. Dreams of holding your hand, walking through the cherry blossoms together, kissing your cheek and taking in your delighted gasp—they haunt him even in his waking moments, and Atsumu aches to make them turn into a reality.

He acknowledges that he is a coward in some ways. This is one of them.

“Hey…” he begins, and then trails off, unsure.

“Hm?”

“That bottle of muck you got for Osamu—” Atsumu gulps, ignoring the hammering of his heart inside his chest. “Think he’d like it more if you gave it to him yourself.”

You sigh. “I would love to, Atsumu, but I don’t know when I’ll be going to Hyogo next. I don’t want that milkshake to stay rotting in my fridge for, like, six months.”

“Well… I’m goin’ there next Saturday. Wanna come with?”

“I don’t know…”

“C’mon. It’s Shohei’s wedding. You can’t miss it. Grandma Miya specifically told me to tell you to get your ass down there.”

It’s a lie that slips easily through his teeth, but he’s not exactly wrong, is he? Just—bending the truth a little. Grandma Miya did tell him to bring his girlfriend with him, and if he thinks about it, you are his girl friend, aren’t you? With a space in between the two words, but that’s just semantics. Atsumu ignores the voice in the back of his mind that tells him he’s coming up with excuses that he used to think of when he was in elementary school. 

“I’ll think about it—”

“You have to,” Atsumu implores, briefly letting go of his pride in favour of convincing you to come with him to his hometown. “It’ll be a nice break. You can meet Samu and Shohei. Have fun at a wedding—you know how fun Miya weddings are. Get dressed up, dance around a bit. And Grandma would be ecstatic if you came.”

“Ecstatic…” you echo, an amused smile flickering on your face. “Did Osamu teach you that word?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “But that’s not the point! The point is, I want your company for Shohei’s wedding.”

Atsumu waits for his words to sink in. He notices your sharp inhale when he emphasises on the fact that he wants you there. This one is the truth, and nothing but; there is no one else he would rather go to his cousin’s wedding with. 

For all the lies he’s spouted out this afternoon, some part of Miya Atsumu wants you to recognise that he’s not lying this time.

“So, please,” he continues quietly, “will you come with me to Shohei’s wedding?”

You look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. A moment later, you nod.

“...Fine. But you’re paying for the train tickets.”

Atsumu’s exhale is both relieved and anticipatory.

It takes exactly two hours and forty-six minutes to get to Hyogo from Tokyo by train. Atsumu purchases the tickets, partly because you’d asked him to, but mostly because of the steady feeling of guilt gnawing at his chest. He even purchases tickets for the first-class coach, because he wants you to be as comfortable as possible, even going so far as to give up the window seat for the aisle one.

“You’re being weirdly nice,” you note suspiciously, as he hefts your suitcase onto the rack above. 

Atsumu grunts with exertion, his muscles rippling under his shirt. He takes in the small bob of your throat at the sight with a gleeful sense of pride. “Dunno what you’re talkin’ about. I’m always nice.”

Luggage secured successfully, he rubs the palms of his hands on his jeans and settles down into the seat next to you. The plush cushion is soft and velvety to the touch, a dark shade of blue that’s soothing to the eye. As he looks around, he can’t help but notice that the rest of the passengers consist of old people—senior citizens, with wobbly knees and wrinkled skin. Old and married, they must be on their way back to their hometown after visiting their children and grandchildren in Tokyo. As far as he can tell, you and Atsumu are the only two people here who don’t have a relationship beyond the platonic. There’s the occasional family of four: a tired husband, an even more tired wife, and two boisterous children. One child, no more than four years old, with her hair done up in two pigtails, points a chubby finger at him.

“Mama, look! That man looks like Pikachu!” she exclaims loudly.

You giggle at the chagrined look on Atsumu’s face, and his heart lifts slightly at the sound.

“Komi! Shhh. It’s rude to point at people.” Her mother pulls her hand down, giving Atsumu an apologetic bow of her head.

“She has a point, I guess,” you whisper to your friend, nudging his shoulder.

“The point being…?”

“You do look like Pikachu.”

“Huh?”

“Your hair, Tsumu.” You grin mischievously. “It’s yellow. You’re practically halfway to having electric powers.”

Atsumu flushes. He runs a hand through his dyed-blond hair self-consciously. “That bad, eh?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, shrugging. “Your fans seem to like it.”

“And you?” he asks softly. “You’ve never told me what you think.”

You hum and look away, fiddling with your phone case. “If you like it, then I like it.”

“That’s not even an answer.” Still, Atsumu will admit that your reply makes him happy.

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s—”

“You both argue like Mama an’ Papa.”

Startled, you and Atsumu look in front of you. Komi pokes her head out from the seat in front of you, a wide grin on her lips. You stifle a laugh; it turns out Komi and her brother have occupied the seats in front of you and him. The tips of Atsumu’s ears turn crimson—whether with embarrassment at being caught bickering by a four-year-old, or at Komi’s previous comment about his hair, he isn’t sure.

“Hello, there,” you greet the small girl with a grin as wide as hers. “Komi, isn’t it?”

She nods, her pigtails rocking with the movement. “‘m Komi! An’ my brother is Kento!”

“It’s very nice to meet you both, Komi and Kento,” you say, solemnly holding out a hand for her to shake. Although you haven’t met her brother, you can hear his excited babbles from his location on his mother’s lap. “I’m ____, and this is my friend, Atsumu.”

“But you can call me Tsum,” Atsumu supplies, knowing it must be hard for the little one to pronounce his name properly.

Komi shakes your hand with the sort of vigour that one only has at the young age of four, and then glances expectantly at Atsumu. He holds out his hand as well, and the little girl grips it with all the strength she can muster. Her soft palm is sticky; once she releases it, he tries to discreetly rub his own palm on the seat in front of him, garnering a frown from you.

Slowly, the train begins to chug forward.

“Tsum and ____,” Komi says, “are you both like Mama an’ Papa?”

“Like… Mama and Papa?” you repeat, tilting your head.

“Yeah! Like, sleepin’ in the same room an’ givin’ each other kissies while cooking dinner!”

Atsumu gapes at the child. He feels his face heat up at the insinuation—if Komi thought his hair was like Pikachu earlier, then now she’d surely think his entire face was akin to Charmeleon, or something of that sort. Unable to answer, he glances at you.

Your face settles in an expression that he can only describe as pained amusement. Your lips twitch up, finding the whole situation funny, but you pick at your cuticles at the same time. A chuckle forces its way out of his mouth.

“That’s right, Komi,” Atsumu says. “Except we aren’t… married yet.”

The girl tilts her head, confused. “Wha’s that mean?”

“It means” —Atsumu pauses, just enough to notice the stupefied glower you give him— “that we haven’t promised each other what your Mama and Papa promised each other.”

“Oh!” Komi gasps, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She grips the seat with her tiny hands, clearly thrilled at his words. “Like a pinkie promise?”

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Atsumu scolds himself yet again for letting his mouth run loose all the damn time. How is he supposed to break this poor, innocent girl’s heart by telling her that you and Atsumu aren’t married? Heck, you aren’t even dating, and he doesn’t even know if you want to get married to someone eventually. He wishes he could blabber about his feelings for you directly to you—but it appears that he is tongue-tied only around you, as well. The irony isn’t lost on him.

Regardless, he cannot take back his words now, which means he must plough on.

Ignoring your pointed glare, he nods. “Exactly. You’re very smart, aren’t you, Komi?”

“‘m the third in my class!” The girl beams proudly.

“Really?” Atsumu gasps. “I was only fifth!”

“From the bottom,” you interject, seemingly having finally found your voice.

“Don’t listen to her,” he says. “She’s just trying to make me look stupid.”

Komi giggles. “Papa says that’s a bad word.”

“And Papa is right.” Atsumu nods. “Idiot is also a bad word.”

“You’re so brilliant, Tsumu,” you mutter. “Teaching her bad words by saying they’re bad. Genius.”

“See, Komi, now what ____ did is something called sarchasm—”

You let out an odd noise, something in between an exasperated sigh and an amused giggle.

“...And now she’s laughin’ at me,” Atsumu finishes, staring at Komi and shaking his head ruefully. “Can’t believe I’m payin’ for this one’s train tickets.”

Komi’s curious gaze darts between you and Atsumu, a little confused but wholly entertained. “Stop, stop, stop!” She holds her palms out as though she’s a judge imparting all her four-years worth of knowledge to pass her verdict. “Both of you need to make a pinkie promise.”

You blink. “What for, Komi?”

“To always love each other. Forever an’ ever, until you both die!” she declares seriously.

Atsumu’s smile turns soft around the edges. Ah, the child-like innocence that vanishes so quickly. He doesn’t remember much of his own childhood—it’s mostly just a blur of juvenile volleyball and fistfights with Osamu and Aran, and playdates where you would come over with your mother and the three of you would romp around with the twins’ toy dinosaurs—but he hopes he had the same sort of faith in the world that little Komi so proudly presents to him. 

He turns to you, fingers already twitching with the urge to wrap his little finger around yours. “I think you have a point, Komi. Whaddya say?”

“I agree,” you say quietly, shifting slightly in your seat.

Atsumu gently takes your hand in his, hooking his pinkie finger with yours. Your skin is soft, a little bit clammy, but so is his. He swallows thickly, nervous for no reason at all, and says:

“____, I promise to love you forever and ever, until we both die.”

“I, um” —you inhale shakily— “I promise to do the same.”

He squeezes lightly and then lets go, letting his hand drop down to his lap. It was only a brief moment of contact—barely thirty seconds—but Atsumu’s finger twitches again; he aches to prolong the contact, to hold not just your finger but your entire palm, encase it within his hand’s confines, and never let you go.

“No, you didn’ do it properly!” Komi whines, her chubby fingers tightening around the headrest. 

The volleyball player’s gaze snaps back to his small friend’s face. Gruffly, still wary, he asks, “What did we do wrong, Komi?”

“Mama an’ Papa always make me an’ Kento kiss after we fight! You should do the same!”

“But we haven’t fought, Komi,” you try to gently persuade her from exacerbating your situation. 

It doesn’t work. Komi is adamant, as most children are, and Atsumu senses the beginning of a tantrum. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Komi and Kento’s parents napping in their seats, probably taking a well-deserved break from handling two kids. He doesn’t want to wake them up, all because he couldn’t satisfy their daughter’s harmless demands.

“All right, all right,” he says, flashing Komi a winning smile. “We’ll kiss to seal the deal, ‘kay?”

Next to him, he hears your sharp intake of breath. Atsumu’s heart thuds in his chest, a marching band of his own. The words just slipped out—as they always do. It is his fatal flaw.

Before he can turn towards you, he freezes. 

You kiss him on his cheek. 

You kissed him.

He can feel remnants of your lip balm on his skin, a slightly oily residue that he doesn’t bother wiping away. His brain feels like it’s a laptop with the Blue Screen Of Death causing it to cease all functions; blood rushes to his ears.

“There,” you tell Komi with an air of finality. “Pinkie promise made properly.”

The girl giggles and claps her hands, but he can tell she’s getting tired as well. With one last parting smile, she turns back around, presumably to nap for the one hour of travel left.

Atsumu’s cheek tingles at the spot where you kissed him. He resists the urge to brush his fingers against it, conscious of the fact that you might find it weird. Instead, he forces down the giddy smile that threatens to overcome his face and joins you in silently observing the countryside whip past him through the window.

Jealousy is an emotion Miya Atsumu grapples with rather frequently, and it’s no exception when he sees his brother tackle you into a hug as soon as he lays eyes upon you both.

Meanwhile, he’s left standing at the genkan, carrying both your bags and suitcases. Osamu doesn’t even spare him a look. Atsumu scowls; is this what their brotherly love has been reduced to?

“Don’ mind me,” he announces, toeing off his shoes and socks. “‘m just a luggage carrier.”

“Guest room’s all yours,” his brother says, arm still wrapped around your shoulder. 

You snicker at Atsumu’s disgruntled expression and he rolls his eyes. Hefting a bag on his shoulder, he smirks and shoots back, “Someone’s gotta be the useful one. Cookin’ isn’t gonna save your life.”

“Dinner’s on you, Tsumu,” Osamu calls out to his retreating back. “And then we’ll see who survives after eatin’ your food.”

Atsumu blanches, but he sees the amused tilt of your head and flashes a winning grin at you instead, trying to quell the envy that bubbles in his chest when he sees Osamu whisper something into your ear and you giggle. 

After depositing your bags in the guest room, Atsumu heads upstairs to put his own luggage away and wash up a little. He can hear the sounds of you and Osamu talking and laughing downstairs, taking the time to catch up on everything you’d missed in Hyogo district—about the twins’ mother and her little circle of friends, the news about when one of their neighbours threatened to cut down another person’s apple tree—and your delighted laugh sends a ripple of something warm down his spine. 

He knows he’s well and truly fucked when he thinks about how much he wishes he could be the one to draw those elated sounds out of your mouth.

Downstairs, you’re doubled over with laughter as Osamu regales you with the story of their Grandma Miya accidentally crashing the wrong knitting circle and not realising until three meetings in that they were discussing trashy romance webnovels instead of actually knitting. Atsumu lingers at the top of the stairs, listening to your guffaws. You snort, once, and it sends you and Osamu into peals of laughter again. His fingers curl around the bannister.

The volleyball player steels himself, plastering on a confident smile as he saunters down the stairs.

“Oi, what’s so funny?” he drawls. “Ya laughin’ without me now?”

“Just tellin’ her about Grandma’s new knitting club,” Osamu says. “She’s startin’ to think she can direct a romantic drama now.”

“I mean, she probably could,” you agree, smiling. “From what I know of her, your grandmother is a force.”

Atsumu scoffs, dropping into the armchair closest to you. He mutters, “A force that guilt-tripped me into bringin’ a date to the wedding.”

Osamu snickers. You tilt your head, curious. “A date for Shohei’s wedding?”

“Yeah. And if I show up without one, I’m doomed. Grandma’ll start parading me around to every eligible bachelorette she’s ever met—the neighbours, the cashier at the konbini I said looks cute, random strangers on the street.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Maybe you’ll find someone perfect.”

Atsumu swallows down a groan. The last thing he needs is for you to think he’s taking his grandmother’s matchmaking seriously. “Nah, it’s a nightmare waiting to happen. Imagine Grandma introducin’ me to that one lady who brought natto salad to her friend’s birthday party.”

Osamu barks out a laugh. “Everyone ended up with really bad diarrhea that day,” he explains to you. “Guess Tsumu will hafta rely on me for cookin’ unless he wants bowel problems by the time he’s thirty.”

“As if,” Atsumu says quickly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Point is, I need someone to save me from this circus.”

“Hm, better start polishing your flirtin’ skills, Atsumu.” You give him a teasing smile.

His eyes lock with yours for a fraction of a second longer than he intends, and the words sit heavy on his tongue. You’re my date. I was thinkin’ of asking you. But his throat tightens; instead, he tosses a pillow at his twin brother to cover his nerves.

“You busy, Samu? Wanna be my date?” he jokes, deflecting easily.

Osamu catches the pillow without missing a beat, and then shudders. “Not a chance. The second they see me with you, they’ll think you’ve finally lost it.”

“Hasn’t he already?” you pipe up. 

Atsumu clutches his chest dramatically. “Even you, ____? Betrayed in my own home!”

“Technically, it’s Samu’s home.”

Osamu grins triumphantly. Atsumu sneers.

“Well, don’t worry ‘bout me,” he says, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. “I’ll find someone. Real classy. Someone who’ll shut Grandma up for a whole year.”

His brother rolls his eyes. “Sure you will, Tsumu.”

You glance at Atsumu again, lips pressed together in a thin line. There’s something indecipherable in your eyes, the way your forehead is creased ever-so slightly. Before he can say anything, Osamu’s phone rings. He excuses himself to take the call, leaving the two of you alone.

“Who’s the lucky fake date?” you ask after a beat. You don’t meet his gaze.

He rubs the back of his neck, debating his next move. His heart pounds as he tries to muster some semblance of courage, but all he manages is a lopsided grin and a shrug.

“Dunno. Guess I’ll know when I see her.”

“We have a problem.”

“We do?” Atsumu has only just woken up. His brain is still struggling to catch up with the rest of him; he blinks once, twice, waiting for your statement to sink in. 

“Get up, loser,” you say, walking into his bedroom like you own the place. You flick his duvet off of his body. “We’re going shopping.”

Atsumu sits up, pressing his palms to his face and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The duvet slips further down.

“Fuck!” you yelp, immediately turning around. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t see anythin’.”

A shiver ripples through his body. Without the warmth of his blanket cocooning his body, the cold of the morning seeps into his skin. He’s trying to figure out why, exactly, he’s being presented with a marvellous view of your back, and what you’re apologising for, when the chill makes him shiver again.

Oh. He looks down at himself. 

Atsumu didn’t wear a shirt to bed.

His cheeks flood with heat, the back of his neck prickling with embarrassment. “Er. I’m wearin’ pants,” he says, like that’s going to be of any help.

“I’m, um, going to leave,” you say. Your voice sounds stilted—likely due to being similarly embarrassed by Atsumu’s bare-chestedness. Atsumu grunts in agreement. You walk out slowly, gingerly tip-toeing over a discarded pair of sweatpants he left lying on the floor.

You shut the door behind you, face lowered, and exaggeratedly twist the doorknob until it lets out a click sound, as though you’re showing him that you have not seen anything indecent. As though his abs have personally offended you. Like you’re a National Geographic narrator documenting a rare, disgruntled creature in the wild. 

The shirtless Miya Atsumu, with its ruffled plumage and tragic morning breath, appears to challenge the peace of its habitat.

Ha. Wouldn’t that be a hoot.

To his credit, Atsumu gives himself five minutes before he flops onto his stomach and screams into his pillow. Then, he rises and rummages through his closet for a shirt—he settles for a grey one that he probably stole from Osamu’s closet during high school—and, still mortified, slips out of his bedroom and heads downstairs to see if breakfast is ready.

He finds his mother and you sitting side-by-side on cushions by the chabudai. It’s the usual motherly nonsense she always spouts whenever you come over—gushing over your job, asking about your parents, and, of course, wondering if you have a boyfriend yet.

“Not yet, Miya-san,” you reply politely, though Atsumu can tell you’re a little embarrassed. Your eyebrows furrow just slightly, and it’s always a tic you’ve had, Atsumu’s discovered.

“Oh, well, that’s too bad,” his mother says. “Beautiful girls like you should have boys tripping over their own two feet to date you.”

Atsumu is sure he’s tripped over his own two feet in front of you enough times by now for him to be able to date you. He clears his throat and puts a little swagger to his step when he sits down opposite you. “Missed me, Ma?”

“Slightly lesser than how much I missed ____,” she says.

“Just adopt her already, why don’t you?” Atsumu quips, rolling his eyes.

His mother actually seems to consider this, as she presses her lips together. “Marry one of the twins, ____. You know I would love to have you as a daughter-in-law.”

Your eyes widen, and you flounder, beseechingly locking eyes with Atsumu and begging him to help you out. He smiles a little. He remembers why he brought you here in the first place. His smile gets wiped out in an instant.

It’s not as though Miya Atsumu doesn’t want to spend time with you. He knows Shohei would love to have you at his wedding, and Hyogo is a beautiful place to be at this time of the year. But the thought that he needs you to be a scapegoat to appease Grandma Miya niggles at the back of his mind, unforgiving. He really should tell you, he thinks.

Thankfully, you’re saved from his mother’s matchmaking attempts by Osamu, who walks in balancing bowls of rice and miso soup. He sets them down on the table expertly—Onigiri Miya has trained him well—and plops down on a cushion next to his brother. 

“Sorry for bein’ late,” he says gruffly. “Forgot to add salt in the miso.”

It smells delicious. Atsumu has to admit that he’s missed his brother’s cooking. After surviving on a majority of meals that were either konbini snacks or cheap ramen in Tokyo, home-cooked food makes his stomach grumble in a good way.

The four of you chorus your gratitude for the meal with bowed heads and folded palms, and then dig in. Atsumu slurps up the miso soup, chewing on a piece of tofu. It’s heavenly—it really is, and he nudges his brother’s side with his elbow to convey it. Osamu nudges back, and the table is silent for some time.

“Oh, by the way,” his mother says, “we need to get your suits from the dry cleaners. I have to go help your aunt out with last-minute wedding preparations, so I need one of you to do it.”

“Not me,” Osamu says. “I’ve got a restaurant to run.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that, Osamu,” she continues, giving him a small smile. “That’s why I asked ____ to wake up Atsumu early today. Both of you still have the same build, so Atsumu can go to the tailor’s to see if it fits or if he needs any adjustments.”

“Oh,” says Atsumu. You don’t meet his gaze. “I didn’t know we had actual work to do today.”

“I also offered to buy ____ a dress, but she refused.” His mother casts a quick, affectionate glance at you. “So, Atsumu, I need you to buy her one, all right? Get her a gorgeous one.”

“O’course I will,” he says, quietly.

Osamu looks curiously between you both. “Didn’t ____ tell you all this when she came to wake you up, Tsumu?”

A wad of rice gets lodged in Atsumu’s throat. You accidentally inhale miso soup through your nose. Both of you cough and splutter.

Osamu frantically pats Atsumu’s back, while you, eyes watering, accept a glass of water from the twins’ mother. Something unfurls inside Atsumu’s chest at the thought of spending the whole day with you, getting his suit tailored and buying you a dress.  

It’s almost like you’re actually his date for his cousin’s wedding.

Is it weird that Miya Atsumu wants to see your reaction to him wearing a suit? Is he being presumptuous in the way he lifts his chin and puffs out his chest so that the tuxedo fits him better? What are your thoughts about men wearing tuxedos and ties, in general? Should he buy a tie that matches your dress?

This, and other such mysteries of life, are what the volleyball player ponders over in the tiny fitting room while one of the seamsters kneels in front of him and measures the length of his leg with measuring tape. 

Atsumu has to constantly remind himself that you don’t know he’s your date yet. The wedding is tomorrow. He doesn’t know if he has it in him to stick it out until then. 

“All done,” the seamster announces, getting back to his feet. “Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be able to alter this to the right size.”

“Thanks,” Atsumu mumbles, pulling back the curtain and heading outside. 

You’re sitting on one of the couches they’ve kept by the corner of the shop, scrolling through something on your phone. The bag with your new dress—his mother’s gift to you—is placed on the floor by your feet. He doesn’t know what the dress looks like; you’d insisted on buying it secretly because it was, apparently, embarrassing to go dress-shopping with a close friend who happens to be a well-built, devilishly handsome, popular, famous pro-volleyball player. 

Not that you said those words exactly, but Atsumu can fill in the blanks.

He plops down next to you, leaning back and circling his head to get rid of the cricks in his neck. You put your phone away and glance at him.

“Take a picture,” Atsumu says, not looking back at you. “Lasts longer.”

“If only your face actually looked good in photos.”

“My face looks excellent. Haven’t ya seen me and Bokuto in the Calpis advertisement?” It was a small gig they’d gotten right after the Olympics season. Kuroo had said it would make for good PR, and Atsumu and Bokuto jumped at the chance to have their small five minutes of fame. Shouyou had sulked about not being a part of it for two weeks straight afterwards.

“I have, actually,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know I wouldn’t ever miss out on that. I’m surprised no one here’s recognised you yet.”

“Livin’ under a rock, the whole lot of them,” Atsumu mutters.

You laugh softly. “The fame’s gone to your head, Atsumu. Don’t forget me when you and the team go gallivanting across the country.”

“You know I wouldn’t ever be able to forget you,” he says, after a beat. “You’re, like, a part of me now.”

You blink. “That’s kind of weird.”

Atsumu’s cheeks burn. How is it that he always, always fumbles so much in front of you? It’s like his brain sees you and immediately decides to unplug itself for maintenance. He gulps, thinking of ways to salvage whatever dignity he has left.

“‘S not weird,” he forces out. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. I think you spent more time at our house durin’ elementary school than you did at your own.”

“Fair enough,” you acquiesce. Shifting slightly, you eye the bit of fabric from your dress that pokes out of the paper bag. “Still can’t believe your mom insisted on getting me a dress,” you murmur, lightly brushing your fingertips against the edge of the bag. “It’s a bit over-the-top, don’t you think?”

“She just likes you a lot,” he responds. “Honestly, I’m startin’ the think she likes you more than me or Osamu.”

“That’s not a very high bar.” You roll your eyes, but there’s no malice in the action. “But it’s probably ‘cause I didn’t dunk her favourite teapot into the toilet when I was seven.”

“That was an accident! And I apologised more than a hundred times!”

“Yeah, and I’m sure the apology totally made up for the fact that you made Osamu stick his hand down there and fish it out for you.”

“Why d’you always take his side?” Atsumu grumbles. “Can’t ever catch a break with both of you around, I swear.”

You lean back, shoulder brushing against his. Atsumu can feel your gaze roving over his face; he bites the inside of his cheek, feeling strangely self-conscious.

“Maybe,” you say, “I just enjoy making fun of you. You always make fun of me back. It’s nice.”

Atsumu swallows hard, trying to focus on anything else—the tacky wallpaper, the sound of pop music blaring from the shop next door. Anything but the way your words make his heart somersault, or the way your smile lingers for a second more than usual. 

“That’s cruel, yaknow,” he manages to say. “Gangin’ up on me all the time. Makes a guy feel unloved.”

You stay quiet, thoughtfully steepling your fingers under your chin. Atsumu glances at you from the corner of his eye. Your expression doesn’t betray anything, until you reach out and gently grasp his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “Didn’t realise you didn’t like it.”

Miya Atsumu is certain—not for the first time in his life—that he’s utterly doomed. It’s a little bit pathetic, really. It started back in middle school, and still, somehow, he’s unable to move on. You’ve consumed him. Your thumb brushes over the veins on his wrist; he wonders if you can feel his pulse racing.

“Don’t stop,” he says, because what else does a fool in love say?

“Atsumu, I—”

You’re interrupted by the seamster, who calls Atsumu over to the register to finish his billing. He grits his teeth. This is the worst sort of interruption ever. He turns to face you properly, because maybe if he pretends he didn’t hear the tailor, you’ll tell him what you were about to say. 

But your face is carefully blank, your lips pressed together. “Go on,” you tell him. “Don’t forget to collect Osamu’s tux, too.”

“Yeah, okay.” Atsumu nods once, twice. He gently extricates his hand from your grasp, as much as he dislikes it. “I’ll, uh, go do that, then.”

“Okay.”

Atsumu hates this. He’s not sure if he even wants to attend the wedding anymore. All his relatives are going to heckle him about his love life—and that’s fine, he can deal with them. He just doesn’t want his grandmother’s face to crumple with disappointment on finding out her grandson’s whole “relationship” was a farce. Feeling sick to his stomach, he pays for the alterations done to his and his brother’s outfits, and gestures for you to accompany him outside. 

You don’t meet his eyes the entire way back home.

It’s the eve of the wedding reception, and Miya Atsumu can’t find you anywhere.

The reception hall is lovely. Golden lanterns hang from the ceiling, enveloping everyone in a soft, warm glow. Vases of peonies and cherry blossoms, intertwined with sprigs of baby’s breath, are placed on top of the soft linen covering each table. The delicate strains of a koto and shamisen ensemble weave through the air. The centerpiece stage, framed by cascading fairy lights and flowing silk, bear the names of the bride and the groom, written in exquisite calligraphy. An array of traditional Japanese sweets and cups of sake are placed on a long table by the corner of the hall.

Shohei and Sakura sit by the shintaku, looking resplendent in their outfits, surrounded by family members and friends. He’s already congratulated them, clapping his cousin on the back and winking proudly at Sakura. You’re nowhere near them, so he tries the snack table instead.

Atsumu hides his mounting worry by shoving a piece of mochi into his mouth. He racks his brain, trying to think of other possible hideouts where he can find you. It’s not like you to disappear like this—and it’s a shame, really, because all he wants is to be by your side this evening. Osamu is posing for a group photo with his second cousins and his mother is helping his aunt with the gift bags, but you’re not anywhere near them either.

He knows you won’t be at the smoking area where his uncle has held court all evening, but he decides to check anyway. Atsumu gives the area a cursory glance, confirming that you’re not among them, before hastily walking out. He curses under his breath, his usual confidence giving way to an unfamiliar, gnawing unease.

You’re supposed to be here. You said you’d be here.

He adjusts the lapels of his tailored suit and forces himself to think rationally. You’re probably just outside, he tells himself, getting some air or hiding from the relentless matchmaking attempts of meddlesome aunts. It’s probably fine. It has to be.

Atsumu’s footsteps turn towards the garden doors. His urgency is masked by the cocky, practiced demeanour he wears like a second skin.

“Atsumu, boy, where d’you think you’re running off to now?”

The volleyball player freezes mid-step. He exhales slowly and drags a hand through his meticulously styled hair before turning around.

Grandma Miya stands by the hall’s entrance, wearing a lavender kimono that glows under the warm lights. Her lacquered cane gleams as she taps it softly against the polished floor. Despite her diminutive frame, his grandmother commands the space effortlessly. Sharp eyes—so like his own—pin him in place.

“‘M not runnin’ anywhere, Grandma,” Atsumu says, summoning a sheepish smile that he hopes will placate her. “Just, uh, checkin’ on something.”

Her eyebrows lift, arching in a way that shows she’s wholly unconvinced. “Checking on something or someone?”

Atsumu opens his mouth, an excuse perched on the tip of his tongue, but she raises a hand and continues before he can say anything. “Thought you ought to know—there’s a pretty girl standing outside in the garden cussin’ out your name like she’s auditioning for a sailor’s choir. Care to explain why?”

“Wait—outside?”

“So you do know her,” Grandma Miya states.

“Um. Yeah—I— She’s—” The grin he’s worn like armour falters under the Miya matriarch’s scrutinising gaze.

“Out with it, Tsumu,” she prompts, tapping her cane once on the floor. “Who is she?”

“She’s my… date,” Atsumu admits. The words tumble out awkwardly, and he can’t deny the way it sounds both weirdly foreign but strangely right at the same time. “For the wedding.”

His grandmother’s eyes narrow. “And why is she out there cursing you to Hell and back all alone in the cold?”

“I didn’t—” He stops, shoulders slumping. He knows there’s no point in lying—not to her. Grandma Miya has always been able to see right through him, as though his thoughts are scrawled across his face.

“She’s not really my date,” Atsumu mutters, gaze downcast. “I mean, she is, but she doesn’t… know that she is.”

Grandma Miya blinks, and then lets out a short huff of laughter. “Atsumu, are you tellin’ me you brought this poor girl here, told everyone she’s your date, but didn’t think to inform her of that little detail?”

“I didn’t forget,” Atsumu protests, though his words sound weak to his own ears. “I just didn’t have the chance to tell her.”

“Why would you go and do something so spectacularly foolish?”

He hesitates, avoiding her eyes. “‘Cause I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he says quietly, the admission dragging itself out of his throat.

His grandmother’s smile fades, and without it, her wrinkles look more and more pronounced. “Disappoint me?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu whispers. “You’re always askin’ me when I’m gonna bring someone home. You want to see me and Osamu get married, too, before you—” His voice catches. “Before. Um. I just wanted to make you happy, ‘s all.”

There’s a long pause, and when Grandma Miya speaks again, her voice is sadder than he expects. Classic Atsumu, he thinks bitterly. Always findin’ a way to mess things up for everyone.

“Atsumu, you daft boy,” his grandma says, “I don’t care if you bring someone or not. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

Atsumu swallows, her words entering his chest and settling down with a warmth that wraps around his body. When he looks up, he finds her observing him not with judgement, but with quiet understanding.

“Are you happy?” she asks. 

Something about the way she says it is tinged with hope, and it makes his heart lift. The truth lodges in his throat, too big to swallow, too heavy to speak.

“I like her,” he blurts out finally. “A lot. But she doesn’t—she doesn’t know that either.”

Grandma Miya’s lips lift up in a grin—the same smile that passed on to his mother, and then to him and his brother. “Then go find her. Tell her the truth.”

“But what if—”

“No,” she says firmly. “Life’s too short for all that nonsense. If you care about her, you owe her the truth and an apology. Go on, now. Dinner’s starting soon.”

Atsumu nods, the corners of his lips twitching up in a small, grateful smile. She waves him off with her cane, before turning around and bellowing to Osamu to get her another cup of sake. He heads out to the garden.

The cool night air fills his lungs when he steps out of the ornate doors. He catches sight of you pacing near the koi pond; your movements are tight with frustration. The moonlight shimmers on the water, and dances across your face. The ends of your dress billow out because of the wind and Atsumu swears he forgets how to breathe.

It’s not until he climbs down the steps and comes to a standstill in front of you that you finally acknowledge Atsumu. Even then, it’s with flaring nostrils and flashing eyes, and he knows he’s fucked up really badly this time.

“Atsumu,” you say, voice taut. “What the Hell is going on?”

He winces. He doesn’t know what to say, how to explain everything. He tries to speak, but no words come out, and all he can do is watch helplessly as you curl your fingers into your palm with anger.

“Why the fuck did you tell your entire family that I’m your girlfriend?” you snap, when it becomes apparent he isn’t going to say anything. “What did you think was going to happen?”

A dozen half-baked excuses fly over his head, but none of them feel right. Grandma Miya was right—he owes you the truth—but first, he needs to find a way to calm you down.

“Do you realise how messed up that is?” you continue. Your voice increases in pitch, garnering the attention of a few wedding-goers milling about. “You didn’t ask me. You didn’t tell me anything. Do you know how embarrassing it was to get bombarded by all your relatives asking me how long we’ve been dating? They think we’re something that we’re not—fuck it all, they think I’m something I’m not.”

“I didn’t— I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Atsumu pleads, finally having found his voice. “I just—”

“Just what?! Just thought it would be easier? Just wanted to impress your family?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No. I just—shit, I dunno—I didn’t want my grandma to think I was screwing around. I didn’t want my relatives to look at me with pity ‘cause I can’t even stay in a decent relationship for longer than three weeks!”

Atsumu searches your face for something—some sort of reaction to his words. But you’re silent, and he can’t read your face. He can’t tell if you’re angry, hurt, both, or something else entirely, and it’s making him feel even more out of his depth.

“What were you thinking, Atsumu?” you ask softly. Your teeth worry your bottom lip, and he resists the urge to give in and kiss you silly.

“I wasn’t thinkin’,” he says, hoarsely. “I didn’t think about how it would make you feel. I should have.”

You don’t say anything for a long while; Atsumu thinks he’s said too much. But then, you speak and the bite in your voice has reduced.

“You didn’t think about me. You didn’t think ‘bout how I’d feel being that person for you.” 

Your words ring hollow in his ears. The hurt in your voice makes his stomach twist with guilt. He wants to defend himself, but what could he possibly say? Instead, he looks at you quietly, hoping against all hope that somehow you will understand.

“Fuck,” Atsumu mutters under his breath, more to himself than you. He takes a tentative step forward, but you hold up a hand.

“You don’t—” Your voice trembles. “You don’t get to just walk over to me and give me some half-assed apology, Atsumu.”

Atsumu stops, letting silence blanket you both once more. He stares at you for a moment, at your beautiful face and your beautiful dress, and without thinking, he steps closer, his hand reaching out.

You don’t pull away—not immediately.

He’s close enough now that he can see his reflection in your eyes, the small tremor in your lips. Something inside him shifts, something urgent, something that makes his head spin. He doesn’t know what he’s doing until it’s too late. 

He curls his hand around your waist and pulls you in, crashing your lips with his. He feels you stiffen at first—but then you kiss him back, hard and sharp, and everything in him unwinds.

It isn’t gentle or sweet. It isn’t tender, the way Atsumu had always imagined his first kiss with you would be like. It’s angry—you are angry at him, and he is angry at himself. 

It’s over far too quickly. Atsumu’s chest heaves with each breath he takes. You gawk at him, wide-eyed and breathless; a mirror to the expression on his own face, most likely. 

“I—” Atsumu starts, but the sentence gets lost somewhere in his brain when you take a step back.

“I’m not some… prop to your little charade, Atsumu,” you say. “So unless this means something to you—like it does for me—don’t do things you’ll regret.”

“I won’t,” Atsumu promises. His voice is gruff, his heartbeat a rapid staccato against his rib cage. “I could never. I like you too much for that.”

You look at him like he looked at you earlier—like you’ve forgotten how to breathe, like you’re drinking in the sight of him and trying to commit him to memory. It comes out as a whisper when you say, “What?”

“God, ____, I like you. I like you so much I don’t know what to do with myself when you’re around.” He owes you the truth, and so the truth is what you will get. He’s not very good with words—you know this, and he’s sure you will recognise this for what it is: he’s laying his heart bare for you to take and keep safely for him.

“Me too,” you say. “Me too, Atsumu. Me too.”

He kisses you again, gentle and tender and sweet, his hand placed on the curve of your neck and your hands clutching the front of his shirt. 

Osamu finds him and you later, curled into each other’s sides. Atsumu’s cheeks colour when his brother shoots him an impressed look.

“Finally,” he says. “Been waitin’ forever for this buffoon to get his head out of his ass and make a move.”

Atsumu doesn’t deny it, and you laugh softly. “Been waitin’ for him myself,” you say, squeezing his arm affectionately.

“Anyways,” says Osamu. “Grandma Miya’s lookin’ for Tsumu. She says she can’t wait to meet his new girlfriend.”

Atsumu’s mouth splits into a grin. “Tell her we’ll be right there,” he says.

[shoyosluver]

3 year Yachi 💪🏻⭐️

[shoyosluver]

kageyamilk and shorange juice!! 🧃🥛✨

I'll be selling these at SGCC 2024 as charms and stickers. Hopefully they get here on time 😥

[shoyosluver]

now im thinking about overworked corporate reader and osamu. his shop is the closest to your apartment, not to mention that he’s usually open late, and most days, you don’t want to cook after spending 14 hours in the office. you always order delivery and since you’re usually the last person before closing, he’ll deliver it to you himself. after the third month in a row of you eating out, osamu finally tells you, “yknow, you need to eat some real food once in a while.”

you’re running on nothing but caffeine and the sheer will to prove to your male coworkers that you belong in this office. with bags under your eyes and your pencil skirt and blazer still on despite the fact that it’s nearing midnight, you take the to go bag and stare at the handsome delivery man. “you shouldn’t try to drive customers away. your boss will fire you.”

osamu doesn’t admit to anything, but he does start a habit of striking small talk with you every time you order. you’re quickly becoming his favorite regular, and when he asks you out one night, you pause. “does your boss know you’re asking out girls while on the clock?”

“actually, we closed five minutes ago.” and with a grin on his face, he finally lets you know, “and i am the boss.”

[shoyosluver]

"you shouldnt wear that,"

you were taken aback by the unexpected comment from the man you hardly knew, your mouth agape as words failed to come forth. "i-im sorry..?" you asked, your voice tinged with hesitation and confusion. the man has a bored look on his face, but his words is totally striking your pride. "you're miya's girlfriend arent you? but people cant seem to differentiate between you and a slut because of that dress you're wearing," you were really surprised by his rudeness, and the word 'slut' hurts you like shit. no one has ever called you that, and why is this random stranger degrading you like you're some low women?

"what the hell did you just say to my girl?" atsumu's voice was cold and harsh, his angry tone evident. "who the fuck are you to tell my girl what to wear?" he asked, his fists clenched and jaw tightening. before you could speak, atsumu punched the guy. a commotion ensued, and you both left the party as the situation worsened. its safe to say atsumu made some new enemies that night, and now he's enduring a lecture from you while you apply ice to his bruised jaw.

you know atsumu is not a weak man; he will throw punches if needed for you. he doesn't mind being your knight in shining armor, because it's you.

"dont mind his words, you can wear whatever the fuck you want because i can and will fight if anyone opposes," a smile formed on your lips as you heard atsumu's words.

[shoyosluver]

-ˋˏ✄┈ 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 : 010

- ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛ THIS SIDE OF YOU ❜┊

— akaashi x f!oc!reader

◦ ‘ just be by your side

and give you more than words ’

🔊 :: track nine, more than words

note: i realised that links for the song will take you to spotify and only play a small part of it, for the full version, you can search it up to listen on spotify or other music platforms to enhance the reading experience!

CW ; written in third person, includes text portions, fluff & comfort in this one, mentions of anxiety, switches to Akaashi's pov under the third cut

WC ; 7.4k

icymi!! find the reprise masterlist here

Having a crush was the biggest motivator in Aritsu’s life.

It was an awakening. A jolt of strength, a buzz of energy that brought a skip to her step and the constant hum of a jovial tune lingering on her lips. Today, she had woken up with a resolution that would have never crossed her mind if not for the compulsive urge in satiating her greedy heart.

For Shinsei and Shiori on the other hand, it was life’s greatest mystery. A science fiction movie coming to life, in which their lazy daughter who would set up fifteen alarms and snooze them all swapped bodies with her polar opposite.

"Morning," Aritsu greeted her mother, pushing past the curtains that hung in place of a door to the kitchen. She shuffled over to the assortment of doughnuts on the dining table, missing the surprised jerk of Shiori's body whipping around to face her.

"Morning, Aritsu." there was a startled pause to her mother's words. Setting down the pitcher of yuja tea in her hands, Shiori brought the tray of filled glasses to where Aritsu stood overlooking the selection of doughnuts.

Her nearing presence went unacknowledged. As Shiori distributed the glasses of yuja tea onto the rotating tray of the dining table, she curiously studied her daughter, silently deducing her bizarre appearance in the wee hours of the morning.

Arms lounged lazily over the back of a chair, Aritsu raised a finger and hovered it over each imaginary space over the doughnuts. "glazed, sugar, black forest..." came the low murmur. The prodding of her tongue at the corner of her lips was indicative of the debate of choice that went on in her head, but none of it clued Shiori into figuring out her daughter's intentions.

"You're up early." Shiori finally pointed out.

That prompted Aritsu to throw her mother a sidelong glance, before dipping her head with an enigmatic smile, resuming her pursue of her ideal doughnut. "I thought it was finally my time to embark on nurturing a healthy lifestyle." she vaguely stated.

Shiori cocked her head to one side. Although her answer was clear, she didn't believe her daughter's sudden change of heart. In her experience in raising this girl, she knew better than to assume that such a simple answer could be the case.

"What is your primary motivation behind this decision?" she tried again in an attempt to pry deeper.

"Don't you want me to start being healthier?" Aritsu refuted slyly, slipping under her examination. Her wandering finger stopped at the sugar raised doughnut, hand reaching out to pluck it from the plate and dishing it into a paper bag.

Without waiting for Shiori's reply, she downed her entire glass of yuja tea in one gulp and passed it into Shiori's hands.

"I'll get going now. Bye!" tossing a grin over her shoulder, Aritsu departed out of the kitchen in a hurry.

Shiori looked down at the empty cup in her hands, then at the curtains by the doorway flapping idly in Aritsu's wake. A ceding sigh drifted to her lips, turning to the sink.

Appearance was not the only thing Aritsu shared with her father - but the trait of their underlying expertise in evading tricky questions as well.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Aritsu arrived at the train station as planned. The huge clock suspended from the high panelled ceiling read seven in the morning, which meant she was in time to catch the early train free from the usual frustration of having to squeeze with a hustling crowd.

The train doors slid open soundlessly, the queue for the train she was part of shifting upwards. Cool air blasted from the ventilation fans attached to the top of the cabin, relieving the thin layer of sweat formed on the back of Aritsu's neck, a result of her haste to get here.

Anticipation caused her searching gaze to gloss through the various faces present. Not the lady leaning against a glass divider with her hair cropped at her shoulders, clad in casual streetwear. Not the businessman snoring in his seat, head drooped. Despite how he shook along with the rattling of the train, his tight hold on the briefcase perched in his lap was indomitable.

Indomitable, too, was Aritsu's attention when the sparkle of a familiar metal badge caught her eye. In a heartbeat, the rest of the faces on the train were scrubbed away. Shadows and morning light danced across the ravenette's face, arms wrapped around his black bag to press it to his chest. Where the metal badge was pinned to, gleaming in reflection of the passing light penetrating the windows of the train - but never demanding her to look as much as his face did.

Akaashi sat in a seat a few spaces away from where she stood surveying the cabin. He had his head angled slightly to the left, attentively listening to the boy seated next to him. Bokuto, Aritsu corrected, recognising him as the second year who had declared her identity to the entire convenience store.

This time, their friend group had grown with a few more additions. Three unfamiliar faces stood around those seated. Two of them had spiky hair, though one looked more menacing than the other in terms of not just height - but the appalling lack of eyebrows. Taller than the two of them however, was a guy with a crew cut.

Beside Bokuto was Konoha, the dirty blonde haired guy with narrowed eyes. Occasionally, he added to what Bokuto said, sometimes bickering in their contradictions. To his side, a tousled dark haired boy listened in to their conversation, chiming in to make his own comments.

Aritsu was struck with the baffled observation that most of them shared the sharply arched eyebrows Bokuto had. Like a family of owls. Did they bring out the entire volleyball team? Intimidated by the huge group, she withdrew behind a glass divider sheepishly, reorganising her plans to meet up with Akaashi in the train.

She had barely taken a step back when the second year found her staring from a distance, golden eyes widening.

"Tomo-chi!"

Her heart plummeted to the bottom of her stomach.

Heads spun her way immediately at the effect of Bokuto's booming exclamation. The entire group sized her up in curious examination, taking in Aritsu blinking dumbly back at them, legs frozen one before the another in her futile attempt to blend into the background.

Bokuto had shot up his hand in the air, flapping it enthusiastically in a friendly wave. Blissfully oblivious to the girl's inner panic in being called out, he worsened it by gesticulating at her to come over, with such an innocent cheerfulness she knew only a hideous, unloving monster dared to refuse.

Once Akaashi's gaze flickered to hers, she forced the tension in her bunched up limbs to dissipate. Schooling her face into a polite smile, she retracted her leg back to rest beside the other and headed towards the group slowly.

A pep talk commenced in her head with each step she took in their direction, interjecting her rambling panic with an illusion of calm. Glimpsing Bokuto's smile brightening at her arrival, the last of her doubts melted away to gratitude. At least there was a source of comfort, even if they didn't know each other for long - but Bokuto's carefree personality put her at ease.

She stopped in front of them with the idea of staying outside the circle. However, the guy with the crew cut had other plans, stepping aside for her to squeeze herself into the circle. The group rearranged their positions, expanding to accommodate her presence. Expectant gazes were still pinned on her, though not in a way meant to be pressuring, felt so.

With the limelight shining down on her, Aritsu decided upon taking the initiative to say something.

"Good morning..." her greetings came to a temporary halt, unsure of how to address them.

fellas? gentlemen? good looking men-

"Erm, what the sigma?" Aritsu mumbled instinctively in response to the confounding terms gathered in her head.

-oh hell, she had let that last critiquing thought slip.

Her facial muscles tightened, bordering between a smile and a grimace. An embarrassing silence that followed doused her in an overpowering wave of shame, urging forward an onset of intrusive thoughts amplifying her desire to throw herself out the train window and sacrifice herself on the tracks.

"What the sig...?"

"You're the girl from the convenience store!" Konoha jumped in quickly, cutting off Bokuto's inquisition and her piling peril. "Akaashi's classmate and desk partner, Aritsu Tomoha, correct?"

Aritsu's shoulders slumped in consolation to Konoha's rescue. Now she was indebted to his sweet soul. Shooting him a grateful smile, she responded with a firm nod.

For once, the attention spurred from the mention of her last name was her salvation. In the face of this dire situation, it was a game changer that erased the memory of the earlier incident hanging shamefully in the atmosphere.

The curly dark haired boy sitting next to Konoha regarded her in renewed interest. "You're the daughter of Shinsei Tomoha?" he asked, speaking out on behalf of the collective surprise worn on the faces of the rest new to this piece of news.

A spark of annoyance flared to life in Aritsu's heart, though quickly extinguished with an agreeing bob of her head. "Yeah. It's not obvious because I got a dye job sometime during junior high." she inputted.

Hearing his name flow naturally after hers in every single conversation like a granted fact perturbed her, though. As inseparable as Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, correlations interlinked with one another. Years of being asked the same question over and over again could make her recite them involuntarily, like second nature. At times when she was bored, she would direct the questions herself and switch up her responses for laughs.

None of them would ever be said in actual conversations, but the activity helped in poking fun at the mundane repetition.

"No wonder you looked so different!" Bokuto piped up, tilting his head to look her up and down as if he were seeing her for the first time. An approving smile wandered across his lips once he had completed his tiny analysis of her hair colour, flashing her a thumbs up. "It's a good choice. I love the blonde streaks in the brown, it reminds me of pork belly strips!"

"That's an interesting comparison..." Aritsu mused in bemusement, drawing connections between the two things she would have never considered to be paired together. On the other hand, the rest of the group exchanged rueful smiles, acquainted with the unique wirings of Bokuto's brain.

Konoha looked to Bokuto with a teasing lift of his eyebrows, nudging him in a playful fashion. "You can't just say that about someone's hair, Bokuto. It's like comparing your hair to a broomstick."

"A broomstick?" Bokuto echoed in horror. "I'll have you know that is an insult to the effort I put into my hair every morning..."

Both of them lapsed into the casual rhythm of their lighthearted debates entertained by their friends throughout the train ride to their stop. Aritsu engaged in occasional conversation with the rest of the group when prompted, walking out of the station with them into the school compound. Picking up on bits of information gained from their mannerisms, she felt more comfortable around the group in contrast to her initial unfamiliarity.

Still, she couldn't help but have her gaze land on Akaashi every now and then. He had been awfully quiet during the train ride, partaking little in the discussions held in the friend group, his only contributions coming to light when Bokuto prompted him to speak.

Which was not so much of a strange occurrence given Akaashi's nature in keeping to himself. Perhaps she was overanalysing his reserved silence, hypersensitive to every action he took.

Nudging her outdoor shoes off, Aritsu crouched down to swap her outdoor shoes with her indoor ones. A low creaking sounded above her head, a shadow falling over her hunched frame. Lifting her head, she peered at Akaashi behind the metal grilles of his opened shoe locker.

With a single tug and hook of his fingers to the lip of his shoe, Akaashi replaced his shoes with one swift move. Aritsu snapped straight beside Akaashi once her protective cover was stolen, briefly shut back into its place.

Zero signs received except for the sheet of stoic calm that never seemed to leave Akaashi's face.

Was it her imagination then to notice the excessive amount of times he fiddled with his fingers? Or when he stared blankly at them, lost in thought?

"I'm thirsty!" Bokuto's lament made Aritsu look to him instead. A pout formed on the second year's lips, throwing up his arms in agitation. "Let's get a drink from the vending machine!"

"Eh, I'll pass." the shortest out of them all with the reddish brown hair objected, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "I don't want to be late for class."

A few guys around him resounded their concerns. Following the reddish brown haired guy's lead, they left for class after saying their goodbyes. It was down to an intimidatingly tall guy with pushed back spiky hair, the guy with buck teeth and Konoha.

Bokuto deflated at the dwindling group of people, but perked up shortly after, seeing that he still had an audience. "You coming, Akaashi?" he asked, looking to the ravenette who adjusted the fitting of his shoe to his feet with a tap.

"I'll pass." Akaashi replied with a sudden glance at Aritsu that caused her to stiffen up, caught off guard. He turned back in time, the tension gathered in her shoulders sneaking past his notice. "I have a group project to present with Ritsu san later, so I want to make sure I'm prepared."

"Ah? Is that so?" the older male gasped, parting out of Akaashi's way to let him pass. "The two of you best get going then! All the best!" he encouraged, slapping Akaashi once on the back and offering Aritsu a reassuring grin. "Don't be nervous, Tomo chi." he says, reading the surprise that envelops her features at the recollection of their presentation.

Aritsu dismisses the concern with a shake of her head. "I'm not nervous, I've got this."

With a beam, Bokuto pats her shoulder and urges her forward. Hurrying after Akaashi who had started on his route upstairs, she takes two steps at a time and emerges on the second floor, falling in step beside him. He slows once she has caught up, allowing her to catch her breath.

A series of flashcards are held in his hand - the ones she notices he had been flipping through in the train earlier, which he pocketed during the walk to school. Akaashi reads them over and over again, committing them to memory through low murmurs.

His thorough preparedness makes her a little guilty. After a couple times of going through her script last night, Aritsu had confidently called it a day and collapsed onto her bed. Witnessing Akaashi's relentless memorisation put her meek efforts to shame.

Snuffing out the distracting guilt in her chest, Aritsu crossed her fingers and hoped upon her charisma to not fail her. "Are you ready, Akaashi?" she asked as he turned a flashcard over to reveal a paragraph of text written on its backside.

Akaashi's eyes appraised hers for a minute of silence. Then his gaze jumped back to his flashcards. Skimming the contents of the first opened card carelessly, he flipped a second one over, leaping over the last line of text. "Yes."

That pause lasted far too long to render his statement of steadfast confidence. Akaashi's finger shifted to the corner of his cards and flicked it up and down, the crinkling sounds of paper perpetuating the air. Again, he begun to recite the facts, though this time they flowed anxiously, with a desperate edge that begged the words to be carved into his brain.

Her observations in the train lined up to the present moment. The longer Aritsu assessed his actions, whatever conclusion she had come to terms with in her head grew clearer.

Akaashi was nervous. And no, it wasn't the usual kind of nervousness that everyone faced before giving a presentation. It was a nervousness that stretched beyond that, festering on the composure fighting hard to stay. The dilemma was evident in his jittery gaze, looking anywhere but her.

With each step they took closer to their classroom, closer to first period, closer to the prospect of being the first to present - it worsened subtly. Starting with the trembling of his fingers, the lowering of his head to steady his shallow breaths, at odds with the panic inching into his furrowed eyebrows.

They could not enter a classroom like this, much less manage a presentation. The expectant stares, incessant chatter, pressure inflicted by their classmates would only agitate the grappling anxiety.

Holy shit. She had to think of something, and fast. An old trick surfaced to thought amidst the pool of solutions congregating in her brain - beckoning forward to her. In a dire need to take charge of the spiralling situation, Aritsu snatched ahold of it.

Grabbing Akaashi’s wrist, she pulled him aside. He let out a short sound of surprise as she placed herself in front of him, barring their route to the classroom.

“Trust me.” she dropped her hand from his to whip out her phone from her pocket, then tilted her head upwards to search for his approval. “Can you play along?”

Confusion filled his eyes at her request, then melded into gradual understanding. Still attempting to curb the complicated emotions squeezing at his throat, Akaashi responded with a faint nod.

Returning to her phone screen, Aritsu cleared her throat and dialed their science teacher's number.

Pressing the phone to her ear, she surveyed their surroundings. Since it was nearing first period, few students lurked in the hallways to act as eyewitnesses of her scheming. A female student was frantically trying to reach a family member to fill the absence of her homework in a lonely corner outside her classroom, and a male classmate disappeared into the toilets. Neither of them bothered to spare them a glance.

Beside her, Akaashi stayed quiet, shoulders lightly heaving to regulate his breathing.

A click ended the drawn out beeping of the dial tone. “Hello?”

Her hand rose to cup her mouth over the receiver, leaning in to speak into it. “This is Aritsu. Good morning, ms…”

“Ms Tsumugi.” the voice returned with a sigh, with the tone of someone who was used to her forgetful tendencies. Aritsu held back a nervous giggle. For the love of god, she could not remember names, especially those of her teachers.

“Ms Tsumugi.” she parroted, taking advantage of the clarification to buy some time to prepare for her act. Fluttering her eyes shut, Aritsu stepped into the shoes of her role, channeling her acting skills into play.

With Akaashi’s curiosity lingering on her, she mustered her effort into displaying a convincing performance. Moving her hand over her lower abdomen and angling her head downwards, her back slid down the wall until she was sitting on her heels.

Sucking in a stream of air through clenched teeth, she feigned pain by expelling it in a hiss. “I’m really sorry to disturb you, but…I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it for the presentation…I’m having a severe case of period cramps.” she breathed.

Distant voices in the background replaced the beat of silence. A squeak of a chair intercepts with Ms Tsumugi’s reply, but the hints of her skepticism fails to escape Aritsu’s notice along with it.

“You won’t be able to make it? Did you tell Akaashi? This is a graded project in which the two of you share a part in, Aritsu.” she questions.

Aritsu’s teeth nibble at her lower lip, creating a muffled cry. “I told him. We’re in the same room right now. Would it be possible if…you could postpone our presentation to the last pair?”

Ms Tsumugi hesitates at the request. “Take a visit to the nurse’s office and get a heat pack.” she says finally. “Be back in at least an hour for your presentation.”

Someone laughs in the background close to the phone. A laugh Aritsu was close to releasing, but pinches her lips sealed in time.

“Thank you, Ms Tsumugi.” she hastily replies.

Without waiting for an answer on the other end, Aritsu hangs up and shoves her phone into her skirt pocket. As the weight tumbles into the depths of the tweed fabric, their next destination sets into mind.

Standing here in the hallway is better than being trapped in the confines of the noisy classroom, but not enough to prove as an effective alleviating agent. With students occasionally streaming in and out of classes for toilet breaks, they could easily come under scrutiny.

Only one location would meet the checklist for an ideal environment to unwind. Somewhere away from the glare of the fluorescent lights over their heads, away from brewing discussions, away from prying eyes.

"I got us permission," she tells him, spinning on her heel in the opposite direction of the classrooms. "Let's go somewhere else. Follow me."

Aritsu starts ahead, speeding up when she hears another set of footsteps echoing after hers. Turning right in between an interval in the corridor, she walks straight to the end and past a row of classrooms meant for club meetings, heading right into a stairwell and down a flight of stairs.

She stops by a window. Pushing it open, a gust of wind smacks her in the face. It runs her hair across her face, the cheeky breeze trying to sneak the strands past her lips. A smile weaves across her cheeks at its chaotic playfulness, yet relishing in its salvation from the dreary quality of the morning.

His presence joins hers next to the window. Aritsu leans into the embrace of the wind, closing her eyes to enjoy its fingers brushing comfortingly across her skin. Once it cools, the strands of hair flattening on her head, she opens her eyes to regard the sight framing the neighbourhood.

Streets snake across the city, mapping out a labyrinthine of nodes and junctions. Thin alleyways branch out to expanded roads, facilitating the segregation between living spaces and commuting highways. Apartments and buildings pepper the gaps, packed closely together like a clustered bundle of dollhouses. Tokyo is a choked up mess, a metropolis struggling to breathe with all of the activity - but squinting past it lies a familiar community that she grew up with in the fast paced city, a gallery of pastime tales.

"I like coming here when I need to catch a break." Aritsu folds her arms on the metal sill, pointing at various spots she picks out amongst the stretch of pointed peaks or slanted roofs.

A hyaku-en store squeezed between a laundromat and a KFC where Kyou and her frequently purchased their sweets from. "That's where I used to buy at least a kaboyakisan taro daily after school. It's a pressed fish snack ranging from cod to eel." she recalled the chewy texture of the snack torn with her teeth, savoury tastes coating her mouth. "The eel one was like sheer heaven on your tongue. If you get the opportunity, you should try it."

She shifted her gaze ahead, over the royal blue awning adorning the entrance to the brightly lit red and white KFC store sign. Banners with the founder's face plastered across it quavered in the air, positioned around tables set up outside the outlet.

"And this stupid KFC outlet," she remarked with a tsk. "If you head there after school for a bite, it's like suffering through another shibuya scramble crossing. Just to enjoy a piece of fried chicken, you'll have to queue for hours. I'd rather starve than wait that long."

Waving away the unpleasant memory, she dropped her gaze down the street. Her heart clenched spotting the fenced brick red walls surrounding the cream white three storey building, finger hovering in the air above the compound.

"And that's my junior high school." she introduced flatly.

"Mizuhara junior high?"

At the name of the school, Aritsu withdrew her raised hand to rest against her cheek, slumping against the sill. "Yeah. I was miserable in that school. Majority of my classmates were a bunch of slackers who viewed studying to be useless, so most of them goofed off half the time during lessons."

Akaashi offered her a sympathetic look. "That's unfortunate." he remarked quietly.

Aritsu nodded. Veritably, she was grateful for being able to get into Fukurōdani Academy albeit partly due to her father's alumni status. Determined to not end up in the same troubling predicament like her junior high days, she had clocked long hours holed up in the study, cramming revision materials into her brain. Kyou's participation was mandatory as well, for moral support and her best friend's own good.

Akaashi shifted on his feet next to her, tearing her gaze away from the world outside the window to him. Glimpsing him picking at the skin under his nails, Aritsu was reminded of the reason why she had taken him here.

Her hand flew to the tiny bump in her pocket. Slipping a hand inside, she drew it out and nudged his arm.

When he raised his head, she unwrapped her fingers around it. The words 'royce chocolate' were printed in fine cursive on the smooth peach packaging. From it, a rich and sweet scent permeated the air.

"Can I?" she reached out to take his hand. Devoid of objection, Akaashi allowed her to. Her fingers curled gingerly around his wrist, bringing his hand face up. The touch felt hesitant, a gentle warmth on his skin.

Once Aritsu placed the rectangular package onto his palm, she swallowed nervously and retracted her hand back to her side. Akaashi inspected it, picking at the opening to peer inside. Within the box lay a checkered bar of chocolate that tumbled out when he shook it.

"It's black cacao," she explained as he turned it over in his hands. “I kept one with me specially for today, just in case I wasn’t feeling like myself before the presentation. It helps with the anxiety.”

He plucks it from his palm and lifts it to his lips. Then, he puts it whole into his mouth, cheeks moving subtly as he swirls it around.

An ache in her legs from standing too long guides her to sit at the steps. Settling on the cold stone steps, she pats the ground beside her to motion him over. He props his long legs up to his chest, locking his arms over his knees.

“Thank you, Ritsu san.” he speaks after the chocolate in his mouth seems to have cleared.

Comfort unravels in her chest seeing the colour return to his cheeks, what once were shockingly pale. The conflict in his eyes disintegrates into clarity and he blinks, prompting Aritsu to jerk out of her careful examination of his mental state.

“It’s no problem-”

“I’m sorry.” Akaashi blurts out, the guilt leaking into his voice sharply abscinds the latter half of her reassurance.

His arms tighten around his legs folded to his chest. “I caused us trouble.” Annoyance crinkles his brows. “I wasn’t supposed to stress myself out like that, it must have made you uncomfortable, I…” he falters, pressing his lips together hesitantly.

He looks away from her to trace a circle on his knee, taking a while to collect his emotions. Forcing out a soft huff of air, Akaashi continues, a pause in each of his words. “I’m not good at talking in front of a crowd. I panic, and then I blank out and forget my lines. Especially when it’s a major assignment.”

There’s a dip in his voice, thinning into a low murmur. “I practiced, but it looks like it’s not enough. I’m sorry, Ritsu san.”

Each tender apology carves hollows in her heart and robs her of breath. His last words ring with a chord of anguish, a dull final note of a piano to the last verse of a parting song. It makes her heart sink, leaden chains fastening around it and squeezing.

Guilt is the least of the looks she wants painted over his face, but it's everywhere. Leaking into his voice, spilling into his features, working its way into every movement he makes. Crafting apologies over an emotion he can't control.

And she hates it. The longer she looks into it, the more unbearable it becomes. So she speaks, an absolution with words where the need to cup his face in her palms is suppressed.

"In junior high, I was suspended because I got into a fight with someone." she confesses.

Akaashi's fingers halt in drawing his fifth circle, head jerking upwards to stare at her.

Satisfaction ripples through her at how she succeeded in snagging his attention. Her head spins a little, as if in disbelief at the confession she had just uttered. Yet, she presses on, fearing that a moment of hesitation will cause the effects of her words to revert.

"A guy in my class made an insulting joke towards my female classmate, objectifying her body." a scowl tugs at her lips, the infuriating image of his face floating into her head. Not long after, It soon dissipates into an expression of fear as the scene fast forwards.

"So I punched him. A couple times." the admission relaxes her, in contrary to the way Akaashi's eyes widen. His hand has shifted into his lap, and he's now sitting cross legged on the steps.

Aritsu smiles, pleased he has stopped fidgeting about. She tilts her head to face his, a shiver running through her at how he's hanging rapt onto her every word.

"A teacher broke us apart before things got serious. He subjected me to a session of detention, informed my parents about the fight, and got me suspended for a week."

Moving to look down at her clenched hand, she wraps a hand over it, massaging her knuckles. A ghostly throb flutters in them, gained from the impact of whipping the guy's head to the side in a hard punch.

An impact she will never forget. Not because of regret, but of pride.

"I never apologised because he didn't." letting go of her fist, her hands sink into her lap. "I don't believe in apologising to people who don't know how to control what they say and don't feel sorry about it."

Fixing Akaashi with a solemn stare, Aritsu retrieves the next few words from the heart. "Likewise. Don't apologise for something you have no control over. Do you understand?"

He returns her stare with one of his own. For a brief second, doubts flash in her at his silence. Wondering if she came across as too harsh, her mouth flaps open to correct herself - but it clamps shut immediately.

"I understand." Akaashi responds.

Her heart rate climbs, just like the corners of his lips inching upwards. This time, it rises above its usual pit stop, going beyond to stretch into a full smile.

Akaashi is smiling. Not at anyone nor anything else. He's smiling at her, breathtakingly rare and beautiful like a diamond twinkling in the rough. Mercilessly setting her aflame, the softness of his eyes crumbling all coherent thought to ashes.

A powerful draught sweeps into the stairwell, slamming the windows shut.

Both heads whip towards the abrupt noise, clattering of metal sills crashing against one another ringing in the air. Two stray leaves cascade to the ground, released from the cacophony of the wind they were imprisoned by. Individually, they are uneven and incomplete. When she pieces them together mentally, fusing their jagged edges, they fit like two halves meant to find each other.

What if the same logic applied to their group project as well, uniting their individual portions into one?

A fresh plan springs upon her. Taking root, it flourishes steadily, allowing Aritsu to see the alternate possibility they can take. Excitedly, she taps Akaashi's arm.

"I've got an idea," she bursts out when he faces her. "But we'll need to reconsider the flow of our presentation."

The vague proposition piques his interest. Akaashi considers it, watching an elusive smile unfold on Aritsu's face, hooked by the allure of the mystery plan she's insinuating.

He gives her a small nod. "Tell me what you have in mind."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

As much as Akaashi desires it to not be, their escape from the inevitable lasts not for long.

Aritsu is hunched over Ms Tsumugi's laptop screen by the teacher's table, dealing instructions on how to find their document, to which she obliges with a click of her mouse. Akaashi is left to stand awkwardly by a visualiser screen pulled over the chalkboard, hands clasped behind his back.

He stares at the billboard pinned on the wall in the back of their classroom, various notices scattered across the green plane. Birthdays of their classmates, club affiliations, cleanup duty assignments, the like. Keeping himself busy counting them, definitely not thinking about the number of people in this room, how many have their eyes on him now, whether his name appears in any of their passing conversations.

Nor is he thinking about the sweat slowly collecting in the grooves of his clenched palms, an evident sign of the fear gnawing at his nerves. It does not affect him, he thinks as he swipes a wet palm across his dark grey pants. Praying that action alone doesn't leave a stain on the fabric.

His pulse jumps in his throat- no, no, absolutely not. Swallowing thickly, he pleads for consolations to flood his mind. Skipping over every living being, his focus flits, fervently counting the objects in the classroom.

Three huge windows scaling the walls. Forty chairs paired with forty tables. Each table is accompanied with four legs, so there are one hundred and sixty legs in total.

One hundred and sixty, like the seconds he has spent in sufferance under the limelight.

Which translates to two minutes and forty seconds. Since he last entered the classroom at Aritsu's lead, watching her march into the shared space with a confidence he wished he harboured. The thought dishevels him now, and he shrugs it off, resilient in maintaining his composure.

Or at least, his will is resilient. Not so much on the mental aspect that he cannot bend to his whim.

Very quickly he is running out of things to count. Minutes morph into hours, hours extends into days. Until time feels like an incomprehensible social construct. Intangible.

Very much like the churning, visceral panic assembling at the back of his mind.

A hand lands on his shoulder, prickling the bubble entrapping him and bursting it with a pop. While he was persisting in keeping it together, their slides are projected onto the screen. Ms Tsumugi has stepped up front, clapping her hands to direct the attention of the students. Aritsu has returned to his side.

"We're starting." she says, cautiously searching his face for confirmation to begin. "Ready?"

Akaashi wishes he is. He has to be. If he keeps delaying the opportunity to face it, he fears what remaining courage he has will be consumed and rendered irredeemable.

Before the last dregs of his bravado runs out, he forces out a curt nod.

Aritsu's gaze lingers. Then she removes her hand from his shoulder and moves to the right side of the visualiser screen, mouthing, "Remember, we've got this. you've got this."

Turning away from him, she faces the front. Resolve tightens in the purse of her lips, then it loosens, pitching upwards into an inviting smile. Akaashi watches, in an instant, as the girl before him transforms into someone born to be on the stage, who lives and breathes relishing in the spotlight.

"Good morning, everyone. I'm Aritsu, and together with my partner, Akaashi," she nods at him. "We'll be sharing about the science behind lactose intolerance, a condition that affects millions worldwide, and perhaps some of you in this room today."

Within just a few words, a rippling quiet spreads across the classroom. What was left of the hubbub Ms Tsumugi failed to tame dies down, the ticking of the clock the only unstoppable thing undeterred by the enrapturing quality of Aritsu's presence.

Caving in to the aching temptation to gauge the sudden silence, Akaashi surveys the faces of his classmates.

Not one, two, or maybe even five attentive gazes, but thirty eight- thirty eight, making up the whole class excluding them both. Even the most talkative of their classmates, sitting up a little straighter in their chairs. A contagious glint of curiosity gleams in their eyes. With cheeks propped up by their palms, some lean forward subconsciously, bodies irresistible towards the pull of Aritsu's charisma.

And Akaashi can feel it, too. He feels it when she speaks, the moment she takes her place at a distance from him. They are metres apart, but it's almost as if she's on another star in the universe - the sun - with the planets revolving around her, incapable of repelling the gravity that sucks them in.

She awes him. Just like their first meeting in the sandbox, blurting out passionate absurdities so earnest it makes his head whirl.

"Akaashi." her whisper jerks him out of his musings. Following her subtle glance, he notices her shake a clenched fist behind her back.

A snippet of their conversation in the stairwell floats up to mind.

"I'll give a simple introduction in the early half. Then I'll prepare you and inform you where your part begins by shaking a clenched fist behind my back."

He spurs to action immediately. Placing a milk carton on their presentation table, he unrolls a diagram that Aritsu had printed out.

This is where his participation becomes pertinent. Where he begins to speak and address the class. Akaashi fumbles clumsily with undoing the roll of paper, the thudding of his heart in his chest quickening into a deafening pace.

It feels like it's about to ricochet out. Growing louder and louder, unfocusing his actions of tapering the diagram onto the front of his uniform. Akaashi wonders if he looks like a fool, the tape obstinate in not cooperating with his fingers.

Already he feels a few curious glances dart his way. The object of their attention is shifting, like spectators in an art museum moving onward to the next piece worthy of their silent appreciation.

But if he were an art piece, it would be the one hanging in an inconspicuous corner. Not the sole painting that dominates a gallery wall, its vibrant colours screaming for admiration from the masses. One that preferably nobody notices, hidden in the shadows.

"Now that we have covered how the functions of the digestive system works in a person without lactose intolerance, let's compare it with someone diagnosed with lactose intolerance. My partner, Akaashi, is plastering the digestive diagram of someone with lactose intolerance. I will use this marker to direct the flow of milk when ingested into the system..."

Despite faintly registering Aritsu standing beside him, her presence seems to flicker, like a waning lightbulb in his mind.

Shaking, like his fingers. He can't tape the diagram to himself in time for the next portion. Panic clouds his mind, a returning assailant hell bent on his approaching demise.

Focus, his dying mental clarity grips his shoulders and rattles him. Focus. Aritsu needs your participation, you can do this, don't give in...

Warmth bleeds into the coldness hugging his sides. Aritsu's fingers tears the tape from his hands and presses the diagram to his chest. Then they are closing around his hands again, pressing a milk carton into them.

"Breathe." a soft parting whisper, and she's facing the front again, expertly switching her demeanour.

In the moment of being caught up in the tornado of his own worries, he's forgotten the most important thing: breathe. Air crashes into his lungs, relieving the command. Gradually, the fogginess of his mind clears. The activity in the class resumes, time flowing back into consciousness.

"Let's say Akaashi has lactose intolerance. When he drinks products containing lactose, for example, milk..."

The next phases of the presentation fall into place. Picking up the milk carton, Akaashi pries the tab open and looks to Aritsu.

His head is still spinning a little, but the way she holds his gaze anchors him to the present moment. Cocking his head back, he lifts the milk carton to his lips and downs a gulp of milk.

As it trickles down his throat, Aritsu presses the felt tip of a marker to the diagram on his front. Not ready yet to face those staring at him, he watches her draw a red line down from the cavities of the mouth to the oesophagus.

"After Akaashi ingests milk, it will flow from the mouth to the oesophagus, the stomach, then to the small intestine, where most of the processes of breaking down lactose takes place with the enzyme, lactase." she explains.

The red line halts at the early passage of the small intestine. "However, at this point, people with lactose intolerance lack a sufficient quantity of lactase to break down lactose." her head shoots up, locking her gaze with his. "Could you explain what this phenomenon does to our digestive system, Akaashi?"

That does it. If everybody wasn't looking at him earlier - they are now. The baton has been passed into his hands. He keeps a tentative grip on it, though it threatens to slip out any moment.

It's strange, but the thirty eight pairs of eyes don't pierce as sharply as he thought they would. Far from an uncomfortable inspection trying to nitpick at the slight waver in his voice or the hesitation in his words.

All of them pale to the amber hues resting on his. Wide and reassuring, an embrace rid of words. Reaching out to brush away the hesitation cloaking him, steadily unveiling it from shielding the words clogged in his throat.

"If it's too much to maintain eye contact with everyone, then it's alright. You can just look at me."

Akaashi's voice makes its way back to him. "the lactose accumulates in the small intestine, disrupting water absorption." the words came easier, a script scrawling in place of the blank in his head. "this causes water retention. the unabsorbed water and undigested lactose pass into the large intestine, where bacteria metabolises the lactose and generates a gas that fills the large intestine - the source for abdominal pain and flatulence."

"The water retention in the large intestine would cause the faces to become watery, hence causing people with lactose intolerance experience diarrhoea after consuming goods with lactose." he finishes.

He is far from done, but stealing a glance at his classmates - how none of them fidget uncomfortably in their seats, as if wanting to get this over with - it is as though he has accomplished whatever needs to be done.

His gaze flits back to the girl before him. Who is still staring at him, though this time a little differently. A farrago of admiration and pride dance about in her irises, convening to create a familiar veneration.

Aritsu looks at him like she does to his sandcastles eleven years ago. The same girl knelt before his masterpiece, taking it in like they are worthy of being the finest creation equivalent to a standing in the seven wonders of the world.

It makes his skin tingle, makes ambivalence swell in his chest. Akaashi is unsure of whether or not he deserves to be stared at with such an emotion, in the face of someone to whom he owes the utmost gratitude.

Relief washes over him when Aritsu finally pries her stare from his, blinking as if she's being caught red handed.

Saving him from the inkling of an emotion too profound for him to understand.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚

✧. ┊    SIDE NOTES

; glossary time. yuja tea - traditional korean honey citron tea, hyaku en - one hundred yen store, dollar store in japan, kobayakisan taro - pressed fish snack

; mini feature of fukurodani squad. i cackled writing some of the descriptions bc they felt so vile but I'm tired of describing hair over and OVER again. i wish furudate included more scenes of fukurodani squad so it would be easier to write them

; btw the guy aritsu punched was her crush. aritsu has a track record of falling in love with assholes after her first love. she mopes about it to kyou who just says "told ya that guy was a dick". aritsu never listens to kyou because she assumes kyou just hates on whoever she likes with the exception of akaashi. (which she is not wrong)

; shinsei and shiori were surprisingly calm knowing that she had beat someone up. shinsei’s comments were: “HELL YEAH THAT’S MY GIRL!!” and shiori’s comments were: “while i understand your intentions, in the future, don't resort to violence." "yeah su, don't resort to violence. resort to MORE violence-" "shin', no."

; aritsu is horrible at trying to detect sacarsm, so kyou likes to clown her on that bc she thinks its ridiculously hilarious

[shoyosluver]

"WE ARE THE BLOOD IN OUR...WAS IT VEINS OR ARTERIES AGAIN?" / T. KUROO

#3. COFFEE AT TIFFANY'S | M.LIST | PREV. | NEXT. |

warning(s): biology, mention of vomit, caffeine addiction and awful, awful life habits, don't do anything the tutor does in this i beg you please

wc: ~2.1k

"Long black for you, and hot chocolate for the mister, right?"

The barista winks as he slides two mugs across the counter, two drinks of differing degrees of brown swirling and frothing at the surface. Kuroo watches as you hold the coffee to your lips, taking a swig without so much as blowing at the steam that emanates from the mug. His fingers tug at the handle of his mug, other hand holding his head as he turns to stare at his more childish choice of hot chocolate. When he hears the knock of ceramic on wood, and your lips smacking together once, then twice, Kuroo finally lifts his own mug to his mouth, hissing at the thick liquid that burns along his tongue and throat, and he wonders how you could stomach something as bitter as black coffee, when the bitterness is a second displeasure to the taste buds after the scalding heat.

"So, y/n, you into anything in particular?"

"If you wanna ask about volleyball for the third time, the answer is still no." Kuroo's pathetic attempt at engaging in conversation backfires once again, and he curls his fingers into the handle of his mug tighter. He needs an opening to figure out your weakness, so he can pry it open until you let your grip on academic excellence loose.

"No, just anything in particular."

A droning hum sounds from your pursed lips as your wrist rotates above a spoon that stirs at coffee aimlessly. Anything in particular... you're not too sure of what intrigues you either. Coffee? You've always wanted to learn how to make drip coffee, but never had the time to watch liquid fall into a flask for hours on end. Maybe music? The guitar from last Christmas is collecting dust in the corner of your room, untouched for the past year and only ever plucked at to study the way its strings oscillate in standing waves. Your wrist stops moving when you come to realise a grave problem- you don't really have the energy to be into anything at all nowadays.

"I used to be, not so much now. Volleyball wouldn't be a bad idea, though."

Kuroo's head snaps towards you, his beloved sport finally piquing some semblance of interest from your unfeeling facade as you take another gulp of your black coffee. The thought of exploiting your interests flees his brain as it is replaced with a set of new questions. Should he bring up the pep talk now to veer the conversation? No, it's too risky, you'd kick him out of your sessions for someone who's serious about biology, and then he'll never get the badass speech he's been putting himself through torture for. Is it still worth humiliating himself in your sessions? He thinks so. If you manage to make it through biology with flying colours, then so can he. So, Kuroo settles for the next best thing.

"Well, it's actually really fun if you gi-"

"Need the bathroom, gotta piss. I'll be back."

You scuttle out of your seat, hopping off the stool and leaving Kuroo in the dust. He sighs, taking a sip at his chocolate, which has finally cooled enough to uncover the silky sweetness that lies beneath its scalding touch.

You go for a piss a total of six more times in the hour following your return from the first bathroom break. Kuroo finishes his chocolate in the silence of your presence, and the silence of your absence.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Kuroo watches you from the two-seater table as you return from the bathroom, and hover over the counter across the cafe to grab at two drinks. Your usual seats are occupied by a bickering couple, whose hands are linked by the pinkies beneath the cool concrete counter as they point and snicker at each other. He can see the corners of your eyes crinkle at every word the barista says, and when your hands place the two drinks down to chat for a little longer, he wants to curse at you for wearing his patience thin. What’s so funny? You barely know the guy anyways, so how is normal talk coming to you so easily? Kuroo wonders if by the time he’s utterly destroyed you in chemistry, you would see him enough as an equal to consider bringing up something even a little interesting to talk about.

“Here’s your chocolate..!” Your voice ticks upwards towards the end of your sentence, as you offer a thick mug of hot chocolate to Kuroo.

“Do you know the guy?”

You shrug, gently placing down a steaming latte onto the table. Kuroo takes a peek at the milky brown that foams at the surface, and offers you a packet of sugar from a wooden box on the side. To his surprise, you pluck it from his fingers with a quick “thank you,” and empty it into the mug, stirring the sucrose into your coffee and tapping your teaspoon against the rim with a tink.

"Nah, he just recognised me from this morning, so we had a chat. Nothing major." Your eyes crinkle as you grin into the latte, taking a sip and swallowing it with an ah! Awfully cheery for a person who specialises in cutting Kuroo down like an axe to a tree.

"This morning?"

"Yeah, I grabbed another this morning too."

And out comes the truth.

"You are addicted."

"No, I'm not. I can do just fine without it."

Kuroo scoffs, obnoxiously sucking air in as he sips at his chocolate and eyes you from the horizon of his mug. You roll your eyes, and do the same with your coffee. The couple from the cement counter finally leaves, this time their arms are linked as they mock each other's voices.

"Two coffees in a day sounds like an addiction to me."

"Well, it keeps me awake."

"Only because the caffeine replaces adenosine and blocks reception temporarily. Your own words from today."

You smile at the shameless regurgitation of short term memory Kuroo spews, waving your spoon in circles like some wand.

"See, the coffees are worth it. You're starting to get the hang of this topic."

Kuroo makes a sound, one that curves like a question mark. Something pulls at his chest, and he knows something has gone wrong as he watches you point at him with the spoon, wiggling your eyebrows. He doesn't understand a word of what he has just said, and only knows the pronunciation from hearing you say it over and over again twenty minutes prior. Something about hormones, and glands, and a bunch of other stuff that he swears he'll fully understand. Someday.

"What?" That comes out more like a judgemental drone than he intended it to.

"The notes, they're good right? Said you were bad at hormones and all the other day, and I didn't have notes that were easy enough to understand, so I remade them last night."

You take another swig at your latte, and Kuroo can do nothing but stare, silence taking over the noise of his bickering. He only said hormones to joke about his recent acne outbreak.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

"No chocolate today?" The usual barista offhandedly comments at the new order that graces the counter.

"Nope, just the matcha, and the latte, thanks."

"I assume the matcha is yours?"

Kuroo shakes his head, nudging it in your direction. The barista peeks over his shoulder to see your hunched figure, a mess of hair lying motionless on the concrete surface. Kuroo's condition isn't much better, dark bags lining the underside of his eyes as he slides the drinks towards his seat, waving the barista off and sitting beside you.

"Rough night?"

"Understatement."

"Understood."

The brown liquid swirls alluringly in Kuroo's mug as he rips open two packets of sugar, and empties their contents into his latte. If he's understood his studying from last night correctly, small doses of caffeine should, by all means, compensatorily increase adenosine content within the body, which stimulates circulating chemoreceptors. He can only hope that it all works the same on a coffee virgin. The first sip is odd, the combination of tooth-achingly sweet sugar and scalding, putrid coffee is certainly eye opening, but not half-bad. The second sip nullifies all effects of sugar, and all Kuroo is left with is the acidic aftertaste of espresso. Never again after today.

He turns to ask you how you could possibly stomach any more caffeine that what is in his watered down, sweetened latte, only to see your empty drink. Bubbles of green settle at the bottom, the ceramic of the mug still steaming as you wipe your mouth lazily on a napkin, before setting your head back down on the counter. From the chapter he studied last night, Kuroo also knows that the theanine in matcha enhances dopamine and glycine release, which should counteract the spike in energy levels that caffeine brings about, and promote relaxation. He isn't sure that it was what you wanted, but he thinks you knew it was what you needed.

"Why the change of heart? Coffee just not doing it anymore?"

You mumble into your arms at his question, legs still wobbly and numb from the usual walk to the cafe as they hang from your stool.

"Can't do any more of it, might blow my guts up."

"See, told you it was an addiction."

Your arm comes up to smack at his shoulder, before dropping back onto the counter lifelessly.

"You try getting three hours of sleep only because you can't stop throwing up."

The matcha does absolutely nothing to get your mind moving again, and you want to punch yourself for it. You cringe at the mistakes you made during the tutoring session beneath your arms; confusing adrenaline with adenosine an embarrassing number of times, losing track of hormonal glands on diagrams that looked more like drawings of a child in your hazy vision, even forgetting what chemoreceptors were. Having to remake notes, study for two upcoming chemistry and biology exams, and somehow be energised enough to teach the next day, you'd be lying if you said this tutoring gig wasn't taking a hefty toll on you.

"That doesn't sound good, y/n."

"It's not, I know. Therefore, matcha."

If the cafe has some sort of furnace, or fireplace, or maybe even a trapdoor, Kuroo would like to jump in right now. This was supposed to be easy, get the pep talk, and go on his merry way.

So what in the world has he roped you, and himself into?

He watches you stir in your cold slumber, the cold counter serving as a pillow. There is no more edge, nothing to shield you from the world. Your words are soft, tired, yet they shoot into Kuroo's chest like bullets of guilt, and he rethinks every decision he's made leading up to this moment.

"You need to rest."

"Then you won't get your notes."

I don't need the stupid notes, but you need the rest. How could I feel satisfied beating you, if I'm only beating you when you're half dead?

Kuroo bites his tongue, and swallows his unspoken words. He takes another sip from his latte.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

"We're not going to coffee."

"Fuck you mean?"

Kuroo pulls his bag from beneath his chair, unzipping it to throw a thermos flask, and a package of baking paper in front of you. You pout at the thermos, the familiar scent of coffee nowhere to be found even as you pick it up and sniff the edges of the lid.

"Eat and drink up."

"I want my coffee, though."

Another thermos comes out of Kuroo's bag, yet the scent of caffeine is still glaringly absent. He sighs, twisting open the cap and taking in a mouthful of iced tea and honey. You unwrap the baking paper to reveal a sandwich. Ham and egg, nothing special, tempting nonetheless.

"Yeah no. No coffee. Can't have you half dead and vomiting everywhere."

"When will I get the coffee back then, Kuroo?"

He shrugs, clicking his tongue as he takes another drink out of his thermos. You stuff half the sandwich into your mouth in one go, pillowy bread and creamy egg salad filling your taste buds as you hum in satisfaction. If this is the kind of food Kuroo's cooking up, maybe giving up coffee for a while is worth it after all.

"Dunno, probably when we graduate or something. Not my problem anymore once you get rid of me."

author's note:

finally got this chapter finished and i kinda love how it turned out!! esp the last two parts but that's just me ANYWAYS sorry for supes inconsistent updates i've been drowning in sm work and stuff irl and it's really killing me lowkey but writing genuinely makes me feel so much better that i just knew i had to finish this chapter off so i hope you guys like this as much as i do<3

tags: @staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @akaakeis @hiraethwa @kuroppiii @iiwaijime @she-lovesmyheartshapedsunglasses @cupidsblonde @catsoupki @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @fiannee @shoyosluver @haikyuusunsalad

[shoyosluver]

BOKUTO IS A CLEAN PERSON!!! HE WOULD TAKE SHOWERS!!! HE WOULD TAKE CARE OF HIMSELF AND WORRY ABOUT HIS HYGIENE!!!

[shoyosluver]

where you don't see me ★ one.

notes

- neither of them ever talk about that summer, but when it's mentioned they bring it up longingly (fond smile, bashful look)

- rintaro has tried prying it out of both of them and neither break

- kenma always streams her matches (varsity, national, and international)

- osamu always texts yn after a game (win or loss)

[shoyosluver]

osamu didn’t really have a favorite color.

it wasn’t until he saw you after school one chilly autumn day, your face lighting up with the question, “is that jacket new, ‘samu?”

he nodded—he didn’t think too much of it when he got it for his birthday, so he surely didn’t expect anyone else to notice. “a gift from ma.”

“i like it, it’s my favorite color,” you took in his full appearance, your eyes looking him up and down, “it suits ya.” a cackle escaped you at osamu’s flustered face, only growing louder with him grumbling, “shaddup.” osamu’s biggest tell was always his accent thickening, and you knew it.

as winter came, osamu found himself wearing that same jacket to and from school every day, ignoring atsumu’s relentless “whadda simp” comments, as a part of him hoped you’d one day be chilly enough to need his coat.

and when that day came, with his jacket hugging your figure as you nuzzled in his leftover body heat, osamu found it hard to breathe.

in that moment, he realized he’d found his new favorite color—yours.

a/n: sorry osamu if reader’s favorite color is pink😔 bro’s looking like pepto-bismol.

like my work? check out my masterlist!

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please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2024.

[shoyosluver]

-ˋˏ✄┈ 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 : 009

- ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛ WHEN PUSH COMES TO SHOVE ❜┊

— akaashi x f!oc!reader

◦ ‘ it’s getting clearer little by little

there’s only one such heart in the world ’

🔊 :: track eight, polaroid love

note: i realised that links for the song will take you to spotify and only play a small part of it, for the full version, you can search it up to listen on spotify or other music platforms to enhance the reading experience!

CW ; written in third person, texting portions included, aritsu goes through a major crisis here with her feelings

WC ; 5.9k

icymi!! find the reprise masterlist here

At first, Aritsu had been doubtful whether she had gotten the right place. Climbing up four flights of stairs to get to the fourth floor of the Akamon building had been an unexpected workout that puzzled her, especially with the preconceived idea that the cafe was located street-level, by the Osu shopping district.

This misconception of the cafe location had her pacing back and forth down the street outside the Akamon building, trying to find the cute handmade welcome sign to the cafe as shown in the guide. Eventually it was dispelled when she pulled out her maps app and navigated herself into the building, pink cheeked and huffing under her breath at the extra fuss caused by her oversight.

In spite of her exasperation over her inattentiveness to detail, her sullen grumblings came to a halt once she pushed open the half glassed mahogany door.

The plethora of lush greenery caught her eye first, hanging ivies dangling from a maze of sculpted branches creeping across the ceiling. Amongst the makeshift forest, stuffed plushies of iconic ghibli characters peeked out behind a cage of artificial vines. She spotted the cat bus from totoro nestled atop a low hanging branch, its cheshire grin and yellow eyes with thin black pupils watching her make an entry into the cafe.

A line of shelves rested against the wall, hosting a variety of picture frames, each a gateway into the mystical world of studio ghibli. Where the picture frames were absent, Japanese volumes stood with another family of plushies estranged from the ones living in the forested ceiling. Aritsu found herself getting lost in the vibrant colours presented in the paintings within the picture frames, stopping a while to admire each one she walked past.

Aritsu bowed her head in polite greeting to the staff members who welcomed her with warm smiles. One of them stepped out from behind the counter after confirming her reservation. Following the staff member to her seat, she took in her surroundings, soaking in the cosy ambience of the cafe.

Few groups of people huddled around birch wood tables, chatting in hushed voices. Aritsu observed that the cafe was rather empty at this time of the day, though perhaps it was because she had made a reservation during the non peak hours. Passing a group of longtime friends catching up with one another, the smell of their delectable orders made her appetite surge. Instinctively she swallowed, glimpsing the crisp golden brown of their toasts and sunny side ups sprawled across, oozing a stream of yolk.

Fighting back the wave of hunger rising in her, she concentrated on running through the objectives she hoped to accomplish at the end of today's date with Oikawa.

One, she is to try her best to be as friendly as possible towards him. While this might have been a date forced upon her by Shinsei, Aritsu believed in keeping an open mind - who knows if Oikawa had the potential of being someone she could click with? Their first meeting did not spark any attraction, but perhaps the second would prove otherwise.

Maybe she would fall for him. Give Shinsei what he wanted, rid herself of the hassle of having to tell him that her heart was somewhere else - oh, by that she meant her desire to stay alone for now.

Certainly not her kindling attraction to her desk partner.

Which brought her to the second objective, the most troubling of all.

Two, she is to forget about Akaashi Keiji. For the entirety of their date, and even better, forever. Ban herself from drawing any connection to him. Erase his name from lurking around in her daydreams. Quell the frantic beating of her heart when his face surfaced in mind, shaking away the distracting thoughts that threatened the boundaries she set for their strict friendship.

Aritsu adjusted the collar of her long silk sleeves, needing something to do with her hands at her quavering resilience to keep to her second objective. Needing a desperate distraction, she focused back to her surroundings, noticing that the staff member in front of her had stepped aside to reveal her seat - and the boy across from it.

"Hey there, Tomo chan." Oikawa lifted his hand, greeting her with an easygoing smile and a casual wave. He had donned a pressed white collared shirt with a beige vest thrown over it, paired with dark brown long trousers and old school vans.

Strangely, Aritsu's gut sense had pegged him as someone who lacked a sense of fashion. Though she wasn't one to talk with how she had struggled to come up with a presentable outfit, having to resort to scrolling through her Pinterest board for ideas.

That was what her brain decided to go with instead of greeting him normally.

"I didn't know you had a sense of fashion," she stated bluntly.

A stunned pause lapsed between the two of them, before it was fractured by soft chuckles.

"Really now, Tomo chan? No hello or hi?" Oikawa questioned, leaning forward slightly in his seat to cup his cheek in amusement.

It was a tease aimed to fluster her for her direct assault, but Aritsu was not deterred. She simply begin to justify her opinions, tugging out a chair and sitting down while doing so, "When I first saw you, I didn't think you would have an acute fashion sense because of what you wore to the dinner party."

"If you had one," she said, shooting him a pointed gaze. "you would have thought about changing out of your volleyball jersey into something more sophisticated."

Her justifications were met with raised eyebrows. Clearly this had not been what he had been expecting, but Oikawa shrugged off his bewilderment, putting on a tailored smile. However, she could tell he was offended at the faint twitching of his smile that he kept together.

Though it was just a hunch, to Aritsu, Oikawa seemed like the type of person to put on his best self into charming others on the first date. Behind his facade, she felt, lay an entirely different person from what he displayed. Just for the sake of maintaining a good first impression, he would be chivalrous and relenting.

And as she had guessed, instead of letting his displeasure show, Oikawa clapped his hands together and dismissed her remark amicably.

"You must be hungry!" he said, handing her a copy of the menu. "Let us not starve ourselves. Come, order what you would like."

Aritsu opened her mouth to point out the fact that he was dodging her accusation - but closed it, realising that she was here not to pick him apart but to be his date. Begrudgingly, she accepted the copy of the menu and examined it.

"I'll have the omelette rice." Aritsu decided, placing the menu down after debating her options swiftly in her head. Compared to the drinks section, the meal choices on the menu were limited, hence it did not take her long to pick a dish she preferred. The same could not be said for the drinks which she left to agonise about later on.

"Ah?" she looked up from studying the drinks section on the menu to meet Oikawa's bemused gaze. "What a coincidence. That's what I wanted to order as well."

The appeal of her order faded at his words, prompting a change of mind. "That so? then I'll have a fire demon bacon and egg set instead."

She stole the slip of paper by his side of the table to write their orders on, clicking her pen to start jotting them down. Before the nub of her pen could graze the paper, Oikawa's hand shot into view, pulling it back such that it touched the table instead.

Aritsu blinked at the mark she made on the smooth birch wood. Regret hit her at tainting its purity. Instantly, she tried to rub it away with her thumb.

"Why not take the omelette rice?" Oikawa's inquiry prodded into her valiant efforts. She frowned, seeing that she had only made it worse by smudging the ink and leaving a dark stain on the light wood. Giving up on trying to fix her mistake, she turned her attention to his query.

Oikawa stared back at her with mild curiosity, a hand pressed onto the slip of paper. Judging by the subtle purse of his lips, Aritsu realised she had mistakenly struck a nerve by her change of heart. Quickly, she reasoned with him to clear the misunderstanding.

"Because I don't want to eat duplicates with someone." Aritsu explained, attempting to take back the slip of paper. Coaxing it out of his fingers, she slipped it back into her hold. "If we order two different dishes, we'll have a chance to sample each other's orders. It's the best of both worlds."

Realisation settles into his features at her elaboration, softening the stiff purse of his lips. "I see. Then, it's no problem," he waves off his initial concerns, leaning back into his chair and letting her write their orders down.

He does not make a move to say anything in succession afterwards, though his watchful gaze trained on hers as she checks the boxes on the slip of paper clues at a bubbling question to come forth. It weighs tentatively on her, as if in silent assessment.

Tired of the drawn out staring, Aritsu completes the orders and delivers it to the service lady promptly, turning to him as the waitress departs through a pair of sliding shoji doors. Oikawa smiles when she hums, nipping at the opportunity to speak.

"Seeing that you've invited me to a ghibli cafe, I assume you must have an interest in the works produced by studio ghibli?"

Obviously. She withheld the urge to call him out on his stupid question. It faintly annoyed her because it reminded her of a certain someone - Shinsei's - redundant questions that he posed without much thought, lacking the conscience to think before he speaks. Or more like he did not bother to offer his regards to a topic that failed to interest him.

Oikawa resembled her old man in that way. If she squinted, their charming smiles mirrored one another's. The sloping curve of the smile lines that appeared at the pull of their lips, a roguish smile sprinkled with deceitful charm. Even down to the way he clasped his hands in his lap, folding on leg atop the other.

She blinked, discarding the image of Shinsei in front of her with scorn. Particularly now at a time where she had to try liking Oikawa, thinking about her father would only spoil the positive feelings she had painstakingly instilled in herself for the date.

Redirecting her focus to a packet of konpeito placed in a tiny wicker basket, she tore it open as she answered. "Yeah. I grew up with them."

"You did? May I ask what's your favourite ghibli movie then, Tomo chan?"

Aritsu falters, cringing at the nickname he's given her. Out of all the nicknames she has been given against her will in life, this one skyrockets all the way to the podium to sit on the third ranking. Below the infamous 'Su' and 'Aritsu'. The latter was not a nickname, but she loathed categorising it under her formal name.

An evil idea unfurls in her mind. Biting back a chuckle at the thought, she lets her sardonic side win, doing away with the dreaded nickname being tagged of higher importance than sticking to establishing a good first impression.

Digging out a konpeito from within the packet, she pops it into her mouth. "How about you state yours first, Oi oi san?"

The nickname freezes his smile. A sheet of iciness falls over his face, turning the edges of her lips into a satisfied smirk at how the cheery mask of his cracks with a twitch of his eyebrows. But he's quick to recover, smoothing over his temporary loss of composure.

"Oi oi san?" he echoes after her, shifting forward in his seat. "How adorable. I didn't know we had progressed so rapidly to a stage of giving one another affectionate pet names, Tomo chan."

He returns the challenge back in her face like a deserving smack. She gives the konpeito swirling in her mouth an agitated suck, the sugary sweetness that blooms on her tongue a stark contrast to the usurping competitiveness at his refusal to surrender.

Under the threat of those provocations, their conversation spirals into a passive aggressive banter of covert conflict. A dangerous waltz in a ballroom littered with glass shards, tension simmering in the exchange, anticipating either competitor to lose their footing.

"I'm afraid you're delusional if you can't tell the difference between a taunt and affection, Oi oi san." she simpers, crunching the remnants of the konpeito between her teeth, splintering it into tiny chunks.

"You may set your concern aside, Tomo chan. While I'm deeply touched you do care for my state of mind, I'm more concerned with you - I think you should embrace affection freely given to you." he took a konpeito from her packet, snatching it before objections flitted to her lips.

His sneaky actions that bypassed her notice furrows her eyebrows. Aritsu sets a protective hand against the packet, darting her gaze to the other that continues to sit in the wicker basket. “I think you’re mistaken. It’s not that I choose to reject your affection, Oi oi san, but rather - ”

You're not the one who owns my heart.

Two steaming plates of food clatter onto the table, disrupting their conversation before Aritsu comes close to saying the most stupid thing to ever admit to someone she's supposed to try dating.

Her chest constricts, feeling the blood rush to her ears at the knowledge that kicks in at the near confession. It sticks to her tongue, on the verge of toppling out along with her heart at the fact that she was about to say his name.

Akaashi's name.

The konpeito in her mouth melts into a puddle of sticky sweetness, enveloping her tastebuds thickly until she can taste nothing but the delirious rush of sugar racing to her brain.

Oikawa reacts first, being the one to thank the waitress for the food with a genial smile. He's also the one to rearrange the order of the food, switching the plate of omelette rice shaped like mei's hat in my neighbour totoro with the fire demon bacon and egg set.

Smoke hisses into her face. A glistening fat strip of juicy bacon sprawls across a cobalt pan of fried rice and a sunny side up. The light simmering coming from the bacon snaps her out of a daze, coaxing the frantic thudding of her heart to slow.

"...my favourite ghibli movie is only yesterday." she says.

An astonished eyebrow climbs up Oikawa's forehead, but Aritsu presses on, paying no mind to the abrupt jump in topic. Objective two flashes before her eyes, a warning of what she almost breached.

"It's a heartfelt story crafted from the nostalgia of our childhood that explores the inner turmoils of growing up. In the movie, they leap between two timelines: our main character's past memories of being a young girl and the present, where she is an adult with a job." she picks up the knife and cuts across the yolk, watching it part and rain down upon the mountain of fried rice.

Using her spoon, she shovels up a combination of rice infused with yolk into her mouth. Across from her, Oikawa follows suit to start his meal. She's relieved he lets her off the hook for not finishing her sentence earlier, picking up on her wish to swap topics.

The relief is short lived. Aritsu grimaces in horror witnessing him ruthlessly tear mei's hat apart without hesitation. To this, Oikawa brushes her grimace off with a lighthearted chuckle, which feels cruel especially after his heartless deconstruction of the chef's hard work into preparing the presentation of his meal.

"So it's a parallel between her childhood and life as an adult then?" Oikawa asks in between bites.

"Yes. It's lovely, the way they compare the differences in the challenges she faces in her childhood to her present concerns. It makes us notice how small the problems are beside our current ones, when we used to think of them as the biggest hurdles in life." reflecting on the elements of the movie, a tender fondness fills her at the reminiscence. "One of my favourite scenes was when she remembered her first crush vividly. It's true that our first crushes stick to us even after decades."

Just like how she can recall her first meeting with Akaashi in a sandbox, having it play frame by frame in full detail- not again!

An imaginary buzzer blares at her for crossing into the tapered off zone. Aritsu stabs her fork into the sunny side up, jolting both Oikawa and herself at the shrill piercing clang that resounds from the metal prongs scraping against the pan.

Immediately, she retracts the fork and hurriedly brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, acting as if her outburst was intentional. Much to her dismay, his puzzled look flitting from the pan to her face tells her that she was not as skilled in covering up for her slip up.

Occupied with wrestling the box of emotions bursting at the seams, her mind interlocked in a battle with her heart, she turns to her second choice: her mouth.

It is no saving grace, but Aritsu's grasping at straws now.

"Another one of my favourites is the wind rises. I resonate with how the main character's obsession with planes, his creations and work, eventually detached him into a state of isolation from the things he loved."

She hates the whisper of a faint wobble in her voice. Her eyes remain peeled to the action of stripping a troublesome piece of bacon, fearing that the wild panic in her eyes would give her away at a single glance. A line of fat clings stubbornly to the bacon after multiple drags of the knife across it, like her thoughts, unwilling to separate themselves from him.

Aritsu keeps talking. She won't stop her mouth from moving, afraid to pause for even a beat. Her motions at tugging the knife back and forth against the line of fat quickens with a frenzied fervour.

Letting her mouth lead for a while is safe. But set it free for a prolonged period of time - chaos ensues. The power of the word forget weakens, the seal of objective two coming apart, her suppressed feelings gushing free and leaking into her speech.

"The main character's my comfort character. Kind of like my childhood crush. Even though he got swept up by his ambitions, I admire him for his passions and hardworking spirit."

"It reminds me of - " Don't do it. A slow horror seeps into her as her mind clears, no longer engaging in a tug of war with her heart. Because it lost.

And soon her mouth will too.

"-someone I like." she spills out.

Oikawa's eyes widen at the confession, his mouth hanging open to the delayed receive of an omelette that dangles off the prongs of his fork. Dread slams onto her, a crashing weight sending her reeling back in shock.

Her tongue feels tied now when she needs it, as if punishing itself for uttering the very words she wanted to bury. "I mean, someone I used to like. I don't like him now. First love doesn't last, anyway, so definitely not. We're just friends."

The repetitive denial carves a grave beneath her feet. It's not convincing at all - not with the subtle stutter of her words. Aritsu laughs shakily, though judging by the unconvinced expression on Oikawa's face, there is no point to acting it away.

As she had thought, a teasing smile appears to placate the surprise on his face. "You're lying."

Objections tumble out at default. "I'm not."

She knows it is useless to deny it. Yet it serves to be the only comeback, in spite of its weak effect that does nothing to knock off the knowing smirk on his face.

Biding his time, Oikawa takes a bite off his fork and swallows before speaking. Her heart twists nervously under his scrutinisation, as if he can sniff out her unspoken thoughts, look beyond the firm set of her face to pick apart her lies.

"I think this is it. It's time for me to come clean," he speaks suddenly, setting down his fork. His peculiar remark sets her at unease, which swiftly shifts into stupefaction at the casual bombshell he drops next. "I have a girlfriend."

Erm...what the heck?

The expression worn on Aritsu's must be akin to one of stumped shock, because Oikawa basks in it as a form of amusement. Casually, he carried on, not minding if she needed more time to process.

"Before you overwhelm me with questions, I only came because I could not oppose Shinsei's proposal. I planned to break it to you after our first meeting in private, but I was profoundly surprised to find out you felt disinterested. So I thought, hey, maybe I could get to know you and be friends instead." he dabbled on, gaze sharpening when it met hers. "And I had a feeling that there was a reason - a special person - that would excuse your disinterest as well."

At the break in his words, the brief pause allows the revelation of his intentions to sink in. Aritsu blinks. Once, twice, thrice - then she finally chimes in.

"So you're not interested." she repeats. He nods.

The joy that surges in her brings upon a reassuring gasp. Aritsu's shoulders sag, slumping into her chair. She murmurs words of gratefulness, a gladdened smile smoothing her gobsmacked expression.

"I know you like someone, but can you act a little disappointed at least? Your obvious delight wounds my pride." Oikawa pouts, cheeks puffing up as he stuffs a bite of omelette rice into his mouth.

Aritsu grins in reply, not at all guilty for showcasing her delight so openly. It's freeing to drop the act of pretending she's interested in him, like someone had attached a pair of wings to her back to let her soar through the skies.

"Why should I? This is a piece of good news." she remarks playfully, smile growing at the scoff he makes at her tease.

But it quickly vanishes when he counters her, easily gaining back his edge. "Now, Tomo chan, don't think I've forgotten about your little crush." He waves the fork at her, snickering at her shoulders tensing up.

"I already told you, it's an old crush." Aritsu flies to her own defence at the speed of light. "Now quit bothering me-"

Oikawa cuts her off expertly with a raise of his fork in mid air. "Is he attractive?"

The random question forced into her unraveling oppositions jams her speech to a halt. An unopened pandora box clicks open in her mind, one she's hesitant to touch at all, flooding her head with a shameless collection of Akaashi Keijis.

One by one, they jostle for her attention. Each one makes her feel more lightheaded than the last, swept away in a dizzying gallery of him, wheedling out the feelings she's kept locked away in her heart.

His wondrous smile, standing before his sandcastle masterpiece. The sweet, slow arch of his lips, filled with the admiration that radiated off it - ensorcelling her in its spell.

His secure and comforting embrace that silenced the racket of noises in her mind. In the hustle of the train, he remained still, anchoring her to his side like a guardian angel keeping her from teetering into the choking feeling of being oppressed by foul memories.

His low voice whispering encouragingly by her ear, patiently guiding her through the complicating web of equations. Shivers rippled against her skin, humming at how close he was standing.

His lowered head next to hers, peering over her screen at a game of papa's cheeseria. The tranquil peacefulness that veiled the two of them in their own small world. She had watched him shamelessly, knowing he wouldn't look up from her screen to know. To feel her eyes resting on the comical seriousness of his face, to see the soft smile subconsciously pitching her lips upwards.

A sea of golden set slowly over the skies. A breathless exhale escaped Aritsu's lips as it touched the blinds next to them, gradually spilling through the small slits and filling the expanse of the cafe, soaking the both of them in its romantic warmth - the familiarity of it transporting her back into yesterday.

Akaashi standing before her in the convenience store, head bowed to look down at his phone. The gentle golden rays had bathed him in an unearthly glow, wrapping him in its magnificence. Shadows casted over his long lashes, tinting his cheeks awash with a rosy glow, skin so soft under the caress of the setting sun.

Her gaze had brushed over each feature on his face with delicacy, lingering on the softness of his lips. She felt sinful for just looking at him, even more so for the forbidden thoughts that gathered in her head.

She would stand there forever if she could, until timelines blended into the next, until her feet gave in. He makes her forget, hours spent together shortening into mere seconds.

Aritsu pinches her lips together. Bit by bit, her hesitance chips away, peeling back to reveal the daunting truth.

The curtain falls to the relentless flapping of a bird beating in the cage of her heart. It stands at the end of a darkened hallway. Metallic iron gleams under the spotlight.

There's nowhere else to look. Everything around her is shrouded in pitch blackness. The caged bird is singing to her, lulling her in with its melodious song. She's drawn to it, the musical notes gripping at her hand and tugging her over with a stumble in her step.

Up close, the dove is divine, its pristine white feathers rid of impurity. Snapping its beak shut at her arrival, it pecks at the steadfast iron bars keeping it captive. The action seems adorable, the slight cock of its head when it meets Aritsu's eyes. Lowering her head, she glimpses the key to its cage laid before her.

She presses a hand to the key. It sears, flaring red hot at her touch. With a wince, Aritsu jerks her hand back immediately. Her head pounds at the reminder of getting too close, how she will be burned.

"He's like the night sky." Aritsu replies softly, poking her fork on her cold slice of bacon. "And I'm just one of the twinkling stars that hangs in it."

A thoughtful hum drifts to her from Oikawa's side. Then it's followed by the shuffling of his chair leg against the floor, the rustle of his sleeve when he leans forward.

A snap rings in Aritsu's ears when his fingers make contact against her forehead.

"What the-!" a yell expels from her lips, head jutting up as her hands rush to clasp her forehead.

Oikawa smiles proudly, drawing his hand back to his side with a flick. It stirs her ire at his nonchalance after delivering her such a rude interruption. The stinging pain thrums through her skull, the leftover impact pinching her skin like a tight slap.

"Don't get me wrong, Tomo chan. I'm not asking for you to confess," he says before she fires curses at him. "I'm asking you to come to terms with your feelings."

Aritsu's hard stare softens as he falls back in his chair. Gradually, she retracts her hands from the fading pain in her forehead. Oikawa scrapes up the remnants of his omelette rice.

Finished with his meal, he swipes a napkin across his lips and looks back at her contemplative expression. "So, tell me. Do you like him?"

Her heart squeezes with the bittersweet realisation formed from Oikawa's words.

Denying it forever will only hurt her more, developing into a potent lovesickness. She doesn't have to let him know how much she likes him, but she can allow herself to feel.

He can see her as just a friend, but she can see him as more than that in secret.

The cage holding the dove expands. A wry smile wanders upon Aritsu's face when it spreads its wings, making a single swooping round before coming to a stop to prod at the unfamiliar addition of space.

For now, the yearning trapped in its red irises will have to stay content with the current predicament.

An answer floats to her easily, an inarguable truth she has never been able to deny completely. "I like him."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

After a hearty meal and a couple of drinks, Oikawa offers to walk Aritsu to the nearby station for her to catch the train back to Tokyo. Fortunately for them, the peak hour has briefly passed. Crowds on the streets have thinned, allowing them to stroll without having to succumb to the flow of human traffic.

Aritsu casts a departing glance towards the Akamon building, reluctant to leave the modest but ornate cafe. Enjoying the specially themed dishes amongst their elaborate decorations had been an enchanting experience, sweeping her off into the fantastical world depicted in the ghibli universe. A blast to the past of her childhood movies that held a special place in her heart.

"Tomo chan," a tap on her shoulder spins her around to face Oikawa, holding out a disposable mask he purchased from his short convenience store trip.

Aritsu regards the mask with a curious frown. "What's this for?" she asks, seeing that he has strapped one onto his ears.

He pushes it into her hands when she doesn't take it. "You see, being a well known setter, I'm quite popular." he explains his mysterious intentions as she gives the mask a once-over, checking for defects. A habit cultivated by her punctilious mother. "And as all popular people do, I have a fan club. In order to protect your identity and mine to avoid people from seeing us and spreading rumours, put this on."

This news doesn't strike her as shocking, being someone who falls victim to the attention of the public as well. However, due to her effort in changing her appearance, she doesn't have to resort to such troublesome tactics. Wearing a mask made Aritsu feel like she was being choked and limited to breathing in a certain quantity of air.

Although for Oikawa's sake, she obliged, slipping it on. Satisfied, he turned to lead the way to the train station. They walked alongside each other, Aritsu tugging on her mask occasionally to breathe.

"This is a pain," she murmurs, earning a tiny chuckle from his side. Every time she pulls the mask down, the urge to resist pulling it back up weakens significantly. She's tempted to give in and let it be - screw the rumours - but that would defeat the purpose of wearing the mask in the first place.

With a reluctant sigh, she pulls it back to rest on the bridge of her nose. Instantly, a stiff stuffiness clogs her breathing.

"I don't understand how you can get used to the suffocation. Don't you have a girlfriend? how does she live?" Aritsu brings up. If wearing a mask once proves to be this bothersome for her, Oikawa's girlfriend must have had it ten times worse. Shuddering at the thought, she sends her silent admirations to the poor girl for having to put up with both masks and Oikawa Tooru himself.

"How does she live? happily, of course. She's my girlfriend." he replies, throwing her a sideways grin.

Never mind. Aritsu rolls her eyes, deciding to stray off the topic and save herself from an incoming essay about Oikawa's girlfriend. Reaching into her tote bag, she pulls out her phone just as her screen turns on with a message coming in.

A scowl paints her face at Shinsei's profile picture popping up in the notification bubble. Without needing to click into the chat, she can already foretell what he wants to ask her. About how the date went, for starters. Then a request to grab a fresh stash of umeboshi candies from the convenience store.

Aritsu shoves her phone back into her tote bag, making a mental note to swing by the convenience store later. Laziness sure can inspire people to go to great lengths, the reason behind Shinsei's continued trust even after her splurge on the last grocery run.

That leaves only the first problem to resolve: how to tell him about her cafe date with Oikawa - which deviated greatly from expectation.

"Hey," she calls out to him. In the corner of her eye, Oikawa shifts slightly to look at her with a small hum.

"What are you going to tell Shinsei now that we have clarified we're not actually interested in one another?"

There's a brief pause in his steps as he considers her question. "I guess you can tell him it didn't work out. If you dated me, you'd never be able to leave me." he suggests, a teasing dip in his voice.

His bold statement elicits a snort from Aritsu. "Yeah, right. That's what he doesn't want, orchestrating the whole date." she comments sarcastically, side stepping a curb jutting out from the corner of the elevated pavement.

The signpost of the train station looms above their heads. Below their feet, the ground dips, their path descending into a flight of stairs.

"I'll just tell him we didn't click well." Aritsu says, hugging her tote bag to her chest when they start down the stairs. She skips the last step, landing on the floor with a bounce. Beside her, Oikawa huffs, disappointed at how she passed over his suggestion.

Their journey together concludes at the gantry. Tugging Oikawa aside, she finds a corner to dig through her tote bag for her ticket.

"Thanks for today," Oikawa mentions as she withdraws the ticket from her bag, catching onto the edge. "I enjoyed the free entertainment and the food. Hopefully, next time I'll manage to meet the mysterious boy of your dreams." he adds playfully.

At his hopeful implication of their future meetings, Aritsu arches a brow. "Who said they'll be a next time?" she slings the strap of the tote bag back onto her shoulder, letting a smile unfold spotting the gobsmacked expression on Oikawa's face.

To be honest, their 'date' ended with a satisfying finish. Giving Oikawa a second chance - though not in the way that Aritsu had originally planned - was not so much of a bad decision. Unexpectedly, he provided clarity to her unorganised feelings aside from the dramatics or cracking bad jokes.

"I'm joking," she states, putting a stop to the protests bubbling to his lips. "Maybe they'll be a next time, where we hang out as friends."

A devious glint flashes in his eyes. "We could go on a double date."

No way he thought she would be foolish enough to snare herself in his scheming traps, with her imagination outpacing his thought process in the unspoken.

"Absolutely not." Aritsu retorts, inserting her ticket into the machine and speed walking through the gantry, letting him air the rest of his ludricious ideas to a cloud of dust.

She does, however, return his wave from across the platform before turning their backs on one another to head their separate ways. Oikawa, back to his temporary residence in a hotel room since he was too late to catch the last train from Nagoya to Miyagi.

And Aritsu, back to Tokyo where a packet of Umeboshi candies, a nosy father, and a call from her crush about their presentation on Monday awaits.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚

✧. ┊    SIDE NOTES

; mini glossary here. umeboshi - preserved plums, konpeito - a type of sugar candy in japan

; i migghhtt have gotten a little too metaphorical with the symbolisations in this chapter and got carried away...please let me know y'all understand what they represent though. i'm actually lowkey proud of them it was like a eureka! moment

; adding this randomly here but initially i wanted to convert the second part of this chapter into text form. however my brain went 'nah this ain't feel right' so i wrote it all out instead (for better or for worse i hope it's the latter)

; oikawa canonly does not have style you CANNOT convince me he does. NOT WITH THE HORRIFYING PLAID OUTFIT THAT BOMBS ME IN MY NIGHTMARES. as a tiny joke i actually wanted to write him showing up to the date in it lol but that's too brutal it pains me

; aritsu's dump about akaashi nearly brought me to tears sorry i'm so hopelessly in love with this man (he's a bunch of pixels)

[shoyosluver]

cantaloupe island

masterlist

chapter 4- tea for two

atsumu leans against the front entrance to the diner. it’s dark out, and the neon lights illuminate against his face. the blue glow casts a light over his blonde hair. he checks the time on his phone, 7:59. he can see through the window of the diner that it’s packed full. with one minute to spare, you show up. as you step closer to him the blue light envelopes you along with him. ”hey.” you say as he pushes away from the wall.

“hi. so, i assume you dragged me here for jazz?” he asks. you laugh.

“you assumed right. i’m surprised you even showed up if you knew, since you hate jazz so much.”

he doesn’t answer, but blushes slightly. the light masks it though. atsumu pulls open the door, stepping aside as you walk in front of him.

“i’ve got us a table saved. my friend works here.” you say, pushing through the crowd. as you walk, you grab hold of atsumus arm, dragging him to a small table right in front of a small makeshift stage. a small jazz group is onstage. atsumu recognizes akaashi, he stands in the back, tuning a double bass. he looks up from his instrument as you wave at him, smiling.

the two of you sit down at your seats, they are pushed closer together than a usual restaurant set up, making sure that all seats can see the group. everyone shoved into the restaurant seems to know each other, and atsumu can’t help but feel a bit left out. the feeling doesn’t last for long, because you are quickly wrapping up the conversation with whoever you were talking to and turning to him.

“i’ve made it my goal to convince you to like jazz.” you say, staring intensely into his eyes. he feels like he’s being looked through.

“jeez, are you obsessed with me or something?” the joke delivery comes out a bit awkward. you don’t laugh, but he appreciates the slight smile that cracks through your serious appearance.

“i’m obsessed with making you appreciate the greatest form of music. you just need to agree to be open to it.” ”it sounds like i’m agreeing to sell the rights to my life.”

you don’t react, you simply look at him more pointedly.

“alright, i’ll trust you.”

at his words you smile wide, laugh, and turn to the stage. as the music starts, you whisper quietly to atsumu. ”this is one of akaashis other groups, they don’t play together often, but when they do it’s basically angelic.” as you watch the band play, atsumu watches you.

he appreciates the way you barely blink, eyes flittering around to each different musician in the group. the smile on your face and the light in your eyes. the way you love jazz makes him want to love it even more, but then he hears the music. he could appreciate the music at onigiri miya, when you were on piano.

“you are a lot better than this piano player.” he whispers in your ear.

you laugh quietly and swat his leg under the table.

“so rude.” you whisper back. ”you’re the one laughing. you know it’s true.”

you roll your eyes at him, and turn your focus back to the music.

as the band finishes up, you stand and cheer, clapping your hands together quickly. atsumu follows suit, clapping along with you, your hips bumping into each other.

as you leave the diner, you turn to him. ”so….? have you changed your mind?”

he has been convinced. the music was good. it was great the first time you played it too. jazz is beautiful, and so are you. is it really that wrong if he continues to pretend to hate it to spend more time with you? no. just a few more times spent together, and then he can admit he likes it.

“nah, still not my favorite.” he says, not looking directly at you.

you groan.

“ugh. fine. come by my apartment tomorrow, you can sit in on some of my lessons.” you say, typing the address into your messages.

“i’m totally determined to change your mind. see ya tomorrow miya.” you say with a smile, as you part ways.

a/n: hi friends, i'm back!!! sorry school been kicking my BUTT!!! but i'm back!

taglist: @hyenagoated @yuminako @giocriedpower @lilchubbyyy @sagejin

@oshygoshy @sereniteav @jojo23allegra @atsumuenthusiast @mikauraurr

@garfieldissocool @savemebrazilhinata @osakis-gf @acowboykisser @zumicho

@nbcvs @mylahrins @19calicos @wyrcan @chloiyoomi

@causenessus @diorzs @loverlunaire @s1ckntw1st3d @reignsaway

@nobodybutnnoorr @girlkissersco

[shoyosluver]

where you don't see me : miya osamu

you've known osamu for a long time and neither of you can stand to be where you can't be seen by the other.

status: coming soon

tags/warnings: tennisplayer!reader x musician!osamu, friends (🤨) to lovers, pre summer olympics in japan (please just pretend the timeline works i literally cannot think about the times and dates, it is in fact too much work), two stupid yearners, two idiots, probably inaccurate depictions of tennis, kys/kms jokes, self deprecation, poor coping mechanisms, miscommunication trope, ok more like little to no communication trope, warnings will be at the top of each part :).

introductions real ball enjoyers / dynamically dysfunctional

prologue

[shoyosluver]

letter to theo by vincent van gogh

[shoyosluver]

PROJECT PARTER HCS (he wants you so bad) haikyuu

ft: aran, kita, atsumu, osamu, suna

ATSUMU:

HES TRYING!!! but is it successful? (no)

literally cannot shut up the entire time you two meet up but it's ok because he's funny

"hey you wanna see pictures of my teammates" "yeah sure" he pulls out a blurry .5 of suna's nostrils

offers you protein bars and osamus leftovers as snacks

compliments you on literally everything

you wrote two words? he starts cheering and clapping his hands like you're shakespeare presenting a new play

loves pretending to be your strict teacher whenever commenting on your work

makes up for his lack of preparation by making you laugh and flustered

"i think you can add a little more to this part" "you look so sexy calling me dumb"

if you two meet up at a cafe he ALWAYS!!! pays for you

started off as a mistake because he asked you for your order in front of the barista

but he thought for a moment and decided you're worth an extra $5 out of his wallet

always loses his pencils but has dozens of erasers?????

SWEARS by wooden pencils. he sees a mechanical pencil and jumps 5 feet into the air and starts screaming

last few days of the project he looks constipated every time you two are together

"do you need a diaper" "I WANT YOU"

you accept his confession because you unfortunately like him back and because you want a good grade

also because you don't want him pooping his pants

ARAN:

the sweetest!!

always asks how you're doing before pulling out his notes

digital note taker 100%

loves loves loves writing with erasable pen and only uses pencils for exams

is a "let's work on everything together" kinds guy

he says it's to make sure there aren't any disagreements in content and aesthetic (he just wants to talk to you)

if you guys aren't at your house, always offers to walk you back!!!

great academically but if you're making a poster or slideshow do NOT let him decorate it... pls watch out

"does this look good!" "i'm gonna hold your hand when i tell you this..." "omg you want to hold my hand 😍"

starts giggling to himself in his head whenever you guys accidentally touch

you catch him staring at you one day and you don't know what to say so you just stare back

he thinks its so romantic

you're just confused but go along with it

after presentations you think you guys are gonna go back to being friendly classmates but he finds you after class and asks you out :)

KITA:

ACADEMIC WEAPON TEACHERS FAV EVERYONE LOVES HIM

"do you want to read my notes?" he pulls out 5 notebooks with everything color coordinated, sticky tabs, perfect handwriting, and factually correct

he can sit and work for 5 hours straight and still somehow have perfect posture

first time you asked him for help on something you were about to piss yourself because you thought he would call you stupid and send you to hell

he gave you a small smile and started walking you through it with an unmatched level of patience

that was the moment you folded and had to physically restrain yourself from grabbing his cheeks and kissing his face

always offers you tea when you come over and brings out a small tray of snacks

"are you comfortable? do you need any help?"

is suuuuper meticulous but kind with his 739273 different corrections

he swears by the sandwich method of compliment-critique-compliment

"your analysis is amazing in this section but i think you can expand a little bit after because..."

you're the one who confessed first because you thought you would explode from cuteness aggression if you didn't

and also because you thought even if he did reject you, he'd do it in the most painless way

was super happy and bursted into a bright red face but shy smile!!

still told you to go back to the assignment though...

SUNA:

menace i hate him (no i don't)

literally doesn't understand anything that's going on and probably doesn't process what you're saying at first

realizes you're serious about this assignment and forces himself to lock in

asks a BUNCH of questions and jots them down on a google doc

loves to make random conversation when you two are working

actually insane gossiper

nosiest birch you know

allergic to minding his own business that mf has shit on everyone

are you slightly scared of what he has on you? yes. do you still want to hear everything he knows? yes

"i'm taking this info from page 175 of the textbook" "got it, but did you hear that kato is trying to get with his exs best friend??"

leaves notes on your project that are both unserious and encouraging

"omg u are literally einstein"

folds origami when bored

will give you paper cranes, frogs, foxes, and cats whenever you see each other

you discovered that there's small doodles in the posts it's he uses to make them

one day there's your name and his surrounded by hearts like the corny mf he is

confronted him and it and he was just like "oh you found that? well, do you want to go out with me?"

he was NOT SLICK with the way he skipped home and whistled to himself that day after you said yes

OSAMU:

HES TRYING HIS BEST!!! (pt. 2)

can only meet up after school because of volleyball so he offers to cook for you before starting to work

takes notes in class but doesn't understand half the stuff he jots down

writes actual bullshit but half a page in decides to abandon his pride and ask you for help

leans in a little too close whenever listening to what you're saying

tries to make sure your knees are touching and that it's all an accident when your fingers brush (he prepared each scenario in his head before sleeping the night before)

down bad LOSER

spends his time doing his portion of the project while sneaking glances at you

doesn't know how to decorate presentations for the life of him so he is on doodle duty

gives surprisingly good suggestions and takes your corrections to heart

one of the best project partners because of how willing he is to learn and contribute!!! (also because he wants to impress you)

talks shit about his brother to you

atsumu has walked in while osamu was telling you an embarrassing story

they start fighting

osamu gets super embarrassed when you laugh at him

then gets overly confident when you tell him you were rooting for him

will not stop dumb smiling whenever he sees you after that

asks you out after the project is turned in with his hands in his pockets with how they're shaking so much

[shoyosluver]

room for you -- oikawa t.

synopsis :: you and tooru oikawa have a history. you're known each other for over a decade. as he outgrew sendai, you got left behind while he took leaps and bounds forward, moving to argentina. when you're already a university student, the two of you end up getting back in touch. 

wc :: 1936.ᐟ

gn!reader x oikawa tooru (2nd person)

notes//cw :: named after and inspired by 'room for you' by grentperez + lyn lapid,, im so projecting onto the reader like they are literally me,, fic follows you from elementary -> junior high -> high school -> university (just in little snippets, nothing too long!!),, the school system in this is some kind of japanese school system mixed with the american school system,, kinda hurt/comfort(?) im not even sure if this qualifies actually,, fluffy end <3

a playground. it's filled to the brim with little kids, hanging from the monkey bars and sliding headfirst down the slide. yet here you are, sitting on the sidelines, cross-legged on the sidewalk as you twirl a piece of sidewalk chalk in your little hands. you're alone- till you're not. the sound of quick, loud steps, followed by a final huff, draws you out of your distracted state. the smallest gust of wind blows your hair away from your face as someone drops to the ground to sit next to you.

"heya, i'm tooru. why're you all alone? whatcha doing?" his eyes dart all over your face excitedly. it doesn't seem like he minds the fact that you didn't answer his questions. he finally glances down at the sidewalk below him and is absolutely fascinated with your chalk drawings. he looks at both you and your drawings with childlike wonder. you can't help but wonder why he came up to you, but you're glad that he did.

that was 14 years ago.

a full cafeteria sits in front of you, tables shoved full with kids. it's loud and overstimulating to be there, especially when you have nowhere to be sitting. junior high students rowdily chatter as they mow through their lunches and head outside to play. it's almost as if you're watching a movie play out in front of you as people keep moving about the cafeteria- until you hear a voice call out for you, pulling you out of your daze.

"hey!! over here!" tooru calls out, waving you over to his lunch table. he has a wide grin on his face as he beckons you over. when you get over to the table, he casually slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you to sit down at the table with him and his friends. maybe junior high wasn't going to be so bad, after all. now you had a friend group, no?

"you fit right in!" tooru comments, nudging you as he laughs. truth be told, it's relieving to hear him say that. you could get used to this.

that was 7 years ago.

aoba johsai's gym. tooru's first high school volleyball match is going on right in front of you. it's amazing, the way that his serves spin across the net with such force. he plays with such agility and honed skill, and it leaves you in awe. the game wraps up quickly- practically in the blink of an eye. when he runs off of the court, you're the first person he comes up to. he jogs to you happily, beaming with excitement.

"how'd i do? did you see all my serves??" he asks, looking at you expectantly. he's very proud of how the game went.

"you did great!" you reply back, just as excited as he is. 

after the gym is cleaned up, you accompany the team to a nearby restaurant for a celebratory dinner. it's a walk, with the silence being filled by tooru and hajime's endless banter. this is comfortable. everything feels right, in this moment. as you walk in silence, listening in on hajime and oikawa's latest disagreement, you can't help but reflect on what you saw at the game. tooru was already playing so well. was it wrong to feel like you were getting left behind? to fear that he would leave you behind sooner or later? 

that was 5 years ago.

seijoh's auditorium. it's now filled with rows of students, ranging from 1st to 3rd years. it's your- it's all of the 3rd years' ending credits. it's all happening too fast. as you hear your name called out, it echos and rings through the auditorium. you automatically fall out of the line of students, and you receive your diploma, bowing to the principal and thanking him. then, you quickly head back to your spot in line. this was really it. it was weird, but it didn't make you feel any certain way. that was, until you heard the principal call out another name.

"oikawa tooru." you pause. all of a sudden, your heart ached. it was truly sinking in, how momentous of an occasion this was, whether it was for better or for worse. as tooru made his way to the front of the auditorium, you found your eyes gravitated to him as he walked. he glanced towards you and flashed a brief smile. he walked up to the principal, receiving his diploma with a bow and a "thank you." this was actually happening. it wasn't something incomprehensible that you would always be working towards. you had truly completed high school, and that was it. you could feel your heart twisting in your chest as he walked back to his spot in line, waving his diploma at you for a moment and grinning. you muster a smile back to him. 

you get a bad feeling about this. what if this is it? what if you never see each other again after this? of course, tooru isn't some mindreader, though. he has no idea you're feeling that way- he's completely clueless. you're probably just getting into your head about it, though. of course you guys would see one another, again. after all, the two of you had plans to go to the same university, anyway.

that was 3 years ago.

a phone is being held in front of your face. argentina national team, it says on the screen. is this some kind of joke? what about all the plans you had made with him? he's definitely joking... but his face betrays that idea. he looks dead serious about this, but at the sane time, he looks so excited. that means you have to be happy for them, no matter how much you feel like going home to process the grief you're now going through.

"oh, wow..." you manage to choke out. "argentina." where even is that? it's sure as hell not close. 

"yeah!" he says excitedly. "isn't that cool?" it's like he's forgotten about all the plans the two of you had made. how disappointing.

you nod slightly, mustering up a happy reply. it sounds forced. "yeah, it's super cool! when are you leaving, then?"

"umm... in a week! and we can stay in touch for sure! i'll message you as soon as i land, and then we can call at night!" he says, shutting off his phone and pocketing it as he looks at you, his ever-excited face still apparent. you need to match his energy- you wouldn't want to ruin the excitement of this moment for him, of course.

"totally!" you reply, smiling back at him. you're excited for him, but admittedly, you felt a little worried over being left behind. what would happen from here?

that was 1 year ago.

after tooru left for argentina, he stayed true to his promise. he texted you once he landed, and he called you every night- for a while at least. then the calls started coming less...

and less...

and less...

and less...

till they altogether stopped.

it only took 2 months for the calls to stop coming. not to mention, when you'd try to call, he'd answer, but he would only say he's busy and would talk to you later. you would be lying if you said you didn't get what could have caused it, though. for one thing, he's now committed to a national level volleyball team. the two of you are also 12 hours apart, time wise. it really does make sense why the calls stopped, but you just can't wrap your head around it. the two of you have been friends since 1st grade, so how could your relationship be falling apart so easily?

you missed him- you missed talking to him, too.

that was 10 months ago.

now, you sit in your university dorm, watching the computer screen in front of you as it plays a live volleyball game: argentina vs. japan. there were a couple familiar faces- amongst them, of course, being tooru. it felt weird, seeing him like this. it was like you had never known each other, seeing the game from here.

you wonder how he is. he was so enamored with the idea of being a part of a national team. he truly put in an effort to become as good as he is now. you miss him.  you resent him for leaving you behind. hopefully, he's okay, though. you still care about him.

the volleyball game comes to a close after long struggle, with japan coming out on top. hours pass as you sit in your dorm room, wasting time with multiple activities. the day feels so slow.

bzzt—

your phone rings, but quickly stops. you pick up your phone and check where the call was from. it was from tooru, and it was followed by a text that read, "oops sorry." you text back a "you're fine dw" and then put down your phone with a sigh, only for your phone to buzz again. tooru texts you again, asking how you are. 

soon enough, a conversation starts as the two of you continue to text back and forth. tooru calls you, explaining, "i figured if we were gonna continue talking... we should just call, right?" he pauses for a moment. "ah- and i'm sorry.. for not talking to you for a while. i don't have any excuse... i just stopped."

your heart twists in your chest. "...it's fine, don't worry. i get it. you're busy." you reply, picking at the sides of your phone case. it hurt to know he didn't even have a reason to stop talking to you,

"no... seriously. i'm sorry." tooru continues, "it won't happen again. i've missed you a lot."

"i missed you too," you reply simply. "i just wish you were still here, y'know? ...i saw your game against japan. you guys did really good. your serves have improved since high school, tooru," you add, feeling slightly better.

"yeah, i've been missing sendai, seriously." he sighs. "and why the hell did you not tell me they tore down the old house?" he groans. "our precious meet up spot..."

you laugh softly. "i figured it would only make you upset. but hey, we can make a new meet up spot. that old house was so school days," you reply, a joking lilt in your voice.

"yeah, you're right," he replies, laughing. "sorry, i won't have time to meet up this time, though. i'll make time next time i'm here visiting, promise."

you smile slightly, still picking at the sides of your phone case. "alright, that sounds good."

"and... hey," he says, his voice softer.

"hm?" 

"you know i'll always make time for you, right? there's always room for you," he says, your name following. it rolls off his tongue effortlessly. you've always adored the way he says your name. it felt comforting.

his words make you freeze up for a moment as you process what he just told you. "...thanks, tooru. i hope you know i will too. there's always room for you," you echo, a smile gracing your features as you realize- maybe your relationship didn't fall apart at all. after all, the relationships that have stood the test of time are usually the strongest, no? distance is just another obstacle for the two of you to overcome together.

while you two may not be fortunate enough to live near one another, neither of you will let physical distance be the reason your relationship fails. the two of you will always have room for each other inside of your hearts.

notes ::

₊ ⊹ guys im gonna be honest w u i heavily fw this fic

₊ ⊹ i hope u guys feel the same way <3

₊ ⊹ I WAS SO CLOSE TO 2K WORDS ON THIS DAMN IT

₊ ⊹ i feel like i get all my fic plot ideas from music i listen to... pls forgive me for that i can't help it 

₊ ⊹ idk what this fic genre would be classified as? but i really enjoyed writing it

₊ ⊹ i was on a plane when i wrote this i was SO locked in

₊ ⊹ i also wrote some of this in a car and i got so sick... that was not demure!!!

₊ ⊹ oh and not proofread are we surprised! let me know if u find any glaring grammar or spelling mistakes PLEASE

₊ ⊹ i'm so tired it's like 3 something itm in my timezone... if u see formatting issues thats why probably??? idk my vision is blurry rn

₊ ⊹ any other works can be found on my masterlist!

🏷️ (sorry for the random tags.. i just really really like this one </3) :: @bokukos ,, @iiwaijime ,, @hatsukeii ,, @causenessus ,, @kuroppiii <3