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The thing with Hinata Shouyou is—well, it’s complicated. Atsumu isn’t someone to complicate things, but he’s not someone to un-complicate things, either. Broaching the topic of the nature of their relationship would both complicate and un-complicate it, so it’s not like it would do him good, anyway. So Atsumu chooses, as always, to say nothing about it.
Atsumu likes a dark and brooding challenge as much as the next person, but there’s something about easy smiles and bright laughter that makes him weak in the knees, thinking sideways, and craving more. Which he somehow miraculously gets, even if he doesn’t deserve it—during practice, when Hinata greets him with a two-handed wave and a spark in his eyes despite the fact that it’s five in the morning. During outings with the MSBY Black Jackals, when Hinata tugs at his elbow and somehow drags Atsumu to a boba tea shop for the third week in a row. And during late night hours, when they’re alone in Hinata’s apartment, messing around with platonic blow jobs in between sloppy kisses.
Atsumu has justified it—as a professional volleyball player, his options are limited because he doesn’t have too much time to spare. It’d be more convenient if he didn’t even have to think about getting laid, but he’s a twenty-something-year-old guy. The dick wants what it wants, much to his chagrin. His options are: 1. jack himself off, 2. find someone on Tinder, or 3. hook up with someone he sees regularly.
Atsumu is starting to get bored of option one. Option two takes entirely too much effort and time, and there’s always the possibility that he’ll wind up in bed with a serial killer or something. And with option three—his choices are limited there, too. The only people he sees regularly are his teammates. Most of the Jackals are ineligible because of existing relationships. The rest of his team is ineligible either because of existing commitment issues or because they’re thoroughly uninterested in Miya Atsumu.
Atsumu has jokingly offered it up before to his teammates. Casual handjobs to relieve stress before a match, that sort of thing. Adriah had laughed it off, Inunaki had frowned, and Sakusa gave him a look of disapproval so intense Atsumu felt his nuts shrivel up and refuse to operate for the next ten business days. So far, his success rate is zero percent.
Or it was, anyway—before Hinata.
“Shouyou-kun.” Atsumu’s voice is embarrassingly wound up, taut like a string. Usually, he’d care about that sort of thing. He’s given up trying to look cool in front of Hinata.
Hinata lifts his head. His eyes shine bright under the nest of blankets as he massages his jaw. “What?”
“Uh.” Atsumu tugs at Hinata’s shoulders. “C’mere for a sec.”
Confusion tickles the edges of Hinata’s eyebrows. His body is unbelievably warm, so it gets a little sweaty under the blanket, and Atsumu kicks it out of the way to offer some relief. Hinata scoots up further on the mattress, hovering over Atsumu, wiping at the stray spit gathered on his lips. “What is it?”
Atsumu licks his lips, pushing back Hinata’s bangs from his forehead. Hinata’s lips twist up in a crooked grin that makes Atsumu feel like he’s absolutely melting. Hinata has that effect on him. He has that effect on a lot of people, actually. Even Meian can’t resist cutting Hinata slack when he’s late, and even Sakusa has started to high five Hinata back during practice and games.
It’s different for Atsumu, though. He’s not sure if the blossoming affection in his chest is a byproduct of their arrangement, which has been going on for the better part of the past three months. He thinks it might be something he’s carried all along, even before sex was added into their friendship.
“I just think that—” Atsumu cuts himself off. He’s in bed, naked, Hinata’s hand drifting back down to his groin. He is not supposed to be thinking right now.
Hinata hums before pressing their lips together, kissing with the same enthusiasm he exhibits every time he commits to a run up into a spike. It sends Atsumu’s mind spinning until his thoughts become jumbled and he forgets what he was going to say.
“You were saying?” Hinata asks when he pulls back. His skin is bare and tacky. There’s a smattering of freckles across his shoulders that Atsumu has traced several times, lips and fingers and eyes. It’s almost painful how gorgeous he is.
“Nothin’,” Atsumu says. He drops his head back onto the pillow. “Nothin’ at all.”
Hinata giggles as Atsumu hisses when he suddenly squeezes the base of his dick. For all his friendly attitude, Hinata’s a menace in bed. “You good, Tsumu-san?”
No, he’s not, because Atsumu can tell he’s close to admitting to Hinata that maybe he wants more than just sex. Just a little more. That maybe he’d like for Hinata to come over to his place every once in a while, not just to get each other off, but to watch movies and do puzzles and cook dinner. It’s absurd. Friends with benefits don’t do those sorts of things. Atsumu knows this full well.
But friends with benefits don’t pause in the middle of said benefits portion and stare each other down the same way Hinata does. The smile slips off Hinata’s lips, replaced by a serious expression. His eyes flicker from Atsumu’s collarbone to his waist before finally locking onto Atsumu’s face, igniting an overwhelming hunger in Atsumu’s chest.
“I’m good,” Atsumu says, and he tugs Hinata down into another kiss, shoving aside any thoughts regarding feelings and affection. That’s not what they’d agreed to in the beginning, and Atsumu doesn’t want to mess things up by bringing other factors into play. Sex doesn’t require thinking; therefore, Atsumu shouldn’t think at all. It’s easy at first, when Hinata continues to pull at every last nerve in his body until Atsumu’s twisting in the sheets and begging for permission to let go. But it’s impossible when Hinata comes to a standstill, eyes glittering above him, lips twisted up in that sly smile of his.
Being friends with benefits should be simple and uncomplicated. It should come as naturally as Atsumu and Hinata did during their first practice together, right after Hinata had accepted the Jackals’ offer. They’d synced up almost like they were meant to.
Actually, this arrangement does come naturally.
And that’s precisely the problem.
“You should stop sleeping with him,” Sakusa says one day. They’re on the bench in between drills, and Atsumu stretches his hamstring, wincing at the stiffness.
Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “What? No.”
“I see.”
“You jealous?”
Sakusa rolls his eyes. He looks almost bored, as he does with most conversations. “No.”
“Then what’s it matter to you?”
“I’m tired of watching you check out his ass during practice.”
At the mention of Hinata’s ass, Atsumu can’t help but steal a peek. Hinata’s wiping down his forehead with the hem of his t-shirt, listening intently as Adriah ropes him into another question and answer session about Brazil. It isn’t fair that Hinata’s this attractive.
“Ew. You’re doing it again.”
“Leave me alone.” Atsumu reluctantly tears his gaze away from Hinata, coming face to face with Sakusa’s nose scrunched up in distaste. “Don’t act like you don’t think he’s hot.”
“Hinata being attractive has nothing to do with it. I’m talking about you.” Sakusa sighs. He’s opened up bit by bit during his time on the team, and Atsumu almost misses the days Sakusa kept to himself. His commentary is as unsolicited as it is unnecessary. “It’s pathetic.”
“Shut up.”
“Hm.”
Atsumu takes slow sips from his water bottle and tries to ignore how his mind drifts off towards the sound of Hinata’s laughter echoing across the gym.
“If you’re not going to stop sleeping with him,” Sakusa adds, “then you should at least do something about it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”
Sakusa gives him a flat look, one that Atsumu ignores. Yeah, he should do something about it—about his feelings, about his pining, about the churning in his gut every time Hinata pauses to glance over at him.
“You don’t have any idea,” Sakusa repeats slowly, “what I’m talking about.”
“Fuck off, Omi-kun.”
Sakusa lifts an eyebrow and mumbles something incoherent under his breath. Atsumu wants to tell him to piss off, but he knows Sakusa’s right, and he has to tell Hinata how he feels. He has to do it with thoughtful nonchalance, otherwise his emotions might get the better of him and he’ll say something that’s completely off the rails.
“You’re an idiot, Miya,” Sakusa says, and it’s the first thing he’s said about this whole situation that Atsumu can’t help but agree with.
The thing Atsumu likes about Hinata Shouyou is undefinable. It started out with vague interest when he was a snarky high school second-year watching Karasuno play from above. He’d watched their final qualifiers match on tape with the rest of Inarizaki, and even though he knew they’d face off in the first round of the Spring Tournament, Atsumu found himself secretly cheering for every point the tiny middle blocker scored against Shiratorizawa.
He’d somehow been both impressed and unimpressed, because Karasuno’s number ten lacked basic skill that he tried to make up with enthusiasm. But there was something so damn cool about Hinata, especially seeing him up close and personal across the net. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly a mild crush developed, something Atsumu chalked up to admiration towards Hinata’s natural athleticism.
But it wasn’t just that. Because something clicked into place for Atsumu, the moment he watched Hinata smile, sweat pouring down his face. Gimme the next one, too!
It was childish how Atsumu wanted to be the one to set the ball to him—a stranger—whether it was sooner or later or one time or many. Atsumu never had good impulse control, whether it was during a game or in his day-to-day life. It was evident in how Atsumu, still high off the epic match against Karasuno, had taken one look at Hinata across the net, pointed, and declared, “One day, I’m gonna set for you.”
Embarrassing. He’d tried to cover it up with a subsequent declaration about kicking his ass, but failed miserably. Osamu had seen right through it, and Atsumu was sure Hinata had, too. He’s never been the best at hiding his crushes. There’s a reason Atsumu has remained single for a while.
Atsumu couldn’t stop thinking about him. Osamu’s observations about Hinata resonated with him, too, and for the first time in his life, he felt like there was someone in his life who could rise to his level. And maybe there’d be others, too, who could make the sport a little less lonely by matching Atsumu, stride-for-stride.
There are others, players like Hinata and Bokuto and even, to some extent, Sakusa. But Bokuto and Sakusa are his teammates and friends. Atsumu doesn’t fall asleep thinking about them, and he doesn’t wake up thinking about them. He also doesn’t have sex with anyone else, either, which probably says more about Atsumu than it does about Hinata. So although Hinata is like the others, Atsumu knows that Hinata is very much not like the others, or anyone else, for that matter.
“Tsumu-san, mind sticking around for extra serve practice?” Hinata asks. He rolls out his neck and stretches his arms upwards, the hem of his shirt riding up to expose a sliver of skin. Atsumu glances away.
Hinata has been attempting to perfect jump floaters. He hasn’t used it in games yet, only in casual scrimmage matches. It’s incredibly hot. Atsumu had no idea seeing someone learning jump float serves could be that hot.
“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “I’m free.”
“Cool.” Hinata nods, and his eyebrows scrunch, like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t.
Atsumu resists the urge to reach out and press his fingers right in the furrow of Hinata’s brow. They’re in the locker room, and Atsumu still isn’t dressed. He hears Bokuto talking Sakusa’s ear off about his trip to the hot springs with Akaashi, and he sees Sakusa’s pained expression when Bokuto erupts into booming laughter that ricochets off the walls. Atsumu pulls his shirt over his head, feeling Hinata’s eyes on him, and swallows the rising butterflies that creep their way up his entire torso.
“What?” Atsumu asks. Hinata gets this way sometimes. He’s noticed it since he first joined the Jackals. He’ll watch from the sidelines as other teammates run drills, quiet as the eye of a storm. At first glance, it’s out of character for him, but Atsumu has come to learn that Hinata, though a whirlwind of exclamations and outbursts, is extremely observant.
Hinata leans against the locker, arms crossed. “Are you free tonight?”
“Uh.” Atsumu is never busy. Hinata knows this. “Why?”
Hinata gives him a pointed look.
“I mean, yeah. I’m free.”
“Cool,” Hinata says, and there’s that goddamn smile again. It makes Atsumu’s stomach flip flop, and it makes his heart feel like it’s about to burst.
Never mind the fact that Atsumu has been going over to Hinata’s apartment nearly every single night. Hinata always initiates it like that, either verbally or through text. Atsumu knows he could say no if he wanted to, but he doesn’t want to say no, so he always says yes.
Atsumu tries to say, Wanna come over? But it comes out as: “Uh-huh.”
Hinata shoots him a thumbs up before ambling towards the gym, leaving Atsumu to finish getting dressed before practice. Atsumu sighs, his eyes tracing Hinata’s back and legs as he leaves the locker room.
“Get a room,” Sakusa mumbles, but he doesn’t look annoyed. If anything, he looks a bit disappointed, which Atsumu reckons has less to do with Atsumu’s blatant pining and more to do with the fact that Atsumu hasn’t done anything about it.
Atsumu sighs again. The thing Atsumu likes about Hinata is undefinable. Hinata Shoyo is undefinable. And Miya Atsumu is—regrettably, completely, pathetically—whipped.
Amazingly, Atsumu never planned on sleeping with Hinata. He’d thought about it, sure, the way people usually think about making out with people who are hot.
They’re in the locker room after practice, Atsumu tugging on his jeans and shaking out the water droplets from his hair. Inunaki is bitching about his recent Tinder date, and Adriah is giving him questionable advice. At this point, Atsumu thinks Adriah might be purposely sabotaging Inunaki’s pursuits.
Atsumu has a few dating apps on his phone, too, but he seldom opens them. When Adriah jabs a finger towards Atsumu and demands his opinion on Tinder versus Hinge, Atsumu merely shrugs and says, “I dunno. I don’t use either.”
“You don’t?” Hinata asks.
“Uh. No. Why?”
Hinata shrugs. “You seem like the kind of person who would.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re a jackass, Atsumu,” Inunaki says, and Atsumu flips him off.
“Shut it. You’re the one who spends our breaks scrollin’ through yer Tinder matches.” Atsumu has seen it. What’s incredible is that Inunaki rarely swipes right on people, so re-opening his list of matches is reminiscent of someone going to the fridge hoping to see if something miraculously shows up each time they check.
Inunaki frowns, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I didn’t mean that you’re a jackass,” Hinata says, almost in consolation. “I just meant that—it seems like you’d be into that sorta thing.”
“I’ve tried it out, Shouyou-kun.” Atsumu wrinkles his nose at the memories of sliding into direct messages, meeting up for awkward dates, and fumbling around for first-time sex with strangers. “It ain’t my favorite way to meet people.”
“Then how do you meet people?”
“He doesn’t,” Adriah deadpans, and he bursts out into laughter as he strolls out of the room. Inunaki snorts and follows, so Atsumu doesn’t even have time to offer a snarky rebuttal.
The locker room is empty, and Atsumu is a bit peeved, but whatever. His dating-slash-sex life—or lack thereof—is nobody’s business.
“So you wouldn’t recommend it,” Hinata clarifies. His hair is in a wild disarray from lack of styling, bright tufts of hair sticking up at odd angles and falling in his face. Hinata pushes it back from his forehead, ruffling out his bangs, and Atsumu can feel tiny droplets of water spraying his skin.
“I mean, go ahead and try it if you want.” Atsumu pauses. “Are you lookin’?”
Hinata shrugs. He’s not the same scrawny high school kid anymore, and Atsumu is hyper aware of how built his shoulders are. He certainly doesn’t let being on the shorter side stop him from packing on muscle. This much, at least, Atsumu has noticed since the moment Hinata showed up to the Jackals’ tryouts four months ago. It’s hard not to notice it. “Sort of? Not really. I mean, I thought about it.”
Of all people on their team, Atsumu thinks Hinata is the last person who’d need dating apps to find someone to canoodle or boink or go on dates with. He’s as likeable as he is personable, and he has no trouble making friends and meeting people. In the past several months, Atsumu feels like he’s seen Hinata on outings with friends old and new every single weekend and frequently throughout the week. It’s like he has a revolving door in his life for people, and Hinata adores every single person to come and go and return back again. “Eh. I dunno if you need it.”
“Why not?”
“You’re good at meetin’ people, Shouyou-kun. You don’t need virtual matchin’ to find someone.”
“I guess.” Hinata sighs as Atsumu slips his feet into his shoes. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone, though. Even when I was in Rio—I was way too busy juggling work and getting my ass kicked in beach volleyball to go on dates.”
“Oh.” This is news to Atsumu. He sort of figured Hinata had a whirlwind of romantic and sexual escapades during his time in Brazil.
“Yeah. It’d be nice, I guess. Maybe I’ll get Adriah to help me set up a profile, too.”
Atsumu gives Hinata a once over, from his disheveled hair to the deep tan that hasn’t yet faded, from his sturdy thighs all the way down to his freckled calves.
Hinata’s very attractive. This isn’t breaking news. But it comes swinging at Atsumu’s field of vision all the same.
“Y’know, I ain’t big on the whole datin’ thing, but if you want somethin’ casual, I’m always available.” Atsumu pats Hinata’s shoulder and laughs, so Hinata knows to take it lightly. “I mean, clearly.”
Atsumu expects Hinata to go along with the joke, scrunch his nose in disgust, or make some sort of exclamatory remark of disbelief. That’s how this is supposed to go, as it has all the other times Atsumu has offered casual sex to his teammates.
He doesn’t expect Hinata to tilt his head to the side and say, completely serious: “Really?”
Atsumu says thoughtless and lighthearted remarks like this all the time. As Atsumu has matured, he’s gotten better about stopping them before they leap off his tongue, but it still happens a lot. It takes him about two seconds to fully process what’s happening, and his face heats as he realizes that Hinata isn’t taking it as a joke. More surprisingly, Hinata isn’t taking Atsumu as a joke.
“Uh.”
“Hm.” This time, it’s Hinata’s turn to skirt his eyes across Atsumu’s body, and Atsumu feels like he’s just stuck his finger in an electrical outlet. Hinata raises his eyebrows. “Are you free tonight, Tsumu-san?”
Atsumu is about to backtrack and laugh it off, because even though he’s thought about potentially starting something with a teammate, he knows it’s not the wisest decision to go for. But Hinata has a genuine smile and pretty eyes, and suddenly Atsumu starts to feel the familiar sensation in his stomach that he hasn’t experienced in a while.
He refuses to use the word ‘horny’, especially in relation to Hinata but—he’s horny.
“I’m free,” Atsumu says breezily.
“Cool.” Hinata picks up his bag. “You can come over after dinner.” Before Atsumu can form a coherent response, Hinata waves as he leaves the locker room, leaving Atsumu to wonder what the fuck he’s about to get himself into.
Honestly, though, there’s very little that’s ambiguous about what Atsumu’s about to get himself into. Atsumu paces back and forth in front of Hinata’s apartment door. He’s been here several times, because Hinata’s apartment has become a central hub for the Jackals to have group bondings, whether it’s ordering takeout or kicking back and having beer while watching old game tapes.
Atsumu hesitates, then knocks. The silence in the hallway is cut only by the blood rushing through his ears, and he starts to feel a bit mortified that he’s even here in the first place, and what if Hinata was kidding all along, and what if Hinata realized he made a mistake—
But then the door’s open, Hinata’s standing there, and Atsumu starts to feel like he’s about to lose his mind.
“Hi,” Atsumu says.
“Hey.” Hinata gives one of his charming smiles, and he reaches for Atsumu’s wrist before pulling him into his apartment, closing and locking the door behind them. “You didn’t change your mind.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I thought you might.” Hinata ushers Atsumu in towards his bedroom, and suffocating anticipation begins to sink into Atsumu’s bones. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Yeah. I didn’t.” Atsumu flushes as he sits down on Hinata’s bed as Hinata, still standing, surveys him. Is he really going to do this?
He takes one look at Hinata in front of him wearing a thin t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and he thinks, yeah, he’s definitely going to do this.
Hinata wastes no time climbing onto Atsumu’s lap, and there’s a brief pause, and it’s the last, fleeting moment Atsumu has to say, Maybe this isn’t a good idea. But then Hinata’s mouth is on his, fingers threaded through the hair at the back of Atsumu’s head, and Atsumu is rendered defenseless. Hinata kisses him like he’s coming up for air after an eternity underwater, and Atsumu is swept away in the undercurrent, scrambling to gather his bearings. It’s one of the few times where Atsumu feels like he’s catching up rather than sprinting ahead.
“You sure?” Hinata asks. He has one thumb hooked in the waistband of Atsumu’s pants, the other skirting across his crotch, and Atsumu thinks he’s going to die.
“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “I’m sure.” He runs his palms across the expanse of Hinata’s back, and Hinata giggles, flinching away and wiggling under his touch.
“That tickles.”
“You’re hot,” Atsumu blurts, a disaster as always, but it’s hard to think straight when Hinata snakes a hand past the waistband of Atsumu’s shorts.
Hinata laughs. He pushes Atsumu back onto the mattress, rolls so he’s on the bed next to him, and presses his face into the curve of Atsumu’s neck. His hand is a little cold, but Atsumu feels unbelievably warm as he starts to get dizzy. He presses a kiss on the skin peeking out from the collar of Atsumu’s shirt and says, “Can I take charge this time?”
“Yeah. Whatever you want.”
“You can take charge next time.”
Atsumu’s heart flickers. “Next time?”
Hinata pauses, and he picks his head up at the same time Atsumu opens his eyes. “Uh. If you want it.”
Atsumu almost wants to laugh. “What if it turns out I’m terrible at sex?” He teases. “Ain’t you jumpin’ the gun a bit too fast?”
“Nah. You seem like the kind of person who’d be good at sex.”
“Fuck does that mean?”
Hinata giggles again, sound vibrating against Atsumu’s throat. “It means you’re hot, too.”
A spiral of mild panic surging in Atsumu’s chest threatens to kill the mood, but Hinata coaxes him out of it, pausing momentarily to reach for a bottle of lube. It doesn’t take long for Atsumu to reach the edge—it’s almost embarrassing how fast Hinata gets him there—and just as he feels like he’s about to fall apart, Hinata stops suddenly.
“What?” The word is caught in his throat. “What’s wrong?”
Hinata sits up, pulls off his shirt, and settles on his back, tugging Atsumu on top of him. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Atsumu props himself up on his elbows, careful not to crush Hinata with dead weight. He has no idea what he did to deserve this, and even though Hinata has already mentioned the possibility of another time, Atsumu wants to milk this for what it’s worth. He grips Hinata’s hips and slips his tongue into his mouth and hopes he meets Hinata’s expectations about whether or not he’s good at sex.
He assumes he does, because afterwards, Hinata has his limbs splayed out in starfish formation, one arm flung over his eyes, and he mumbles, “Are you busy tomorrow night?”
Atsumu isn’t sure what’s more irresponsible—impulsively sleeping with a teammate or knowingly starting a no-strings-attached relationship with them. There are too many ways this can go wrong, but when Hinata peeks out from the crook of his elbow, gentle smile twitching at his lips, bare chest rising up and down, Atsumu thinks, maybe, just maybe, he can afford to be irresponsible just this once.
“No,” he says. “I’m free.”
Just once more, he tells himself, but he says that the next time, and the next time, and the next time, until he stops saying it—or anything else—at all.
Hinata looks splendid when he plays volleyball. This is no secret. He moves with calculated grace that’s honed by practice and sheer willpower. When he watches from the side as Hinata attempts another jump floater, Atsumu feels like he’s a little kid again, falling in love with volleyball for the first time and many more.
Hinata’s toss is a little too far forward, his jump a little hesitant, and his serve goes into the net. “Damn it.”
“‘S okay,” Atsumu says. He picks up another ball from the near-empty cart and tosses it over to him. Hinata catches it with ease. “Try not tossin’ as high this time.”
“Ugh.” Hinata bounces the ball against the ground as his mouth pulls into a tight pout. A thin sheen of sweat coats his forehead and sticks to his shirt. Atsumu tries not to stare too much at how it clings to his pecs. “I tried hitting jump floaters in Rio. Didn’t work.”
“Just try it again.”
“I will.” Hinata sighs. It’s the most prominent challenge for him right now, and Atsumu can’t help but feel a little amused by it. He knows the feeling well, and how frustration can build. But Hinata doesn’t look disheartened by it in the slightest. If he did, he wouldn’t be here.
“Maybe we should take a break,” Atsumu says, eyeing the scattered volleyballs across the court. So far, about half of Hinata’s jump floaters are in-bounds. It’s already an improvement. “I’m gettin’ kinda hungry.”
“Already?”
“Yeah.” Atsumu spins a ball in his hands and chews his bottom lip. Now would be the perfect time, he thinks. Now would be the perfect time to ask Hinata to do something that’s not just sex and volleyball. But it turns out he’s not as fearless as he thought he was.
Hinata glances up. “Let me just try one more,” he says. “Then I’ll wrap it up.”
Atsumu nods and rubs his temple with his fingers. All this overthinking about the situation with Hinata makes him feel lightheaded. This can’t possibly be good for him.
Maybe he should give it one more month. He should give it a month and see if his feelings fade, if sex and volleyball and casual friendship is enough to satiate the deep craving he feels for more than what he has. If, after a month, he’s stuck in the same undertow he’s been trapped in since all this started, then Atsumu will tell Hinata they’re better off being just friends. Or he’ll tell him he wants to be more than friends. He hasn’t decided which option is less painful, so Atsumu resolves to calculate the cost-benefit analysis of redefining their non-relationship during the next few weeks.
Hinata’s next attempt hits the tape, but it goes over, which makes Hinata sigh. He tosses Atsumu a couple of stray balls around his feet and jogs over to the opposite side of the court to begin cleaning. Atsumu watches him, absentmindedly picking up the balls Hinata rolls towards him and placing them in the cart.
“So I’ll see you after dinner?” Hinata asks when they’re finished. He pushes the cart as Atsumu walks beside him.
Dinner isn’t for hours. Now would be a perfect opportunity to ask Hinata if he wants to hang out just for hanging out purposes and not for orgasm purposes, because his schedule is clear and he knows Hinata’s must be, too, since they spent the better part of the past couple hours messing around in the gym. But Hinata doesn’t say anything, just has the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he focuses on maneuvering the cart into the storage closet.
So Atsumu, like a fool, nods, forces a smile, and says, “Uh-huh. After dinner,” and squashes his disappointment. Later, Atsumu tries to ignore the ache of loneliness that thunders when he enters his apartment, alone—allowing himself, just for a fleeting moment, to imagine what it’d be like for Hinata to be there, too.
Under normal circumstances, Atsumu would call up his brother to help him figure it out. Even though Osamu typically offers little more than mild expressions of disapproval, he’s Atsumu’s confidant with everything. Atsumu does, actually, call Osamu, shortly after the first week of Hinata and Atsumu starting their friends-with-benefits arrangement. Atsumu says, “I’ve been hooking up with Shouyou-kun,” and Osamu replies, “Gross,” before hanging up.
Atsumu is annoyed about it, but it’s valid, considering how Osamu has known about Atsumu’s stupid crush on him since high school. Osamu doesn’t want to hear about it, for obvious reasons. Furthermore, he’s saving himself the humiliation of having to walk Osamu through the whole ordeal. And if he’s being honest with himself, Atsumu sort of pulled the same thing when he heard about the first time Osamu and Suna slept together, so he supposes this is only fair.
Instead of turning to his jerk-wad brother, he knocks on the apartment across the hall from him.
Sakusa Kiyoomi opens the door, takes one look at Atsumu’s expression of distress, then promptly shuts the door in his face.
“Hey.” Atsumu knocks again, irked that he didn’t even get a chance to say anything. “Open the fuckin’ door, you ass.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t wanna hear it.” Sakusa’s voice is muffled. “Go tell Meian-san, or something.”
“Omi Omi. It’s important.”
Sakusa opens the door a crack. One eye, narrowed and inky like the pits of hell, stares back at him with so much intensity that Atsumu starts to squirm. “What.”
“Shouyou-kun and I are sleepin’ together.”
Sakusa promptly shuts the door again, and this time, the lock clicks into place.
Atsumu frowns as he raises his hand again to knock. “Omi-kun, I ain’t leavin’ till you lemme in. Samu already ditched me. I got no one else to talk to.” Atsumu isn’t even sure if Sakusa hears it. He’s about to reluctantly go to Bokuto’s doorstep when the door opens again, this time fully.
Sakusa stands in the doorway, confused scowl on his face. “You and Hinata are what?”
“Can I come in?”
Sakusa pauses. He gives Atsumu a scrutinizing look. “Your shirt is inside out.”
“What?” Atsumu looks down. He hadn’t even realized it when he pulled it on in a daze.
Maybe it’s out of pity, but Sakusa sighs and steps to the side, allowing Atsumu to tread in. His next words come out more like a statement than a question. “Why are you sleeping with him.”
“Wadaya mean, why?” Atsumu snorts. He collapses on Sakusa’s couch and props his feet on the coffee table. Sakusa shoots him a dirty look as he shuffles into the armchair to the left of him. “Cuz he’s hot.”
“Miya.”
“He’s hot, he’s available, he wanted to, and I wanna, so…” Atsumu waves his hand vaguely. “It just sorta happened.”
“That’s…” Sakusa's voice falters, and his eyes twitch as he tries to grasp at the proper words. “...interesting.”
Atsumu groans.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Cuz. I need to tell someone. Otherwise I might die.”
“You do not need to share about your sex life.”
“Omi-kun. Please.”
Atsumu isn’t even sure what he’s asking for. It’s not like he’s looking for forgiveness or permission.
Sakusa pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a steady inhale, followed by a controlled exhale. “Okay. You told me. Is that all?”
“No. I wish.” Atsumu leans back on the couch, head resting against the cushions. He stares at the ceiling and tries not to revisit the sequence of events that has occurred over the past week. He can’t afford to get distracted. “What do I do? Fuck. I wanna sleep with him but also I don’t wanna. Ugh.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means, Omi Omi, that I know I shouldn’t be hookin’ up with him, but now that we did a few times, I don’t wanna stop.”
Sakusa frowns. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Ugh. Ugh.”
“If you want to sleep with him and he wants to sleep with you, I don’t really see what the problem is.”
Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut and nods. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Are you dating him?”
“No.”
“Oh.” A pause. “So it’s just sex.”
“It’s just sex,” Atsumu says, but on the inside he knows it’s a lot more than that, at least for him. “Made it pretty clear I ain’t lookin’ for more than somethin’ casual.”
The two moles on above Sakusa’s eyebrow dance as he scrunches and un-scrunches and re-scrunches his eyebrows. “So there’s no problem, then.”
Atsumu huffs. “I guess not.”
“But—” Atsumu opens his eyes and sees a pained expression on Sakusa’s face. He’s not the most easy person to talk to, but Atsumu has grown to appreciate his directness. It’s part of what compelled him to come here in the first place, since everyone else on his team would probably make fun of him for thinking with his dick. At least Sakusa doesn’t make fun of him. All of his blunt commentary comes from a true and genuine place of criticism, not clownery, which Atsumu appreciates. Probably. “—you think you shouldn’t be sleeping with him.”
“Well, no.”
“Because he’s a teammate?”
“Yeah, cuz he’s a teammate.” There’s kind of an unspoken rule that dating within the team is frowned upon. For good reason, too. But Atsumu isn’t dating Hinata. So maybe it’s more excusable. “But also, y’know, maybe I like him more than just for sexy times.”
“I’m going to ignore the fact that you just said ‘sexy times.’”
“Fuck off, Omi-kun.”
Sakusa shoots him an incredulous look. “Has it occurred to you,” he says, “that you could just tell Hinata that?”
Atsumu groans again, slumping to the side until his shoulder hits the couch cushions and Sakusa is sideways in his vision. “Of course I’ve fuckin’ thought about it.”
“So do it.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re impossible.” Sakusa shakes his head, curls flopping to the side. “I’m not going to enable you to keep doing stupid things, Miya.”
“Okay. Okay. Will you stop lookin’ at me like that? I don’t need you to enable me or nothin’. I just—” Atsumu’s throat jumps, and a sliver of vulnerability stabs him in the chest. “I dunno. I just wanna talk about it to someone. You don’t hafta say anythin’. Just listen.” Atsumu picks at a stray thread at the seam of the couch, but Sakusa leans forward and swats his hand away. “Please?”
A constipated expression crosses Sakusa’s face before he relents, nodding slowly. And as Atsumu launches into a desperate and frustrated tirade about how much he likes Hinata, Atsumu realizes that he wasn’t looking for forgiveness or permission about sleeping with Hinata, but instead, he’s been looking for forgiveness or permission about the rush of feelings he has every time Hinata crosses his mind. They feel wrong to some extent, because the very nature of liking your teammate is wrong. Yet, somehow, they feel incredibly right.
Sakusa listens, stiff in his chair, offering very little commentary other than grunts and sighs. It feels kind of like a therapy session, if therapists were as judgey and blunt as Sakusa is.
“I think you’re overthinking it,” Sakusa says once Atsumu has run out of ways to wax poetic about Hinata’s—everything.
“Add that to news that ain’t breakin’,” Atsumu grumbles. He rotates onto his back legs hanging off the arms of the couch. Even now, shards of his moments with Hinata glimmer with newfound light. He’s not just Hinata Shouyou, his wing spiker. He’s Hinata Shouyou, his—no, not his partner. Definitely not his partner. “Do you think he might—I dunno. Do you think I have a chance?”
Sakusa stares at him flatly. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Y’know what? Never mind. I don’t wanna hear it.” Atsumu folds his hands on his stomach and says, “I don’t even care, cuz it doesn’t even matter.”
But Atsumu cares. A lot. And he knows Sakusa sees right through his bullshit. Furthermore, Atsumu has begun to immediately recognize his own bullshit, too. It’s almost refreshing, because before, he probably wouldn’t have realized it on his own. Atsumu is stupid and yet, somehow, he’s wishing that he was even stupider. Lacking self-awareness makes things so much easier.
He’s in bed, tracing his mouth across Hinata’s collarbones, when Hinata stills. “Atsumu.”
“Hm?” Atsumu nips at the delicate ridge of Hinata’s throat.
“You seem—” Hinata gasps as Atsumu presses his hips flush against his, and Atsumu’s brain fizzles with the friction. “—enthusiastic.”
“I’m always enthusiastic.”
Hinata’s hands cup Atsumu’s jaw and tugs him up, just high enough that he can see him. “Not like this, though.”
Atsumu averts his gaze and tries to distract him by grinding his hand against his crotch. It works, and Hinata’s hold on Atsumu’s face slackens, just enough that Atsumu can dip his head back down.
Atsumu knows he’s worked up. He’s worked up because they just had their first match of the season, the first match with Hinata on the Jackals, and Atsumu is experiencing some kind of visceral reaction to it—the overwhelming kind that makes Atsumu itch to be a little rough tonight. Hinata was an unknown force to Japan’s professional volleyball world, but tonight, he’s the talk of the town. The underdog that Atsumu has watched blossom into a star.
Atsumu sometimes feels like that—like Hinata’s a comet blazing on ahead and Atsumu is the trail left behind in his wake. He has nothing to do with Hinata’s growth; he’s just the lucky son of a bitch who gets to revel in it, so the swell of pride he feels on behalf of Hinata doesn’t make much sense.
“You played good tonight,” Atsumu murmurs. His tongue pokes out and traces the ridge of Hinata’s upper abdominals. “Real good.”
“So did you.”
“I prolly played better cuz I saw you kickin’ ass. You know how that can go sometimes.” Atsumu shifts his weight to focus on peeling off the remainder of Hinata’s clothes. Hinata kicks off his sweatpants and shoves at Atsumu’s, huffing in frustration when it snags on Atsumu’s hips.
Hinata traces the back of Atsumu’s hairline, fingers ghosting over his undercut. It’s such a gentle touch and not erotic at all, but Atsumu’s breath catches. Hinata sometimes does that—casual touches that someone might do outside of a sexual context. Atsumu can’t believe that he almost prefers those touches to the ones where Hinata’s trying to push him into an orgasm.
Atsumu pauses and rests his forehead on Hinata’s stomach, an attempt to catch his breath. He’s not just enthusiastic. He knows that. While he replays flashes of today’s game and everything surrounding it, Atsumu wants to melt into the floor from embarrassment.
Mind not pickin’ a fight with my wing speaker? he’d said, staking his claim over something that he has no right to stake his claim over.
Luckily Kageyama is dense as bricks and Hinata is just as oblivious, but still. It’s another prime example of how juvenile and petty Atsumu can be. Atsumu couldn’t help it. He knows there’s no reason to be jealous, because Hinata and Kageyama aren’t dating—Hinata has said that much—and he and Hinata are the ones that are teammates now, anyway. Unfortunately, Atsumu can’t control any of his emotions when they’re related to Hinata, including jealousy or any iteration thereof.
Like right now—Atsumu has his hand running up and down Hinata’s erection. The rush of something, whether it’s jealousy or affection, makes him a bit more forward than usual, sucking hickeys across Hinata’s skin and fumbling more frantically to work Hinata into a frenzy.
He doesn’t own Hinata, but in this moment, with Hinata dancing to the tune of Atsumu’s kisses, he can, at least, stake his claim in other ways. Atsumu presses his lips on the inside of Hinata’s thigh, warm and soft and smooth to the touch, and he sucks hard enough that Hinata hisses.
Hinata comments in between heavy breaths, “You always play good. I like playing volleyball with you.”
Atsumu bites back a sting. He tries for a lighthearted, flirtatious remark. “That’s all? That’s all you like doin’ with me?” Hinata has no time to reply, because Atsumu’s slipping his mouth over Hinata’s dick, relishing how Hinata dissolves into nothing more than uneven breaths and fragmented words.
“It’s not just volleyball,” Hinata says as he squirms in place. He’s prone to do that. It’s disastrously cute. “You know that.”
If Atsumu’s mouth weren’t occupied, he might ask Hinata what he means by that. But his mouth is full and he refuses to let his thoughts trail that route, so Atsumu slides his hand up the length of Hinata’s thighs, up his torso, and holds him in place. He ignores how his hands fit perfectly into the dip of his waist. He ignores the pounding in his chest that’s spurred on not by physical intimacy but the desperation for the emotional kind. He ignores how Hinata tugs at the roots of Atsumu’s hair and spreads his legs further to make more room for Atsumu, and when the blanket begins to slip away form Atsumu’s shoulders, he ignores how Hinata pulls it back in place, stroking Atsumu’s neck almost tenderly.
He ignores it, but also, like everything else with Hinata, he doesn’t.
This time, when Atsumu knocks on the door, Sakusa lets him right in. “What do you want.”
“One of these days I’m gonna think you really don’t think of me as a friend,” Atsumu says as he pushes his way in.
“I’ve told you multiple times that I don’t.”
“Hah. Good one.” Atsumu runs his fingers through his hair as he lies back on the couch, as is his usual position. Ever since the first time he showed up at Sakusa’s apartment looking for a bitch session, he drops in ad hoc every couple of weeks.
These ‘sessions’ are catalyzed by nothing in particular. Sometimes it’s that Atsumu received a particularly stunning blow job (this usually gets him kicked out). Sometimes it’s that Hinata was too busy hanging out with Kenma to see Atsumu (this usually gets him a bottle of wine). But undoubtedly, it’s the same shit, just on a different day: Atsumu likes Hinata. Atsumu is sleeping with Hinata. Atsumu wants to do more than sleep with him.
“Seriously, Miya.” Sakusa is still holding the door open. It’s actually surprising he hasn’t cut off Atsumu yet from these pseudo-therapy sessions. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“I know.”
“It’s been three months.”
“I know, I know, I know. Trust me, Omi-kun. I fuckin’ know.”
“If you know, then why are you here?”
“Shouyou-kun invited me over tonight.”
“He always invites you over.” Sakusa, like everything else about Hinata and Atsumu, knows this trivia. Atsumu hasn’t told anyone else on the team about him and Hinata hooking up, and Hinata doesn’t seem to talk about it, either.
“I know, but...” Atsumu’s voice falters as he clutches a couch pillow to his chest. “I don’t even know if I want to have sex tonight.”
Sakusa rubs his forehead. He does that a lot these days when Atsumu is around.
It dawns on Atsumu that Sakusa looks like he’s crawled out of bed, or a grave, or something. “Oh. Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“Never mind that. Then don’t have sex with him tonight.”
“But—” Atsumu has never said no. “What if he takes it the wrong way?”
“I don’t think he will.”
“But what if he does.”
“Okay. Then have sex with him.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You’re being impossible.”
Atsumu hangs his head in defeat. He liked it better when he didn’t have complex emotions. “I’m doin’ my best here.”
“Your best isn’t very good.”
“Gee. Try bein’ a little less sensitive about it, Omi-kun, why don’tcha?”
Sakusa sits on the far end of the couch, poking at his leg. Atsumu moves it away, inching up further until his head rests uncomfortably on the armrest. “You’re not obligated to say yes,” Sakusa says. “You know that, right?”
“‘Course I know that, moron.”
Sakusa gives him a weird look that harbors the intensity of a no-bullshit middle school teacher. He pulls at the hood of his sweatshirt, tucking his curls under it as he yanks at the strings, scrunching it. Atsumu can only see half of Sakusa’s face poking out from under the bundle. “So why haven’t you?”
“I dunno what to even say.”
“Miya. You’ve told me a million iterations of how you feel about him. Just repeat that to Hinata.” Sakusa ties a knot on his sweatshirt string. “At this point, I could probably confess for you.” Sakusa snorts. “Do you want me to?”
“Shut up.”
Sakusa shakes his head, though the movement is restrained by his tied-up hood. “You can go over and ask him if he would want to just hang out, and then you can go from there.” Sakusa shrugs. “He’ll say yes, though. It’s Hinata.”
Sakusa is right. It’s Hinata. Hinata is not a ‘no’ person. He’s a ‘yes, absolutely ’ person. A flicker of warmth echoes in Atsumu’s chest. He likes that about Hinata. “I guess you’re right.”
“When you two start dating,” Sakusa says, “are you finally going to leave me alone?”
Atsumu snorts and pegs the couch cushion at him, face heating. Sakusa holds his hand up to block it from hitting him in the face. “If,” Atsumu emphasizes. “If anythin’ ever happens, you’ll be the first to hear.”
“I look forward to it,” Sakusa says drily, but a small smile twitches on his lips. It leaves Atsumu wondering if he’s on the buttend of a joke that he doesn’t even know about, or if Sakusa actually means it.
If Atsumu traces all the moments where he fell head over heels for Hinata, there’s one thread that connects all of them: he has everything Atsumu never knew he was looking for. Sure, he’s hot, and he has killer volleyball skills, and those certainly count for something. But they don’t come anywhere near to defining the anatomy of Hinata Shouyou.
Hinata never takes people for granted and always makes sure to leave the last bit of a shared dish for someone else to take. He has everyone’s best interests at heart, and he’s always the first to reach out to someone who’s a little rough around the edges. Hinata laughs at Atsumu’s jokes and offers to bring him hot soup when he’s sick. He is, in essence, a perfect human being, at least to Atsumu.
He likes Hinata on the court and in the locker room and in bed and in the hallway as they walk back to the apartment complex together. Atsumu likes Hinata when he’s a determined badass trying to nail a jump floater, and he likes Hinata when he’s a little drunk from too much beer and getting a bit glassy-eyed talking about his time in Rio. He doesn’t think there’s a part of Hinata yet that he doesn’t like. If it exists, he hasn’t encountered it yet.
Above all else, Atsumu thinks he’s never met someone quite like Hinata, who challenges the notion about what it means to be good. It’s not about winning, Atsumu realizes. Maybe it was never about winning. Hinata doesn’t have to win to be good, nor does he have to win to be a star.
Similar to how it’s not about winning, Atsumu has come to the decision that his feelings for Hinata aren’t about having Hinata to claim as his. If he has feelings for Hinata and they’re not reciprocated, then—it’s fine. It’s fine, and Atsumu will deal with it, and Hinata will go on being a ray of sunshine that gets to shine a little brighter, knowing that he’s loved a little more than he’d previously realized.
If Atsumu can see Hinata smile from the knowledge of how much Atsumu cares about him—even if it’s one-sided—then he thinks maybe, just maybe, it’ll be worth it.
Atsumu knocks on Hinata’s door. It’s after dinner and he’s just shaved, and even though he’s done this too many times to count, his heartbeats border on erratic.
Hinata opens the door and greets him with a wide smile. His feet are bare and he’s wearing a pair of old gym shorts, and he has on a t-shirt that looks too big on him—one of Atsumu’s, which Atsumu must have left a few times ago.“Hi.”
“Hey.” Atsumu swallows, mouth suspiciously dry. He knows this is the moment where he’s supposed to sweep Hinata off his feet and kiss him senseless and push him into the bedroom. And yet—something about seeing Hinata with one hand on his hip, collar of his shirt to the side and exposing the delicate skin there. Something about this strangely intimate image makes Atsumu’s brain short circuit.
“We needa talk,” Atsumu blurts.
Hinata’s grin is replaced by a surprised—and concerned—look. “Okay?” He gives Atsumu a quick once-over. “You wanna come in, or…?”
“Uh.” Atsumu’s feet are stuck to the hallway floor. “I will. Um. After I—gimme a minute.”
“Okay.”
Atsumu shifts his weight uncomfortably, not really sure where to start. He stuffs his hands in the pocket of his sweatpants and stares at the ground, face heating, and opens his mouth. No words come out.
“Tsumu-san?”
“Never mind.” Atsumu shakes himself out of it and moves to pass through the doorway.
Hinata doesn’t budge, still holding the door with his hand, and he studies Atsumu carefully. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’.”
“It doesn’t look like ‘nothin’.”
“Don’t worry about it, Shouyou-kun—”
“Well, I am worried. You look bothered.”
Atsumu chews his lip. “Uh.”
The problem here is that Hinata’s smile falls into a concerned frown. He squints up at Atsumu, who tries to move around him to get in, but Hinata stubbornly remains in place. “You can just say what’s on your mind,” he says. “If you don’t say anything, I can’t help you.”
“I don’t need help.”
“Are you sure?”
Atsumu swallows thickly. He’s almost toe-to-toe now with Hinata, neck craned downwards. In the midst of his mounting emotions, he has a semi-distracted thought about how Hinata is the perfect height for forehead kisses. He takes one look at the kindness in Hinata’s eyes, one look at how soft Hinata’s freshly washed hair looks, and he caves. “Are you free?”
Hinata raises an eyebrow. “Right now?”
“Um. Yeah. Sorry. Now?”
“Am I free...right now?” Hinata repeats slowly. “As in, right at this moment?”
“I mean—” Atsumu makes a garbled noise of frustration. He clears his throat and tries his usual tactic of talking about it without really talking about it. “I was wonderin’ if you wanted to, y’know, come over sometime. I know I usually show up at yer place and stuff, which I don’t mind at all, and I like yer place, and what we do here—”
Hinata’s expression isn’t unreadable, but it isn’t easy to decipher. It’s a mix of surprise and confusion and ‘where the fuck are you going with this?’
Atsumu plows on ahead, trying to keep his sentences at least semi-coherent, because he knows he’s rambling and he doesn’t know how to stop. “If I’m bein’ honest, when I offered the whole, uh, casual sex thing, I didn’t expect you to actually say yes. Cuz, like, no one says yes to me. That’s kinda how it’s supposed to go. But you said yes, and then I said sure, and then it kinda just kept goin’ from there. Don’t get me wrong—I like it, and I like sleepin’ with you, and if you wanna keep it this way, that’s okay with me, but I was just thinkin’ that if you were free and wanted to come over sometime just to do non-sexy things, I wouldn’t mind that.”
Hinata blinks. “Oh.”
Atsumu’s face heats. “Yeah.”
“You realize you’re asking about dating things, right?”
“That’s—yeah. Yeah, I am.” Atsumu clams up and tries not to think too much about how much of a walking disaster he sounds like right now. He thinks he’s undergoing more stress in this moment than he has throughout his entire volleyball career. “Those things. Uh-huh.”
“I thought you said you’re not big on the whole dating thing.” Hinata scratches his head, mussing up his hair in the process. He doesn’t sound disgusted, which Atsumu takes as a good sign, but he still looks confused, head tilted to the side. “But you are?”
“I mean, I’m not,” Atsumu says, “unless it’s with you.”
Just like that, his heart is on the line, as is his pride, and the very ease with which he and Hinata maintain their friendship with benefits. Atsumu has never cared much for what people think about him. It’s different with Hinata, though—it always has been.
“Wait,” Hinata says, and right as Atsumu’s nodding, Hinata closes the door, narrowly missing Atsumu’s nose.
It takes a few beats for Atsumu to realize what’s just happened. The chipped wood of the door jeers at him. He’s so stunned by the fact that a door has literally—and maybe figuratively—been shut in his face that he doesn’t even have room to feel heartbroken or humiliated.
“Uh,” Atsumu says, to no one in particular. His brain is reduced to mush. He knows Hinata isn’t the kind of person to ghost people, although Atsumu isn’t sure if a door in the face counts as ghosting. The effect is the same, though: Atsumu feels rejected. “Shouyou-kun?”
There’s a thirty-second gap where Atsumu isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, and he’s about to trudge back to his apartment in defeat when the door opens again.
“Sorry.” Hinata is wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of slides. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Atsumu absorbs his words and the fact that Hinata is stepping out of the apartment, turning to lock it. The back of Hinata’s head has never confounded him so much. “Huh?”
“Don’t tell me you’re changing your mind again,” Hinata teases. There’s a slight edge to his voice, not quite malicious, but—definitely there.
“Where...are we goin’?”
Hinata slips his keys into the pocket of his shorts and swivels on his heels. “Your place? Isn’t that what you just said?”
Atsumu is dumbfounded.
Hinata reaches for him, entangling their fingers together. “I don’t mind dating things,” he says, and he tugs Atsumu along. “I just thought you weren’t, because that’s what you said when we started hooking up. So I never bothered asking.”
“You don’t mind them,” Atsumu repeats.
“Nope. Not at all.”
“But do you—”
“Of course I wanna. Have you met you?” Hinata’s laughter echoes in the hall and straight into Atsumu’s heart. “I like you a lot. Even if it’s just sex or friendship or dating or whatever. But all three would be nice.”
“It would?”
“Wouldn’t it?”
Atsumu is close on his heels. With every step closer to his apartment and every knowing glance Hinata sends his way, Atsumu’s chest loosens. Hinata must be powerful, Atsumu thinks, because his mere acceptance chips away any doubt Atsumu had harbored. It leaves him with nothing but unfiltered appreciation and adoration for Hinata, the kind that is as full and overwhelming as Atsumu’s love of volleyball.
“It would be,” Atsumu says, and he resists, pulling Hinata towards him. Hinata lets out a yelp of surprise, muffled by Atsumu pressing his lips against his. Hinata responds readily and hungrily, and Atsumu has to stop himself before they’re full blown making out in the hallway of their apartment complex. He pulls back, pushes the hair out of Hinata’s eyes, and breaks into an uncontrollable smile when Hinata beams up at him.
“It is,” Hinata corrects, and he places a kiss on Atsumu’s chin. Atsumu wants to shake his head at himself for digging himself into a hole that he scrambled to crawl out of, but it all fades when Hinata leans his shoulder against Atsumu’s side. Atsumu unlocks the door to his apartment, takes Hinata’s hand in his, one step forward—then another—as he leads the way.