Chapter Text
Morning crept in slow and golden, spilling through the half-closed curtains and settling over the mess of limbs on the couch.
The three of you had crashed there after a night of drinks and laughter—but never like this. Never this tangled, this close.
Atsumu was flat on his back, mouth slightly open, one arm slung lazily around your waist. You were nestled between his legs, your back pressed against his chest, head tucked under his chin. And Osamu—Osamu was curled on his side, head pillowed on your hip, one arm draped over your legs like he meant to keep you there.
The air was warm, soft with sleep and faintly scented of sake, pizza, and something a little too intimate to name.
Your first clear thought was that your neck hurt.
The second was that you were very warm—too warm.
You shifted a little, trying to ease the crick in your neck, and that small movement set off a quiet chain reaction: Atsumu’s arm tightened instinctively around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, while Osamu let out a low, sleepy sound and nuzzled closer into your hip like he had no plans of waking up anytime soon.
You froze, blinking at the ceiling.
It wasn’t the first time the three of you had fallen asleep in a pile after a late night—but it was the first time your jeans were abandoned on the floor beside the couch, your legs bare. The realization made your face burn, though the warmth that followed wasn’t entirely embarrassment.
A groggy voice rumbled behind you. “Why’re you movin’?” Atsumu mumbled against your hair, his breath hot against the back of your neck.
“I can’t feel my arm,” you whispered, though your voice came out breathier than you meant it to.
“Tragic,” he said, tightening his hold. “Guess you’re stuck.”
You rolled your eyes, but didn’t really fight him.
A low groan came from your lap. “Would you two keep it down?” Osamu’s voice was rough with sleep as he blinked awake. He propped himself on one elbow, hair sticking in every direction. “Some of us are tryin’ to pretend this hangover doesn’t exist.”
You smiled faintly. “Good morning.”
He squinted up at you, still half buried in the blanket, eyes narrowing at the sunlight spilling in. “Good mornin’, huh?” he rasped, voice low and scratchy. “Bit too bright for that.”
You smiled sleepily. “It’s not the sun’s fault you’re hungover, you know.”
Atsumu snorted from behind you. “She’s got ya there.” He stretched, yawning so wide his jaw cracked before flopping dramatically back against the couch. “You look worse than I feel, and that’s sayin’ somethin’.”
You shook your head, smiling faintly as you stood and reached for your jeans. They were still crumpled on the floor beside the couch — evidence of the night before that made your face warm as you picked them up.
The twins didn’t say anything, but you could feel both sets of eyes on you as you pulled them on. You didn’t address it — didn’t trust your voice not to give away how aware you were of their gazes — just focused on tugging the denim over hips.
“You know,” Osamu finally said, his voice low and gravelly with sleep, “I kinda liked the view better before you covered up.”
Atsumu chuckled from the couch, stretching lazily like a satisfied cat. “Seconded."
You snorted as you fixed your hair, fingers fumbling slightly. "Water and food first," you declared, voice steadier than you felt. "Then flirting." The words earned twin groans—Osamu’s muffled against his arm, Atsumu’s dramatic as he rolled off the cushions.
Osamu dragged a hand down his face, sitting up with a groan. “Fine, fine. But if I’m cookin’, you’re cleanin’.”
“Deal,” you said quickly, stepping over the pile of blankets. “As long as it involves coffee. Lots of it.”
“Already on it,” he muttered, heading toward the kitchen with a lazy stretch that made his shirt ride up, revealing a strip of skin. You caught yourself staring and quickly looked away—only to find Atsumu watching you with a knowing smirk.
“What?” you asked, defensive despite yourself.
“Nothin’,” he said, grin widening. “Just… this feels weirdly domestic, doesn’t it? Like we woke up after a sleepover and forgot the part where we’re supposed to be awkward about it.”
You tried not to smile, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Who says I’m not awkward?”
He laughed, leaning back on the couch. “You hide it well, then.”
Osamu’s voice floated out from the kitchen. “You two gonna sit there makin’ eyes at each other or actually help?”
“Help with what?” Atsumu called back, already grinning. “You got this covered, Chef.”
You rolled your eyes and joined him at the counter, nudging his shoulder. “Ignore him. He just wants attention.”
Osamu snorted, cracking eggs into a pan. “And you’re givin’ it to him.”
You shot him a look that made him laugh under his breath. The air felt lighter now—buzzed, easy, like the tension of last night had been replaced by something quieter, steadier.
As the smell of breakfast filled the apartment, Atsumu hopped up to sit on the counter, watching Osamu work. “Hey,” he said suddenly, tapping his finger against his thigh. “I was thinkin’ last night—if we’re gonna make this work, maybe we should try somethin’.”
Osamu didn’t look up. “That sentence never ends well when you start it.”
Atsumu ignored him, looking at you instead. “Solo days. One-on-one time. You with me, then you with him. Kinda build things separate so the whole thing’s stronger, yeah?”
You blinked, surprised, but not opposed. “That… actually makes sense.”
Osamu finally glanced over, arching a brow. “So who gets to go first?”
Atsumu grinned, eyes glinting with challenge. “Simple. She thinks of a number between one and ten. Closest one wins.”
You laughed, leaning back against the counter. “Really? That’s your grand system?”
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Go on, sweetheart. Pick a number.”
You hid your smile behind your coffee mug. “Alright. Got one.”
Atsumu leaned forward. “Seven.”
Osamu crossed his arms. “Four.”
You paused just long enough for dramatic effect. “It was eight.”
Atsumu shot upright like he’d just scored a match-winning point. “Ha! Knew it! Knew my luck was unbeatable!” He said, throwing his hands up in triumph before immediately wincing.
Osamu groaned, dragging a hand down his face, sliding an omelet in front of you. “You’re proud of yourself for guessin’ a number. Congratulations, genius.”
Atsumu shot him a look, still smiling. “Hey, don’t ruin my moment. I never win these things.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head, taking a bite. The egg fluffy on your tongue. “Alright, champ. What exactly will we do one a solo day?”
Atsumu leaned his elbows on the counter, expression softening into something a little more genuine. “We could do anything, really. A date, hangin’ out, talkin’—y’know, actually doin’ the whole ‘communication’ thing we pretended we were gonna do last night before the drinks hit and we got...distracted.”
You snorted. “You both thought it'd be a good idea too....”
“Details,” he said with a dismissive wave, though his grin lingered. “Point is, it’s just us. A chance to breathe a little, get to know each other intimately without all the noise.”
Osamu leaned against the fridge, arms folded, watching his brother with quiet amusement. “That’s… actually not a bad idea,” he admitted. “Might keep us from steppin’ on each other’s toes.”
You finished the last bite of your breakfast, the easy rhythm between the three of you settling into something almost domestic again. The conversation wasn’t heavy anymore, but beneath the teasing and coffee refills there was an awareness—a quiet hum that hadn’t existed before.
Osamu rinsed his plate, the clatter of ceramic against the sink breaking the silence. “So when’s this big ‘solo day’ supposed to happen, then?”
Atsumu perked up immediately. “Today, obviously.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Today?”
“Why not?” he asked, already sliding off the counter with that familiar spark in his eyes. “You’re free, I’m free. Seems like fate, don’t it?”
Osamu shot him a flat look. “Yeah, fate or your complete lack of patience.”
“Call it enthusiasm,” Atsumu said, smirking.
Osamu snorted, shaking his head. “Enthusiasm’s one word for it.”
Atsumu just grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself. “What can I say? When I’ve got an idea, I move fast.”
You leaned back against the counter, still smiling. “Yeah, I’m starting to see that.”
Osamu rolled his eyes, rinsing his coffee mug. “You mean he’s impatient.”
“Efficient,” Atsumu corrected, pointing at him with mock seriousness. “There’s a difference.”
You laughed softly, setting your empty plate in the sink. “Well, if you’re planning on dragging me out today, I should probably go home and make myself presentable first. I’m still half hungover and smell like a brewery.”
Atsumu chuckled, following as you moved toward the door. “That’s fair. I’ll swing by and grab ya at two, yeah?”
“Sounds good,” you said, slipping on your shoes.
He opened the door for you, leaning casually against the frame, that familiar spark in his eyes softened by something warmer. “Try not to miss me too much.”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he said easily, “but you like me anyway.”
You shook your head, stepping past him into the hallway. “See you at two, Atsumu.”
He gave a small two-fingered salute, grin still in place. “Count on it.”
The door shut behind you with a soft click, leaving you with the lingering scent of coffee and the faint hum of laughter.
Back home, you let the shower run hot, the water easing the last of the dull ache behind your eyes. You closed your eyes and exhaled, flashes of the morning—Osamu’s sleepy drawl, Atsumu’s bright grin—curling through your mind.
By the time you stepped out and dressed, your hangover had faded, replaced by a quiet buzz of anticipation. You pulled on something comfortable but cute—soft fabric that hugged just right, casual enough to pretend you weren’t overthinking it, though you definitely were.
And as you checked the clock, realizing two wasn’t far off, you caught yourself smiling—nervous, excited, and maybe just a little curious about what a “solo day” with Atsumu Miya would really mean.
---
Atsumu was already waiting when you stepped outside, leaning against the railing like he’d been there for ages even though it wasn’t even two yet. His black t-shirt fit a little too well, sleeves snug around his arms, jeans comfortably worn.
The grin he gave you was instant and boyish. “There she is,” he said, straightening. “Been waitin’ all day for this.”
You raised a brow. “It’s been five hours since breakfast.”
“Exactly,” he shot back, falling into step beside you. “Five hours too long.”
You tried to hide your smile behind a scoff, but he caught it anyway, his laugh bright in the afternoon air.
The first stop was a small music shop tucked between a café and a bookstore, the kind with faded posters and a bell that jingled when you walked in. You wandered between aisles lined with vinyls and CDs, pointing out a few you both loved — and, to your surprise, realizing your playlists overlapped more than you thought.
Atsumu, of course, couldn’t resist being dramatic about it. He slipped on a pair of sample headphones, pressing play on a familiar track before mouthing along with exaggerated flair, one hand over his chest like he was performing for an arena.
You couldn’t help it — laughter bubbled out of you, bright and unrestrained.
The sound made him glance over, grin spreading slow and lazy. “That laugh,” he said, pulling off the headphones. “Gonna have to record that. Use it as motivation next time I run drills.”
“Or maybe don’t,” you said, cheeks warm.
He chuckled, tipping his head toward the door. “C’mon. You’re smilin’. I’m buyin’ you somethin’ sweet before you change your mind.”
That “something sweet” turned out to be ice cream from a shop down the block. You found a bench just outside, sunlight spilling over the both of you as you sat — closer than you usually would, knees brushing, the kind of closeness that made your heartbeat a little uneven.
Maybe it was the hangover fading, or maybe it was the newness of this whole “solo day” thing, but it felt… different. Softer.
You were halfway through your cone when Atsumu leaned in, eyes catching the corner of your mouth. “Hold still.”
Before you could ask why, his thumb brushed the side of your lip, slow and deliberate. He wiped away a small smear of melted ice cream — and didn’t move back right away.
Your breath hitched. For a moment, it felt like the world narrowed to just that — his hand near your mouth, his gaze steady on yours, the faint curve of a smile playing at his lips.
Then his grin turned wicked. “What?” he murmured. “Expectin’ somethin’ else?”
You blinked, heat flooding your face. “I—no! I just thought—”
“That I was gonna kiss ya?” he teased, voice dipping low, eyes glinting. “Maybe next time, if you ask nicely.”
You shoved his shoulder lightly, but the smile that pulled at your lips gave you away. He laughed — bright, easy, maybe a little smug — and leaned back, licking his cone with exaggerated innocence.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the laugh that slipped out, soft and a little shaky. He grinned like he’d won something—though what, exactly, you weren’t sure.
The two of you lingered on that bench a while longer, eating in comfortable quiet. The breeze was gentle, brushing through the trees, the sun warm against your shoulders. Every now and then, Atsumu’s knee would bump yours, casual at first—then not so casual. You didn’t move away, and neither did he.
When your cone was nothing but the last bite of wafer, you stood, brushing crumbs from your hands. “Walk it off?”
“Lead the way,” he said, tossing his napkin into the bin.
The park wasn’t big, but it was pretty—late afternoon light filtering through gold-tipped leaves, laughter from a playground somewhere in the distance. You fell into step side by side, your shoulders occasionally brushing.
For a few steps, there was only the quiet crunch of gravel beneath your shoes, the sound of wind brushing through the trees. Then his voice softened, stripped of the teasing edge he usually carried.
Atsumu kicked at a pebble, watching it skip down the path. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that first night—the note I gave you Friday, all that tension hanging in the air. I didn’t really know what I was doin’,” he admitted, voice quieter than usual. “Thought maybe I pushed too much. That you’d wake up Saturday morning, realize how messy it all was, and just… leave.”
You looked up at him, surprised by the quiet honesty in his tone.
“But you didn’t,” he said, a small, crooked smile tugging at his mouth. He then let out a breath, shoving his hands into his pockets before glancing sideways at you. “So,” he started again, a flicker of nerves sneaking into his grin, “’bout last night…”
You hummed, unsure where he was going.
“You okay with it? With… us?” His voice softened, losing all its usual playfulness. “I just wanna make sure you’re not overwhelmed. I know this is new—for all of us.”
You met his gaze, feeling that gentle pull again, the steadiness beneath his teasing exterior. “Yeah,” you said, the word coming out quieter than you meant. “It’s new. A lot, maybe. But it didn’t feel wrong.”
He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Good. ’Cause now it feels… better. Real. Like we’re actually buildin’ somethin’, not just messin’ around tryin’ to figure out what it means.”
You smiled, bumping his arm lightly. “Then we’re on the same page.”
Atsumu chuckled, low and genuine, the sound tugging at something deep inside you. “Guess that means I didn’t screw up too bad, huh?”
“Not yet,” you teased.
That earned a laugh, bright and warm. “Then I’ll keep tryin’ not to.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you shot back, nudging his shoulder lightly as you walked. “Otherwise I’d be scolding you for all the chaos you caused.”
He grinned, leaning closer, eyes glinting with mischief. “Chaos, huh? I prefer ‘creative influence.’ Makes the day more interesting.”
You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “Right. Very creative.”
“Hey,” he said, voice dipping just a little, playful and low, “I think you enjoy it almost as much as I do.”
You froze for a second, heat creeping up your neck, and he noticed, tilting his head like he’d just scored. “What? Me?” you said, trying to laugh it off, though your pulse had picked up.
“Yeah. You, smirking all innocent-like while knowing exactly what you’re doin’ to me,” he teased, stepping a fraction closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “It’s unfair, you know.”
“Oh, it’s unfair?” you challenged, arching a brow. “Should I stop then?”
His grin widened, slow and confident. “Stop?” He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s even possible.”
You bit your lip, a little flustered, caught in the easy rhythm between teasing and something warmer. The world felt smaller, just the two of you in this quiet stretch of the path.
“I think someone’s enjoying their solo day a little too much,” you murmured, voice low.
“Can you blame me?” He replied, leaning in just slightly, enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “You’re making it hard to… behave.”
You swallowed, pulse quickening at how close he was, at the warmth radiating off him. “Behave, huh?” you murmured back, voice low, teasing, but there was a hint of nerves threading through it.
“Yeah,” he said, leaning in just a fraction more, so close you could feel the faint brush of his arm against yours. “Keep my hands to myself, keep my thoughts in check… all that responsible adult stuff.”
You let out a soft, incredulous laugh, biting the inside of your cheek. “Sounds exhausting.”
“Tell me about it,” he replied, eyes narrowing just a touch, playful but darkening with something heavier beneath. “Especially when the person making it hard to behave is walking right beside you.”
Heat flared across your chest, and you stepped just slightly closer without thinking, drawn in by that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh? You think I’m doing it on purpose?”
He tilted his head, grin teasing and confident. “Maybe,” he said, letting the word hang between you. Then he added, voice dropping to a lower, warmer register, “Maybe I hope you are.”
You could feel your breath catch, the words sending a thrill up your spine. “You’re impossible,” you whispered, though there was no real irritation in it, only the fluttering of nerves and anticipation.
“Mm, yeah,” he said, leaning in just enough that the tip of his shoulder grazed yours again, the contact deliberate this time. “But you like it.”
You bit your lip, the heat in your cheeks spreading. “I might.” you admitted softly, almost involuntarily.
Atsumu’s grin widened, slow and satisfied, and he let out a low chuckle. “Good. Means we’re on the same page… or at least, the same side of mischief.”
You laughed, breathless, shaking your head slightly. “Careful. If you keep that up, I may actually start to enjoy this too much.”
“Is that a threat or a confession?” he asked, voice teasing but with a hint of something heavier, slower, almost possessive.
“Possibly both,” you replied, stepping closer so that the space between you felt charged, every brush of his arm and the sway of his body against yours sending sparks through you.
He let his gaze drop to your lips for a moment, then back up to your eyes, slow and deliberate. “I like both,” he said, voice low, playful, and intimate all at once. “Especially when it’s clear you’re enjoying it as much as I am.”
You swallowed hard, pulse quickening at how close he was, at the warmth radiating off him.
“C’mon,” Atsumu said, voice low and warm, grin tugging at his mouth. “Before I say somethin’ I shouldn’t.”
You laughed, though your heart was still racing. “That’s assuming you haven’t already.”
He huffed through his nose. “Fair point.”
The walk back stretched longer than it should’ve, filled with quiet laughter and stolen glances. Every brush of your arms felt deliberate—small sparks that made it hard to breathe.
By the time you reached your street, the sky was painted gold and pink. Atsumu slowed, hands in his pockets. “Guess that’s the end of our solo day, huh?”
“Guess so.”
“Tragic,” he said, tone playful but edged with something heavier. “Was kinda hopin’ it wouldn’t end yet.”
You smiled, trying to sound steady. “You’ll survive.”
“Not sure I will,” he murmured, stepping close enough that his shadow merged with yours. “You’ve got me all flustered. Gonna be hard to focus at all tomorrow.”
The warmth in his voice made your breath catch. By the time you reached your door, the air between you had thickened—soft with dusk, charged with everything left unsaid.
You turned, your back brushing the door as you fumbled for the key. Atsumu stopped just short of you, one hand braced against the doorframe above your shoulder, close enough that his scent and the faint heat of his skin curled around you.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. His eyes flicked from your face to your lips, then back again, and that teasing grin faltered into something quieter—something almost hesitant.
“Guess this is where I say goodnight,” he said softly.
You nodded, though neither of you moved. “Guess so.”
His gaze dipped once more, and before you could process it, he leaned in—just enough to press a quick, firm kiss to your lips. Warm. Surprising. Gone almost before it began.
He froze for a beat, breath catching before a quiet laugh escaped him—low, disbelieving. His hand came up to cover his face, fingers dragging down as color crept up his neck.
“God,” he muttered through his palm, voice rough and a little shaky. “You really should go inside before I do somethin’ stupid… like ask for another.”
You felt your lips curve, heart still racing, the air between you warm and charged. “Maybe I wouldn’t say no,” you murmured, half teasing, half honest.
That earned you a muffled groan from behind his hand. “You’re killin’ me,” he said, laughter tangled with something deeper. “Go. Before I lose the little bit of control I’ve got left.”
You smiled, stepping back to your door and turning the handle. “Goodnight, Atsumu.”
He peeked at you from between his fingers, grin soft and crooked. “Goodnight...”
The door clicked shut, leaving you pressed against it, pulse still thrumming, his laughter echoing faintly down the hall—and the ghost of that kiss still lingering on your lips.