Chapter Text
“So tell me again, why Miya invited you to this party?“
You’ve mulled over the same question all day, yet all you can say is, “I don’t know. He just did.”
“Hm,” Kay hums, unconvinced, watching you tear apart your closet for something to wear. “I’m surprised you’re going. You don’t even like parties.”
“Yeah,” you mutter, listening, but not really.
It’s hard to feel guilty when she hasn’t stopped probing you for answers since she walked through your front door with a duffel bag full of makeup and clothes. One would think she’s going on a week-long trip with how bulky and heavy it is—not the trashy frat party she insisted on helping you get ready for.
Although, you wouldn’t consider interrogating helping .
All it accomplishes is adding to your anxiety and frustration with how you seemingly have so many clothes but nothing that looks good , and it doesn’t help how your wardrobe—just isn’t—cooperating—
You huff a grunt of annoyance, throwing another dress into the growing pile on your bedroom floor, something you’ll regret cleaning up later. Currently, though, you can’t be bothered.
“Why don’t you wear jeans?” Kay offers, thankfully changing the subject. “It’s cold out.”
“Because…” because you want to impress Atsumu, if only to have a little more appeal than the quiet nerd that sits in the back of the class—to look like someone he’d potentially take an interest in. And the few decent pairs of jeans you own are worn and old, nothing remotely noteworthy. “I don’t have any that look nice.”
Kay's eyes soften. “Well, you can always try the ones that I brought.”
She tosses a pair at you from the duffel bag along with a sweater.
“Put those on.”
For once, you don’t grumble about how bossy she is and quietly do as she says.
Before you leave, you catch Kay stuffing two square foil packets into your handbag, and heat travels to your face.
“Condoms?” you squeak, feeling your heart begin to pound, and why, you have no idea—it’s not as if you have any plans on using them tonight.
“Yeah,” Kay shrugs, smiling. “Just in case. You know, safe sex and all.”
Which, okay, yes, you agree.
You’re all for being prepared, but this is—
Unnecessary.
Because you won’t need them, though, you don’t say anything as she zips up your bag and hands it to you. Just that you’ll know they’re there all night, like some kind of presumptuous secret.
One that you know Atsumu has no intention of getting in on—at least, you think, not with the in-person version of you.
So, no, you won’t need them.
Still, they’re there.
You know how they say, “you at least have to try it once.”
Well, you think you’d be okay never trying this again.
You can probably count on one hand the number of parties you’ve been to: that meager thing in the dorms freshman year where a flask of something foul-smelling made its way around the room or when Kay’s old roommate decided to invite the Biology club over for New Year’s.
This is entirely different from those times.
Better? Worse? You’re unsure.
It isn’t something small like the others.
Practically a quarter of the student body is there (or more, you can’t tell), all of them eager to glimpse the most popular fraternity on campus if only to say that they’ve been. Because it’s too loud and crowded and it reminds you why you don’t go to parties.
For the most part, you follow Kay and her friends around until Atsumu finds you trying to squeeze past a couple of football players to get to the coolers.
“Need help?”
“Oh,” you smile, “sure. Just a soda.”
You’d expected him to say hi and disappear somewhere into the party again, which would evidently force you to find Kay. To your surprise, however, he doesn’t leave your side when he introduces you to a few of his friends, and your chest does this funny thing when he takes your hand and steers you through the crowd to the kitchen.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, shuffling through the pile of pizza boxes on the counter that you’re too hesitant to eat out of.
“Mm, no. I’m good.”
“Are you sure? I can get you something else.”
“Do you have something else?”
He closes the cupboard he was digging in to lean against the counter. “No, but I can order something.”
“Right now?” you laugh, the sound drowned out by the sound of the base coming from the living room.
“Yeah,” he smiles. “Why not?”
“That’s—just…”
You fight a reluctant, hopeful smile, trying not to get ahead of yourself. Obviously, he’s only asking to be polite.
Obviously.
But right now, you don’t care about why . No, you allow yourself to feel giddy over a boy who’s determined to find you something to eat that isn’t cold (and possibly, germ-infested) pizza or string cheese he finds in the middle fridge drawer. Allow yourself to giggle and let him show you around the house until you come to a smaller room that isn’t so full of people.
A few guys are sitting on the couch playing a game on the TV, one of them you recognize as Bokuto from class, and he asks Atsumu if he wants to play.
Atsumu looks down at you. “Have you ever played?”
You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Um, no…”
“Do you want to?”
“Alright,” your nod is shy.
His grin is a flash of perfect teeth. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
You don’t anticipate how he pulls you into his lap when there’s no more room on the couch, and you release a startled gasp.
“Oh, shit, sorry,” he says, eyes darting across your face. “Is this okay? I can get another chair—”
“No, I—It’s okay.”
It is.
Okay, that is.
Except, now, you can’t focus on anything else, aside from his large hands (calloused and warm) encasing yours to show you the buttons on the controller and how he keeps whispering the combo moves into your ear.
It’s distracting, and you think you’re losing.
Actually, you know you are because your thumbs haven’t moved on the joysticks for several minutes, and your character goes sailing off the arena over and over again.
Atsumu finally takes over for you, laughing when Bokuto says something about cheating. You hardly notice with Atsumu's hands resting in your lap, his chin resting on your shoulder to see the TV—you can’t be bothered with the game in any capacity, not with how warm and solid he is against your back.
The feeling is heady, dizzying. It makes the world around you feel blurred around the edges even though you’ve had nothing to drink besides soda and water.
Part of you rationalizes that Atsumu is only doing any of this—the circling of his thumb on your thigh and the subtle way he nuzzles into your neck—because he’s working on his third bottle of beer. That there’s a vast difference between him being polite and him practically cuddling with you in front of his friends, almost as if he—
As if—well.
There’s no way he’s flirting with you, right?
No.
Yet, you think about those condoms burning a hole through your handbag, and—
“Hey, you wanna play again?” he mumbles, pushing up your glasses that slipped down your nose. “I’ll help you this time.”
“You can’t help your girl. That’s cheating,” someone says. Hinata, you think, though it takes your brain thirty seconds to reboot and remember his name.
His girl.
Atsumu doesn’t correct him, either. In fact, you feel him shrug against your back before starting up the next match.
Your heartbeat doesn’t slow, and you’re worried it might beat out of your chest.
You glance at Atsumu over your shoulder. “Hey, I’ll be right back.”
You’re not hiding.
You just need a minute to yourself.
Maybe several until the heat in your face goes away, and you crack open the window above the toilet—not that it helps because the house feels like a furnace.
For a moment, you stand there, running your hands under cold water with the small hope that it’ll help cool you off. It does, to some extent.
But for the first time all night, you feel like you can breathe away from all the people and the loud music.
And after your fingers feel thoroughly chilled to the bone, you make a decision. You’re going to go back to the party and have fun and—and—
And you won’t stress about whether every little thing Atsumu says or does is intentional—that your crush might actually be flirting with you, and you’re going to blow it hiding in some cold, dark bathroom.
You slip out of the bathroom, only for Kay to stumble into you.
“There you are,” she slurs. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Are you drunk?” you laugh, straightening her shirt for her. “Where are your friends?”
“Playing games. Hey, I have a secret.”
“Okay…”
“I gave him your number since you wouldn’t do anything about it.”
This weird, choked sound escapes your throat. “You what? Who?”
“Miya,” she says, rolling her eyes.
All the anxiety you managed to rid of from that morning, comes crashing down on you like a tidal wave.
It’s a pin-drop feeling, sharp and bruising in its intensity. You swear your vision whites out for a second. You can’t hear above this high-pitched buzzing in your ears, and your stomach turns over and over.
Little does Kay know, Atsumu has always had your number since that day so many weeks ago. The text he sent you this morning is a verification of that.
It’s just that now he’s aware that phone-you is also the girl who quietly sits a few rows behind him in Calculus every Tuesday and Friday. The same girl who sat beside him in a coffee shop for hours last week, who he bought game tickets for, who he’s been hanging out with all night.
Now he…he—
The guy who you have a big fat crush on knows .
This time, you whisper, “why would you do that?”
“Because he’s obviously into you. Why not?”
Poor oblivious Kay isn’t aware of how you’re spiraling inside, and yet, it’s not her fault. This is a hole you dug yourself.
“No, he’s not—you…” your throat constricts. “You don’t understand. He’s not interested.”
You’ve never felt this embarrassed before, not that you can remember anyway. Your lip trembles and your body feels so stiff with actual fear .
What if he tells everyone? What if he’s currently laughing with all his friends or showing them the pictures and texts you sent? You don’t think you’d be able to go back and pretend like you don’t know…how humiliating.
Why had you given him your number?
You shouldn’t have. It should have stayed within the lines of money and phone calls. At least it would’ve been safer that way…
“You know what?” you lean away from the wall. It’s honestly a miracle that you manage to stay upright with how all the blood in your body seems to rush to your ears. “I think I’m going to head home.”
“Why? Are you alright?”
You swallow. “Yeah, I think I’m tired. It’s late.”
“O-okay. Text me when you make it home.”
You push through the crowd on shaky legs and leave.