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The sound of squeaking shoes on shining floors filled Suna's ears. The strong smell of chlorine and bitter smell of sweat mingling in the air made his nose scrunch up instinctively, before he relaxed and inhaled the scent that weirdly felt right.
It’s his last time, his last time to stand on the nationals’ stage before graduation. His last chance to win this with his high school team. He hasn’t forgotten what it was like to lose last year, and he’s holding that close to push, push and push towards their victory this year. He isn’t taking defeat as an answer.
Their team is still preparing, the squeaks in the air slowly dying down as teams around them finished matches or moved courts. The melancholy sound of rolling wheels reminded Suna of the past.
The sound of those who were defeated.
Suna stared for a short moment at the defeated, only to look away.
We will not be them today, or tomorrow.
He promised himself this. He promised Kita this before he left. He promised, stupidly did, Atsumu this, and for some reason that promise lies above the rest. The memory repeats in his head as he promises to their now captain and team setter that they will win. It ignites a fire in him, the biggest desire to snatch that victory from their opponent across the net.
It was a long practice, the time passed by way too fast without Suna even realising. The team slowly packed everything up, only to be stopped when Atsumu took the mop from one of the first years and announced that he would clean up, “You all did well and make sure to rest up. We have a practice match tomorrow.”
Osamu snorted and knocked shoulders with his twin, teasing him for being all soft for no reason. Atsumu ignored him with a roll of his eyes, instead focusing on cleaning the sweat off the gym floors.
Everyone obediently left, and by fifteen minutes, the gym was empty; save for Atsumu and Suna. Osamu ditched and left Atsumu to do all the cleaning by himself. Suna… He doesn’t even understand himself why he stuck around.
“Here, lemme help,” Suna grabbed a mop leaning against one of the four walls of the gym, knocking heads with Atsumu’s own mop before whizzing past him and cleaning a full length of the floor in seconds. Atsumu stared at him, bewildered, only to join in a moment later, the two running around laughing and screaming as they raced to see who would finish their half of the gym first.
Before leaving, the two showered and got dressed into dryer, more clean clothes. Suna couldn’t help but think about nationals coming up. It’s right around the corner, and thinking about it made their defeat at nationals last year hit him like an unexpected wave.
As if Atsumu could read his thoughts, he brought up the topic of nationals coming soon, and their defeat last year. Went on about how they were not going to lose this year, “We will beat those damned crows,” and so on. Suna zoned out at some point, as he didn’t want to think about last year, and really didn’t want to think about nationals this year, either. He just wanted to go home and tuck himself into bed.
But Atsumu was persistent. Atsumu is always persistent, so Suna had no choice but to listen to the words that his ears did pick up, and that’s the only thing he did.
Or so he wishes now that was all he did.
“I promise you... as I promised Kita, and myself, that we will win this year’s nationals. I’m not letting us lose again.” Suna’s words were low, slowly rolling off of his tongue and into Atsumu's own ears.
Atsumu was silent for a moment, staring while still midway through putting his sweats on. Suna didn’t realise what he had said until it was said, and his eyes widened in shock at the realization.
Shit.
Atsumu doesn’t mention it, instead opting to pulling his sweats up his slim, defined legs and packing up his belongings once fully dressed.
As they were both locking up the gym, and then walking towards the exit of their school, does Atsumu stop and grab Suna by the hand.
Hands so soft, but also rough and calloused from all of the hitting and blocking.
Suna looked back, staring right into the glowing orbs of Miya Atsumu and he forgot how to breathe for just a second, his vision blurring for just a second and his ears ringing, for just a second.
“I promise you, I won’t let us lose again,” Atsumu whispered, so softly, the ringing in Suna’s ears almost shutting it out.
Atsumu let go of his hand, and walked in the opposite direction to where Suna lived. Coldness begins to wrap around the spot that Atsumu’s fingers were just wrapped around mere seconds ago, so Suna wraps his own fingers around that same spot.
God, he really wished he didn’t say anything before.
Thinking about it now, Atsumu said it as if it were his fault that they lost last year. That his impulsive decision to do the quick move with Osamu was the wrong choice, even though Kita said himself that it wasn’t. Did he... blame himself this entire time? Suna’s throat closed up at the thought, so instead of thinking anymore about it, he decided to stop all together.
The team was gathered in a cluster as they got ready for their match of the day. Looking at one of the first-year middle blockers taping their fingers reminded Suna to do his own.
Ah, he almost forgot again.
It seemed someone else took notice of Suna’s continuous forgetting to tape his fingers. Warm, familiar long fingers catch Suna’s hand. They’re placed right at the same spot as that one night.
He whips his head around to stare into not so brightly shining orbs owned by Miya Atsumu, the lights above reflecting in the glass of his eyes. Suna freezes, and it’s like he forgets to breathe all over again, just like that one night, but this time his ears aren’t ringing.
This time, they block out everything around the both of them, and focus on the light breathing of his captain in front of him, his captain who currently has his fingers wrapped around his godforsaken wrist, and his captain who he may or may not have an unwanted crush on.
Suna’s hearing returns to normal as Atsumu speaks, voice soft compared to the noise around them. The squeak of shoes, the impact of volley balls, the chatting of their teammates and the beating of his heart lodged in his throat. They’re all so loud.
“Yer need help with that?” Atsumu nods at the sports tape clenched in Suna’s hand so, so tightly. Suna loosens his grip at the realisation, sending Atsumu an expression at the weird, out of the blue request.
“Eh, nah.” But as always, Atsumu is persistent. He grabs the tape from Suna’s nimble fingers and holds it out of his reach.
The fingers wrapped around Suna’s wrist retreat and push Suna down onto the bench behind him. Suna stares up at his captain in annoyance, but in awe all at the same time.
The lights behind him are making him glow, making the devil in front of him look like an angel, the horns on his head being covered by a makeshift halo. He looks.. beautiful, dare Suna think let alone say.
“What was that?” Atsumu can’t hear, it’s too loud around him but he definitely saw Suna’s lips move to shape a word.
Great, Suna thinks. His brain took his whole 'no more thinking!’ decision before way too seriously, to the point that he really just called Atsumu beautiful out loud.
“It’s nothing.” Suna murmurs, but Atsumu doesn’t bother to listen anyway. Instead, he crouches down to come eye level with Suna’s right hand and grabs his wrist. Suna's breath hitches the slightest bit as Atsumu slowly, and carefully, wraps the white tape around his index and middle finger.
Atsumu’s breath pans across the expanse of skin on the back of Suna’s hand, causing goose bumps to rise along the area. He tenderly tapes Suna’s fingers, oh so gentle as if he were treating a bird’s broken wing. In this moment, the middle blocker really learnt what it felt like to not breathe.
It’s like oxygen ceased to exist. Suna forgot what breathing was all together. He was back at square one. Learning to live again. Will he have to learn to block all over again? Receive? Spike? He doesn’t know, but he sure as hell knows that the golden amber eyes below him are of those of an angel. How dare he mistake this being as a demon.
The glowing of light behind Atsumu hasn’t stopped, the tightening of tape around Suna’s fingers hasn’t stopped, and the light fanning of Atsumu’s breath against his hand hasn’t stopped, either. And if Suna were to be completely honest, he doesn’t want this to ever stop.
But it stops, and Suna remembers how to breathe. He inhales so deeply, he picks up the minty smell of his crush in front of him. He’s so close that he can smell him, almost taste him. Suna’s body instinctively leans in for a moment, loses control for a second before he regains it and quickly leans away from Atsumu.
Suna's sandy eyes lock with amber, and they stare. Atsumu doesn’t move. His large hands are cupping around Suna’s one hand as if it were a kitten. And then he leans in. Atsumu leans in and Suna can feel the brush of lips against the rough skin of his knuckles, each finger showered in affection from lips owned by Miya Atsumu.
Suna wants to scream, to run away, to die, to kiss him. He doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he sits and he stares, nothing around them mattering anymore. It’s a blur. Everything is white. Maybe he did die. Maybe Suna has ascended to heaven and is being graced by an angel that looks far too much like the boy he is helplessly crushing on back on Earth.
Atsumu revives him by nudging his nose in the crook between his index and middle finger, like a kitten asking its owner to pet them. And that’s what Suna does. His hand which is free and not being tormented by Miya Atsumu, rises up and falls flat onto his head. His hair is soft, conditioned and well kept. Suna’s heart is beating fast, too fast. He notices the widening of Atsumu’s eyes, the reddening of his ears and cheeks. All his confidence easily dispersed by a single hand in his hair, scratching at his scalp. He leans into the touch, his face contorted in an expression of a purring cat. Suna’s heart leaps from his chest, into his throat and out of his mouth.
“I like you, ‘tsumu.” Suna confesses. Accidentally.
It takes a minute for Atsumu to fully register his words; to react. It takes a minute for Suna to even realise what the hell is happening. Atsumu’s eyes snap open, his golden orbs staring straight into Suna’s flat, sandy ones. His grip tightens around his hand, Suna realising then that Atsumu was still holding his hand that wasn’t currently tangled in his golden locks.
“What—did you jus’ say?” Atsumu breathes out like a dream, everything after that sudden confession moving in slow motion.
Suna doesn’t know what to do. For a moment, he seriously considers running away from whatever this is, from his promises, from the embarrassment and upcoming rejection. He didn’t mean to confess. He was too caught up in the feeling of being on cloud nine, of having Atsumu’s hair slide perfectly between his fingers, that his brain malfunctioned, forgot that it needed a heart to continue living so instead gave it to Atsumu who is holding his heart in his hands right now, looking at him with the most quizzical look and asking “What’s this?” before eating it right in front of him.
Suna wants to laugh. He also wants to cry.
Suna decides to do what he knows best, and tries to avoid whatever words his mouth just threw out and acts oblivious to avoid being hurt. To avoid anything right now that could affect his playing in the upcoming match.
“N-nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
“Liar,” Atsumu snarls, a little too aggressively, yanking on the hand still in his grip. Suna doesn’t want to deal with this right now, but he also knows that if he doesn’t, it’ll be on the back of his mind for the whole match, and it will be all of his fault if they end up losing.
“Listen, Atsumu, please, please, just keep it to yourself—It’s stupid, I know. Just, shut up.” He says, even though Atsumu hasn’t even said anything. Suna’s fingers begin to untangle from the blond strands atop Atsumu’s scalp, pulling away from him. Atsumu has other plans, though.
He pulls on Suna’s hand, halting him in his attempt to escape. Atsumu pushes himself up from the crouching position he put himself in on the floor, high enough for his lips to meet Suna’s. Everything freezes in that moment. The sounds around them cease to exist, and Suna doesn’t dare to move—their mouths are attached, but unmoving. Suna’s eyes are wide, while Atsumu’s are closed as he pecks him once. The stop motion continues when Atsumu pulls away, his eyes filled with… something unrecognizable to Suna, but he assumes it’s some subtype of determination.
“After we win this match, I’m taking you out on a date." Is the last thing Atsumu promises, before he turns around and walks back to the rest of the team to be their captain and do captain things. Suna remains seated, every organ in his body dancing and singing so loudly that his ears feel as if they’re ruptured.
Miya Atsumu is so incredibly persistent, and Suna couldn't find it in him to hate it.