“I wasn’t asking for your opinion. I want to date him, he’s cute,” you shrug. After a few seconds of silence, you peek over at him. His eyes were narrowed, and his brows furrowed. Earlier, when you were catching up, you mentioned you were going on a date with a producer from the company that serializes your manga, and you even showed him a picture of the guy who you thought looked cute. The guy asked you out after seeing you in the office when you visited last, and he was kind of your type, so why not? You couldn’t think of any reasons why you shouldn’t go on a date with him, but Atsumu seemed like he had plenty.

“That’s what you said about your ex—I forgot his name already,” Atsumu lolls his head, “And where is he now?” he gives you a pointed look.

You purse your lips. That one kinda stung. Yes, your single-ness is very apparent. “‘Tsum,” was the only thing you said. The way you said his name was laced with unintentional hurt.

Atsumu’s face softens, “I’m sorry, sweets.” That damned nickname, you hated how your insides turned. It was probably because you hadn’t heard him call you that for a while. “Not sorry about calling his face bullshit though. You can do better. Said that about the last one too, you know.”

Oh, you know. Atsumu never got along with any of the guys you dated. As few and far between as that happens.

“Sorry not everyone has a face with a net worth of over five billion yen,” you deadpan. You were over your ex-boyfriend, clearly, but you weren’t going to deny that your close friendship with Atsumu contributed to your past relationship not working out. That’s why you and Atsumu were catching up now, since you kept your distance from him for months to please your ex. Well, you do it every time you get into a serious relationship. Atsumu was always a point of insecurity for your ex-boyfriends, even though you reassured them that your relationship with Atsumu was strictly platonic.

You blame it on Atsumu’s untrustworthy face. Okay, and his fame. So there are cons of being associated with the drummer of a world-famous band, who models and does a lot of brand endorsements. Shockingly.

“You know you just indirectly complimented me, right?” Atsumu smirks, elbow perched on the edge of the couch.

Ugh. You did.

“Shut up, ‘Tsum. Don’t make me regret spending my rare free time with you. You want us to fight right now? I’ll kick you out,” you say. Completely disregarding the manga you were trying to read now. The plot wasn’t registering in your brain anyway.

“Still as hotheaded as ever.” Atsumu raises both brows at you.

“Still a big fat jerk as ever.” Your eyes slit.

“Just the way you like it, sweets.” A ghost of a smile on his lips. You felt your blood pressure rising. Only Atsumu could tick you off like this.

You puff your cheeks. What did your friend, Fumika, say about regulating your emotions? Breathing exercises. Count from one to twenty.

One… Two… Three…

“We’re too old to be arguing like we’re still teens.” Your shoulders slump. There you go.

Atsumu scoots over, closer to you, until your shoulders are touching. “I kinda missed arguing with you, sweets,” he says as he relaxes on your side. You let him lean his body weight on you.

“Hm,” you just hum in acknowledgement. You force yourself to relax. You were used to this, you and Atsumu have always been comfortable with each other. A little physical touch isn’t going to kill you. You reach for your manga again and start looking for the page you left off.

“Hey,” Atsumu calls for your attention. Shifting in his position so he could lower your manga. Your eyes lock, so you were left to stare into his warm brown eyes. Yeah, these were the eyes that scam people. “I’m just looking out for you, okay.”

You breathe in, “I know.” You relent and give him a small smile, “I kinda missed your annoying ass too,” you push two fingers on his forehead jokingly.

“My ass is also worth over five billion yen, by the way.” Atsumu gives you a full-blown smile, and you reward him with a laugh.

Unfortunately, Atsumu became one of the few people you treasured. You never would have guessed that would happen when you first met him.

Let’s go back in time for a bit.

It was your second year at Inarizaki, and you wanted to spice up your life so it wouldn’t revolve solely around your sketch pad and Procreate. Your friends had been concerned that you would graduate from high school without even experiencing a crush on a schoolmate. You kept brushing them off for that past year because you were content with fawning over fictional characters rather than real people. Until one of your friends, Momoho—who liked discovering underground bands—pulled you into watching a performance at the cultural festival by a rookie band called Ikarus or something, you couldn’t exactly remember, but half of the members of the band went to Inarizaki, which was how they were allowed to play in the first place.

That was when your gaze landed on Suna Rintarou, charismatically playing the electric guitar up on the stage, and for the first time, you thought you had developed a crush. Momoho caught you staring and gleefully told you his name. Luckily, he was one of the said band members who went to Inarizaki, apparently from Class 2-1. You noticed him more, shocker, you genuinely couldn’t be bothered by others then. Yet, you noticed him, from across the hallway, the cafeteria, or the field when you had PE class, when his class luckily had the same time slot as yours.

You were glad to have some inspiration. Some days, you find yourself sketching him from afar, which you admit is kind of creepy since he didn’t know you, but it wasn’t like he would ever find out. You had zero plans of ever taking this infatuation further than what it is—infatuation.

“Volleyball is starting,” your friend Momoho says, the white streaks on her cheek that mirror the paint on yours bunching up as she grins and pulls on your arm, “I heard a certain guitarist from Class 2-1 is playing,” she drags in a teasing tone.

“We’re playing against them?” You hadn’t checked the schedule of the games for the sports festival. 

“Nah, they’re playing against Class 2-2. We lost to 2-2 earlier. Stop camping in the classroom,” she scolds you, shaking her head. Momoho pulls harder on your arm, “The twins are playing on opposite teams, so it’ll be fun to see them compete against each other.”

You relent and stand, tucking your tablet (which you were watching a show on) inside your bag, “The twins?”

“Y’know, the Miya twins, Atsumu from 2-2 and Osamu from 2-1, you-know-who’s class,” Momoho says like you were already supposed to know. The name was familiar, something you’ve heard before, probably, but couldn’t recall well. You try your hardest to remember, maybe an offhand mention from Momoho and your other friends before.

“Atsumu is Suna’s bandmate,” Momoho urges again. You shush her because she mentioned the name of your silly little crush. You look around the room to your other classmates who didn’t want to wander around, only two others aside from you.

Once you’ve recovered from your alertness, you turn back to her, “I don’t remember,” you say sheepishly.

“Ah, whatever, they’re just known around ‘cause they’re athletic and attractive. So let’s go! Fumika’s there already,” Momoho successfully pulls you along her stride.

You let yourself get dragged along. You scolded Momoho a few times for rushing down the staircase, but soon enough, you guys arrived at the main gym. It was crowded since for the sports festival, the gym floor was divided into sections, with volleyball games in the middle, basketball to the right, and badminton to the left.

There were classes surrounding the games, each shouting their cheers and wearing their custom class shirts like the ones you were wearing now. You and Momoho scuffle through the crowd watching the volleyball game to find your friend, Fumika, and other classmates.

You waved at your friends once you saw them, sitting on the hardwood floor. Their attention was captured by the game in front, so after greeting each other, they were once more cheering alongside the other people watching. You take a good look at the game yourself, and your eyes are immediately drawn to Suna Rintarou. 

But wait, “Who are you guys cheering for?” you ask Fumika.

“The Miyas,” Fumika squeals when a familiar-looking grey-haired guy serves. That doesn’t make sense. Weren’t the twins on separate teams? How were they cheering them both on?

You tilt your head in confusion. You look at Momoho, and she takes your confusion as a sign to point out the said players (though that wasn’t exactly what you were confused about), “That’s them,” she points at the guy with dyed gray hair who just served on the side you were sitting on and on the other end of the court, a similar-looking guy with blonde hair. Instant recognition flashed before you. You remembered their faces but didn’t know their names. They hung out with Suna a lot.

You just nodded along, but you were also enraptured by the game, more so Suna, who skillfully played the game. You didn’t know a lot about volleyball, but you did know he looked good playing it. Hot and good reflexes? Practically your dream guy.

A whistle blows, and you watch from across as one of the Miya twins—you don’t know which one—is about to serve. It’s the blonde one. Was his name Osamu? Or Asamu? Whatever, it didn’t matter. Your eyes flit in front of you, where the grey-haired twin was in a receiving position (from what you know of). Your eyes gaze back at the blonde one. You watch as the guy tosses the ball and then hits it. Hard. Your eyes follow the ball. The grey-haired twin was in the perfect position to receive it, but no—it slid off.

Your eyes widen. It was coming at you.

You hear your friends squeal.

Then— smack.

A ball landed on your cheekbone. Pretty hard, you’d like to add.

Ouch.

“That girl got hit on the face!” An unfamiliar voice called out, likely another spectator.

Yeah, you noticed.

“Oh my god, you got hit on the face!” You hear Momoho exclaim from your side. Fumika and the others were also fussing and looming over you. Oh God, you hoped they didn’t stop the game for this. You hated getting unnecessary attention.

“Atsumu why’d you hit so hard?!” You hear a shout clearly, even though it’s loud in the gymnasium. Or was that the ringing in your head?

“Why do you suck at receiving?!” Another voice replied.

You think you were feeling lightheaded, your head hung low. Who would smack a ball that hard at a sports fest? Someone with monster strength? No one needs to be that competitive during a sports fest. There was still a slight ringing in your ear. You raised your arm to massage your face to ease the pain. It was not working.

“Sorry ‘bout that. You good?” Someone was standing in front of you. Someone male. You didn’t know who. Only their shoes were in your field of vision.

You were in the process of nodding—you think. When something drips onto your lap. Blood. Your nose was bleeding.

“Oh my god, your nose is bleeding!” Momoho exclaims from your side again. You loved your friend, you do, but the exclamation entered in your ear and is bouncing off the walls of your brain, aka it hurt.

You look up at her, “I’m fine.” You don’t think you look convincing right now, with blood running down your nose.

“Oh shit.” The person in front of you exclaimed. That was when you finally looked at the guy. You blink. It was one of the Miya twins, the blonde one.

“Are you alright?” A teacher stepped in. “Oh dear,” he said when he saw you. He fumbled with his pockets and handed you a handkerchief that you took with gratitude. You press the cloth to your face.

“I’m alright,” you try to say. Then, finally attempting to stand up, from your side, Momoho supports you. “I’ll just go to the infirmary.” Acting too casual about this.

“I can come with you,” Momoho volunteers, but then the teacher speaks over her.

“Miya, take Miss—sorry, what’s your name, dear?” The teacher turned his attention to you. 

You say your name, distractedly, focusing all too hard on not looking around you. This was so embarrassing. You look at the blonde Miya, who was sheepishly scratching the back of his head.

“Take her to the clinic, Miya,” the teacher says to the blonde, scratching his head. He was probably the blonde Miya’s class advisor.

The blonde Miya looks back at the game regrettably. You don’t think he wants to leave, but they were already starting up again without him. He sighs, then looks at you, “Okay.”

You feel your eye twitch. Was it just you being overtly sensitive right now, or was that kind of rude? You look at Momoho, who has her eyes wide, looking curiously at the blonde and then back at you. You did not want to know what was going through her head.

With nothing to say, you just bow to the teacher, then tell your friends you’ll see them later. You still have the now-damp cloth clutched to your face. You turn on your heels and start walking towards the exit. You need a change of clothes too. Some blood dripped onto your shorts.

“Hey. Sorry for that again.” A male says beside you. You almost jump, forgetting that the blonde Miya was following you.

“It’s alright,” you nod. Then try to walk faster, he still kept up to pace with you. He was Suna’s friend, but you knew nothing about him, and your social skills were trash. This was killing you. The Miya dude wasn’t keen on making conversation either. Complete silence it is.

“You can go back to your game,” you say, halfway through your trek to the clinic. This wasn’t such a bad situation to be in. Air conditioning and a nice bed would greet you. Yeah, beats watching people smack a ball.

“Really?” the Miya guy says, not against the idea.

Your eye twitches again. You don’t like this guy, you think. His vibes were off. You nod, taking one last look at him. You hoped your annoyance wasn’t obvious. It’s not like he had any obligation to you. It was just an accident.

“Okay, see ya,” he gives a sleazy smile, stopping in his tracks, and waving before running back.

You stop and look in his direction. You don’t know what to make of him. That was definitely rude.

“And he just left you?” Momoho whisper-shouts when you tell her about what happened a week later during lunch break. You were lining up for food in the cafeteria when she asked about what happened last week when you went to the infirmary, since you just went home early after you got cleared and sent a quick message in your group chat saying you were all good.

You shrug, “He didn’t really have to come with me anyway. I was fine on my own—I want that, please,” you say while pointing at the cafeteria lady to the soup you wanted.

“Still, the gentlemanly thing to do would be to stick with you until you get to the clinic, at least. What if you passed out? This knocks down Atsumu’s attractive points, tsk,” Momoho scowls.

That was one more thing, you finally learned his name. Not Osamu or Asumu. Atsumu. Osamu was the grey-haired one.

You shrug then pulled out your wallet to pay for your food, “No harm done.” You thank the cafeteria lady when she hands you your food.

“Would you be able to tolerate him once you date you-know-who?” Momoho wiggles her brows at you before paying for her own meal.

“I’m not going to date anyone,” you glare at her for the obvious teasing.

You turn around, holding your tray, and collide with another person. “Ah!” you exclaim, trying to save your soup, but it was too late. Half of the soup soaked into the shirt of the person you collided with. Why were you such a social disaster? “I’m so sorry–”

“Ah, shit,” your victim had reached to touch the now-wet patch of his uniform.

You looked up and were met with the familiar warm brown hues. Just your luck, it was Miya Atsumu.

“Just your lucky day, dude,” the guy beside him laughed. You turn your gaze and realize late that it was Suna Rintarou of all people. This was the closest you’ve ever been to him. Of course, it would be when you were least prepared (not like you were preparing to approach him or what, but still).

You turn your gaze back to Atsumu, who had his eyes squinted in annoyance at you, “Watch out next time, would you?” He didn’t seem to recognize you.

“Sorry,” you said meekly. In situations like these, it would be better to back down quietly and move on.

“Hey, you look familiar,” a new voice says, pointing at you. It was Osamu. Oh dear. “You’re the nosebleed girl!” Osamu laughed, then stopped himself, “Wait, sorry that wasn’t funny. I’m laughing at Atsumu. This is totally his karma, thanks.”

You purse your lips at the reminder. 

“Ah,” Atsumu squints his eyes at you, for a different reason now, trying to remember you.

“Sorry again,” you bow your head and kick Momoho’s leg lightly as a silent way to tell her you guys should go. She was just quietly gawking at the situation. You think it’s best to look ahead and get as far away as you can.

Once you guys got far enough and found a table of your own, Momoho looks over your shoulder as she says, “Is it just me or Miya Atsumu looked back at you?”

“No. You’re seeing things,” you settle down in your seat.

Your encounters with Miya Atsumu for the next weeks kept happening—well, you wouldn’t exactly call it “encounters” since it was just seconds of your day that he happened to be present in and lock eyes with you. Oddly. You keep bumping into him on the staircase. Once, even crossed paths while trying to buy boxed juice in the vending machine. Even in the teacher’s lounge, when you submitted your classmates’ coursework for English Communication II as the beadle for the said subject, Atsumu was in the middle of talking to your teacher.

You don’t know what to think of it. You don’t even know if Atsumu notices that this kept happening.

You shake your head. Must just be a coincidence, your mind’s just making you lean more into it, which was why it seems so prominent in your point of view. Yeah, that makes more sense.

You were sitting outside your classroom, sitting on the bench. You were feeling stuffy inside, and you didn’t want to go to the cafeteria for lunch break, so you decided to just stay and draw.

Loud chatter was heard from the staircase. Your eyes widened when you saw it was Suna Rintarou’s group, including Miya Atsumu. You were reminded of your unfinished drawing of Suna in your sketchbook, so you turn to the page you left off. Maybe this was the chance for you to finish it while you were here. Ah, you couldn’t see him properly from your sitting position, though. You stand and lean on one of the walls. Now you had the perfect view of him, but you still had to be subtle.

The first few minutes were fine, quite calming actually, and then you heard fighting from the staircase, so you looked over to see that the Miya Twins were having an argument. You couldn’t hear them clearly, but it was about…feet sizes? That could only explain why they were missing one of their shoes. Suna had his phone out and filmed as Osamu took Atsumu’s shoe off the floor and threw it across the hallway. You watch as the said shoe lands near you. 

Atsumu cursed Osamu and ran after his shoe. He was stumbling across the way, and you weren’t prepared as his shoulders bumped into you. The impact made you drop your sketch book—just as Atsumu bends down to pick up his shoe.

Your eyes widen as you kneel to get your sketch book, blatantly displaying your drawing of Suna, but Atsumu’s eyes were faster.

He looks at the drawing well. The image of his friend is clear and well-drawn. Then at you. “Hey, isn’t this S—” you panic and cover his mouth with your hand and shake your head furiously, eyes wide with warning.

Once you were sure he wasn’t going to continue his sentence, you let go of him and quickly picked up and closed your sketch book.

“So you have emotions after all.” Atsumu still hadn’t left.

“Excuse me?” You stand up and look at the blonde with your brows raised. “Your face is usually always like this,” Atsumu imitates your supposed usual expression, his face flat and strait-laced, “When I see you.”

Your brows furrow. Acknowledgement of the fact that he recognises you aside, this was strangely ticking you off.

“Hey—Uh, I actually forgot your name.” Atsumu continues to talk.

“Me too. Who are you again?” you pretend not to remember his name.

“Atsumu, how about you?” he just grins. Finding the situation amusing. You don’t think he believes you don’t know his name. “You’ve spilt soup on my shirt, and I’ve made your nose bleed, I think I deserve to know your name.”

You tell him your name, finding no reason not to, “Can you, uh, not mention that?”

“What?” Atsumu says, “That you spilt soup on my shirt or your crush on Su—”

Your eyes widen again, and you slap a hand to his face, “Stop!” You glance to the side, where his friends were, and there, they were already staring at you two. You don’t think they can hear your conversation from here, but still.

Atsumu grabs your wrist to take your hand off his mouth, then proceeds to say the most baffling words ever, “And here I thought you liked me.”

“Excuse me?” You look at him with offence.

“You kept looking at me whenever we’re at the same area.” Atsumu points to himself while putting on his shoe. “No, I do not.” You cross your arms, hugging your sketch book close to you.

“I’m pretty sure you did.” Atsumu self-assuredly looked down at you. “I was looking beside you.” You cock your head to the side, to his friends’ direction.

“I know that now. But really? You have bad taste.” Atsumu takes a quick once-over at his friends who were looking at him. He only put out a hand, signaling to wait on him. His previous annoyance with Osamu dissipated.

“And liking you would mean I have exquisite taste?” You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Sure.” He gives you an infuriating grin.

“We don’t know each other. Let’s not.” You sigh.

“I know your name. You know mine. Seems like we know each other.” You think Atsumu was just being a menace on purpose. “Your friends are waiting.” Please leave me alone. You were already very embarrassed.

“Hm. I’ll go then,” Atsumu flashed you one last teasing grin like you two shared a secret. Oh, you hoped with every fiber of your being that he would keep your crush on Suna a secret. You hope he would forget about you entirely.

Yet, since then, Miya Atsumu has never forgotten you again. But you didn’t know that.

You managed to survive the rest of your second year without any big alterations to your routine, and most importantly, no revealing of your embarrassing crush on Suna Rintarou. There was only one weird thing. Miya Atsumu kept waving at you whenever you saw each other. It shouldn’t be weird. It was normal human interaction. But even Momoho noticed it and asked when you got “friendly” with Miya Atsumu, which you answered with the truth—never.

In your third year and final semester in Inarizaki, you were faced with a responsibility, to Miya Atsumu of all people. 

You were still the beadle for your English Communication class in your third year, so while you were dropping off your class work, your teacher stopped you.

“Here’s who I was talking about. She’s great in this subject. Dear, would you mind helping someone review for the college entrance exams?” she said. Your eyes lock with Miya Atsumu, standing in front of the teacher, who gives you a raised brow. “This is Miya Atsumu.”

“We know each other,” you say. Placing the papers you brought on her desk.

The teacher’s eyes brightened, clapping as she said, “Really? That’s great then! Would you mind sparing some time helping him review?”

“I…” you were about to say no. You were. And then you meet eyes with Atsumu again.

“She would love to!” Atsumu answers for you, looking at you expectantly. The teacher looked at him weirdly, then back to you for confirmation. You only sighed and nodded.

Thus began your weekly study sessions with Miya Atsumu. You had no idea why your life kept trying to tangle with Miya Atsumu, and you have no idea why you keep letting it happen. To be completely fair to him, he actually listened to you when you were teaching, but whenever you guys had breaks, he would drift off topic.

“Can you draw me?” Atsumu strikes a pose. Head tucked in the crevice of his palm, his elbow leaned on the table. His dyed blonde hair fell over his eyes, and you were itching to pull it aside for him. How was he not bothered by something blocking his field of vision? It was none of your business, though.

“Top five things I hear the most.” You roll your eyes playfully. He was a sight to see. You can acknowledge someone’s attractiveness without being attracted to him. As you and other people around you have observed, Miya Atsumu’s face was an asset.

“Top one must be how grumpy you are,” he exasperatedly raises his free hand to poke your cheek repeatedly.

You catch his hand and pull it away from your face, placing it firmly on the table with a light slap. “Wrong. Top one is how talented I am, actually.”

“You drew Suna, and you don’t even know him.” Atsumu breaks his previous pose to stretch, letting out a yawn. You look behind him, out the window, the sun was setting, it was late afternoon. You guys still had material to review.

You reply unconsciously, “That’s because he has a pretty face—don’t tell him I said that, please.” You don’t think you even have a crush on that guy anymore. You don’t know, it just faded. You didn’t really know him enough for it to last.

“I’m prettier than him, though.” Atsumu jokingly bats his lashes at you.

You stifle a laugh, “Says who?”

“Says me. I just said it.” Atsumu gives you a ‘duh’ look.

“Invalid.” You shake your head, and you reach out a hand to grab a pencil.

“Draw me with your talented hands, would ya?” He grasps your hand, making you drop your pencil. That’s when you actually freeze. He realizes his mistake but smoothly lets go of your hand to run it through his hair. “Anyways, thanks for teaching me again.”

You shake it off, too. “It’s no problem,” you start collecting your used papers to place them on the side. You open your bag to place the stack in it.

“Oh, what’s this?” Atsumu points out the chocolates peeking from the pocket of your bag. It was chocolate cubes Momoho gave you and said to give them to someone on Valentine's Day, trying to push you to get yourself out there.

“Ah, just chocolates. My friend said I should give it to a boy because Valentine’s Day is coming up.” You pull them out, maybe Atsumu pointed it out because he was hungry. You guys have been studying for two hours non-stop.

“Will you?” Atsumu asks. Looking at the bag of chocolates you put on the desk like it was an interesting specimen. “Will I what?” You pick up your pencil again and grab your custom-made syllabus. You were putting a lot of effort into this. But at least tutoring him helped you study for the exams too. “Give it to a boy?” Atsumu continues to ask.

You immediately shake your head, “No. You can have some if you want.” You think he was trying to gauge if he can open it or not. But why else would you pull it out of your bag if you weren’t intending to give him some? Atsumu opens the bag, reaches for one of the chocolate cubes and takes a bite, “Too sweet.” He says but proceeds to eat the rest of it after.

“Really?” you turn your head towards him. You were taken aback, when did his face get so close? He was leaning onto your side.

“Here,” Atsumu reaches for one inside the bag and casually plops it between your lips, hesitatingly opening your mouth, the sweetness fills your senses, “How’s it, sweets?” Atsumu’s fingers lingered against your lips a second too long.

Which was exactly why you froze again, not expecting Atsumu’s actions. You took a second to remember how to chew. The cocoa was definitely too sweet. It made your teeth ache, “Too sweet.”

“Told ‘ya,” Atsumu cleared his throat, leaning back. “Hey, my band got a gig this weekend. Do you want to come? You can see your crush.” “I don’t have a crush on Suna anymore.” You admit.

“Oh.” Atsumu looked like he was thinking, “Then you should come watch me.”

“Uh, I’ll think about it.” You were still a little dazed from what happened just a minute ago. Your heart was beating traitorously fast. But it didn’t mean anything, for sure, you just weren’t used to being around the opposite gender, yeah.

“I’ll text you the details.” Atsumu was playing with a pen.

“Okay, let’s go back to studying.” You reach to open your book.

You came that weekend anyway. You arrived when they were already playing, so you swiftly blended in with the crowd. You came alone and didn’t know anyone else here, since you weren’t a frequent socializer. The last time you properly watched his band—Ikarus, you remember the name clearly now—was over a year ago. You knew Atsumu played the drums. What you didn’t know was how good he looked playing them. Darn, you can’t think his face was the only thing saving him anymore. You look at his other bandmates, and you hadn’t even noticed Suna Rintarou first. Well, you’re kind of friends with Atsumu now, so it makes sense that you notice him first.

When his band’s set finished. You attempted to leave, you took a picture of yourself being here and sent it to him earlier, he’d probably see it later. But then your eyes meet his from across the room, and he slanted a casual grin as he approached you.

“What’d you think?” he crosses to your side in an instant, ignoring his friend’s call. You don’t remember who he was, it was the main singer.

“You guys play well,” you tell him the truth. “Are you guys planning on taking this seriously?” “Yeah, we’ve got an agent and everything. Root for me, okay?” Atsumu scratched the back of his head.

“Uhm, shouldn’t you be saying I should root for all of you?” You cross your arms.

“Same thing.” Atsumu shrugs.

“Then, I’m rooting for you, ‘Tsum.” You roll your eyes.

“‘Tsum, huh? I like that, sweets.” This was a new nickname. You think you heard it when you were studying, but then you thought you were hearing things.

“Sweets? I’m not sweet.” Your brows furrow. Your usual reaction to him.

“Yes, you are sweet, sweets.” He ruffles your head, messing up your hair as you scowl up at him.

Despite the developed closeness with Miya Atsumu, you thought it was going to be a temporary thing. Since you would be separated once you went to university. Your study sessions finished, exams rolled around, and graduation came swooping like a tornado. The day was the usual laughs, pictures with friends, cries of joy and sadness alike. You and Atsumu only waved at each other from across the field.

You and Atsumu hadn’t talked during that summer either. You had no reason to. Even if you guys were to end up in the same university, it was unlikely you would cross paths if you were in different majors. He might not even talk to you then because you would just be some girl from his high school.

You should really stop jinxing yourself.

It was your first day in your required general elective philosophy class. It was a large class size, so you sat by instinct next to a nice-looking girl. Fumika and Momoho, who attend the same university, said you should try to make new friends once the school year begins. You cleared your throat and turned to the girl. You started by saying your name, “I’m a first year. What’s your name?”

The nice-looking girl smiled at you and said, “I’m Yaoki. I’m also a first-year.” There was a beat of silence, and you thought your socializing had failed when she turned to the front, but she surprised you by throwing you a bone, “Did you read the prof’s reviews online? Do you think it’s true that he decides the final grades with a wheel?”

You smile, “I hope not. I guess we’re about to find out. What’s your major?” You internally cringe at your rehearsed lines.

Yaoki graciously answered your question, and you proceeded to have a casual conversation about your interests. This was it: you were making a friend. That was when a familiar silhouette entered the room, blonde head of hair a shade lighter, but there was no mistaking it—the man who walked in was Miya Atsumu. Looking as sharp as ever, and you weren’t the only one who noticed.

“Whoa, that guy’s cute,” Yaoki says under her breath. You both watch as Atsumu has his what you could only call resting bitch-face on, as he stares down another guy in his path to what you think are the third-row seats. Probably unintentionally, if you could guess, the only thing on Atsumu’s mind must have been how he should have stayed in bed longer. He hasn’t looked up, hasn’t seen you. That was only a given. “He looks mean, though,” Yaoki says. You only chuckled.

Of course, Miya Atsumu ended up going to the same university as you. You studied together, you knew he was fully capable. And of course, fate made it so you would end up in the same philosophy class out of maybe the thirty other freshman classes for this subject. Wait—why were you bringing fate into this? Irrelevant. Highly irrelevant. It was just a coincidence.

The professor walked in, and class officially began, but you find your eyes constantly drifting toward the third row. It was after four philosophy classes that Atsumu finally noticed you.

You were running a bit late, still before class started, but later than your usual time. You were trying to regulate your breathing, panting when you entered the hall. Your eyes immediately narrowed to where Yaoki sat, so you could sit next to her like usual. You were on your way up the platform when someone grasped the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“Hey.” You look up at Atsumu, who had his brows furrowed, “I didn’t know we were classmates,” he continued.

Still out of breath from your trek from the dorms to the building, you forget your words for a moment, shaking your head, “Oh, Tsum. Hi, it’s been a while.”

“Where do you usually sit?” Atsumu asks casually, still holding onto your sleeve.

“Uhm, there,” you point out at the back. “I usually get here earlier.”

“Then did you know I was here?” Atsumu asks, tone kind of disappointed. Oops. Now you felt sorry.

“Uh…” you felt dumb, pursing your lips, “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t know how to approach you,” your shoulders slumped, giving up and confessing.

Atsumu’s face was unreadable. “It’s easy. You should’ve come up to me and said, ‘Oh, Tsum! So glad we’re classmates, I missed you over summer break! Come sit next to me!’” Atsumu imitated you. Was that how you sounded to him?

You glare at Atsumu, “I don’t sound like that.”

Atsumu grins at you, “Yes, you do.” He looks over your shoulder, “C’mon, lead the way, the prof’s here.” You begrudgingly led him to where you sat, and he introduced himself to Yaoki as your most good-looking friend. Very contrary to his first impression with his resting bitch-face on.

University life with Atsumu was very eventful, since wherever Atsumu went, something always happened. It was unexpected, since Atsumu was actually quite reserved, but he was a go-getter. Every opportunity he has, he makes something out of it (it helps because opportunities seem to fall on his lap). You don’t know how he juggles all of it. He’s still very intently focused on his band, too. He invites you to their performances when they have them. Aside from that, he keeps getting noticed because of his face.

“Lucky you, I got you a copy,” Atsumu slaps down the university pamphlet on the table. You two were having lunch in the foyer.

You pick up the university pamphlet that has Atsumu’s smiling face on it. He was asked to model for the university pamphlet when he was just walking to class. It really was that face. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Keep it. Frame it. Pass it down to your children,” Atsumu takes a sip of his expensive coffee. You sneer at him. “That,” he pointed at you, making you lean back, “That’s the exact same face my sister made when I showed her that.”

Your brows furrow at that new tidbit about him, “You have a sister?” You only knew of his twin brother, Osamu, who was nice and waved at you when you saw him across campus.

“Yeah, four years younger. She goes to Itachiyama for Junior High, it’s her final year.” Atsumu shrugs casually like this was information you were already supposed to know. “I didn’t know you had a sister.” You place your arms over the table. You take the pamphlet and look inside. There were pictures of Atsumu fake-laughing with a group of people.

“She went to our graduation,” Atsumu said pointedly. “I didn’t notice,” You shrug.

“You don’t notice a lot of things, sweets,” Atsumu says. He didn’t mean to say it demeaningly, you know, but his tone of voice sounded like mockery.

You swat at the air, and rolled your eyes, “Wow. So sorry, I don’t know everything about you.” “You should be. I know everything about you.” Atsumu says. That wasn’t true, could it? You had talked a lot. You couldn’t remember what you said after it comes out of your mouth half the time.

“No, you don’t.” You say still, to prove a point. 

“Yes, I do. Try me.” Atsumu cocks a brow. You don’t know where he got his confidence.

“What did I have for breakfast this morning?” You ask a trick question deliberately just to be sure. You were waiting for him to whine that your question was unfair.

“Bread with peanut butter,” Atsumu says immediately.

Your brows furrow. You did indeed have bread with peanut butter this morning. “That was a lucky guess. It’s a common breakfast.”

“No. You complained you ran out of eggs last night, and I went to your dorm the other day and checked your fridge for things I could munch on. All you had was bread, peanut butter, crackers, and pasta packs. Then I ate your last crackers. And you don’t like eating heavy carbs in the morning, you said it makes you feel bloated,” Atsumu just says, he had a smug look on his face.

“Whatever,” you close the pamphlet and stuff it in your bag. Atsumu’s grinning face on the cover felt like additional teasing. You don’t know what to feel about Atsumu remembering things you’ve said in passing. You accept defeat this time.

“Anyways, I’ve been going to the gym and tracking my calories. You think there’s been progress?” Then Atsumu started flexing his muscles in front of you. You do notice that he’s been a bit bulkier. Your eyes track the flex of his biceps. He was feeling himself too much.

“Okay, ‘Tsum. Keep your shirt on,” you shake your head, he laughs, “You look good though,” you give him an unexpected compliment. But he always looked good. That was a given.

It was just stating an observation for you, but Atsumu grins, “Do you want to feel them?” pertaining to his muscles.

You deadpan, “Do I look like I want to do that?”

“Hey, I was giving you grace.” Atsumu shrugs, shameless.

“Aren’t you going out with someone?” you ask, remembering that Atsumu took a girl from his economics class on a date last week, you forgot to ask how it went.

“Nah, it didn’t work out.” Atsumu was a natural charmer if he wanted to be. And usually, he didn’t want to be. He wasn’t against putting himself out there, so he went out with people from time to time, but he’s never been in a serious relationship.

You just remembered, “I’m going on a date tomorrow,” you say.

Atsumu froze, blinking, before giving you a smile, “Who’s the guy who caught your very, very selective attention?” It was a true observation. Your last crush was Suna Rintarou, and that was two years ago. You’ve found people attractive since then, but you were always too busy to give it a shot.

“Fumika introduced him to me,” you don’t add that it was after asking you when you planned on officially dating Atsumu. Which you called her off on, you and Atsumu were strictly good friends. “I’m officially meeting him tomorrow.” “So it’s a blind date?” Atsumu probes.

“Not technically,” you swirl your coffee, “I know his face. He knows mine. Fumika said he asked about me, she’s in the same major as him and saw me with Fumika a while ago. Asked her to introduce him to me.”

Atsumu scoffs, “Then he had no balls to approach you on his own.” He rolled his eyes. What’s with him? “Send me your location when you go out. You still don’t know him. It’s not safe.”

“You’re being overprotective, brother Tsum,” you laughed while drinking your coffee. You watch as his face contorts, and he provides his reasons. The rest of that day went nicely.

Your date actually goes well, and you go on several more dates with the same guy after that. His name was Ennoshita. You think you liked him, and you think you had good chemistry. You liked the same songs, shared the same taste in food, and agreed on the same things. It wasn’t long before he officially asked you to be his girlfriend, and you agreed. 

Ennoshita was waiting for you on the couch while you prepared the popcorn. You were staying over at his unit. You planned to have a movie night.

“Babe, your friend Atsumu…” He called out to you.

“What about ‘Tsum?” You asked, lifting the bowl and making your trek to him on the couch, snuggling next to him as you reach for the remote.

“I don’t think he likes me.” Ennoshita scratches his nape.

You laugh, “He just looks like he doesn’t like people. He has a resting bitch-face.”

“No, I don’t think it’s just that. You didn’t see, but I think he was giving me a stink eye.” He actually looked concerned. You introduced him to Atsumu earlier today, at a mini get-together with other college friends. You laugh harder, “He’ll get over it. You’re my boyfriend. He’s one of my best friends. He has to.”

“You sure he doesn’t like you romantically? Or you’ve never liked him? He’s good-looking, and he plays in a band. You’re around a guy like that a lot.” You ponder it. That was all true. But at this point, you don’t think Atsumu possesses a libido for you, and you didn’t see Atsumu in that way.

“Are you jealous, Chi?” you tease your boyfriend instead.

“I… kinda…” your boyfriend admits.

“Do you want me to distance myself from ‘Tsum? I’m sure he’d understand.” You say, offering him a kind smile.

He ponders it for a bit, “I think that would be best, yeah.” Ennoshita nods and gives you a brief peck on the lips.

You started declining Atsumu’s invitations to go out more often since then. You had told him the reason: your boyfriend found it weird that you would go out one-on-one with another guy often. You still went out with Atsumu bi-monthly, not as frequently as before, because it’s not like your boyfriend was controlling your life. You just wanted to respect him.

It all came to an end nine months later, when Ennoshita cradled your face and told you he loved you. Your throat went dry, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say the same words back. You broke up with Ennoshita three days later.

You called Atsumu that night, and he picked up after the first ring. “I think I’m heartless.”

“That’s not true, sweets. Why would you think that?” Atsumu’s voice was groggy, which makes you think he just woke up.

“I broke up with Chikara because he said he loved me and I couldn’t say it back,” you admit.

“Oh.” Was the only thing Atsumu responded with. After a few seconds of silence, he continued, “It’s not your fault you don’t feel the same way. That doesn’t make you heartless. It was good that you broke up with him when you realized it. You didn’t lead him on or lie.” The world was officially ending. Atsumu made sense. “Are you alright?”

“I’m okay. I think. A little sad. But okay.” You say, breathing heavily.

“Get ready. I’ll pick you up in an hour.” Atsumu says. You look at the clock, it’s seven in the evening. It wasn’t odd for him to suddenly tell you to get ready, when you hung out before, sometimes he would just say he was waiting in your lobby.

“Where are we going?” You think your dorm felt too stuffy. You needed to get out. You stand up from your bed to open your closet.

“Getting a beer, or some steak, what do you prefer?”

“Beer.” You say, uncharacteristically. You needed something intense to make you feel sane.

Atsumu arrived on the dot, an hour later, having walked to your dorm from his across the campus. You had drunk a lot that night, more than you ever had before. And Atsumu just let you do whatever you want. You leaned on his shoulder later that night, the alcohol settling in nicely and making you delirious, “You’re so good to me, ‘Tsum. Even though you’re such a bitch to everyone else.” You exaggerate that last part a bit. He was just okay, but when he was cranky, he was cranky. “You didn’t need to add that last part,” Atsumu says, he pats your head, still leaning on his shoulder. “But of course, it’s you, sweets.”

You suck in a breath, you think the cold air just gave you chills, “What did I ever do?”

“Lots of things. Spilt soup on my shirt. Stepped on my foot. Degraded me a lot.” Atsumu seems like he was still thinking to add to the list of things you’ve done to him. You think that sobered you up, “Be serious.” 

“You’re just you.” Atsumu hums. 

Ennoshita’s words months ago spring up in your head. You sure he doesn’t like you romantically? Why was that in your head? You shake it off. But was he right? Did Atsumu have feelings for you? Surely not.

You lift your head from its rest on Atsumu’s comfortable shoulder. And you see him. You see him clearly, even with the trashy lamp light of the 7-Eleven you guys chose to drink in front of. His blonde hair was messy, his eyes bleary, but he had a soft smile on his face. You notice his jaw was more defined, his features more mature. How had you never noticed before?

“You’re gonna make me melt if you keep staring at me, sweets.” Atsumu snaps you out of your trance. You’re surprised he didn’t follow that up with teasing about how you found him attractive.

You scoff, then you tell him about a presentation you have and how horrible your groupmates were, and he shared that his band had a really promising record label contact them, and he thinks they’re getting signed soon. Casual conversation was always easy with Atsumu. It was nice. It was always nice being with him.

When he took you home, you went up to your dorm and took a warm bath. You would usually crash into your bed right after, but you found yourself digging up your sketch pad. It had been almost a year since you last did anything resembling art. You got burnt out. But that night, you found yourself sketching the image of Atsumu outside that 7-Eleven that lingered in your mind.

You started drawing frequently again, but this time you were drawing full-length stories. It definitely took a lot of your time. But it was so much fun. You were in the middle of drafting panels when your phone started ringing. You looked over to see Momoho’s name flashing. You put your stylus down and picked it up, “Hey.”

“Have you seen?”

“Seen what?”

“Atsumu and Suna’s band, Ikarus, is blowing up.”

Your eyes widen. They released their first single a couple of months ago, and they were slowly gaining popularity. Atsumu excitedly told you to wait for the release so you could watch it the moment it was out there. The both of you had celebrated with tacos that weekend after. You open your social media accounts and find their band in the trending section. You go on YouTube and see that their music video had reached ten million views. You gape.

“I’ve gotta go.” You tell Momoho hurriedly, then scroll through your contacts to call Atsumu. He answered after two rings.

“Congrats!” You say, smiling, “Your song is trending!” You were so happy that it would seem like you were part of the band.

“What?” Atsumu seemed as shocked as you. He was on vacation with his family right now. In a different time zone. You forgot, you checked the clock, it was two in the morning where he was right now. Before you could say sorry, your eardrums were met with a very excited “Holy shit!” a few seconds in.

Forget about the time zone. “I know!” you exclaim in delight, “Congrats! You guys deserve it!” you say again. You knew how much effort he and the guys had put in, even though you weren’t particularly close with the others.

After that, Atsumu’s career had taken off. Both of you were graduating soon. Atsumu was already living on his own without support from his parents because of his band. Naturally, he got busy, but somehow, he always made time to hang out with you.

Before you knew it, though, you started seeing his face everywhere, like in the subways, billboards, and online articles about rising artists. Out in a café, you overhear his name being fawned over by some teens. Atsumu became a star. It was weird to see your friend as a celebrity, but you know, he always seemed like the type. It was only natural. Expected.

University graduation came, and it was the usual smiles and celebration after four years of effort. You were with your friends, old and new, and unlike your high school graduation, Atsumu stood beside you. Atsumu surprised you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers as a congratulations gift. Momoho saw and gave you a look that you ignored. It was clearly a platonic gift. You basically just exchanged when you handed him a gift of your own.

“What’s this?” Atsumu looked shocked, not expecting anything from you.

“Check inside,” you say before clearing your throat, containing your excitement, “It’s nothing much.”

Atsumu opened the black paper bag. You know he would find a finished copy of your drawing of him that night in front of the 7-Eleven, with your signature at the bottom right. Atsumu gapes, “You drew me?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, now embarrassed, as you look at the ground.

Then suddenly, Atsumu wraps you up in a tight hug, as much as he could with the bouquet he gifted you snugged tightly to your chest, “Thank you.” He says with such warmth, you feel your cheeks flush.

“It’s nothing much,” you say, still a bit embarrassed. It shouldn’t be much at all since he could literally afford anything he wanted now.

“Would I look self-centered if I hung this up in my living room?” Atsumu asks, arms still wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you to his chest in front of all your friends.

“Definitely.” You answered, giving in to a small smile.

“I’m hanging it up anyway.” Atsumu shocks you by placing a small kiss on your temple.

Your chest was beating unbelievably fast. Maybe it was the dopamine.

The first big fight you had with Atsumu happened a week after his birthday, the one after graduation. You made plans to celebrate his birthday on a different weekend because you were both busy during the actual week. You, with your job as an editor at a big manga publishing company, and Atsumu, with his rehearsals and modeling partnerships. He had a tour coming up, it was going to be big, and he was going to be traveling around the world. Before that happened, you wanted to spend time with him.

You were preparing well to hang out with him. You and Atsumu texted and called frequently, but it’s been a while since you saw each other in person, and frankly, you were tired of only seeing his face in mall posters.

You took official leave from work and planned a nice day for the two of you. You woke up early to make yourself some breakfast and to have plenty of time to get ready. He was supposed to pick you up from your apartment by ten in the morning. You frown at the clock. It was 10:05, and there wasn’t even a text from him. You sent him a message.

you 10:05 AM Are you on your way?

Atsumu replies ten minutes later.

atsushit10:15 AM shit was that today?

Your stomach dropped at his message. He forgot. You were looking forward to today.

atsushit10:16 AM i forgot sorry can we reschedule?

Your nose flared at his last message. Does he think you had as much control over your time as he did?

you 10:17 AM I can’t just reschedule, Atsumu I have work

atsushit10:17 AM i have a shoot today

You understood that, you did, but you had explicitly made plans for today over a month ago. How could he just forget and expect you to adjust to him? You knew Atsumu could get caught up sometimes with whatever he’s occupied with, but he always made time for you. You got used to it.

you10:18 AM Then I guess we’re not meeting.

You regret it after you send it.

atsushit10:20 AM why are you mad?

You felt a tick on your forehead. 

you10:20 AM Why am I mad? Are you really asking me that? We made plans a while ago and you forgot I got ready waiting for you and you forgot

atsushit10:21 AM i’m busy okay you know that sorry 

His reply felt so insensitive. It hurt your feelings that he forgot. He’s making it seem like your time with him was insignificant.

you10:21 AM I’m busy too and I still made time for you Glad to know you don’t care

atsushit10:22 AM it’s not like that of course i care you of all people should know that

But you didn’t feel that way. You were too angry to respond. You put your phone down and decided to change out of your going-out clothes—you were even wearing the new clothes you were saving up for an occasion, what a waste. You understood that he was busy, but he really hurt your feelings.

Your phone vibrated, and you turned it over to see Atsumu’s contact name flashing. You reject the call. You open your screen to a series of messages from him.

atsushit10:23 AM sweets?

10:25 AM are you really that mad? i’m sorry i forgot

10:30 AM i can’t cancel my shoot

10:32 AM could you pls not be so difficult?

You feel your anger rise with his last message. Your phone flashes with another call from him, but you immediately reject the call and even take the time to block his contact. You were fueled with fury. You knew that, but you let your emotions take control of you anyway. You hated feeling insignificant to a person you cared about.

You tell Momoho about what happened two weeks later. You and Atsumu were still not on speaking terms, but you unblocked him after three days. No new messages from him came after that. You still expected him to reach out after you ignored him, unreasonable, yes, but you just wanted to see him care.

“You know you guys fought like a couple, right?” Momoho said through the line. You freeze mid-pouring your nightly tea.

It was that terrifying connotation that made you want to make amends with Atsumu. Before you could do that, a message from the devil himself came in. It was as if he knew you were talking about him.

atsushit7:03 PM i’m sick of this ignoring game, sweets i’m sorry :( miss u :(  can we talk?

“Uh, he’s texting me,” you tell Momoho through the call, effectively ignoring her jab.

“Well, you'd better reply to loverboy then,” Momoho says in a sing-song voice.

“I told you it’s not like that,” you complain as you stir honey inside your tea. Momoho takes it in good faith and ends the call, telling you to meet up with her soon.

As soon as your call with Momoho ended, you were bombarded with another one. It was Atsumu. Your heart swelled. It wasn’t like you hadn’t gone long before contacting Atsumu in the past, but this time it was different. You were actively not cool with each other. You don’t think you like this feeling.

You took a deep breath before answering the call. Hesitantly placed the phone against your ear, “Hello?” you managed to let out.

You hear a groan from the other end, “Finally. I hate fighting with you, sweets.” Atsumu’s familiar voice settled in your nervous system.

“I’m sorry for being difficult,” you murmured, clinking the spoon you used to stir your tea on the cup.

“No, I’m sorry for forgetting about our plans.” Atsumu seemed breathless. “Can you go to your balcony for me?” Atsumu says.

Your forehead scrunches, “Why?” You look at your balcony. The apartment you were renting right now was in the suburbs, two stories tall, with the upper floor all yours. It gave you a cozy space and was only one train ride away from work.

“I’m outside.” Atsumu’s words took a second before registering in your brain. Eyes wide, you rush to your balcony and open the glass doors. You look down, and there he was, sporting a weary smile, as if he didn’t know if he was allowed to give you a full grin, leaning against his car with his phone raised to his ear.

“Why are you here?” You asked through the phone, speechless. That was probably a dumb question. He came all the way here for you. 

“I brought you some chicken,” Atsumu raises the paper bag he was holding. “I even have some Onigiri that Osamu especially made. One of a kind.”

He said it so seriously, you also didn’t know if you could laugh. “You came all the way here on a random Friday night to give me some chicken and onigiri?”

“And to ask for forgiveness. Don’t forget about that.” Atsumu’s gaze hasn’t left you since you stepped out. “Do you forgive me?”

Your brain was running a hundred miles a minute, “You’re partnering with that designer who likes funky clothes for your next performance, right? I saw a headline. I’ll forgive you if you request to wear a tutu on stage.” You say mostly as a joke, because deep down, you already forgave him.

“That’s all? Deal.” Atsumu gives you a grin.

You bite your lower lip, stifling a smile, “Then I forgive you, ‘Tsum.”

“I missed you,” Atsumu says, suddenly all serious, “Not just the past two weeks. But the past few months. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

You could only let out a noncommittal sound. Not knowing what to say. You bit your lower lip. Atsumu’s gaze hasn’t left you. “Did you miss me?” He asks.

You gulp. Part of why you got mad was because you felt like he hadn’t valued your time with him as much as you did. Especially after months of not seeing each other. So you tell him the truth with a sense of dread, “I did. I missed you, Atsumu.”

It was in your fifth year of friendship that you realized you were undoubtedly, impossibly, in love with Miya big-fat-jerk Atsumu.

Shit.

You needed to get rid of these feelings fast.