Be my baby?

You want to cheer for him too. You want him to know that you’re here, watching him, proud of him.

But the last time you tried—

You shake the thought away. No. Not today.

Instead, your fingers tighten around the plastic horn in your lap, the one you spent way too long picking out just for this moment. The one you know he’ll hear.

You didn’t expect someone like Bokuto to notice you.

You remember that day clearly—sitting in the library, flipping through a book, when suddenly, a blur of motion appeared in the corner of your eye.

A boy. Grinning. Talking.

Your brain registered the movement of his lips before anything else. He was saying something, long and fast, but you didn’t understand a word.

“Slower,” you signed instinctively, unsure if he’d understand. You pointed at your ear, then shook your head.

Bokuto blinked. Tilted his head.

Then, realization hit.

“Oh,” you could make that out. His lips moved slower this time, more deliberately. Then again, softer, like he was testing the word. “Oh.”

He hadn’t known.

His shoulders stiffened, his hands twitched like he wanted to fix his mistake but didn’t know how. Then, determination settled over his features, and he dug into his bag, pulling out a notebook and pen.

A moment later, he slid the open page toward you.

[HI!! I’M BOKUTO KOUTAROU!!!]

The letters were big, uneven, and written with so much force the pen almost tore the paper. Beneath them, an attempt at a doodle—a little stick figure with spiky hair, arms raised high.

You bit back a laugh.

Reaching for the pen, you wrote your name beside his, adding a small doodle of your own.

And just like that, a new page of your life had begun.

Bokuto never let your deafness be a barrier. If anything, he made it a bridge.

He started learning sign language almost immediately. The first time he tried, it was awful—his fingers tangled together, his expressions were exaggerated to the point of comedy, and you had no idea what he was trying to say.

But he never got discouraged. He practiced, asked questions, made sure he got things right. He still talked a mile a minute, but he started signing alongside his words, his hands always moving to keep you in the conversation.

And he watched you, really watched you. He noticed the little things—how your gaze flickered between people when they spoke, how you relied on vibrations, how you always positioned yourself where you could see everything. He adapted without you needing to ask.

But there were times when doubt crept in.

Dating wasn’t something you thought would be easy for you. There were too many little hurdles, too many things you worried would be too much for someone else to deal with.

And yet, Bokuto never made you feel like you were a burden.

Still, some things were hard. Like the first time you tried cheering for him. You don’t think about it often, but sometimes the memory surfaces, uninvited.

Standing on the sidelines, watching him play, you had wanted to join the crowd, to call his name like everyone else. But you couldn’t hear yourself, didn’t know how loud or strange it might sound.

You tried anyway.

But when people turned to look—some with confusion, some with poorly hidden amusement—your throat closed up.

You never tried again after that.

But Bokuto noticed afterwards. Of course, he did.

Which is probably why he dragged you to a party store one afternoon, an impish grin on his face as he led you straight to a shelf of noisemakers.

“If you don’t wanna cheer with your voice, we’ll find something else!” he signed, eyes bright with determination.

He tested each one with theatrical enthusiasm, laughing when a squeaky horn made the shopkeeper glare at him. But then, he picked up this one—the one in your lap now—and blew into it.

Your eyes tracked his reaction, the way his face lit up at the sound you couldn’t hear but knew he liked.

You bought it without hesitation.

Now, here you are.

The game is intense, the energy in the gym electric. Bokuto stands near the net, focused, determined. You know how much he loves this sport. You know how much he gives to it.

And you want to give back.

Taking a breath, you lift the plastic horn, pressing it to your lips.

You don’t hear the sound it makes, but you don’t need to.

Because Bokuto’s head snaps up immediately. His gaze locks onto you, eyes wide. And then—

A grin. So full of joy it’s nearly blinding.

He pumps a fist in the air, then turns back to the game with renewed energy.

You don’t need sound to tell you what he’s feeling.

You can see it. Feel it.

Silence isn’t empty.

It never was.

Bokuto wiped the sweat off his forehead, still buzzing from the win. The gym was as loud as ever—teammates clapping him on the back, spectators chattering as they filed out—but his ears were tuned to one thing and one thing only.

Honk!

There it was.

That ridiculous little honk! cut through the gym’s chaos like a battle cry, sharp and unmistakable. His grin stretched wide as he peeked over his shoulder.

Yn was standing near the exit now, tucking the plastic horn into her bag. When she caught his gaze, she waved, bright and proud, and his heart did a little somersault.

God, he loved her so much.

But there was a problem.

See, under no circumstances could yn ever find out what that horn actually sounded like.

Not because it was bad! No, no, no! It was perfect, adorable even.

But if she knew how it sounded? She might stop using it. And Bokuto needed that honk. Needed to hear it at every game, needed to pick it out of the crowd and know, without a doubt, that she was there, cheering for him in her own way.

So when Akaashi suddenly appeared beside him, raising an eyebrow, Bokuto panicked.

“That horn—” Akaashi started.

“NOPE!” Bokuto slapped a hand over his mouth. “Nope, nope, nope, don’t say it! I don’t know what it sounds like, you don’t know what it sounds like, nobody knows what it sounds like.”

Akaashi blinked. “But I do know—”

“NO YOU DON’T.”

Akaashi sighed, looking vaguely exhausted, but Bokuto didn’t care. His secret was safe.

Yn would never know her chosen instrument of encouragement made the same sound as a goose.

The sea air gently caressed your face with a warm and gentle touch. Closing your eyes, you could taste the salt in each sea-spray brushing against the hull of the grand vessel you served on. Humming in contentment, you closed your eyes and elevated your chin to experience the full heat of the searing sun. 

The days were getting warmer, the sea was becoming softer with the lessening swell of rocking waves, and there was something in the air that the crew had noticed growing between two members of the crew. Oden and Toki had a chemistry the entire crew had witnessed blossom to a soft bloom, and it built a sense of unity aboard the ship to watch their easy rapport swell into something more. 

As you flung another sigh into the air, you felt a body slot itself down beside you in a swift plop, their shoulder immediately brushing with yours on the descent and rousing you from your silent solitude. Lulling your head to the side with a soft scowl of disapproval, your smile illuminated your face when you witnessed the smile of the man beside you. 

“Been watching Oden and Toki again, have you?” you hummed in a light tease towards the blonde man, “What are you planning, Marco?” His eyes widened and he swiftly cocked his head to the side. 

“What makes you think I’m planning anything, hm?” he hummed down at you, feigning shock and hurt on his face. You shook your head and raised your hand, gesturing to his face with your index finger extended.

“It’s all in your eyes,” you smirk at him before returning to your position reclining back to lean on the mast once more. Shaking your head to bask in the sun, you heard the man chuckle beside you in response. Marco mirrored your expression, leaning back and resting his shoulder against yours. 

After lingering in silence for a few more moments, Marco softly hummed down at you, “I noticed you don’t hold the same investment in the Oden-Toki situation as the others.” Slowly moving your face to the side, you gaze up into his eyes as he continues, “You don't like the match?” 

“I like the match just fine,” you smile in response, gently nudging his shoulder with yours, “I just prefer to let their courtship blossom without interference.” Marco nods, a lazy half-smile drawing up his lips as he leans against your shoulder. 

“I’m not interfering that much,” Marco admits, leaning more of his body against yours and shaking his head down at you, “Just ensuring they don’t get interrupted by Nekomamushi. It’s like he has a sixth sense on when to pester Oden, and I would prefer it if Oden had an opportunity to make Toki smile.” 

Humming in response, you lean in to Marco’s aura and gently close your eyes and linger a little longer. 

The relationship between you and the doctor was easy and laid back. You trusted one another, respected each other, and had no qualms in expressing your friendship towards the other in physical touch. It was Marco’s love language to give. Being a doctor, he often used his hands to demonstrate compassion for those injured, and provide comfort to those who needed it. 

His love language to receive was quality time, and he chose to drink his fill of it with you. He can’t deny the growing adoration and affection swelling in his chest each moment he sought you out. As he lulled his head on top of yours, he enjoyed the warmth of the sun kissing his skin while basking in the heat your body pressed into his. 

“Ah, I see,” you utter in a soft whisper, “Not interfering, just acting as a bodyguard.” Marco chuckled into your hair, gently nuzzling against your hair and tugging you closer. “Just a humble knight and loyal protector.” 

“That’s the role I’ve chosen, yes,” he wraps his arm over your shoulder before pressing his cheek to the crown of your head. You press your lips together in a tight-lipped smile as you fully relax against his chest. 

“And while you’re here with me, who’s ensuring Nekomamushi leaves Oden and Toki alone?” you hum in thought, turning your head up and gazing into his eyes above you. He smiled down at you in response, shaking his head and uttering. 

“I gave Oden an entire morning to flirt to his heart's content,” he confessed with a breathy huffed laugh. “Now I get to take a break, and enjoy hanging out with you.” You shake your head up at him before leaning back into his chest and closing your eyes. 

“I wonder what they’re up to now,” you utter lazily, feeling the warmth of his embrace gently shepherding you into a soft slumber. You yawn and nuzzle gently into his chest, sighing as you come down from the soft stretch.

“To be honest, I don’t quite care at the moment,” Marco retorted, joining his other arm over your torso and making himself comfortable while cradling you into his chest. “All that I care about right now is you, right here beside me.” 

He sneaks a look down at you, recognising the deep rise and fall of your chest to indicate deep slumber. His heart swelled up to his throat, a soft blush dusted his cheeks and his lips parted in soft shock. 

The feeling of true contentment and joy grew higher as he drew you in closer. Pressing his lips against your temple, he looked up to the sky and enjoyed basking in the warm rays falling from the cloudless sky. 

Watching on and snickering behind toothy grins: Jozu, Vista, Oden and Toki watch on with blushes rising to the apples of their cheeks, and cupping their hands in their chin. The only thing that could spoil them witnessing this moment of blossoming coupleship could be-.

“-Hey guys, has anyone seen Marco?” Nekomamushi’s rumbled drawl called over to the four members of your crew, “I’ve been looking for him everywhere, but I can’t seem to find him.” In a flurry of hands, and a wrangle of biceps and forearms, the giant lion-man was restrained and ushered away from the top deck where you and Marco lay in each other’s warm embrace. 

Slumbering peacefully, your blissful slumber grew with the rise and fall of your chests mirroring the waves ushering you to your next destination. Marco slept beside you, drawing you up into his chest and using the crown of your head as a soft pillow for his chin. While you laid your face in the crook of his neck and breathed him in with every breath, you dreamt of finding the courage to confess your growing affections for the blonde doctor. 

The dull sound of Bokuto’s palm slapping against the ball sounds through the empty court as you watch it hurtle towards you at a speed that you usually only get to witness from the sidelines. With the little reflexes that you have, you manage to duck and dodge the ball. It whizzes past your ear like a bullet before it slams into the sand, right before the end line.

Besides the few birds chirping and cars passing by, you don’t hear any other noise as you stare at him, shock clearly written all over your face. "Damn." Bokuto rubs the back of his head sheepishly, a nervous smile stretched over his face. He fucked up. "What a service ace, huh?"

And that’s it for you. The exhaustion that you’ve been feeling after such a long day turns into irritation, and you don’t even offer him a last glance when you simply turn around and stomp off.

"Shit." He quickly gathers his stuff and hurries after you, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he clumsily makes his way across the sand. Were you always this fast? "Y/n, wait. I swear, I didn't realise I hit it that hard!"

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him deflate visibly when he eventually catches up with you. He pleads for your attention, to look at him as he talks to you and apologizes, or at least acknowledge his presence. Yet you simply look ahead of you and do none of those things as you keep a petty pout on your face. All while trying to ignore his way too adorable face.

"Oh, come on. I said I was sorry." He all but nearly whines while he wildly gesticulates with his arms as if to prove his point. Something about the way you're ignoring him doesn't sit right with him. If it were anyone else, he'd probably laugh about it but when it comes to you? Bokuto's not sure how to explain it to himself but your cold shoulder feels like a bullet wound in his chest. You, who always laughs at his silly antics and remarks. You, whom he has the best insider jokes with. You, who has never made him feel like being too much.

"Babe!"

It slips out of his mouth, and he briefly has to check his surroundings to make sure that he's not in a fever dream. Because why the heck would he say that? His wide eyes fall to his hand and the way it shakes the slightest bit before he cards it through his hair and down his face. All those years, he managed to keep his silly little crush at bay, since having you as a friend in his life is better than not at all. Yet, all it took was one single slip up to ruin everything.

He fails to notice that you have long since frozen in place, the gears inside your head turning as you wondered whether you might have heard him wrong. You have not.

"What was that?" His eyes are focused on the ground beneath him, though he can't help but cringe as he clearly discerns the teasing and mischievous smile in your voice. Of course you won't let him off that easy.

"What was what?" He laughs nervously, rubs the back of his neck, and you notice how his eyes seem to wander without ever meeting yours. All your previous annoyance has faded away at the sight of Bokuto standing there, nervously playing with the cords on his hoodie, and reminding you a little of his younger self.

You bite back the growing smile on your face as you walk back towards him and step into his field of vision, not giving him a chance to escape you. Because something inside you decides that this is probably the only chance you'll get.

Your heels raise off the ground as you lean over towards him. So close to him, you notice how good he smells. He must have taken a quick shower after practice. Warm, a little prickly from the light stubble along his jaw, and so so right. That's how the short peck you give him feels before you're already walking backwards with a bright grin on your face while eyeing his shocked expression.

A laugh bubbles up your throat when you see realisation hit him of what you just did. Yet you don't expect him to recover so quickly, because your laugh soon dies down as he shoots you his own challenging grin before taking slow tentative steps towards you.

Then you run.

Your hear his loud stomps as he's immediately on your feet while calling out to you, boasting about how you can't just do something like that and run away, about how he's going to get you, that you can't run forever. And you know that you can't. You've tried for so long to escape your feelings, and this time it seems like you failed big time. And apparently so did he.

"Kou, wait no!-" Shrieks and giggles sound through the almost completely empty street once he catches up with you right in front of your apartment building. His hands wander all over your sides, your stomach, your neck- Once Bokuto ceases his tickling assault, there's nothing left but the sound of your quick breaths, chests heaving quickly while you both just stare at each other with adoration, longing, relief. So many emotions and neither of you is sure what to do with them.

"Shit, I think my heart's going to jump out of my chest." He admits with a sheepish chuckle, and grasps your hands as he guides it up to his chest. Your palm slides over the soft fabric, and then you feel it. It's beating so fast that you wonder whether it should worry you. "Can I-"

His words die on his tongue as the tiny little voice of reason inside his head tells him that it might be too early. Maybe it's neither the time nor the place, and another tinier voice in his head, called insecurity, tells him that you're just playing with him, that-

And for the second time that evening, you take his breath away when you mould your lips against his, ever so softly and gently as if you yourself were testing the waters and making sure that this is truly something you both mutually want. But his eagerness is proof enough. His tongue leaves a wet trail along your lower lip while his hands grip your waist tightly in a way that makes it seem as if he was scared that you'd slip through his hands and disappear forever into nothingness.

Only when your lungs start to burn with the lack of oxygen, you eventually part, still so out of breath yet maybe a little more maddly in love than before.

"So- babe, huh?" You tilt your head and speak so quietly as if you were telling him a secret. His fingers smooth down your hair, trying to tame the strands that have been messed up by the wind, and during his little attack.

“What about me?” his eyes refuse to leave the little lady he cradles, “This is my first time holding a day-old baby. Isn’t uncle doing great, too?”

“They’re two days old,” Suna deadpans, “and I’m docking you ten uncle points for that stupid comment.”

Atsumu’s jaw drops slightly in shock at the newfound punishment. He immediately backtracks, “I’m kidding, jeez.” 

The baby in his hold doesn't open her eyes, but she manages to crinkle her nose in her half-slumber. Her scrunchy little body takes an extra strong inhale, resulting in what Atsumu thinks is the softest babble he’s ever heard. It softens something inside of him—something he didn't even know he had.

“Obviously your ma did great, look at you two,” his pupils grow like saucers as he swoons between the baby in his arms and her twin in his twin’s. “Sucks that stinky Sunarin is your old man, though.”

Osamu would swat his brother if it weren’t for the two precious bundles of cargo they both hold. He settles for kissing his teeth in distaste. “Fuckin’ language, ‘Tsumu.”

“Huh? I said suck, you just said fuckin—”

Suna scoffs from beside you. “Enough, you’re already contaminating them with your stupid.” 

Impossible, you think. They could never be contaminated, nor stupid. They’re two little unexpected blessings who could do no wrong—though you’re sure Mama Miya said the same thing about her set of twins. You can’t find it in yourself to care. No matter the tough pregnancy, painful labor, or rowdy uncles, they’re the best surprise you could’ve asked for.

Atsumu’s pointer finger slightly shakes as he lifts it before your daughter’s face, using it softly to boop her nose. 

“Her nose looks like a tiny button,” he declares with a giddy grin. 

Like he just won the lottery, his brother instantly perks up with an identically contagious excitement. 

“I was just thinkin’ the same thing! Her’s does, too!”

“Weird,” Suna hums earnestly, before the sarcasm laces its way between his syllables, “maybe it’s ‘cause they’re twins.”

If there weren't two sets of tiny ears in the room, the brothers would be groaning in disgust and hurling insults your husband's way. Instead, they choose to quietly scoff and hiss, reminding themselves to be cautious of the sisters they carry. 

“Don’t even talk to us about twins, ya scrub.”

“Right! We practically invented twins.”

After a whole ten minutes of gawking at the teeny twins, Osamu slightly turns to his brother. 

“Switch with me, ‘Tsumu.” 

The blonde immediately agrees with excitement, as if the baby in Osamu’s arms will look, act, or in any way exist differently from the one in his. The two uncles clumsily fiddle with the bundles in hand, figuring out the best way to trade babies without dropping one. 

You subconsciously wince as your body tenses up with newfound anxiety. You suppose this is what a mother’s instinct feels like.

You can’t stop yourself from speaking up, “Careful of their necks, support their heads.”

“We got it,” Atsumu idly reassures you—even though he voluntarily offered that this was his first time holding a baby just a few minutes prior. 

They successfully trade babies. Osamu brings a calloused finger to your daughter’s face, allowing his roughened thumb to barely skim her creamy cheek. 

“This is so cool,” he flashes a toothy grin, “you guys have daughters.”

“Thank god,” you tiredly tease. “Too much testosterone around here with you three, I needed some girls.”

Atsumu nods in agreement, not even batting an eye at your lighthearted banter. 

“I’m still bitter that they aren’t named after us, but…” his words trail off as his finger is engulfed in the entire palm of your daughter, “I guess this is cool, too.” 

You swear the Miyas are sniffling and misty-eyed, practically seconds away from bawling like the newborn babies they hold. It's a good look on them—new, but precious nonetheless. 

 “At least you guys look like your mom. Because yikes, if you looked like your dad, that’d be—”

“Fifty uncle points. Now hand them over.”

Osamu’s face drops in pure shock when Rin responds to his teasing remark. You feel a sudden sense of deja-vu. Something about the whiplash that comes with this family you’ve created—from crying out of joy one moment to hurling insults the next, you wouldn't have it any other way. 

The twins think your husband is bluffing until he stands up and comes to collect his daughters. 

Atsumu greedily curls the baby in towards his chest, “He was just kidding—” 

Suna cuts him off with his usual deadpan tone. 

“Seventy-five, and now they hate you,” the babies gurgle and coo as he lifts them both and nuzzles them beneath each arm, “See? They just told me so.” 

The older twins whine, already missing the delicate weight of the sleepy frames in their hold. 

Though they’d rather die than admit it, maybe they are a bit jealous of this new chapter the two of you have entered. It has Osamu dreamily considering working up the nerve to ask his wife if she’s ready to start trying soon. Has Atsumu thinking about redownloading that lousy dating app to start his own journey. 

The thought of it brings a sour look to his face, so naturally, he sends it Suna’s way. “You’re no fun, Suna. Fatherhoods already changin’ you.”

Suna places the babies in their matching hospital cradles, side by side on their backs as they squirm in their sleep. He drowns out the sound of the twins in the back—muffled voices of ‘They already like me better’ and ‘I’m gonna be a better babysitter than yer dumb ass,’ ricocheting in the background. 

In his own little world, Suna finds himself taking a moment to admire his babies. His daughters. 

“Don't listen to them, I’m fun,” Suna whispers into the cradles, just loud enough for the three of them to hear. He’s more so convincing himself, but they don’t need to know that just yet. 

He is fun, and he’s going to be fine. Because he has you, and now, he has them. 

“But I am grateful that my girls look like their pretty mama.”

The cars inch forward a foot or two before coming to a stop.

You tap the steering wheel with an anxious frown, craning your neck to see around the car in front, as if that would help you figure out why traffic is moving at such a glacial pace.

Bokuto’s flight landed half an hour ago. He probably didn’t check any bags, so provided nothing weird happened, he should’ve deplaned and made it to your usual pickup spot by now, which means, as long as traffic thins, he’ll only have to wait an extra — your eyes flit to the clock — 15 minutes.

You can only hope he knows to stay there and wait, even though he’s probably worried about why you’re not answering your phone.

And what’s with all the airport traffic right now? Wednesday morning is hardly prime time for flights, or so you thought. What’s worse, with heavy traffic comes impatient drivers. You’d been almost side-swiped no less than three times already because god forfuckinbid anyone actually check their blind spot before merging instead of just gunning it and hoping for the best.

“-abe!”

The cars crawl forward again and you follow closely. Another couple hundred feet and you’ll be at your usual pickup spot.

“Babe!”

Thankfully, it seems like the congestion is finally clearing up. You keep up with the flow of traffic, one eye on the car in front, and the other scanning the sidewalk for your boyfriend’s distinctive silver-and-black spiked hair. Coupled with his height, he’s usually very conspicuous.

“BABE!!!!!”

Your head snaps toward the familiar voice.

Two lanes away on the sidewalk, jogging apace with your car, is your boyfriend. He waves at you energetically and you point forward, indicating you’ll pull over up ahead as soon as you’re able.

You observe him in the rear view mirror as you unbuckle your seatbelt, watching him dodge suitcases, luggage carts, and other passengers as he makes his way to you.

You’re already bursting out of the car as he runs up. He has just enough time to toss his duffel into the back seat before whirling around to catch you launching yourself at him.

“KOU!! I’m-” Before you can get an apology out, Bokuto’s arms wrapping around you squeezes the air right out of your lungs.

“Babe! I’m so happy to see you! Kariya and Osaka were amazing!” He blurts out, bursting to tell you about his trip, “We got to play a bunch of practice matches against the Stings and the Sunbirds! The Stings have this incredible setter Kawahigashi, his sets remind me a lot of Akaashi’s actually, but his personality is completely different, and the Sunbirds have some super strong outside hitters, Fujinaka especially — Do you remember meeting him when we were on the national team together? — and they also have this super young outside now, De Armas, and wow he’s…”

Cheek pressed into his chest, huffing a lungful of his body wash mixed with the slight tang of sweat, enveloped in the warmth that creeps through the thin, long-sleeve compression shirt he likes to wear for flights (if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was purposefully making himself look extra delectable), a dopey smile crosses your face while you listen to his excited rambling.

Taking one more deep breath, you cut him off with a kiss. “Missed you Kou.”

He flashes you a brilliant smile. “I missed you too, baby!”

“We should probably go. We’re holding up the line.”

“Ok but,” Bokuto proudly whips out a black gift bag from who knows where, “open this first!”

“How about I open it when we get home?”

Evidently, that’s not good enough because he reaches inside the bag himself, pushing aside glittery silver tissue paper to pull out some folded black material. You stare at it perplexed as he delicately unfurls the fabric, absolutely vibrating while he reveals the most exquisite piece of lingerie you have ever seen.

Bokuto holds it up for display. Only in the light can you truly appreciate the stunning combination of blacks — textured matte leather, smooth shiny silk, fine mesh panels.

He’s all giddy excitement when he urges, “Try it on when we get home?”

Before you can respond or even nod, your attention is attracted by some yelling nearby.

Instinctively, you turn, only to see an audience of people staring back at you, some laughing, some holding up their phones, some hooping and hollering. Slowly, slowly, your brain is spurred into motion, looking around, deciphering the shouts, the staring, the growing crowd, but it all seems like a normal day at the airport, so—

Oh god — you’re at the airport.

You snatch the lingerie out of Bokuto’s hands, “Oh my- KOUTAROU!” and hastily stuff it back in the bag.

“You don’t like it?” He shrinks, crestfallen.

“No! Yes! Oh my god, KOU it’s not- you can’t just- you can’t just pull lingerie out at the airport!”

“Why not?”

“Because!” You sputter, trying your best now to push him into the car.

About halfway in, his movements come to an abrupt halt and you see his eyes widen in sudden understanding. “Ohhhh.”

“Yes, oh.” You grumble. At least he finally gets it.

“I’m sorry babe. But don’t worry, I understand. Akaashi explained this to me before.”

Now you’re the one confused about how Akaashi could possibly know your boyfriend would do something like this. That is, until he continues solemnly, “He said that lots of people are self-conscious about their bodies, so I have to make sure to compliment you and let you know that I think you’re attractive.”

And with that, he takes a deep breath and cries out, “I THINK YOU’RE SEXY!”

The thing with airports is that they’re built with a lot of glass and steel and cement. A lot of hard surfaces. Hard surfaces that reflect sound very well, you discover, when his declaration continues to echo an almost comically long time after he’s finished shouting, after he squeezes your hand reassuringly, after he puffs out his chest, clearly proud of himself.

“Oh my god Kou, that’s not why- just- get in the car!”

You beat a hasty retreat to the driver’s side as cheers and applause break out.

When you eventually get on the highway, and your face stops feeling so flush, and your heart stops beating so erratically, you finally answer him.

“I’d love to try it on when we get home.”

"so, how are things going between the two of you?" atsumu, his voice is easily identifiable. "it's been a couple months since they've stopped hating you, i take it's a good sign."

"look, i don't think this is a good idea anymore." suna sighs, "it was fun for a while, but it's getting pretty serious now."

"you going soft rintarō?" atsumu teases, "i thought you hated that bitch, now you're sympathetic? what happened?"

"i don't know man, my fucking morals kicked in, i guess." suna quips, he's frustrated. you can see his shadow pacing around. "look this was fun, the games, but i don't know if i can do it anymore."

"so... you fucked?" atsumu bluntly remarks, "come on mate, i'm not stupid. you wouldn't be backing out unless you two fucked."

"yeah, well, it happened and now i'm screwed because you're a dickhead and i'm an idiot." suna scoffs, "it ends now, i'll give you the money, i don't want to do this stupid bet anymore."

bet. of fucking course, how cliche of them. how naive of you to think of giving suna a chance, he's a dickhead, you knew that. but, there's no way he spent six months trying to get in good with you for a bet.

no amount of money could have him commit for this long. or at least you think, it was a moment of boredom and a way to make easy money. two rich kids who have nothing better to do other than drop a grand on a bet.

a gambling scheme.

with twist and turns, challenges and money rewards. to keep them both interested in the little plan, one that has been pulled straight from a reality tv show.

"you're backing out now? it's been half a year, i think it's too late to feel remorse now." atsumu states, "do you need a recap of how much money we've bet? do you know how much money has been exchanged during this entire ordeal?"

"no, i don't, and don't be a dick." suna snaps, "you are just as much a part of this as i am."

"yeah, but i wasn't the one who brought it up." atsumu retorts, "i wasn't the one who stood up, and bet that i could get in good with them. that i could manipulate them with my killer charm."

"yes, but you proposed those sick side bets. bring them to the party, kiss them on this day, get them to make the first move within a week." suna mocks, "you're no better than me."

"so what? you going to go down there and tell them that you've been manipulating them for a little extra cash? that you've been fucking around with others the same time you've been buying them flowers, and making them eggs in the morning?"

your heart is beating hard against your chest, is it the anger, sadness, or alcohol that's giving you vertigo? is it the betrayal that causes all feeling to escape from your body, or is it how you feel like a complete idiot that sends you barging into the room.

you kick the door wide open, face red, and eyes already watering. the look of shock on suna's face and fear that paints it, and atsumu's smugness ever so present.

"don't even try." you say, holding up a finger to stop the brunette from saying anything. it's so funny, you can't seem to stop the manic smile from growing on your lips.

"let me explain–"

"oh, yeah sure. i don’t hate you babe, i never hated you, i love you, you’re everything i need. you’re the only one who understands me, and sees me. i can’t hate you." you mock, bringing up the words he spoke to you. "shut the fuck up suna."

it's as if those months have vanished, and all you feel is pure hate and rage towards those eyes that you thought you loved.

"you definitely outdid yourself with this one, this whole fucking twisted six month plan of yours.” you dryly laugh, bringing your hands up, "oh, but love, i don't feel that way, i tried to back out." you mimic. "go fuck yourself."

god, you seem so delusional.

"it's not like that!"

"yeah, and i like totally care." you say, rolling your eyes, "you don't mean shit. so pay miya what you owe and move on, because you lost! that's what you get for being a fucking cunt."

"love, you're drunk." suna sighs, taking a step towards you.

"don't come near me," you deadpan. "you manipulative, sick fuck. you will never be good enough for anybody, no one will ever love you, your sister doesn't even want to see you. i see you, and you're an insecure, needy, fucking freak."

you want to strike a nerve, and you know you have. you want to cause pain, regain some dignity that you've lost. you may have seen the worst of him, but he has not seen the worst of you.

"i'm done with you, i fucking hate you... and you're friends are hotter."