#ch.multiple

—miya atsumu

atsumu shows up at your door exactly a week after he’d left you alone in bed, a dozen roses in his arms. you stare at him for a few moments, taking in the sight of his pleading eyes, and shut the door on him.

you had been completely ready to roll over and tell him all your feelings that morning: how you’ve been watching him since high school, how amazing you thought he was, despite all the bad things people say about his personality and attitude. you didn’t care about any of that, and you wanted to tell him how much you admired him, but he hadn’t been there.

you laid in bed for the next few hours, wasting away your sunday, and when you get up to wash your face, you decide that if he’s not going to at least call to say where he’d gone, then maybe he was as bad as people say.

“y/n...” his voice cuts through your thoughts, but it sounds muffled, as if he had his head against the wood of the door. “y/n, can ya hear me?” when you don’t answer, he continues: “i’m sorry fer leavin’ ya... ‘samu said i was stupid, and y’know he’s never right, but since ya haven’t talked to me... i think he might have been this time...”

there’s a pause, and you wait, still refusing to open the door. it’s been a whole week, you reason.

“how do i put this...” he mutters, lightly tapping his head against the door, “i guess i was jus’ feelin’ awkward ‘bout it... i never done that before so—”

you rip open the door, cheeks red, “never? ‘tsumu, you’re a virgin?”

you think about all the girls that have flocked to him over the years and the way that he easily interacted with them. you thought you never had a chance, not against the girls with the prettier faces, the curvier bodies, the glossier hair. but when he had kissed you last night, sloppy and desperate, you felt all those feelings melt away.

“...ya don’t hafta say it like that...” he pouts, and when you start to giggle, he scowls even harder. “i was just... waitin’ for the right time, y’know?”

when you don’t say anything, staring at him dumbfounded, he manages to stutter, “s-so? w-will you take the flowers?”

your eyes soften, covering his fingers with yours, “yes,” you agree, “but only if you agree never to leave me again.”

— sakusa kiyoomi

sakusa hadn’t meant to stay the night—he knew he had an early morning practice that he needed to be properly rested for, but after the way you had clung onto him, and realizing how good that felt, he decided he couldn’t just leave you. and when he wakes up, glancing over at your peaceful face, he also decides to just pull the covers up to your chin and text you later.

but when you wake up alone and a little warm, with no new messages from him on your phone, your heart sinks. you think of the way he let you pull down his mask, the way he pressed forward to kiss you, and wonder if it all meant nothing. you leave him a message anyway, pressing send before you second guess yourself. 

y/n [9:52am] kiyoomi, if you didn’t want to see me again, you could’ve just let me know. i don’t blame you or anything.

you throw your phone on the bed and proceed with your day as if nothing had happened. life goes on, you tell yourself. but when the doorbell rings that evening, the last person you expect to see is sakusa, who looks a little worn out, still dressed in his training attire.

“kiyoomi? what are you—” 

he cuts you off, his voice so deep and serious that you shrink a little:  “i had practice. i left my keys here, so i was going to come back anyway.”

“so you just needed your keys?” you repeat, a little numb, and turn away to grab them from the bowl in the doorway. you hand it it to him with a tremble, mumbling, “...here you go.”

he takes them from your hand, but intertwines his fingers with yours anyway. “no,” he says slowly, “not just my keys. i forgot to let you know where i was. i’m sorry.”

“i-it’s not like you have to tell me where you are all the time...” you’re blushing, your heart thumping in your chest. 

he grips your fingers tighter, “yes, i do,” he pulls you closer gently, “we’re together now, right?”

— hinata shoyo

when you wake up, the spot next to you is still warm, but there’s nobody there. you blink, thinking about how gentle hinata had been with you last night, the look in his eyes as he pressed into you, and wonder if he’d changed his mind.

“shoyo?” you call, but there’s no answer, which only confirms your worst fears.

hinata had always been too nice and a little immature. you can’t imagine that if he wanted to leave after a night like that he would be able to effectively communicate it to you without messing up. well, you think as you turn over, staring at the ceiling, maybe this is better than rejection.

but then you hear the front door open, and someone’s bounding up to your bedroom door. hinata pokes his head in.

“y/n, you awake? i got food, i didn’t know what you wanted so i kinda got a lot but if you can’t finish—” he stops when he realizes that you’re curled up beneath the covers, your glassy eyes blinking back at him.

hinata scrambles over, dropping the bags on the floor, and burrowing into your side, “what’s wrong? are you sore? was it me—”

you start to wail midway, cutting him off, “i-i thought you left!” you hiccup, “you weren’t there when i woke up so i thought you regretted it and—”

“no, no, i would never—” he protests, and his gaze softens when he sees your patchy face, “y/n, please don’t cry! i-i won’t leave you ever! come on, let’s go eat, okay?”

you wipe your tears hastily, lip still quivering. but you believe him, his eyes as bright as they were the day you met him, and you say okay.

he kinda looks like he does when he’s setting, in deep concentration, kind of unhappy. you wait for him to say something, anything, but the silence stretches on, for so long that you think you’ll have a heart attack.

“my first doctor’s appointment is on monday,” you tell him, trying to nudge him into saying something, “do you want to come with me?”

“i can’t, i have practice,” he blurts out almost automatically, and you nod. of course he does. it’s silent for a while, and then he’s speaking again. “can’t you...” he swallows, looking away, “...not have the baby?”

don’t lose your shit, you tell yourself, don’t lose your shit. you tamp down the growing anger and nod again, making another vague humming noise.

“yeah, i could,” you agree, voice eerily quiet, “but i want the baby, tobio.”

“okay,” he nods, “...do what you want, then.” 

your heart drops. you can’t see his face, not with his bangs covering his eyes, but you stare at him for a while anyway, your own eyes stinging. you silently shuffle back into the house, leaving him standing in the doorway.

it’s awkward when he slips into bed that night. you keep your back to him, but you can almost feel his gaze on the ceiling. you don’t know when he sleeps, or if he ever does. by the time you wake up, he’s wrapped around you, leg thrown over yours, his big hand rubbing over your still flat stomach under your shirt.

he jolts awake as soon as you stir, dropping his lips against your neck and nuzzling you.

“i’m sorry about last night,” he murmurs immediately, and you’re sure he’s pouting. “y-you caught me off guard. i want it. the... the baby. with you.”

you sigh, staring at the wall opposite from you. you think of having to move again, back to japan this time. you thought that would be good for you and kageyama, but his reaction last night...

“are you sure?” you ask, covering his hand with yours, missing some of the bravado you had, “we can...”

“no,” he sounds almost childish, and you smile, wondering how he’ll be as a father, “no, i’m—i’m sure.”

his arms tighten around you. it’s not often that you get to cuddle in the morning with kageyama, not when he’s always going for jogs and volleyball practice. so you lean back, telling yourself that everything will be just fine.

— miya atsumu

“y’know, y/n...” your boyfriend says to you one day, “yer gettin’ kinda... like, fat...”

you whip your head around to stare at him, your cheeks heating with embarrassment. he cowers instinctively, waiting for you to hit him like you usually do, but your arm stops midair before you let it drop. 

you wanted to hide this a little longer, because to be honest, you were scared. scared of his reaction, scared he wouldn’t want you, scared you’d be left alone. but you sigh, knowing you couldn’t anymore, and slump against the couch.

“atsumu...” you lower your voice, and instantly he cowers more.

“i‘m sorry! i didn’t mean it like that!” he yells, hands covering his face, “don’t hit me, i’m beggin—”

“no, atsumu,” you sigh, taking his hands into yours, “listen to me.”

he sees how serious your expression is and quiets down, bowing his head and leaning closer to you. the idiot still probably thinks you’re mad because he called you fat, you think. you would’ve laughed if you didn’t feel like puking at this moment.

“i’m pregnant,” you say, taking a deep breath, “we’re gonna have a baby.”

“hah?” he retorts quickly, “we’re what? no, we’re not.”

you watch as his face changes, and then he’s off again. “no, y/n, ya can’t be pregnant. i can’t be a dad. have ya met me? samu doesn’t even have a kid yet, ‘nd that’s like, the one thing i don’t wanna beat him at and— goddammit, i shoulda used condoms—”

 “atsumu,” you almost scream, the panic bubbling up in your chest, “do you not want to do this with me?”

“but, weren’t ya on the pill or somethin’? how could this happen?” he acts as if he hadn’t heard your question,” y/n, are ya sure it’s min—”

you can’t take it anymore and burst out crying. you don’t even pay attention to the fact that he just accused you of cheating. the stress from the weeks of keeping this to yourself explodes and you sob loudly, louder than atsumu’s panicked rambling.

“shit—” he curses, seeing your tears, and quickly taking your hands into his, “y/n, ’m sorry, i—it’s just—i’m gonna be a horrible dad, ya know? i don’t know if i can do this, it’s like... i’m not very reliable ‘nd ma always said—”

“but,” you sniffle through your tears, “aren’t we doing this together?”

he nods slowly, and then moves to rest his head on your chest. he tentatively puts a hand on your stomach, rubbing his index finger over it as if it were foreign to him.

“yeah,” he agrees quietly, “we’re doing this together.”

— akaashi keiji

you knew akaashi hadn’t wanted a child, not yet at least. you knew that, and yet when he said okay the night you told him you were pregnant, you were naive enough to think that it was actually okay.

he works, all the time, very hard. it only made sense, he had told you he needed to, in order to get to where he wanted to be. but it left you many nights, belly and feet swollen, joints aching, alone on the couch, wondering what you were doing.

did you eat your vitamins? he asks softly every morning without fail. but that was it.

you went to doctor’s appointments alone, you shopped for baby clothes alone, and you stared at the empty four walls of the baby’s room alone. you were too afraid to buy furniture for it: it seemed too permanent, especially when being pregnant seemed like a repressed dream every day.

"keiji, ” you call out to him early one morning, before he can leave for work again, “...let’s not have the baby.”

he doesn’t respond and for a moment you can’t even tell if he heard you. but then he’s whipping his head around, as if he had just realized what you said, and scrambles to kneel at your side.

“what’s wrong?” he places a hand on your belly, right beside yours, like he never had, “are you feeling—”

“you’re never here!” you cry, wincing at your own screech, “i don’t want to do this alone, keiji. i can’t do this alone. the baby started kicking yesterday, you know? and you weren’t there. i didn’t even know what to do. i’m not gonna know what to do. god, we need a crib and a c-changing table, and—”

you stop when he lays his head down on your lap. 

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles faintly, his hot breath seeping through your shirt. the kitchen is silent with your sniffles. you’re so tired, from the pregnancy or everything else, but you tangle your fingers in akaashi’s hair, and it brings you just an ounce of comfort. it’s soft as always, just like it was when you had started dating.

“i’m sorry,” he says again, turning his head to the side to face you, letting your fingers drift over his cheek, “i was taking on more work, to save money for... for the baby. i hadn’t— ...i didn’t realize i was neglecting you, y/n.” 

 you look down, “y-you were what?” 

 “i took on a new author,” he tells you, “and i asked around for some freelance work. i think we’re okay financially, but you never know, so i thought it’d be good to have extra—”

“keiji,” you interrupt, voice scratchy, “were you nervous?” 

“well, yes,” he admits, leaning into your palm, “but that’s no excuse for leaving you all alone. i can drop the freelance, maybe move most of my work back home—” 

you smile, the familiar sound of akaashi overthinking things a buzz in your ears. you brush your thumb over the wrinkles between his eyebrows, tracing the lines on his face, recognizing the way his eyes tighten when he’s serious. he looks up at you. 

“do you want to come to the doctor’s with me on thursday?” you sniffle softly, smiling at him. 

“...yes,” he nods, almost like a reflex, but you can see him thinking again, his stare blanking. you reach down to intertwine your fingers with his, placing them over your belly. the focus returns to his eyes and he looks reassured, finally smiling back at you. 

“yes,” he repeats, “i’ll come with you.”