#miyaangst

Sakusa greets you with a polite Good Evening.

“That’s such a nice dress, y/n. Was it girls night?” Hinata inquires and you so badly wish he was correct.

“Evening, everyone. And no it wasn’t girls night, I was celebrating my anniversary. Alone.” Your voice is stone cold and as you turn to walk towards your room you manage to catch a glimpse of the blood draining from Atsumu’s face.

“Baby, wait!” You hear from behind you but your pace doesn’t falter.

As you pass the threshold of your shared bedroom, you feel a hand on your shoulder turn you towards the last man you wanted to talk to at that moment, your gaze meeting his panic-stricken one.

“I’m so sorry, I completely forgot. And I got so distracted when the boys asked to come over to play video games, and-“

At that point you had tuned him out and resumed your walk towards your closet. Your feet were starting to ache from how long you had stood outside the restaurant waiting for his arrival and your dress was slightly damp from the unexpected drizzled you’d encountered.

Atsumu goes to grab your hand this time to gain your attention, but you pull it back as if you’d been burned.

“Don’t touch me. I waited more than 2 hours for you and I hadn’t received as much as a text back. This date has been planned for months and our anniversary is on the same date every year. I’m tired and cold so please give me some space.” Your voice is level but the lump in your throat only intensifies as you glance up at his apologetic face.

You’d spent hours shopping for the perfect outfit to celebrate your 3rd anniversary with your boyfriend, likewise with your hair and makeup. You’d practically skipped out of the front door, excusing the fact that he had not answered your message about his whereabouts, assuming that he’d been driving on his way to meet up with you after his practice. Instead, you’d been met with no date, no messages and a group of volleyball players in your living room after being stood up by one of their own.

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you recall their awkward gazes and remember that they could hear your argument through the open door.

You swiftly grab a random pair of sweats and head into the en-suite before Atsumu can get another word out. Locking the door behind you, you slide down to the ground and bury your head in your trembling hands.

After a few deep breaths, to prevent the tears from falling, you change into your sweats and muster a glance in the mirror. Your makeup had surprisingly stood up against the drizzle but the same couldn’t be said about your hair as you take in the few stands that have started to curl in odd directions. You work quickly to remove your hours of work and tie your hair away from your face, successfully ignoring the soft raps against the door and the voice quietly calling your name.

One last deep breathe and you make your way to exit the bathroom, pulling on the handle with such force that Atsumu falls slighting, catching himself on the door frame.

Another slew of apologies and begging for another date as a do-over for his mistake resound but you ignore his pleas. If it weren’t the 3rd time over the last few months that he’d begged at your feet for a redo, you’d merely tell him that he owed you with a teasing glare, much as you had the first time he’d stood you up for a longer training session but it had now become a pattern and you weren’t naive enough to believe he wouldn’t do it a 4th time.

Instead you grab your handbag, exchange your heels for a pair of sneakers, and make your way to the front door once again, bypassing the group of men who look as if they don’t know if they should make a beeline for the door or stay and help defuse the situation. You speak before they can make a decision.

“It was nice seeing everyone again. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” You quickly turn towards the front door before a frantic hand grabs yours, ignoring your sharp glare.

“Baby, please! I know I made another mistake but please don’t leave. We can talk it through, please!” Unshed tears line his waterline, threatening to fall but you’re so physically and emotionally drained that they don’t tug on your heartstrings as you know they have in the past.

“I’m tired of talking, Atsumu.” He flinches as you use his full name instead of the loving ‘tsumi that you usually refer to him as. “All I’ve been doing is talking but nothing changes. I just need some space.”

His hand squeezes your limp one that he still has in his tight grasp, as if letting it go would mean letting you go forever.

“At least tell me where you’re going. I just wanna know that you’re safe.” You hate that his concern warms your heart the slightest bit.

“I’m just going to my parents house for the night and I’ll return tomorrow. I’ll be ready to talk then.” A bowl of your mother’s homemade soup would quickly lift your spirits and you desperately needed advice from a woman who has been married to an equally as stress-inducing man for the past 30 years.

Atsumu reluctantly releases your hand after a moment of silence and whispers an “Alright.”

When he makes no move to withhold you any longer, you turn on your heel and make your way to exit the apartment.