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It hit him like a sudden whiplash, as though he’d opened his eyes one day and found himself transmigrated to another dimension, where his train of thoughts does not have a brake and he’s zooming through assumptions and insecurities, speeding towards his impending doom, wrapping an ever-tightening noose around his neck. And finally, ultimately, almost inevitably, he crashes.
Hinata shouyou knows exactly why and when and where it went wrong. He has known it for long before he had even allowed himself to feel soft touches against the planes of his face and warm breaths tickling all over his body, even before he had ever set his eyes on washed out bleached hair and dangerous smiles that sent lightning bolts up his spines and scorched his nerve cells into dust.
He had known why and when and where it had gone wrong and despite all that, he let himself slip into muscular arms that held him close and soft lips that kissed at his temples; all because he craved for such a warmth that he’d once been robbed off of, that he’d once tried to hold onto with calloused and bruised hands; only to be left with blood dripping from the tips of his fingers.
So, he’d ran away with his bleeding heart, cradling it in his aching hands and promising himself that he would never again let himself be so deeply wounded. Never again would he let another man hold his heart.
With hurt and pique fueled vigor, Shouyou cut off the strings that bound him to the place of first love and the place of painful love and flew far, far away with the tattered thing that had become of his heart; the only thing that could truly mend his soul would be at the other end of the world.
So, in another land, where the sky bled a different colour and the people spoke a different language, Shouyou was left on his own to stitch up his heart with trembling hands. Bit by bit, step by step. But he’d taken too long to close the wound; uncertainty and doubt found home at the very corners of his heart where he wouldn’t see, where they would lay dormant before sinking their vicious fangs for when he’d once again let himself be vulnerable.
.
Miya Atsumu regarded him as some glorified deity with the way he poured out his love for Shouyou from every pore in his body. He worshipped him with breath stealing kisses and languid, slow moving hands that painted his body in thrilling ecstasy. And it was when Atsumu stares at him as though he holds galaxies in his calloused hands, it was when he looks at him with the fondest smile stretched across his lips and Shouyou is just sitting there doing nothing. It was then that Shouyou thought, would he still look at me the same if he knew.
But he doesn’t think too hard on it. After all, he wasn’t an anguished teenager who’d gotten his heartbroken anymore. He’d moved on from a certain sharp-eyed setter a long time ago. And he firmly believed that what happened in the past should remain in the past. There was no point in bringing up topics that would only leave behind a bitter atmosphere.
Hinata Shouyou should’ve known that lack of communication only brought about doom.
Doom came in the form of Kageyama Tobio ringing his cell on a particularly chilly Sunday night.
Doom came in the form of Kageyama Tobio uttering three forbidden words in the dark corner of a dingy pub.
Doom came in the form of three forbidden words uttered by a certain sharp-eyed setter who’d coaxed out the vicious fangs that patiently hid in the corners of his heart, to take a bite of the malformed thing in his chest and let the poison set in.
Shouyou ignored the slight twinge of pain in his chest and never uttered a word of his encounter with Kageyama to Atsumu.
He should’ve known that lack of communication only brought about doom.
.
It was a slow and torturous process. The resentment that’d resurfaced after years of being buried somewhere deep within, taking its time to reach every nook and cranny of his body. Resentment that was so cold and ancient, it burned.
He couldn’t utter a word to Atsumu. He couldn’t show him this singular part of him that wreaked havoc in its distorted emotions. He couldn’t show him the mangled mess that was his heart.
He couldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
He needed time. Just a bit more time to get things back in order.
.
Shouyou was caught in a hurricane of three forbidden words that boomed in his ears until he could hear nothing else; he was deaf to the silence that Atsumu screamed his way. Shouyou’s eyes were glued to the picture of desperate, stormy eyes begging for his love; he was blind to the lights that flickered out in Atsumu’s eyes. Shouyou’s skin was branded in guilt, white-hot and searing and it was like his skin was peeled off; he no longer let Atsumu touch him.
Time. He knew he was running out of it.
.
“Do you still… love me
?” The words sounded like the warning bell to a death sentence. The noose hung lightly around his neck. The mask blinding him to the hurt that lay beneath his smile.
“Of course Atsumu-san. Why are you even asking?”
I love you. I do. I swear to god I do. But I’m scared. So scared. I just need more time. Please. Were words that were left unsaid.
He should’ve ripped them out of his throat.
.
“Shouyou-kun, let's end this.”
His time was up and the noose tightened around his neck.
He cried and cried, words a jumbled mess tumbling out of his mouth and none of them of resistance. Those stayed lodged in his throat, poison in full effect.
.
The noise in his head muted, the images assaulting his eyes disappeared, the guilt that burned his skin vanished and he was left bare and cold.
Shouyou was numb.
The type of numb that came with hypothermia and frostbites, that nipped at your skin while you were too busy with something else. He couldn’t really feel anything and he moved about as though a listless ghost.
But that was only when he was alone.
The Hinata Shouyou that his friends and family saw is a ball of unending excitement that pranced around without a care in the world because everyday problems surely couldn’t bother him. And surely something like a break-up would be forgotten in the midst of boisterous banter with teammates and volleyball.
Volleyball was always a good distraction.
It didn't matter that it was only temporary. At least, for when he is in the presence of washed-out bleached hair, volleyball stood before him like a vigilant guard, the loud smack of the ball hitting linoleum floor too loud for anyone to hear the little wobble at the end of his words.
.
His heart came apart at the seams three times.
.
The first time, Shouyou had just gotten off call with Atsumu. It’s the shortest conversation they had ever had, all sharp edges that grazed at his soul and tense silence that thundered in his ears. There’s this uncomfortable thing churning in his chest and he is not exactly sure what to name it - a concoction of too many things left unattended to for too long.
Shouyou had to stop by at their - Atsumu’s house to grab a notebook he had left behind. A worn out little thing Natsu had gifted him long ago when things were much more simpler. And honestly, he could have gone some other time when he wasn’t hanging out with Yachi. Or at another time when he wasn’t so far away.
He wasn’t sure why he had lied about being in the neighborhood. God he was nowhere near! It was as though all words and rationality had betrayed him at the sound of Atsumu.
It took him forty-five minutes to reach Atsumu’s apartment. He had promised to be there in an hour. Shouyou’s hands felt clammy as he tried to reach into his pockets for a spare key. Ah, I moved out . It’s a slow, sinking realization that sits heavy in his stomach. We aren’t together anymore. It takes him another four minutes to knock on the door.
And when the door swung open, there was Atsumu, standing at the doorway in mussed hair that looked deceptively soft and warm brown eyes that were cold and brittle. His heart lurched uncomfortably in his chest. He shouldn’t stay long.
This was home.
Shouyou feels sick. He shouldn’t be here. Not here, not here, not here.
“Thanks Atsumu-san! Natsu would kill me if I lost this.” He smiled, the one that’s a tad bit forced, enough to make his eyes crinkle, “Ya saved my life!”
“I gotta run, though. Yachi is picking me up. She’s right downstairs.”
There was no one waiting for him and Shouyou needed to leave.
Leave, leave, leave now!
“Why?”
Shouyou never knew whispered words could carry the weight of the world. A singular, three syllable word struck down on him with the force of Thor’s Hammer and he stood rigid with his back turned to Atsumu.
He only needed to tell the truth to fix this wounded relationship. Just one word and he knew Atsumu would listen.
And it’s right there, the words climbing up from the pit of his stomach and up, up, up, all the way to his throat when they get stuck and burn. It is like flames erupting in every cell in his body, screaming at him and it hurts, god it hurts.
It’s right there, the words but they're painful and they're going to burn his tongue and lips so he lies instead.
He lies with his hands and feet and lips and mouth and his entire being. And it is so easy to slip into that act; he has been doing it for so long.
“Atsumu-san, we’ve been over this. There’s nothing wrong,”
There’s so much that’s wrong but I can’t tell you.
“I just think we’re better off as friends.”
I want you. I want you so bad, but you’re better off without me.
When Atsumu says goodbye, it sounds like forever.
.
The second time was at his home in Miyagi.
It was when the only living thing in his house of wooden flooring and sliding doors was him and his deafeningly silent mind.
It was when he stayed cooped up in his little room and scoured through it like he had never been there before and all he could find were lingering traces of sandalwood.
It was when he had looked through his wardrobe and found Atsumu in the form of a hoodie, tucked quietly, softly in the corner. It still smelled of sandalwood.
It smelled like home.
It smelled like the home he had lost and in his bed that was too small for him now, he cried.
He cried and cried like a little child, hot tears streaming down flushed cheeks, nose an ugly red and eyes rimmed in despair and hurt. The only piece of Atsumu, he held close to his chest, right atop his raucous heart that only wished to be wrapped in the scent of sandalwood.
Shouyou buried himself in that scent, inhaled it like it was the only thing that let him breath. And when he found that there wasn’t enough, he choked on the stale thing called oxygen.
And in his deafeningly silent mind, only Atsumu lived.
There wasn’t enough. Not enough, not enough, not enough.
In the place of first love and painful love, Shouyou only remembered washed-out bleached hair love.
.
It has been weeks since his visit to Miyagi, Shouyou is back in Osaka in his desolate apartment, a white box furnished with only the bare minimum; the only thing that was not a mandatory decoration was the hoodie he brought back. Atsumu’s hoodie. The one that was slowly losing its sandalwood scent.
The goodbye he had said weeks before never felt more profound.
It felt as though his heartstrings were being snapped.
Shouyou knew in that instant; he would never forgive himself and he would never forget him. A punishment exacted by the cowardice that ruled his being. And because he was a coward, so pathetic at masking the longing that sometimes twisted his face and because he longed for even the smallest part of Atsumu and because he was greedy despite everything- he wanted to bask in Atsumu’s essence for a bit longer.
Just a bit more, just a bit more…
Perhaps it was fate’s way of saying that he should stop running away. But Shouyou was so, so stubborn. Stubborn even when he was caught red-handed with a bottle of Sandalwood Shampoo, staring in wide-eyed wonder that how come he is always there, everywhere.
Atsumu stared at him, eyes wide and surprised, hands halfway to picking some toiletry before it dropped back to his side like dead weight.
Everything has turned to static noise; all Shouyou can hear is the dangerous thudding of his heartbeat.
Shouyou doesn’t know what to say, he is not sure what would be a sufficient excuse for the bottle in his hands and the weary red around his eyes. He is not sure if he hasn’t already given himself away just being here.
“Hinata-kun,” Atsumu breathes out.
It is so soft and gentle and weary but all Shouyou feels are a thousand pin pricks all over his body. He doesn’t want Atsumu to call him by his surname. It sounds like a foreign language on his tongue, so unfamiliar, so distant, so, so far away.
“Atsumu-san!” Shouyou smiles, his voice too bright, too airy, too superficial. “I didn’t see you there!” He puts back the shampoo, and Atsumu's eyes follow the movement. He doesn’t comment.
This is too disorienting. Shouyou wasn’t prepared to bump into Atsumu, he was nowhere near prepared to hold a conversation full of brittle pleasantries and too tight smiles. His cheeks hurt.
“Yeah.” Is all Atsumu says and the frigidity in his voice has Shouyou dropping the fake, fake smile. “I was doin’ some monthly shopping,” he explains, “Didn’t expect to bump into ya.”
Shouyou’s smile is much smaller now, almost painfully polite. “Yeah, I...came here...with a friend,” Atsumu stares at him like a predator, his sharp, sharp eyes boring into his own. It almost felt like he was peering at the tattered thing in his ribs, beating thunderously.
He should calm down or his heart would come apart at the seams. He should.
Atsumu sighs and it’s heavy and tired. Shouyou’s tattered heart lurches in its cage.
“I shouldn’t keep ya waitin then,” his lips tremble, “ya should go.”
“Yeah, ok.”
And when Shouyou walks away, he doesn’t turn back, he doesn’t turn back, he wouldn’t turn back. He turns back.
Atsumu is gone.
.
In an empty aisle, at the very back of a mart, Miya Atsumu whispers out a single name, more breath than sound, “Shouyou-kun.”
It sounded like a desperate plea.
.
In an Izakaya with his Black Jackals team mates, Hinata Shouyou is a strange restless energy with his fiddling hands and crooked smiles and unfocused eyes that jump from one face to another but never on the one right across him.
Brown eyes bore into his face with a sharp, almost nerve-wrecking gleam, a set of eyes that were usually directed to opponents on the other side of the net, now sat heavy on him.
But whenever Shouyou tried to strike up a conversation with Atsumu, he was blatantly, painfully, and very obviously avoided.
It made him want to throw up.
The dim lights of the Izakaya cast a soft glow on Atsumu, his hair a sleepy morning yellow and eyes so big and large and dewy and fuck he doesn’t have the patience to keep up appearances today.
Not today, not today, not today.
“Hinata-kun”, Shouyou stills, his restless energy snuffed out as though dosed in cold, cold water.
He looks at the man who had called him out, voice so sharp, so distant. “Could ya pass me that glass of water please,” Atsumu gestures at the untouched glass of water near Shouyou.
He didn’t know he was so parched until Atsumu asked for it.
Shouyou passed him the glass of water without a word. Their fingers brushed. Atsumu goes back to bantering with Bokuto as if he didn’t exist.
It is like a quiet whisper into his ears, undetected until uncomfortably close, the whisperings of his spiraling thoughts that start in his head and end in the trembling of his hands under the table. And he is staring and staring and staring unblinkingly at Atsumu. Staring and staring until his eyes sting and he has to look away.
It is like slow creeping hands brushing across his skin, goosebumps flesh all over his body as the words mockingly sing in his head.
He hates me, he hates me, he hates me, he hates me, hatesmehatesmehatesmehatesmehatesme—
His heart thunders in his chest so loud, so loud, so loud. His heart thunders in his chest like a wild beast kicking its hooves against its cage wanting to be let out, out, out.
It is agonizing and Shouyou wants to drown in frigid water because his skin is alight with deep rooted shame and stubborn, lingering affection for the man across him.
He is not mine, he is not mine, he is not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine—
He doesn’t love me anymore—
Shouyou abruptly stands. His chest is heavy, so heavy and he can’t breath. The people at his table are staring at him. Atsumu is staring at him and his gaze is smouldering.
He can't breath.
He has to say something before people start worrying.
“I’m sorry, it seems I’m not feeling well,” Shouyou lets out a shuddering breath. He bows before anyone can notice the slight sheen across his eyes, “Please excuse me. I’ll be going back now.”
He leaves before any questions are raised.
It is a chilly night and his body is on fire, the material of his clothes is rough against his skin and he is hot, hot, hot. His breaths come out laborious and Shouyou can’t really see in front of him. It is dark, dark, dark and his vision is swimming with unshed tears. His legs are lead that refuse to move an inch but he powers through it. He needs to get back to his apartment.
The anxiety that has held him in a vice grip tightens and tightens and tightens and all his mind has to offer is the daunting reality that Atsumu was not his. And perhaps he was never his and Shouyou doesn’t even know where his thoughts are heading anymore, there is no end and it is just a blind plunge into a deep, dark world.
Treacherous, treacherous mind.
There is sweat beading his forehead and his hands are trembling, his eyes are screwed shut and Shouyou doesn’t even know if he is headed in the right direction anymore.
His emotions are all over the place, bubbling over the edge and so close to spilling and making a mess.
Somewhere from behind, his name is called out and Shouyou freezes over.
Nononononononono
“Hinata-kun!” It sounds like a death toll.
He resumes walking, his pace brisk and Shouyou doesn’t dare look back.
“Hinata!” Atsumu billows in the dead of the night. Shouyou does not stop. “Hinata Shouyou!” He sounds irate and Shouyou can tell he is picking up his pace.
Please leave, please leave, please leave—
He has nibbled his lips raw and Shouyou can taste the bitter iron of his blood and he is trying his best to outpace Atsumu because he cannot see him like this. Not when the tears are overflowing, not when his lips are bleeding, not when he is unsure of what would happen if Atsumu caught up to him or of how he would react. Because Shouyou isn’t in the right headspace and he needs to leave.
“Oh for fuck sake Hinata-kun! Stop ignoring me!” Atsumu grabs him by his elbows and Shouyou explodes.
“Don’t touch me!” Shouyou screams.
It is like the quiet that comes with hitting a gavel on a wooden block, like the damning of a final judgement and Shouyou is the assailant.
It is the hurt that flashes across Atsumu’s face that crumbles any pretense of nonchalance that Shouyou was going to wear.
They fall like bullets down his face, a downpour of salty tears that stain his cheeks and lips and his entire being and his hands tremble as he covers the shameful vulnerability that tide over him like an undetected tsunami; he croaks out two pitiful words,
“I’m sorry.”
His legs give out and he falls and falls and falls and doesn’t stop falling.
Shouyou sits on the floor, head bowed low, body quivering with concerning intensity. His tears paint the brick sidewalk.
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—“ It is a song he sings of sorrow and shame and longing, a song that scratches at his throat, clawing its way out of his mouth. It’s a song of sorrow and shame and he sings it to Atsumu and empty streets of Osaka.
Sobs hack across his body and words don’t make sense and Miya Atsumu stares in horror at his sun that’s dimmed out.
He reaches out to Shouyou with shaking hands, “Hinata-ku—“
“Don’t call me that! Don’t— please—“
Atsumu doesn’t know what to do. His mind is running a thousand miles per second and Shouyou is crying like it hurts somewhere. His Shouyou—
He lowers himself so he is face to face with Shouyou, his Shouyou who is in so much pain and who won’t spare him a glance. Atsumu bites hard on his lips. He reaches out a tentative hand to place on Shouyou's shaking shoulders.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Hinata—” His voice is but a whisper of the wind and Shouyou doesn’t hear him.
“Don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t look at me don’t look at me I’m so sorry I’m sorry—”
“Hinata—”
“I said don’t call me that!” Shouyou whimpers, breath erratic and voice glazed with emotion too heavy for a single human to carry. And he looks at Atsumu as though his world is crumbling between his hands and there is nothing that could be done.
He falls next to him, arms slack against his side and his fingers digging into dirty gravel because he doesn’t know what to do and he is helpless, so very helpless.
“What do you want me to do? Tell me what to do—”
“Nothing, nothing, I’m sorry, sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry—”
“Please—” Atsumu’s voice hitches and he so desperately wants to hold the hurting boy, “tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…”
“Shouyou. Shouyou please,” his hands are hovering in the air, so desperate to hold Shouyou but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t—
There are tears stinging his eyes and cheeks and lips and there is blood coating his tongue and Atsumu’s heart hurts because the man he loves so deeply, so insurmountably, is crying across from him and he is just an arms length away and he can't do anything.
"Shō— babe, please, please look at me," Atsumu lets the term of endearment slip through his bloody mouth and it doesn't even register in his head because Shouyou is crying and having a full on panic attack and Atsumu can't do a thing. He silently sits next to him, hoping against everything that his presence would mean even the smallest comfort for Shouyou.
Perhaps he shouldn't have said it, the term of endearment that resonates through Shouyou's body is so warm and so full of love and it hurts so bad because he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve the worrying gaze Atsumu has pinned on him, he doesn't deserve the tears that Atsumu is crying because of him, he doesn't deserve Atsumu.
They are weary souls hurting on a side street a few blocks away from the Izakaya. They are weary souls that have been hurting for so long and only the night sky and flickering lamp posts oversee their broken hearts.
It’s been 10 minutes, Shouyou has quieted down and Atsumu is still sitting besides him, waiting for him. And as he unfolds himself, sitting up straighter than he has done all night, Shouyou breaths.
And he doesn’t bother putting up a facade as he turns to look at Atsumu, face frighteningly vacant. But before he can get in a word, Atsumu speaks with all the strength of a wizened old man,
“I’m takin ya home.”
Atsumu takes him home.
.
It’s 12:45 on a Tuesday and Shouyou is too tired to tell Atsumu that home for him isn’t the apartment that they used to share.
That home he had let slip past his fingers without a fight.
They shuffle through the dimly lit living room, Atsumu's hands enveloping his own, so big and so warm and so right.
They don't utter a word to each other. Atsumu leaves behind an old set of his clothes for Shouyou to change into and leaves him in the room for the rest of the night.
Shouyou is too tired to really do anything but change out of his clothes. He doesn't even bother splashing his face with water or freshening up.
But when he is lying on the bed, changed into the comforts of Atsumu's clothes that smell like sandalwood; stares at the high ceiling of their— his bedroom, Shouyou can't stop thinking of everything and everything.
And then the thoughts get too heavy as they sit on his eyelids; Shouyou falls into a restless sleep.
Even then he wonders about the morning that is to come.
.
His exhaustion is a chain that binds him to the bed, his anxiety a heavy, heavy bolder that sits atop his chest. Shouyou is wide awake as the alarm on his phone goes off.
He doesn't want to face Atsumu. The thought of having to explain last night sets cold dread in his bones.
But he gets up because he can't be in bed the whole day (he isn't sure if his presence here is welcome at all) and makes his way to the living room.
Shouyou couldn’t tell before but the place was different yet somehow still the same. He couldn’t really put his finger down on what had changed. Perhaps it was the potted plants that now lined the little apartments or perhaps it was the absence of a pair in everyday routine.
There is a silence in his soul, it screams of nothing and everything; it is deaf to everyone’s ears but his.
Shouyou isn’t sure what to do as he awkwardly stands near the couch, fiddling with the too big shirt that reaches just above his knees.
There are pillows scattered on the couch, a blanket pooled at the floor and two coffee mugs sitting on the coffee table. It is a mess.
Atsumu is in the open kitchen right across, his back turned to Shouyou as he wordlessly makes two more mugs of coffee.
Atsumu doesn’t know how to make coffee.
And when he turns around, it is like Shouyou is seeing him for the first time.
Rumpled shirt and disheveled hair, red rimmed eyes and shadows of a restless night staining his face. His lips are bruised.
There are arrows piercing Shouyou’s heart.
He had never seen him so tired .
Atsumu walks over to the couch before plopping down and letting the hot mugs rest on the table, “You should sit,” he rasps.
Shouyou sits. Atsumu pushes the second mug towards him. Shouyou takes a sip. It is too sweet.
“Yesterday…” Atsumu trails off. He is looking the other way.
Shouyou gulps. He lets the mug rest between his palms. It is hot.
“Ya don’t haveta say anythin if you don’t wanna explain,” Atsumu sounds so bitter and Shouyou wants to cry again.
He breathes out. And in. And then out again.
He speaks.
“I— yesterday— I’m not sure—”
“I said ya don’t have t—”
“I want to.” And maybe it is the finality in his voice that has Atsumu turning to look at him. It is the finality in his voice that sets his thoughts straight.
Shouyou breaths.
“When I was in highschool, in my final year, I started dating Kageyama-kun. You already know this...but...I never told you anything…after that...I guess. Honestly, I'm not even sure what happened that day the break-up happened. I just remember being hurt...and crying...a lot. And then I flew to Brazil, spending two years there, I thought I’d healed. I thought I was fine. And then I came back and met you and fell in love with you and everything was fine and we were doing so well—” Shouyou’s voice hitches. Just the thought of that miserable night is enough to make him want to drive himself against a brick wall.
“Sho-”
“Let me finish,” he sighs, “please.”
Atsumu’s face is contorted into the saddest face Shouyou has ever seen.
“Ok.”
“We were doing well. I loved you and you loved me too. But I didn’t know that there was a difference in getting over an ex and healing emotionally— mentally.” Shouyou chuckles bitterly. The mug in his hands has cooled down. “I—” Shouyou bites hard on his lower lip, “I never wanted...to break up. But I couldn't bring myself...to say anything." He lets out a shuddering breath. “I couldn't say anything at all for fear that...that you...will see all of me. All the parts of me...that are broken and bruised and dysfunctional and... not happy. It's not as though I wasn't happy with you though. I was. I was really really happy. But then...just a few weeks before...the breakup...I met with Kageyama. He said he still had feelings for me an—”
“Ya never told me.”
“Wha—”
“That ya met with Tobio-kun. And that he confessed. Ya never said anything.”
Atsumu's eyes are pinned to his and they are so fiery in their sadness. It felt like he had committed a sin; perhaps he did.
Shouyou gulps. There is shame coating his voice, “I know. I'm sorry.”
Atsumu looks away. His head hangs low and Shouyou can't make out the expression on his face.
Silence as deep as the ocean fills the room and Shouyou is drowning and drowning and drowning and in that place where there is no sound, there is pressure so crushing that it shatters his ribs and rips his heart into ribbons.
His head hangs low in heavy shame and guilt . So much guilt.
“Do ya still love him then? Tobio-kun.”
It is the fragile vulnerability that has Shouyou snapping his head up and looking at Miya Atsumu. Miya Atsumu who looks at him as though he is holding onto a single, fraying thread of hope.
Shouyou would be cruel to let anything but the truth slip out.
"No. No, I don't.”
And it is as easy as breathing to tell the truth. Because he doesn't want to hurt him any longer.
“What about me then? D'ya still love me?”
Shouyou would be cruel to let anything but the truth slip out. He would be cruel to deny Atsumu of anything at all.
“I loved you then. I loved you when we fell apart. And I love you now."
Shouyou tries for a small smile but it is wobbly and his eyes are teary and he has to look away because he isn't sure what to do with all the emotions that are gushing out and painting his being.
He doesn't realize that his hands are shaking so much until Atsumu is holding them.
"Am I allowed to hold you now?"
His voice is a whisper calling him home. And who is Shouyou to deny the comforts of him.
"Yes."