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Despite what people may say—and they certainly say it a lot—Atsumu has never thought of himself as a conceited guy. Proud, sure; confident, definitely. But conceited? Atsumu just calls it like it is. He’s just an honest guy. And right now, looking himself over in the mirror and running a hand through his freshly gelled hair, he’s just being honest when he says that he’s one hell of a good looking dude that anyone would be lucky to date.
He hears the bedroom door open, smells a subtle whiff of cologne. From behind his shoulder, the reflection of the luckiest man in the world appears, blue eyes giving Atsumu an appraising look.
“Ready to go?” Tobio gently rests his chin on Atsumu’s shoulder. Up close, his cologne is especially tantalizing. Atsumu turns his head to stamp his boyfriend’s cheek with a soft kiss.
“Pretty much, I think,” he replies, then waggles his eyebrows. “How do I look?”
“Good,” he replies. “You always look good though.” Atsumu smirks in agreement.
“Hope your parents will think so too. Don’t want to give them a bad first impression.”
Tobio gives him a quick squeeze around the waist. “They will. They’re really easygoing. And they’ve never disliked anyone Miwa and I have introduced them to.”
At this, Atsumu spins around, eyes narrowed as he looks at his boyfriend in mild disbelief. “Wait a minute, you told me I’m the first serious relationship you’ve had.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“So I’ll be the only guy you’ve ever introduced to your parents?”
“Oh yeah, you’re right.” Atsumu has to admit it’s quite cute, the way Tobio blinks as if he genuinely has never thought about this before and is just realizing it now. “It’ll be fine,” he says, rubbing Atsumu’s arm reassuringly. “My parents are going to love you, don’t worry.”
Returning Atsumu’s earlier kiss with a peck of his own, Tobio ambles out of the bedroom, nonchalantly calling out a reminder that the cab he ordered is expected to arrive in ten minutes. Atsumu turns back to his reflection in the mirror. Is ten minutes enough to change his entire outfit and wash and restyle his hair?
No no, it’ll be fine. Atsumu repeats Tobio’s words to himself like a mantra. It does help to shoo away the tiniest little wisp of doubt—or at the very least, worry—that had wafted into his brain. He’s young, he’s good looking, he’s successful, he’s funny. And he has a charming accent! What’s there not to love?
One last spritz of his own cologne, a few little tugs at his sweatshirt; Atsumu grins in satisfaction at himself just as Tobio pokes his head in the doorway to announce the arrival of their taxi.
Their hands find each other in the elevator; apart only for a brief moment when they get into the taxi, they remain intertwined, through the taxi ride, during the short walk to the restaurant, as they follow the host through the maze of tables to the back of the restaurant, where Tobio’s parents are already seated and waiting.
Atsumu flashes his brightest smile, the one that makes Osamu cross his eyes and pretend to gag. Everything will be just fine. Tobio-kun’s parents are going to love him.
The food is excellent, the alcohol abundant. The restaurant they’re at, Atsumu learns, is where Tobio’s father takes all his clients when he’s in the city for business—he suspects as much when the owner herself comes over and greets him like an old friend. At this, Atsumu’s earlier confidence falters a bit; he suddenly feels conspicuously underdressed, and he’s conscious of his Hyogo accent in a way he never has been before. But after the appetizers have been cleared away, the owner comps them a bottle of wine. Another bottle is sent over after the first course. Tobio’s father is generous with topping Atsumu’s glass up, and what kind of impression would Atsumu be giving if he refused?
With every drink put in front of him, Atsumu’s tongue is loosened more and more. The looser it becomes, the thicker his accent rolls off of it, and something about hearing the exaggerated lilt coming out of his own mouth seems to trick him into believing he’s exponentially funnier than usual. By the time dessert is served, he feels like he’s flying, a professional comedian under the spotlight giving a one-man live show: His impressions are spot on (Tobio’s mother seems to particularly enjoy his impression of the Prime Minister), his one-liners so rapid fire and on target that even their exceedingly polite server can’t suppress a giggle or two.
When they finally bid each other good night to go their separate ways home, both parents are red-faced and practically breathless from laughter. Tobio too seems to be in high spirits; once they’re both inside the taxi he hailed, he gives Atsumu a kiss on the cheek.
“Did I do good?” Atsumu asks. Tobio, eyes bright and fond, responds with a nod and another kiss. Atsumu returns the favor by pinning Tobio against the wall as soon as they close the door behind them back the apartment. He tastes of the tiramisu they had for dessert and the slightest hint of sake; Atsumu licks and devours it all like a second meal. Clothes are hastily shucked off, hands roam over heated skin. It’s well past midnight when Atsumu finally settles down to give his spent and sweaty body in to sleep, Tobio tucked securely under one arm. His eyelids are heavy, his mind dreamy, and weighted by the full and sated feeling from both food and sex, Atsumu is pulled quickly down, down into the deepest depths of dreamland.
The following morning, Atsumu practically leaps out of bed despite the slight hangover clouding his head. For perhaps the first time since they began dating, he’s awake before Tobio, who groans as he’s unceremoniously jostled by an overexcited Atsumu’s arms and legs.
“Already?” Tobio says around a generous yawn. “I feel like I haven’t slept at all.”
“Up and at ‘em, Tobio-kun,” Atsumu says, all pep and smiles. “Are you going on your run? I’ll join you.”
Tobio’s initial look of sleepy surprise quickly turns into one of quiet happiness. Unlike his boyfriend, Atsumu—self-identified as a decidedly un-morning person—usually clings to every second of sleep that he possibly can; and while he knows that Tobio is perfectly happy going on his runs by himself, seeing how pleased Tobio is by his company this morning fuels his already high energy even more. Is it possible that he’s an even better boyfriend than he was the day before? Could he be—Atsumu gasps a little to himself at the revelation—perhaps the best boyfriend ever?
The thought—no, the knowledge—stays with him, warm and buoyant, into the evening and has him whistling as he prepares dinner.
“Hey Tobio-kun?” he calls, glancing up from the onions that he’s chopping. “Can you get the beef from the fridge?”
“Yeah, just a second.” Tobio is on his phone, thumbs tapping furiously as he has what seems to be a riveting conversation.
“Who’s the hottie you’re chatting up over there?” Atsumu laughs, voice playful. Tobio scrunches his nose and places his phone on the table.
“No one, I was talking to my parents.”
Atsumu perks up. “Really? Were you guys talking about me? Did they say anything about the dinner last night?”
“Oh yeah,” Tobio replies from behind the refrigerator door. “They really liked the risotto dish that you ordered, they said it’s a new item that the head chef came up with.”
“Yeah, the risotto was really good. I liked the steak thing that you got too. ” Atsumu grins at the memory, then turns on the heat on the stove. “So did they say anything else?”
Tobio’s eyes turn to the ceiling in thought, hands busy unwrapping the packaging from the beef Atsumu is planning to stir fry. “They thought the Malbec the owner gave us was good.”
“…Yeah, it was, huh. Anything else?”
“Uh.” Tobio places the meat on the kitchen counter with a frown. “They said they’re going to try more Malbecs from now on.”
“No, Tobio-kun, about me,” Atsumu sighs, giving the onions in the pan an aggressive toss. “What did they think about me? Did they say anything? About me?”
“Oh. Yeah. They said—hold on.” The sound of sizzling meat fills the air in the little kitchen as Tobio looks through his phone again. “…They said that they didn’t really like you very much.”
“What?” There’s a loud clang as Atsumu drops his spatula into the pan in shock. Tobio startles at the sudden noise, and Atsumu is somewhat taken aback to see that he has the audacity to look confused. Baffled. Perplexed, even.
“What?” he repeats.
“What—the hell! They—your parents actually said that they don’t like me?”
Tobio nods, eyebrows knitted together in genuine confusion. In any other situation—one where, perhaps, Atsumu doesn’t feel the trickle of blood down his back where his own boyfriend has stabbed him—he would find it adorable. Now, though?
Well.
Underneath the white veil of shock and anger, he still finds it frustratingly, infuriatingly adorable.
“They think you’re kind of loud,” Tobio continues, looking down at his phone. As if he’s giving a presentation and has to refer to his notes.
“OK, I guess that’s fair,” Atsumu says slowly. “But that’s not a good reason to just dislike someone?!”
“They didn’t like how you drank so much.”
“That’s not my fault, they plied me with alcohol!”
“They also said that you have… ‘loose manners’? And you’re cocky and sloppy. And they didn’t like your accent.”
Frozen with horror, Atsumu doesn’t even realize that his food is burning until Tobio rushes over to the stove in a panic. He watches dumbly as his boyfriend—his boyfriend, who he loves more than anything in this world—waves away the smoke, nose wrinkled, innocent and apparently completely oblivious to the destruction he just caused to Atsumu’s heart—and sense of self-worth.
“So your parents don’t think I’m good enough for you?” Despite his best efforts to keep his voice as level as possible, he hates how he can still hear a tremble.
Tobio looks up from fussing over the still smoking pan. “Huh? I don’t know, I guess?”
“When were you going to tell me this?”
“I wasn’t? I mean, why does it even matter?” Bless him, Atsumu thinks, and he can’t help but laugh a little to himself. Forget about being obtuse; Tobio truly, genuinely doesn’t get it.
“You don’t think that your parents thinking that I’m not good enough for you matters. Me. Your boyfriend.”
“No, I don’t,” replies Tobio, and there it is—the slightest hint of steel in his voice. It kisses a nerve in Atsumu, raises his hackles, his body involuntarily tensing for a fight that he desperately does not want to have. “I don’t care what they think, and their opinion about you doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“OK sure, maybe, but it has everything to do with me,” Atsumu says through gritted teeth. “I’m the one they think is a piece of shit, even though I’m not! I’m a fucking great boyfriend!”
“I know you are, I never said you aren’t!”
“Then can you understand why it’s a big deal that your parents don’t like me for no good reason? That’s so fucked up, Tobio!”
“So, what, you want me to break up with you?!”
“No!” Atsumu drags a frustrated hand through his hair. “Fuck Tobio, that’s not—”
He falters, suddenly aware of just how loudly the both of them are shouting. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Atsumu inhales, exhales, tries to lower the rising flood of anger that he used to feel back when he and Tobio first started getting serious, after the honeymoon phase and before they learned what the other is like as a person, a human—not just a volleyball player or a rival. By now, Atsumu has come to understand Tobio’s (very) specific brand of simplicity. Others have called it aggressive, sometimes even abrasive; but Atsumu not only knows but appreciates that it is in fact an innocence. Tobio is earnest to a fault, viewing the world with a sense of childlike wonder.
So while that earnestness is currently annoying the hell out of Atsumu, he knows that doubling down and arguing isn’t going to resolve anything or make Tobio understand, no matter how much he wants to prove that he is right, goddamnit. Because he is right! He’s a fantastic boyfriend! Tobio may not outright say it with words, but Atsumu can see the appreciation and love (at least, he hopes it’s love) in his eyes every time he kisses him good morning and tells him good luck before he leaves for a game and lets him sit on the non-lumpy side of the couch and—and—
He sucks in a breath.
That’s it.
That’s it!
“What is?” Tobio asks with a scowl. Atsumu must have spoken out loud by accident in his excitement.
“Nothing, nothing. Never mind, Tobio-kun.” A smile slowly creeps across his face, and the anger he felt just a moment ago is now a giddiness bubbling up from his stomach. “I’m going to the grocery store for a bit. Do you need anything?”
“But we went grocery shopping two days ago,” Tobio protests.
“Yeah, we did, didn’t we?” He doesn’t linger long enough to see Tobio’s expression after he gives him a quick but heavy kiss on the lips. Shoes, phone, wallet, keys—once he has everything he needs, Atsumu is out the door and practically jogging towards the grocery store.
Proud. Confident. And now, Atsumu thinks he can add “brilliant” to the list.
He is a great boyfriend. And he knows just how he’s going to prove it.
Atsumu has just turned the heat off the stove when he hears the sound of the front door closing, followed by a tentative “Tadaima.”
“Okaeri, Tobio-kun!” Atsumu trills as he unties the apron he has on. “Did you have a good time at the movies?”
“I guess so. The movie was pretty good, but I still don’t get why you wanted me to—” Halting at the entrance to the kitchen, Tobio stops with his nose in the air and gives a few experimental sniffs. “Are you making curry?”
“Yup! Hope you didn’t fill up on popcorn.” Atsumu gestures to the kitchen table, and Tobio’s eyes widen at the sight of a candle burning merrily next to a glass cup filled with water and a few flowers Atsumu nicked from a nearby park. “Have a seat, I just gotta peel the eggs.”
He gets that bubbly feeling of giddiness again when he sees his boyfriend’s eyes light up. Tobio oohs and aahs appreciatively when a plate of steaming curry, hot spring egg sitting on top, is placed in front of him, and Atsumu’s stomach positively flips at the appreciative groan Tobio lets out when he takes his first bite, eyes half closing in pleasure.
“Do you like it?” Atsumu asks. He’s already sure of the answer, but the satisfaction of hearing Tobio say it out loud will be his own personal treat for the night.
“It’s so good,” Tobio practically moans, shoveling another hefty spoonful into his mouth. “It actually tastes like the curry my grandfather used to make for me.”
“Oh really?” Atsumu hums around a mouthful of rice. Tobio nods, and though he doesn’t elaborate, the tender look he gives Atsumu across the table says everything.
Later, as they both lie panting in bed for the second night in a row, naked and simmering in a warm and hazy afterglow, Atsumu thinks that all the trouble he went through—begging Tobio’s sister to give him their grandfather’s apparently sacred recipe; convincing Tobio to go see the Fruits Basket movie with Ushijima to get him out of the apartment; enduring the disapproving stares of the housewives and grannies who watched him wildly yanking flowers out of the ground—it was all worth it. There were a few times when he wasn’t sure if it was going to work (”Why would I want to watch a movie about fruit? Is it a documentary?” Tobio kept asking), but somehow, miraculously (or naturally? Atsumu is brilliant, after all) it all came together in the end.
“Thanks again for dinner, Miya-san,” Tobio murmurs from the depths of Atsumu’s armpit.
Atsumu kisses the side of Tobio’s silky head. “Anything for you, Tobio-kun,” he replies, hugging Tobio more tightly against him. He is lulled to sleep by the familiar sound of Tobio’s breathing, his boyfriend blissfully unaware of the lengths that Atsumu is planning to go to prove that he will in fact do anything for him.
Anything.
Surprising Tobio with breakfast in bed the next day is much easier than the curry dinner. As he does every morning, Tobio kisses Atsumu goodbye before heading out on his morning run; when he returns, delightfully red faced and breathing hard in the sexy way Atsumu likes, he comes home to the kitchen table once again laden with food, this time with fruit, coffee, and all of Tobio’s favorite pastries from the bakery around the corner. Atsumu is rewarded with a somewhat sweaty but clearly delighted kiss, and the two of them head out to their respective afternoon practices with matching grins.
The massage he gives that same evening is equally well received, even though a very ticklish Tobio squirming every time Atsumu dribbled oil on him means that they once again have to change the bedsheets. This time, Atsumu goes through the trouble of buying real flowers, and he’s glad that he does; he likes the way the red rose petals look spread out around Tobio’s body on the bed, complementing his dusky skin that seems to glow in the candle light.
There’s no hanky-panky that night—as soon as the bed is re-made with freshly laundered sheets, Tobio slithers under the covers and is snoring within mere minutes, a testament to how good Atsumu’s massage was. Atsumu is so pleased by how much Tobio enjoyed it that he makes it part of their nightly routine (sans the oil); and because Atsumu is such a giving and caring boyfriend, more often than not he throws in a happy ending as well.
With his boyfriend taken care of and more than satisfied (in more ways than one), Atsumu thinks it’s time to move on to charming the family. To thank Tobio’s sister for her help with the curry recipe, he sends her a bag of premium rice, courtesy of Kita’s family farm. Tobio’s parents get an entire crateful. When Atsumu explains to his former senpai why exactly he wants, no, needs to ship 10 bags of his best rice all the way to Miyagi, he’s initially rebuffed and given a look, the one that he and Osamu would get in high school whenever they did something particularly stupid. It takes Atsumu physically getting on his knees and begging, forehead pressed to the ground, to get Kita to finally relent. “Give Kageyama my condolences,” Kita says as he walks Atsumu to the bus station.
When Tobio makes no mention of his parents having received his gift, Atsumu can only assume that he needs to step up his efforts. And so at his next Black Jackal’s game, he manages to secure one of the post-game interviews, which is easier than he thought it would be: Sakusa is more than happy to relinquish his interview spot to him, shuffling away to stretch in the corner farthest from where the cameras are set up.
“The only thing on my mind was one of the greatest volleyball players and the best boyfriend in the world, Kageyama Tobio,” he says when asked what he was thinking about when he made the game-winning ace.
The crowd eats it up. And Atsumu feels like he’s flying again.
From that point on, he’s asked to participate in every post- and pre-game interview; and during every interview, without fail, he makes sure to mention Tobio and dedicate some aspect of his game to him. “Behind every great setter is a greater setter named Tobio,” he says solemnly after their game against the Red Falcons. Osamu sends him a text quoting him, followed by multiple barf emojis. Atsumu adds it to his Instagram profile.
And why keep it to just Black Jackal games? Shouldn’t his love for Tobio be proclaimed at every game? At every opportunity? Atsumu starts showing up to practice wearing Tobio’s jersey, much to his coach’s (un)amusement. (Supportive boyfriend that he is, he purchases it himself from the Adlers’ online shop rather than ask Tobio for a free one.) He wears the same jersey when he attends the Adlers-Hornets game; and at the Adlers-Green Rockets game, he accompanies the jersey with an Adlers jacket and a giant poster board sign declaring I ♡ TOBIO!!!!
“You’re completely deranged.” Osamu tells him over the phone one day. Atsumu scoffs and rolls his eyes. He called his brother to ask if he would consider delivering to Miyagi, not to be insulted the minute his call is answered.
“If by ‘deranged’ you mean ‘genius,’ then yeah, you’re totally right. There’s no way his parents can think I’m not good enough now.”
Osamu returns his scoff with an even louder one. “You sure about that? Keep this shit up, and it’s Kageyama that you’re going to have to worry about, not his parents. He’s going to leave you, I guarantee it.”
“Bullshit.” Atsumu barks out a laugh. “He fucking loves it. And there’s no way he can get rid of me so easily.”
“Why, did you trick him into marrying you or something?”
The metaphorical lightbulb goes off in Atsumu’s beautiful, deranged head.
“No, but you’ve just given me an idea. …Also, fuck you.”
Atsumu doesn’t need a lot of prep for what he considers his grand finale, but he does need a lot of time, and he doesn’t want to risk being accidentally walked in on if he does it during Tobio’s daily run. Luckily, it just so happens that Tobio has morning practice during one of Atsumu’s off days. He manages to remain casual and calm when he kisses Tobio goodbye. When the front door clicks shut, he lets five minutes, then ten minutes pass, just to be safe.
And then he gets to work.
When he’s finished, the first thing he does is shut his phone off. He knows that after the bombshell he just dropped, the calls and texts are going to immediately start flooding in. But he wants to make sure that he speaks to Tobio only before anyone else, that they get a chance to enjoy what is sure to be an intense and passionate moment, just the two of them, before having to face their friends, family, and, most dauntingly, the media.
It’s about 30 minutes later when Atsumu hears the front door slam. He jumps up from the couch, heart pounding; he was expecting to have the rest of the afternoon to decorate and properly set the mood for when Tobio comes home and jumps into his arms. But it seems that Tobio just couldn’t wait until practice ended.
Which is perfectly fine for Atsumu, because to be honest, he can’t wait either. He turns towards the genkan, breathless with anticipation, arms open and waiting, ready to embrace his boyfriend, his love, who—
—storms into the room and throws his duffel bag onto the ground.
“…You’re home early.” It’s the only thing Atsumu can think to say. Tobio’s entire body is positively radiating with what can only fury, and he is heaving, trembling with the effort to contain his obvious rage.
“What the fuck did you mean by this?” Tobio says in reply, and Atsumu winces not so much at the curse, which is rare for Tobio, but at the way his voice cuts, low and sharp. He thinks that he might have preferred it if Tobio were shouting.
It takes a few seconds for Atsumu to realize that there’s a phone being shoved in his face. It’s Tobio’s phone, and on the screen is Atsumu’s grand finale, his final, truest declaration of love: An Instagram photo of him wearing Tobio’s jersey, back facing the camera so that the “KAGEYAMA” is visible. Underneath is the caption Atsumu spent all night coming up with:
“Kageyama Atsumu has a nice RING to it. Tobio, will you marry me?”
“Is all this just a—a joke to you? Some fucking game?” Tobio continues in the same horrible, low voice. “Is our relationship just some game to you?”
“No!” Atsumu finally manages to croak. “Fuck no! What are—I didn’t mean that as a joke at all, I’m being fucking serious!”
“Serious. You are being serious. With this.” The phone actually hits Atsumu in the nose. “After all the stupid fucking stunts you’ve pulled the past few weeks, you expect me to believe that you’re being serious with this?”
“What fucking stunts? You mean all the romantic shit that I did, for you? To show how much I love you? What the fuck, I thought you liked it!”
“For me?! You did all that for my fucking parents!”
“Well yeah, because they fucking hate me! Remember that? They literally said that I’m not good enough for you because I’m rude and I drink too much and I have a shitty accent! It’s real nice that you were able to forget about all that, but I fucking can’t!”
“I didn’t forget, I just don’t care!”
“Well you should, you’re my fucking boyfriend!” His throat is sore now, and he can feel little beads of sweat on his forehead. Atsumu is furious but also terrified; he wants to stop, to apologize, to kiss the tears from Tobio’s equally red face, but the words just keep coming, gushing out of him like lava. “Why doesn’t it bother you at all that your parents don’t like me? Why won’t you fucking stick up for me? Or do you think I’m some shitty alcoholic redneck who’s not good enough for you too?”
“Of course I don’t! That’s why I don’t give a shit about what my parents think, because I know they’re wrong! Atsumu—”
The sound of Tobio using Atsumu’s given name—a rarity, and a gift every time it does happen—seems to cast a spell over the once chaotic apartment. Tobio closes his eyes as if to gather himself after having fallen apart so completely; and when he opens them again to look straight into Atsumu’s eyes, they are still filled with tears, but they are also soft, so soft, and Atsumu himself wants to cry.
“Atsumu,” Tobio tries again, his voice wavering, “I love you. I love you so, so much. I love your confidence. I love your honesty. I love how you always look on the bright side of things, and how you care so much about everything and everyone, most of all me. I even love your accent and your sense of humor, even though I don’t understand any of your jokes. You’re one of the most talented volleyball players I’ve ever known. You’re the greatest guy I’m ever going to know. And nothing that anyone says will ever change my opinion. Not even my parents.”
Atsumu isn’t sure when he did start crying; but as Tobio finishes speaking, leaving behind the most unbearably heavy silence, he’s suddenly aware of how the front of his shirt has become damp and is now sticking to his skin. He hears loud sniffling, and then a low sob, and if it was him or Tobio he isn’t sure either; and when strong, sturdy arms wrap around him, pulling him into a tight and slightly wet hug, Atsumu decides that it doesn’t matter.
“I love you, Tobio,” he sobs. “I love you so much.” He repeats it, over and over like a chant, or a prayer, because at this moment, it’s the only thing he knows, the only thing his mouth and lips and tongue know how to say.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he manages to say after a while, pulling back just enough to press his forehead against Tobio’s. “I was such an asshole, I embarrassed you, I—”
“I loved it,” Tobio whispers hurriedly. “Everything. Because I know you did it for me, and I know that you did it because you love me. So that’s why—” A warm puff of air hits Atsumu’s face as Tobio sighs softly. “That’s why my answer is ‘yes.’”
“Huh?” Atsumu pulls his head back, confusion hitting him like a bucket of cold water. “Your answer to what?”
Tobio stares at him, mouth agape. “To your question. The one that you posted online for everyone to see except me.” Frowning, he starts to turn away, eyes once more filled with hurt. “I guess you weren’t serious about wanting to marry me after all.”
“No! I mean yes! I mean—fuck, Tobio, just wait a minute and listen to me, please.” Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. “I was dead fucking serious with that proposal. I still am. I want to marry you so fucking bad. You’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“Good. Because I do too,” Tobio replies solemnly before sealing his words with a kiss.
“So… we’re engaged now, huh,” Atsumu says. “You’re my fiance. And I’m your fiance.”
Face nestled in the crook of his neck, Tobio—his fiance—gives a satisfied hum. “I guess so. Even though you haven’t given me a ring.”
“Hey, I’m working on it!” Atsumu laughs. “These things take time. And money. Why the hell are rings so goddamn expensive?”
“Guess you’ll have to cut back on all those hair products you use,” Tobio says around a yawn.
“Only if you cut back on how much milk you buy,” he replies. His heart sings a little at the way they both laugh together. “By the way—” It’s Atsumu’s turn to yawn. “I’m not changing my name. You have to take my name.”
“What? Why? But Miya Tobio sounds awful.”
Atsumu smiles and closes his eyes. “…It does, doesn’t it.”
Kageyama Atsumu. Kageyama Atsumu. Kageyama Atsumu. Kageyama Atsumu.
Yeah. It does have a nice ring to it.