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sitting on the floor of your apartment, leaning back against the couch, refusing to look at him . you both know why you’re here, it was simply a matter of time when either one of you were to receive the late-night text message that reads: we need to talk . it just so happens that atsumu was the one to receive that message instead of you.
you don’t even know what to say to him. the lump in your throat stops you from getting any words out, while your mind is screaming, pleading, and begging you to say something. to speak up, to break the silence that has cast itself over the two of you the second he showed up at your front door. and your heart, your heart is pounding against your chest. predicting the pain, and ache, that will come in waves and linger until the day you die.
you don’t want to do this, why would you? he’s perfect, amazing, sweet, kind, and incredibly considerate. he’s no longer atsumu miya , the soon to be professional volleyball player, the heart throb of the century. no, he’s ‘tsumu, he’s honey, he’s babe, he’s sweetheart and every nickname you’ve given him over the last two years.
he’s the man you’d do anything for. he’s the man you defended with your life, cheered on, celebrated with, and imagined getting married to. he’s the man you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with, wake up to every morning, and hold in your arms every night.
but you know that’s not going to happen.
you know his career is going to get in the way, it already has. and you know your career is going to get in the way, because it already has. you two have been drifting apart, rarely seeing each other, never having time for the other anymore. you don’t want to drag him down, despite his promises to never leave your side, and the murmurs of ‘forever and always’.
you both know those words were a lie. you know that they’re nothing but empty promises. you know he’ll never give up his career for you, he’ll never leave his home, he won’t fly across the world for you. and you’re sure of that, because you’d do the same. you won’t stay behind, risk the opportunities in front of you, miss out on a whole world of adventure and culture.
you once dreamed about moving into a small apartment with him in the city, the day he’d get down on one knee with a flashy diamond. you were wrong, because that’s not going to happen, not with him, even though you want it so bad. he was meant to be your future.
and now you can’t – realistically – see him in it. you can’t see him living in a foreign city with you, you can’t imagine him helping you move into a shitty apartment as recent university graduates, you can’t see him helping you in the kitchen or even unloading the groceries.
and that’s what makes you cry. feeling a tear run down your cheek, followed by another, and another in a choked sob. you didn’t even say anything, he didn’t say anything. no, because to him, he’s been sitting in silence. atsumu’s been placed next to you on your floor, with a clenched jaw, trying to fight back his own tears.
at the sight of your distressed state, he doesn’t hesitate to pull you in. his heart clenching, breaking, shattering in his chest as you crumble in front of him. you melt into his arms, knowing it’ll be the last time you’re going to be in this position. this is the last time you’re going to feel safe, protected, loved by him. your hands grips onto his shirt, crying against his shoulder, his arms wrapped around you. his head placed on the top of your head, the familiar scent of your shampoo and perfume filling his scenes, and he knows that this will be the last time he ever gets to hold you.
and that fucking breaks him.
this is it, no words spoken, just the silence that brought the two of you to tears. a silent acknowledgement that this is the end. neither one of you can muster the courage or strength to voice it, but you know.
however, the second you pull away from his grasp, he’s the first to speak. “is this it then?” he whispers, glancing at you and your stoic expression, your refusal to look at him to ease the hurt. “is this the end?”
you only nod, you’ve never been the best with goodbyes. the dreaded goodbyes, the last time you’ll see most of your friends, the people who made you laugh, carried you home, and held your hair back. though, this is probably the worst goodbye.
“i still love ya, you know that right?” he says, reaching for your hand to hold it in his. he rubs circles with his thumb on your knuckles, “i’ll always love you. forever and always, remember?” his sad attempt of easing the tension slips by.
in fact it only makes things worse . your heart pulls, begging you to find another solution, to find a way to work things out, to make arrangements, to go long distance, to stay . “i just don’t want to hold you back,” you sniffle. bringing your free hand up to wipe the tears from your face, “fuck, whoever came up with the whole: if you love someone, let them go, is an absolute dickwad.” you cough, trying to force a smile.
atsumu smiles, releasing his hand from yours to cup the side of your face, bringing your eyes to him. then you finally see it, the glossy brown eyes, the stupid smirk that somehow charmed you, and the soft blond hair. you can’t believe you’re letting him go.
his thumb runs along your cheek, wiping away stray tears that spilled. he can’t believe he’s letting you go. he doesn’t want to, obviously, but he knows that it’s what is best. he can’t possibly let you stay, you’ve never been known to stay in one place for too long, but he’s glad that he spent the best two years of his life with you.
he’ll never tell you, but you’re the first person he’s ever, truly loved. and it sucks to know that he can’t be with you forever. he knows that if he ever gets married, she won’t compare to you, and he’ll be subconsciously waiting for you to barge through those doors and stop the wedding. he’ll be wishing that you’ll speak up, cause a plethora of gasps, and tell him to run away with you. hell, you’re going to be in his heart forever.
“i’ll always be waiting for ya.” he confesses, “so, when that career of yours takes off, and if it ever brings you back home, i’ll be here. i’ll be here, waiting for you.”
you shy away from him, turning your head, “don’t say that.” you muster out, feeling that ball in your throat begin to grow again.
atsumu turns your head back to him, “but it’s true.”
“fuck, you’re making this harder than it already is.” you try to joke, “why do you have to be so good? fuck,” you groan, moving his hand from your jaw to bury yourself in your knees. “i really fucking love you, and hearing you say all this shit, it’s making it harder to say goodbye.”
“well, how do you think i feel?” he softly laughs, “you’re walking out of my life, wearing that.” he teases, fingers playing with the hem of your shorts. “makin’ me realise what i’m gonna be missing out on.”
you let out a choked out laugh, moving to rest your head against his shoulder. your heart is breaking, a knife twisting in it, so the least you can do is prolong the little time left you have with him before he walks out that door. before he turns his back on you, before you watch atsumu miya disappear before your eyes. you look up at him, seeing that he’s already got a stare on you.
“you should stay tonight.”
before you let go, you need one more night. one more night with him. one more night to savour everything you’re about to lose. he knows it too. so, he feels no regret or remorse when he dips his head down, and kisses you.
he kisses you because it’s the last time he’s ever going to do it. the last time he’s going to feel your lips on his, the last time he’ll get to taste the strawberry, honey, cherry, mango, pomegranate chapstick. he kisses you with so much passion, love, and hurt . like he’s trying to memorise the feel of your lips against his own. like he’s trying to hold on to the feeling, keep it locked up forever and never forget it.
you’re nothing but a pile of flesh and bones in his arms, enchanted by his touch, high off the feeling of his lips on yours. your mind spinning through the haze of tears, inhaling the kind of pure oxygen found high in the clouds. you’re holding onto his hand, shoulders, the hem of his t-shirt, and hair to make sure this is real. that he is real.
his lips are softer than they’ve ever been, igniting a cage of butterflies to be released in your stomach. it’s like the richest cashmere, the softest cotton candy, like melting, floating, and flying.
the taste of him drives you crazy, crazier than you’ve ever been before. his cologne, the cologne you bought him, fills your senses. the musky scents colliding with caramel, vanilla, the sweet and smooth benzoin, and sage. everything makes you fall apart in his arms.
you climb on top of him, needing to be closer, through the rugged breaths and heartache. your hands in his hair, pulling gently the way you know he likes.
atsumu’s kisses become deeper, more urgent than before as if he cannot afford to take his time, like there’s so much more he wants to do, more things to keep in a safe forever. as if there’s not enough years to experience it all, no, more like as if he’s mixing all the lost years into one kiss.
his hands travel your back, your thighs, your hair, your stomach and chest. relearning every curve, desperate to keep every curve of your figure engraved in his touch. as if he’ll never forgive himself if he ever forgot your body, if he ever forgets you . he’s trying to cram two years into one last night.
one last night to love you goodbye. one last night to feel you, to have your lips against his, to have your hands in his hair, to have his hands travelling your body. one last night to escape, escape the harsh realities that have presented themselves to him.
the taste of your lips holds a separate memory, bringing him back to all the places you’ve been, all the nights you’ve had. he’s desperate to make this goodbye worth all the pain, to end it right, because tomorrow you won’t be his anymore, but he’ll always be yours.
he’s kissing you like the world is rolling right off a cliff, as if his life depends on it, and he needs to hold on for as long as he can before falling off. atsumu is kissing you like he’s starving for a love that will never be met again, like it’s the first time he’s ever felt anything.
he has a thousand million things he wants to say to you and he’s translating them into kisses, telling you each individual meaning and correlation. he kisses your top lip, bottom lip, chin, jaw, down your neck to your shoulders and collarbone.
he lifts up your arms, wraps his fingers around the fabric of your shirt and pulls it over your head, leaving you exposed to him as you’ve been many times before. atsumu takes you in, your hand tugging at his hair diverting his eyes to meet yours. he’s got a firm grip on your thighs. the two of you still sitting on the floor, lost in the others embrace.
“i think we should take this elsewhere,” he whispers. the truth is, he’s fighting back tears at this point, not wanting to face the embarrassment of crying now, but he can’t help the thoughts in the back of his mind. the conflicting thoughts that tell him to stay, tell him to leave, to tell you that you made him some idiotic fool, the mess you’ve made of him,
nevertheless, you nod, climbing off his lap and reaching your hand out for him which he doesn’t hesitate to take. atsumu snakes a hand around your waist, walking you backwards towards your bedroom. your bedroom which was filled with photos of you and him, smiling, laughing, together. photos of you and your friends, photos of you and his friends.
the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, you fall back as he climbs on top of you. fingers wrapping themselves around the hem of his shirt, pulling it off and tossing it off to some corner of the room. everything follows in a blur, a mess of emotions, off goes your shorts, and gone are his jeans. and soon you both are just two souls, two bodies waiting to become one.
then you’re on top of him, straddling him once more. his bag leaning against the headboard, and you’re holding onto him for dear life. atsumu’s gripping onto your hips, setting the pace, nothing too slow or too fast. he’s trying to hold on to the moment, feel you one last time. actually love you goodbye.
quiet whimpers, whines, and moans escape both of your lips. his mind spiralling from the impact you have on him, wrapped around your finger, obsessed with the way your walls clench around him. a complete mess under you, breaking and cracking from your touch and the familiar grip on his hair.
erratic breaths, whispers of ‘i love you’ and praise. sloppy kisses filled with so much passion. he can’t control himself, movements becoming quicker, using the held-back moans sounding from your throat as motivation, the way you hold on tighter to him as he moves your body faster. ready for release.
even after, he refuses to let go of you.
still, waking up in the morning to an empty bed, you know it’s over. he’s gone, and it’s time for you to go too. years will pass until you see him again, years will pass until your career finally takes off and sends you back home, sends you back to him. sure, the moment will be filled with anxiety and undeniable butterflies, but you know. you know that the second he’ll see you, he’ll fall right back in love.
atsumu will be flooded with a rush of memories; your smile, your laughter, and the way you stroke his hair as if it’s second nature. he’ll look at you, shocked at first, wondering if he’s still living in his dreams, wondering if that’s really you. but, then he’ll smirk, drop whatever he’s doing and try to be cool as he makes his way towards you.
and after that? after all of that, the two of you will get to know each other again, create new memories, and unpause the clock.