atsumu miya⁸

Atsumu Miya couldn't stand you. And he made it clear every chance he got.

—I hate the way you talk. You always have something to say, even if no one asked you.

—Wow, thanks for the feedback, Miya. I'll try my best to speak more.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance. Ever since you started working in team administration, it seemed like your presence bothered him more than losing a point in the last set. And the worst thing was that he never explained to you why.

But life had a cruel way of playing with you, and that's why the coach decided to assign you as his personal assistant.

—This is a fucking joke —Atsumu snorted on the first day.

—Trust me, if it was a joke, I'd be laughing —you replied, ignoring his attitude.

The weeks passed between arguments, annoyed glances and constant challenges. No matter how much you tried to be professional, he always found a way to get on your nerves.

Until that night.

The team had finished a grueling training session and everyone had left, except for him. You couldn't leave either until you made sure the players had completed their recovery schedule, so you resignedly returned to the gym.

You found him sitting on the court, elbows on his knees, head down, a bottle of water barely held in his hand.

—If you're going to tell me to go home, save it —he muttered without looking at you.

—I wasn't going to say that.

You sat next to him, without asking permission.

There was a silence. Long. Awkward. Until, without warning, Atsumu sighed and let his head fall back.

—I hate this —he muttered.

You frowned.

-The fact that?

—Hate you.