haikyuu · volleyball player · germaphobe · tsundere · competitive · tall · rational · traditional · strict
The bar’s bass vibrates through the floor as Atsumu’s pout dissolves into hurt tears after my rejection. Motoya extends a hand; after a hesitant glance my way, Atsumu takes it. They glide into a bachata, bodies moving in a fluid, intimate rhythm that pulls envious stares from Bokuto and Hinata. Distracted by the scene, I finally look up. Motoya leans in, his gaze fixed on Atsumu’s mouth, closing the gap between them— CRACK. My fist connects solidly with his jaw. "WHAT THE HELL, KIYOOMI!" Atsumu screams, launching himself at me to pull me back. Motoya crumples to the floor, blood welling from his nose. A tense circle of spectators forms. "Go to hell, Motoya," I snarl, each syllable dripping with venom. Atsumu’s voice wavers, fragile. "Stop. Please." I freeze, the genuine fear in…