Chapter Text
Welcome to the official broadcast of the Men's Volleyball World Cup! Coming to you from Japan, we are your hosts-
The noise of the Sports Channel cuts through your jetlagged snooze. Somewhere between putting on makeup and putting on an outfit, you'd laid down for a few moments. The next thing you knew you were waking up to a clock, red digits angrily telling you it’s 8:30pm and time to get your ass moving.
You swap channels with a dazed head and bleary eyes, finding anything but the grunts and shouts that are currently affronting your senses. Why do they call it a kill? Something about it sounding cool or masculine flits through your mind. Not your scene, whatever the reason.
Yells and cheers change to piano and violins. Instrumental music fills the hotel room, a much nicer way to come round after accidentally passing out. The pairs skaters move round the rink in effortless serenity, as if their muscles aren’t screaming and bodies tired from endless practice.
The same practice you’ll be starting tomorrow, after your last night of freedom. Then it’ll be the hell of early mornings, routines being repeated until you can see them in your sleep, maybe seeing a little of Japan and then you're off home. Simple and easy, no room for distraction and not much room for going out. So tonight calls for a copious amount of sake.
Changing from sweats to a skirt, you watch the couple on screen skate and spin, meeting each required element the judges want to see. Using the music and movements to tell you a story as a pair. It’s a style that rests heavy in your bones, something you are entirely familiar with. Though for the last few years, it’s been done solo, rather than as a duo.
The casters talk about how moving the performance is, full of love and subtext. You don’t see it, maybe distracted by finishing getting ready. Sake calls your name, as well as your coach Faiz, who’s texting you non-stop asking if you’ll ever be ready, and it’s time to forget competition for a night.
The bar is more than a little crowded, packed with patrons ranging from regulars, tourists, and of course, competitors. You meet with a couple of other countries' skaters and the group is ripe with laughter and warmth, sharing stories of the last season and teasing each other about past competitions.
With no booths open, you form a small group of Faiz and another skater from Japan, Makito. Music and a particularly rowdy group of guys behind you mean you each have to raise your voice. But by the second shot, their cackles and jokes are a gentle buzz, and you can forget about any upcoming nerves.
Sandwiched between Faiz and Makito, the sake-induced exaggeration in your words is making both men tease the hell out of you.
“Oh yeah, and then what happened?”
“So, there I am right, trying out pairs for the first time. Coach, not him ,” you jab Faiz in the ribs, him yelping at the sensation, “an old one—”
“Aw, calling me young? I’m honoured!”
“Shut it. Old , but not that much older than Faiz, wanted to try me out in pairs. My energy was perfect, no, my passion was perfect. That’s what he said.”
“Ooo, passion ,” Makito wiggles his eyebrows at you, pouring more alcohol in your glass.
“Don’t you start- I’m trying to tell you a story! So , we’re out there, he has to put me in a lift with my skates on his thighs.”
“Thighs?! How scandalous!”
“Makito, I swear . I’m on his thighs- no, don’t even-” you push a finger to Maikto’s lips before he can even smirk, “he trips, and so of course I do, and my blade cut right in the joint and he goes completely white, and then he’s just sitting there on the ice, crying, blubbering, just stammering out ‘m-my—”
“— you dick! ” There’s a yelp behind you and a body crushing against yours. A chill spreads from your shoulder and down to your chest. All you feel is cold. Then wet. Then cold and wet.
Turning, you find a tall blonde with an empty cup standing blissfully unaware. The glass looks guiliter than him. He’s laughing and pushing back against a smaller ginger. Does he even realise that you’re sitting there soaked in his beer?
“Excuse me?”
“Consider yourself excused darlin’,” his smirk turns to a wide eyed realisation. Staring at his cup and then back at you, you can almost see him connecting the dots, “shit.”
“Oh no, please , don’t worry about an apology. I’m grand.”
Faiz lets out a low whistle, well aware of how the sarcasm lacing each word can sting. Makito is almost entranced by it, eyes wide and flicking between you and the man.
“I’m guessin’ now would be a bad idea to pull the whole, ‘hi grand, I’m Atsu—’”
“Are you kidding me?”
You push off from the bar, leaving your cohorts for the bathroom, hoping to wring some beer from your sodden shirt.
“No no no, hey, c’mon.” The klutz is following you. Before you reach the bathroom, a large hand wraps around your arm, and you turn to see the grin one again on his features.
“I’m sorry for the drink, my friend and I just got a little excited!” Is he a puppy? “You know how guys night is. I can definitely make it up to you.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah!” Oh god, he is a puppy, eyes lighting up at the slightest hint of your demeanor cooling. You take a closer look at him, travelling the height of his body in your analysis. He’s broad, tight white tee clinging to his shoulders as if it’s hanging on for dear life. Handsome, your drunken mind thinks. Stupidly handsome. “I could get you a seat for the World Cup.”
Stupid and handsome? “It’s not the World Cup, it's called an Open.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the World Cup, darlin’”
At this point it’s not only the wet shirt that makes the bathroom call your name, but also escaping the arrogant know-it-all in front of you.
“Whatever you say, stranger. I don’t need a seat, I’m competing,” a hand gestures down to your shirt, “and I need to fix this mess. So thank you for the offer, but I’m golden.”
“Hi Golden, I’m Atsu—”
You head into the bathroom before he can finish.
That seems to have gone spectacularly wrong. Although, not many good things start by ruining someone’s shirt. It wasn’t like he didn’t apologise, even if it did take some reminding. But Atsumu gave you his best smile, no, smoulder . You wouldn’t even take his name, or prized tickets to the tournament.
Not a fan of Team Japan. Fine.
Atsumu sighs and starts to walk away, ready to leave the corridor outside the bathroom and head back towards his friends. But then there’s that annoying pang of guilt. He did destroy your shirt. The smell of stale beer is enough to put most people off. Maybe he could offer to buy a new one, or at least a drink.
No, you don’t even want seats to watch him set. Half the people in this city are only here to watch volleyball, and yet you— Wait.
‘I’m competing ’.
Now that was a bold faced lie. And for some reason there’s curiosity settling nicely next to the guilt in his stomach. As much as Atsumu tunes out when Foster or Meian start going over the next competition, the logistical side anyway, he knows that this is a men’s only cup.
He’s halfway across the bar before he spins on the ball of his foot. Leaning against the wall he waits, and you appear out the ladies room looking slightly less drowned.
How many times have you eye-rolled since meeting him? Well, add another to the count.
Moving straight past him, he turns to match your pace, which given the length of your strides actually leads him to shorten his own.
“Hey, Golden.”
“Golden— are you actually a dad?”
“God, I hope not.”
You couldn’t look more irritated but Atsumu thinks he catches a little smile threatening to break through your iced features. As if it’s to hide that fact your brows furrow deeper.
“Anyways, Goldie, you’re competin’?” he takes your nod as a sign to continue, walking back to the main bar area, “how come I haven’t seen you around?”
You don't quite understand the teasing tone in his questions. “Clearly not paying enough attention.” Your voice is lighter, much to Atsumu’s glee.
“As if I could miss you.”
“Hah ,” well that didn’t last long. The pair of you have reached back to your respective groups, but still stand between them. All the sarcasm (and sake) catches up with you and finally, looking up at him, your face widens into a smile. “Very smooth. Almost as smooth as tipping your drink over me.”
The pink that tints his cheeks is very enjoyable. The way they round out when he grins too.
“Let me buy you a drink.”
"Are you going to spill it again?"
"C'mon, trust me, Goldie."
"I don't even know your name."
"And whose fault is that?"
His mouth goes from ear to ear, and he sticks out a hand, large and strong. “Atsumu. And you?"
You narrow your eyes for a half second, as if your brain is already trying to make a decision. Weighing up the company and the drink.
He flexes his hand and you take it, introducing yourself.
"Peace treaty and a drink?" He phrases it as a question but Atsumu is already nestling himself at the bar and calling over the server. He takes your order and another Asahi for himself.
You catch Faiz’s eye, and he slants a brow. The years of coaching have you both understanding your own language, and with a shrug of your shoulders he understands. Now both eyebrows sit high on his head, a reminder that you have practice tomorrow. Early practice.
Atsumu catches yet another roll of your eyes, this time at least not directed at him. He hands you your drink and following your eye line he sees Faiz and Maikto, which immediately prompts, "I'm not stealin' you from a jealous boyfriend, am I?"
You almost choke on your drink.
"Don't worry, it wouldn't stop me."
You choke on your drink.
"Are you trying to make me dislike you, or?"
"I'm kiddin', kiddin'! Half kiddin', like definitely a quarter kiddin'!"
God he enjoys how much you try to stop smiling. It's like a little competition right here on your features, one he's determined to win.
And so you drink, and drink some more. it becomes harder not to let the corners of your lips turn up. At some point a man who looks like an owl comes over, all high energy and giggles. Are all of Atsumu's friends puppy dogs?
"Are you coming back to the table or has someone got your attention?"
You raise an eyebrow at the blonde across from you, him sitting with a sheepish grin.
“So Atsumu, has someone got your attention?” You’re almost surprised with how confident your intoxicated state comes across with two relative strangers.
“I like her already!” he moves to sit down with you both.
“Bo, don’t you dare. We’re busy.”
“Oh are we?”
Atsumu can only pout for so long before your smug smile wins him back over. He blames the alcohol for not giving you more shit. And maybe your pretty face. There’s that warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach as he locks eyes with you.
“We are. And we’re going. I’ll see you back at the hotel, Kou?”
Before you know it he’s grabbing your hand, pulling you from your seat. And strangely, you don’t protest for a second.
One final warning glance is shared between you and Faiz, and a promise with widened eyes is made.
He keeps holding your hand, and you both walk with no real direction for a while. You both sway a little, and your hand comes to his muscular bicep more times than necessary to keep balance.
There’s fairy lights decorating the trees outside the hotel. Your hotel, you note. There’s continuous banter back and forth, none of you quite wanting to lose the conversational battle. But finally, there’s a pause.
You’re looking up at him, eyes wide and bright. His hands are in his pockets, as he cocks his head down at you.
“I really wanna kiss you.”
“You can, if you’d like.”
And so he does. It’s warm and sweet for a moment, before his hands find their way to your waist, pulling you against his firm stomach. They travel down, squeezing the plump of your ass. Separating for a moment, you both pant, breath fanning each other's lips.
This time it’s you who speaks first, “one last drink?”
The only thing you drink in is one another. Each of you pour a little of yourselves into the other. Pressing together in the elevator. Making it a few steps until it’s a wall. You find the room, and Atsumu’s hands find purchase on your hips, making you walk backwards until your knees hit the bed. You fall upon it together with intoxicated giggles. Then sighs. Then moans.
As you curl together, your breaths slowing and eyes fluttering shut, Atsumu wonders what on earth your plan was with that lie. Competing in the Men’s World Cup? Bringing his arm around you, Atsumu decides he’ll quiz you about it in the morning.
Hopefully winning a few more smiles from you too.