i think i like you || miya atsumu
my mini birthday gift to my dearest meow meow honey nut cheerio annie ♡ @miyasann ♡ | cw: cheesy tsumu’s pov
word count : 3.1k
now playing : i think i like you + daphne blue by the band camino
“I SAW THAT!” the darker haired twin screamed in accusation—clearly in the mood to make a fool of a certain blonde setter.
and of course to contest, atsumu screams louder in response. “YOU DIDN’T SEE SHIT, ASSHOLE.” he closes his phone and runs upstairs with his brother tailing after him.
miya “i never had and never will have a crush” atsumu was caught in the act of changing his lockscreen—to a photo of you and him taken during the birthday dinner he himself had arranged for you earlier.
he deems the dinner an act of appreciation for your support to the team but of course, osamu knows better—because who in their right mind would willingly leave their credit card for their sibling to use to make sure you would have the best meal onigiri miya had ever served.
“i was just—“ there was nothing atsumu could say to cushion what he had done. but in his defense, he thinks, it was a good picture (too fitting to be a lockscreen, actually) and you were his good friend—someone very important to him—there was nothing wrong with setting you as his lockscreen... right? people always set their friends as their lockscreen... right?
“i was just checking if we—I MEAN THE PICTURE!looked good on my phone. see?” the words quickly process and in an attempt to recover, he points at the space above your heads that was enough for the time and date to fill in the gap. “i was just curious—“
“you’re digging yourself a deeper hole.” osamu quips, eyeing his twin brother’s phone. a notification lights his screen up, showing that he indeed had changed the wallpaper. “just admit it already. you like y/n.”
“i don’t!”
“you’ve had the same plain picture as your background for seven years—“
“i was going to change it back—“ atsumu fails to hide the redness in his face.
“you literally paid for an overpriced rental of my restaurant for her birthday.”
“that wasn’t the real price?”
“i was kidding!” osamu laughs, watching his twin walk out of his vicinity. “i already considered closing as a favor but you went ahead and sent me the money.”
bokuto’s stupid proverb echoes in the faux blonde’s mind. love can make you do stupid things. atsumu scoffs at the impeccable timing of the thought—smitten was the last thing he wanted to be associated with.
but smitten he undeniably is.
miya atsumu was in love.
okay.
maybe love does make you think stupid.
“happy birthday.” atsumu nervously rubs the back of his neck watching you peer into the contents of the striped paper bag he had handed over.
( as much as he liked you, he wants to keep his silly lil infatuation with you a secret...
and coming by your place is as secret it’s going to get. )
“that was last week, tsumu.” you look up at him with what he swears is the prettiest smile ever and almost dies crumbles on the spot. “but thank you so much. you’ve done a lot for me already.”
“it’s nothing.”
it’s everything. when miya atsumu asks for help, he’s desperate. the contents of that bag was the product of an unscheduled 2am discord call with his high school peers and a stress meal from mcdonalds.
i want to get something for y/n. atsumu hoped his words from that night would come off as innocent—no hidden meaning to decode whatsoever... but his friends know better. it was clear as day. poor guy was down bad for his first crush... or perhaps his first love even.
( aran had failed to hide his excited smile. “when did it start?” he had asked.
atsumu spun on his office chair in attempt to mask the giddiness in his system.
where does he even start?
the time you cut fruit for him? the time you agreed to help him bleach his hair? the time you walked him to his car with your umbrella to keep him from getting wet? the time you both went into a photobooth in the arcade? or all those times when he ended up looking at you during movie nights instead of actually paying attention to the tv? )
kita had suggested getting you a plant for your work desk. suna—after stalking your account with aran—had suggested some cute sweatshirt or those pricey markers that you could use. aran had sent a link to a small business that made really good blank journals with good paper. samu joked to give you one of atsumu’s own hoodies—something to make you think of him. (the blonde did not react lightly)
the need to impress you and the collective want to help atsumu required someone with experience. osamu rung their mother for help and after a thirty minute lecture on the phone with all participants in the discord call to hear, she cooperates and finally brought some sense into the conversation.
( operation happy birthday 2.0 seemed infallible with her input. )
i’m not in love with y/n, says the man who decided to get everything his friends and mother had suggested... and even added a box of churros to go along with all of it.
“ah. i wish to be able to do this too one day.” you sigh, hugging the bag. “be so rich i could spoil my friends any day.”
the devil works hard but atsumu’s stupid mouth works harder. “but you’re not just any friend to me.”
fuck.
that wasn’t part of the plan... or the script he played out and practiced in his head in the shower.
“oh.” your response had only added fuel to the fire. “thank you?”
in some attempt to regain composure, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “you’re welcome.” the apple watch around his wrist buzzes with a notification for a message from his brother.
samu
what the fuck was that??
atsumu whirls around to see osamu hiding around the corner—his onigiri miya cap and sunglasses giving him away.
“but yeah.” the blonde setter turns his attention back to you, the awkwardness somehow fading away. “happy birthday again, y/n.”
miya atsumu is undoubtedly in love.
“i’ll make it up to you on your birthday.” you promise. “somehow.”
atsumu rocks himself on his toes and heels, a little grin growing on his lips. “or you could make it up to me now? if you’re free.”
“i am, actually.”
“oh.” poor guy didn’t think this far.
“there’s... there’s this new store that opened near your campus.” he thanks whatever god was looking after him for giving him his genius brain. “they got all these cute notebooks and markers and everything. can i take you there?”
( internally, he’s hoping he got your interests right. )
you promptly open the door to your home to leave the gift bag inside. “okay but, how is this making it up to you?”
atsumu wishes you didn’t try to hide your pretty smile. “you’re making me happy by making you happy.”
you softly jab his chest—face growing warm. “ass kisser.”
“oh? is that an invitation?” he comically wiggles his eyebrows. “i’d be more than happy to.” and earns himself another nudge.
he offers his hand out for you to take and his poor heart almost comes to a full stop when you place your hand in his.
birthdays are silly, atsumu thinks.
why should everyone treat someone differently for just one day and go back to normal the next?
“your birthday isn’t until october.” sakusa huffs, amused. “are you that excited?”
“i’m not. just thinking about if y/n had a good birthday.” atsumu turns his phone on to check the time.
shit.
he still hasn’t changed his wallpaper back—it’s still the photo of the both of you from the dinner.
sakusa grins a little too knowingly. “oh? why?”
“i know that look.” the setter frowns, ears turning red. “i don’t like y/n like that.”
“i didn’t even say anything.”
atsumu has got a smidge of an idea what his dear friend was thinking of... so much for keeping his crush on you a secret. “is it that obvious?”
sakusa gives him a sigh—an exasperated one, but a relieved one nonetheless. “took you long enough. we all could see how you look at y/n.” his thumb taps a message on his phone to update his partner waiting back home of his whereabouts (and to relay the message that everyone’s dear tsumu had finally realized his feelings for you). “and you invited me to lunch because y/n’s out with osamu.”
the blonde miya pouts. as juvenile as it may be, he was just a tad bit jealous that osamu had gotten to know you first... and better.
“but...” sakusa pats his shoulder with what atsumu would think is a proud grin. “good on you. i actually have two thousand yen on you confessing first so don’t fail me now.”
“wait, are you saying—“ atsumu swears his heart lodged itself in his throat. “does that mean—“
sakusa shrugs, pulling the conversation to a halt. “i’ll see you at practice on monday?”
with another pout, msby’s setter nods. “see you.”
“thanks for lunch again. take care of yourself and don’t worry too much, yeah?” with one last pat on his friend’s shoulder, sakusa leaves to go home.
miya atsumu feels like a stupid pathetic teenager in love.
but sure enough, he likes it.
he likes you.
and lately, he finds himself opening his thread of messages with you—just to look at the photo you sent him after your first date.
to others, it was a simple snapshot of the words thank you tsumu! with cute little hearts written on paper with the markers he bought you. to the nation’s hottest setter, it would probably be the cause of his passing written on his death certificate.
red isn’t the color of love—or whatever his mother said—it’s the color of the pen you used to write his name with.
daphne blue or so you say.
his hand finds your contact and rings your number without a second thought and by the time you pick up, he doesn’t give you a moment to ask what was wrong.
( it would seem that sakusa will be winning the bet. )
“i think i like you.” atsumu speaks—a lump in his throat forming as the anxiety finally sets in. “more than i should and i—“
osamu’s laugh cuts him off. “wrong number, tsumu.”
the anxiety only doubles with humiliation on the side when the blonde rechecks the contact name—he really did dial his brother instead of you...
“want me to hand the phone to y/n?”
atsumu hears a faint protest coming from the background and cursing and fumbling over osamu’s phone.
“hey, tsumu!” you chime with a voice crack at the end. ( he faintly hears his brother teasing you in the background )
atsumu ends the call and a soft holy shit leaves him.
phone calls with you used to be regular phone calls. whether he would rant to you about how stupid getting robbed by a homeless man was, fishing for samu’s wishlist for a secret santa thing, listening to you read out your reviewers, keeping each other company at 1am—it was normal. extra ordinary. nothing really out of this world.
but now with his attraction to you looming in the back of his mind? this not-so unfortunate smitten soul completely shuts down—rendered speechless. mentally absent. deceased.
it takes him a couple of moments—five minutes of debating and roughly a minute for a personal pep talk, to be exact—he pushes himself to call you back, getting the right contact this time.
“sorry.” atsumu grips hard on his steering wheel—sweaty palms sliding over the resin. “that was weird. i’m weird.” he inwardly groans at his terrible choice and lack of thought in his words. “weird signal over here.”
“it’s all good.” there is a pause on your end. “are you busy right now? samu says you’re on a date with saku—“
“the best advice i can give you is to never listen to him even if he’s the respectable miya. and omi already left so... yeah. i’m not busy.” his fingers drum on his thermos in the cupholder. “what’s up?”
“great. because i got you something i think you’ll like.”
“you could literally poison me and i would still take it.”
“i’m flattered.”
“where are you now? i’ll pick you up.”
there is a sound of shuffle of a coat and a bag. “i’m actually outside your door. samu left me here after you dropped the call and he took my bag and everything.”
atsumu clears his throat. if he had to let you in... the dread that comes with knowing he hasn’t done his spring cleaning yet pulls at the nerves in his spine. “we can go see him after and get your things.”
“thank you, tsumu.”
“i’ll see you in a bit.”
“freeze! you’re under arrest!” atsumu holds his phone like a gun and comically rolls on the floor of the hall leading to his apartment.
you play along, clutching your shoulder in faux pain and half sliding down the wall next to his door—going over his doorbell in the process of your oscar worthy acting.
he stops at your feet on his knees. “so what brings you here?”
you happily raise a tupperware box hidden in a small onigiri miya tote—the one they used for deliveries. “i cooked you something.”
( he could already smell it. carbonara pasta—his most recent guilty pleasure—a food his personal trainer had banned from his diet. )
dusting off his clothes, he playfully scoffs and moves to welcome you into his home. “oh! so you are going to poison me.”
“that’s the plan, miya atsumu.” you follow him to his kitchen and laid out the still warm pasta on his kitchen island. “happy birthday.”
“but it’s not october yet.” it’s far from his birth month, actually.
shrugging, you dismiss his claim. “i know. but i also know you’ve been craving carbonara.”
( he guesses his brother must have dropped a hint. )
“i can’t.” atsumu giddily takes a seat on the barstool across you and softly pats the marble countertop. “my trainer would kill me.”
“he isn’t here right now is he?” you hand him a fork from his drawers. “and birthdays are essentially cheat days. so happy birthday, atsumu.”
the setter finally takes a forkful of noodles. “you are a terrible influence.”
“i really try.” you jest.
he holds out another forkful to feed you next—to which you indulge in his offer.
and it hits him.
this is nice.
eating a meal made by you. seeing you under the warm light of his kitchen. maneuvering around the setting as if this was your home too.
the way you’re looking at him (a little white sauce on the corner of your lips and still chewing), waiting for his comment on your cooking.
just you and him in the kitchen and a nice meal.
it was nice.
“it’s definitely a happy birthday.” a satisfied miya atsumu points at the empty tupperware. “ten out of ten. enough to dethrone my brother’s cooking.”
he almost melts seeing you cheer.
“y/n.” atsumu wipes his mouth on his sleeve—slightly staining the material. “you know how i never cut fruit right?”
you mirror him by wiping the sauce off your mouth too. “yeah. because you’re terrible at it.”
( it’s the truth. he almost somehow always manages to almost chop off a finger when he’s cutting up fruit. )
“i would cut fruit and peel tangerines for you.” he nods, timidly swiveling on his barstool. “you always cut fruit for me when i’m sick or when i’m craving melons.”
you almost snort at the randomness of his choice of topic for a conversation. “and what brought this up?”
“it’s like birthdays!” his chest is tingling and worms and butterflies start to mess up his stomach.
the anxiety seeping in at this moment was unmatched—almost much worse than the olympics anxiety he had experienced the first time he played for japan. ( not that he’d ever admit it. )
miya atsumu can be messy. he can be brash. he can be loud and he doesn’t think and can go off tangent at times.
but he loves with his whole heart and the last thing he would want is to drive you away.
“i feel special when you cut fruits for me. and you’re supposed to feel special on your birthday.” he gets up from his seat to stand in front of you, too aware of the lack of sense coming from his mouth.
“and i want you to feel like everyday is your birthday.” atsumu wipes his sweaty palms on his denim jeans. “i like seeing you happy and i...” he takes a deep breath, a little afraid and very much too timid of locking eyes with you. “i want to make you happy and i think i’ll do a very good job at it.”
miya atsumu has never gotten a crush.
but by god, he’s so sure about you.
soulmate? first love? crush? whatever stupid title that he has to label you as, all he’s got on his mind is you you you you.
now, he’s just waiting for an answer.
“oh my god. samu’s right. i can never shut up.” he laughs in an attempt to cushion his dread. “i think this is the part where you say no.”
you let out a breathy laugh. “who says i’m going to say no?”
“you’re...” a giggle slips out of him and he slaps a hand over his mouth. “you’re saying no right now.”
( he remembers bokuto saying something about laughing more when you’re around the person you like—and this moment solidifies the claim for atsumu... he just thinks it’s a little inappropriate for it to kick in right now.
but if it goes wrong,
perhaps it can be something you both can laugh about later on. )
“no!” you close the distance—your smile much giddier than usual. “i wanna say yes. i’m saying yes.”
“yes?” atsumu finally breathes when you carefully pry his hand off his face.
“yes!” you squeeze his hand gently, anchoring him to reality.
the setter brings your hand to his lips, softly pressing a kiss to the back of your palm—his adrenaline still running rampant in his system.
miya atsumu completely melts into your embrace the moment you hold him. and he nods. a little shaken. a little at a loss for words. a little too happy.
( he doesn’t want to admit how warm he had gotten over the past few minutes and he even lets out a soft whine when you try to pull away. )
atsumu tenderly leaves another kiss on the top of your head.
“happy birthday.”
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