Archive of Our Own

There's a soft kind of haziness to the first moments after waking: light blurring the edges of vision, a gentle pull to consciousness, last night's dreams ebbing away into nothing. Even the sudden violent ringing of an alarm does nothing to wash away the fuzziness entirely, though it at least helps nudge Atsumu that one last step from slumber to the land of the living.

He reaches for his phone, groaning into his pillow when he comes up empty. "'Samu," he growls, sure his brother is responsible for it somehow, before he finally rolls to his back and opens his eyes.

And blinks.

There's a ceiling above him.

Not the underside of Osamu's bunk.

He frowns, rubbing his eyes, but the ceiling doesn't go away. The bunk doesn't show up. He sits up, wondering what kind of magic Osamu pulled—whose help he enlisted—to orchestrate a prank of this magnitude.

Because this looks nothing like their room.

The bed is wider than his twin-sized bunk, with a light green blanket he'd never seen in his life. It's set in the wrong side of the room. There's only one desk, not two, and a sliding door next to it, not across. He has a balcony with a glass door. There is more sun streaming into his room now than he has ever seen in his entire life.

Osamu may be clever, but there is no way he is this level of clever.

The alarm's still ringing—it's the wrong alarm, Atsumu realizes belatedly—before he finally finds where it's coming from: a bright yellow flip phone sitting on top of the shelf by the headboard his bed does not have.

What the hell.

He picks it up—because what else is he supposed to do—and turns it off.

Blinks at the reflection on the phone screen.

That's not his face either.

Something like a rapid beating against his chest threatens to rise up to his throat, forming around a wordless scream, but he swallows it down and stumbles across the strange new room in search of a bigger, more reliable mirror, finding nothing except the glass door of the balcony.

That is not his face.

That is not his hair, those are not his eyes, that is not his nose, his hair is orange and fluffy and whose face is he wearing where is Osamu—

And in the absence of a rational explanation, to stem the rising hysteria, his brain supplies him with the next most reasonable possibility: He must still be sleeping.

This must be a dream. That's it. That makes sense.

"Onii-chan!" someone calls from outside, the voice young and high-pitched and completely unfamiliar to Atsumu. "Breakfast!"

"Uh—Okay, I'm comin'!" he calls out, and even his voice is different. He clears his throat, frowning. Pinches his arm, but doesn't wake up anywhere he knows.

What a weirdly vivid dream.

"Onii-chan!"

Without a reasonable way out, Atsumu decides he might as well go with the flow. "Okay, okay!"

Atsumu wakes up to Osamu crouched down on the space next to his bed, peering at him with narrowed eyes.

"Why are you so weird?" Atsumu groans, once the initial flood of relief—why relief? He can't say for sure—dies down. He chucks his pillow at his brother's face, but Osamu catches it without trouble and just shoves it back toward Atsumu before he presses palms to knees and pushes himself to stand.

"I see you're the usual kind of annoying today," he says, and he almost sounds satisfied.

"Hah?" Atsumu asks, but Osamu just heads out of their room. As soon as the door shuts behind him, Atsumu's alarm rings.

Atsumu can't shake the feeling that everyone's in on some grand joke they forgot to let him in on.

He's not sure if it's Osamu's words that morning, or just the way something's gnawing at the back of his mind, like the feeling of knowing something's been forgotten, but not quite figuring out what it is. He thinks hard about it, but all he gets is the vague sensation of trying to listen to a conversation next door with cotton-stuffed ears.

"Why are people lookin' at us?" he asks his brother as they walk up the stairs, where the second year classrooms are. "More'n usual, I mean."

"They're not looking at me," Osamu says mildly. He swerves around abruptly, walking in the opposite direction of his classroom. "Oh look at that, I forgot I had to be somewhere else. See ya at practice."

"Hey—" Atsumu calls out, but finds his way blocked by… he thinks she's a girl in his class. Maybe?

"Atsumu-san," she starts, her smile bright and overly familiar for reasons he can't fathom. He's never once spoken to her in his life. He doesn't even remember what she's called. "Are you feeling better today?"

"Huh?" Atsumu asks, a stab of irritation slicing down his spine when her smile falters and he doesn't understand why. "Why the heck wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, it's just—yesterday, you seemed a little more forgetful." She smiles, extra bright, and Atsumu frowns at how forced it looks. "But I guess you're better now! Sorry to bother you."

"Haru-chan," another girl says, popping out of nowhere to tug at Haru-chan's wrist. "Let's go take our seats."

Atsumu shakes his head, following them to the same classroom because, unfortunately, he has to. He tries to keep himself a couple of steps away, in case they get the wrong idea and try to be friendly again, but it's not far enough for him not to hear Haru-chan whispering, "I don't understand, he was much nicer yesterday."

Practice doesn't go any better.

It goes as it usually does, for the most part. But where he had the feeling he was being watched by classmates, now he knows for sure his teammates are keeping an eye on him more than they usually do, and differently from how they normally do it. Oomimi slows down when he sees him changing in the locker room, clearing his throat once as though to announce his presence before nodding at him. Suna keeps glancing back at him during the practice set, and Aran picks up this weird habit of calling his name out when the ball heads his way.

"What!" he asks during break, when he's finished up his water.

His teammates glance at each other warily.

"What do you mean, what?" Suna asks, stretching next to him, his tone intentionally casual.

"You know what I mean, what!"

It's Aran who takes pity on him at last. "We were just wondering if you would forget to set the ball again," he says, scratching the back of his head.

"Or try to spike my passes at ya," Akagi adds with a smirk.

"I told you guys," Osamu says, his gaze on Atsumu, "he's the usual kind of annoying today."

"Hm, that's a shame," Kita says serenely, though there's a ghost of amusement pulling at the corner of his lips, threatening to break into a pleased smile. "I kind of liked him better yesterday."

"Well of course ya would," Aran says with a laugh, even as Atsumu's cheeks heat up from what he's just heard, trying to remember what it was he did yesterday that made Kita-san like him so much. Maybe he can do that again.

"Kita-san," Akagi calls out in sing-song, voice breathless and eager. "I can help clean up!"

"I didn't—" Atsumu starts as the rest of the team breaks out into laughter. He catches Osamu's attention.

He smirks. "Oh you definitely did."

"Don't worry," Kita tells him, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "I was under no impression that was going to be a common occurrence. But I did end up home early enough to help my grandmother with dinner, so thank you."

"It's… no problem, Kita-san," Atsumu mumbles, fighting the heat from spreading all the way from cheeks to the tips of his ears, and failing entirely.

It occurs to him, a few days later, that his entire team may have just gotten together to set up an elaborate prank at his expense.

It doesn't make him feel any less uneasy, but at least it's an uneasy he can sort of understand.

The next time Atsumu wakes up to find a ceiling above him, he remembers everything instantly.

He pinches his arm just in case, but when nothing changes he sighs and pushes himself up to sit.

Light green blanket. Single desk. Balcony. If he looks outside he's gonna see a street he's never been on, and if he opens the closet doors he'll find a gakuran instead of his school blazer. The mirror will show a different face, and if he goes to the kitchen a different family will be waiting for him.

Dreams are supposed to be weird, yeah, but as far as these go, living the tedious life of a random stranger minute by excruciating minute is really super fucking weird.

But time stretches differently in sleep, so with a resigned sigh, Atsumu starts going through the motions.

"Did you do something with your hair?" his freckled friend—Yamaguchi, Atsumu thinks he's called—asks when he finds Atsumu before classes start.

"Just trying something new," Atsumu says with a half-shrug. There was cheap gel in the bathroom now, when he got ready for school, carried over from the first time he had the dream when there was none, and he had to buy something at the store on his way back from school because the day may be over but he could not bear to continue suffering the fluffiest hair he'd ever had the displeasure of having.

Yamaguchi smiles. "It looks better than the last time you tried it," he says, nodding.

Atsumu raises an eyebrow at that. "Yeah? Still got pictures?"

"No, you specifically asked me to make sure I got all of the pictures out of Tsukki's phone too. Which I did! Because I'm a good friend."

"The best," Atsumu agrees.

Yamaguchi's mouth quirks. "Still looks weird on you though."

"That's not fair, that's just my face," Atsumu says, wrinkling his nose.

Yamaguchi chortles. "Hinata!" he gasps, shoulders shaking with laughter. "You've got a perfectly fine face, come on!"

"Eh." It's not like he disagrees—objectively speaking, there's not really anything wrong with Hinata's face. It's kind of cute, once you get past how bright his hair is. But his cheeks are gently rounded, his eyes a nice almond shape with a really pretty shade of hazel, and there's even a smattering of freckles that Atsumu is sure some people would go crazy over.

It's just not his face. And since he's the one wearing it currently, he should be allowed to not like it.

"Well, good work styling your hair today, anyway," Yamaguchi says, still grinning. "I'll see you later at practice?"

Atsumu nods. "Yeah, I'll see you later."

It won't be until the end of the day, which is way too long from now, but at least it's light at the end of the tunnel.

Atsumu barely pays attention to Hinata's class—he's never been the best student, a dream isn't about to be where he starts pretending otherwise.

Instead he picks up one of Hinata's notebooks, flipping it over to find the words WHO ARE YOU?, written in his own handwriting, staring back at him.

He remembers writing this question down, the first time he had the dream, the first time he lived a day as Hinata Shouyou. But he'd left the page otherwise empty, and now there's some scribbled writing added to it. Hinata's, presumably. Definitely. He squints, because Hinata's handwriting is kind of atrocious, but eventually he manages to make out what it says:

My name is Hinata Shouyou. PLEASE STOP BEING MEAN TO MY FRIENDS. Except Tsukki and Kageyama.

He's never had a dream with this kind of continuity before. He vaguely recalls those two friends Hinata mentions, and takes this to mean they're fair game. Not that he'd let a dream person tell him what to do, anyway.

I did nothing wrong, he writes down, grinning. You can't prove it was me.

If there is one good thing about these dreams, it's that it still has volleyball in them.

It must be a product of just how obsessed Atsumu is over volleyball, that it even bleeds into his subconscious that he can't live without it there, but he's not about to complain, changing into the practice jerseys in the locker room.

"What happened to your hair?" someone asks next to him, the telltale edge of an insult layered beneath the question. "Trying to impress somebody?"

Atsumu grits his teeth. Volleyball's well and good, but did he have to have teammates like these?

"At least I ain't a scrub like ya," he shoots back, knowing as soon as he says it that it's a dumb comeback. Unfortunately he doesn't know Tsukishima well enough to really hit it where it hurts, and from the height that Atsumu's standing it doesn't look like he has any: he's tall, decent at volleyball—at being a middle blocker like Hinata is, even—and has no known exploitable weaknesses.

Tsukishima snorts. "It's been a while since your Kansai accent made an appearance," he says. "Practice today's going to be fun, huh?"

Atsumu scowls, more to hide the panic than anything else. Fuck. He'd been so riled up he'd let it slip—he has to be more careful about that, or else— "I'm heading out," he huffs, stomping out into the gym.

Tsukishima's laugh echoes after him. Atsumu clenches both fists. He's gonna destroy him at practice today.

There are some things Atsumu forgets about volleyball practice as Hinata Shouyou that he is reminded of in one disastrous encounter after another once practice starts.

One: Hinata Shouyou is not a setter.

Atsumu remembers this too late, after he's collided with Kageyama, the actual setter, instinct calling for him to get to the ball once the libero sends it into the air.

It's only a little collision, the two of them bumping into each other enough to knock them down, but not enough to grievously injure either of them.

"What the hell was that?" Kageyama asks, rubbing his arm and turning to Atsumu with a baffled look. "You never wanted to be setter before."

"I just moved, I—uh. It won't happen again."

The confusion doesn't quite leave Kageyama's face, but he does nod, opting not to push it, and practice resumes.

Two: Hinata Shouyou is much, much too small to play middle blocker.

"You jumped too early on that," Tsukishima grouses, annoyed at the point they let through. Atsumu hadn't even come close to touching the ball with his fingertips then.

"I know, I know," Atsumu snaps, his own scowl deepening. He does know, yeah, but his timing—the one when he's Miya Atsumu—works differently in a body like Hinata Shouyou's. It's his own damn fault; he can't even really blame Tsukishima for being irritated. "Just give me—I'm gonna figure it out."

Tsukishima huffs. "I can't believe you're actually regressing," he mutters.

"Shut yer trap," he growls, Tsukishima narrowing his eyes dangerously at him before Yamaguchi steps in.

"Guys," he says. "Let's get back to practice, okay?"

"I'm gonna figure it out," Atsumu repeats, more to himself than anyone else. Kageyama glances sideways at him then, but he doesn't say anything about it.

Three: Hinata Shouyou's highest reach, for some ungodly reason, is way higher than what Atsumu can muster in his body.

He lands back on his feet, the ball bouncing next to him and then rolling away in the silence of the gym. Kageyama looks at him like he has no idea who he is, which, fair, but—

"That was too high," Atsumu says before he can hold himself.

"That was exactly where it needed to be," Kageyama tells him, and the unshakable tenor in his voice tells Atsumu yeah, he's probably right. He'd be right, anyway, if this were Hinata instead of Atsumu, and a part of Atsumu chafes at the idea that this little shrimp is a better spiker—better anything—than him.

"Oh god," Tsukishima, one-man peanut gallery, groans behind him. "Are you guys fucking up your quick again? We're gonna be so screwed at the Interhigh Qualifier."

"Hinata?" Yamaguchi asks, coming up to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm—" This is volleyball. He knows this game, knows this as easy as breathing. And he's not gonna fuck up the one nice thing about his dream. "Lemme just re-set a little, okay?"

The coach, who's been watching them from the sidelines the whole time, calls for a short water break after that, which Atsumu only feels a little ashamed about. He picks up a towel and wipes his face with it, taking a seat on the bench, fists clenched atop his knees and glaring long and hard at the floor.

Kageyama sits down next to him. "If you're not feeling okay—"

"I'm fine," Atsumu says, but when he looks up there is genuine concern on Kageyama's face. It makes him flinch, he isn't sure why, so he averts his gaze again. "I'll get the timing of it right."

"I can set it lower if you—"

"Don't ya dare cater to me just 'cause I'm havin' a bad day," Atsumu warns him. "I can do it, Kageyama."

At that, Kageyama looks at least a little chastised. "Alright, okay," he says just as Yamaguchi comes up and rests his hand on Atsumu's shoulder.

"See guys? He's fine," he says, grinning.

"Alright, everyone get back to your places," the coach says, clapping his hands. "Let's do one more set."

He gets it, eventually, and it's enough to redeem that day's practice in his mind. Despite telling Kageyama not to, Atsumu knows he started tossing the ball lower to get to Atsumu's reach, and his annoyance at that is only a little bit overshadowed by how impressed he is at how quickly Kageyama adjusted. He's so accurate, like he's got a 360-degree sense of the entire court and where the players are in it at any given time.

It pisses Atsumu off. It makes him want to practice setting again, just to make sure he can be better.

One more pinch of the arm for the road, but since nothing happens, he'll have to go on in this dream world a little bit longer. He finds Hinata's bike and hops on to head on home.

"Onii-chan! You're late!" Hinata's sister yells at him by way of greeting when he arrives at Hinata's house.

"'Welcome back, onii-chan,'" Atsumu deadpans. "Thank you, Natsu, I'm home."

Natsu only rolls her eyes. "Did you forget mom's working late today?" she asks. "I'm starving, you said you'd make curry tonight!"

"I did that?" Atsumu asks, feeling a chill run down his spine. He doesn't cook, that's usually Osamu's domain. He picks up Hinata's phone, trying to furtively figure out how to make a curry. Or even what the heck goes in them.

"Come on, I washed the vegetables already!"

"Ya did?" he asks, an idea forming in his head. "Hey, Nacchan—" Natsu tilts her head curiously at that nickname, but Atsumu forges on ahead. "How about we make curry together?"

"Hmmmm?"

"You can tell Nii-chan what you like to put in it, and stuff, and you get to tell me what to do next!" Atsumu proposes. "Wouldn't it be fun to tell me what to do for a bit?"

Natsu's eyes sparkle at that last line, and Atsumu thinks, bull's eye. "Okay!" she says, marching off into the kitchen.

Atsumu breathes a sigh of relief, steels himself for a hopefully easier kitchen battle, and follows her in.

Atsumu picks up Hinata's notebook before he goes to bed that evening, flipping over to the page he'd doodled on.

WHO ARE YOU? it says.

Atsumu's beginning to have an answer.

Hinata Shouyou is a middle blocker from a team called Karasuno. He moves fast, jumps high, bickers with teammates he considers friends at the end of the day. He's aiming for the Spring Interhigh—it would be a pretty pathetic volleyball dream if he isn't.

And he's apparently a way better cook than Atsumu's first try at it.

So while Atsumu has many more questions than he's got answers for at the moment, he only jots down one: You put any secret ingredients in that curry of yours? 'Cause Nacchan claims it didn't taste the same and that's after I made her show me how it's normally done.

Atsumu's back in his bed when he wakes up, the last vestiges of his dream already disappearing with the light of day, the familiarity of his own blanket, the underside of Osamu's bunk above him, the bright yellow post-it stuck there saying—

Don't forget the bentos! They're in the fridge!

Atsumu jolts up and promptly bangs his head on the bed. He hisses out a curse that stirs Osamu awake.

"Thought ya'd wake up in a better mood than that," he says, hopping down and turning to Atsumu with a smile that Atsumu doesn't trust one bit.

"The heck d'ya mean?" he asks, but Osamu's already leaving the room, humming a wordless tune as he goes.

Atsumu yanks at the post-it.

That ain't his handwriting, and as he realizes whose handwriting it is, the dream he'd just had comes flooding back, as vivid and real as… as memories.

The note is from Hinata. He pulls himself out of bed, skipping the bathroom to run downstairs, ignoring his parents' greeting to yank the fridge door wide open.

Two bentos, wrapped up in a cloth wrapper all neat and proper-like. THIS IS ATSUMU'S! says a post-it stuck on its side.

Atsumu takes that too, and then he realizes there's more writing scribbled on the back: For your lunch date with Kita-san on the roof today! You're welcome!

By the time Atsumu realizes that no, these dreams he's been having have not been dreams at all, actually, he has in fact been living the life of a completely random boy all the way across the other side of the country, Hinata's already wreaked havoc in his actual day-to-day life. He has the world's best and worst lunch date with Kita on the roof of the school ("These are really good, Atsumu-kun, I didn't realize you knew how to cook! Do you mind sharing the recipes someday?"), the back-up first year setter comes up to him asking if he can practice tossing to Atsumu, and a few classmates he's never before spoken with crowd around his desk begging him to show them his Suna Rintarou impression again, please, that last one was priceless.

We gotta set some ground rules here!!! he writes down on a scrap of paper that he sticks to the underside of Osamu's bunk, because if it's happened twice already then it's probably gonna happen at least one more time, right, and now he's gonna be ready for it.

1. You're a setter! Act like one!
2. Stop talking to people I don't know!
3. Stop trying to set me up on dates with Kita-san I can do them myself thanks
4. If you're gonna make food as me at least leave your recipes behind.
5. Whatever happens, you better not switch places with me at the Interhigh!

The note stays there a few more days until Atsumu wakes up in Miyagi again, finding the notebook page amended with a message from Hinata (Apples! But don't tell anyone! Not even Natsu!, below it a smaller, Nacchan's a cute nickname, I'm gonna start using it too!) with a couple of other general reminders:

• there's practice on Sunday at the gym
• don't not reply to Kenma when he texts
• stop picking fights with everyone!
• Yachi's helping me and Kageyama study on Friday after practice so don't forget to remind mom and Natsu!

Atsumu wrinkles his nose at the list, so after practice that day he goes shopping, returning home with a garish yellow-and-orange planner peppered with cat faces like the one on Hinata's bento. He picks up a phone accessory too, snickering as he attaches it to Hinata's phone.

Put that crap down on the planner, there's no way I'm gonna keep all of it straight, he writes on the notebook. It's in your top right drawer. Say 'thanks for the gift, Atsumu-san'. (You're welcome.)

When Atsumu wakes up back in Hyougo, he finds that Hinata's added his own comments to Atsumu's rules, scribbled over and still stuck above Atsumu's head so it's the first thing he sees the next day.

1. You're a setter! Act like one! I'll set properly when you stop backseat setting for Kageyama! He's always pissed off at me more than usual when I get back, what do you do to him?
2. Stop talking to people I don't know! They're just being nice, give it a try sometime.
3. Stop trying to set me up on dates with Kita-san I can do them myself thanks If you can why haven't you yet hmmmm? ANYWAY there's absolutely nothing wrong with helping him clean up after practice. YOU should be doing it not your captain!
4. If you're gonna make food as me at least leave your recipes behind. Hah! So you're saying they worked? I wrote them down in your notebook, make another one for Kita-san okay?
5. Whatever happens, you better not switch places with me at the Interhigh! That can never happen!!!

Atsumu rolls his eyes, stuffing the note in his schoolbag and deciding to pick up a much nicer-looking planner for himself before Hinata has the chance to return the favor—though the next time he wakes up in Miyagi, Hinata's written a big fat THANK YOU ATSUMU-SAN over the first page of his planner, which puts a smile on his face and mirth in his heart.

Hinata doesn't realize Atsumu used Hinata's money to buy that, does he?

The planner's been filled out with more details regardless, so Hinata's days and daily schedules are mapped out for him. Afternoon practices, morning practices, practice matches, a meeting with Coach Ukai one of those mornings, the days Hinata's mom is working late so it's Hinata's turn to cook. The dates of the Interhigh Qualifiers circled in red, with DO NOT SWITCH HERE written and underlined three times over like wanting it enough will ward off whatever is triggering these switches. Near the back, in the section reserved for notes, Hinata's put down detailed maps of the town to show Atsumu the general placement of relevant places he should know to go to, recipes for dinners, notes about things he's talked about with the team. Some explanations about the plays they're using and Hinata's role on the team, so Atsumu doesn't embarrass Hinata on the court.

No scouting! is added at the bottom.

You can't do that either, then! Atsumu writes down.

Atsumu's never even heard of Karasuno before—it's Shiratorizawa that always comes out of Miyagi.

But he starts to wonder what would happen if.

The switches start happening with more frequency after that, at an alarming rate of twice or thrice a week, with no discernible rhyme or reason.

So, they roll with it.

They figure most things out: what homework gets done, how to hide or mimic each other's accents, the habits and routines so ingrained in their day-to-day that they don't realize until Osamu points out Atsumu's chewing like a civilized human being again, or Yamaguchi squints at how Hinata's stopped humming his bathroom song when Atsumu excuses himself at a break during practice.

What the hell is a bathroom song and why do you have one? is a sentence Atsumu never imagined having to write down but nevertheless demands of Hinata, and in his next guest appearance in Hinata's body he is treated to the most atrocious rendering of the song, hummed and recorded in Hinata's phone.

Atsumu redeems Hinata's curry in Natsu's eyes after two more attempts; he starts taking careful notes on English so Hinata doesn't have to bother Yachi twice about tutoring; he remembers not to glare at classmates approaching him in class. He learns Hinata's favorite insults are Stingyshima and Bakageyama, anyway, and he sprinkles them liberally in conversation.

After three selfies of progressively passable hair Hinata finally figures out how to style Atsumu's hair just right, though he never stocks Atsumu's preferred brand of hair gel over in Miyagi; despite Atsumu's protests Hinata turns helping Kita clean up after practice into A Thing Atsumu Does, so for about half an hour every day Atsumu spends time alone with his captain; Hinata's handwriting becomes more legible and Atsumu's notebooks actually start looking like they're getting used for class more lately, though studying twice over is the absolute gravest punishment to come out of this whole ordeal.

Why did you ask Kita-san for help with English! Atsumu asks in despair the same day Hinata demands an explanation for Atsumu trying to pass off his Japanese Literature homework to Yachi. You can't just ask her to write a tanka for me!

She seemed like the poetic type! he writes in his defense, scoffing at Hinata's rudely scribbled, He was more than happy to help, you know!

Incensed, he grabs a marker and draws STUPID on Hinata's face just before he sleeps.

When he wakes the next day, there's an enormous FOOL scratched onto his cheek in terrible writing. Osamu takes one look, holds his hands up, and says, "That was all you, for once I did nothing," before running out of the room to escape.

"The little brat," Atsumu mutters, but he's laughing when he goes to clean himself up.

But the closer they get to the Spring Interhigh Qualifiers the more Atsumu feels on edge, and Hinata must be teetering on the same brink as well, because whenever Atsumu reminds them they're not allowed to switch places at the Interhigh—as though that's up to either of them at all, though they can sure as hell hope—he only counters by asking Atsumu to measure his reach and practice his spikes.

My spiking is fine! Atsumu writes down emphatically, appalled his skills have been placed in doubt. See if Kageyama mentions anything about it being off, I guarantee you it hasn't been. How are you still screwing up my serves anyway, Osamu's been ragging on me about the inconsistency lately.

He doesn't intend to, but he ends up furiously writing down an entire essay about his serving technique and what Hinata should be focusing on when he's trying. It's not the easiest thing in the world, trying to put down to paper things that your body just does, let alone when he's in a body that isn't used to them and hasn't been trained to move like that, but it's an exercise in self-reflection that he thinks Hinata will understand, the next time he's got to serve.

Atsumu doesn't even care if Hinata starts using it on his own serves.

Maybe it will let them take Miyagi in the prefectural qualifiers.

Maybe it'll be their ticket to the Spring Interhigh.

And maybe then—

Wouldn't it be weird, he writes on a fresh page, if Karasuno and Inarizaki both made it to the Interhigh? Then we'd both be in the same place.

Atsumu sets the planner down, tucking it back in the drawer where Hinata keeps it.

It would be so weird, he decides.

But also kind of cool.

It is by no minor miracle that both prefectural qualifier weekends pass them by in late October without incident.

Atsumu is relieved to wake up in his own body for Hyougo's qualifiers, which takes place in the middle of the month, and tries to hold his smugness in as he exchanges a few notes with Hinata during the week that follows.

Don't worry, Atsumu tells him, now that he hasn't got to think about Inarizaki winning, or having to play with a shrimpy middle blocker masquerading as their setter. (Of course they were gonna win! He wasn't worried at all.) I won't let you guys lose. I've mastered your quick, you know.

That's not the point! Hinata writes back, and it's just words on paper but Atsumu can almost hear how shrill he must sound saying it. We have to win on our own strengths.

But they switch places the day before the qualifier, putting them back in the right bodies for the first day of the weekend, and Atsumu wonders, just in case, if maybe it would help if he tried not to sleep for the entire weekend.

"What are you doing?" Osamu asks him, frowning as he gets up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, finding Atsumu huddled under his blanket, struggling to stay up with a game on his phone.

"None of yer business," Atsumu mumbles with a yawn.

Osamu mutters something under his breath Atsumu can't hear. He thinks he hears the faint melody of the bathroom song as he goes. Huh.

In the end Atsumu only lasts about 50.5 hours straight, collapsing onto his bed sometime between breakfast and lunch. When he wakes up it's dark and he's disoriented and he isn't sure how much time has passed, but he snaps awake when he remembers and all but lunges for his phone to look up the results of the Miyagi qualifiers, realizing how much he'd been hoping for the outcome when he sees it spelled out on his screen:

Karasuno will be going to the Spring Interhigh.

He's back in Miyagi the next day, waking up far too refreshed for the hours he'd actually spent sleeping on the weekend—well, that's Hinata's problem today, then.

There's no homework or quizzes due for the day, according to Hinata's planner, and no practice that afternoon either. Yamaguchi greets Hinata by leaping onto him when they see each other on their way to school, wearing the hugest grin on his face when he looks up at the banner congratulating the team for making it to the Interhigh, large and impressive against the side of the school building.

"Wow," Yamaguchi breathes, and Atsumu stares up at it for a while, too, feeling a different kind of amazement and awe.

Suddenly January feels too far away.

"We're going to have to practice so much more over winter," Yamaguchi is saying just as Tsukishima rounds the corner and walks up to them.

"Of course we do," Tsukishima says, but even he's smiling, too good in a mood to pretend he's above caring. Atsumu's seen his face when he messes up any of Kageyama's tosses, after all.

"We should celebrate or something," Yamaguchi suggests. "Tonight! Hot pot?"

"N-no! Can't do it tonight," Atsumu starts, because Hinata should be there savoring the win with his team. It already kind of sucks he's gonna have to spend the day in Hyougo where they've started practicing in earnest once more, instead of an easy day in Miyagi. "Mom's working late. How about tomorrow instead?"

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi both have to study, but everyone is free on Wednesday, so Yamaguchi pulls up his phone to invite the rest of the team along.

"Let's try to get everyone there," he says, before they all head into class.

Atsumu's still thinking about celebrating making it to the Interhigh by the time he's biking back home, the roads and streets to get to the Hinata household as familiar as his own route home at this point. For a team they might face off against, he's pretty dang happy for Hinata's sake, and it feels like something worth commemorating with the boy whose body you sometimes wake up in.

Hinata's mother is cooking dinner when he arrives, the smell of a hearty stew filling the kitchen and making Atsumu's stomach grumble. "I'm home," he says, only half-paying attention. A congratulatory note in Hinata's planner just doesn't seem enough.

"Welcome back. By the way, dear, what do you want for lunch tomorrow?" she asks. "We might have leftovers from tonight."

"Oh!" Atsumu says, struck with an idea. "Can I—is it okay if I make myself something, instead?"

Though Atsumu had asked for the recipes, he never actually got around to making another lunch bento for Kita. He'd tested them out a few times, even roping Osamu into showing him how to actually shape the onigiri right, and how to make sure the rolled omelettes turned out right.

"You ain't ever gonna be a world-famous chef, but in a pinch, yer pretty alright," Osamu decides after that first go.

It's the worst possible thing to tell Atsumu, who can't take the middle ground in anything, so naturally he had to try again, and again, and again, until Osamu was so impressed Atsumu had to fight him off his food.

So, Atsumu's learned a thing or two in the kitchen since.

He applies all of that knowledge now as he takes over the kitchen after dinner—promising Hinata's mom he'll take care of all the dishes—and divides his time between the tuna onigiri, the rolled omelettes, and the teriyaki chicken. There are enough vegetables for a small salad as well, and rice from the cooker that he places on the first layer of the bento. He scrambles an egg to place over the rice, using the ketchup squeeze bottle to spell out Congrats! on it.

"Wow," Natsu says from behind him, peering over his side to read what he'd just written. "You're really happy about winning, huh?"

You're welcome! written bright and bold on a post-it is the first thing that greets Atsumu when he wakes up, but his brain is still too sleep-addled to parse what Hinata could possibly mean by that.

Was it because they made it to the Interhigh? Did he do all of Atsumu's homework for the week? Did Hinata make him lunch?

The last thought does a funny thing to his stomach, and this is what finally has him rolling out of bed to get ready for school. He finds the usual lunch in the fridge, however, and only the day's homework looks done.

It isn't until after practice is over—while he's mopping up the floor and Kita is wiping down the equipment—that he discovers what it is he's supposed to be thanking Hinata for.

"Where would you like to meet?" Kita asks, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled on them since the rest of the team left. He says it quietly, but his voice rings loud in the empty gym, and when Atsumu glances toward him, confused, he sees a dusting of pink along Kita's cheeks. "On Sunday."

"Sunday," Atsumu echoes, as neutrally as possible while he tries to figure out what Kita is talking about. "For the—"

"Date." Kita meets his gaze finally, a small frown creasing his brow. "You said yesterday it would be a surprise, but I wasn't sure where we should—"

"Of course, yes, um, well—" Atsumu breathes out, running his hand through his hair as heat crept up on his face and the back of his neck. "I haven't fully planned everything out yet, but, we could—maybe the Amagasaki station? East gate?"

Kita nods. "Alright. That works for me. Is one p.m. still a good time?"

"Yeah! Yeah, it still is—it's a date."

I told you to stop trying to set me up with Kita-san! Atsumu writes furiously on his planner when he finally finds the meddlesome addition to his schedule, including the suggestions Hinata had written down for where they could go.

• Window-shopping? (But Kita-san doesn't seem very materialistic.)
• The aquarium! (Very romantic! And there are cool animals!)
• Boba tea~ (Kita-san likes them, doesn't he?)
• The riverwalk (this seems boring though!)
• V.League game (but Atsumu-san doesn't have a lot of money :'( )

He's got half a mind to tell Hinata off, maybe try to book a date with—with Yachi! Or something—and see how he likes it! But even then he knows he wouldn't, because unlike Atsumu, Hinata doesn't seem to take many pictures of anyone he likes on his phone, and it would be cruel to Yachi to pretend that Hinata likes him.

At least he liked Kita-san.

Likes Kita-san.

He sweeps his palm over his face. Writes down, you really didn't have to do that, and keeps himself up that night wondering why that is.

They don't switch for the rest of the week, which makes a different kind of worry bloom in Atsumu's gut. What if Hinata goes on that date with Kita-san? He isn't sure why that's so unsettling, or where the prickle of annoyance is coming from—this was Hinata's bed to lie in, after all, why shouldn't he go to the date he was so set on planning?

Oh, then, the revelation comes, and Atsumu wonders if that's what it is, after all. If maybe Hinata doesn't take any pictures of anyone he likes because they're not in Miyagi.

He picks up his phone, scrolling through the images there, but the last pictures of Kita were from a few months back, those furtive shots that gave him away so easily as soon as Hinata looked through his photos—nothing new lives in Atsumu's phone that he didn't take, except for a handful of selfies Hinata took when he was reporting the hair styling situation back to Atsumu. And when he was, apparently, intent on trying out every possible expression Atsumu's face could contort to.

Weirdo.

Sunday rolls around as any day of the week would for normal people—and for Atsumu as well, who wakes up in his bed in Hyougo, a date with his captain in a few hours.

He dresses himself in something nice and warm, fall at that point of the year when it's about to give way to winter, and arrives at the east gate of the station a few minutes before one p.m. Kita's already waiting, of course, a dark beanie covering his head and a thin scarf around his neck, a gentle smile breaking upon the porcelain of his face when he spots Atsumu in the crowd. For a minute it throws Atsumu off, because he's only ever seen his captain in his uniform or in his jerseys.

"I hope ya weren't waiting long," Atsumu says in greeting, stuffing both hands in the pockets of his jacket. "Ya look really nice, Kita-san."

"I just arrived—Ah. Thank you. So do you," Kita tells him. "But are you warm enough in that?"

"Yeah, this is fine." Atsumu takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way."

In the end, Atsumu picked a few things out from Hinata's list. They start with the aquarium, where he finds out that Kita-san likes looking at the colorful fish, but doesn't go to the ocean all that often.

"There's so much that's unknown in the sea," he says, his face lighting up with the reflection of the water. "And it's so unpredictable."

"Ya like being inland more, huh?" Atsumu asks, gaze tracking a school of clownfish making their way across the tank in stripes of white and bright orange.

"My family's got a farm out in the country," he says. "I grew up inland. Suppose it makes sense, don't it? What about you?"

"The ocean's pretty cool," Atsumu muses. "But I wanna go to the mountains."

By mid-afternoon they've visited all the exhibits that caught their attention and browsed through the gift shop, finding nothing that looked interesting enough to buy, so Atsumu suggests heading out to get boba tea from a spot nearby.

"I think they have good reviews, but I've never been there," he explains.

"Do ya normally like boba?" Kita asks, tilting his head up at Atsumu.

"I don't mind it," he says. It's a short walk to the spot from the aquarium, and not so busy that they can't find themselves a booth to enjoy their drinks in. The cafe also has some macarons for sale, so Atsumu gets them a couple each. "It's a nice treat, ain't it? Do ya normally have a sweet tooth, Kita-san?"

"Just for boba, I think," Kita replies. He doesn't take his gaze off Atsumu, but it feels like being studied, or puzzled out.

"Something on my face?" Atsumu tries, letting out a nervous huff of laughter.

"Just trying to figure out which Atsumu I've got today," he says, and when Atsumu inhales a couple tapioca pearls so fast he almost chokes on them, Kita smiles. "The old one, I guess. Are you alright? Do ya need water?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Kita-san, I—"

"At first I thought you and Osamu were pulling pranks on us," Kita continues, resting his chin on his palm. "But, it was just you acting differently. Osamu seemed just as confused."

"I don't know—"

"Ya don't have to tell me what's going on. You've been you all week, right? It's nice. I kind of missed it."

Atsumu's throat feels dry all of a sudden, even though he's been sitting there drinking. "You do?"

"Well," Kita says, chuckling softly. "Don't get me wrong—it's nice that I've got some extra help after practice now. But it's not like ya ain't a good guy overall, even if you always get into fights with Osamu and drag half the team into it ta boot."

"...Thank you?"

"It's a compliment, Atsumu-kun," Kita assures him. He stirs the thick straw of his drink, moving the pearls at the bottom of it around. "Ya liked me a lot more before though, didn't you?"

"Um."

Kita's smile looks fond, not a trace of disappointment in his features when he looks up at Atsumu. "It's okay," he says. "This was a nice date though. Thank you. But it's probably best if, from now on, we just focused on the Interhigh, right?"

Atsumu doesn't expect to let out a breath—like he's relieved, for some reason—when he hears those words. "Okay."

You gave it a real good try, Atsumu tells Hinata later that evening, when he's back in his room, stewing in a vat of mild embarrassment and something he can't quite name just yet, only that it feels like a knotting in the pit of his stomach and a rising lump at the back of his throat. He pushes it down, ignores it. But Kita-san and I ain't happening, and that's okay. Don't worry about it. Worry about how we're gonna kick your asses at the Interhigh instead.

He tears the page off his planner, grabbing some tape to stick it up on the bunk before he settles in to sleep.

It's still there when he wakes up the next day.

Atsumu wakes up in Hyougo seven days in a row.

Eight days.

Nine.

By the two-week mark he's talked himself into believing it's never going to happen again, but every day he wakes up in his own bed is another day he wakes up with the taste of something bitter in the back of his throat and a heaviness that coils tight around his chest, dragging it down to the pit of his stomach. And every day he wakes time blurs his memories just a little bit more, softening the edges of his senses so some days, he isn't even sure what the space that carves itself hollow in his ribs used to hold, what name he's never uttered out loud is forgotten on the tip of his tongue.

This time when Osamu chews him out at practice he deserves it. He knows he's gotta focus, but it still takes Kita pulling him aside one day to knock some sense into him.

"You can't go to the All Japan Youth Training Camp in that condition," he says with all the kindness Atsumu doesn't deserve and all the honesty that he needs to hear.

So he takes the note down.

And he puts the planner away.

In the meantime there's practice to devote his time to and training camp to prepare for, so that's what he does. Now when Osamu chews him out it's because he becomes relentless about perfecting both his serves, insistent about trying out a play again, and again, and again. When Kita pulls him aside it's to ask him not to push himself, that he needs to take care of his body to be able to play. He hesitates, as well, and then:

"If ya wanted ta talk about it…"

"It's fine, Kita-san," Atsumu says, and forces a smile. "I'm sorry to worry you."

That night Osamu watches him pack for Tokyo. He looks like he's got something to say, heavy-lidded eyes contemplative, feet dangling over the side of his bed. Like he's just not sure how to say it yet.

"What?" Atsumu asks, finally, always the first to give in to impatience between the two of them.

Osamu shrugs. "Just thinking. S'been a while since we kept things from each other."

When Atsumu can't find anything to say, Osamu just snorts.

"It's not like I'm mad," he says. "I ain't. Just thinking, like I said. I'm gonna go sleep. Try not to annoy anyone else too much when ya get ta Tokyo."

In Atsumu's defense, it ain't like he ever made a promise to Osamu not to piss anyone off. He doesn't exactly make enemies, but he doesn't make friends either. And while sure, maybe someday in two years' time he's gonna end up playing with some of these guys, right now he's more interested about what he's gonna do if he ends up facing against them at the Interhigh.

The two guys from Itachiyama that gave them trouble last summer are here. There's a kid from Kamomedai who someone—not Atsumu, but only because he was about twenty seconds too late to do so—mistakes for a libero. He isn't, he snaps back, and the first time he takes to the air Atsumu feels something catch in his throat and a twitching in his thigh, like he's tempted to fly that high too.

Then there's the setter from Karasuno.

Atsumu can't place it—that itch at the back of his mind, a flowering of recognition that fades before it blooms into something more tangible. The name Kageyama Tobio feels like it should mean something to him; thinking about Karasuno brings up a pang of anticipation and nostalgia he can't parse at all.

"Where have we seen him before?" he muses out loud, but it's also half a question to Sakusa Kiyoomi, who happens to be stretching next to him. Kageyama is on the other side of the court, talking to one of the other first years invited to the camp.

"We haven't," Sakusa replies, a different flavor of bitterness in his words. "They took Shiratorizawa down as the Miyagi representatives. He says Wakatoshi-kun was at his best."

Atsumu hums. He never cared much for Shiratorizawa. That's not what he's asking.

"He kind of has that sort of face though, doesn't he?" Komori, next to Sakusa, observes.

Atsumu nods. "Like the manga protagonist face? Yeah, I guess that's probably it."

He tries to leave it there, he really does, but during their first practice match Kageyama tosses the ball high to a spot no one there can reach, and then Atsumu overhears him asking his spiker how he'd prefer the ball tossed to him.

That's not like him, is the thought that cuts through Atsumu's mind. He doesn't know why.

It's this that has him digging, a little, at Kageyama. Has him wondering why Kageyama is such a goody-two-shoes on the court, when he looks like he's got a pricklier personality than that. But Kageyama doesn't take the bait, and no amount of scratching uncovers whatever it is that's been scabbed over in Atsumu's memory.

The lingering sense of something hanging in the air above him persists through December, through practice and the holidays and the start of the new year.

It feels especially stronger during the first day of the Interhigh. Again, with that insistent thread of anticipation tugging at the corners of his mind, so unlike the usual adrenaline-fueled eagerness to get on the court. It courses through his veins like wildfire, curling thick and suffocating against his ribs as black smoke, an all-consuming thrumming that teases relief just out of reach.

"You're not watching the game?" Osamu asks, raising an eyebrow at him when he stands up from his seat, hands shoved in the pockets of his track jacket.

"Want a better view," he replies, waving him off, but Atsumu heads outside to catch some air for a moment, letting the winter air kiss his cheeks and chill his bones until he can see his breath in the air, small whorls of visible vapor that dissipate within moments.

He doesn't return to Inarizaki then, either, finding instead a vantage point close enough to the court that he can watch Karasuno and Tsubakihara up close. The team will be reviewing tomorrow's opponents tonight, depending on the outcome, but there's value in watching the game play out now and study what they can.

There's something else, too, for Atsumu. He isn't sure what it is, what makes the feeling of something forgotten ring stronger in his ears.

He's expecting it to come back just by watching Kageyama again, who seems to be playing with less deference to his spikers at the moment, at least, but then Atsumu catches a streak of orange out of the corner of his eyes and his stomach swoops at the same time this boy leaps to the air, slamming down a perfect toss with undisguised joy and triumph—

"If you're not feeling well," Kageyama had said, an echo of a scene Atsumu has no memory living, in a gym Atsumu has no memory of being in. "I can set it lower."

Atsumu blinks. When did he say that? And why? He glances back down, watching Kageyama's teammate move around the court.

And who is he?

The feeling fades by the time Atsumu makes it back to the team hotel, settling into the room the coaches had booked to view the tape they had on Karasuno.

It must have been some weird kind of déjà vu, he figures, a misfiring of the synapses in his brain conflating one memory with another. Osamu looks at him with an eyebrow raised, a silent question, and Atsumu shrugs to let him know it's nothing to worry about.

It isn't.

He keeps his arms crossed, his gaze laser-focused on the small TV Coach Oomi rolls in. He runs them through Karasuno, the things they gotta watch out for, the things they'll fall prey to if they aren't careful, the first-year duo of Kageyama Tobio and Hinata Shouyou—again, that pang, that unknowable, just-out-of-reach flash of something niggling at the back of his mind—

"Their quick can catch any team off-guard, and while Hinata is skilled and speedy it's Kageyama pulling all the strings," Coach Oomi says, clicking on the remote to switch to a different play. "Now, as for their captain Sawamura Daichi—"

"That's their captain?"

"Yes, Atsumu? What seems to be the problem?"

Atsumu shakes his head, not sure why he said what he said to begin with. "Doesn't look like much," he mumbles, drawing his arms tighter around his chest as he sinks slightly lower in his seat.

Coach Oomi lifts an eyebrow at him, but does not skip a beat. "He may not 'look like much', but he's part of the backbone for Karasuno's defense," he continues.

Atsumu shrugs the unsettled feeling off, or maybe it fades away on its own, but he pulls himself back to the coach's words, committing what they're told to memory, listening to the team's plan of attack for the next day. They're not meant to do anything different; they're last Interhigh's runner-ups, and a change in their playing style is a disservice to their skills as a team, but now they know what they're up against. Karasuno's likely to try and build a strategy around them, they wouldn't be the first team to try, and Inarizaki will meet them head on.

It's only the first game of the tournament. Atsumu doesn't know what he's so fired up for.

"Hey," Osamu says, falling into step beside him as they head to their room. "Ya gonna be okay tomorrow?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

The look Osamu gives him is long and measured, punctuated with a resigned sigh. "Alright," he says. "Ya fuck up though, I'm kickin' yer ass."

But when the next day arrives, it's Hinata Shouyou of Karasuno who fucks up first, jumping to the air for a perfect set only to forget to spike. Atsumu watches him fall back to solid ground, red in the face and lips wobbly, too preoccupied with the thought that it wasn't even Hinata's highest vertical to revel in the free point they'd just received.

Wait.

How did he know what his highest vertical was? Atsumu frowns—the coaches must have told them last night, though when he casts his mind for the memory he comes up blank.

He shakes his head. Now's not the time.

But it only gets weirder, and the strange sensation of being out of step follows him in flashes throughout the game.

Like the way he catches himself thinking: So that's what it looks like from this angle, the first time that Kageyama and Hinata do their quick in front of them.

That's what it looks like from up front, he means. It's so fucking cool and he's itching to do that himself, catching Osamu's gaze. Osamu already knows what the look is for and he rolls his eyes, but Atsumu knows they'll be able to pull it off.

When they do, though, and Atsumu sets the ball to his brother, he's got the jarring notion that maybe he should be spiking it down instead, for some reason.

And it doesn't stop there.

Suna picks some kind of passive aggressive fight with Karasuno's other middle blocker—Atsumu doesn't quite catch it, just the tail end of the other guy's even response, but it leave it to Stingyshima to be a one-man peanut gallery with a ready quip each time.

Atsumu blinks. Stingyshima?

"'Tsumu?"

"Was it just my imagination," he starts, already knowing that yes, it is, and Osamu's gonna call him out on it, "or did that middle blocker's hair look longer for a moment?"

Osamu frowns at him. "Yer lookin' at that kid's hair? Right now? Ya want another dye job or somethin'?"

"No, shut up, I'm just—trick o' the light, I think." Atsumu shakes his head.

But Osamu isn't swayed so easily, and Atsumu can feel his eyes not only on himself but on Karasuno now as well, more intent than he'd normally be for a match.

"There's somethin' about that orange kid," Osamu murmurs to himself after Hinata stuffs down one of Osamu's attacks.

"Yeah, 'Samu?"

"Reminds me of—" Osamu huffs. "It's nothing, never mind. Unlike you, I know ta shut up when I'm about to say something stupid."

"You're a dick," Atsumu informs him, ignoring the way his heart catches in his throat the next time Hinata takes to the air to meet Osamu head on.

Hinata doesn't succeed, losing to Osamu in a battle of strength, but now Atsumu knows how high his jumps could have been.

He isn't sure why that matters, why that's the thought that enters his mind.

But there's no time to dwell on that, not when the last set begins and the intensity of the match ratchets up even higher than before. Atsumu pushes hard, harder than he's had before, but the movements come to him like breathing, practice having fine-tuned his instinct to form—he and Osamu are relentless, Suna merciless, Aran nigh on unstoppable.

And Karasuno is, too. All of the above, and then some. They push just as hard, plays still rough around the edges but effective for what they need, defense and offense well-rounded if not completely balanced yet, their formation easier to break than their spirits. A long rally that Karasuno fights hard for ends in a point for Inarizaki, but just when Atsumu thinks that swings the momentum in their favor Hinata chirps something completely unexpected and Atsumu can see it, the way the darkening mood around them breaks, and the clouds crack open to reveal the sun.

He watches them from the bench during the timeout after, taking a swig of his drink and cooling down as much as he can. Osamu's next to him, and he's watching Hinata too.

"Where've I seen that kinda hunger before," Osamu wonders shortly before they head back to the court, but Atsumu feels like it's a question aimed at him.

And in the end, Inarizaki falls the same way they rise—by gambling on something new.

There is no part of Atsumu that revolts against the quick back attack, no part of the way Osamu moves that tells Atsumu to do something else. At the moment they decide, they know it's the play they need to make—they have the position, the angle, the timing. Ten fingers get on the ball for the perfect toss, Osamu so close to him it's practically hand delivered to his waiting palm, and he is dead on.

But Hinata is there on the other side of the net, Kageyama right beside him, coming out of nowhere driven with nothing more than instinct, both of them getting a hand each on the ball and stuffing it back down Inarizaki's side of the net for the final, winning point.

Atsumu watches them fall back on their side of the court, breath catching in his throat, and when Hinata glances his way with hair falling over his eyes Atsumu's struck with the image of looking right at a mirror, and Atsumu—

He remembers.

He remembers everything.

It rushes like a tidal wave upon the shores of his mind, crashing with the surge of a hundred forgotten dreams.

Like slapping round and freckled cheeks in front of the mirror the first day he wakes up in Miyagi, on the bed with the light green blanket in the room with the single desk. Grabbing a bag that isn't his and taking a bike he's never touched to a school he's never been. The cheerful wave of Yamaguchi, with shorter hair and a more confident smile, greeting him at practice surrounded by an army of underclassmen because surely a captain who could corral Tsukishima, Kageyama, and Hinata would be someone worth listening to.

Underclassmen. They had underclassmen. Yaotome the libero who'd sent the ball that Atsumu and Kageyama collided over at practice, Shoji who'd looked especially worried until Yamaguchi reassured everyone Hinata was fine. The coach clapping his hands to get them back to practice, the same coach who set up a meeting with Hinata one morning.

"Kato-san emailed, said he has a friend down in Okinawa who'd coach you next year," Coach Ukai had said. "Then he'll see you in Brazil after that."

Atsumu writing down the gist of the conversation later in their planner: You're really going to Brazil? with a mix of awe and envy.

Hinata never did reply to that, even when the Portuguese dictionary Yachi gave him during one of their tutoring sessions disappeared from the top right drawer where Atsumu placed it, just underneath the planner.

"I can't believe you're going so far away," she'd said.

"Not far away enough," Tsukishima had chimed in beside him, laughing softly when Yamaguchi elbowed him in turn. The three of them heading out—to cram school, they were going to cram school, that's what they always needed to study for—leaving only Hinata and Kageyama behind.

Kageyama wondering, "Is Oita farther than Okinawa?"

Atsumu smirking back. "No. I win," because it's what Hinata would say.

Atsumu takes a staggered step back, a physical one, and the moment his foot presses into the hardwood floor of Court B at the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium he's back in his body, he's back as Atsumu, he's back in this time, a few years too early, because the Hinata he knew—

Already he feels the memories fading away, crystal-clear snapshots of the future and the past blurring out of focus, pulled back by the tides, ebbing away into the murky seas.

"Shouyou-kun," he calls out, because he's going to forget, he's already beginning to, but maybe—

"...Yeah?"

Maybe Hinata will remember.

"I'm gonna set for ya one day."

Atsumu wakes slowly, morning sunlight gently streaming through his blinds, the background noise of a city coming to life just outside, last night's dreams ebbing away into nothing. In the stillness of his room he pulls himself to wakefulness, blinking up at the ceiling above him, wondering how long he has before the alarm rings.

He turns over onto his side to take his phone off the nightstand, notes the ten extra minutes he gave himself with pleasure, then stretches long and languid, finally yanking the deep blue blanket off him so he can get ready.

As far as dorm rooms go there's nothing remarkable about his. It's utilitarian, laid out in the same way every other player's room has been: one bed to the side, an adjacent bathroom on the other, space on one end for a couch and a TV next to the kitchenette. Big wide windows, a couple potted plants on the sill that Osamu keeps bringing in and Atsumu keeps killing by accident.

He moves through his morning routine still just half-awake, pulling the blender out from the cupboard and the fruits from the counter, mixing them together with milk and ice and protein powder. He eats his breakfast, washes up, showers. Grabs his keys and fills up a cooler, takes that down to his car.

The drive to Osaka isn't very long, which is why Osamu insisted Atsumu do this. He rolls up at Onigiri Miya at half past ten, picking up the cooler from the trunk of his car and lugging it in with a loud, "Here's yer stupid seafood ya lousy—Kita-san."

Kita blinks at him from his seat at the counter, the laughter that had faded from his lips at Atsumu's interruption coming back into a smile that is more polite. "Hello, Atsumu."

"Ya finally made it," Osamu says, pushing the onigiri he'd just finished making toward Kita. "Here, give those a try and tell me what ya think," he tells him before washing his hands clean and coming around the counter to help Atsumu with the cooler. "How was Hokkaido?"

"Training camp was fine," Atsumu reports. "Taking that back on the flight, so much less pleasant. Next time ask for cookies or somethin'."

"These better still be fresh. Did ya pack them like I told you?"

"See for yerself," Atsumu says, leaving Osamu to inspect his new haul and taking the seat next to Kita. "Didn't know you were visiting today."

"Osamu said these were coming in and he wanted an extra taste tester," Kita says. "Are you staying for it?"

"That's today?" Atsumu shoots Osamu a glare. "No, can't; I gotta go back after this."

"Oh, that's a shame. We were just talking about the Interhigh results from last week—do ya still watch those?"

"Not really, sometimes I forget when it's on. Do we know anyone who won?"

Kita shakes his head. "It's some school from Miyagi. But not anyone we've played against."

"Aoba Johsai, I think," Osamu pipes up from the kitchen, where he's started working on—Atsumu can't tell, but he's not about to offer his help. "That prefecture's something of a powerhouse now, can't always tell who's gonna come out of it but it's always gonna be somebody tough, I hear."

"How's quittin' volleyball workin' out for ya?" Atsumu asks.

"Oh, shut yer trap. Watching's different." Osamu emerges from the kitchen with some choice cuts of sea urchin, and he starts firing up the stovetops and preparing a pan for it. "You guys ever do any kind of scouting there when you go?"

"That's for the coaches to decide," Atsumu says. He'd been to Miyagi once since he'd started playing for the Black Jackals, when the Sendai City Gymnasium hosted a match his first year in the league. He hadn't liked it, whatever the feeling that followed him there was. It hung over him like a mist, leaving his head foggy and his chest hollow with an ache he can't name. "Speaking of coaches, I better be heading back before I'm late."

"Oh, do you have practice today?" Kita asks.

"Nah," Atsumu says as he walks out of the shop. "Tryouts."

Atsumu arrives at the gym with enough time to spare, so he's in no rush when he walks in, duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a sports towel on the other. Bokuto's already in, chattering at Adriah in rapid fire about some recruit or other, so Atsumu quickly slides over to his locker and pretends not to see them.

He ducks out just before he's noticed, getting in his stretches in one corner of the gym. "Are they still at orientation?" he asks Inunaki, who's just finishing up.

"Guess so." Inunaki checks the time. "Coach went in there a few minutes ago, so probably another—five, ten minutes?" He hops up and loosens his body. "Hoping for anything in particular with this batch?"

Atsumu shrugs. They're a solid team now. They're coming together. Between Bokuto, Barnes, and Sakusa, who'd just been signed on, he's really got no complaints. "As long as they can hit my tosses."

"I know you're pickier than that, no matter what you say," Inunaki says with a knowing grin. "You know what I'd want though? Just someone—anyone—who can receive now and then, so I'm not doing all the dirty work out back for you lot."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Atsumu says, snorting. "Think they'll make us do all the drills with those guys today?"

"Oh, without a doubt. How else are we gonna figure out who can hit your tosses?"

"Only scrubs can't figure that out," Atsumu says, looking up when he hears a whistle blow and the door leading to the gym's video room flings open, letting out a stream of players in practice jerseys. He thinks he sees a flash of—he isn't sure what it is, what makes the breath catch in his throat and his stomach swoop so suddenly, so he gets on his feet, standing next to Inunaki and eyeing the group before them with mild interest.

Coach Foster herds them all into the center of the gym, barking out instructions that don't carry over as clearly from where Atsumu's standing. At some point Bokuto and Adriah emerge from the locker rooms, Meian and Barnes walk over, and their conversation veers more toward next week's practice schedule than the current tryout.

Atsumu only half-listens, their voices fading into the distance for how close they're standing next to him, the words off their lips blurring around the edges as he feels that pull again, a singular thread tugging at the back of his mind, skirting around the corners of something—something, Atsumu, aren't you forgetting something?— that stays just out of grasp.

"Hey," Bokuto says, nudging him gently, grinning when Atsumu jumps, jolted back to the present. "Coach is calling."

"Miya!" Coach Foster repeats, amid the spread of player-hopefuls who are now spaced out evenly across the three courts in the gym in the usual formation meant for practicing spiking. "We're short a setter, can you help out?"

"Of course," Atsumu says, grabbing a ball from the cart. He spins it in the palm of his hand, testing the heft and feel of it. "Who d'ya got, Coach?"

"Atsumu-san."

He almost drops the ball, instinct and muscle memory what keeps his grip tight and steady. He knows this voice, of course he does, but the cadence of it echoes loud in his head like it's showing him how cavernous the spaces between his memories are, how the gap that lives between what he knows and why he feels is so, so very wide.

If Coach Foster notices anything he doesn't say, just nods gruffly and goes, "Hinata Shouyou, no current affiliation. Karasuno VBC. Says he knows you?"

"Yeah," Atsumu breathes, measured and slow to quiet the jackrabbit beat of his pulse. "We played against each other before."

Coach Foster grunts, perfunctory. "Alright, you know what to do."

"Atsumu-san," Hinata says again, and there's a gleam in his eyes, a spark that's bright and intense, like the gathering of clouds before the breaking of a storm. Atsumu trembles, bracing himself for upheaval. It's in the hollow of his ribs blooming sudden with promise, the thrumming in his veins wild with anticipation. He's at the precipice of it, and Hinata holds the last lost thread of an unraveling. "You said you'd set for me one day. Do you remember?"

Wouldn't it be weird, Atsumu had written once, if we were both in the same place?

Atsumu nods.

Definitely weird, Hinata had scribbled beneath it, but pretty amazing, I think. Atsumu-san—

"Everything."

Will you set for me one day?