Chapter Text
In Mai’s defense, she vowed to never bet on anything with Atsumu ever again after the homework incident of ‘07. But if he’s offering to put his half of Onigiri Miya on the line? That’s different. That’s the family business. Not her family business, but, hey, it could be. It will be. And it’s all thanks to Kiyoomi Sakusa’s freakishly flexible wrists.
Okay. Wait. Let’s take a step back here. It’s late October. One of the first games of the V.League season. The MSBY Black Jackals are playing the Schweiden Adlers in Sendai. Mai is clutching a bag of chocolate-covered mini pretzels to her chest while sitting on the lowest rank on the Jackals’ side of the court. Close enough to hear Atsumu and Osamu fight over onigiri pricing pre-game, but not close enough to actually be included in the conversation. Not that she hasn’t made her standpoint clear before. Up the prices for events. Easy. Also, name at least one rice ball after her. Both ideas were immediately shut down by Osamu. No sense of business, that man.
His brother on the other hand? Unfortunately, very good at bargaining. Which is why Mai is at this game. Atsumu threatened to leak her browser history – the one on her work computer, no less. And she would rather not have to explain to her boss why she’s googling ‘patterned compression socks’ or ‘signs of rabies in raccoons’ during her shift. So, that only left one option, bite the bullet and ride the company van up to Sendai with Osamu. Even if volleyball is boring. Even if she’s seen Atsumu play countless times before. Even if she’s only here because she was threatened.
At least the chocolate pretzels won’t betray her like her best friend has. If they don’t melt, that is. She’s wearing light wash denim, for God’s sake. There’s already a grass stain on her left knee from being pushed into a bush by a vindictive child at work earlier that day. One day, she swears, those children will feel her wrath. For not turning their books in on time, for scribbling hideous crayon pictures into new books, for taking her being 5’4” as an invitation to push her into bookshelves. Not her fault she stopped growing after the fifth grade. There was a very short window of her life where she was tallerthan everyone her age. If you asked her now, she’d tell you that those two months were the best of her life. So far.
She’s watching Atsumu bounce toward the edge of the court to stretch, a few feet away from her. Talking to the owl guy – Bokuto. Comparing him to an animal might be slightly unfair, but it’s the only way Mai has consistently been able to remember his name. The jersey numbers do absolutely nothing for her. The names? Sure. The numbers? Who invented this evil system of having commentators refer to players by their jersey numbers? A masochist, surely. A number-loving, jerk man, probably.
And suddenly, the first and only thing to pique her interest since getting to the gymnasium enters Mai’s field of vision. Ironically, a man. Pitch black short curls, the tall and lean stature of an Ancient Greek Olympic athlete, and an undeniably handsome angular face to match. Two perfectly vertically aligned birthmarks above his left brow. A look on his face that says, “Kill me now, what am I even doing here?” And the best part? He’s wearing the same jersey as Atsumu. Starts stretching maybe a few feet away from him, in fact. One leg outstretched behind his upper body, the other at an angle in front of him. The chocolate pretzels have long since stopped being the most interesting thing in this gymnasium. And, oh, he’s bending his torso forward. Now that’s just sinful. Mai is hooked.
In an unexpected turn of events, he even seems to be talking to Atsumu. Well, Mai can only really make out a few grunts on his part. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to speak to be hot. This has to be karma. She came here against her will, but the universe decided to reward her for her hardship by putting this tree of a man in front of her – his deliciously sculpted volleyball player thighs and back on display. Thank you, universe.
Like, yes, she’s been seeing volleyball player thighs fairly regularly for the better part of the past ten years. But this? Glorious. Perfection. Finally, some entertainment that doesn’t involve the risk of having a ball flung at your face at an inhuman speed.
Hot guy stretches an arm out in front of him and the whole thing seems to be happening in slow motion at this point. Bending his wrist to stretch it, and… bending it further? Stop. Wait. That looks… unhealthy. By the time his wrist is parallel to his arm, Mai has stopped chewing her pretzels, her mouth hangs open shamelessly and her green eyes are wide as saucers.
Who is this hot contortionist freak in front of her? Which is exactly what she texts Atsumu the second her brain stops misfiring. Atsumu’s reply comes about two minutes later, when he’s using the last few minutes before the game is set to start to look at his phone. Mai can practically see him rolling his eyes at her even though his back is facing toward her.
Atsumu: an emotionally unavailable clean freak, don’t even consider it 🗣️
Mai: mh, sounds like he’s just my type 🫦
Atsumu: I’m serious. don’t. I think he’s a misanthrope or something
Mai: wow, what a big word. look that up in a dictionary?
Mai: also, I can fix him 🤥
Atsumu: no, you can’t 🙄
When Atsumu turns around and raises an eyebrow at Mai, she shoots him an innocent smile, then returns to her mini pretzels and looking at that guy. Thank God for commentators introducing the players at the beginning of a game.
Kiyoomi Sakusa. Outside hitter. 22. Fresh off the college roster. Bendy hot emotionally unavailable germ hater, Mai mentally adds to the description.
Almost a decade of watching Atsumu and Osamu hit balls over a net, and suddenly, just now, volleyball has become very interesting to her. Suddenly, hearing a guy she has never met before shout, “Mine!” while lunging at a ball is giving her vertigo. Huh. Who’d have thought? Miracles do happen.
Mai is so busy ogling Sakusa that she doesn’t even notice when they lose the game. She hadn’t even noticed that they were losing a single set. The powers of a well-sculpted ass and thighs in volleyball shorts, she guesses.
The chocolate-covered pretzels have long been forgotten by her. The suspicious brown stain on her right knee – at least now her knees match – is proof of it. At least now she gets to go home having done something productive with her evening. Hot guy ogled = time well-spent.
The slap she places on Atsumu’s shoulder when she approaches him from behind while he’s talking in a circle of his teammates is personal. The scream he lets out in reaction is retribution. Music to her ears.
“Well, brother dearest, that was a bit of a shitshow, wasn’t it?” the smugly satisfied tone of her voice has Bokuto snorting a laugh. Not that she actually knows how badly they did, but the fact that the score board says 3-1 for the Adlers tells her enough to know that Atsumu’ll take this loss personally.
To no one’s surprise, Atsumu is visibly less amused by the situation than Bokuto is. “Fuck you.” Mai drapes an arm around his shoulders, pulling him down to her level and looking at him with, what can only be described as, a deranged smile.
“You wanted me here. I protested. You threatened me. It’s only fair that you lost,” she reasons, while Atsumu squirms his way out of her grip on his shoulders. Now back to his original height, the difference is unfair. He has almost an entire head on her. Not that she doesn’t have to look up at all of his freakishly tall teammates anyway. Fucking volleyball players.
Speaking of freakishly tall teammates, Mai eyes the group around her, gaze finally landing on Sakusa. He’s even more handsome up close. Unfairly so, she believes. Leave some for the others. His eyes are so dark brown they appear almost black under the fluorescent gymnasium lighting. Intriguing, she thinks. Out of everyone, Sakusa looks the least fazed by their loss. Really, he almost looks bored by it. Maybe he is. Maybe he doesn’t care. He at least doesn’t seem to care for joining the conversation.
The group disbands and people say their goodbyes. Mai trails behind Atsumu as he’s grabbing his stuff from the bench. Meanwhile, Osamu is hauling things back into the van outside, his little onigiri stand already vacated. Atsumu giving her a friendly push, pulls her out of her semi-trance.
“I’m serious about him not being fixable, you know?” he says in a low voice, making sure that Sakusa isn’t in earshot. The last thing he needs is that guy having any more ammunition to be a jerk.
Mai laughs dismissively, giving Sakusa another glance over her shoulder. He’s vigorously sanitizing his hands with some Purell, involuntarily calling Mai’s attention to his long, slender fingers. Unfairly handsome. Definitely. “What’s his deal?”
“Besides the obvious?” Atsumu nods his head toward Sakusa, still sanitizing. “He’s a blunt antagonistic jerk, most of the time. Oh, and he hates people like you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, ‘people like me’?” Mai quips, a little offended.
Atsumu raises an eyebrow, gesturing in her general direction. “Messy? Talks a lot? Doesn’t finish tasks? No filter? …sound familiar?”
Mai sighs dramatically, “Yeah, okay. So he might hate me on a molecular level. But a girl can dream, geez.” Another look over her shoulder. Sakusa is pulling a jacket on over his jersey and slinging his duffle bag over his head, heading out. “So… those flexible wrists. I gotta ask. He’s like… hypermobile, right? Does that… uh… translate? To other areas, you know?” Mai is scratching her cheek innocently, pretending not to notice the horrified look on Atsumu’s face.
“For the love of God, Mai, I have to share a shower with this man at the gym almost daily. Don’t do this to me.”
“What?” Both her eyebrows are raised, disappearing underneath the dark brown of her haphazardly cut bangs. “I didn’t ask you if he was a sex god, just if you had intel to please let a girl know.”
Atsumu lets out an exacerbated sigh and places his hands on his hips. “God, am I glad that we’re not actually related. I’d die.”
“Oh, please, I would’ve done what Osamu couldn’t and have eaten you in the womb. We all know I’m the strongest twin in this trio.”
“You’re a year younger than us.”
“So? It’s a hypothetical. My point still stands,” Mai offers, giving Atsumu a side-eye worthy of their fake sibling rivalry. He can’t stay serious with her for long and starts pushing her toward the side entrance where Osamu is waiting, shooting down her faked protests with equally fake insults.
Outside of their bubble, Sakusa breezes past their bickering, grunting out something that could sound a lot like, “Bye,” to the trained ear. His dark eyes catch Mai’s bright ones in passing. Whether she knows that he heard every single line of their conversation is beyond him. Maybe she wanted him to know. But the way she wears dirty jeans like a badge and talks about others like no one’s listening has an uncomfortable feeling settling in his stomach. Unfamiliar. Possibly a stomach bug, he thinks. Better get back to the hotel.
* * *
It’s dark out, already past 11pm. The roads are clear, almost no cars on the highway. That clarity is not reflected inside of the Onigiri Miya van. The bickering continues. It’s a constant with the Miya twins plus Mai, really. Osamu, level-headed but done with both his actual and his honorary sibling at this point. Atsumu, just trying to survive the goddamn car ride home and save his best friend from, in his humble opinion, the worst decision anyone has ever made. Mai, determined to win the argument, no matter what.
“Okay, but like, what if I just ask him out?” Mai suggests loudly, trying her best not to spill a bottle of half-flat coke on Osamu’s backseat.
Atsumu snorts, his head turned toward the back of the car. “I’m telling you, he’s not interested in genuine human connection. That man has the emotional capacity of a rock. He might be a robot, honestly.”
Osamu sighs, tempted to bang his head against the steering wheel despite the very real possibility of driving the van into oncoming traffic. “What’s it gonna take for you idiots to let this go?” He sounds like a dad bargaining with his toddlers.
Mai shrugs in the backseat, pointing at Atsumu. “The ball’s in his court. I already made a suggestion.” There’s a bout of suspiciously loaded silence.
What comes next will determine the course of Mai’s entire future. But she doesn’t need to know that yet.
Finally, Atsumu breaks. “Okay, you know what, I bet you can’t get him to even say that he doesn’t hate you before the end of the season. That’s six whole months. If you can manage even just that, I’m giving up my half of the restaurant. If not, you name your firstborn after me.”
“Okay, bet,” Mai says without thinking twice, grabbing onto the back of Osamu’s seat to extend her other hand to Atsumu. Osamu bats it away with the skill and speed only a former volleyball player could muster.
“You’re not betting anything on my restaurant.”
“It’s only half of your restaurant, though,” Mai points out unhelpfully, earning a side-eye from Osamu that is scalding even in the dark of the car.
“Okay, gamble your retirement plan away. What do I care? Seems I’m the only rational one in this car after all,” Osamu caves, letting Mai and Atsumu shake on their ridiculous bet. “If this ends badly, don’t come crying to me. I told you so.”