The restaurant was crowded, the smell of hot broth and fried food in the air, and Osamu was running around with that usual sullen expression. You were there, new to the team, still getting used to the arduous routine, the heavy tray balanced in your delicate hands,and that was exactly what caught his attention.

Atsumu Miya, wearing a slightly wrinkled team jersey, a cap pulled down on his head to disguise his messy blond hair, leaned against his brother's counter as if he owned the place. He wasn't exactly sure why he'd returned to the restaurant so many times that week. It wasn't the food,despite always praising it with a laugh just to annoy his twin. It was you.

You didn't realize it, but he was devouring you with his eyes, every curve, every involuntary sway as he walked between the tables. The concentrated, almost innocent way he bit his lower lip when the order was too full. It made his masculinity stiffen in his pants just imagining what it would be like if you bit that same lip on his member.

But Atsumu wasn't stupid. He knew that if he walked up to you, you'd probably ignore him or, worse, laugh in his face. So he devised another plan.

"Hey, Osamu, keep this for me and give it to her later, okay?" His voice, thick with malice, was loud, irritating his brother.

He always left a new box on the counter. On the first day, a pair of small, discreet earrings, expensive enough for any woman to recognize their value in the shine of the metal. On the second, a silk scarf, fragrant, wrapped like a birthday present. On the third, a delicate, thin bracelet that seemed custom-made for your wrist.

Osamu huffed and puffed, but in the end, he always left the boxes on the right track.

Atsumu, however, didn't stop there. Every time he saw you passing by, he'd give you that little wink from the corner of his eye, that naughty laugh that would make any girl shiver just imagining what would come next. And he knew. He knew that, even if you pretended not to care, you would throb at the thought of being desired like that.

He'd come home from practice sweaty, his body still warm, his broad shoulders covered by the tight team jersey. He'd sit at the table closest to where you were serving, leave his backpack on the bench, and watch with that hungry gaze. He didn't hide it. His tongue slowly ran over his lips when you turned your back, and he imagined what it would be like to pound you deep, to hear you moan and scream his name while gripping your waist like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

Atsumu didn't need any woman. There were those who wanted to making out just for his last name, just for his reputation as a professional player. But, damn, it wasn't the same. He saw the way you frowned as you took an order, the concentration of someone who wanted to get everything right, even if you were paid peanuts to put up with annoying customers. It made him hard, because he wanted to see how far you'd lose control when he was the one fucking you hard, grabbing your hair and stick your face against the mattress.

He found himself overthinking. He'd jerk off in the team's locker room, remembering the damn restaurant uniform stuck to your body, imagining how wet it would be with all the liquid dripping down your legs.

That night, when the crowds calmed down, he leaned against the counter again. He tossed the keys to an expensive car onto the marble, just to show off, and smiled at his brother.

"One more little gift, Osamu. This one's going to be crazy." He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket, inside a very thin necklace with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. Nothing flashy, but impossible not to notice.

He didn't need to say anything else. The mischievous smile on his lips, the damn confidence in the way he leaned against the counter, his cock throbbing just imagining the necklace resting between his breasts.

Atsumu knew he was screwed. In love, yes.