a roar erupts from the stands as the final point hangs in the air for a breathless moment before the whistle blows, sealing japan's victory. the winning set, a perfectly executed play, was orchestrated by none other than atsumu miya.

but amidst the ecstatic chaos erupting around him, atsumu barely registers his teammates' joyous shouts and the formation of their celebratory huddle. his gaze is fixed on you, a beacon across the court. without a second thought, a primal yell escaping his lips, he takes off in a sprint. his powerful legs eat up the distance, sweat glistening on his brow and arms as he barrels towards you.

the next moment, you're enveloped in his embrace. his big, beefy, sweat-covered arms wrap around you, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe, but you don't care. your own arms instinctively circle his broad back, clinging to him. a grin as wide and bright as the stadium lights stretches across your face, mirroring the triumphant joy blazing in his eyes. the cheers of the crowd fade into a dull roar as you lose yourselves in the shared elation of the moment.

breaking the tight embrace just enough to look into your eyes, his chest heaving with exertion and exhilaration, atsumu grinned, a flash of pure happiness. "i'm so treating you to dinner tonight," he declared, his voice thick with emotion, a promise hanging in the electric air between you.