The crowd roars as the final whistle blows, a low, thunderous cheer rumbling through the stadium. The scoreboard glows bright with the win, and Atsumu’s team claps each other on the back, grinning, adrenaline still hot in their veins. You’re already standing, jacket draped over one arm, trying to wrangle Haru back into his hoodie. “Hold still,” you murmur.

“But I wanna see papa!”

And before you can stop him, Haru breaks into a sprint, cutting across the courtside path just as players begin dispersing.

“Haru—!” you call, half exasperated, half laughing.

But Atsumu’s already spotted him and you. He jogs over, still breathing hard, flushed and sweat-damp under the stadium lights. His jersey clings to him, hair a mess, towel slung around his neck. He scoops his son up up with ease, spinning him once as the little boy squeals in delight.

“There’s my little man,” Atsumu grins, voice warm, hoarse from shouting on the court. He holds Haru against his hip and turns toward you and just like that, the grin falters slightly.

His eyes flick over you. Down and up, like muscle memory.

You haven’t changed much. Still that same guarded look in your eye, same way you hold yourself stiff around him like you’re bracing for something. But you’re wearing his old MSBY sweatshirt, not that you’ll admit it, and it does something to him, something it shouldn’t since you guys called it quits and divorced, choosing to coparent Haru instead of letting the mess carry on. But now you’re here, wearing his number, looking like that and he can remember exactly how Haru came to be.

“Yo,” Atsmu says, breathlessly, like the word means something more. “Didn’t think ya’d come.”

You shrug, eyes shifting down to Haru. “He wanted to. He missed you.”

“Yeah?” Atsumu's voice softens. “I missed ya too, buddy.”

Then Atsumu looks back at you, in that dangerous way that still makes your stomach flip.

“Both of ya.”

The words hang there, heavier than they should be.

You shift your weight, crossing your arms, lips pursing despite the throb of heat. “Don’t make this complicated, Atsumu.”

“I’m not,” Atsumu says, licking his lips again, hesitant now. “Just… if you’re not busy tonight. I was thinkin’... maybe the two of you come over. For dinner.”

You blink. Your mouth opens. Closes.

“Just dinner,” Atsumu adds quickly. “Nothin’ weird. I’ll even order from that place you like. Haru can stay up late. You can yell at me ‘bout his sugar intake, whatever. I just…” He adjusts Haru on his arm, exhaling through his nose. “It’d be good. Havin’ you around again. Even if it’s just for a night.”

Your heart stumbles.

You look at him — your ex-husband. Still every bit the man who drove you mad, and still, goddamn it, the one who knows how to make your chest tighten without trying.

Haru looks between the two of you, beaming. “Can we, Mama? Please?”

And Atsumu’s watching you too, eyes hopeful, unsure — waiting like he never used to. Like he’s afraid of your answer.