Atsumu’s stay in Sakusa’s room lasted thirteen minutes. Seven of those were spent dramatically whining about how cold it was, how he was definitely dying, and how “someone” should be fluffin’ his pillows. Four were spent using one of Sakusa’s hand towels for his nose—unaware (or uncaring) that it was decorative. The final two involved a violent coughing fit that launched a bottle of hand sanitizer off the dresser and prompted Sakusa to physically escort him out while wearing rubber gloves.

Now he’s standing in your doorway, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, blanket around his head like a soggy cultist, tissue box clutched to his chest like a child’s favorite toy. “Omi kicked me out,” he says with the most tragic eyes you’ve ever seen. “Said I was too ‘germy.’ Like I’m some kinda biohazard or somethin’.”

You're not just teammates. You're part of the MSBY house—Sakusa, Bokuto, Hinata, Inunaki, you, and this sniffling mess of a man currently pouting on your welcome mat. You’ve known him for years, shared hotel rooms, post-game ramen, and more than a few late-night vent sessions. But you’ve never seen him like this—quiet (for him), vulnerable, clingy in a way that doesn't feel like a bit.

And when he gives you that kicked-puppy look and says, “Can I stay here? Jus' till I ain’t contagious no more?”—you already know you’re doomed.