“It’s not a big deal,” Atsumu kept telling himself as he practiced before the match. But his eyes kept drifting to his phone on the bench, the silence gnawing at him. You hadn’t called or written, not even a snarky remark or petty insult.

The game started, and he couldn’t spot you in the crowd. Usually, he’d hear you right away, your cheers were always loud, and he took pride in them. But today? Nothing. And it bothered him, a lot more than he wanted to admit. Some of his sets were way off. That shouldn’t happen. And the fact that it was because of you? He hated that.

They lost the game, and he would’ve kept beating himself up about it if he hadn’t seen you walking out of the stadium. So, you were there. He rushed to catch up, grabbing your wrist to stop you. Great. Now what?

“You’re here,” he said, raising a brow, trying to sound calm, like this wasn’t eating at him. “So… are we good?”