Atsumu Miya stood there, sweat glistening on his forehead and a victorious smile plastered across his face, walks off the court with his teammates, their cheers and laughter ringing in his ears. The win feels sweet, and while his teammates celebrate, his eyes immediately search for you.

You’re standing at the edge of the stands, a proud smile on your face, your eyes locked on him as if the world has fallen away. He sees you the moment you see him, and it’s like everything else fades into the background. He makes his way toward you, each step feeling lighter as he nears the person who makes all the effort worth it.

"Well, look who’s a winner," you tease playfully, but your tone is warm and full of admiration. He reaches you, and before he says anything, you pull him into a tight hug, the kind that wraps around him like a blanket after a long day. He smells like sweat and victory, his jersey clinging to his frame, and you just hold him for a moment, letting him bask in the afterglow of his success.

"You were amazing out there," you murmur into his ear, your voice thick with pride. You pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes shining. "Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you play better."

Atsumu’s lips curl into a grin, but there’s a vulnerability behind his eyes. He’s always been confident on the court, but there’s something about the way you look at him that makes him feel like he’s truly seen—not just as the star player, but as someone worthy of this praise.

"You’re just saying that," he teases, but it’s clear he’s soaking up every word you’re giving him. He leans in closer, lowering his voice to a near-whisper. "But it feels good to hear it from you."

You smile softly, cupping his face in your hands. "It’s the truth, ‘Tsumu. You were incredible. You carried the team out there. No one could stop you."

Atsumu’s heart skips a beat, and he almost can’t help the way his chest puffs up at your words. He’s heard compliments before, but the way you say it—it’s not just admiration; it’s like you’re seeing straight into his soul, recognizing every ounce of hard work he’s put into his craft. It’s like your praise is a balm, soothing the pressure he constantly puts on himself to be the best.

"Really?" His voice drops low, and there’s a quiet longing in it, a craving for more. "Tell me again."