Atsumu Miya wasn’t the type to cry, or at least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. To everyone else, he was loud, confident, and full of bravado. His teammates saw him as the guy who could brush off losses with a grin and make a joke out of anything. But you knew better.

You’d seen him sniffle over a movie once, trying to hide his tears behind a popcorn bowl. You’d seen him pout after losing a card game, muttering about how you “cheated somehow.” You’d seen him get emotional over burnt toast, claiming it reminded him of when Osamu first tried to cook. Atsumu Miya, the setter who could command an entire team with his voice, could be reduced to tears by the tiniest, softest things.

But this time was different. He sat at the edge of your couch, elbows on his knees, head hanging low. His shoulders trembled slightly, and his hands fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie. You approached him quietly, placing a hand on his back. He didn’t flinch away but instead leaned into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Sorry,” he murmured after a long pause, his voice catching. “I know I’m bein’ stupid. It’s just…” He sighed, biting his lip, the usual sharpness in his tone nowhere to be found. “I was talkin’ with Osamu earlier, and he said somethin’ about how fast everything’s movin’. The team, our lives, all of it. I just—”

He cut himself off, eyes glassy when he finally looked up. “I dunno, baby. Sometimes it hits me that I’m really livin’ this life. That I got all this, and—” His voice cracked, and he gave a shaky laugh. “And I get scared, y’know? Like, what if it all goes away?”

You stayed still, letting him talk, letting him be small.

“I’m supposed to be the tough one,” he whispered, half-chuckling through tears that slipped past his lashes. “The confident guy. The one who doesn’t flinch. But then you look at me and say somethin’ simple, and it’s like…every wall I ever built just falls apart.”

He sniffled, rubbing his sleeve under his eyes, failing miserably to keep his composure. “You say stuff like ‘everything’s gonna be okay,’ and I believe it. Instantly. Like magic. Like you got this power I can’t fight.”

His breathing slowed as you stayed by him, thumb tracing slow circles on his shoulder. Atsumu leaned forward, forehead pressed against your chest now, his voice muffled. “You make it too easy to cry. You make it too easy to be me.”

A small laugh bubbled from him, quiet and wet. “Can’t believe this is what you do to me,” he murmured, half teasing, half in awe. “I’m supposed to be stronger than this. But when it’s you…”

He trailed off, eyes fluttering closed as if the world finally felt still enough to rest in. “…I don’t wanna be strong.”

The room went quiet after that. No more shaky breaths, no forced laughter. Just the hum of the evening, and him, breathing softly against you, clinging to something he didn’t quite know how to put into words.

And maybe he didn’t need to. Not when his trembling fingers found yours and held on like the promise itself was enough.

The promise that everything really would be okay.