The world felt like it had slowed down, yet everything was happening too fast for Atsumu to react. One second, he had been walking beside you, laughing at some dumb joke he made, and the next—

The screech of tires. The blinding glare of headlights. Your voice calling his name.

Then impact.

Atsumu barely had time to register what happened before he was kneeling beside you, hands trembling as they hovered over your still form. His brain refused to process the sight of you lying there, eyes squeezed shut in pain, breaths shallow. A deep, ugly gash marred your arm, blood seeping into the pavement.

“It should’ve been me,” he whispered, voice cracking as he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “Damn it—why’d ya do that? Why’d ya push me outta the way?”

His heart pounded violently against his ribs, drowning out the sound of people gathering around, someone shouting for an ambulance. He didn’t care. All he could focus on was the rise and fall of your chest, as if making sure you were still breathing, still here.

Your lashes fluttered weakly, and when your gaze finally found his, you gave him the smallest, softest smile. “Can’t have you gettin’ hurt before your big game…”

Tears burned in his eyes, guilt clawing at his throat. “I don’t care about the damn game—” his voice broke. “I care about you.”