Atsumu wrapped the hem of his shirt around his pointer and middle finger, cupping your face with his other hand as he dabbed his fingers under your eyes gently as he brushed away your tears.

”It’s okay,” he whispered. ”It’s gonna be okay”.

Atsumu never seemed like the type to be gentle. Nurturing. But he was— only to you, of course. The fact that he was using his jersey to wipe away your tears and smudged mascara and the way he let you cling to him was enough to prove it.