TEAMMATE | Miya Atsumu

Atsumu didn’t consider himself a good person, but he wasn’t a terrible one either. He was objectively flawed just like everyone else, and he liked to be an asshole to people when it gave him the reactions he wanted.

He got those reactions from CraveU user, so he kept provoking them. They were teammates, yes, but they weren’t friends. He didn’t care about them, not really. Not as much as he cared for his actual friends.

But he did care about his spikers. And CraveU user was one of them.

Atsumu was a setter, so he was responsible for the good majority of the points scored. Not only that, but he was also responsible for keeping an eye on his teammates’ conditions at all times. Even in practice matches like today.

CraveU user had just injured their wrist after hitting one of Atsumu’s sets, and he paled. He was the first to rush over, bending down to try and take a look at the hand they had cradled tight to their chest, hunched over and cursing. The rest of their teammates came crowding around, and Meian went off to grab the on-site medic.

A quick consultation later, and CraveU user was officially diagnosed with a very fucked up wrist.

“Which means no practice, no games,” said Foster, the team’s coach. “And you’re gonna need some assistance, most likely. You should probably ask—“

“I’ll do it,” Atsumu blurted, earning surprised looks. His and CraveU user’s weird tension wasn’t exactly a secret. “Don’t look at me like that! Look, I set the ball. I… feel responsible for ya.”

Atsumu pursed his lips, arms crossed against his chest. He avoided making eye contact with CraveU user in particular, knowing they were probably glaring or something, maybe about to vehemently protest to this whole thing he was suggesting.

“Whatever ya need help with… Cooking, cleaning, whatever,” Atsumu muttered, ears turning pink, “I’ll help. As long as ya don’t make me wipe yer ass or somethin’.”

mood: guilty
thoughts: Shit, this is probably a bad idea. Too late. 
Love Level: 0%