untouchable | iii
Atsumu x Reader - Part 3
desc: in which an accidental run-in with pro volleyball player, Atsumu Miya, at a 7/11 leads to a strangers-to-lovers situation… but the catch is, you have no idea that he’s famous.
warnings: mentions alcohol, loneliness, rejection
part 2 ⚬
part 3 ⚬ part 4 (coming soon)
Blue light pours steadily out of the rectangular screen illuminating your face in the midnight black room.
It was already much later than you’d planned on staying up, but you’ve had something on your mind since last night. Or rather, someone. The messaging app is open, a keyboard hovering before your thumbs waiting patiently for the tap of your fingertips.
There are so many ways to type out a hello… but instead you find yourself staring blankly at Atsumu’s contact. The visual before you is merely static - an empty, open text page. However you can’t seem to shift your eyes away from the phone. They glue themselves to the letters of his name against your better judgement.
But, your sigh to yourself, you suppose everything goes against your better judgement nowadays.
And who could blame you? This hasn’t really been your year.
Nor would you consider either of the 2 years prior to this one ‘your year.’
You’d had the unfortunate fate of becoming close friends with rejection. The acrid tang of dismissal was not a foreign taste to your tongue. It had found its way to your doorstep ever since you had set foot into this dingy, city flat.
It all began with your initial move a few years back.
Leaving behind your home base, your friends and loved ones, was already enough to bitterly burn at the back of your throat and to prick tears at the corner of your eyes for months on end. You’d left your home, your life, with the intention of accepting a job offer.
Ah, yes, the job offer that got rescinded only 2 days after you’d moved in and signed the leasing contract. You reckon that it must be your fault for not doing enough background research on the company because, apparently, it had always been somewhat financially… imbalanced. They offered you a job when they were already on the verge of a company-wide fiscal crisis. It was something so outlandish that, if you hadn’t been the one suffering at the end of it all, you would have laughed hysterically at the idea.
You’d been steamrolled, crushed by unfortunate circumstances, as a welcome into your new home. If it weren’t for your stubborn nature and that unfounded air of positivity surrounding you, you probably would’ve given up and moved back within that first week.
However, as the universe mercifully had it, that dream job wasn’t the only offer on the table.
So you’ve found yourself settled into a less ideal office situation, shuffling around supplies, flicking through notes, and editing long, wordy papers. But it’s a hell of a lot better than being jobless though and you are earning a salary that you never could have made back at home. so there is that.
But this job isn’t the only thing keeping you on your toes.
There was the dating scene.
Oh the dating scene.
You hadn’t moved to Tokyo to experience the rosy glow of romance. Feather soft emotions weren’t something you anticipated penciling in on your calendar, especially when you were working your ass off at a job that you simply couldn’t see yourself loving. And besides the occasional cutie who might cross your path, you simply planned for dating to be casual within this first year of your new life… yet somehow, in the virtually infinite and drawling span of 3 years, you had scored yourself a whopping zero dates. Or at least successful dates.
That first year passed by quickly. You didn’t pay much mind to possible partners or nights out because getting on your feet was all that mattered at the time. But two years in and no bites? Not a single catch? You tried blind dates set up by friends back home who “knew a guy” and dating apps, but it either ended in awkward shuffling or, occasionally, in tears. You knew guys could be douchebags… but this was starting to feel very pointed. Like fate itself was telling you to just ‘give up already.’
But, at the beginning of your third year, this year, in this abyss of a city, you finally found someone.
Someone to fill your time on the weekends. To show you around this city that seemed more like purgatory than a home. A person who filled your lungs up with much needed fresh air. You met him through a co-worker at an after work party one night and, for the first time in months, you caught yourself laughing. Laughing loudly from the deepest part of your belly.
He wasn’t tall or broad. Not much of a talker either. Besides that one gorgeous grey scarf that wrapped itself loosely around his neck, his wardrobe wasn’t all too astounding either. This man wasn’t someone you intentionally gave a second glance to… but his eyes were breathtakingly kind. Filled with enough warmth to melt a mid-January snowfall. And man was he witty.
This stranger-turned-friend made the city less lonely. He saw your frustration and made you feel seen. Took you under his wing and flew you to a mental space that you can only begin to describe as safe. Known. You finally had someone.
And for the first half of this year you found yourself falling in love. Falling for this second glance of a man.
So finding out that he had a partner was a punch to the gut. Reaching out for his hand that summer was a defining moment for you. The way he pulled his hand back to his side skittishly could have knocked the air out of your lungs if you’d had any breath to spare.
You both tried to salvage things, but his visits were cut short after that until, eventually, he faded from your mind.
To say you were in pain would be the understatement of the decade and trying to make light of it would only drive the dagger of rejection deeper into you.
Though initially you’d entered this big city with colorful plans and bright hues dripping off the palm of your hand, the world chose to turn the life you were painting into a bleak, inky picture. Friends and social life? Covered up with a brush of white, opaque paint. That dream job? Marred by a stroke of envious, empty green. Your relationship status? Let’s just call that a masterpiece of its own; a glaringly blank canvas from another piercing rejection.
But you’ve made it through so far. Though you’re a little dented, scratched, and relatively wounded… it really could have been worse.
Your dignity, your privacy, and peace were all still intact - and for that, you could be proud.
But as you stare at your phone, at this blondie’s number, you can’t help but be reminded of every nasty twist the past few years have thrown at you. Dread drips into your body to the point where it almost feels physical. It pools and puddles in the spaces between your ribs as you contemplate this tall guy from 7/11.
Atsumu was a curious guy, you admit. Curious and sweet, all with a good sense of style, though you’d teased him for it. And it wasn’t as though you were looking to spark a conversation with anyone… but he’d been so willing to speak.
And he’d offered you his number, which was a bit unorthodox in its own way.
First of all, you usually ask the other person for their number. Even on numerous failed dates, you were at least familiar with these customary motions.
Second, he’d actually held a conversation with you after you’d put your number in his phone.
“So, you come here often?” He flashed you another grin.
There’s a knowing look in his eyes. Atsumu is aware of how overused that line is… and the humor in his eyes makes you light up a little inside.
“You should know that much by now.”
“Yeah? I’ve only seen ya twice sweetheart.” He replies matter of factly.
Adjusting your shirt a little, you mumble out, “Fair point.” You squint and ask him the same thing,
“How ‘bout yourself? You don’t exactly seem like the type to hang out around 7/11’s.”
And he glances around at that, placing a hand in one of his pockets and using the other to brush a wave of hair behind his ear. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Atsumu bites his lip, “Can’t a guy just enjoy a slushy?”
“Okay what’s ‘hmmm’ supposed to mean?” He glares… but there’s intrigue behind his eyes.
You pause, examining him. Your eyes scan his coat, the sunglasses poking out of his coat pocket, his shoes… He’s well kept. Polished, almost. He had gel in his hair and a smile that rivaled that of a Colgate toothpaste representative.You even recognized at least one expensive brand and you wouldn’t be surprised if those glasses were some costly Ray-Bans.
He breaks into your thoughts, “Checkin’ me out, babe?” Leaning in a little to mess with you.
You feel yourself flush, but you’re quick in your response. “Nah.” You take a step back as you become a little self-conscious, but you hold yourself together. “I just didn’t take you for a slushy guy, I guess?” You smile sheepishly, bringing a hand behind your neck.
He backs off a little, giving you some space, “Well… you’re not wrong.” His other hand falls into a different pocket. “I just…”
Atsumu widens his stance by a couple inches and turns his head to look down the aisle. There’s a change in expression. And almost as though he were wearing a mask, there’s a clear chip in his bright exterior. Exhaustion seeps through. You can tell because you’ve been there.
You are there.
“I dunno… It’s just a nice change of pace. Nobody’s starin’ atcha. No one’s askin’ questions.”
He looks at you, reading your expression to see if he should continue. You let him ramble. You guess that it’s just what one does when one chooses to chat up a 7/11 acquaintance - you listen.
“…Life’s busy and this is probably the one place I feel like I can actually catch a break. I mean, I like my life, but it’s not exactly… easy. Plus time doesn’t really pass when you’re staring at 500 different gatorade flavors, y’know?” He chuckles at himself.
You seemed to absorb every word.
Those eyes of yours gazed up at him so thoughtfully that it almost felt as though he were talking to someone familiar. If it weren’t for the basket hanging from your arm and the shelves surrounding your frames, he could almost imagine having this conversation in a more intimate setting. In a quiet coffee shop on a Saturday afternoon… skipping out on practice to speak to someone of substance… expanding his range of normalcy to include you and some other, smaller public places…
“Sorry for ramblin’.” He sighs, bringing himself back to earth and away from his thoughts.
But you weren’t about to let him apologize for a conversation that you were actively enjoying. An actual conversation with someone who seemed remotely interested in you too.
“Hey, don’t say sorry. I understand that actually…”
The conversation ended soon after, but he’d ended up walking you out to your car whilst cracking a couple of stupid jokes - puns which you half-glared at him for… but you just couldn’t stifle a laugh. He’s a little rusty when it comes to casual conversation, but smooth in terms of flirting. It was comfortable.
Atsumu is charming, that much you can tell.
And as he closed the door to your car, he had also told you to text him sometime… “If ya wanna, of course.”
You half-smile as you recall his phrasing… and texting him is what you’re currently trying to do. But there’s a big difference between prompting a conversation in person and being the first to start a conversation through text.
You used to make friends so easily back in high school. Texting, even on your old flip-phone, was something that came naturally to you. Even in college, with all of your late-nights and heavy assignments, you’d still managed to stay close with your friends and make time to call them in your spare time.
But your self-esteem had taken a pretty steep nose-dive since you’d moved. You’d almost say that your middle school self probably had more confidence than you do right now… which is saying quite a lot.
But it’s true. Being an adult out here all on your own and making friends is an enigmatic task. Especially when you’re reaching out to the friendly convenience store stranger with expensive taste in outerwear. You can’t tell if it’s a new low or just… lonely.
And you’re not exactly sure what you’re doing right now.
Okay, scratch that.
You know what you’re doing. You’re just… worried.
For a moment you wonder why you’re toying with the idea of sending him a text. Why would you entertain a conversation with a stranger in the first place? Who is this guy anyway? Was this a big waste of time? Was he just looking for a hookup or had he actually been curious about you?
However, you’re not about to spend the rest of your years as a lonely cat lady (without the cats). And you have run into this Atsumu guy twice now - both times, accidental. He remembered you. Laughed a little with you. You then remind yourself he gave you his number.
He wasn’t what you would call ‘normal.’
But maybe that’s okay. What you really need right now is someone to talk to. Someone interesting to take your mind off of the mind numbing monotony of life.
You feel your fingers finally press against the cool glass of the phone screen. You type… erase… begin typing again… and you’re satisfied with the brief message you’ve pulled together.
But before you can send it, there’s a *ping* noise. Startled by the unexpectedly loud notification, you drop your phone in your lap and suck in a breath - it’s been awhile since you last got a notification that hasn’t been work related. Your heart rate had lamely picked up, to which you roll your eyes at, so you give yourself a second to calm down before picking the phone back up off the bed sheets.
And suddenly there’s a little blue bubble in front of you that wasn’t there before.
11:30 pm - Atsumu: hey you :) it’s Atsumu
11:30pm - Atsumu: wait, this is (y/n) right?
A grin spreads across your face. Talk about timing. There’s a buzz in your body that you haven’t felt in awhile and it’s anything but unwelcome.
You’re quick to start tapping away at the keyboard, any and all hesitation melted away from your mind.
11:31pm - You: heya! yes, it’s (y/n)
11:31pm - Atsumu: you reply fast
To that you tilt your head a little…
11:32pm - You: is that a bad thing?
His text bubble takes a moment to sort out its reply, but you’re satisfied with his response.
11:32pm - Atsumu: nah
11:32pm - Atsumu: most people don’t, so it’s kind of nice. plus it’s pretty late rn, so i rly wasn’t expecting you to be up
11:33pm - You: well,,, here i am :,) so what’s up?
11:33pm - Atsumu: okay, well, if i’m being totally honest
11:33pm - Atsumu: i can’t sleep at all.
Neither can you. You start typing, but pause when you notice he’s adding to his thoughts.
11:34pm - Atsumu: and i’m actually not much of a texter, so i was wondering
11:34pm - Atsumu: would you maybe wanna call?
If you’d thought you’d been startled earlier, it was nothing in comparison to the leap your heart just now took. You actually have to remind yourself to breathe for a moment. The nerves that had prickled under your skin earlier are back with a forceful push.
Because wow is he forward. Sure, it’s a casual question. It’s company and conversation… and secretly, you find yourself lonely with a bottle of wine in your room more often than not these days. But is this really what people do nowadays?
Do people really call people they hardly know when it’s this close to midnight? Is this a new trend? Could you even refer to it as a trend? Or is this just something that this Atsumu guy does?
Questions race through your mind as you try to determine if this is normal or not…
But you look around you.
You’re in your apartment. In a city you can hardly call home even after 3 long years. You’re surrounded by an enormous array of pillows that just scream ‘lonely.’
And suddenly, you hate the silence of your bedroom. You’re more scared of the darkness around you than you are of the person on the other side of the screen. You clutch at the top of your sheets and pulls your legs toward your chest, sitting up against your headboard.
And before you know it, your phone is dialing his contact.
And a slightly rough voice tainted with sleepiness begins to pleasantly fill your ears,
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