It starts during warm-ups. A wing spiker from the opposing team starts trash talking across the net. It's pretty standard, as far as trash-talking goes, but the majority of it seems to be targeted at Atsumu. The setter ignores it, throwing out a few barbs of his own.
The spiker is immediately on the Jackal's shit list, and they vow to shut down every ball he tries to get over the net.
Around the middle of the first set, they rotate, and it puts Atsumu and the spiker directly across each other. That's when things take a turn.
Around the middle of the first set, they rotate, and it puts Atsumu and the spiker directly across each other. That's when things take a turn.
Sakusa can't hear what's being said, but he can recognize the growing tension in Atsumu's body. He sees the way his shoulders creep up towards his ears and the way his jaw hardens. He sees Atsumu shake it off the moment the ball is airborne.
It continues over the next few sets, the spiker only speaking to Atsumu when no one else can hear him. Sakusa catches snippets of it, and it takes every bit of self-control in his body to not duck under the net.
Right before the final set, Atsumu comes to the huddle with misty-looking eyes. Sakusa waves their teammates off, and they know to leave it to him. He stands in front of Atsumu, wrapping a hand around his sweaty neck and pulling their foreheads together.
He knows their fans are going to have a field day with this, but he doesn't care. Atsumu needs him right now.
"I don't know what that shithead has been saying to you, but say the word, and I will destroy him."
"I don't know what that shithead has been saying to you, but say the word, and I will destroy him."
Atsumu lets out a wet laugh, and despite the thousands of eyes on him, Sakusa wants to wrap him in an embrace. "It's not that serious."
"It is," Sakusa insists, his thumb stroking the damp hairs at Atsumu's nape.
"It is," Sakusa insists, his thumb stroking the damp hairs at Atsumu's nape.
"I know he's been on your ass this entire game. And like a coward, he only does it when the rest of us can't hear him. I might not throw a punch, but Bokuto and Hinata are always ready." Atsumu laughs again, nuzzling against his forehead.
"He's targeting you because he knows he can't beat you based on his skills. He's trying to get in your head."
"Like a punch bitch," Atsumu sniffles.
"Like a punk bitch," Sakusa agrees.
"Like a punch bitch," Atsumu sniffles.
"Like a punk bitch," Sakusa agrees.
Atsumu huffs, pulling his jersey over his face to wipe away any lingering moisture. He claps Sakusa on the shoulder, squeezing before letting go. They head back to the court, fire blazing in Atsumu's eyes as the rest of the team glares down the spiker.
They win the match with a setter dump, and Sakusa hears Atsumu tell the spiker to "eat a dick." He can't stop himself from chuckling.
When they line up to shake hands, he finds himself across from the spiker, looking significantly less confident when faced with the cold glare of his dark eyes. He squeezes his hand tight, pulling him closer to whisper in his ear.
"Keep my setter's name out of your filthy mouth."
He lets go, wrapping an arm around Atsumu as they walk off the court. It was a hard-fought victory, and he intends to celebrate. Atsumu leans into the touch, murmuring his thanks. Sakusa holds him a little tighter.
He lets go, wrapping an arm around Atsumu as they walk off the court. It was a hard-fought victory, and he intends to celebrate. Atsumu leans into the touch, murmuring his thanks. Sakusa holds him a little tighter.
• • •
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