Warnings: swearing and teen angst, but what's new???

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You'd known from the beginning that being in a relationship with one of the notorious Miya twins wasn't going to be easy. But you had been fine with that. You liked challenges, and your love for Atsumu overwhelmed any of his flaws. Likewise, his adoration for you showed immensely, and no matter how large the problem you faced, you always overcame it and worked through it together. Regardless of how hard you pushed each other away at times, you always returned to one another, as if connected by an unbreakable rubber band.

Your relationship was like fire. The love and passion you harbored towards one another burned brightly and destroyed any barriers between the two of you. However, when you let your sharp tongues and hardheadedness get the better of you, the flames raged and burned uncontrollably, scorching everything in their path. You engaged frequently in light hearted banter that sparked a bit of irritation from time to time. But when that hot ember went unextinguished and, instead, was prodded, that was when one of you got burned.

Sometimes, after your practice had ended on days when you'd been allowed to keep the nets up, you'd stay behind and practice your hitting. Self-tossing was massively boring to you since you had nobody to work with or help you improve, but you often had to resort to this to get some extra swings in after your exhausted teammates had left. On occasion, your boyfriend would enter the gym to find you practicing by yourself and would offer to help by stepping in to set for you.

"Could you put it a little lower, 'Tsumu? I'm used to a fast tempo," you requested when he joined you one evening.

"Of course, baby," he simpered, his brown eyes calm and unwavering as he regarded you with a warm smile. After hitting a few more of his tosses once he'd made the adjustment you requested and that he thought he'd needed anyway, he noticed you still weren't hitting the ball correctly. Some of your contacts were perfect, but, other times, you hit underneath the ball, sending it sailing out of bounds, or you slammed it into the net. Slowly, his composure began to unravel. "I adjusted to set ya how ya wanted. What's the issue?" he asked, simply catching the ball you tossed to him instead of setting you again.

Raising an eyebrow at him but maintaining a patient demeanor, you replied, "I might just be a bit tired from practice and not jumping as high as usual."

His thick, brown eyebrows knitted together in confusion and you knew what was coming next. Scathing reproach. "Well, if you're so tired, (f/n), then why are you wastin' my time by having me give ya perfect sets that ya can't even hit in the damn court?"

A comment such as this one normally would've made any girl--or guy, depending on the person--burst into tears and run for the hills, but you weren't one to back down. You were used to your boyfriend's egotistical attitude, and, as his girlfriend, it was your inherent duty to stand up to him. "Listen, Atsumu, I appreciate you helping me out, but you should know by now that you shouldn't be a fucking dick to me, okay?" you replied, your (e/c) gaze pushing back against his own, "Now, give me the ball so I can put it away and let you take a minute to release the extra air in your head."

He held the volleyball in his grasp for a moment longer before bouncing it over to you so you could finish putting any extra equipment away. When you returned from the supply closet to grab your stuff and pull on extra layers of clothing, your boyfriend quickly approached you and wrapped his arms around you. "I'm sorry, (f/n)," he apologized, nuzzling your head with his before planting a kiss on your cheek, "I shouldn't have acted like that."

"It's okay," you grumbled, still slightly pissed off, "you can coach me, but work on your delivery." He hummed softly in agreement as he held you closely, trying to squeeze the anger out of you and coax forgiveness from your lips. Eventually, you gave in to him, taking his face in your hands and savoring his sweet kisses.

During moments like those, when things hadn't gotten too far out of hand, it was easy for him to quickly right his wrongs. However, some arguments were harder to come back from than others, especially when the harsh words you slung at each other like daggers created wounds that were too deep to fix with pleas for forgiveness alone. In those situations, all you could do was continue until the fire burned too hot for one of you to handle, forcing either you or Atsumu to retreat and disengage. While you wanted to say you were usually the bigger person who ended the arguments by walking away, you were just as bad at admitting defeat as he was.

A particularly grievous fight had occurred between the two of you following one of his practices. Normally, you arrived at the gym before the team started their practice and stayed the entire time, but today, you'd gotten caught up in the library doing extra school work. Your boyfriend had texted you to bug you about your tardiness despite you letting him know you were going to be late. Once his nagging had become too much to stand, you'd left the library, picking up a sports drink for him and a bag of chips for you to eat during your walk.

It was a cold day, and the light drizzle from the dark clouds above created water droplets that clung onto your eyelashes. The only sound that ripped through the screaming of the wind past your ears was that of shouting from the gym as you neared the open door leading inside. Eager to get out of the cold, you rushed through the doorway, but, in your haste, failed to notice a chair that had been placed nearby. Your foot catching between its legs made you trip and stumble forward, and you released your grip on your phone out of shock, sending it clattering to the floor along with the chair.

Rather than hastily tidy up the situation and apologize for the disturbance, you froze in place when you noticed not only that all of the players were watching you, but that your boyfriend was tossing the ball into the air to serve. Fuck, you thought as your mouth wordlessly formed the curse word as well, he's gonna be pissed. You held your breath as you watched Atsumu hit the ball with all of his force, only to have it miss the end line on the other side by mere centimeters. I'm never gonna hear the end of it now.

Immediately upon realizing he'd missed his serve, your boyfriend turned to regard you with a glare cold enough to freeze over Hell itself. The team had been playing doubles and his missed serve had earned his opponents the final point they'd needed to win. "I'm sorry, 'Tsumu," you apologized, rushing over to him as he walked off the court so the next pairs could play, "I brought you a drink since I know you've had a long day." With a bright smile to mask your nervousness, you offered him the pouch.

"I thought you'd know better than ta come runnin' in here when I'm serving," he grumbled, pushing your hand away before running his through his sweaty, honey-colored hair.

"I'm sorry; I didn't realize what was happening. It's just so cold outside and I was desperate to get warm," was your truthful explanation. There were very few times in your relationship when you used the pleading look you were giving him now. The last thing you wanted was to fight.

With disdain, he turned away from you and spoke to you from over his shoulder instead. "Why don'tcha go take a seat in that fuckin' chair ya knocked over, (f/n)?"

As much as you wanted to shoot a pointed retort back at him, you held your tongue and wandered over to the doorway to collect the chair so you could move it to a corner of the gym and sit in silence. You knew you were walking on thin ice with him, but he had no idea that he was doing the same with you. Moments like this made your entire body ache for just a hint of introspection on his end. You wished he could see the way he treated others, pushing and provoking until someone blew up at him and simply starting the process all over again for his own entertainment. But, at the same time, you understood that he knew what he was doing and didn't care. And that was what made anger simmer uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach as you sat by yourself, watching the rest of his practice without uttering a sound.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the team had finished for the day and gotten everything cleared up, you left the gym with Atsumu and Osamu, as per usual. After taking time to focus your attention on something other than being pissed off at your boyfriend, your calmness had been restored once again. Because of this, you decided to try to strike up a conversation. "You did good at practice today, 'Tsumu. You too, 'Samu," you spoke softly, looking over at them with a smile.

Osamu thanked you and gave you a nod in return, whereas Atsumu's immediate, knee-jerk response was, "Coulda done better. Missed damn near all my serves after that doubles game." His brown pupils slid to the corner of his hooded eyes to watch you with irritation.

"I noticed that your elbow was low whenever you missed, babe," you stated, unperturbed by his intimidation tactics.

"I don't recall askin' for your advice, baby girl, since it's not like ya know how to serve like I do." Following this comment, your gazes remained locked on each other's, engaged in a heated exchange of silent warnings.

"(F/n)'s right, 'Tsumu," Osamu spoke up, coming to your defense. When his twin brother gave no reply, he shoved him slightly and suggested, "You should take 'er advice."

"Uh-huh," Atsumu scoffed with a sarcastic smile across his lips, "Since she's our coach and has more experience under 'er belt, right?"

You immediately bristled at the implications behind his smart-assed comment. Not only was he referencing the fact that you hadn't been playing volleyball as long as he had, but he was also suggesting that your advice had no value because you weren't as skilled as he was. "You know what, Atsumu?" you snapped, your voice slicing through the air dense with moisture, "I've had enough of your shitty attitude. I can't believe that you're really discrediting my observation merely because you think the opinions of anyone lower than you don't count."

"You were the one who threw me off for the rest of practice by makin' me lose that game," he argued, his jaw clenched tightly as he moved closer to you so he could get in your face, like he always did. Appearance-wise, the two of you fought like kindergarteners throwing a tantrum. Content-wise, the subjects you tended to argue about were at the level of middle-schoolers. Today, however, the glaringly apparent issue was too complex for your high school-level boyfriend to understand.

"Go ahead, blame your stupid mistakes on me like you always do because the best volleyball player in the whole fuckin' world can never mess up!" you shouted mockingly, your hands clenching into fists and squeezing the pouch of the sports drink you held in one of them. You stopped walking and planted your feet firmly on the ground in an attempt to physically prepare for what was most likely going to become another screaming match on your end. "Everything's always about you. Nobody else is allowed to exist in your world unless you grant them your permission. Everyone has to literally put their lives on pause while you serve because you're so damn sensitive, but they also have to worship you and kiss the ground you walk on to appease you!"

He raised an eyebrow at you and scolded, "Quit bein' so damn dramatic, would ya? Always blowin' everything outta proportion. You're annoyin' the hell outta me right now."

His response completely blew you away and left you with no words for a few, long moments. Before you knew it, his face became a blur as tears started to well up in your eyes. "I wish that you could see the way you treat me! Then, maybe you'd be able to understand how much of an asshole you can be to me!" You tried yelling those words at him, but you could hardly muster a whimper as sadness and frustration constricted your throat, making it difficult for you to speak between heaving breaths. "I'm your girlfriend, and I thought you'd treat me with more respect, seeing as you love me so much, right? But, no. Sometimes, you make it so painful for me to love you because the things you say to me break my heart! Damn it, Atsumu, I love you more than anything else but you're such a piece of shit."

"C'mon, (f/n), come here," he said in a soothing voice despite his shaky eyes darting over his shoulder at his teammates, who were spectating from a distance. When you saw that his gaze was directed towards the other guys and realized he was only trying to calm you by pulling you into a hug because he was worried about his image, you gave him an aggressive shove that sent him stumbling backwards into his darker-haired brother.

In response, you hissed, "You can fuck off!" before slamming the sports drink onto the ground by his feet. The pouch exploded on impact, sending a splash of blue liquid towards him that he leapt away from to avoid staining his sweatpants. Turning on your heels, you stormed away, your heavy footsteps hitting the pavement with the force of your anger. When he called after you, your only response was, "Leave me the fuck alone, Atsumu! I'm done!"

Your scorned boyfriend's wide eyes fixed on his brother's narrowed ones when he growled, "You've really done it now, 'Tsumu. Walk yourself home; I'm goin' with (f/n) to make sure she gets back alright and 'cause I can't stand lookin' atcha right now." He then jogged away from him to catch up with you and Atsumu's heart dropped when he saw him put his hand on your shoulder to comfort you as the two of you disappeared around the corner.

Once both of you were out of sight, his gaze turned to the ground to watch the blue liquid ooze out of the pouch you'd thrown and onto the ground like fresh blood. His hands moved to the sides of his face, his fingers sinking into his skin as he struggled to come to terms with what had just happened. Frustration overcame him and he kicked the pouch away, leaving it to expel its contents elsewhere, as a string of curse words left his mouth in heated whispers. He remained at the scene of the fight for a moment longer before shoving his hands into his pockets and setting off on a lonely walk home that he spent trying to figure out how he could ever get you to forgive his atrocious behavior.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: Part 2 coming soon! Didn't expect to make this into 2 parts but it just spilled out of me like the drink from that poor, brutally attacked pouch. Idk why I went so hard on that sports drink and said, fuck this one in particular lol but, as the youngsters say, it really do be like that sometimes.

This is my first time writing lil 'Tsumu so let me know how I did since I would like to write more of him (and his brother) in the future for y'all!