Broken Serve

The gym smelled like sweat and floor wax—usually that got Atsumu’s blood pumping. Not today. Today it just made him want to throw up. Practice had been brutal. Drills, sprints, serve after serve until his muscles screamed. The ache kept him grounded, kept him here. But here was the worst place to be.

He stood at the edge of the court, volleyball in his hands, watching Suna stretch by the bleachers. Long limbs moving easy, lazy. Everything Suna did looked effortless. His dark hair fell over his eyes, and he wasn’t looking at Atsumu. Never looked at him that way.

“Oi, Suna.” His voice came out rough. He cleared his throat, tried again softer. “Suna.”

Suna paused mid-stretch, arm draped over his head. Raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Flat. Neutral. That was Suna’s specialty—never let anyone see his hand. Atsumu used to admire it. Envy it. His own heart was a raw, bleeding mess and everyone could tell.

“Can I… talk to you for a sec?” He glanced around. Teammates scattered—some on court cooling down, others by the water fountains. Osamu was across the gym, talking to Ginjima, not paying attention. Good. Atsumu didn’t want his brother seeing this.

Suna sighed, a sound that scraped Atsumu’s nerves raw. “Make it quick. Coach wants us back in ten.”

They moved to the corner near the storage closet. Dimmer light, the gym noise fading to a dull hum. Atsumu’s heart hammered so loud he could hear it in his ears. Palms slick. He wiped them on his shorts, suddenly aware how stupid he looked.

This was it. He’d planned for weeks. Words, timing. Rehearsed in front of the mirror, in the shower, in those dead nights when sleep wouldn’t come. Now, with Suna looking at him like that—impassive, unreadable—all those rehearsed lines evaporated.

“I…” His cheeks burned. Heat climbing up his neck, spreading across his face like a rash. “I like you, Suna. Like, really like you.”

Came out in a rush. Clumsy. Hanging in the air between them. He watched Suna’s face for a crack, a flicker. Nothing. Just a mask.

“You mean, as a friend?” Flat tone.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not as a friend. I mean—I want to be with you. Like, date you. Hold your hand. All that cheesy shit.”

He tried to smile, lighten the mood, but his lips trembled. He was blushing furiously and hated it. Hated how weak he looked, how desperate. But the words were out. No taking them back.

Suna stared at him. Long stretch of silence, thin and brittle. Atsumu felt like he’d shatter under the weight.

“I don’t like you, Atsumu.” Voice calm, almost bored. “Not that way. And honestly? I don’t think I ever could.”

Atsumu’s chest ached. Physical. “Why?”

Suna shrugged—lazy roll of his shoulders. “You’re not my type. Too loud. Too needy. And…” Pause. A cruel glint in his eyes. “You’re not Osamu.”

The name hit like a slap. Atsumu staggered back a step, mouth open. “What?”

Suna tilted his head, studying him like a failed experiment. “You heard me. Osamu’s better. Calmer. Smarter. Doesn’t need everyone’s attention all the time. You’re just the loud, flashy version. The inferior copy.”

“That’s not true.” Voice cracked. He hadn’t meant for it to break, but it did—splintered into a pathetic plea. “I’m not—I’m just as good as him. Better, even. I’m the starting setter, not him.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Suna’s lips curled, faint smirk. “You’re still second best. Always have been.”

Words like thorns digging into his skin. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he blinked furiously. “Please, Suna. I can be what you want. I’ll change. I’ll—I’ll be quieter, I’ll—”

“Stop.” Suna held up a hand, dismissive. Made Atsumu’s stomach lurch. “I don’t want you to change. I just don’t want you.”

Atsumu opened his mouth, but only a strangled sound came out. Like drowning. Air too thick to breathe.

“Let me think about it,” Suna said. For a split second, hope flared. Then Suna’s expression hardened. “No. I thought about it. The answer’s still no.”

Hope died. Extinguished. Atsumu’s legs felt weak. He leaned against the wall. “Osamu,” he murmured, name slipping out like a curse. “You like Osamu, don’t you?”

Suna’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

“Osamu’s better.” Atsumu’s voice hollow. “That’s what you said. You think he’s better. You want him instead.”

He meant it as observation. Bitter acknowledgment. But it triggered something in Suna. Calm shattered, replaced by raw, ugly anger Atsumu had never seen.

“Shut up.” Suna hissed. Before Atsumu could react, Suna’s hand connected with his cheek—sharp, stinging slap.

Sound echoed in the corner. Atsumu’s head snapped to the side, cheek throbbing. He raised a hand to the reddening skin, too shocked to speak.

“You don’t get to talk about him.” Suna’s voice low, trembling. “You don’t get to say his name like that.”

Atsumu blinked, confusion and pain warring. “Suna, I—”

But Suna wasn’t done. He grabbed Atsumu’s jersey collar, yanked him forward until they were nose to nose. Then his hand moved—fingers curling around Atsumu’s throat. Grip sudden and tight, cutting off his airway.

Atsumu choked, hands flying up to claw at Suna’s wrist. “Suna—stop—can’t—breathe—”

Suna’s face twisted—mask of fury and something darker. He pushed Atsumu against the wall, pinning him. Fingers dug into the soft flesh of his neck.

“You’re pathetic.” Snarled. “Always whining, always needing attention. You think confessing to me makes you brave? It makes you weak. Just like your mother.”

Atsumu’s vision blurred. Spots at the edges. He gasped, but Suna’s grip only tightened. World narrowed to pressure on his throat, smell of Suna’s sweat, sound of his own heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“Please.” Choked out, ragged whisper. “Please stop. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Voice rising. “Sorry for being a nuisance? Sorry for existing?”

“Yes—yes—anything—please—”

Tears spilled over. Streaming down his cheeks. Sobbing, ugly racking sobs that shook his entire body. But Suna didn’t let go. Fingers like iron bands. Crushing. Suffocating.

“Suna, please…” Barely audible. Hollow rasp. “I’ll die… I’m begging you…”

Something flickered in Suna’s eyes. Fury dimmed, replaced by dawning horror. He looked down at his hand, at red marks blooming on Atsumu’s neck, at tears and snot and terror on Atsumu’s face.

He let go.

Atsumu collapsed, hitting the floor with a thud. Clutched his throat, coughing and gasping, drawing in ragged breaths that burned. Curled into himself, shaking, sobs filling the silence.

Suna stood frozen, staring at his own hands like they belonged to someone else. Chest heaving. Breath coming in sharp, short bursts. Reality crashed over him like ice water.

“I…” Words died in his throat.

Atsumu pushed himself up, stumbled toward the locker room. Didn’t look back. Didn’t say a word. Just ran, footsteps echoing, growing fainter until they disappeared.

Suna stood alone, hands trembling. The team’s chatter had stopped. Some turned to look, but no one saw—corner too secluded. They didn’t know what happened. Only saw Atsumu running off, crying.

Suna didn’t move. Couldn’t.

---

Locker room cold and silent. Atsumu stumbled to the benches, legs giving out. Collapsed onto hard wood, curled into fetal position, body wracked with sobs.

His throat burned. His cheek throbbed. And deeper, in his chest, a wound that would never heal.

Footsteps. Heavy and hurried. Familiar voice calling his name. “Atsumu? You in here?”

Osamu.

He tried to respond, only a croak came out. He curled tighter, hiding his face, praying his brother would go away.

But Osamu didn’t go away. Footsteps stopped inches from the bench. Sharp intake of breath.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Hand on his shoulder, gentle but insistent. Atsumu flinched. Hand withdrew.

“Atsumu. Look at me.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his head. Saw Osamu’s face twist from concern to horror. Eyes wide, fixed on the red mark on Atsumu’s cheek and the livid bruises blooming on his neck—shape of fingers.

“Who did this?” Voice low, dangerous. “Who touched you?”

Atsumu shook his head, tears streaming anew. “It doesn’t matter. Just leave me alone.”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter.” Osamu knelt beside him, jaw tight. “Tell me who did it. Now.”

“Osamu, please—”

“Tell me!”

Shout echoed off tiled walls. Atsumu flinched again. Osamu’s expression softened, but only for a moment. Eyes still blazing. Fire Atsumu rarely saw in his brother.

“Suna,” Atsumu whispered, name barely audible. “I told him I liked him, and he…”

Couldn’t finish. Words got stuck, tangled in the sob rising in his throat.

Osamu’s face went pale, then red. He stood up, hands balling into fists. For a long moment, he just stared, chest heaving.

Then he turned and walked out of the locker room. Footsteps heavy and purposeful.

Atsumu called after him. Door slammed.

---

Osamu found Suna still standing in the corner of the gym, back to the court. The rest of the team watching him, confused murmurs rippling. Osamu didn’t care about them. Only saw Suna.

“You.” Voice carried across the gym like thunder.

Suna turned. Eyes red-rimmed. Face hollow. Looked like a ghost.

“Osamu, I can explain.”

“Explain what?” Already crossing the distance, strides long and furious. “Explain why my brother’s face is red? Why he has bruises on his neck shaped like your hands?”

Team fell silent. Heads turned. A few players stepped forward, alarm on their faces.

“Suna?” Ginjima’s voice uncertain. “What’s he talking about?”

Suna opened his mouth, no words. Osamu reached him, grabbed him by the front of his jersey, slammed him against the wall.

“You choked him.” Snarled, face inches from Suna’s. “You put your hands around his throat and you choked him. He was crying so hard he could barely breathe. And you did that to him.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Voice cracking. “He just said something, and I lost control. I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t think?” Pulled him forward, slammed him back harder. “He likes you. He’s been in love with you for months. And you did this to him?”

The team had gathered, tight circle around them. Faces grim, hardened. A few shot Suna disgusted looks.

“Suna, is that true?” Kita’s voice steady, but eyes cold.

Suna looked at them—teammates, friends, people he trained and laughed and fought beside. Saw judgment, betrayal. They believed Osamu. Of course they did. Atsumu was their setter, their star. Suna was just the quiet one, the observer.

“I’m sorry.” Barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just—I have feelings for someone else. And when he said Osamu’s name, I—”

“Feelings for someone else?” Osamu laughed, bitter and hollow. “Let me guess. You have a crush on me, don’t you? That’s why you freaked out when Atsumu said I was better. Because you wanted me, not him.”

Suna’s face crumbled. Truth laid bare, ugly and raw. He nodded—single, miserable dip of his head.

Osamu released him, stepped back like Suna was something foul. “You could have just said no. Could have rejected him gently. Instead you beat him down and choked him. Because you’re a coward.”

“I am.” Eyes glistening. “I’m a coward. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough.” Voice cold as steel. “You’re going to pay for what you did. I’ll make sure of it.”

He turned to the team, scanning their faces. “He’s dead to me. If any of you still want to be his friend, you’re dead to me too.”

Moment of hesitation. Then Ginjima shook his head. “I’m with Osamu. What Suna did is unforgivable.”

Oomimi nodded. “Same.”

One by one, the rest voiced agreement. No one stepped forward to defend him. They shuffled away, widening the circle, leaving him isolated in the center of the gym.

Suna stood alone, surrounded by hostile faces. Weight of their contempt pressed down, crushing. He had lost them. Lost Atsumu. Lost Osamu.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

He looked down at his hands. The hands that slapped Atsumu. The hands that squeezed the life out of him. Shaking, stained with memory of Atsumu’s tears.

He sank to his knees. Gym floor cold and hard beneath him. Team watched a moment longer, then turned away, leaving him there.

Suna closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.

---

In the locker room, Osamu sat beside Atsumu, arm around his brother’s shoulders. Atsumu had stopped crying, but still trembled, breaths shallow.

“You’re going to be okay.” Voice soft now, stripped of fury. “I’ve got you. We’re going to go home, and I’m going to take care of you. Okay?”

Atsumu nodded weakly, leaning into his brother’s warmth. “He said I was second best. Like you were better.”

Osamu’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice gentle. “He was wrong. You’re not second best. You’re my brother. And I love you, even when you’re annoying as hell.”

Atsumu let out a wet, shaky laugh. “Thanks, ‘Samu.”

“Anytime, Tsumu.”

They sat together in the silence of the locker room. Only sound—steady drip of a leaky faucet. Outside, the sun set, casting long shadows across the gym floor.

Suna Rintarou was alone.

And Atsumu Miya was broken.

But Osamu was there. He wouldn’t let his brother shatter completely.

Not while he still had breath in his lungs.