The Long Ride Home

The bus hummed beneath them. Low and steady, that vibration climbing up through the seats and into Atsumu’s bones. Twelve hours. Twelve hours of engine noise, stale air, and the ever-present threat of Suna Rintarou’s boredom goading him into commentary. Normally, she would’ve been all for it—trading barbs until someone told them to knock it off. But today she felt like a stranger in her own skin.

She tugged at the hem of her red tank top. Simple enough—fitted top, flared jeans—but she’d never worn anything like it in front of the team before. She’d spent an hour on her hair, straightening the waves she usually let air-dry into something messier. A little mascara. Gloss on her lips. She felt exposed, like she’d shown up to practice wearing a costume.

“You’re fidgetin’,” Osamu said from his seat by the window. He didn’t look up from his phone, slouched with that practiced indifference he’d perfected over eighteen years of being her twin.

“I’m not,” she snapped, but she stopped tugging. Sat on her hands instead.

“She’s fidgeting,” Suna said from the aisle seat. He was turned sideways, one knee propped against the seatback, phone balanced loosely in his hand. His dark eyes swept over her once—quick, appraising—then back to his screen.

Atsumu’s cheeks went hot. “Mind your own business, Suna.”

“I’ve got no business to mind. That’s the problem.” He shrugged, that ghost of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Twelve hours in a metal box. Gotta find entertainment somewhere.”

Osamu snorted. “Don’t look at me. I’m gonna sleep for half of it.”

“Predictable.”

“Better than being a creepy little weirdo who stares at people.”

Atsumu laughed—short, defensive. “He’s got a point.”

Suna’s gaze flicked to her again, lingering a beat longer. “Maybe I’m just bored of looking at your brother.”

“Flattery’ll get you nowhere,” she said, but her voice came out smaller than she meant. She turned to the window, watching the parking lot slide by as the bus pulled onto the highway. Her reflection stared back, unfamiliar. She barely recognized the girl in the glass.

Behind them, the team had settled into their pre-road-trip rhythms. Aran was in the seat ahead, scrolling through a playlist. Kita sat upright in the front passenger seat, a small notebook open on his knee. Picture of calm, order, control. Everything Atsumu wasn’t.

She usually sat with Osamu and Suna by default. Comfortable trio. Osamu and Suna had been attached at the hip since first year—a pair of dry-humored misanthropes who tolerated her only because she was loud enough to fill the silence. She was the third wheel, the noisy satellite orbiting their quiet planet. That had always been fine. She liked the orbit.

But today, sitting between them, she felt like a guest who’d shown up to the wrong party. Suna kept looking at her.

Not glaring. Not dismissing. Just… looking.

Unnerving.

“What music do you listen to?” he asked, out of nowhere.

She blinked. “What?”

“Music. You’ve got earbuds in your hand. What’s on your playlist?”

She looked down at the tangled cord in her lap. Forgot she was holding them. “Uh, I dunno. Bit of everything.”

“Give me specifics.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because if I’m stuck in here with you for twelve hours, I’d like to know if you have terrible taste.”

Osamu laughed under his breath. “You’re about to get an earful.”

Atsumu scowled, but the insult—if you could call it that—felt lighter than it should have. “It’s not terrible. It’s eclectic.”

“That’s a fancy word for ‘no direction.’”

“Are you gonna insult me the whole trip or what?”

“Depends. Are you gonna make it entertaining?”

She opened her mouth to snap back, but Suna was already extending his hand, phone held out. One earbud dangled from his palm.

“Here,” he said. “Share mine. If you hate it, I’ll let you pick the next one.”

She stared at his hand. Simple enough—they were teammates, had shared headphones before during warm-ups, downtime. But this felt different. He’d offered. He’d chosen her.

“Fine,” she said, trying to sound dismissive. Her fingers brushed his as she took the earbud, and she felt a jolt. Nothing to do with static.

She tucked it in. A low, slow guitar riff filled her head. Indie rock. Vocals like honey. She didn’t recognize it, but she didn’t hate it.

“Good?” he asked.

“It’s fine.”

He smirked and turned back to his phone, leaving her to listen to the music and the sound of her own heartbeat, which had inexplicably started racing.

She caught Osamu’s eye. He raised an eyebrow. What was that about?

She shook her head. No idea.

Osamu shrugged and went back to his phone. For a moment, everything was normal.

But Suna’s leg was pressed against hers, a warm line of contact she couldn’t ignore. She didn’t move away.

---

Two hours later they pulled into a rest stop. The bus groaned to a halt, and the team shuffled out like hibernating animals emerging into sunlight. Atsumu stretched, arms above her head, feeling the pull in her shoulders. Her tank top rode up an inch. She tugged it down.

“You look nice today,” Aran said as he passed, brotherly and casual.

“Thanks,” she said, surprised.

“No, really.” He paused, smiling. “Something different?”

“Just tried a new shirt.”

“Looks good on you.”

She ducked her head, a pleased warmth spreading through her chest. “Thanks, Aran.”

He waved and headed toward the convenience store. She followed, steps lighter. Almost to the door when a hand caught her elbow.

She turned. Suna stood there, face impassive, but something glinting in his eyes.

“Come with me,” he said. Not a question.

“Where?”

“Just come.”

She let him guide her away from the store, around the side of the building where a vending machine hummed in the afternoon light. He studied the rows, pressed a button. A can clattered into the slot.

He bent down and retrieved it—Coca Zero. Held it out to her.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“You look thirsty.”

“I can buy my own drinks.”

“I know.” He pressed the can into her hand, fingers lingering. “But I wanted to.”

She stared at the cold can, then at him. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“Suna.”

“Atsumu.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but no words came. Just stood there holding the drink, cold seeping into her palm. He was watching her with that unreadable expression, steady, patient.

“Fine,” she said finally. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

They walked back in silence. She cracked it open as she climbed aboard, carbonation fizzing on her tongue. Just a soda. But it tasted like something more.

Osamu was already back in his seat, a bag of chips in his lap. He looked up as they sat down, eyes moving from Atsumu to Suna and back.

“You got her a drink?” he asked, flat.

“You got yourself chips,” Suna replied. “We all have our vices.”

Osamu snorted. “Right. ‘Vices.’”

But he didn’t push it.

Atsumu took another sip, hoping the fizz would drown out the flutter in her stomach. It didn’t.

---

Hours passed. The landscape blurred from city to farmland to forest. Somewhere around hour four, Osamu fell asleep.

It happened gradually—head dipping, breathing deepening, phone slipping from his fingers. He slumped against the window, face slack, mouth slightly open.

Atsumu watched him, a fond smile tugging at her lips. Even asleep, he managed to look annoyed.

Suna leaned forward, glancing past her. “Finally,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He talks in his sleep. Did you know that? He’s been mumbling about onigiri for the last hour.”

She laughed. “He’s always thinking about food.”

“I know. Exhausting.”

Suna shifted, turning to face her fully. The space between them shrank. His knee bumped hers. He didn’t pull away.

“You’re different today,” he said.

“What?”

“Different. Quieter.”

“I’m not quiet.”

“You are today.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Why?”

Her mouth went dry. She busied herself with the empty can, rolling it between her palms. “I dunno. Just feeling… I dunno.”

“Nervous?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

She looked up, ready to deny it, but the word died in her throat. He was close. Closer than he’d been all trip. She could see flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint scar above his eyebrow, the small smile at the corner of his lips.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he said, voice low. “You look good.”

“I’m not—“

“You do. I mean it.”

Her face burned. She ducked her head, hair falling forward to hide her cheeks. “You’re just saying that.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.” He reached out, hooked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed her jaw, featherlight. “You’ve got this natural femininity you don’t even know you have. And today you’re showing it more than usual. It’s… nice.”

Her heart was hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it. “Suna, what are you—“

“Being honest.” He dropped his hand, but his gaze never left hers. “You’re prettier than before. And I don’t mean that in a weird way. It’s just a compliment.”

She didn’t know what to say. Throat tight, thoughts a tangled mess. She pressed the empty can against her chest like a shield.

“Thank you,” she managed.

“You’re welcome.”

He leaned back, but not far. The gap between them stayed narrow, intimate. She felt the heat of his body, the brush of his arm. Wondered if he could feel her trembling.

Osamu snuffled in his sleep, shifting, and Atsumu jerked back as if caught. But he didn’t wake. Just muttered something about rice and fell silent again.

Suna laughed—quiet, breathy. “Relax. He’s dead to the world.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know him. He could sleep through a typhoon.” He leaned forward again, voice dropping to a murmur. “You, on the other hand, look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You’re nervous. And it’s cute.”

“Stop saying cute.”

“Why? It’s true.”

She pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. Lost.

Suna grinned. “There she is.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

The challenge hung between them, electric and charged. She held his gaze, heart racing, palms slick. Never felt this way before—giddy, terrified, alive.

The bus hit a pothole.

Not a big one—just a dip that sent a shudder through the bus. But Atsumu, off balance, lurched sideways. Her shoulder collided with his chest, and she pitched forward, bracing for impact.

His hands caught her. One on her arm, one on her waist. Steadied her, held her, didn’t let go.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” She tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, just slightly.

“Don’t go yet.”

“Suna—“

“I’m not done.”

She looked up. His face was inches from hers, eyes dark and serious. The teasing edge gone, replaced by something raw and honest.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he said.

“Do what?”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned in and kissed her.

Soft at first—a gentle press of lips, tentative and questioning. Her breath caught. She didn’t know what to do. Hands hovered in the air, too afraid to touch, too afraid to pull away. But the kiss was warm, and his hand on her waist was steady, and she found herself leaning into him, eyes fluttering closed.

She kissed him back.

His lips moved against hers, slow and deliberate. He tasted like the coffee he’d bought at the rest stop. His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer. She felt the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of her tank top. Shivered.

When they broke apart, she was breathless.

“Suna,” she whispered.

“Rintarou,” he corrected.

“What?”

“My first name. Use it.”

She swallowed. “Rintarou.”

“Good.” He smiled—soft and genuine, transforming his face. He looked younger, happier. “I’ve been wanting to do that for months.”

“Months?”

“Since the training camp. Maybe before. Don’t know when it started. Just know I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

Her heart stuttered. “But I thought… I thought you were…”

“What?”

“Interested in Osamu.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“You’re always with him. Always so close. I thought you two had something.”

“No.” He shook his head, a laugh escaping. “No, Atsumu. We’re friends. That’s it. I mean, yeah, we’re close, but I’ve never looked at him like that.”

“Then why—”

“Because he’s your brother. It was the only way to get close to you.”

Her mind reeled. All those months of being the third wheel, of feeling like an outsider—had she been blind?

“I was scared,” he continued. “You’re loud and confident and fiery, and I didn’t know if you’d even notice me. So I stayed close to Osamu. Easier to watch you that way.”

“You were watching me?”

“Every match. Every practice. Every time you laughed.” He touched her cheek, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. “You’re impossible to ignore, Atsumu.”

Her eyes stung. She blinked rapidly, refusing to cry. “I thought you were just putting up with me.”

“Never. I was never putting up with you. I was waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For you to be ready.”

She stared at him, words sinking in. He’d been patient. Careful. Watching her, waiting, while she’d been too wrapped up in her own insecurity to see it.

“I like you too,” she whispered. “I was just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of… this.” She gestured between them. “Of what it means. Of what Osamu would think. Of everything.”

“Osamu is my friend. He’ll get over it.” His gaze softened. “More importantly, I don’t care what he thinks. I care what you think.”

“I think…” She took a deep breath. “I think I’ve liked you for a while. I just didn’t think it was possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m still figuring myself out. Because I’m still new to all of this. Because I didn’t think someone like you would look at someone like me twice.”

He cupped her face in both hands, tilting her head up. “Atsumu. Look at me.”

She did.

“You’re beautiful. You’re strong. You’re talented. And I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “We can go slow. We can talk to Osamu when we’re ready. We can figure this out together. But I need you to know I’m serious about this. About you.”

Her breath hitched. She reached up, fingers wrapping around his wrists. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Let’s figure it out.”

He smiled—wide and real, lighting up his whole face—and kissed her again.

This time she melted into it. Hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer. She felt his lips part against hers, the kiss deepening. The world narrowed to the warmth of his mouth, the strength of his arms, the steady beat of his heart against her chest.

They broke apart only when Osamu stirred.

Atsumu jerked back, face flaming. She looked at her brother, who was blinking sleepily, eyes unfocused.

“Wha’ happened?” Osamu mumbled.

“Nothin’,” she said, voice too high. “Go back to sleep.”

“M’kay.” He slumped back against the window, eyes sliding shut.

She let out a breath. Suna was grinning beside her, hand finding hers in the space between their seats.

“That was close,” he whispered.

“You’re terrible.”

“And you love it.”

She bit her lip, smiling. “Maybe.”

He squeezed her hand. “We’ll talk later. After the trip. Okay?”

“Okay.”

They rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence, hands intertwined, shoulders touching. The sun set outside, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The world moved on around them—chatter of teammates, hum of the engine, rumble of the road—but Atsumu didn’t notice any of it.

She only noticed the warmth of Suna’s hand, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the quiet certainty that, for the first time in a long time, she was exactly where she was supposed to be.