The Seat Next to You

The Inarizaki volleyball team piled onto the bus in a messy explosion of duffel bags, laughter, and that faint liniment smell that never really goes away. It was just past six in the morning, the sky still that bruised purple color before sunrise, but everyone was already buzzing. Twelve-hour drive to the prefectural qualifiers. That’s a long time to be stuck together, but also—kind of the point.

Atsumu Miya got on last. Hair still damp from a quick shower, his favorite worn paperback tucked under his arm. He scanned the seats—mostly claimed. Osamu was already sprawled in a window seat with an eye mask on, basically a giant sign saying leave me alone. Suna sat diagonal, scrolling through his phone with his usual bored look.

Then Atsumu spotted it. Empty seat near the back, behind the captain’s spot. Two-seater, aisle empty. Perfect. He slid into the window seat, dropped his bag, and pulled out Sleeping Beauty for the fifth time. The cover was soft, spine cracked in a dozen places. He knew the story by heart—curse, spindle, prince’s kiss—but it still made his chest do that flutter thing. A fairy tale. Love conquering all. He sighed and traced the edge of the page.

He was so into the book he didn’t notice the bus engine start, or the soft footsteps. Then a shadow fell over him.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Atsumu’s head shot up. Kita Shinsuke stood in the aisle, duffel slung over one shoulder, hair neat, expression calm and warm. The captain. The guy who could shut down the whole team with a single look. Atsumu’s cheeks went hot immediately.

“Uh—yeah, sure, Kita-san. It’s not taken.” He stammered, shut the book too fast.

Kita smiled—that quiet knowing smile—and sat down beside him. He put his bag under the seat in front, then leaned back. His shoulder brushed Atsumu’s for a second. Atsumu’s heart stuttered. Why here? Why me? The whole bus was loud, and Kita chose the seat next to him. The one everyone usually avoided because Atsumu tended to curl up and read.

“What are you reading?” Kita’s voice was low, just for him.

Atsumu clutched the book to his chest. “Just… a book. Nothin’ special.”

Kita’s eyes flicked to the cover. “Sleeping Beauty?” No judgment. Just mild curiosity.

Atsumu’s blush went full tomato. “I know it’s kinda childish,” he mumbled, already defensive. “I just… I like the story.”

“I don’t think it’s childish.” No teasing in that tone. “Sometimes it’s nice to believe in things that are beautiful.”

Atsumu’s mouth went dry. He looked up—expected mockery—but Kita’s eyes were sincere. Warm. The kind of eyes that make you feel seen in a way that’s terrifying and wonderful.

“You like fairy tales?” Atsumu’s voice came out small.

“I like stories with happy endings.” Kita turned to the window. “Long drive. You can keep reading. I don’t mind.”

Atsumu nodded, but he didn’t open the book. Just stared at the page without seeing words, hyper-aware of the presence beside him. The space between them felt charged. He could smell Kita’s detergent—clean and subtle, like fresh laundry and cedar. His hands trembled a little.

After a few minutes of silence, broken only by the engine hum and distant chatter, Kita spoke again. “Do you listen to music while you read?”

Atsumu blinked. “Sometimes. Got some playlists.”

“May I?”

Atsumu’s heart jumped into his throat. Kita-san wants to listen to my music? He fumbled for his phone, unlocked it, pulled up his favorite playlist—a soft collection of acoustic ballads and a few J-pop love songs he’d never admit to. He handed one earbud to Kita. Their fingers brushed.

Kita slid the earbud in. They sat side by side, sharing the sound. First song was a gentle guitar piece, a singer crooning about waiting for a miracle. Atsumu watched Kita’s profile from the corner of his eye—the strong line of his jaw, the slight curve of his lips when he seemed to appreciate a lyric.

“You have good taste,” Kita said quietly.

Atsumu nearly dropped his phone. “Thanks.” Breathier than he meant.

Kita turned his head slowly, met his gaze. “You’re blushing again, Atsumu-kun.”

The use of his first name—with that respectful ‘-kun’—made Atsumu’s stomach flip. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Kita’s smile widened, just a fraction, like he was enjoying the effect he had.

“It’s okay.” Kita’s voice dropped to a whisper almost lost in the music. “I think it’s cute.”

Atsumu’s brain short-circuited. Cute? Kita-san called me cute? He buried his face in his book, using it as a shield. But he could still feel Kita’s presence, solid and warm. The earbud connection felt like a secret tether.

The bus rolled on. Landscape shifted from urban streets to winding mountain roads. Conversation ebbed and flowed—Kita asked about Atsumu’s sets, his training, his twin brother. Atsumu answered in clipped sentences, too shy to elaborate, but Kita didn’t seem to mind. He listened, eyes fixed on Atsumu like he was the only person on the bus.

Around the third hour, the team’s attention shifted. Suna glanced over, nudged Ginjima. “Oi, check it out. Kita-san’s sitting with Miya.”

Aran, two rows ahead, turned and grinned. “Hey, Kita-san! You dog!”

The shout carried. Several heads turned. Atsumu’s face went scarlet. Kita, unfazed, raised a hand in a casual wave. “Mind your own business.” No bite in it. The team hooted anyway.

“Kita-san’s got game!” someone yelled from the back.

“Miya’s too good for you, captain!”

“Shut up!” Atsumu’s voice cracked.

But Kita just chuckled, low and pleasant. “Ignore them.” Close to Atsumu’s ear. “They’re just jealous.”

Atsumu’s heart hammered. Jealous of what? Of him sitting next to me? The idea was dizzying.

As hours passed, the team settled down. Some dozed, others played card games in the aisle. The bus grew quieter. Golden sunlight streamed through the windows, painting everything in warm light. Atsumu’s eyelids got heavy. He’d woken up early. The engine hum was lulling him.

He tried to fight it, but his head started nodding. One sharp lurch of the bus sent him swaying, and before he could catch himself, his temple landed on something firm and warm. Kita’s shoulder.

Atsumu froze. He was half-leaning against the captain, cheek pressed to the fabric of his uniform jacket. The scent of cedar and detergent filled his nostrils. He should pull away. Should apologize.

He didn’t.

Kita didn’t move either. After a few seconds, Atsumu felt a subtle shift—Kita adjusting his posture to make the angle more comfortable. A silent invitation.

Slowly, tentatively, Atsumu let his weight rest more fully against Kita. His heart pounded so loud he was sure the whole bus could hear it. But Kita said nothing, just continued looking out the window, one hand resting loosely on his own knee.

They stayed like that for a long while. Atsumu’s eyes drifted closed. Exhaustion winning. He felt safe, cocooned in warmth.

A breeze from an open window made him shiver.

Immediately, a movement—soft fabric settling over his shoulders. He opened his eyes to see Kita’s Inarizaki jacket draped around him. The captain’s scent enveloped him completely.

“You were cold.” Kita said it like it was nothing.

Atsumu’s throat tightened. “Kita-san… your jacket…”

“I have a sweater underneath. It’s fine.” Kita smiled again, that gentle smile that made Atsumu’s chest ache. “Keep it.”

Atsumu pulled the jacket tighter, feeling the residual warmth of Kita’s body. He didn’t know what to say. Thank you seemed too small. He just nodded, buried his face in the collar.

Around noon, the bus made a rest stop. Everyone piled out to stretch, buy snacks, use the restroom. Atsumu stood by the convenience store, still wearing Kita’s jacket, feeling a little dazed. He watched Kita walk directly to the drink cooler, select a single bottle, and come back.

“Here.” Kita pressed a cold can into his hand. Coca-Cola Zero.

Atsumu stared at it. “How did you know I like this?”

Kita shrugged. A hint of a smirk. “You always grab one after practice. I pay attention.”

That simple statement hit Atsumu like a spike to the chest. Kita paid attention. To him. To his preferences.

“I-I can pay you back—”

“No.” Firm but kind. “It’s a gift.”

Atsumu’s fingers curled around the can. The cold grounded him. He looked up at Kita, at the calm confidence in his eyes, and something inside him cracked open. The shyness that usually held him back dissolved.

The team was watching from a distance, grinning like idiots. Suna had his phone out, probably filming. Atsumu didn’t care.

He stepped forward, rose on his tiptoes, and pressed a quick, featherlight kiss to Kita’s cheek.

The world seemed to stop. Chatter died. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Kita’s eyes widened—just a fraction—then softened. A slow, radiant smile spread across his face. Not the usual measured expression. It was proud. Delighted. Mine.

“Took you long enough,” Kita murmured, low enough that only Atsumu could hear.

The team erupted. Cheers, catcalls. “KITA-SAN! YOU GOT KISSED!” “MIYA! DIDN’T KNOW YOU HAD IT IN YOU!”

Atsumu’s face burned, but he didn’t regret it. He clutched the Coke Zero like a lifeline, feeling the ghost of Kita’s cheek on his lips.

They reboarded the bus. This time, when Atsumu slid into the window seat, Kita followed without question. The jacket stayed on Atsumu’s shoulders. The team’s teasing continued, but it was affectionate, almost reverent.

As the bus resumed its journey, the sky began to darken. Sunset in a blaze of orange and pink. Atsumu sipped his drink, the sweetness tingling on his tongue. Kita was reading something on his phone, but his left hand rested casually on his own thigh, inches from Atsumu’s.

Time passed. The bus grew quiet again—just engine and occasional snores. Atsumu finished his drink, set the can aside, and emboldened by the kiss, by the jacket, by the way Kita’s presence felt like home—he let his hand drift.

His fingers brushed against Kita’s.

Kita didn’t move.

Atsumu’s heart raced. He looked up at Kita, who met his gaze with a quiet question. Are you sure?

Atsumu answered by lacing their fingers together.

Kita’s hand tightened around his. Warm. Calloused from years of volleyball. Perfect.

They sat like that for miles, hands intertwined, sharing a secret that the whole team knew but no one dared to interrupt. The night deepened. Stars began to peep through the window.

Atsumu’s head eventually found its way back to Kita’s shoulder. He felt complete.

In the darkness, Kita’s arm came up, draping around Atsumu’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Atsumu’s breath hitched as Kita’s lips brushed his ear.

“You have beautiful lips, Atsumu-kun.” Voice low, a murmur that sent shivers down his spine. “I’ve been thinking about them all day.”

Atsumu’s entire body went rigid. What?

Kita pulled back just enough to look at him. Eyes dark and intense in the dim light. He leaned in, face inches away. Atsumu could feel his breath—warm, minty. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. His mind screamed yes but his body was frozen.

“Kita-san…” A whisper. A plea. A question. A surrender.

Kita’s lips hovered a hair’s breadth away. The tension was unbearable—a tightrope stretched between them.

And then the bus hit a pothole.

The jolt sent them lurching apart. Atsumu gasped. Spell broken. From the front of the bus, someone yelled, “Sorry! Road’s bad up ahead!”

Kita straightened, a frustrated huff escaping him. But when he looked at Atsumu, no anger—only a promise. “Later.” Voice husky. “When we have more privacy.”

Atsumu could only nod, heart still pounding. He pulled Kita’s jacket tighter, inhaled the scent, and closed his eyes. The rest of the trip passed in a blur of warmth and anticipation.

When the bus finally rolled into the tournament venue’s parking lot, the sky was just beginning to lighten. The team stirred, gathering things. Atsumu blinked awake. His head was still resting on Kita’s chest. The captain had fallen asleep too, arm still around him, breathing deep and even.

Atsumu didn’t want to move. But the bus engine cut off, and the noise of shuffling teammates made Kita stir.

“Mm… we’re here?” Rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” Atsumu said softly.

Kita looked at him, slow smile spreading as he registered their position. “You snore.”

“I do not!”

“You do. It’s cute.”

Atsumu huffed, but he was smiling. He slipped out of Kita’s arm, and as he stood, the jacket slid off his shoulders. He caught it, held it out. “Here.”

Kita shook his head. “Keep it for now. You’ll need it on the return trip.”

Atsumu hugged the jacket to his chest. The return trip. He didn’t want to think about it ending. But as they gathered their duffels and filed off the bus, the morning air crisp and cold, Atsumu found himself walking beside Kita.

“Kita-san.” Small but steady.

“Hm?”

“On the way back… will you sit with me again?”

Kita stopped walking. The team was already heading toward the gym, but he turned fully to face Atsumu, expression softening. “I was planning on it.”

He reached out and took Atsumu’s hand—briefly, just a squeeze—then released it. But the warmth lingered.

Behind them, the team burst into cheers. “KITA-SAN! KITA-SAN! MIYA!”

Atsumu’s face flamed. He hid behind the jacket, but he was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. His fairy tale, it seemed, was just beginning.

And as they walked toward the gymnasium, side by side, Atsumu let himself believe in happy endings.