Forever's a Long Time

The gym at Inazuma High smelled like sweat, floor wax, and teenage desperation. Sneakers squeaked against polished wood, volleyballs thumped in rhythm, and practice had officially ended twenty minutes ago. But Atsumu Miya was still on the court, launching serves like they owed him money. The air itself seemed to flinch every time his hand connected.

"Oi, Tsumu." Osamu stood by the sideline, towel draped over his shoulder. "You plannin' to sleep here tonight?"

"Mind yer own business, Samu." Atsumu didn't break rhythm. Toss, jump, swing. The ball screamed over the net and slammed into the corner with a satisfying smack.

Suna Rintarou watched from the bench, phone in hand, that lazy smirk plastered on his face. "He's practicing for later."

Osamu's grin turned wicked. "Ah. The prom."

"Shut up." But Atsumu's ears were already reddening.

Suna typed something without looking up. "I wonder if Aran-san knows his boyfriend gets this flustered over a school dance."

Atsumu's next serve went wide. The ball bounced harmlessly off the wall.

Osamu cackled. "That's it. All I gotta do is say his name and yer game falls apart."

"I'll make ya eat that ball if ya don't quit it." Atsumu scooped the ball from the corner.

Suna finally looked up, eyes glinting. "You know what else makes him fall apart?"

Before Atsumu could respond, Suna was already on his feet, circling around the court with that infuriating smirk. Osamu caught on and joined the chase.

"Don't ya dare!" Atsumu shouted, but too late.

"Aran," Suna said, drawing out the syllables like a taunt. "Oijirou. Aran Oijirou."

"Beautiful, beautiful Aran," Osamu added, sing-song. "Setting spikes and stealing hearts."

"Get back here, ya idiots!" Atsumu hurled the volleyball at Osamu's head. His brother ducked. The ball sailed into the bleachers.

They weaved between equipment carts, ducked under the net, circled the court like children. Atsumu was fast, but Osamu knew his tells, and Suna was slippery as an eel.

"Tsumu's got a boyyyyyyfriend~" Osamu sang.

"Osamu Miya, I'm gonna kill ya!"

"Ya can't kill yer own twin. Bad luck."

Suna vaulted over a fallen mat, landing clean. "It's not killing if it's self-defense against emotional damage."

The gym doors swung open.

Aran Oijirou stepped in, still in his jersey from his own practice, water bottle in hand. He took in the scene: Atsumu red-faced and chasing a cackling Osamu, Suna filming, the team watching in confused amusement.

"What did I miss?" Aran asked.

Three things happened fast. First, Osamu and Suna changed direction, running straight toward Aran. Second, Atsumu shouted, "Aran, grab 'em!" Third, Aran stepped forward and caught both of them by the collars of their jerseys.

"Tattletale," Suna muttered.

"Snitch," Osamu added.

"Don't care." Atsumu's chest heaved as he caught up.

But before he could deliver whatever punishment he'd planned, Aran released them. They stumbled back. Instead, Aran turned, reached out, and cupped Atsumu's face with both hands.

The gym went silent.

Then Aran kissed him.

Not a quick peck. Deliberate. Warm. Consuming. Aran's thumbs traced gentle circles on Atsumu's cheekbones as he tilted his head and deepened it, like the rest of the world had melted away and all that remained was the feeling of Atsumu's lips against his.

Atsumu froze for half a second, a surprised noise caught in his throat. Then his hands came up to grip Aran's wrists—not pushing, but holding on.

The kiss broke. Aran pressed his forehead against Atsumu's, breathing softly. "Hey." Just loud enough for everyone to hear. "Missed ya."

Atsumu's face was on fire. His lips parted, eyes dazed. "I... we just saw each other this mornin'."

"Six hours is too long."

Osamu gagged. "Get a room."

"Samu, I swear to—"

Aran gave Osamu a gentle shove. "Go on. Get outta here."

Osamu and Suna scattered, laughing. Aran didn't chase. He turned back to Atsumu, caught his hand, and pulled him close.

The team watched in stunned silence. Kuroo dropped his clipboard. Bokuto's jaw hung open. Even Kita blinked twice.

"Ar... Aran-san?" someone whispered.

Aran didn't answer. He kissed Atsumu again, softer this time—a promise wrapped in tenderness. When he pulled back, he smiled. The kind that could unravel knots and calm storms.

"I love ya," he said simply.

The words hit Atsumu like a serve to the chest. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Ya can't just... say that so loud."

"Why not? It's true."

"S' embarrassing."

"It's the truth."

Atsumu looked away, but he was smiling now, ears burning red. "Idiot."

Aran laughed, low and warm, filling the gym. Then, without warning, he bent down, hooked his arms under Atsumu's thighs, and lifted him straight into the air.

"Wha—Aran! Put me down!"

Aran spun him around, that uneven blonde hair catching the gym lights. "I love ya, Atsumu. I love how ya get all flustered when I say it. I love the way ya serve. I love the way ya argue with yer brother. I love every single part of ya."

"Ya're gonna drop me!"

"I'd never drop ya."

From the floor, Suna's phone was still recording. "This is going on the group chat."

"Delete it!" Atsumu shrieked.

"No."

Finally, Aran set him down, but kept a steadying hand on his waist. Atsumu's chest heaved, cheeks impossible shades of pink. He looked up at Aran—tall, strong, utterly devoted—and felt something crack open in his chest.

"I love ya too," Atsumu whispered, so quiet it almost got lost in the gym's echo.

Aran heard. He always heard.

"Say it again."

"Aran, we got an audience."

"I don't care. Say it again."

Atsumu grabbed Aran's jersey and pulled him down till their foreheads touched. "I love ya, Oijirou. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

Someone coughed.

"S-so they're..." a middle blocker stammered, pointing.

"Dating," Kita finished, calm and even. "Since middle school, if memory serves."

The gym erupted.

"Since middle school?!"

"That's like... four years!"

"Four years of secret dating?!"

"Ya didn't know?" Osamu feigned innocence. "I thought everyone knew."

"We definitely didn't know!"

"Well, now ya do. Congratulations, Tsumu. Yer relationship has been outed by Aran's big mouth and big heart."

"I'm gonna kill him," Atsumu muttered, but he was leaning into Aran's side, and Aran's arm wrapped securely around his waist.

"Ya could try," Aran said amiably.

"I could."

"Ya won't."

"...No, I won't."

The shock slowly gave way to acceptance, then teasing, then genuine happiness. Bokuto clapped Aran on the back so hard he stumbled. Kuroo grinned and said he'd "known all along" (he hadn't). Even Suna put his phone down and offered a rare, genuine smile.

"You two are disgustingly cute," Suna said. "I hate it."

"Jealous?" Atsumu shot back.

"Not even a little."

But he was smiling.

When the gym finally cleared and everyone headed home, Aran and Atsumu lingered. Lights dimmed, equipment put away, doors locked. Just the two of them, standing in the center of the court where they'd first met three years ago.

"Tomorrow's prom," Atsumu said, tracing invisible patterns on Aran's chest.

"Mm."

"Ya excited?"

"To wear a suit and dance with people? Not really." Aran caught Atsumu's hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "To dance with you? Yeah."

Atsumu's breath hitched. "We... we can't dance together. People will know."

"Let 'em know."

"But I thought we were keepin' it secret."

Aran tilted Atsumu's chin up, meeting his eyes. "I don't care who knows, Atsumu. I've never cared. I just wanted it to be yer choice."

Atsumu's eyes stung. He blinked rapidly. "Ya're gonna make me cry, and I'll look terrible for prom."

"Ya'd look beautiful even if ya cried through the whole thing."

"Stop."

"Never."

They stood there, wrapped in each other, until the janitor came to kick them out.

---

Prom night: garlands of fairy lights, a DJ in the corner, tables of refreshments, a dance floor packed with suits and gowns. The gym transformed—silver streamers, soft blue lighting, like something out of a dream.

Atsumu stood by the punch bowl, fidgeting with his tie. Deep maroon suit, a departure from his usual brights. Someone had styled his hair—spikes tamed into something elegant, a few strands falling across his forehead.

He looked good.

He felt like he was going to throw up.

"Ya look like a constipated peacock," Osamu said, appearing at his elbow.

"Ya look like a constipated raccoon."

Osamu wore a simple black suit, hair combed back. Almost respectable.

"Nervous for yer boyfriend's crowning?" Osamu grabbed a cup of punch.

"Shut up."

"I heard he's a shoo-in for prom king. Mr. Popular. Mr. Nice Guy. Mr. I'm-Too-Good-For-This-World."

"He is too good for this world," Atsumu muttered.

"Ya're not gonna defend his honor with yer fists, are ya?"

"Maybe."

Osamu laughed and clapped his shoulder. "Relax, Tsumu. Even if he wins, he's still yer idiot."

"But the prom queen—"

"The prom queen is..."

Osamu's voice trailed off as the DJ announced the ceremony. The crowd parted, and there, walking toward the stage, was Aran Oijirou.

Navy blue suit, tailored. Hair neat, posture confident, smile easy. A prince.

Atsumu's heart did something complicated.

"And your prom king," the DJ announced, "by a landslide vote... Aran Oijirou!"

The crowd erupted. Aran, genuinely surprised, made his way to the stage. He accepted the crown with a humble nod, his eyes scanning the crowd till they found Atsumu.

He winked.

Atsumu's face went red.

"And your prom queen... Kaede Hoshino!"

A girl in a flowing silver gown stepped forward, dark hair pinned with glittering clips. She smiled warmly. Aran's expression flickered with recognition.

Ah.

Kaede was Aran's ex-girlfriend. From before Atsumu. They'd dated briefly in first year before realizing they were better as friends. Kind, pretty, utterly unthreatening.

But she was the prom queen.

And she was going to dance with Aran.

The first dance started, a slow ballad. Aran offered Kaede his hand. She took it. They stepped onto the floor together.

Atsumu watched.

The way Aran's hand rested on her waist—respectful, platonic. The way they moved together, easy. Kaede leaned in and said something that made Aran laugh.

Jealousy coiled hot and sharp in Atsumu's stomach.

He knew it was irrational. He knew Aran loved him. This was just formality, tradition, a dance between friends.

But knowing didn't stop the ache.

The song swelled. Kaede rose on tiptoes. Her lips met Aran's cheek.

Just his cheek.

But from Atsumu's angle, it looked like a kiss.

The punch bowl creaked under his grip.

"Easy there," Suna said, suddenly beside him. "That's school property."

"She kissed him."

"On the cheek."

"It counts."

"It really doesn't."

But Atsumu's jaw was set, eyes fixed on the dance floor. Aran still dancing, still smiling, still completely unaware of the storm brewing by the refreshment table.

The song ended. Crowd clapped. Aran bowed to Kaede with a gentlemanly flourish and said something that made her laugh.

Then he stepped away.

He searched the crowd again, his eyes landing on Atsumu. That soft, private smile. He started walking.

But three girls intercepted him, asking for a dance. Then two more. Then a group of underclassmen wanting photos.

Atsumu's patience frayed.

He turned and walked out.

The hallway was quiet, prom muffled behind the doors. He leaned against the lockers, staring at the ceiling, trying to breathe.

He was being stupid. He knew it. Aran hadn't done anything wrong. This was just the jealousy talking. The insecurity. The fear that one day Aran would realize he could do better.

That fear was old, familiar, exhausting.

The gym doors creaked open.

"There ya are."

Aran's voice, warm and concerned. Atsumu didn't turn around.

"Ya missed the rest of the crowning," Aran said, footsteps echoing. "Suna got a picture. I look ridiculous in a crown."

"'M not missin' anything."

"Ya are. Ya're missin' me."

Atsumu's throat tightened.

Aran stopped in front of him, close enough that Atsumu could smell his cologne. He gently pried Atsumu's hands away from his chest and held them.

"Did I do somethin' wrong?"

"No."

"Ya walked out."

"'M fine."

"Ya're not."

Atsumu finally looked at him. Aran's eyes were earnest, searching, full of a love that made Atsumu's heart hurt.

"Kaede kissed ya," Atsumu said, his voice small.

"On the cheek. She was sayin' thank ya."

"I know."

"But it bothered ya."

"I said I know."

Aran was quiet for a moment. Then he lifted Atsumu's hands and pressed kisses to each of his knuckles, slow and deliberate.

"I love ya," he said. "Only ya. Only ever ya."

"She's pretty."

"Not as pretty as my beautiful blonde."

"Ya're just sayin' that."

"I'm sayin' it 'cause it's true." Aran stepped closer, chest brushing Atsumu's. "Ya think I'd spend four years with someone I didn't love? Ya think I'd kiss ya in front of the whole team, spin ya around, tell ya I love ya every single day if I didn't mean it?"

Atsumu's eyes were wet. "When ya put it that way..."

"I put it that way because it's the truth." Aran's hand came up to cup Atsumu's cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear. "I was lookin' for ya, ya know. On the dance floor. I told Kaede I had to find my beautiful blonde."

"Ya did not."

"I did. Ask her."

A sound escaped Atsumu's throat, half sob, half laugh. "Ya're so stupid."

"Yer stupid."

"Our stupid."

Aran laughed, low and warm, and pulled Atsumu into a hug. Atsumu buried his face in Aran's shoulder, breathing him in.

"I'm sorry," Atsumu mumbled. "I'm bein' ridiculous."

"Ya're bein' human."

"Same thing."

"No. Ya're allowed to feel things, Tsumu. Even messy things. Just... come find me next time, okay? Don't run away."

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Aran pulled back, hands settling on Atsumu's waist. "Now. I believe I owe ya a dance."

"In the hallway?"

"Best place for it. Private. Intimate. No prom queens."

Atsumu laughed, and it felt like breaking through the surface after holding his breath too long. "Yeah. Okay."

Aran pulled out his phone and queued up a song—soft, slow. He held out his hand.

Atsumu took it.

They swayed together under the flickering hallway lights, nothing but the music and each other. Aran hummed along, off-key but earnest. Atsumu rested his head on his shoulder.

"I love ya," Aran said, the words settling into the quiet like a benediction.

"I love ya too," Atsumu whispered back.

"Say it again."

"Oijirou... I love ya."

"Again."

"I love ya."

"One more time."

"Ya're gonna make me say it until I die."

"That's the plan."

Atsumu lifted his head, looked Aran in the eye, and smiled. "I love ya, Aran Oijirou. For as long as ya want me to."

"Forever, then."

"Forever's a long time."

"Good. I got plenty of time."

They kissed in the empty hallway, the music still playing, the prom still happening behind closed doors. And when they finally pulled apart, breathless and smiling, Atsumu's jealousy had dissolved into something softer.

Trust.

The gym doors burst open.

"FOUND 'EM!" Osamu shouted. A flood of teammates poured into the hallway.

"Get a room!" Suna called.

"We've been lookin' everywhere!" Bokuto added.

Aran's arm stayed around Atsumu's waist. Atsumu's hand stayed tangled in Aran's jacket.

"Ya're not even gonna pretend to be embarrassed?" Osamu demanded.

"Nope," Atsumu said, grinning.

"Gross."

"Jealous."

"Hate ya."

"Love ya too, Samu."

The team surrounded them, teasing and laughing, pulling them back toward the prom. And Aran and Atsumu went willingly, hands clasped, hearts steady.

Because this was theirs.

And they weren't hiding anymore.