The Fox's Glow-Up

The gymnasium echoed with the thud of volleyballs, the squeak of shoes, and the occasional shout—frustration or encouragement, hard to tell. Practice was winding down. First-years scrambled to collect balls while the regulars stretched or slumped on benches. Atsumu Miya stood near the net, towel over his shoulder, pretending to check his knee pads. But his eyes were fixed on the far end of the court.

Suna Rintarou had just finished blocking drills. He walked toward the water station with that unhurried, lanky grace that always made Atsumu’s stomach do weird flips. But today—today something was different. Something that made Atsumu’s breath catch in his throat.

Suna had always been wiry, but now his practice jersey clung to his shoulders and arms like it had been painted on. The muscles in his back shifted visibly when he reached for his water bottle. His calves, bare in his shorts, looked stronger, more defined. Atsumu’s gaze traced those lines, then snagged on the fresh cut of Suna’s hair—shorter on the sides, longer on top, giving him a sharper edge. It suited him.

But the real kicker was the ink.

Peeking out from the hem of Suna’s jersey sleeve, just above his left collarbone, was a fox. A red fox, tail curling elegantly, eyes sharp and knowing. Small—maybe three inches across—but unmistakable. And it matched the one Atsumu had gotten on his own ribcage last summer.

Atsumu’s heart pounded. He pressed his lips together, tasting the faint cherry of his lipstick. He’d worn it today on a whim—red, bold, a shade that made him feel powerful. Now he was glad. He needed every bit of confidence.

“Miya-san, we’re done with the balls,” a first-year called.

“Yeah, yeah,” Atsumu said, waving a hand. “Put ‘em in the cart. I’ll check ‘em later.”

He pulled his phone out, checked his reflection in the black screen. Mascara still perfect, lashes long and dark. Lipstick intact, though a little faded from drinking water. He’d fix that.

Without another thought, he slipped into the locker room. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, harsh and white. He pulled a small compact mirror from his bag—he always carried one now—and carefully reapplied the red lipstick, drawing the line with practiced precision. Then a quick flick of the mascara wand to darken the tips. He puckered his lips, checked his side profile, and decided he looked good. Good enough to make Suna’s dry humor stumble.

He stepped back into the gym. Most of the team had filtered out, heading for showers or the club room. Osamu was still there, packing his bag with grumpy efficiency. And Suna was alone, sitting on the floor near the baseline, stretching his long legs in a wide straddle, reaching for his right foot, then his left.

Atsumu’s mouth went dry.

He walked over, footsteps deliberately casual, letting his hips sway a little more than usual. Stopped a few feet away—close enough to be noticed, not close enough to crowd.

Suna glanced up, one eyebrow lifting. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu said, and launched into the line he’d been rehearsing in his head for the past ten minutes. He let his voice go soft, almost singsong, and gave Suna his best flirty smirk. “You’re a shooting star I see, a vision of ecstasy. When you hold me tight, I’ll be your satellite.”

Silence stretched for a beat. Two.

Suna’s lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk. “You been listening to too much 80s pop, Miya? Or did you write that yourself?”

Atsumu felt heat rise to his cheeks, but he held his ground. “Does it matter? I saw you got a new haircut. And a tattoo.”

“Yeah,” Suna said, rising in one fluid motion. He was taller than Atsumu by a few inches, and up close, the defined muscles in his arms were even more obvious. “Thought it was time for a change. You like it?”

Atsumu’s eyes flickered to the fox peeking from his sleeve. “Maybe. I got one too, y’know.”

“I know,” Suna said, voice dropping slightly. “Saw it at training camp last year. Same fox.”

Atsumu’s heart did a triple axel. “You remembered?”

“Hard to forget when you spent half the beach trip showing it off.”

“I did not—”

“You lifted your shirt to cool off like ten times.”

Atsumu’s blush deepened. “That’s because it was hot.”

“Sure.” Suna’s tone was dry, but his eyes were warm. He let the silence hang just long enough to make Atsumu squirm.

“Anyway,” Atsumu said, recovering, “you look different. Good different. Like you actually started lifting weights instead of just skipping leg day.”

“I’ve always had legs,” Suna said flatly. “But thanks for noticing.”

“I notice everything,” Atsumu said, and let his gaze travel deliberately down Suna’s body and back up. “Especially when it’s worth noticing.”

Before Suna could respond, a voice cut through. “Oi, Atsumu, you flirting with my best friend again?”

Osamu walked up, gym bag slung over his shoulder, expression carefully neutral but eyes glinting with amusement.

Atsumu spun around. “I ain’t flirting. We’re just talking.”

“Right,” Osamu said, dragging the word out. “Sure looked like talking. Suna, don’t let him bother you.”

“He’s not bothering me,” Suna said smoothly. He met Atsumu’s eyes. “We were just talking.”

Osamu raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Just shook his head and headed for the door. “Lock up when you’re done.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Atsumu muttered. He turned back to Suna, relieved and embarrassed. But Suna was still looking at him, that quiet smirk in place.

“You wanted to talk about something else?” Suna asked.

Atsumu scrambled for a reason to stay. He could feel the opportunity slipping. “Actually, yeah,” he said, grabbing the first excuse that came to mind. “I’ve been working on a new serve—jump float variation. My consistency’s been off. Could you watch my toss? You’ve got a good eye for that.”

Suna tilted his head. “You want my help?”

“Yeah. If you’re not busy.”

“I’m not busy.” Suna walked over to the ball cart, pulled out a ball, and tossed it to Atsumu. “Show me what you got.”

They ended up staying another hour. The gym grew quiet, the echo of their feet and the slap of the ball against palms the only sounds. Atsumu worked through his serves, Suna standing at the net, watching, occasionally correcting his toss or the angle of his approach. Each time Suna stepped close to demonstrate, Atsumu caught the faint scent of detergent and something warm underneath. Each time Suna’s hand brushed his to adjust his grip, a jolt went through him.

“You’re rushing your jump,” Suna said, standing behind him. He placed a hand on Atsumu’s lower back, guiding him to release tension. “Relax your shoulders. You’re tight.”

Atsumu’s breath hitched. “I’m not tight.”

“You are. Breathe.”

He did. Suna’s hand stayed a moment longer than necessary before he stepped away.

They practiced another twenty minutes, ball flying and landing. Atsumu’s serves improved, but his focus was elsewhere. On the way Suna’s eyes followed him. On the small smile at the corner of Suna’s mouth. On the way the gym lights caught the red of the fox tattoo every time Suna reached up.

Finally, Atsumu called it. “One more.” He set the ball, jumped, served. It curved, dipped, and landed perfectly in the far corner.

“Nice,” Suna said, genuine approval in his voice.

Atsumu grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Told you I was good.”

“You’re okay,” Suna said. He walked over, and suddenly they were face to face, only a foot apart. “Can I see yours? The tattoo?”

Atsumu blinked. “Now?”

“Yeah. Only seen it from a distance.”

Atsumu’s mouth went dry, but he nodded. He lifted the hem of his shirt just above his ribs, revealing the red fox curling around his side. Suna’s gaze dropped, and he reached out, fingers brushing the edge of the ink.

The touch was featherlight, but Atsumu felt it like a spark. His skin tingled. Suna’s fingers traced the outline of the tail, then stopped.

“It’s a good tattoo,” Suna said softly. He looked up, dark eyes unreadable. “You’ve been looking at me all night, Miya. I think I like it.”

Atsumu’s heart stopped. Then raced. “You—what?”

Suna didn’t answer. He just cupped Atsumu’s face with his other hand, thumb brushing over his cheekbone, smudging the perfect mascara slightly. But Atsumu didn’t care. He leaned into the touch, eyes half-closing.

“Is this okay?” Suna asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Atsumu answered by closing the distance.

The kiss was soft, tentative—a brush of lips that tasted like salt and cherry lipstick. Atsumu’s hands came up to grip the front of Suna’s jersey, pulling him closer. Suna’s arm slid around his waist, steadying him. They stayed like that for a long, breathless moment, the gym silent except for the hum of the lights.

When they finally pulled apart, Atsumu’s cheeks were flushed, his lipstick slightly smeared. He let out a shaky laugh.

“Well,” he said. “That happened.”

Suna smiled—a real smile, not his usual wry smirk. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad? I’ve been trying to do that for like a year.”

“Only a year?” Suna’s smirk returned. “I was starting to think you’d never make a move.”

“Hey, I just did!”

“Yeah.” Suna’s thumb traced Atsumu’s bottom lip, wiping away a smudge. “And it was worth the wait.”

They stood there, hands intertwined, for a few more moments before Atsumu cleared his throat. “So… about that ice cream?”

“Ice cream?”

“Yeah. As a ‘congratulations for your serve improvement’.”

Suna snorted. “That’s the flimsiest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“Does it matter?”

Suna squeezed his hand. “No, it doesn’t.”

They packed up their gear in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging glances that lingered. When they left the gym, the night air was cool, stars beginning to appear. They walked side by side, hands brushing, then Suna’s fingers found Atsumu’s, lacing together.

The cafe was small, warm, mostly empty at this hour. They ordered two cones—chocolate for Suna, strawberry for Atsumu—and sat in a corner booth. Atsumu leaned against Suna’s shoulder as they ate, watching condensation drip down the window.

“You know,” Atsumu said quietly, “I always thought you were cool. Back in first year. But I never said anything.”

“I know,” Suna said. “You showed it by trying to spike at my head during practice.”

Atsumu laughed. “That’s how I show affection.”

“Hmm.” Suna took a bite of his cone. “I always liked your style. The makeup, the way you don’t care what people think. It’s… unique.”

Atsumu looked up, surprised. “You really think that?”

“Yeah. I think it’s one of the things that makes you you.”

Atsumu felt warmth spread through his chest, and he snuggled closer. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

They finished their ice cream in comfortable silence, and when they left, Suna insisted on paying. “Congratulations on the serve improvement,” he said, and Atsumu rolled his eyes but smiled.

As they walked home, Atsumu’s hand in Suna’s, he caught their reflection in a darkened shop window. Two figures, close together—one with red-stained lips and a shy smile, the other with a fox tattoo and quiet contentment in his eyes.

Atsumu leaned his head against Suna’s shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

This glow-up, he thought. Best thing that ever happened to me.