Honeybee Confessions

The Inarizaki gym still smelled like sweat and rubber, even though practice had ended twenty minutes ago. Three hours of serves, receives, and drills had left everyone sprawled across the floor like beached whales. Atsumu Miya lay flat on his back, chest heaving, his blond hair—usually styled to perfection—plastered to his forehead in messy spikes.

"Oi, get off the floor, ya lazy jackass." Osamu's voice cut through the quiet. He stood over Atsumu, towel around his neck, face as flat as ever. "We gotta clean up before the manager locks the place."

Atsumu groaned and rolled onto his side. "Five more minutes, Samu. My legs are about to fall off."

"Ya ran three suicides and then cried about it." Suna Rintarou leaned against the wall, phone in hand, scrolling. "Dramatic as always."

"Shut up, Suna." But Atsumu pushed himself up anyway, stretching with a theatrical groan. The burn in his muscles felt good. Satisfying.

The team shuffled into the clubroom a bit later—a cramped space that smelled like liniment and old uniforms. Someone had left a bag of chips open on the floor. Ginjima Hitoshi was already reaching for it.

"Don't eat before ya shower," Akagi Michinari warned, slapping his hand away. "Ya get crumbs everywhere."

"I'm starving," Ginjima whined, but he grabbed his towel instead.

Atsumu collapsed onto the bench, letting his head thunk back against the locker. The exhaustion was a heavy, pleasant weight. He watched the others move around—pulling off jerseys, grabbing bags.

Suna had taken over the corner of the bench, his phone glowing in the dim light. He was scrolling with a quiet smile. Omimi Ren, ever the tall, gentle presence, sat beside him, peering over his shoulder.

"What ya watching?" Omimi asked.

"TikTok. Some guy doing makeup tutorials. His blending's actually really good."

"Makeup?" Ginjima perked up. "Let me see."

Within minutes, a small crowd had gathered around Suna's phone. Atsumu stayed put, not interested in makeup videos. But then Suna let out a low whistle.

"This account has like five million followers," Suna said, genuinely surprised. "And the videos are… cute. Very romantic too. There's one where she's dancing with a guy."

"She?" Akagi leaned in. "Let me see the profile picture."

Suna tilted the phone. The avatar was a soft, pastel-toned close-up of a person with long, flowing blond hair, styled in waves, with delicate makeup. Hard to tell gender at a glance. The username was something whimsical: @honeybee_miya.

Osamu, who'd been sorting through his bag, glanced up at the mention of the username. His eyes flickered to Atsumu, who'd gone very still on the bench.

"Miis?" Osamu muttered, low enough only Atsumu could hear.

Atsumu shot him a panicked, wide-eyed look. His mouth opened but no sound came out.

"Wait," Ginjima said, squinting at the screen. "I swear I saw this video earlier. She's dancing to that new pop song. The one with the funny choreography."

Suna scrolled further. "Oh, here. This one's a transformation video. Goes from no makeup to full glam in thirty seconds. The difference is insane."

"She's pretty," Akagi admitted. "Like, really pretty. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was a model."

Omimi nodded. "The hair matches yours, Atsumu. Same shade of blond. But you're a guy, so…"

Atsumu's heart was pounding so hard he was sure everyone could hear it. He started edging toward his bag—slow, casual—if he could just grab his phone before anyone—

"Wait." Suna's voice sharpened. He paused the video, eyes narrowing. "There's a watermark on this." He squinted. "@honeybee_miya. That's the account name."

"Yeah, so?" Ginjima said.

"So, look at the background." Suna zoomed in on a still frame. "That's the mirror in the girls' bathroom at our school. I recognize the crack in the corner."

The clubroom went silent.

Atsumu froze mid-crawl toward his bag.

"No way," Akagi breathed. "That's… one of us?"

Osamu pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, suffering sigh. "Atsumu."

All eyes snapped to Atsumu, who had turned a shade of red that rivaled a tomato. He was caught halfway between standing and crouching, hand outstretched, looking like a deer in headlights.

"It's not what it looks like," he said, voice cracking.

Suna's eyes widened, a slow grin spreading. "You're @honeybee_miya? The makeup tutorial queen with five million followers?"

"No! I mean—well, technically yes, but—"

"Atsumu!" Ginjima burst out laughing. "You? You do makeup? You wear dresses?"

"It's just a hobby!" Atsumu's voice went shrill, face now deep crimson. "It's not a big deal!"

But the team was already crowding around Suna's phone, scrolling through videos. Suna, the traitor, had started playing one.

The video was a short clip—Atsumu, hair styled in soft waves, wearing a delicate white blouse and black skirt. His makeup was light, natural, emphasizing his eyes and lips. He laughed at something off-camera, smile wide and genuine, then started to dance. The choreography was smooth, graceful—nothing like the explosive energy he brought to volleyball. He looked… happy. Beautiful.

"Holy crap," Akagi said, awe-struck. "You're actually good at this."

"I'm gonna die," Atsumu muttered, burying his face in his hands.

Suna kept scrolling. "There's more. Look at this one—'Date night with my boyfriend.'" He clicked.

The room held its breath. The video showed Atsumu again, in full glam, wearing a flowy sundress, holding hands with a tall, dark-haired boy. The boy had a mask on, but his eyes—sharp, with a beauty mark just above his brow—were unmistakable.

"That's…" Omimi trailed off.

"That's Sakusa Kiyoomi," Ginjima finished, barely above a whisper. "From Itachiyama. The ace spiker."

Silence stretched, thick and heavy.

Atsumu wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Heat radiated off his skin, hands trembling. He'd never planned for anyone to find out. It started as a fun, anonymous outlet—a place to explore the softer side of himself without being "Atsumu Miya, Volleyball Star." But it grew into something he cherished. And now it was all out in the open.

"There's another one," Suna said, voice oddly gentle. He scrolled to a video titled "Prom Night." The thumbnail showed Atsumu in a stunning red dress, strappy heels, flawless makeup. Sakusa in a sharp black suit, hand on Atsumu's waist. Clips of Atsumu twirling, laughing, getting a corsage pinned to his wrist. Sakusa leaning down to whisper something in his ear, making him blush. The final clip: the two slow-dancing under fairy lights, Atsumu's head on Sakusa's shoulder. Caption: "Best night of my life. Love you, Kiyo."

The locker room felt quieter than a library at midnight.

"Atsumu…" Osamu's voice was surprisingly soft. He'd moved closer, hand on Atsumu's shoulder. "It's okay."

"It's not okay!" Atsumu's voice cracked again. "They're gonna think I'm weird, or—or girly, or—"

"We think you're cool," Suna interrupted, tone flat but sincere. "Five million followers. That's insane. You're literally a celebrity."

"And you can dance," Ginjima added, grinning. "I've never seen you move like that on the court."

"And you've got a hot boyfriend," Akagi chimed in, waggling his eyebrows. "Sakusa Kiyoomi. The guy who hates touching people. And he's holding your hand in like fifty videos."

Atsumu blinked, panic slowly ebbing. They weren't mocking him. They were… impressed? Teasing, but good-natured. The heat in his face began to cool.

"You're not… weirded out?" he asked, voice small.

"Why would we be?" Omimi said, expression gentle. "It's just another side of you. You're still the same annoying setter who yells at us during practice."

"Hey!" Atsumu protested, but there was no bite.

Osamu squeezed his shoulder. "I've known ya used makeup since we were kids," he said quietly. "Remember when ya stole Mom's lipstick and painted your whole face? Ya looked like a clown."

Atsumu snorted. "I was seven."

"And ya kept practicing. By middle school, ya could do a perfect smoky eye." Osamu's lips twitched into a rare, soft smile. "I told ya it was fine then, and it's fine now. Sakusa respects ya. That's all that matters."

The team murmured agreement. Atsumu let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his damp hair. "I can't believe ya found that account, though. I thought I was being careful."

Suna shrugged. "You used the school bathroom mirror. That was sloppy."

"I was in a rush!"

The tension broke into laughter. Ginjima clapped him on the back, nearly sending him stumbling. "You have to teach us that dance, though. The one from the first video. That was sick."

"Yeah!" Akagi agreed. "Imagine if we did it at the team party. Everyone would lose their minds."

Atsumu couldn't help but smile. "Fine. But ya have to promise not to laugh when I mess up the choreography."

"As if ya could mess up," Suna said dryly. "You've got five million followers. You're basically a professional."

The easy banter wrapped around him like a warm blanket. He felt lighter, freer. His secret was out, and the world hadn't ended. In fact, it felt a little more colorful.

Then the clubroom door slid open with a soft click.

Everyone turned. In the doorway stood a tall figure in a long-sleeved black jacket, mask covering the lower half of his face. Dark curls slightly tousled, as if he'd been walking fast. His eyes—striking, expressive—found Atsumu immediately.

"Kiyo?" Atsumu's voice came out in a surprised squeak.

Sakusa Kiyoomi stepped inside, gaze scanning the room briefly before landing back on his boyfriend. He seemed unbothered by the sudden silence, by everyone staring.

"I had a match in the area," Sakusa said, voice muffled but clear. "Thought I'd stop by before heading back. Practice ended early."

"Uh…" Atsumu's brain short-circuited. "Yeah. We just finished. How long were ya standing there?"

"Long enough." Sakusa's tone was unreadable. He walked over, deliberate and calm. The team parted to make way.

He stopped in front of Atsumu, looking down with that steady, focused gaze that always made Atsumu's stomach flip. "I heard you were showing them your TikTok."

Atsumu's face went bright red again. "It was an accident! They found it, I didn't—I wouldn't have—I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to get dragged into this."

Sakusa tilted his head. "Why would you apologize?"

"Because—because now everyone knows about us. And about the videos. And the prom dress. And—"

"Atsumu." Sakusa's voice was gentle, cutting through the ramble. He reached out and, with the care of someone handling something precious, cupped Atsumu's cheek. His thumb brushed lightly over the skin, wiping away a stray smear of sweat. "I've never asked you to hide who you are. And I'm not about to start now."

The room went completely silent. Even Ginjima's loud breathing seemed to stop.

Sakusa pulled down his mask, revealing his full face—sharp jaw, beauty mark above his brow, lips curved into a rare, soft smile. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Atsumu's forehead, lingering for a moment.

"You're beautiful," he murmured against Atsumu's skin. "Just as you are. And I'm proud to be in those videos."

Atsumu's heart swelled so big he thought it might burst. He looked up at Sakusa, at the quiet confidence in his eyes, and felt the last of his anxiety melt away. He reached up, fingers curling around Sakusa's wrist, and gave a shaky smile.

"Thanks, Kiyo."

Sakusa's smile widened just a fraction. He pulled away, but his hand stayed on Atsumu's shoulder, warm and grounding.

The team erupted.

"That was so romantic!" Ginjima fake-swooned, clutching his chest. "I think I'm crying."

"You're not crying," Suna said. "But it was pretty smooth, I'll admit."

Akagi let out a low whistle. "Sakusa Kiyoomi, the germaphobe, kissing a sweaty setter on the forehead. The world really has changed."

Osamu just shook his head, but there was a fond look in his eyes. "About time ya stopped being an idiot," he mumbled to Atsumu.

Atsumu stuck his tongue out at his twin, but he was grinning, joy bubbling up inside him like a fountain. He looked around at his team—his friends, his family—and felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude.

"Alright, alright," he said, standing up and brushing off his pants. "Since ya all have seen my secret account, I guess I owe ya something."

"Dance lesson?" Ginjima asked eagerly.

"Dance lesson," Atsumu confirmed. "But first, I'm posting a new video." He pulled out his phone, snapped a quick photo of the whole team—Sakusa included, who stood slightly to the side but didn't object when Atsumu pulled him into the frame. The photo showed the team laughing, arms slung over each other's shoulders, tired but happy grins.

Atsumu captioned it: "My second family. 💛 #InarizakiVolleyball #HoneybeeMiya"

He hit post and pocketed his phone.

"Alright, let's get out of here," he said, slinging an arm around Sakusa's waist. "I'm starving. And Kiyo, ya gotta try the curry bread from the convenience store down the street. It's the best."

Sakusa's nose wrinkled slightly—probably imagining the cleanliness—but he didn't pull away. "I'll consider it."

"That's a yes!" Atsumu cheered, dragging him toward the door. "Come on, team. Food's on me tonight."

"You're paying?" Osamu raised an eyebrow. "Since when do ya ever pay for anything?"

"Since I'm feeling generous," Atsumu shot back. "And because I have a secret TikTok fortune now."

"Five million followers doesn't mean money, dumbass," Suna said.

"It means I'm famous. That's close enough."

Laughter echoed down the hallway as the Inarizaki team followed Atsumu and Sakusa out into the cool evening air. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, and the world felt full of possibilities.

Atsumu leaned into Sakusa's side, feeling the solid warmth of him, and smiled. He had a boyfriend who loved him, a team that accepted him, and a secret account that had accidentally brought them all closer together.

Life was good.