The Captain's Fictional Lover

The Inarizaki gym still smelled like sweat and liniment, even after practice ended. Kita Shinsuke wiped down the volleyball cart like he did every day—slow, methodical, not a single wasted motion. The rest of the team was scattered across the floor, some chugging water, others just lying there like they'd died.

Ginjima and Aran walked up with that look. The one that meant trouble.

"Kita-san," Ginjima said, grinning like an idiot. "We were just talking."

"That's dangerous for you two," Kita said, not looking up.

Aran snorted. "We were wondering. You're always so put together, so perfect. But we've never seen you with anyone. No girlfriend, no boyfriend. Nothing."

Kita's hand stopped. He straightened. "Is there a point?"

"The point," Ginjima said, stepping closer, "is that we think you're secretly terrible at romance. Probably terrible in bed too. Too rigid. Too serious."

Aran nodded. "I bet you've never even kissed anyone properly."

That one landed. Kita felt his jaw tighten, heat creeping up his neck. He was proud of his discipline, his leadership, his precision. But his romantic experience? A gap. And being mocked for it stung more than he wanted to admit.

"I have a lover," Kita said.

The words came out before he could stop them.

Silence.

Ginjima and Aran exchanged a look. Pure disbelief.

"Prove it," Ginjima said. "Bring them to practice tomorrow. Otherwise we'll know you're lying."

Kita's mind raced. He had no lover. No one. He was a captain, a student, a farmer's grandson—not some romantic lead.

Then his eyes landed on Atsumu Miya.

The setter was at the water fountain, back to the team, drinking deep. His jersey was damp, clinging to his back. That ridiculous bleached-blond mess of hair stuck to his forehead. The last person Kita would ever ask for help.

But desperate times.

Kita walked across the gym, footsteps steady even though his heart was hammering. He reached Atsumu just as he straightened, wiping his mouth.

Atsumu's face flickered with surprise. "Kita-san? Somethin' wrong?"

Kita slid his arm around Atsumu's waist, pulling him close. Felt him freeze. Felt his breath catch.

"Play along," Kita whispered, lips brushing his ear. "Please."

For a second, nothing. Then something shifted in those amber eyes. Understanding. Mischief. Something deeper.

"Got it," Atsumu breathed.

And then he kissed Kita.

Not a simple kiss. A performance. Atsumu's hands came up—one threading into Kita's hair, the other sliding to his hip. He tilted his head and deepened it, moving like he'd done this a thousand times. Kita stood frozen, mind blank, body responding without permission.

When Atsumu pulled back, his lipstick—Kita hadn't even noticed he was wearing any—left a red stain across Kita's mouth. Atsumu's lips were smeared, eyes half-lidded.

But he wasn't done.

He took Kita's hand—that broad, calloused hand—and guided it to his own backside. The practice shorts were thin, and underneath, Kita felt lace.

"You're not the only one who can be scandalous, Captain," Atsumu murmured, low. Then louder: "C'mon, baby. Don't be shy."

He kissed Kita again, and this time a soft moan escaped his throat. Theatrical. Exaggerated. Completely convincing. It echoed through the silent gym.

When they broke apart, Atsumu's lipstick was wrecked, smeared across both their faces. He grinned, wild and triumphant.

Behind them, Ginjima's jaw was on the floor. Aran was gripping the volleyball cart like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

"Well," Atsumu said, voice smug, "yer captain and I've got some things to discuss. Private things. Don't wait up."

He grabbed Kita's hand—still frozen, still pressed against that lace—and dragged him out of the gym.

The hallway was empty, lit by fluorescent lights. As soon as they were out of sight, Kita pulled his hand back like it burned.

"Sorry," he said, voice rough. "That was... I shouldn't have asked you."

Atsumu leaned against the wall, wiping his mouth. "Nah, it was fun. Been wantin' to do that for a while, actually."

Kita blinked. "What?"

"Nothin'," Atsumu said quickly, ears red. He cleared his throat. "So, was that enough? Or do I gotta do another show?"

"It was... sufficient," Kita admitted, face burning. "Thank you, Atsumu. I owe you."

Atsumu waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. But if yer teammates ask questions, we gotta stick to the story. Can't have 'em thinkin' our captain's a liar."

Kita's stomach twisted. He hadn't thought that far. Of course, there'd be follow-ups. Details to fabricate. A whole relationship to fake.

"We'll have to... continue this," Kita said slowly. "The fake relationship. For credibility."

Atsumu's eyes widened for a split second, then he recovered. "Yeah. Sure. For credibility."

They stood there in the empty hallway, the weight of the lie settling between them like a third person.

Practice the next day was a minefield.

Ginjima and Aran greeted Kita with new respect, clapping him on the back, asking when they'd meet Atsumu properly. As a couple. In public.

Kita's answers were measured, evasive. Atsumu played the doting partner perfectly. Brought Kita water during breaks. Sat next to him in the team meeting. Fixed his collar when it was crooked, fingers lingering.

Osamu noticed first.

The twin watched the whole display with narrowed eyes. At lunch, he cornered Kita outside the cafeteria.

"Oi, Kita-san. What's goin' on with my brother?"

Kita kept his face neutral. "We're dating."

Osamu snorted. "Since when? Yer tellin' me Atsumu's been hidin' a relationship with our captain for... what? Years? And I never knew?"

"Some things are private."

"Atsumu ain't private about anythin'. He loudmouths every detail to anyone who'll listen. The fact that he never mentioned you until yesterday is suspicious."

Kita felt sweat trickle down his back. "Perhaps he was respecting my desire for privacy."

Osamu stared at him, gray eyes sharp and knowing. Then he shook his head.

"Fine. But if he hurts you, I'll kick his ass. Then I'll kick yours for lettin' him."

He walked away, leaving Kita standing there, heart pounding.

The fake dating continued.

Lunches. Atsumu would show up at Kita's classroom door, bento in hand, announcing loudly that he was "stealin' my boyfriend for the afternoon." They'd sit on the roof, eating in careful silence, exchanging forced pleasantries.

But the silences got easier. The pleasantries became natural.

"Yer not eatin' enough," Atsumu said one day, poking at Kita's half-finished rice. "You'll get weak durin' practice."

"I eat adequately."

"Yer left half. That ain't adequate. That's starvation."

Kita looked at the bento, then at Atsumu. The setter had already finished his own and was eyeing Kita's leftovers with undisguised longing.

"You can have it if you're still hungry."

Atsumu's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Don't let it go to waste."

Atsumu dug in, and something warm unfurled in Kita's chest. Dangerous, this feeling. Real.

They started walking home together. The path from the gym to the main gate was lined with cherry trees, blossoms long gone. They walked in comfortable silence, shoulders occasionally brushing.

"What do you do when you're not at practice?" Atsumu asked one evening.

"Help my grandparents at the farm. Study. Sleep."

"That's it? No hobbies?"

"Taking care of the farm is a full-time commitment."

"Bet you're good at it, though," Atsumu said, kicking a pebble. "You're good at everything you do."

Kita glanced at him. "Not everything."

Atsumu's step faltered. "Like what?"

"I'm not good at... deciphering feelings. My own or others."

Atsumu looked at him, gaze intense. "Maybe you ain't givin' yourself enough credit."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, but Kita's mind was spinning.

Osamu got more protective. He watched Kita like a hawk, cataloging every interaction with his twin. Started showing up at unexpected times—during Kita's lunch breaks, at the gym after Kita stayed late, even at the farm once, claiming he was "just passin' by."

"You're not subtle," Kita told him as Osamu helped feed the chickens.

"I ain't tryin' to be," Osamu said. "Somethin' ain't right with you and my brother. I can feel it."

"There's nothing wrong."

"Then why do you look like yer about to throw up every time I mention him?"

Kita didn't have an answer.

The confrontation came on a Thursday evening.

Atsumu and Kita had just finished a brutal practice. The team left, but Atsumu lingered, helping put equipment away. They were alone in the gym when the door slid open.

Osamu stood there, expression dark.

"Samu," Atsumu said, voice wary. "What're you doin' here?"

"We need to talk. Both of you."

Kita and Atsumu exchanged a glance. Then they followed him out to the empty hallway.

"Alright," Osamu said, crossing his arms. "I've had enough of this act. Kita-san, you're my captain. Atsumu, you're my idiot twin. I know you both. And I know this relationship is fake."

Atsumu went pale. "Samu—"

"Don't 'Samu' me. I've been watchin'. The way you two look at each other—it ain't how couples look. It's how strangers tryin' to figure each other out look. So I'm gonna ask once, and I want the truth: What the hell is goin' on?"

Silence.

Then Kita spoke. "It started as a lie."

Osamu's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

So Kita did. He told him about the teasing, the impulsive claim, the kiss in the gymnasium. Everything.

By the end, Osamu's expression had shifted from anger to something softer. Almost sad.

"So you're datin' to save face," he said.

"That was the original purpose," Kita admitted.

"And now?"

Kita opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn't know how to answer.

Atsumu stepped forward. "Samu, whatever this is, it's between me and Kita-san. Yer my brother, but you don't get a say."

Osamu looked at his twin, really looked. Then his expression softened.

"Fine," he said quietly. "But I'm warnin' you, Atsumu. If you hurt him—"

"I won't."

"Better not."

Osamu turned and walked away, leaving them alone in the dim light.

Kita didn't sleep that night.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation. The lie had grown beyond his control. And somewhere along the way, it had stopped being a lie.

He thought about Atsumu's laugh, free and loud. The way his eyes softened when he looked at Kita when he thought Kita wasn't watching. The kiss—not the theatrical one in the gym, but the small, gentle one Atsumu had pressed to his cheek the day before, when no one was looking.

That one had felt real.

And Kita's heart had stuttered.

The next day, Kita found himself standing outside the gym after practice, waiting. The team had left, but Atsumu was still inside, gathering his stuff.

Kita heard voices. Atsumu and Osamu.

He should have walked away. He stayed.

"It started fake, okay?" Atsumu's voice echoed through the thin walls. "But it ain't fake anymore. Not for me."

Pause. Osamu's voice, low: "What are you sayin'?"

"I'm sayin' I love him, Samu. I've loved him since I was fifteen. Since the first time I saw him captaining the team. He's perfect, and I'm a mess, and I don't deserve him, but I can't stop."

Kita's breath caught.

"When Kita-san came up to me that day and asked me to play along, I thought it was a joke. But I said yes because I wanted to be close to him. I wanted to feel his hand on my waist, his lips on mine, even if it wasn't real."

"Is it real now?" Osamu asked.

"It's real for me," Atsumu said, voice cracking. "I don't know if it's real for him. I don't know if it can ever be. But I'll keep pretendin' if that's what it takes. Because havin' him as a fake boyfriend is better than not havin' him at all."

Kita's knuckles went white against the wall.

He pushed the door open.

Both twins turned. Atsumu's eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks flushed.

"Kita-san," he said, barely a whisper. "How much did you—"

"Enough," Kita said. He walked forward, steps steady, heart pounding. "I heard enough."

"I'm sorry," Atsumu said quickly. "I didn't mean to—I know this was supposed to be fake, I was just supposed to help, but I couldn't—"

"Stop talking."

Atsumu's mouth snapped shut.

Kita reached him, close enough to see the gold flecks in his eyes. He cupped Atsumu's face in his hands.

"I'm not good with feelings," Kita said, low. "Never have been. But I've had to face them, these past few weeks. And I've realized something."

Atsumu's breath was shallow. "What?"

"Every time you kissed me, I wanted it to be real. Every time you held my hand, I wished you wouldn't let go. Every time you looked at me like I was the only person in the world, I wanted to keep you looking."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to Atsumu's.

"It is real," he whispered. "For me, too."

Atsumu let out a shaky breath, hands coming up to cover Kita's. "Really?"

"Really."

And then Kita kissed him.

Nothing like the performances for the team. Soft. Hesitant. Exploratory. Mint toothpaste and warmth and the steady beat of Kita's heart against his ribs.

When they pulled back, Atsumu was crying.

"Yer gonna make me emotional, Captain," he said, laughing through his tears.

Kita smiled. Small, rare.

"Good," he said.

Osamu cleared his throat from the doorway. "So, we official now? Or do I gotta listen to more confessions?"

Atsumu threw a towel at him. "Shut up, Samu!"

But he was grinning, and Kita was holding his hand, and the warmth in Kita's chest felt like it might never fade.

The team noticed the change immediately.

Not the exaggerated displays—the quiet moments. Atsumu fixing Kita's collar without being asked. Kita handing Atsumu a water bottle before he even knew he was thirsty. The way they stood close during team huddles, shoulders touching, breathing in sync.

"You two are disgustin'," Aran said one day, watching them share a bento.

"Jealousy is unbecoming," Kita replied, not looking up.

"Captain's got a mouth on him now," Ginjima muttered. "Atsumu's a bad influence."

"Nah," Osamu said, rare smile playing at his lips. "I think it's the best thing that ever happened to him."

That afternoon, after practice, the team gathered in a loose circle. Atsumu and Kita stood in the center, hands intertwined.

"So," Suna said, dry as ever. "Captain and Atsumu, official couple?"

"Official," Kita confirmed.

"Then I guess we're celebratin'," Aran said, pulling out a box of onigiri he'd hidden somewhere. "Congrats, lovebirds."

The team cheered, crowding around, clapping their backs. Atsumu laughed, loud and free, and Kita found himself smiling—genuinely smiling—surrounded by his teammates and the boy he loved.

Later, when everyone had left and the gym was quiet, they sat on the floor, leaning against each other.

"Thanks for playin' along," Kita said softly.

"Anytime, Captain," Atsumu replied, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Anytime."

The cherry trees outside had lost their blossoms months ago. Kita didn't mind. Spring would come again, with new flowers.

But for now, he had this.

He had Atsumu.

That was more than enough.