double trouble ★ hiatus

[ 25 ] SO UNFAIRLY GORGEOUS

"I'M GONNA GET HYPOTHERMIA."

you shiver, reaching for his hands, as he intertwines his fingers with yours and pulls you further into the water, which presses against every nook and crevice of your bare body.

"that's why i told you," he says lowly, hands wrapping around you, "to stay close to me, didn't i?"

atsumu's eyes glint in the dark, fingers closing around your body as he holds you close. his hair is wet, hanging in loose strands shadowing his face, and you can feel his wet skin against yours.

"what are we even doing right now?" you ask quietly, the realisation of how completely crazy this moment is suddenly dawning on you. surely, midnight skinny dipping with the neighbour who's phone you stole and who you set up with your friend isn't normal, right? but with how nonchalant atsumu is about the whole situation, maybe you're overthinking it.

he studies you for a moment, about to speak, before saying, "wait, gimme a second." atsumu moves forward ever so slightly, and the water around you both moves so fluidly to caress the shape of your bodies, almost as if they were one. he reaches a hand out to gently tuck the wet hair that clings to your face behind your ears. "there." he hums in satisfaction, "now i can see you properly."

"atsumu." you repeat, sterner this time. "what are we doing??"

"swimming." he replies happily.

"we're both naked." you deadpan.

he sighs, almost sadly. "don't remind me. we should have done this at sunrise, i can't see shit in the dark." he confesses.

you blink. "what—"

"wow!!!" he exclaims suddenly, moving away from you. the boy floats further away, tilts his head back to look at the dark sky, littered with its own galaxies and dying suns. he points to the sky, and you follow his motion, gazing at a cluster of stars. "don't those stars resemble a horse?"

"i mean, they're certainly stars." you wince, "don't know where you got the horse part from." you glance over at him gazing at the night sky and he is so lovely even in the dark that your heart twists in jealousy because god, god really had his favourites. "atsumu, you're so unfairly gorgeous." you mumble under your breath, taking in the way the moonlight softly settles across his features. the boy's lips quirk into a sly smile, one of amusement and intrigue. you roll your eyes, but he notices your smile.

"unfairly gorgeous, huh?" his teeth glint in the dark, eyes burning with mischief, the desire to cause trouble. atsumu runs a hand through his wet hair, the blonde strands now slicked back messily, "what, don't tell me yer in love with me?" he teases. "another fangirl??"

"you're insane, blondie. i do not love you!" you scoff, moving away from his frame, floating on your own. "you're so weird, if i had a hoard of fangirls i wouldn't know how to act. but i definitely would not call them pigs..." you side eye him, and he only hums contently, your voice is a mellifluous melody that plays in the background as he loses himself in his thoughts.

he remembers a warm afternoon last week in which osamu was discussing the dance being held by your fancy art school. you had told them both afterschool, draped over their cracking leather couch with a wet watermelon in your hands, its pink juice running down your bare arms. he remembers watching you in awe, thinking that you were so strange.

strange, yet he still had the desire to ask if he could be your date when you mentioned it. 

so many imperfections, a million flaws. how you ran from your problems instead of facing them, how reckless you were and how you would nonchalantly slip somebody else's wallet into your pockets. if he was being perfectly honest, he both admired and feared you for it.  

in fact, he is still scared of opening up to you entirely because you, in your nature, are a thief.

and miya atsumu does not want his heart robbed.

but maybe, he thinks, eyes on the dozens of bright and burning stars painted in the darkness of the sky, he will take a chance with you. you, because you are somebody he cares about, you, because you give in love as much as you take in misery, you, because you are flawed and imperfect and rough around the edges and he likes that you don't enjoy playing pretend.

you, because who else? 

he is just as imperfect with his self-absorbed, egotistic and complacent self. his badly bleached blonde hair and obnoxious laughter that rings a little too loud, him on the days he doesn't want to smile at girls until his cheeks hurt, him on the days where he stands in front of a mirror for hours and picks himself apart until he is perfect.

"-umu!!" he is abruptly pulled from his train of thought by you with your eyes wide and hands on his cheeks, to which his hair clings and your fingers intertwine with the wet stands. "earth to blondie!! helllooooooo, are you good? i think the cold is getting to you." 

he smiles, surprised it comes so easy to him. his arm wanders to your waist and he pulls you in, "you're right." he admits, lacing his other hands' fingers with yours, still holding his face, and pressing himself close to your core so tantalisingly slow that it is almost teasing. "so why don't we warm up a little, y/n?"

a/n; piss