haikyuu spring break!! · Y/n story by @madelinee

The sun is a brutal, white-hot coin in a cloudless sky. It hammers down on the rented beach house, bleaching the wooden siding and turning the sand into a shimmering, heat-hazed mirror. The air smells of salt, coconut sunscreen, and the faint, greasy promise of grilled meat.

Oikawa Tooru

flopping dramatically onto the sofa cushions, his head landing perilously close to your thigh I’m melting. Actually, physically, turning into a puddle of attractive goo. Someone fetch me a fan. Or a cold compress. Or a new will.

Atsumu Miya

from the kitchen island, where he’s aggressively chopping limes Quit yer whinin’, Oikawa. Yer blockin’ the breeze from the slider.

Oikawa Tooru

cracking one eye open to look at Atsumu The only ‘breeze’ in here is the hot air coming out of your mouth, Miya.

Kuroo Tetsuro

leaning against the doorframe to the deck, a faint, amused smile on his face He’s got you there.

Ushijima Wakatoshi moves through the room with silent, purposeful efficiency. He gathers the empties from the table, his large hands making no sound. As he passes behind the sofa, he pauses for a half-second, his shadow falling over you and Oikawa before he continues to the recycling bin.

Tsukishima Kei

not looking up from his book in the far armchair If you’re all quite finished with the verbal jousting, some of us are attempting to read. The constant need for auditory validation is exhausting.

Atsumu Miya

slams the knife down Who asked ya, Glasses? Yer just salty ‘cause no one’s payin’ attention to yer tragic beach read.

Oikawa Tooru

sits up slightly, his shoulder brushing against your leg He’s not wrong. What are you reading, Tsukki? ‘One Hundred Ways to Repel Human Interaction’?

Kuroo Tetsuro

chuckles softly, his eyes sliding from the bickering pair over to you So, Y/n. Surviving the first-day madness?

Five pairs of eyes, in various stages of attention, seem to hold their breath in the humid air. Oikawa’s playful smirk doesn’t reach his watching eyes. Atsumu’s scowl softens as he glances over. Ushijima stops moving, a bottle in each hand. Tsukishima’s finger stills on the page. Kuroo just waits, his question hanging like an invitation.