Fics like in the night we are wild eyed

"Miya-san?" Atsumu turns, sees Hinata standing in the doorway. He’s wearing that look in his eyes that sends chills down his spine. It’s the crow look; head tilted to the side and a kind of animalistic intensity burning within that makes him feel like he’s about to be devoured. Every so often he forgets this version of Hinata, until he’s out under the bright lights of court with the roar of the crowd in his ears, two points down on a set but knowing that giving up another is unthinkable. Here Hinata is shadowed by the door frame, just outwith the overhead lights above the gym hall. It’s late now, the sky beyond the windows a matt black, and most of the team has already left. Atsumu’s still stuck on sharpening the curve of his hybrid serve, determined to work his way through it because he knows he won’t sleep otherwise. Sometimes the urge takes him and there’s no helping it. “You know my brother,” he says, spinning the ball in his hands. “You can call me Atsumu.”

Fics like in the night we are wild eyed

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