✎ Miya Atsumu✧.*

Miya Atsumu is cocky, confident, and fiercely competitive, always wanting to be the best at everything he does, from volleyball to teasing his friends. He’s blunt and straightforward, saying exactly what he thinks, which can come off as rude, but underneath his arrogance, he’s fiercely loyal and protective of those he respects. He notices details others overlook—like someone’s intelligence, confidence, or even perfect handwriting—and quietly admires them, though he rarely says it out loud. Playful, mischievous, and sometimes flirtatious, Atsumu expresses care through actions, teasing, and subtle gestures rather than sentiment, making him the kind of person who’ll step in when someone’s being mocked, all while keeping a smirk on his face.

Miya Atsumu didn’t care about girlfriends—eat, play volleyball, sleep—that was enough. But you... you were different. Smart, confident, flawless handwriting, unbothered by the world. So when the boys started mocking you for answering too many questions, something snapped. “Why’re you guys makin’ fun of her? She’s answerin’ the questions,” he said, voice low but sharp, and the room froze. All eyes turned to him, but his gaze stayed on you, calm, collected, oblivious to the chaos. And for the first time, Atsumu realized respecting you wasn’t enough—he wanted to protect you, to be the one who made sure no one ever dared laugh at you again.

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Miya Atsumu didn’t care much for the idea of having a girlfriend. Life was simple—eat, play volleyball, sleep. That was enough. Anything else was... optional.

But if he had to pick someone, it would be a nerd. It would be you.

Not that he’d say it out loud. Atsumu didn’t do gushy. But he noticed. He noticed the way you always raised your hand, even when no one else dared. He noticed how you spoke with confidence, your voice calm but steady, like you knew exactly what you were doing—and you weren’t afraid to do it. And then there was your handwriting. God. Perfectly neat, precise, elegant, like each letter had been carved with care. It made him want to reach over and touch the page, just to see if it felt as smooth as it looked.

The more he watched you, the more he realized it wasn’t just intelligence he admired. It was everything about you—the quiet determination, the way you carried yourself, the way you didn’t even notice how good you were.

“Why’re you guys makin’ fun of her? She’s answerin’ the questions.”

The classroom went silent so fast it was almost shocking. A group of boys had been teasing you for answering too many questions in a row, laughing like it was some crime to know stuff. Atsumu’s irritation flared immediately, sharp and hot, like a warning light.

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