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the worst thing about it all, funnily enough, is the greasy hair.
it falls into atsumu’s eyes stubbornly, the slick feeling making him shudder.
he wishes that was enough to get him up to wash it, but his body feels like lead, dense and heavy, chained to the spot.
for a second he musters enough energy to check his phone, the bright screen assaulting his sore eyes.
3pm. wonderful.
swallowing down the creeping disappointment, he decides against going to whatever class he hasn’t already missed.
rain pelts the window and it only adds to the weight on his limbs. he sinks, sinks, digging into the mattress like it’s quicksand.
with the final embers of his scarce energy, he grips his duvet and pulls it back over his head.
when he does finally wake up, it’s to the sound of a knocking on his door.
he considers ignoring it, he really does. but it could be important.
so were the classes ya ignored all day, the tiny osamu that lives in his head says. atsumu tells it to fuck off.
he doesn’t know what time it is now, but one look at the black sky outside tells him all he needs to know- that he wasted another day. it’s too late, now, to do anything. oh well. at least the rain’s stopped.
he looks through the crack of the door before opening it fully. once he sees who it is, he puts on his best smile.
“omi-kun!”
sakusa holds up a container filled with onigiri. “delivery run. your brother forced me.”
“there ya go again, pretendin’ you don’t wanna see me,” atsumu teases, snatching the container from his hands.
“you know, miya,” sakusa remarks, looking around, “the whole ‘acting like your usual self’ thing only works if you don’t have a pig-sty for a room and red rings around your eyes.”
atsumu’s face falls in slight shock, before he gives something of a nervous laugh. “i was kinda hopin’ you wouldn’t bring it up.”
“i usually wouldn’t, but your attempt at ignoring it was so pathetic i had to put a stop to it. don’t worry though, i’m not going to make you talk about anything.”
“thank god. yer the only friend who understands my needs,” atsumu jokes, trudging over to his bed to sit and eat his onigiri.
“we aren’t friends,” sakusa replies on instinct, beginning to pick up stray clothes from the floor, “but you could probably do with my friendship given the state of this room.”
“yer an asshole, ya know that? anyway, ya don’t hafta clean anythin’. just go. tell ‘samu i said thanks or somethin’.”
sakusa turns to glare at him from the other side of the room.
“someone has to clean, you clearly won’t. and you can thank osamu yourself, he’s been complaining all week about you ignoring his texts.”
guilt coils in atsumu’s stomach at that. it’s a feeling he isn’t used to. the mouthful of rice turns to cardboard, scratches his throat as he swallows it down.
suddenly he feels very self conscious, watching sakusa totter around his mess of a living space. his apathy dwindles just long enough for the pride to take over.
“i-i promise i ain’t usually this bad, i’m just-“
“atsumu,” sakusa says, gathering clothes into his arms, “it’s fine. really. i wouldn’t be doing this if it annoyed me.”
it’s not really enough to relax him, but he gives up, offering a weak, “i could take it from here at least. ‘s my room.”
but even the second he says it, he knows he won’t, and sakusa knows it too. even with him here, looking around at all the untidiness makes atsumu want to do nothing but crawl back into bed and pretend it doesn’t exist.
“just eat. you probably haven’t all day.”
he hadn’t, and the hunger only really hit him once he’d been reminded that food existed. atsumu often finds himself being taken care of by other people, osamu making food for him and now sakusa doing... whatever it is he’s doing.
he thinks back to kita making lunch for him back in high school. it’s a little disheartening, feeling like you haven’t really grown since you were sixteen. not that the circumstances were exactly the same. back then, it was overwork. now it’s underwork.
isn’t that even worse?
atsumu stuffs another onigiri into his mouth to quell the dull ache and tries not to think. he’s good at that recently.
after he’d finished off the whole box he’d fallen asleep again, sitting on the floor with his head on the mattress.
maybe if he was a better person he’d help sakusa with the tidying. but it was sort of nice, having him so willing to take care of it. clean up atsumu’s mistakes.
ah. there’s the guilt again.
he shakes atsumu awake after what must have been a few hours.
“i ran a bath. you reek of stale sweat.”
“not all of us are weird neat-freak aliens who magically never get dirty, omi-omi.”
sakusa glares at him and turns towards the bathroom. “how about i drain it and you can run your own damn bath.”
“no, no, wait,” atsumu stammers, tugging at sakusa’s arm, “i’ll get in. thanks. really.”
it takes a while for him to work up the energy, bones still achy from sleep. he stares into space while sakusa waits by his side.
he’s patient, given how blunt he tends ta be, atsumu thinks to himself.
he’s gotta be, though, to get so skilled. ya gotta have patience.
well. you didn’t have to. atsumu never did. but he had stubbornness to make up for it, incessant and unstoppable, even self destructive at times.
he misses it, that feeling, when it slips away from him like this.
finally, he gets up. he walks to the bathroom.
“do ya have to come into the room with me?”
“i don’t have to, no,” sakusa replies, “but i don’t trust you to wash properly. it’s really just better if i do it.”
annoyingly, he makes a good case.
“fine,” atsumu caves, “but at least wait outside while i’m gettin’ in.”
sakusa nods and steps outside the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
he begins to strip like normal, but somewhere in the middle he catches himself in the mirror.
it’s the first time in at least a few days that he’d given his reflection a proper look.
it was rough, to say the least. there were still visible tear tracks and his eyes were flaming red with bags underneath. his hair was greasy and matted on one side, from his pillow.
a tightness starts to constrict his throat, a strangled sob that he swallows down as best he can. it’s almost ridiculous, seeing himself like this.
through the haze he sees there’s a hairbrush on the windowsill, he takes it and starts tugging it through the cots. the pain is searing, burning his scalp, but he just keeps going, getting harsher. the pain starts to become addictive. he feels like tearing out every strand, or-
“hurry up, miya.”
he sighs. puts down the hairbrush, even though his hair is still a little tangled, and gets in the bath. begins laying down and sinking until his hair is underwater, then sits up again.
“‘m in now.”
the door creaks open slowly. sakusa comes in, pulls up a stool to sit by the bath.
for a minute nobody does anything. atsumu just looks down at the cloudy water. his mind wanders a little, wondering if sakusa is feeling uncomfortable.
it’s sort of humiliating, needing to have someone here. proof of failure, or something. he doesn’t know. he’s one of the best volleyball players on their university team, and yet straying past his bed is like climbing a mountain with ankle weights.
the cheering crowds feel a million miles away now, like a fantasy-version of himself dreamt up to cope with the small, pathetic reality. it feels like a lie.
things like this don’t happen to people like him. maybe if he said this to himself enough times it’d be true.
maybe he could just stay here. the water is warm as it engulfs his skin. he wants to forget about volleyball and school and himself. he wants to sleep.
there are cold hands rubbing at his scalp, and it grounds him a little. the smell of shampoo is a nice change when all you've been inhaling is instant ramen and dirty laundry. sakusa’s touch is light, caring. he’s very thorough.
atsumu wishes he had the strength to bat his hands away, insist that he can do it himself, even if it was a complete lie. he just lets it happen instead, lets the caressing soothe him a little.
“your hair is disgusting.”
“yer real pleasant ‘til ya open yer mouth, omi-kun.”
“i get that a lot,” sakusa replies with a little smirk, gathering some water in a cup to rinse off the shampoo.
he pours it slowly, running his fingers through atsumu’s hair as he does it, even once all the suds are gone. the pale hand lingers for a few seconds more before he pulls off and reaches for the conditioner.
“i expected you to be one of those “3-in-1 shampoo conditioner and bodywash” people, so i have to give you some credit, miya,” sakusa praises.
atsumu at least has the pride to look affronted at such an assumption.
“didn’t think ya thought so low of me, omi! how d’ya think i get such perfect glossy hair for my matches?”
hah. matches. he wouldn’t be playing many more of those if he kept this up. suddenly atsumu’s throat felt very tight.
“‘perfect’ is debatable,” sakusa mumbles as he rolls his eyes, rubbing the conditioner into atsumu’s hair.
silence falls over them as they wait for the conditioner to be absorbed, sakusa counting an exact minute in his head while atsumu rubs his arms, feeling the raised marks under his fingertips.
he’d made them yesterday. briefly he wonders if sakusa noticed them. maybe you’d have to be paying attention.
they were red but not too red, only nail-scratches. permanent scars would be bad, and even in this state atsumu has a sort of baseline care for his own future.
it’s hard to tear his eyes away from them, now. he misses the feeling already, wants to drag his fingernails through the blank areas. instead he drops his hands to his lap, digging into the flesh there instead, allowing the irritability to dissipate into the crescent indents.
he’s ripped out of his thoughts by warm water being dumped on his head, causing him to flinch and let out an embarrassing, startled squeak.
“it’s been a minute,” sakusa justifies, clearly stifling a laugh as he scoops the cup full again.
atsumu scowls at him. “ya did that on purpose, ya knew i wasn’t payin’ attention!”
“i don’t know what you’re talking about. close your eyes.”
another cupful is poured over his head, slower this time. the dull sting in his thighs begins to taper.
“do you have any rubber bands?”
atsumu looks at him quizzically.
“nah, why?”
“i heard something,” sakusa mumbles, “online, about snapping them on your wrist... i don’t know, nevermind.”
he noticed, then.
the discomfort is a little thicker now, and atsumu starts to distract himself by lathering up the sponge.
“let me.”
“omi, i can do this myself y’know.”
“i just want to.”
like with everything else he’s very careful, not scrubbing too harshly as he runs the sponge along atsumu’s arms and back.
he seems to linger a little bit, but after a while he hands the sponge back to atsumu and turns around.
“i trust you can do the bottom half.”
“thank god, i was worryin’ that you’d insist on cleanin’ there too. was about ta file a restrainin’ order,” atsumu jokes, drawing the curtain.
“next time i won’t help you at all, then. rot in your own filth for all i care.”
the insult lacked any teeth, which was clear from his tone. still a little hurtful, but atsumu would be a hypocrite to take any sort of offense.
he laughs it off instead. if he’s lucky, he’ll eventually end up getting very very used to doing that with sakusa’s remarks.
there was a wave of fatigue that had built up as sakusa was taking care of him, and it suddenly crashes over him the moment he stands up. bitterly, he remembers why he didn’t feel like doing this.
bones turn into lead again, he wants to sleep. this should be so easy, this shouldn’t be an issue. it’s not an issue but it feels like it, it feels pointless, like stalling or something, doing normal things like this now. delaying the inevitable. asking the grim reaper to come back tomorrow.
tomorrow he’s just going to spend all day sleeping again. tomorrow he’ll miss more classes, forget about hygiene again, won’t care. he’ll rot away whether he takes a bath or not. he’s just putting off the simple solution, just pretending to be better like this.
tomorrow he’ll be back at square one. why let tomorrow come at all, then?
this should be simple. he stares at the sponge. looks down into the water, lightheaded. he wants to sleep.
come on. just come on. yer almost done. just fuckin’-
he cleans the most important areas, just a quick, harsh scrub, and immediately sits back down before his body forces him to. the water splashes around him. he buries his head in his hands, trying not to make any more noise.
“are you finished?”
atsumu draws a breath, trying to concentrate on not letting out a sob.
“yeah. m’ done.”
“you didn’t take very long, are you sure you’re done?”
“yes,” atsumu insists, a little louder this time.
“this is your first wash in a week, miya. you need to do it properly.”
“god, just fuck off, would ya? who fuckin’ cares what you think? i don’t need you patronisin’ me and i know how ta wash myself. go now. i need ta get dressed.”
from behind the curtain he hears sakusa get up and open the door, a subtle trace of hurt in his voice as he says a simple “alright.”
atsumu’s alone in the bathroom now. the silence permeates, filling up his lungs like dust, making him heave. with difficulty he lifts his tired limbs out of the bathtub. for a long time, he doesn’t get dressed. he sits and stares at the razor on the sink. he digs his fingernails into his legs. sinking, sinking.
he cries and cries, until he feels human again.
he doesn’t know quite how long it’s been by the time he pulls on his clothes and leaves the bathroom. maybe it wasn’t too long, because his hair is still damp and his skin is still flushed from the warm water and sakusa kiyoomi is still there, waiting for him.
“y’can go home.” atsumu doesn’t expect the roughness of his own voice, sounding as if he’d inhaled smoke.
sakusa doesn’t reply. instead, he holds up atsumu’s hairdryer and pats the space next to him on the bed.
“you’ll catch a cold. come on.”
in the back of his head, atsumu can feel himself wanting to apologise. unsure of what for, exactly. being so useless. lashing out at sakusa when he was only trying to help. not calling his brother for a week, even though it wouldn’t do any good to apologise to sakusa for that. maybe just everything.
but he leaves it for now. he sits on the bed, asks for the coldest setting for minimal heat damage (to which sakusa replies ‘of course, who do you take me for?’), and allows sakusa to dry his hair.
“your roots are showing,” sakusa comments after a few minutes.
“really? didn’t even notice.” atsumu muses, reaching up to touch his hair.
sakusa moves his hand. “you’re in the way. but yeah. i could re-bleach it for you if you want.”
“think ya’ve done enough for today, omi.”
“not today, stupid. some other day. soon. at least before the next time you have a match.”
atsumu looks at the floor, swallowing hard.
“d’you really think i’ll-“
“of course,” sakusa says, conviction in his voice, “nothing could get between you and volleyball. not even depression.”
“i haven’t practiced in weeks.”
“so? you can start again once you’re able. years of practice doesn’t disappear just like that. your hair is dry now.”
he switches off the hairdryer and atsumu shakes his head slightly, feeling the short, fluffy locks bounce on his head.
“it’s-“ atsumu stammers, “it’s the gettin’ back up. ‘s harder the longer it goes on. like food goin’ bad, it just gets worse. i’m scared i won’t be able ta start again. start anythin’ again, really.”
sakusa exhales a little, putting the hairdryer back in the drawer.
“well, i haven’t known you long, but according to your brother, you’ve experienced this before, hm? and you’ve been able to get back up then.”
“‘s just not that easy.”
“did i say it was easy?” sakusa questions, cold tone in his voice but shuffling closer, “it’s doable, and that’s the important thing.”
they make eye contact, and all of a sudden atsumu is throwing himself at sakusa, head in the crook of his shoulder.
sakusa grumbles, mumbling something about how he hates hugs, but even still he holds him tightly, moving a little so atsumu’s sitting comfortably on his lap.
“it doesn’t matter if you’re okay by tomorrow or in ten years time,” sakusa murmurs, patting his head rather awkwardly, “volleyball, university, your brother and your friends... everything will be here for you once you’re ready. we aren’t going anywhere. you have to be patient with yourself, atsumu.”
“y’ sound like a therapist.”
“maybe that’s not such a bad thing. god knows you need one.”
“hah,” atsumu laughs, muffled by sakusa’s shoulder, “gimme a break. ‘samu’s been on me about that fer years now.”
“your brother’s only looking out for you. he cares about you more than anyone.”
guilt starts to build up again. atsumu wants to change the subject now.
“i’ve missed a lotta classes,” he sighs after a few beats of silence.
“well,” sakusa starts, “do you have friends in those classes?”
“yeah, but-“
“then you can ask them to help you catch up.”
atsumu grimaces. “that’ll be embarrassin’.”
“tough. plus, if anyone’s in need of a humbling experience, it’s you. in any case, having to ask for help will be less embarrassing than failing entirely.”
“and try to go to your classes. i know what i say about half-assing things but going to your class and taking shitty, tired notes is better than not going at all.”
he sighs again but relents, nodding in begrudging agreement. sakusa pulls him closer. the scent of rain lingers on him, and citrusy deodorant too. he probably had practice earlier today.
it’s nice. it feels familiar, almost nostalgic.
“you should be thankful, you know. i don’t usually do this.”
“do what?”
“just... everything. all of this.”
affection? atsumu guesses for him.
“i am thankful, omi-omi. i’m...”
the words get stuck in his throat. still much too prideful. pride he probably hasn’t earned.
“...i’m sorry.” atsumu finally forces out, feeling incredibly small, in a huge sweater in sakusa’s arms. his shoulders relax a little, once he’s said it.
sakusa doesn’t ask what for, which is a small mercy because atsumu would rather not list it all out.
“it’s okay,” is what he says instead, voice
soft.
a shaking, pale hand reaches up to card through blond locks.
and then, “you’ll be okay.”
atsumu nods, nods and nods and his tears are fresh and hot as they drip onto sakusa’s shoulder.
“i sure hope so,” he croaks.
“you don’t have to hope. it’s a guarantee.”
sakusa lingers for a few seconds more and then pulls away. he sets atsumu back down onto the bed.
“right. better start on dinner.”
atsumu cocks an eyebrow, still teary eyed. “dinner? omi, i’ve already-“
“onigiri isn’t a meal.”
“don’t let ‘samu hear ya say that,” atsumu mumbles, fondness present in every syllable, before he glances back at his phone.
he cares about you more than anyone.
great. now he has a tiny sakusa in his head guilt-tripping him too.
“god, fine,” atsumu grumbles to no one but himself, and snatches up his phone.
(21:43) you:
thanks for the onigiri it was ok i guess
(21:43) fuckface:
look who’s risen from the dead
anyway if yer gonna be like that then ya can forget abt bein sent more
(21:44) you:
NOOO samu ya kno am only jokin’ :(((
yer onigiri is the best please don’t stop sendin’ it ta me 💕💕
(21:45) fuckface:
dont be such a beg i wouldnt do that anyway
rly tho im glad yer alright
call me when ya can
i miss ya
(21:45) you:
ew stop
i’ll call ya soon
promise
(21:45) fuckface:
good
ya kno if you don’t i’ll just break inta yer apartment
(21:45) you:
haha
omi’s already on that
(21:46) fuckface:
ah yeah hes my new psyop aint he
i get ta check up on ya AND help with yer love life in the process
two birds one stone
(21:46) you:
love life?
samu what are ya talkin about
samu
SAMU FER FUCKS SAKE
“i talked ta ‘samu.”
“that’s a good start. dinner will be done soon. you didn’t have very much in the cupboards but i made do with your pitiful selection. i can do some food shopping for you.”
atsumu just nods.
“thanks. really. i appreciate it all, what you’ve been doin’ fer me all afternoon.”
“well shit, i was going to charge you for my services but now it’d just feel mean,” sakusa jokes, stirring a pot with plumes of steam coming off it.
atsumu laughs sheepishly. he looks around again, at his bedroom. it’s really completely spotless. the curtains are wide open and moonbeams spill onto the hardwood floor. it’s the first time he’s looked at the moon in weeks.
he almost feels bad when he sees what a good job sakusa did. he remembers all the times osamu would come and tidy, just for it to be a complete mess again a few days later.
a blank slate isn’t always enough. he tells sakusa this.
“it can be,” is his response, “eventually, it’ll be all you need. a little push.”
“ya said yerself we don’t know how long it’ll be til i’m alright again. you might end up havin’ to come over here to help me for a thousand more years.”
he’s only slightly exaggerating.
at those words though, sakusa turns to atsumu, curls slightly damp from the water vapour.
if you looked closely, you could see him smiling.
“i wouldn’t mind that, miya atsumu. i wouldn’t mind at all. as long as you’re okay by the end of it.”
his voice is painfully tender and even more genuine. there are tears in his dark eyes, or maybe that’s just the moonlight.
atsumu bites his cracked lips. his vision clouds a little again, but it’s not quite as bad this time.
a feeling he can’t place starts to swell in him. or he can place it, he just can’t say it. not yet.
instead he says, “i wouldn’t mind either, omi-omi. not one bit.”
it’s not everything, but for now it’s enough. they have a thousand more years to say the rest, after all.