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i. surely you must know by now, the things you do to me
It's some sort of cliche, he knows. He feels 15 all over again— spring confessions, his heart in his throat, and there, the boy a year older than him: smile soft in the morning sunlight, one stray sakura petal perched atop his left shoulder. Shinsuke has always looked too serious, too honest, too kind; he looks like that now, standing in front of Atsumu at almost-21 years old, the same way he’d looked back when Atsumu was 15 and hopelessly, helplessly, desperately in love with him.
Kita-san, Atsumu (15) had said, on top of the world and teetering off of it all at once. Will you go out with me?
The sun had been kind too, that day. Too bright where it shone on Shinsuke’s face. No, was what Shinsuke had said. Atsumu (15) had done a somersault straight off the top of the world, wanting nothing more than for the earth to swallow him whole.
Not yet.
"Kita-san," Atsumu (almost-21) says now, again teetering off the edge. Again, helpless in the face of that too-kind smile. "Will you go out with me?"
There’s a kind of light in Shinsuke’s eyes that Atsumu has never quite learned how to bear. That very same light is present now, knowing and harrowing, all at once consuming Atsumu's own too-big desire. Shinsuke’s smile is soft and honest. So is his voice when he says,
“Yes.”
ii. you raise your hand against the sun and find my heart in your palm
Summer has never been kind to Atsumu. ‘Samu says it’s “karma” for “being the way that he is,” but Atsumu thinks that’s bullshit. Summer is kind to Shinsuke though— while Atsumu is covered in mosquito bites and an uneven sunburn Shinsuke only seems to grow more handsome in the season’s heat. A visual amongst the paddy fields.
“You’re staring,” Shinsuke says, smiling knowingly, and Atsumu burns with a heat not from the sun.
They’re out in the fields, Atsumu spending his free weekend with Shinsuke by helping around the farm. It’s a hot, simmering sort of day, summer beating its unkindness into Atsumu’s skin, and his neck is starting to ache and his back isn’t doing all that much better, either, no matter how shameful it is for him to admit. He may be a full-grown athlete, but he’s no farmer. The only thing that’s making up for all his suffering is the view.
Hard not to , Atsumu thinks in response to Shinsuke’s comment, eyeing the strong line of his shoulders, his arms, the cinch of his waist. Shinsuke has always been beautiful in a quiet, unsuspecting sort of way. It only seems to grow more noticeable with age— or maybe Atsumu’s just hopeless.
His arms really are sculpted, though. Atsumu can’t be blamed for the desire simmering beneath his skin, or whatever runaway thoughts are currently clogging his heat-fried brain. His boyfriend looks good . He’s shameless enough to ogle.
“Maybe we should take a break, Kita-san,” Atsumu says in lieu of answering, though he knows he’s been quiet long enough that Shinsuke must have already guessed at least 80% of what Atsumu was thinking. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his temple, the straw hat on his head doing nothing to stave off the heat. As much as he enjoys watching Shinsuke hard at work in his own element, Atsumu is starving. And tired. And maybe a little bit sunburned.
Shinsuke slides him one last knowing smile before agreeing, and they head back to the house where Shinsuke’s grandmother has prepared some snacks for them. Atsumu grins when she praises him for his hard work, cheeks red from exertion and just a little bit of embarrassment. He takes a bite of the cut watermelon, sighing languidly.
Who cares if he’s “terrible” for “being the way that he is” like Osamu says? He doesn’t need the season’s kindness. He gets plenty of that here.
Speaking of. Shinsuke reaches out to brush back his hair, not even caring how sweaty he is. “You look good like this,” he says, smiling so damn handsome in the blinding midday sunlight. Atsumu gulps, a light shiver running down his spine.
“I always look like this,” Atsumu says, grinning, but he thinks it comes out too soft, boiled down by the heat. Shinsuke doesn’t even react, just keeps running his hand through Atsumu’s hair until his palm rests against the crook of Atsumu’s neck. He squeezes there, and Atsumu lets out an embarrassing yelp that he knows Osamu would never let him live down if he were here. Shinsuke just breathes out a huff of air, his version of a teasing laugh. Then he continues massaging Atsumu, relieving the tension in his neck.
It’s almost too warm, the contact of their skin, but Atsumu wouldn’t dream of pulling away.
“You do,” Shinsuke says, too soft too, his hand steady and strong against Atsumu’s skin. Atsumu gulps, heart in his throat.
Well, that’s just unfair. Atsumu feels himself burn red beneath Shinsuke’s gaze, Shinsuke’s praise, Shinsuke’s too-honest way of loving. He’s always had this effect on him. Atsumu thinks surely it must be bad, that one man can have as much power over him as Shinsuke does.
It balances out, though, by this fact alone: there’s only one slice of watermelon left and Shinsuke nudges the plate to him, telling him to eat. Later when they return to the paddy fields, Shinsuke will wrap a towel around Atsumu’s neck, reminding him to put on sunscreen. Shinsuke has so much power over Atsumu. He has double that much love for him too.
Atsumu smiles quietly to himself, eyes on Shinsuke. His boyfriend has always looked good. More than that Atsumu likes looking at him just to watch as he turns around, to look back at Atsumu.
“Kita-san,” Atsumu calls, quiet as they walk through town, the word hanging in the stifling summer heat between them. The festival up ahead is bright and bustling, but walking in front of him Shinsuke gives off his own light too, a magnetic force to his gentle frame. Atsumu eyes the broad of his back, shrouded by the smart fit of his yukata, and feels his hands twitch at his sides.
“I want a kiss,” Atsumu says, stopping in his tracks. Shinsuke stops too, turning around to face him. The look on his face is equal parts amused and unamused. Atsumu doesn’t know how he does it.
“We’re in public,” Shinsuke answers, quirking a brow, amused. Frowning a little, unamused. This has to be one of Atsumu’s favourite expressions on him.
“No one’ll see,” Atsumu replies, taking one step closer. Then one more, another. The brow quirks up a little higher the closer Atsumu gets. Atsumu can’t stop staring at him. “C’mon, just one.”
Shinsuke looks at him the same way he used to look at him from across the court back in high school, a silent, equally scalding warning in his eyes. Atsumu should be used to being on the receiving end of that stare by now, but still it sends a light shiver down his spine. Messing around with Shinsuke has always been dangerous territory. Atsumu’s just feeling extra bold today.
Or stupid, as ‘Samu would say. But whatever.
But then Shinsuke’s mouth softens, and Atsumu is caught off guard by the warm, effort-roughened hand that slips against his palm, moving to circle his wrist. He feels all the boldness drain out of him when Shinsuke’s fingers press into his pulse point, but the stupid seems to stay. Atsumu is tongue-tied when Shinsuke is the one to take a step closer, this time.
They’re close enough to kiss, Atsumu thinks. Close enough to feel the warmth of Shinsuke’s skin against his skin.
Atsumu closes his eyes. Shinsuke leans in.
“Be patient,” Shinsuke murmurs, quiet into Atsumu’s ear, “until we get home.”
Shinsuke pulls away, and continues to walk ahead like he didn’t just stab Atsumu in the heart with his own palpable desire. Atsumu feels himself grin stupidly despite the tease, watching him go.
Home. Him and Shinsuke. Who would’ve thought?
iii. you do know, don’t you?
“Quit whining,” ‘Samu says, over the receiver. Atsumu glares into the wall in front of him, imagining it's Osamu's face there instead.
Outside his apartment, night has already fallen. Atsumu's eyes slant over to the clock on his nightstand, frowning when he sees the time. It's not late yet, just a little over 9.30, but Osamu's an early riser and he's got volleyball practice in the morning, too. He'd called Osamu to— not whine— to ask how he's been doing, because he's a good brother like that— but Osamu had called him out on his bullshit and told him to spit it out, asshole, or I'm hanging up on you. Sometimes he hates how easily Osamu reads him. Sometimes it also feels like relief, the way it does right now.
So Atsumu had been honest, and spat it out. Volleyball has been good, he'd said, listening to the sounds Osamu made on the other end of the line. A low hum, the clink of dishes being put away. Something like the click of a light switch being turned off. Everything on the court is still everything I love.
A short pause. Atsumu could imagine Osamu's face, eyebrow raised in question. Or annoyance. But?
Atsumu had leaned back against the headboard, head tilted back to stare up at the ceiling. He let out a long, quiet breath. Then: How's Kita-san?
Osamu's long-suffering sigh is one Atsumu is more than used to. He wishes he could reach over the distance and kick him in the shins for it, but the quirk of his lips betrays the sentiment.
"Quit whining," Osamu says, "and just call him."
"It's not that easy," Atsumu replies, picking at a loose thread on the knee of his sweatpants. His feet feel cold, even though they're buried beneath his comforter. Autumn is really starting to set in. "I can't just call him."
"And why not?" Osamu sounds annoyed on the other end, maybe even bored. "You called me."
"Yeah, but—" Atsumu's tongue darts out to wet his lips, his hand rubbing at his thigh. How could he explain? He and Shinsuke both knew, going in, that their relationship would have its difficulties; distance being one of them. Atsumu has long tournaments and even longer practices, and Shinsuke has the farm; they're apart from each other more often than they're together, but none of that really matters at all— not when Atsumu returns after a win or a loss, and finds Shinsuke there, waiting for him. Smiling at him. Reaching out his hand so Atsumu can take it in his.
Distance isn't the problem. The problem is—
Atsumu longs, and it's embarrassing. He doesn't know how to step the swell of yearning in his chest, if he were to hear Shinsuke's voice right in his ear. Doesn't know if he'll be able to breathe around it once it's there.
Atsumu bites his lip, swallowing down the words. He just needs to tough it out. That’s all.
"You wouldn't get it," he finally says, figuring Osamu would only make fun of him for voicing any of that out loud. Hopeless, he would say. Fucking hopeless. Osamu huffs on the other end, sounding like he wants to kick Atsumu now, but before he can retort, another call interrupts the line.
It's Shinsuke. Atsumu swallows around the lump that forms in his throat, quickly hanging up on 'Samu to pick up the call.
"Kita-san?"
"Atsumu." Shinsuke's voice is so gentle. It fills Atsumu with hazy warmth, a smile pulling at his mouth without his knowing. "How've you been?"
"Good," Atsumu breathes, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. He suddenly feels like he's buzzing with energy, unable to keep still. The swell of longing in his chest is almost unbearable. "Why'd you call?" Atsumu asks, getting up and leaving the room. He makes his way to the balcony, shivering lightly when the door opens to a gust of cold wind. "Is something wrong?"
On the other end of the line, Shinsuke hums, and Atsumu can almost hear his smile. "No," he says, so soft Atsumu barely hears it. A beat, then: "I just missed you."
The railing is cold when Atsumu leans against it, even through the fabric of his sweatshirt. Atsumu feels warmth spread through him at Shinsuke's words, the longing in his chest threatening to spill over.
Maybe he’s not the only one who’s hopeless. The thought makes Atsumu lightheaded, giddy.
"Ki—" Atsumu swallows, feeling butterflies flutter in his stomach. To hell with being embarrassed. "Shinsuke," he says instead, softer than he means to be. He can almost imagine the look on Shinsuke's face at the name; Atsumu wishes he could see it. "I miss you too."
They talk for a little over an hour, until Shinsuke is scolding him to go to bed. When Atsumu hangs up he sees an unread message on his phone, sent by 'Samu.
Told you so, the message says, curt and annoying. Atsumu rolls his eyes, but finds himself smiling too.
iv. I find your heart in my palms too. I find your heart in my palms too.
The first time I confessed, Atsumu had asked, quiet, why did you say no?
Atsumu settles in the kotatsu, sighing contentedly as warmth spreads through him. The house grows colder as winter settles in, and as unkind as summer is to him, Atsumu is no fan of the cold, either. He doesn't mind this, though: Shinsuke is sitting next to him, reading quietly. Beneath the table Atsumu's foot is pressed to Shinsuke's calf; above the table Atsumu's elbow bumps into Shinsuke's wrist. Shinsuke doesn't pay him any mind. Atsumu's head is resting on his arms, tilted to look at Shinsuke.
I was making sure, Shinsuke answered, quiet as his fingers massaged Atsumu's palm.
Of what?
Atsumu clears his throat, reaching out to tug at Shinsuke's sleeve. Shinsuke raises a brow at him, amused and unamused, and Atsumu can't help the stupid smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.
This. Shinsuke ran his finger along Atsumu's palm, up his wrist, to the crook of his elbow. Us.
"I want a kiss," Atsumu murmurs, sleazy. "Shinsuke."
Shinsuke rolls his eyes, unamused. His lips curl into a smile, amused.
What made you sure, the second time?
"Come here then," Shinsuke says, hand falling to Atsumu's thigh. Atsumu takes a sharp breath, surprised by the easy indulgence, but leans forward anyway.
He slots their mouths together. Shinsuke is sweet and gentle against him, and Atsumu feels himself smile under Shinsuke's touch. The world outside is hazy with snow, but Shinsuke is warm where their bodies meet. Atsumu closes his eyes.
Shinsuke had smiled this secret, knowing smile. You asked again, was all he’d said.