Chapter Text
If Atsumu was to put a finger on how exactly he’d fucked up this time, he’d probably have to say it was the breakfast. It was just too damn good for something made in his barebones kitchen at 4:21 AM. The tamagoyaki was actually spongy, not rubbery, the rice was relatively fresh, and he’d even had tsukemono in his fridge to pair with it. And yeah, while adding a thermos of hot soup to the already exemplary bento he’d made was a little excessive, Sakusa was the type to feel sick all day if he didn’t eat immediately after getting up, so he figured it could be excused given the circumstances.
Despite his best efforts, Sakusa was going to be late to the station. Atsumu knew this with certainty. He also knew that once he arrived, the only thing open at this hour would be the bakery selling cheap, sugary pastries, and that Sakusa’s maddening commitment to his health will lead to him to forgo food altogether rather than eat dessert for breakfast. Nevermind that this will make him feel worse than if he just bought a damn pastry, because Sakusa would never admit to that. So there. Soup justified.
The man himself walks out of the bathroom and makes eye contact just as Atsumu finishes ladling the soup into a thermos. Sakusa’s eyes drop down to the neatly packed meal he’s laid out on the counter, and suddenly Atsumu feels the air turn cold.
In volleyball terms, it’s a miss the moment it leaves Atsumu’s hands and he knows it. Not in the sense that his toss was off (rare), but because the player on the receiving end of it wasn’t ready to hit it (exceedingly less rare). That player being Sakusa though was practically unimaginable. On the court, Sakusa was infallible, capable of hitting Atsumu’s sets with almost no regard to the speed or the angle. Off the court however, he realizes that Sakusa is never prepared to receive Atsumu’s generosity, preferring instead to withdraw from their interactions like Atsumu recognizes he’s about to do right now. Oh well, he laments. No one’s good at everything. But then again, Atsumu has just proven himself to be fantastic at volleyball and 4AM breakfast, so maybe that statement is best reserved for other people.
Sakusa still hasn’t spoken, so Atsumu gets around to explaining himself instead.
“You’re gonna be late to the station.”
“No, I’m not.” Sakusa’s eyes have risen back up to meet him, though he looks considerably more annoyed now. Normally, he likes that Sakusa’s belligerent attitude seems to just bleed out of him like reflex, but Atsumu’s just put an uncharacteristically genuine amount of effort into doing something nice for him, so he’s feeling embarrassed and a bit bitchy now. He sighs. He should have known the soup would have consequences.
“Ya still need to get your stuff from your apartment, so yeah, ya are actually.”
“That doesn’t explain the…” Sakusa flicks his wrist towards the counter like it pains him to even say what it is out loud.
“The breakfast? This is because ya get sick when ya don’t have time to eat in the morning. Take it along and eat on the train.”
“Oh.” Sakusa’s eyes are wide, stunned into silence, but he reaches out and puts the containers in his gym bag anyway before heading for the genkan. Atsumu breathes and reminds himself to count the small victories.
“Text me when ya make it onto the train,” Atsumu follows him to the door.
“Okay.”
“See ya, Omi.”
“Okay.”
Atsumu scrapes his mind for something to say to break the tension, but Sakusa finishes putting on his shoes and leaves before he manages to do so. He's left with the skittish expression Sakusa was making as he closed the door, as if he was just dying to get out of there. His stomach turns.
So there you have it. Atsumu’s been ruminating on the whole exchange for hours now, unable to go back to sleep after Sakusa dissolved his fantastic mood with one cagey look. It’s obvious to him that the point where things went to shit was exactly when Sakusa saw the meal waiting for him. As if he had needed any more confirmation, Sakusa still hasn’t texted him about making it to the station, though he should be well past arriving in Tokyo by now. Atsumu isn’t exactly needy enough to reach out and ask, but damn does it piss him off. So Sakusa can invite himself over to stay the night, but Atsumu’s not even allowed to make him breakfast afterwards. Right. As always with Sakusa, the rules may as well be written in code.
Not that anything really happened last night, but for Atsumu and Sakusa’s specific brand of dysfunction, whatever last night was could only be called exceptional progress. Yesterday evening was the conclusion of the Kurowashiki tournament, and the official beginning of the off-season. For the Jackals, it was a welcome and much-needed break, as their match schedule for the other V-league tournaments was heavily scattered throughout April this year, without any reprieve before Kurowashiki’s opening in May.
The weather was warming, casting a humid, lazy haze over Osaka. Despite Atsumu’s excitement to celebrate, the heat, exhaustion, and beer had him dozing in the team’s shared izakaya booth by 10. More than escaping the embarrassment, he needed to go home and rest his muscles for real. He needed to eat something other than skewers and edamame. And most of all, he needed to talk to Sakusa before he left for Tokyo in the morning.
Atsumu taps Sakusa’s shoulder, signaling to him that he’s going to head out, and as usual, he follows. It’s become routine for them over the months since Sakusa joined the team, and Sakusa doesn’t need to ask to know that he’s invited whenever Atsumu leaves a party early.
It makes his heart warm, the fact that Sakusa seems to adhere himself specifically to Atsumu more than anyone else in the team, though he supposes their familiarity from high school has something to do with that. Despite Sakusa’s aloof appearance, he warmed up to the rest of MSBY fairly quickly. He stays late to practice with Inunaki. He goes to all of Bokuto’s ‘team-bonding’ hangouts, even when it’s an activity he hates. He even agreed to watch Barnes’ kid once when he and his wife had date night. But Atsumu’s still the only one he has dinner with after practice, the only one who’s seen Sakusa’s apartment, and the only one he ever leaves the bar with. He likes to think that it means something more.
They never really do anything interesting on their late-night escapades, usually opting to walk until they’re hungry enough to get takeout and watch a movie back at someone’s place. Tonight’s menu is 7/11, since they’re both too tired and too drunk to have the patience for any real food. The fresh air doesn’t help to wake him and by the time they’ve arrived back at Atsumu’s apartment, comfortably full and watching TV dramas on his couch, Atsumu is still wiped. Sakusa might even be more so. So much for a shot at real conversation.
It might have been for the best, since he didn’t really know how to go about talking to Sakusa about this thing they have anyway. But Sakusa’s leaving in a matter of hours, and he won’t be back until pre-season training starts up again in two months. Atsumu has a gnawing feeling that if he doesn’t figure out some way to get his feelings sorted now, there’s no telling how long it will be until he gets the chance to again.
He closes his eyes and thinks. Atsumu has learned that winning Sakusa’s affections requires a delicate balance of perceivable care and perceivable indifference. Sakusa wouldn’t bother to even look at him if he didn’t feel it was worth his while, so Atsumu has to work hard to prove his necessity and charm. He might pester and tease Sakusa more than anyone else, but he also provides the quiet companionship that Sakusa secretly craves, learns his habits and preferences, and does his best to thoughtfully indulge them. Given how much he likes having him around, it’s honestly not that hard to do. Well, except for the times that Sakusa takes a little too much notice to his efforts, and he has to start acting like a jerk again to throw him off the scent.
The problem is that Sakusa doesn’t exactly take being doted on well, although he seemingly needs it. If he starts to actually think about it, it’s over. One overstep, one comment that’s a bit too genuine, or one gesture that’s just too thoughtful can send him running for the hills, eager to dissolve any sense of intimacy that Atsumu’s managed to establish. It’s happened more times than he can count. Each time, they spend their time apart woefully unmoored until Sakusa relents and they inevitably drift back together. It’s a maddening cycle that Atsumu is determined to break. He’s been rolling a boulder of pent-up affection up this stupid, stupid hill for months, only for Sakusa to deliberately kick it back down every time he summits. He’s fucking sick of it.
By this point, there’s absolutely no way Sakusa doesn’t know how he feels. Atsumu’s playful antagonism has really only ever been directed towards people he likes anyway, and anyone who’s managed to earn a spot on Atsumu’s short list titled ‘Loved and/or Respected’ knows this. Sakusa isn’t dumb. He probably knows that if Atsumu wasn’t interested, he would have left him alone a long time ago. Atsumu may be outgoing, but he’s not social, and not ashamed to ignore people who aren’t worth his time. Sakusa knows this. And so he is forced to conclude that since Sakusa still hangs around, he’s accepted his feelings, or at the very least isn’t disgusted by them. After all, Sakusa wouldn’t oblige him if he wasn’t interested either. That’s what makes this whole thing between them work in the first place.
When Atsumu opens his eyes, the TV is still blaring. He doesn’t recognize the program playing at all, which is weird, because he’d been following the movie they had on pretty well. He sits up.
He’s in a new position, back resting against the arm of the couch, whereas he had been sitting properly before. Sakusa has slumped forward, asleep, which Atsumu would be fine with, if it weren’t for the fact that his nose was crushed against Atsumu’s solar plexus.
He nearly jumps off the couch. In a haze of panic, he checks the clock. It’s 1AM. The last he remembers it was 11. His heart rate spikes. Have they been in this position for the whole two hours? Did Sakusa do this intentionally? He isn’t sure if he’s terrified or grateful. He’d been secretly hoping for a while now that Sakusa would cozy up to him during their frequent movie nights, but with no luck. Now, he realizes, if he had gotten his way earlier, the volume of his heartbeat alone would have given him away. Damn. It’s humbling to realize how nervous he is.
Then, as Atsumu attempts to extricate himself from the couch, Sakusa wakes up, and short circuits his brain for a second time. Atsumu is prepared for him to panic and leave. Maybe this time, he’ll stay away for good and he won’t get another chance with him. Instead, Sakusa shifts himself up Atsumu’s body, removing his head from its uncomfortable spot on his ribs, and deposits his face right into the crook of his neck.
What the fuck?
“Omi,” Atsumu chokes out.
Silence follows.
“Tsumu?”
Oh, great. Now he's super nervous, but for good reason. Sakusa rarely calls him by name when speaking to him. He’s Miya on a good day and Atsumu if he’s super lucky. But Tsumu? That’s new.
At this point, Atsumu’s lost the plot entirely. Either that or he’s dead, which is honestly plausible, since he was pretty sure Sakusa was going to kill him the moment he woke up on his chest. It could have happened, really. A lot of weird shit already has, so what’s one more thing? But then again, the likelihood of Atsumu’s post-death destination being heaven seems a little far-fetched, so he’s forced to conclude that he really does have to deal with this appropriately instead of just leaning into it. He’d be damned if he knew how though.
“It’s one. As much as I like havin’ ya here, you should probably be headin’ home to get ready to go.” he says. He supposes he’s going for the serious and responsible route this time, which surprises even himself.
“Hmmm. Staying here. Too tired,” Sakusa slurs out. Atsumu can feel the hum of his voice right against his own throat. It’s horrible. It sends a pleasant shiver down his spine he’s going to remember for days..
“Omi. You’re gonna kill me in the morning if I let ya—”
“Shhhhh. M’still tryna sleep.” Sakusa reaches up and presses his fingers into his lips to quiet him, before his arm goes slack again a few seconds later and slides off Atsumu’s face, taking a little bit of his drool with it. For once, Atsumu cringes in disgust and Sakusa doesn’t seem to care. It’s clear that he’s exhausted, as if every movement is painful for him. His heart hurts watching it.
“Fine. But let’s at least go to bed for real, yeah? We’re both gonna feel wicked tomorrow if we stay here.” He pulls on the back of Sakusa’s collar in a way that’s sure to be too uncomfortable to ignore, and to his relief, Sakusa starts to shift off of him. He follows Atsumu to the back room and collapses on the unmade bed without any further prompting.
This is all so uncharacteristic for Sakusa. Witnessing it is doing something weird to Atsumu’s stomach, waking him up from his previous stupor. He wanders to the kitchen to retrieve water for both of them, but Sakusa is asleep again by the time he returns.
He isn’t really sure what to do now. He’s awake, and Sakusa pointedly is not. He feels too frazzled to just get in bed, but his pride is also keeping him from exiling himself from his own bedroom and sleeping on the couch again. He scrubs his hands over his face. He thinks about calling Osamu, but explaining why he’s so worked up would force him to actually admit that he likes Sakusa. Osamu knows anyway, but Atsumu isn’t ready to concede to that so soon.
In the end, he just gets in the bed. There’s enough space for them to sleep without touching anyway, and Atsumu’s starting to feel the pit of embarrassment grow in his stomach for getting so worked up.
When he settles, Sakusa lets out a grunt of acknowledgement and slaps a palm onto the tip of Atsumu’s shoulder, gripping it loosely and letting his hand just rest there. It isn’t all that affectionate if Atsumu’s being honest, but for Sakusa, it damn well may be equal to a confession. It’s lethal, actually. The fact that Sakusa feels the need to anchor them together in his sleep makes him so happy he’s beside himself. He thinks that there’s absolutely no way he can fall asleep now.
Except he does. And when he wakes up again, it’s still so early that the pitch of the Osaka night bleeds in through his window, making the air feel thick. He blearily makes out the time on his phone to be 3:45. Sakusa is still curled up close by, though his hand had slipped from Atsumu’s shoulder a while ago. He clutches his chest and lets himself smile for a bit.
Atsumu debates waking him up. Realistically, he has to, since Sakusa needs to be leaving for the station in the next half hour or so. But, as Atsumu watches him sleep, he realizes that he’s afraid to find out what version of Sakusa he’s going to get once the reality of spending the night sinks in. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he already knows. But the jellied feeling in his gut makes him want to try. To try to make things different. Maybe, just maybe, if he’s sweet, if he’s caring, if he can show him just how nice it is to wake up beside him, Sakusa will float off to Tokyo aching to see him again instead of eager to avoid him to all hell.
“Omi,” Atsumu shakes him gently. “Time to get up. Really now. You gotta go.”
Sakusa grunts a bit before rolling onto his back.
“Mm, time?” He asks with his eyes still closed.
“Almost 4.”
That seems to do it. Sakusa opens his eyes and sits up, and suddenly Atsumu feels like the moment is dissipating all too quickly.
“Bathroom’s all yours. I’ll collect your stuff and put it in the genkan. You still have time, Omi.” he supplies, desperate to keep him calm and slow everything back down.
Sakusa hums while getting up, a nervous little noise indicating that he’s thinking through Atsumu’s proposition, before making for the door. He pauses to look back at him, showing him a shy curve of his lips, mouth closed, eyes wrinkled at the corners. Atsumu has learned to recognize this particular smile as genuine.
“Thanks, Atsumu.” He says, and enters the ensuite.
If Atsumu had known at the time that moment would be the last good interaction he’d have with Sakusa for months, maybe ever, he would have tried harder to make it last.
He can still see it all in his head. The warm light from the bathroom had swirled together with the blue morning haze of Atsumu’s room right on the spot where Sakusa stood, in the doorway, his face cast just bright enough for Atsumu to make out the adoring look he had sent his way. His stomach twists and tingles when he thinks about it. Sakusa had been mussed up from sleep to the point where even the hair on his eyebrows pointed in different directions, and yet, the fact that Atsumu now knows what he looks like when he wakes up feels so private, so secret, that Atsumu can only call the whole thing dreamlike.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand and he jumps up, only to find that Sakusa is still making a point of not texting him. He peers down at the message from Bokuto instead. It’s a link to some inane video Bokuto thought he might enjoy, and he considers ignoring it outright to go back and wallow in his self pity. His need for validation wins out.
Me (08:01)
bokkunnnnn
omi’s ignorin me again
bokkun (08:03)
Tsum tsum!
If you’re worried, Omi’s fine!
Just talked to him about meeting in Tokyo
Leave it to Bokuto to rub Atsumu’s failures in his face, though he isn’t really sure what he expected. While ever cheerful, Bokuto’s never been one to indulge his shitty moods, but if anyone’s close enough to the issue to understand how ridiculous it all is, it’s him. Being his first friend on the team, Bokuto has borne witness to Atsumu and Sakusa’s relationship in all of its changeable seasons. He’s seen Atsumu’s dignity rise from the ashes every time Sakusa plays hot when he thought he’d permanently gone cold, only to die all over again.
He supposes this all sounds somewhat corny, but he desperately needs to romanticize the bitch of a situation he’s in. He’ll cry otherwise. Bokuto is also weirdly close to Sakusa, and hence is able to decode a lot of his idiosyncratic behaviors that even Atsumu struggles to sympathize with. Atsumu has to give credit where credit is due.
Me (08:04)
oh
did he say anything about me
Even in the moment, he knows this is pathetic. Bokuto’s kind enough to ignore it, but he still wants to faint and perish instead of reading his reply anyway.
bokkun (08:08)
No :(
But really tsum tsum, I think you guys are okay
He seemed fine when I talked to him earlier
And I saw you guys leave last night, when he told me yesterday he was tired and would go home early!!
So I think he wanted to be with you
You know how he gets sometimes
Don’t worry so much! :)
Me (08:10)
not worried
but thanks bokkun
Bokuto’s probably right, but he still isn’t satisfied. He lets it sit for all of 5 minutes before he’s back trying to get some divine guidance out of Bokuto again.
Me (08:15)
it’s just that
if he ignores me for all off season
when he comes back
i don’t know if i’ll know how to fix things
bokkun (08:17)
Aw
We all know he likes you, tsum tsum!
You won’t have to fix things
Let him handle himself
When I get to Tokyo next week, I’ll check on him
OK?
It’s reasonable advice, especially coming from Bokuto, but Atsumu doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He realizes now he preferred moping to this. Bokuto’s got a unique talent of making his situation feel all too normal, and suddenly he feels a flare of anger for the fact that the world isn’t ending after all, because it really fucking should be. He’s just a normal guy experiencing lovesickness for the first time at the ripe age of 22. He hates how dumb that sounds.
It’s all too simple really. He likes Sakusa, Sakusa likes him. Neither of them want to be the first to admit it. Practically every person on the damn planet has played this stupid game of chicken before, and after watching Osamu’s various romantic failures throughout high school, Atsumu knows he sure as hell didn’t invent it. It’s an experiment with results that have been replicated a jillion times, and with an obvious solution. And yet, it’s the hardest thing he's ever done.
Except that the more he thinks about it, he realizes that it had to be this way. Atsumu has never excelled at tenderness; he’s rough, he’s relentless, antagonistic, anything but sweet. It’s how he and his brother have loved each other their entire lives, and how he’s eventually gained the respect of the people he now calls friends. That, and the fact that Atsumu has always been the type to make everything as difficult as possible for the fun of it, so naturally when the prickliest, least hospitable guy he’s ever met in his life appeared in front of him, he just had to go and fall in love.
If Sakusa was any more typical, any more affectionate or sensitive towards Atsumu’s emotions, Atsumu probably would have found him as annoying as he does most other people and never bothered. Even more so, if Sakusa was easier to please, any more willing to reciprocate his affections, he would have gotten bored and moved on by now. So in the end, Atsumu concludes that it’s kind of a good thing Sakusa’s being such an asshole about it all, switching up the rules on him constantly without bothering to explain why. It gives him something to work for, enough challenge to not feel like it’s a total waste of time, since most other things are. After all, Atsumu plays games for a living. It’s an inherent feature of his personhood, and what makes him such a good athlete. It would simply be insane to expect that not to translate into his relationships as well, sue him.
The problem is Sakusa is a vicious opponent, and there’s no doubt in his mind that Atsumu is for real losing this one. Needless to say, this was not part of his brilliant game plan. He had foolishly thought that his desire to be closer to Sakusa would not change the nature of their relationship. That even together, like really together, they could maintain their abrasive, contemptuous dynamic; the only form of love Atsumu knows he could handle confidently. He realizes now that this was simply a fantasy to begin with.
Sakusa has ripped a form of tenderness right out of his chest, previously unrevealed to even Atsumu himself, and he feels so raw he’s beside himself. Atsumu wants to care for him, to please him, to make him smile the same way he did this morning in the bathroom. He also wants to take Sakusa by the shoulders and shake him, to yell and cry at him, to force him to take accountability for the mess he’s made of Atsumu’s heart and sense of self. Instead he’s cornered, unable to do any of these things, as Sakusa has commandeered the game that he first invented. Nothing is clear except that he doesn’t want to play anymore.
After a short train ride into Osaka proper, Atsumu arrives at Onigiri Miya just a few minutes before 9AM. He flips the ‘Open’ sign on the door as he walks in and faceplants onto the counter next to the display case. The sound of Osamu rummaging around in the kitchen grounds him after the chaos of the Osaka rush hour. He closes his eyes.
“Oh, good. Thought ya might’ve died after I saw the MSBY celebration pics trending on Twitter this morning,” Osamu nudges his head with the back of a tong.
“Mm, no. Left early actually,” he replies.
“With Sakusa? Did you two finally work your shit out?”
“Ya think I’d be here with your company if I did?”
“But there is shit to work out though, right?” He sits up and sees Osamu grin.
Atsumu swallows. He plans to fight for his dignity, but Osamu slaps a wet rag down in front of him instead.
“It’s fine if ya wanna hang out, but wipe the counter again. I can’t have your greasy faceprint scare off the paying customers,” he says and walks back into the kitchen. Atsumu complies and then follows him behind the curtain.
“He’s just like, so fucking hot and cold. All touchy and stuff during Kurowashiki, hoverin’ around me when I’m out greeting the college teams. Then he stayed over last night and wouldn’t even speak to me when he woke up, and there was this thing he did with my shoulder, and now he’s back in Tokyo and he’s texting Bokkun but not me, and—”
“Wait. He stayed over?” Osamu interrupts.
“Yeah, like, we slept until he had to get the train,” Atsumu grabs a knife out of the cutlery block and starts working on Osamu’s morning pile of vegetables.
“Tsumu, I thought ya said ya were just messin’ around. Now you’re having him sleep over. Who’s fucking with who then?”
“He is! With me! He just invited himself over, I thought we were gonna do a movie like we always do, but then instead goin’ home he went to sleep in my room, and I have no ide—”
Osamu laughs. “Oh my god, Tsumu. Worry is not a good look on you.”
Atsumu starts chopping harder. When he runs out of carrots to slice he starts again on the same slices, making them into even thinner slices. A julienne, if you will. Osamu should be grateful he’s classing this restaurant up. He wonders if Sakusa would appreciate his budding culinary talents. Did he even eat his food? Was it too salty, or too small a portion? Fuck. He huffs and looks back up.
“D’ya think I should text and ask him what his fucking deal is?”
“I think ya should stop turning my carrots into dust,” Osamu takes the knife from him and guides him back out to the counter. He hands Atsumu a plate, topped with the first onigiri of the day, the rice still hot. His frustration suddenly dissolves into something more watery and morose. He takes a bite to fend off the tears threatening his waterline.
Osamu leaves him for a few minutes to tend to a small wave of customers that had developed at the register. Atsumu sobers up and looks around the walls of the restaurant, at the photos and banners that had made the cut into Osamu’s sparse set of decorations. There’s a few photos here and there of them together, including one with Aran as kids. There’s a picture that Atsumu had taken himself as a child, the edges of the frame blurry from his unsteady childish hands, of Osamu and their mother cooking in the kitchen of their old home. He fondly smiles at that one. The most recent photo is of Osamu setting up shop at an MSBY game, Atsumu pictured in the background whispering to Sakusa with a mischievous smile, who is subtly smiling back.
He feels exposed, suddenly aware that their whole charade has been on display since the beginning. If everyone can see them dancing around each other, can they also see how much power Sakusa is exerting over him? Does he even know much of Sakusa’s behavior is genuine, and how much of it is for show? Atsumu likes to think that deep down, Sakusa isn’t trying to intentionally string him along, but is he right to assume that? Or worse, has he given off that image to Sakusa?
“Tsumu, just be straight with him,” Osamu says upon his return. “Ain’t nothing ya can say to him that he don’t already know at this point,”
“Ya don’t know that,” he replies sullenly.
“I do. I thought ya did too, but apparently I still underestimate how thick ya are,” Osamu looks back at the photo wall. “D’ya know how that picture ended up there?” He asks.
“Thought Komori took it.”
“He did. But Sakusa’s the one who sent it to me.”
A little known fact about Atsumu is that he’s an anxious traveler. By little known, he means that everyone in Inarizaki VBC is acutely aware of it, yet he would never admit to this. By the time they arrive at their hotel, it’s already dark, and everyone else seems wiped, but he still feels as restless as he did when they left Amagasaki over six hours ago, pacing the carpet of the hotel lobby. He heads to his shared room with Osamu, who’d been yawning since before their bus had even crossed the line into Tokyo prefecture.
Twenty minutes later, when Osamu starts snoring in the bed next to him, he decides that he’s had enough. He quietly gets up and leaves to explore the hotel.
To his relief, the first floor of the hotel has a fitness center. He disregards the after hours sign posted in the entrance to the pool complex and slips inside. The room is humid and dimly lit, the primary source of visibility from the glow of the pool lights themselves. Atsumu strips off his shirt, and wades into the water in his sleep shorts. The pool has the kind of warmth that blurs the sensation between his body and his surroundings, allowing him to relax and let the restless feeling in his muscles bleed into the water.
He swims a few laps, hoping to tire himself out enough to sleep, but after returning to the edge of the pool for the sixth time or so, he brings his head up to see someone standing over him, staring down. It takes a few seconds to blink out the chlorine in his eyes, but yellow shorts come into view first, along with a mop of dark hair. Atsumu grins at his visitor.
Sakusa doesn’t seem to have caught on yet. He squints down at him, until recognition dawns on his face and he frantically turns to leave.
“Omi-kun!”
Atsumu grabs his ankle and tugs. Sakusa jumps in surprise then slips, quite gracelessly, into the pool. He yelps, flails and sputters around, and attempts to pull Atsumu’s head under the water without even trying to save himself first. Atsumu laughs. He likes Sakusa, even though the only eye Sakusa's ever had on him was from the other side of a net. Even though he doesn’t know much about him other than his curt answers to truth or dare last year at All-Japan. Sakusa, first and foremost, matches his energy even when he’s pissed to all hell with him, so Atsumu decides right now, in this moment, that yeah, he quite likes Sakusa Kiyoomi.
“All right, all right,” He concedes the water fight and pushes Sakusa to the edge to help boost him back onto the concrete. “I know ya won’t believe this, but I really didn’t mean to pull ya in. I was just tryna stop ya from leavin’.”
“Like fuck you were, asshole. You practically ripped my foot out!” Sakusa exclaims, already ringing water out of his hair and removing his shirt to do the same.
“No, you ripped your foot out trying to get away from me. Which by the way, why’re ya here? Don’tcha live in Tokyo?” Atsumu asks.
“We have the first match slot tomorrow. Coach wanted us to have time to practice instead of wasting the morning on the commute.”
Atsumu lets out a low whistle.
“Wow, private schools will splurge on anything huh.”
Sakusa huffs out a sardonic laugh. “Miya, I saw your whole fucking band in the lobby. You guys have practically booked out the goddamn hotel.”
It’s true and Sakusa should say it. The band is excessive and, Atsumu would argue to no avail, damaging to his reputation. Atsumu has a certain image about his play, when he wins, he doesn’t want the resulting fanfare to make him look like a huge tryhard about it. Unfortunately, captain’s privileges only go so far, so here the band is anyway. But Atsumu doesn’t say any of that. Instead he says:
“Omi-kun, I don’t know if anyone has ever told ya this, but ya should really watch your fucking language.”
Sakusa stares back at him, slack-jawed, with a withering look of incredulity, as if he’s never heard anything more stupid. Atsumu thinks to himself that he quite likes how exaggerated his expressions are. He gives a lazy smile back. The room is silent for a bit. Atsumu may have finally found his peace. If he went back upstairs right now, could he actually sleep? Then something in the water touches his arm.
He looks down and sees a floating rectangle of cloth. Upon closer inspection, he realizes it’s an omamori charm.
“This yours?” He holds it up by the braided cord. “Wow, Omi-kun, I didn’t know ya believed in this kinda stuff,” he says, dumbly.
“Don’t touch that.” Sakusa snatches it back and smoothes the fabric with his thumb.
“What, ya worried I’m gonna curse it or something? Are ya hinging your nationals win on this?” he jokes.
Sakusa looks a little bit like he’s being hunted for sport, and it gives Atsumu pause. He feels like he’s just stumbled upon something he really was not supposed to see, which sounds stupid given the circumstances, but he has a feeling it’s not too far from the truth. He doesn’t want Sakusa to get up and leave yet though, so he scrambles to change the subject.
“You’re going pro, right? Ya picked teams for tryouts yet?”
Sakusa seems to lighten up a little. He lays the omamori on the ground to dry flat. “I’m shopping around,” he replies.
“Oh, wow. Way to keep it vague. I’m thinking Jackals, by the way.”
“I didn’t ask,” he retorts.
“Ya aren’t dyin’ to know? Cause if we run into each other, there’s no way I’m sharin’ the spotlight. I’ve been ready for this for years.”
Sakusa grins a little bit. “Lucky for me, I’m not sure I could ever accuse you of hogging it,” he says.
“Hey!” Atsumu squawks.
Lucky for me.
“Does that mean you’re aiming for MSBY too?”.
Sakusa stands up. “It’s late. Goodnight, Miya.” He walks to the door.
“Ya left your charm here!” Atsumu calls after him.
Sakusa turns around and smirks. “Keep it. You’re gonna need it more than I will.”
A few months later, Atsumu arrives at the MSBY home sports complex with a mere three hours of restless sleep, a stomach full of nerves, and an omamori in his pocket.
There’s a dozen other hopefuls in the gym with him. He recognizes a few familiar faces, mostly from Division 2 teams, and promptly realizes that he’s the youngest there.
Except for Sakusa, who is already in line, stoically staring ahead. Atsumu figures that it would be very much like Sakusa to arrive early and complete his stretches before Atsumu had even entered the gym, but upon second inspection, Sakusa looks…. off. Rigid. Out of his head. Atsumu wonders if he should go up and talk to him. He had planned to cheekily return the omamori if his hunch that Sakusa would show ended up being correct, but now he thinks it might not be a good time. Something about Sakusa’s appearance unsettles him, but he can’t risk losing his own focus for the sake of an opponent. He looks away.
Tryouts go smoothly, at least for Atsumu. Just like usual on the court, his nerves fade into a thrum of electricity that propels him throughout all of the drills he’s asked to do. By the end, he’s gotten the opportunity to showcase all of his serves and his most distinguished setting techniques. It feels incredible — the blinding fluorescent light, the fatigue in his muscles from overwork, the poor sleep — everything that pained him before becomes an integral part of the perfection and he knows that he’s achieved exactly what he came to do.
Sakusa does not fare as well. It would be hard to say that he’s playing badly , but Atsumu’s seen Sakusa at his best, and this certainly isn’t it. He’s slow on his run ups, the spin he puts on the ball doesn’t look quite as mean as it usually does, he’s not putting his full weight into his digs — Atsumu has a handful of critiques, but it all essentially boils down to one thing — he doesn’t even look like he’s trying. It pisses him off.
When it’s over, he approaches him on the sidewalk.
“Hey, what the fuck was that? Ya played like shit just now.”
Sakusa turns around, looking like he’s about to throttle him. His eyes bug out a little and Atsumu can hear him scoff inside his mask.
“Why the fuck are you here,” he says, less as a question and more as a threat.
“Are ya serious?! Did ya even try? Cause if ya think the rest of us are just soooooo far below that ya don’t even need t—”
“Miya, I know I mock you sometimes, but you really are such an asshole. Why can’t you just take your victory for the day and fuck right off!?”
“I know how ya play, Omi! I know what you’re capable of, and what I saw today was not even close—”
“How! How do you know?” Sakusa interrupts with an emphatic yell. His fists are gathered at his sides, shaking with the force of his voice.
“Wait, what?” Atsumu is starting to lose the plot of this conversation (fight?). What did he come here to say again? Sakusa continues.
“Maybe this is all that I’m capable of! You know, V League is completely different from high school. I’m glad that your monumental fucking ego is working out for you enough that you can shamelessly ignore that, but I’m not like you. Leave me the fuck alone for once!”
Sakusa storms off before he can get another word in. Atsumu feels his feet sink into the pavement.
His pocket burns.
A few months later, when Atsumu has a shiny new MSBY jersey in his closet, he finds a video of Sakusa playing for a college team. He considers texting him an apology, even drafts it multiple times, before he realizes that he’s not sorry, just confused. He never hits send.
Three years pass.
He returns to his apartment after dark, frustration worn down by a day of toil in the kitchen. The leftovers Osamu sent along promptly go into the fridge, and he retreats to the bedroom to dig around in his bedside drawer.
He finds it with little effort. It’s worn down and bleached from chlorine, but nonetheless well preserved. He runs his thumb along the characters etched on the front, the same way Sakusa did back in high school.
Kaiun. Good luck.
The word seems to be mocking him. Atsumu bitterly thinks over all the years he’s had it in his possession, and throughout all those years, how many times he’s watched Sakusa walk away from him.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was cursed.
Me (23:09)
i think im gonna go to tokyo
samu (23:11)
You’re joking right
What would ya even do
Me (23:13)
it’s not like im gonna show up on his doorstep or anythin’
idk ill figure it out when i get there
i just cant do this for all of off season. not again
samu (23:17)
And ya can’t just call him like a normal person??
You two are a perfect match, really
From hell, if that wasn’t clear
Me (23:19)
can ya at least try to have faith? i’m not goin’ just for him
samu (23:20)
Then what else are ya going for???
Me (23:21)
bokkun and i wanna get a head start on our new quick
and
samu (23:22)
?????
Me (23:23)
dont ya think its time onigiri miya got an expansion
samu (23:24)
Oh my god Tsumu
Don’t ya dare act like you’re doin’ this for me
Me (23:25)
i ain’t saying that!
just saying there can be multiple good reasons to go
seriously i can at least start looking at spots
if i find something good ya can come up and see for yourself
at least we save time that way
samu (23:30)
Fine
Good luck with Sakusa
Though ya wouldn’t need it if ya just fucking spoke to him