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Unsurprisingly, when Atsumu realises that he is in love with Sakusa, he immediately wants to go drown himself. This happens on a regular rainy Sunday afternoon, six months after they played against the Adlers. The realisation hits him out of nowhere, not unlike a volleyball to the face, even though it shouldn’t. He’d prefer that to the feelings if he’s honest.
(For Atsumu, ‘feelings’ is the f-word he tries to avoid.)
In the spirit of honesty, he’s probably been falling for a while and has only now hit the ground. Or maybe he’s hit the ground a long time ago and has finally accepted that he can’t get out of this hole, dusted himself off and decided to settle down because he’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Maybe he should make a home here, decorate.
He stares at Sakusa’s back, at the horribly neon-yellow-and-green monstrosity of a track-jacket, and he can’t decide who he hates more at this moment. Him, for wearing something as horrendously ugly as that, or himself, for finding it endearing.
The colour is even more obnoxious than usual, courtesy of the bland white cupboards and white tiles in the dormitory’s communal kitchen.
Sakusa rinses the remaining soap off the cup. His neck is covered by the collar of the toxic-waste coloured atrocity he’s wearing and his shoulders are scrunched up, and then he turns his head ever so slightly. “Are you going to stand there all day,” he grumbles, dousing the cup with water and then drying it with his personal dish towel.
(Atsumu had asked about it once. Apparently, it’s antibacterial or whatever and no, he can absolutely not borrow it to dry his hands after washing them at the kitchen sink.)
Atsumu is pulled out of his reverie and own self-pity by the deep timbre of Sakusa’s voice. “Yeah,” he says if only to piss Sakusa off.
He doesn’t say anything, yet Atsumu can tell that he’s irritated, which is nothing new. Sakusa tends to be annoyed whenever he’s in Atsumu’s presence. He’s annoyed most of the time, actually. It doesn’t even have anything to do with Atsumu.
Early on in his life, Atsumu realised he had a talent separate from volleyball. He knows how to be just persistently irritating enough so that people will pay attention to him but not so much that they will leave. He also knows exactly which things to say that will annoy someone the most. The thing is, however, that because of this, many people just plain don’t like him. This had never bothered him. They still respected him as a setter. If they had equal measures of contempt for him, so be it. He’s not here to make friends, he’s here to win.
So when he met Sakusa (the first time) he had made it his mission to pester him and get on his nerves so much that he burrowed so deep under his skin that Sakusa couldn’t ignore him no matter how hard he tried.
He figures any attention is positive attention, even if it makes people hate him. At least if they do it means they’re not ignoring him.
He hadn’t realised that this also rings true in reverse. He has never been able to ignore Sakusa Kiyoomi. The guy has a presence that demands attention, like a blinking billboard that screams look at me, while at the same time, there’s a sign that says trespassers will be shot on sight, complete with a barbed-wire fence.
Sakusa is an itch he can’t seem to scratch. A humming in his ears that doesn’t go away. The worst part about this is that he doesn’t want it to. He likes the tingling in his spine and fists, the thrum of his blood beneath his skin, the urge to throw something that he gets whenever he’s near Sakusa.
His feelings about Sakusa are complicated. The complicated part is that he doesn’t know how to identify his emotions and that he also has no desire whatsoever to deal with or express them.
He needs to go disappear off to the woods so that he doesn’t have to live with the knowledge that he liked the most unapproachable and touch-averse person in all of Japan. He really knows how to pick them. If Atsumu never won an award for his outstanding serves and sets, maybe he’d get one for falling for people who never in a million years will ever love him back.
Sakusa grabs his personal kettle out of the cupboard. He starts cleaning the outside.
Atsumu doesn’t know why he’s still watching this. He’s seen Sakusa make tea enough times to know the process inside and out. He could recite it in his sleep, probably.
(And isn’t that pathetic. He knows all of Sakusa’s idiosyncrasies. He knows how he makes tea and how he makes dinner and for some reason, he also knows how he changes his sheets as well as when and why. And which detergent he uses to wash his clothes.)
And wow, he should have realised he liked the guy a lot earlier than he did. He doesn’t pay attention to other people like he does to Sakusa. When he does, it’s usually to discern weaknesses that he can use against them on the court (or to piss them off). Osamu is probably off laughing somewhere without knowing why.
Any minute now, Atsumu is going to get a text from his brother, asking him what he fucked up this time. He bristles in advance and almost pulls out his phone to tell him off, but that would probably give away that he had indeed fucked up, if unwittingly and entirely against his own will.
Sakusa is scrubbing the interior of the kettle when he grumbles again, “Why are you still here.” He rinses out the left-over suds for a minute and forty-three seconds – Atsumu is a little disgusted with himself for knowing this – and then fills the kettle with fresh water.
He starts forward, one arm reaching for the kettle but not nowhere near touching it, and calls out, “Wait!”
Sakusa turns around immediately, eyebrows furrowed. “What,” he asks, inflectionless.
“You didn’t wipe the tap,” Atsumu tells him, and somehow, Sakusa seems to be freaking out about this less than expected.
He still has his hand on the tap, for god’s sake.
“Yes,” Sakusa confirms.
“You always wipe it down beforehand,” Atsumu continues, like this is Sakusa’s first time making tea in the dorm kitchen.
“What’s your point,” Sakusa asks as he sets the kettle down and turns it on.
Atsumu almost has a heart attack on his behalf.
The water boils, and Atsumu’s heart is beating a mile a minute because Sakusa is scooping tea and he didn’t wipe down the tap and doesn’t seem to care and he likes this bastard so much he really wants to throw himself off a cliff. Osamu is going to have a field day with this.
Atsumu decides that this isn’t actually Sakusa, it’s an imposter.
“Who are ya?” he asks, narrowing his eyes to see if perhaps this is actually an optical illusion, a trick of the light.
“Have your last remaining brain cells finally abandoned you,” Sakusa says and pours the water into the cup before setting the kettle back down.
Atsumu doesn’t understand anything anymore. Normally, Sakusa would immediately dispose of the leftover water and start cleaning the kettle before leaving to go do the things that Sakusa Kiyoomi usually did on their only day off.
(Atsumu, of course, knew what they were. Purely by coincidence, he found out that Sakusa goes for a jog at six am, then he has breakfast. After that, he cleans the kitchen. Then he goes to his room. At some point in the day (usually after lunch) he does his laundry. Nothing can stop him from his routine. Not even Atsumu sitting in the laundry room, pestering Sakusa for an hour and a half.)
“I don’t even know who you are!” Atsumu wails before fleeing the kitchen and running up the stairs to hide from the Sakusa-impersonator before he decides to finally make good on the threats the real Sakusa has been making since meeting him and killing him. Because that’s the only reason there would be an imposter – to kill Atsumu.
He pulls out his phone, but he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
He absolutely can’t tell Osamu. He will never let him live this down. The last time he told him about a crush, Osamu would start laughing at him every time he so much as opened his mouth. At long last, Kita had put an end to it because it was not only disrupting volleyball practise, it was also detrimental to their home life because Osamu never stopped, not at dinner, not during the night. (Of course, when Atsumu found out about Osamu’s crushes, he gave him payback. So much payback.)
He can’t tell anyone else because the only two people on this team he’s actually friends with are too loud to be trusted with this. The entire prefecture would know within five minutes or less, courtesy of Bokuto’s exuberance. Not that he would do it out of malice. He just doesn’t have an inside voice. He doesn’t even actually have an outside voice. He has an is-perpetually-holding-a-megaphone voice. Atsumu doesn’t need Bokuto to announce to the entire solar system that he has a crush on Sakusa, no thank you.
There’s a knock on his door.
Suspiciously, he stands up and pulls it open a crack. To his absolute horror and complete surprise, none other than Sakusa Kiyoomi is standing there, holding two cups of steaming tea. (Idly, he wonders how he knocked on the door when both his hands are occupied.)
His imposter-theory is getting more plausible by the minute.
He plasters on a wide smile (the one that Sakusa hates) and asks, “Omi-omi, what brings ya here?”
Sakusa, predictably, scowls at him. Atsumu can almost see him frown even though he’s wearing his mask. “You are acting odder than usual,” he says in lieu of an explanation as to why he has brought him tea and carefully tries to hand him the cup.
It’s Atsumu’s favourite cup that he always uses but has never told anyone about, and Sakusa brought him tea in it. (His stomach feels strange. He refuses to believe this might be because of, ugh, feelings.)
He stares at the proffered cup, and he can feel Sakusa getting more and more irritated with him by the second.
“Didcha poison it?” he hedges.
Sakusa rolls his eyes. “When I kill you, you won’t be able to tell until it’s too late.”
Atsumu accepts this answer and the tea. Then he raises his head sharply before he asks, “What d’ya mean, when ?”
He swears Sakusa is smiling beneath his mask. For a second, the corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly, but it’s gone too soon and Atsumu doesn’t know if he imagined it or not.
“Enjoy your definitely-not-poisoned tea, Miya,” he says, turns on his heels and starts off down the corridor to his own room.
Atsumu is left staring at the now-empty spot in front of his door, wondering what the hell is going on. He puts the cup on his bedside table and lies down face-first on his bed.
His phone vibrates in his pocket and he curses his brother.
—
Bokuto and Hinata are yelling (for them, it’s probably just talking), as they do, and it’s only seven am in the morning and Atsumu finds himself wondering how Sakusa deals with it. Years of volleyball have acclimated him to the noise of guys who are always on, but right now, he wants earplugs.
Really, they’re great guys, but sometimes, they’re a little too much.
He is not so disillusioned that he doesn’t know that people think the same thing about him, with the exception that they absolutely don’t believe that deep, deep down, he’s actually a nice guy.
Atsumu is just in the process of pulling on his practise shirt, doing his best to drown out the noise from the two loudest people he knows when he hears the words Miya, let’s practise the quick today.
He turns to answer Hinata’s request when he realises that it wasn’t him that had asked but Sakusa. Which makes sense, because it was a statement more than a question, and if the past year had taught him anything, Sakusa didn’t ask for things, he demanded them.
Slowly, he makes to face Sakusa who is looking at him somewhat expectantly. If the minutely raised brow and slightly tilted head can be called that. Atsumu stares at him for so long, Sakusa gets impatient.
(Not that he is known for his patience.)
His foot is tapping on the floor and his voice is a degree sharper than its usual edge. “Well?”
“Are ya talkin’ t’me?” Atsumu finally asks, like an idiot.
“No, I am actually talking to your brother who is standing directly behind you and has quit his onigiri-business to become a setter for the Black Jackals without ever mentioning it to you before today. Yes, I am talking to you. What the hell is wrong with you? Did you hit your head?”
Atsumu repeats the words he thinks he’s heard earlier, just to make sure there are no misunderstandings. “You're askin’ me t’practise the quick?”
“Yes,” Sakusa confirms through gritted teeth, like this conversation is physically painful for him. Well, that’s not too different from any other time that he has talked to Atsumu.
His confirmation, however, is another piece of evidence for Atsumu’s imposter-theory.
“Who the hell are ya?” Atsumu inquires, scrutinising ‘Sakusa’ to find something that will irrefutably tell him that this person in front of him is not, in fact, the real Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Bokuto’s hooting laughter bellows from behind him. He whips around to see Bokuto bent over, clutching his stomach. As he straightens up, he wipes a tear from his cheek and then says, “Tsumu, you’re hilarious today!”
Bokuto telling him that he’s being ‘hilarious’ should have been the first warning sign. Actually, it should have been his fifth, but Atsumu is not the most aware person and doesn’t think he’s ever wrong, so he ignores it.
—
Sakusa is waiting in front of a ball cart when Atsumu enters the gym. Because Atsumu is weak, he decides to practise the quick with imposter Sakusa. Maybe he’ll gain some insight and find proof that this isn’t actually Sakusa. If he doesn’t, at least he’ll get to spend some time with him. (By which he means he can stare at his arms and legs and maybe if he’ll get lucky, his shirt will lift up a little when he’s in the air.)
“Are you done being an idiot more so than usual?” Sakusa needles, the corner of his mouth almost pulling up into a smirk.
“Are ya done pretendin’ to be Omi-Omi?” Atsumu retorts and takes his place in front of the net.
“I don’t understand you,” Sakusa says, takes a ball from the cart and walks to the edge of the court. He throws up the ball in a high arc and starts his run-up.
Because this is merely muscle-memory for Atsumu, he sets the ball without a second thought. Sakusa, after assessing the toss for a split second, hits it and it lands on the other side of the net with a deafening smack and a deadly spin on it.
A chorus of 'nice kill' comes from all sides of the gym. (Atsumu knows it wasn’t. Sakusa does, too. The set was subpar at best and horrible at worst. How embarrassing.)
Sakusa turns to Atsumu, a scowl on his face. “What the hell is wrong with you today,” he says, like he’s not the one acting weird.
Atsumu is acting perfectly normal, thank you very much. Nothing weird is going on at all. Atsumu doesn’t think he’s acting any different than usual; isn’t that concerning.
“What the hell’s wrong with me?! You’re actin’ like a different person! I can’t even look at ya! I’m goin’ to practise with Shouyou!”
Sakusa just looks at him like he’s grown a second head but doesn’t say anything, so Atsumu storms off to join Shouyou and Bokuto.
It doesn’t really do him much good. He watches Sakusa from the corner of his eye when Bokuto and Shouyou are distractedly talking about the upcoming practise matches in Tokyo.
When Sakusa isn’t wearing his mask, he’s actually very good-looking. (Atsumu thinks he also looks good with the mask on, but that’s neither here nor there. He even looks good when he’s wearing that horrible jacket that burns Atsumu’s retinas. He wants to tear that thing off him. And great, now he’s thinking about taking Sakusa’s clothes off. Abort mission.)
—
Atsumu has just gotten out of the shower when his phone buzzes once in its place on the bed. Unsurprisingly, it’s from Osamu. It lights up the screen along with the text notification from yesterday that he had ignored.
The text is short and to the point.
Ctrl+V: idk y but u did something
Atsumu debates whether or not to reply. He decides to send a text back because history has shown that ignoring texts from Osamu ends with him visiting, and Atsumu wants to avoid that at all costs.
Me: piss off
He gets dressed in his favourite sweats-and-t-shirt combination and is just about to sit down on his bed with his laptop when there’s a knock on the door. Against his better judgement, he walks over and opens it, only to come face-to-face with none other than Sakusa.
“What do ya want?”
“Meian told me to remind you to go see the team’s doctor,” he says, monotonously. Now, this sounds more like Sakusa. He’s even wearing his face-mask.
“Already did,” he lies.
“No, you didn’t.”
“There’s nothin’ wrong with me!” he protests.
“I would beg to differ. There are at least seven different things wrong with you at any given time,” he starts, and wow, that’s exactly what Atsumu wants to hear from the guy he has a crush on. “But today, there’s something else going on or so I’ve been told by most of the people on the team. Not that I haven’t noticed you acting stranger than usual since yesterday.”
“Me?” he squeaks indignantly – why is his voice so high all of a sudden? “You! You’re actin’ like-like– you didn’t wipe down the tap in the communal kitchen yesterday!”
Sakusa’s eyebrow twitches. “I cleaned the kitchen myself. The sink was immaculate.”
“Okay,” Atsumu concedes. “But that doesn’t explain why ya brought me tea!”
Sakusa tilts his head, which Atsumu absolutely does not find cute. “I figured you wanted to make some since you were waiting around in the kitchen.”
He was being… considerate? It’s almost like he was trying to be nice.
Atsumu knew there was something afoot. (He doesn’t think about the fact that he sees something wrong with people – Sakusa – doing nice things for him. That’s a can of worms he really doesn’t want to open.)
“Hah!” Atsumu exclaims and points a finger at Sakusa. He steps back with wide eyes.
“What,” he asks, eyeing the finger warily.
“You don’t do stuff for anyone, ‘specially me! So who are ya an' what have ya done with the real Sakusa?”
Sakusa looks at him curiously for a second and then his eyes narrow. “Fine. I won’t do it again,” he snaps, shoves his hands into the pockets of the most obnoxious piece of clothing on the planet, and leaves.
Sakusa Kiyoomi has just admitted that he had done something nice for Atsumu, which means the world must be coming to an end. (Atsumu ignores how his stomach does a flip at the thought of his crush doing something nice for him. Anyway, it’s too weird. Sakusa being nice is like… Atsumu not being a jerk.)
Atsumu closes his door and sits down on his bed, pulls his laptop close and opens the lid. Once it’s turned on, he loads Skype and calls his brother.
When he picks up, the first thing Atsumu says is, “The world’s endin’.”
Osamu, who is used to his brother’s antics and flair for dramatics simply rolls his eyes. “I’m good, thanks for askin’. How are you?”
“Didn’tcha hear me, Samu? The world’s endin’!”
Osamu inspects his nails. “I heard ya.”
“Something’s seriously wrong.”
“Whatcha do?”
“Wasn’t me this time!”
This catches his brother’s attention. He looks up, something akin to interest shimmering in his eyes. He raises his brows in invitation for Atsumu to continue.
“‘kay. So. If someone that hatedcha did somethin’ nice outta the blue, what’s that mean?”
“You’re gonna hafta be more specific, Sumu. A lotta people hate ya.”
Atsumu glares at his brother. “What am I s'posed to do?”
Osamu shrugs. As always, he’s being completely useless. “Don’t know. Who was it?”
“I’m not telling ya.”
Osamu nods. “So it was Sakusa.”
Atsumu sputters. “W-what?! No!”
“Okay, now I definitely know it was Sakusa. But why would he do something nice? Especially for you. Are ya sure it was on purpose? Maybe you and yer pea-brain misinterpreted somethin’.”
“He told me!”
“Hmm,” Osamu hums, scratching his chin and being a generally unpleasant dick in Atsumu’s opinion. “What exactly did he do?”
“He brought me tea an’ he didn’t poison it.”
There’s a flicker of a smile on Osamu’s face, which turns into evil laughter. Or normal laughter. But Atsumu thinks it’s evil because clearly, his brother is laughing at him.
“Wow. An’ lemme guess, you acted like a total dick about it.”
Atsumu doesn’t answer, which is enough of an answer itself.
“So, care to tell me why this is buggin’ ya so much?” Osamu teases and grins like a fox.
Atsumu hangs up and shuts his laptop.
His phone buzzes three times in quick succession. He glances at the screen quickly. The first one is a row of crying-laughing emojis. The second is the same as the first. The third one contains one word. Loser.
Atsumu can’t find it in himself to disagree with his brother, even though he will never admit that.
—
Because Atsumu is the luckiest person alive, he gets to sit next to Sakusa on the bus on their way to a two-day training camp in Tokyo. The team must have conspired against him because there are absolutely no other seats available. Everyone has paired up with someone just so that Atsumu has to share a seat with the one person on the team that undoubtedly hates him.
Sakusa is leaning as far away from him as possible, wearing black sweats and the track-jacket that Atsumu despises.
“Omi-omi,” he starts, because he is desperate for attention.
Sakusa is almost pressed up against the window but turns his head slightly to acknowledge that he’s listening.
“I will give ya a thousand yen if ya let me burn that jacket,” he offers.
Sakusa’s brows furrow. “Two thousand if you jump out of the bus right now,” he counters.
“We’re in a tunnel doin’ a hundred,” Atsumu says.
Sakusa’s eyebrow rises as if to convey that he could not give less of a shit.
“I’ll buy ya a new jacket.”
“What is your problem,” Sakusa hisses.
“Yer jacket,” he says and leaves it at that, because that should be enough.
“What about it?”
Apparently it’s not. Is Sakusa acting obtuse on purpose?
“It’s obnoxious.”
“I didn’t know you knew such big words.”
Atsumu bares his teeth. “I am gonna sneak into yer room, steal that horrid thing an’ use it as kindlin’ for a bonfire.”
Sakusa looks somehow more offended at the idea of Atsumu breaking into his room than the imminent destruction of his jacket.
“What’s wrong with the jacket?”
“Don’tcha see this horrific neon yellow an’ green monstrosity?”
Sakusa looks down at the sleeve of his jacket and tilts his head. If Atsumu weren’t so annoyed right now, he’d find that cute. (He still does.)
Sakusa looks down at his lap and wrings his hands. Then, he lifts his head to glare at Atsumu. He hears his teeth grit together. “I fucking like it.”
“Wow, you have no taste.”
Sakusa blinks at him, once. “I’m aware, thanks.”
And what the hell does that mean?
—
Because the training camp only lasts two days, the team didn’t bother with a hotel. Instead, they are sleeping in one of the rooms in the building of the gym, like the other teams that are there. It reminds Atsumu of high school.
Further evidence to Atsumu’s theory that the team is conspiring against him gets added when the sleeping arrangements are chosen. The only spare space for his futon ends up being right next to Sakusa.
Neither of them is particularly happy about it, but to Atsumu’s surprise, Sakusa only grumbles about it a little. (This basically means that he is completely fine with it because Sakusa grumbles about everything a little, even the sun shining.)
He supposes it beats having to sleep next to Bokuto and Hinata, what with their endless energy. The last time they all slept in one big room like this, Atsumu had come very close to committing a double homicide. He had carried his futon out into the hall instead, which had been ill-considered because the next morning, he was rudely awakened by Hinata falling on top of him, followed by Bokuto falling on top of him.
To no one’s surprise, Sakusa brought his own futon.
Atsumu has seen his routine countless times, so he gives him space to settle down and arrange his things in whatever way he wants to before he puts down his futon, careful to leave enough space between them so Sakusa won’t have an aneurysm.
Annoying him is one thing, but Atsumu doesn’t stoop as low as to purposely make him uncomfortable.
Sakusa’s bags are at the foot of the futon, forming a neat line. Atsumu thinks it’s more of a border between him and the other futon in front than anything else.
“I’m going to take a shower. No one touch my stuff,” he says like he always does when they get somewhere after a bus ride. He’s already holding a bag that contains his shower supplies. He shoots Atsumu a warning look before he leaves.
Atsumu settles down on his futon. They have about thirty minutes before lunch and then practise will start.
Bokuto and Hinata are bouncing around somewhere, thankfully as far away from Atsumu as the room allows. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with them right now.
He has to sleep next to Sakusa tonight. Sakusa. Who he has a crush on. Sakusa, who hates him. Sakusa, who looks at him like he’s the gum he stepped in at the bottom of his shoe. Sakusa, who hates people and hates being touched by them even more.
Atsumu flops down on the futon and groans. “Fuck my life.”
—
Sakusa comes back from the shower wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt. His hair is still a little wet and Atsumu kind of wants to run his hands through it. (The chances of that ever happening are less than zero. But a guy can dream.)
From the corner of the room, Bokuto and Hinata start chanting Lunch, Lunch, Lunch and Sakusa sighs in resignation. He grabs his gym bag and starts for the door.
His back-muscles are visible even through the shirt, Atsumu realises. He kind of wants to know how they would feel under his hands, skin on skin. It’s a pipe dream, for many reasons. One, Sakusa would never allow him to touch him. Two, even if he did, he’d never allow him to touch him without at least a layer of fabric between them.
“Are you coming,” Sakusa asks in his usual tone. Atsumu wouldn’t have known it was directed at him if he hadn’t been paying such close attention to Sakusa(’s backside).
Reluctantly, he gets up from the futon, grabs his bag and follows Sakusa to get lunch.
He walks behind him for a while until Sakusa stops in his path and turns his head ever so slightly. He starts walking again when Atsumu is next to him, and the small gesture makes Atsumu’s heart so tender he wants to walk into the ocean and never resurface.
—
During practice, Atsumu ruminates about what has led him to this point. Not playing volleyball, not playing for the Black Jackals.
When did he start falling for Sakusa Kiyoomi and why the hell didn’t he stop it? Why didn’t anyone tell him to get a grip? Why did he let this happen?
(Stupidly, he thinks he ever had a say in the matter.)
He knows nothing is ever going to come of it. So he has to get over his feelings. Not that he wants something to come of it. He’s not in denial. He’s really not.
Why would you ever give someone the power to ruin you in that way?
And who would ever want to date Sakusa? He’s high maintenance and prickly like a cactus and he never says nice things.
Atsumu’s high maintenance and a jerk and he spits venom easily like it's breathing. Who would ever want to date him?
Countless people have told him that in order to get over an unrequited crush, you need closure. In this case, closure would mean confessing and getting rejected.
Atsumu’s stomach turns at the thought of going up to Sakusa and telling him that he’s got a crush on him. This is never going to happen because Atsumu is not the kind of person who expresses his feelings.
His eyes would stare down at him coldly and from behind his mask, he would say something like gross or ew, stay away from me. (Not that he’s never said those same exact words before. He has. Countless times. Usually, they were well-deserved.)
Atsumu kind of wants to throw up or cry, or maybe both.
He spares a glance at Sakusa from the corner of his eye and takes a deep breath.
He’s going to take his crush to the grave, and heaven willing, his death will be swift.
—
Atsumu’s death comes in the form of Sakusa traipsing out of the shower after practice in only a towel around his hips and a glare that could make plants wilt. For the first time, his entire back is exposed, which makes Atsumu’s stomach flutter.
In an effort to act normal, he says, “Omi-omi, since when are ya such an exhibitionist?”
Sakusa hisses, not unlike a cat, and walks past him to grab a shirt from his bag. Because Atsumu is helpless, he notices that the back of his neck and his ears are completely red when he pulls his shirt over his head and tugs it down firmly. It’s a nice colour on him.
Then his towel drops and Atsumu feels his soul leave his body. He whips his head away so quickly he hears a crack. Then he proceeds to hit his head against his locker in hopes of passing out – or maybe passing on if he’s lucky.
“What are you doing,” Sakusa asks. He’s judging him more than usual, that much is evident in his voice.
Atsumu wisely does not answer because all he can think about is that Sakusa has two moles on his right ass-cheek and a veritable constellation of them on his back and that kind of makes him want to die.
“Don’t get blood over the futon from that head wound you’re working on,” Sakusa says, grabs his bag and leaves Atsumu in a room full of his teammates who have just witnessed him acting like a complete jackass. (Not that that is anything new.)
“Uh, Miya, is everything okay?” Shouyou asks.
Atsumu turns around and slides down to the ground along the locker which is a lot more uncomfortable than he thought it would be.
“The gods have forsaken me,” he says.
Because this is not the first – nor will it be the last time – that Atsumu Miya has said something like that, no one pays him any mind and carries on with their business.
Atsumu proceeds to wallow in his humiliation until the locker room is empty. He absolutely does not think about freckles or moles or broad shoulders and slim waists.
He can hear his brother’s voice in his head, calling him a loser, a scrub, a disappointment.
No, wait. That’s his own voice.
—
Atsumu lies awake for hours before he decides to get up and grab a drink from the vending machine down the hall. He’s careful to be quiet so as to not wake his teammates, especially Sakusa. If he is irritable during the day, it doesn’t get better during the night.
He chooses a peach flavoured drink and sits down on the bench next to the machine. Then he googles ‘how to get over a crush’ because he’s not done being pathetic for the day.
The first result he clicks on tells him to avoid them.
Well, that’s not going to work.
He closes out of his browser and wonders if he should ask Osamu what to do. His brother would most definitely laugh at him, but maybe after that, he’d have some helpful advice. (Doubtful.)
He’s halfway through composing a message when he hears footsteps pattering down the hall.
He peers around the vending machine and sees Sakusa walking towards him, hands in his pockets and slippers on his feet.
Sakusa stops in front of the bench and looks down at him. “You weren’t in bed.”
“Thought ya were asleep.”
“I was. I woke up because someone decided to get up during the middle of the night and not close the door properly.”
“Tried t’be quiet.”
“Why are you awake,” Sakusa asks with the air of someone asking why did you kick the puppy.
Atsumu shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Why?”
He sighs. “Have ya ever done somethin’ stupid?”
Atsumu can’t see him narrowing his eyes suspiciously, but he can hear it in his voice. “What did you do?”
“Answer my question!” he demands, not at all petulantly.
“Yes, I have. What did you do and does it negatively affect me in any way?”
(He’s not going to touch that question with a ten-foot pole.)
“You act like I hid a person’s severed head in yer gym bag! Chillout, Omi-Omi. I didn’t do anythin’.”
“I find that hard to believe,” he says and sits down next to Atsumu on the bench. Their thighs are almost touching. This should not affect his heart rate, but it does.
“Fair. I haven’t done anythin’ now. But have ya ever done somethin’ – or I guess, not stopped yerself from doin’ somethin’ so stupid that it’s gonna ruin yer life and now ya wanna go live in the woods?”
Sakusa looks at him like– like Atsumu said exactly what he just said. “You’re a moron.” Somehow, it doesn’t sound like an insult this time. He wants to hear him say it again.
“Well, yeah! But have ya?”
He looks at the wall for a moment and then regards him carefully. “Yes. Once.”
“How didcha get out of it?”
“I haven’t,” Sakusa says, resigned.
“Fuck. I’m screwed.”
Sakusa actually sounds a little worried when he asks, “What did you do?”
And this! This is weird! Sakusa, being mildly concerned for him? What has the world come to?
Stubbornly, he mutters, “Not tellin’.”
The eye-roll is audible in his words. “How do you expect advice then?”
Truthfully, he doesn’t. He doesn’t think anyone can help him with this. Especially Sakusa. For one, Atsumu is pretty sure that Sakusa doesn’t even like people like that. (He barely tolerates them, so how could he ever like them romantically, right?) Also, Sakusa is the root of all of his problems, so he can’t be the solution. That just wouldn’t make sense. Fighting fire with fire and all.
“Then tell me whatcha did,” Atsumu says in hopes of distracting Sakusa.
“No.”
“See!”
Sakusa is quiet for a moment before he says, sounding entirely too subdued, “I don’t need advice. I’ve made my peace with it. It’s not going away any time soon, so I might as well live with it until it does.”
Atsumu laughs. “Ya sound like you’re on yer way to the gallows.”
Sakusa’s eyes fix him and Atsumu shivers. “It feels like that sometimes,” he concedes.
“An’ other times?”
“Like drowning,” Sakusa tells him before he gets up and makes the best exit after saying something as dramatic as that that Atsumu has ever seen. He’s loath to admit how proud and impressed he is.
It makes him fall just a little bit deeper which makes him hate himself just a little more.
When he gets back to the room, he carefully closes the door until he hears it click shut which he does for no one’s benefit but his own and then he tiptoes over to his futon.
Sakus is lying on his own futon, ramrod straight and the blanket pulled up to his chin. He’s wearing his mask and Atsumu’s heart shouldn’t squeeze in his chest at the sight but it does.
He puts his unopened drink in his bag and lies down.
After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, he says, “Omi-Omi, are ya awake?” to which he receives no response. Not that he had expected one. “Sorry for yellin’ at ya for bringin’ me tea,” he mumbles and turns so his back is facing Sakusa.
—
It’s Sunday again and Sakusa is in the kitchen making tea. Atsumu had known he would be there, which is why he had gone downstairs in the first place.
He opens the fridge in hope of finding something to eat, but he has no such luck. Disappointed, he sighs and leans against the counter.
“What are you doing,” Sakusa asks.
“Lookin’ for snacks.”
He stirs his tea and leans against the counter opposite Atsumu, watching him carefully. After a minute of contemplation, he says, “I was going to go to the convenience store.” Then, with a tone that is suspiciously indifferent, he offers, “If you want, you can come.”
Atsumu purses his lips. He knows that Sakusa doesn’t go to the convenience store on Sundays. He does that on Fridays after practice. He also knows that he always goes alone and never invites anyone to come with him. So why is he asking Atsumu to do just that? It’s almost like he’s being nice, which is extremely weird.
“Okay,” he says (because he’s a sucker). Atsumu doesn’t point out that Sakusa is clearly lying because he probably knows that already. “Imma grab my wallet while ya finish yer tea.”
—
Atsumu waits for Sakusa to knock on his door to get him because he knows that he also has to grab his wallet and a fresh mask and disinfectant wipes and probably some other things.
He texts his brother while he’s waiting.
Me: what do u do when sm1 is acting weird
Ctrl+V: been asking myself that for years
Me: This is serious.
Ctrl+V: srsly funny
Before he can curse his brother out over text, there’s a knock on his door. He grabs a backpack, his wallet and jacket and opens the door.
“Are you coming,” Sakusa aks, wearing the horrible jacket again.
“We needa go shoppin’,” Atsumu says and closes his door.
“That’s what we’re doing right now.”
“Nah, I mean for clothes. If I hafta look at this atrocity any longer, Imma gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon, willingly get sepsis and die.”
Sakusa looks horrified at the thought of sepsis. “Fine,” he acquiesces.
“It’s more for my benefit.”
They make their way to the convenience store in relative silence. Atsumu tries to be sneaky and steal glances from the corner of his eye, but he only tries that once because Sakusa immediately catches him.
When they arrive at the store, Sakusa pulls a small pack of disinfectant out of his jacket pocket and rubs it on his hands, which eases Atsumu’s worry that totally wasn’t there. He absolutely does not care whether or not Sakusa cleans his hands twenty times a day.
“What do you want to buy?” Sakusa asks.
“Hmm, maybe some meat buns or some chips. Ramen’d be nice, but coach won’t think so,” he says. Because he knows that Sakusa doesn’t need to buy anything – he’d done his shopping on Friday – he offers him an out, “Why don’tcha go and get whatever ya wanted t’buy and come find me after?”
“It’s fine.”
“Whatever,” Atsumu mumbles and ventures farther into the store to find the snack aisle. Sakusa follows him at a two-step distance.
Because he’s a bit of a jerk, he decides to thoroughly peruse all the items even though he already knows he’s getting green-tea kit-kats.
Sakusa clears his throat behind him to get his attention. Atsumu tries to bite back the shit-eating grin he knows he’s wearing because Sakusa is probably going to chew him out.
Instead, he holds out a pack of disinfectant wipes for him and says, “Grab me a bag of those, too. Wipe them down first.” (A little weird.)
He doesn’t explicitly say please, but Atsumu hears it all the same. He can’t even find anything snarky to retort because he’s too stunned that Sakusa Kiyoomi just asked him for something. (This shouldn’t make his heart beat a little faster but it does.)
“Sure,” he says and makes to reach for the wipes. He stops just short of them to let Sakusa open the pack with a press of his thumb before pulling one out.
Atsumu grabs a pack of kit-kats, wipes it down and hands it to Sakusa who puts it in the cotton bag he pulls out of nowhere.
They continue through the store. Atsumu chooses a bottle of orange juice and Sakusa asks him to grab one, too. (Weird, again.) He holds out his hand for a wipe, swipes it over the bottle and then stuffs the wipe into his pocket.
At the third item Atsumu chooses, which is a bag of crisps, Sakusa asks him to get him the same thing. (Getting weirder.) Atsumu goes through the motions again.
He decides to buy a pack of gum at the check-out counter. When Sakusa starts with can you, he wordlessly holds out his hand for the wipe, again. (Ridiculous, strange, weird, weird, weird.)
The clerks greets Atsumu with a friendly smile and Atsumu places his items on the counter.
“I’m buyin’ two of each, the rest’s in this bag,” he says and jerks his thumb at the bag that Sakusa is holding.
The clerk nods and requests to take a look at the bag before scanning the items.
—
When they’re back at the dorm, Atsumu doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Sakusa had really told him that he had wanted to go to the store, invited him along, and then proceeded to buy the same exact things as him. Atsumu is a little disappointed that Sakusa hadn’t come up with a better strategy. (Strategy for what, though, that’s the question.)
They walk upstairs wordlessly. Sakusa stops along with Atsumu when they’re in front of his room. “See you tomorrow,” he says (and it sounds an awful lot like ‘thank you’) and then all but flees to his room at the end of the hall.
His ears are visibly pink.
Atsumu calls his brother as soon as he’s safely inside his own room to tell him about the incident.
He can still hear him laughing even after he hangs up.
—
After the shopping incident, Atsumu predictably can’t sleep. He sneaks down to the kitchen for some late-night tomfoolery. Maybe he’ll make some tea.
He almost has a heart attack when he gets to the kitchen and finds none other than Sakusa sitting cross-legged on the counter, sipping tea in the dark.
This shouldn’t even surprise him that much. It is a well-known fact that Sakusa is a very odd person that does odd things. (Atsumu likes that about him.)
“What the fuck!” he yells and clutches his heart.
“Lower your voice,” he says, like Atsumu is being weird.
Intelligently, Atsumu says (stammers), “What– why are ya– it’s– I’m–”
“I’m having tea,” like this is completely normal.
“In the dark?”
“It didn’t make sense to turn on the light.” Sakusa probably wholeheartedly believes this. He never does anything without thinking it through. Which means he made the conscious decision to go and drink tea in the dark kitchen in the middle of the night.
“Okay,” he says like Sakusa has a point, which he doesn’t. He turns on the kettle and prepares himself tea instead of pointing out that Sakusa is acting very peculiar.
Then, Sakusa asks, “Have you ever done something so stupid you want the ground to swallow you whole?”
“Do ya even know me,” he says, completely inflectionless.
“You have a point.”
“So,” Atsumu starts and he feels a grin coming.
“–Shut up,” Sakusa cuts him off before he can say anything else
Atsumu laughs. Surprisingly, Sakusa gives a chortle in return.
Something squeezes his heart so tight he can’t breathe for a minute and he just stares at him, trying to– he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to do, he just knows he wants to hear Sakusa laugh again, make him laugh again.
“Do ya even like kit-kats?”
“I hate them.”
“Wanna tell me why ya bought ‘em, then?”
“I can’t tell you because then you’ll know.”
“That’s… how tellin’ people things works.”
“Goodnight,” he says because apparently he likes being cryptic. He hops off the counter, puts his slippers on and places the mug in the dishwasher before he makes his way to the stairs.
Atsumu asks himself why he even likes him.
—
They’re playing against the second string players and are two points ahead in the second set. Atsumu is up to serve. His serve goes well and the other team returns the ball, Hinata receives it and sends it to Atsumu. He tosses to Sakusa who, as expected, scores a point with a cross that has such a wicked spin on it that not even the libero manages to dig it up.
And then, he turns to Atsumu, says 'nice kill' and high-fives him. Atsumu only knows it happened because his palm is stinging. And his heart is racing like it always does after a good set but– it’s different.
Predictably, Atsumu’s brain short-circuits.
“Your turn to serve again, Tsumu,” Bokuto calls him out of his reverie.
Atsumu nods dumbly and serves. It’s not his fault that he hits the ball out.
He manages to collect himself, but everyone notices that he’s acting weird. He sends the next few tosses to Sakusa, in hopes of scoring another high-five.
“Hey, Tsumu-Tsumu, are you doing alright?” Bokuto asks him when the set is over. He’s pouting a little because he called for the last toss, but Atsumu had sent the ball to Sakusa.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just… gotta go to the bathroom. Yeah, Imma be right back,” he says and books it to the locker room.
He fishes his phone out of his locker and opens the messaging app.
Me: askdlj
Ctrl+V: wow keysmash must be serious
u doin ok
Me: no
sks just high5d me
Ctrl+V: congrats so u datin him yet
Me: aslkjdsakl no y would i want that are you kiddin me
Ctrl+V: idk u tell me u gay disaster
Me: askljdslk leave me alone i hate u
What follows is a slew of crying-laughing emojis.
Atsumu throws his phone back into his bag and returns to the gym, where he sees Sakusa and is immediately pulled back into a panic.
He realises that a crush is not unlike having an allergic reaction, with the difference that it won’t actually kill him.
He also gets chewed out by the coach.
All around a pretty good day.
He can’t even look at Sakusa during the next set without his heart doing somersaults in his chest, which makes him fumble the ball a good few times too many. (Once. But in Atsumu’s book, that might as well have been a hundred times.)
After, what happens is Shouyou and Bokuto ask him what’s wrong. What happens is the coach asks him if he’s sick. What happens is Sakusa looks at him like he just kicked him in the face.
Atsumu excuses himself and runs back to the dorms.
—
He wallows in self-pity for the rest of the day. He seriously considers moving to Brazil – it worked for Shouyou – so he doesn’t have to face the team again.
How pathetic is it that a simple high-five threw him off his game so much? He gives Shouyou and Bokuto high-fives all the time. He’s been wanting to give Sakusa one since he joined the team. He finally gets what he wants and this is how he reacts? Maybe he doesn’t know how to be happy. (That would explain why he has a crush on Sakusa in the first place. He likes torturing himself.)
The problem isn’t that he has a crush on Sakusa, it’s that he has a crush at all. Atsumu thinks he wasn’t built to have feelings. He doesn’t know how to process them. Or he just doesn’t want to.
He’s been building walls around himself for as long as he can remember and he’s scared of what will happen to him now that Sakusa has all but taken a sledgehammer to them by making him fall in love with him.
Atsumu is good at pretending. He’s good at pushing people away or keeping them at arm’s length or making them hate him.
But he has no idea how to make someone like him. He’s not sure he wants to know.
—
They leave for a three-day tournament a week after the most embarrassing day of his life number 37.
Atsumu is cursing Hinata and Bokuto (he just knows they have something to do with this), and the rest of the team (they, too, were probably involved) as he stands in front of a hotel room door, keycard in hand. Behind him stands Sakusa, notably unimpressed by Atsumu’s stalling.
“Do you not know how to use a keycard,” he jeers.
“I do! Fuck off,” he says and opens the door before entering the room. Sakusa follows with his bags in tow and immediately takes the bed next to the window. He puts his bags on the comforter.
“I’m going to shower, don’t touch my stuff,” he says, holding his bag that, to Atsumu’s knowledge, contains his shower supplies and his beloved slippers.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he waves him off.
Predictably, as soon as Sakusa is in the shower, Bokuto and Hinata come bounding into the room. He should have put the door latch on. (Goddamn hotel key cards that work on all the doors.)
“Leave,” Atsumu says. He kicks off his shoes, then thinks better of it and arranges them neatly on the rack by the door.
“Come on! We want to go to the izakaya a few blocks over!”
“You’re dead to me.”
“Don’t be like that, Tsumu!”
“I grew up with a brother, I know how to hurt ya in ways ya can’t even imagine!”
Hinata looks wholly unimpressed, and a little scary when he says, “I have a little sister who has never gotten into trouble in her life.”
“Oh-kay, shrimp. Gimme all ya got.”
Hinata grins maniacally and proceeds to approach Sakusa’s bed. Atsumu immediately gets in his way.
“Do ya wanna be responsible for my murder tonight? Who’s gonna set for ya, huh?”
“Fine! When you’re done sulking, come meet us at the izakaya, ‘kay?”
Before Hinata can threaten his existence any further, or before Bokuto gets any ideas, he shoos them out of the room. Just in time, too. Not a minute later, Sakusa exits the bathroom in a cloud of steam. As always, he’s wearing sweats and a long sleeve shirt, socks and his slippers.
“Why was it so loud in here?” he asks, towelling his hair in the doorway.
“Some fuckin’ birds came in.”
Sakusa blinks and turns to go back to the safety of the bathroom.
“Chill out. I meant Bokkun and Shouyou.”
“That does not help,” he says, completely serious.
“Sakkun! Are ya makin’ a joke?”
“What is a humour,” he asks, inflectionless. Then, “Sakkun?”
Atsumu doesn’t know where that came from, either. He doesn’t particularly like it.
“Don’t like it? Do ya prefer it when I call ya Omi-Omi? I knew ya’d come around!”
“I’d prefer it if you called me by my actual name instead of making up stupid sounds,” he says and pulls the comforter off the bed to inspect the sheets. Apparently, he doesn’t find anything wrong with them, because he sits down.
“But Sakusa is kinda boring, no offence.”
He doesn’t know why he just said that. Did he seriously just call his last name boring? Maybe he should jump off the balcony.
“Then call me Kiyoomi,” he offers.
Because he doesn’t know how to react to Sakusa suggesting he call him by his first name, he says, “Wow, ya must really hate that nickname, huh?”
Sakusa rolls his eyes but leaves it at that.
“Bokkun an’ Hinata invited us to come to the izakaya with’em. Ya wanna go?”
He doesn’t even want to go. Why did he say that? Maybe he’s banking on Sakusa refusing because he always does.
“Not particularly. There’s a game tomorrow.”
“You’ve got a point,” he agrees. And because he’s the king of putting his foot in his mouth, he continues, “But if ya wanted to spend time together, ya shoulda just said so, Kiyoomi!”
“I’m dying to spend time with you,” he says, in an even tone. Atsumu has no idea if he’s joking or being serious. He doesn’t know which would be worse.
“You’re gonna make me swoon,” Atsumu teases and sits down on the bed. He surreptitiously pulls out his phone and begins typing a message to Osamu.
Me: dfjkdslfh
Ctrl+V: what
Me: i told him he had a boring last name
Ctrl+V: you, a disaster gay: haha ur last name is so boring wanna have mine
u r gonna propose just bc u like bein on ur knees so much
Me: gjklsjld SAMU ARE YOU FOR REAL
Atsumu bristles. Why is he even telling his brother anything? He is single-handedly feeding his blackmail folder.
(Okay, so maybe if he doesn’t tell anyone about it he’s going to explode, or worse, tell Sakusa. And if he tells Sakusa, he might as well jump off a cliff.)
“Who are you texting?” Sakusa asks from his bed.
“Just my idiot brother.”
“Tell him I said hi.”
Me: he says hi
Ctrl+V: tell him hi back from his future brother in law
and also, get your shit together
Me: im not telling him either of those things
Ctrl+V: the last one was meant for u
srsly. either get on one knee or two
Atsumu throws his phone. It hits the wall and clatters to the ground. He hopes the screen isn’t broken.
Sakusa takes a deep breath. “Why,” is all he says, laced with just enough annoyance and resigned acceptance to Atsumu’s antics.
Atsumu picks up his phone. It’s not broken, only damaged. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere.
—
It’s late. Logically, Atsumu knows he should be asleep. They have a game tomorrow that they have to win.
But his mind is too loud.
He’s gotten better about blocking out annoying sounds, but every so often, even the smallest noise makes his skin itch.
Sakusa is in the bed next to him, and because it’s so quiet in the room, he can hear him breathing. It’s like his own personal white noise machine. He kind of wants to smother him with a pillow.
Sakusa has always been loud, both on and off the court. He’s always there, like a persistent humming that’s been getting louder and louder and Atsumu wants it to stop. He wants his brain to be quiet. He wants silence.
Sakusa has been driving him insane ever since he met him. Being in love with him doesn’t change that. If anything, it handed him an amplifier or a microphone and told him to go apeshit.
Wanting to be around him, wanting to be noticed by him doesn’t change the fact that Atsumu wants to be as far away from him as possible. Sometimes, he can’t breathe around him but when he’s not there and silently judging Atsumu for something, his chest feels a little too tight.
The sound of him breathing is too loud in the hotel room. Idly, Atsumu wonders how to politely tell someone to stop breathing without them thinking you want them dead.
“Hey, Omi-Omi,” he says, quietly. In truth, he doesn’t give a damn if he wakes him up, but eleven pm is a time for whispering, especially if you’re in a dark room.
For a long time, there’s no response. Then, rustling of sheets and a flat, “What.”
“Ya ever get the urge to, I dunno, push somebody down the stairs?” he says, because sometimes he wants to. Not because he wants him dead but because maybe then the humming will stop. That’s probably fucked up.
“I’m starting to.”
Atsumu thinks he’d probably let Sakusa push him down the stairs. At least he’d be paying attention to him. Does that make him a masochist?
Atsumu laughs. “You’re a funny guy.”
“I’m being completely serious,” he says. The sheets rustle again, which probably means he turned away from Atsumu.
“Omi-Omi?” he starts again.
“What,” he snaps.
“You ever been around someone that makes it impossible t’breathe but when you’re away from them, it’s even worse?” he says and it sounds like a confession. It’s as much of one as he’s ever willing to give.
“You’re infuriating,” he growls from his bed. “I can’t stand you. You are the single most obnoxious person I have ever met. Sometimes, you say something so stupid, I want to push you down the stairs. You make my blood boil.”
“Careful there, Omi-Omi,” he teases, his tone viscous and fake. “You’re gonna make me think you’re in love with me or something.”
“Being around you is like drowning on dry land and I hate myself for liking it,” Sakusa tells him, and it sounds like a confession because it is.