Work Text:
Kiyoomi doesn’t actually hate his job, he reminds himself when he sets foot into the office kitchen and, like every work day of the past five months, is greeted by his own personal nightmare.
I can’t control other people and situations. I can only control myself.
The affirmation from the “Anger Management for Dummies” Komori had gotten him years ago as a gift plays on repeat in his head as he surveys the stained countertops, the running coffee machine, and the half-open dishwasher.
His gaze pauses on the latter. His left eye begins to twitch.
He doesn’t even have anger issues. What he has is zero faith in humanity, an endless pit of frustration boiling inside of his chest, and a mild crush on the advice columnist who may or may not have gifted him his favourite pair of crocs. Also, a job he is tempted to quit every day when faced with the aforementioned health hazard of a kitchen.
I can’t control other people and situations. I can’t control other people and situations.
There’s a reason Kiyoomi avoids the kitchen like the plague. Several, in fact.
First, there’s Koganegawa from the social media department who speaks with so much enthusiasm that he can neither keep his hands still nor wait two minutes to chew and swallow his food, instead knocking mugs over, spilling tea everywhere, and sometimes, when he laughs, Kiyoomi watches in horror as little bits of spit and food are catapulted through the air only to land on one of the counters with a splattering noise that sends the same unpleasant shivers through Kiyoomi’s body as the scraping of metal against metal.
He always has to look away when Koganegawa moves to wipe at it with his shirtsleeve.
I can only control myself. I can’t control other people and situations.
Second, there’s the coffee machine. It is probably the oldest thing in the building, always hissing and spitting coffee left and right. The problem with that should be obvious.
Then, there’s the dishwasher. Always filled every morning with clean dishes because they run it the evening before just around the time the last person finishes up with work, and that’s exactly the problem. It’s full. Person after person will stumble into the kitchen, will fish their favourite mug from the depths of the dishwasher, pour themselves some coffee, and leave again—no ounce of human decency in sight.
It pisses him off.
Admittedly, Kiyoomi is a bit of a dick, he’s aware of that. But there’s a difference between being rude to people and being rude to people.
It’s—just empty the dishwasher. It takes less than five minutes it’s not that hard why can’t they just—what is wrong with people—
Deep breaths. He squeezes his eyes shut. Counts to ten.
Eventually, his left eye stops twitching.
“Good morning,” a deep bassy voice greets him, startling Kiyoomi from his thoughts.
“Ushijima-san,” Kiyoomi acknowledges in return with a slight nod, stepping aside to make room for the wide-shouldered man in the kitchen. The room is decently sized but both of them are ridiculously tall, rendering the space a bit tighter than what he’d consider comfortable.
Among the myriad of reasons why Kiyoomi hates the office kitchen, there’s only one reason that keeps him coming back every morning at 8:56 on the dot.
He watches as Ushijima wets a towel and wipes still-wet coffee stains from the countertops, his eyes lingering on the shifting muscles in Ushijima’s back, the clenching and unclenching of his triceps, visible even through his button down shirt.
Then, Ushijima exchanges the wet towel for a dry one and wipes everything again before moving on to the dishwasher and slowly, one by one starts to put the dishes away.
Something deep in Kiyoomi’s stomach flutters, soft like butterfly wings. He never even stood a chance.
There’s a routine to his mornings that he likes to stick to: Watch/Help Ushijima empty the dishwasher before Ushijima heads out to get to work on writing replies for the advice column, get himself a glass of water—even if he did drink coffee, no amount of desperation would bring him within three feet of the death trap his co-workers call a coffee machine. (Except for Akaashi whom Kiyoomi once overheard whispering a sweet ‘ hello, my love’ in greeting to the monster. Another reason to stay far away from it, if you ask him.)
So, he gets his water and then braves the journey to the far end of the office where his desk is located. There’s a technique to it; walk past the copy machine on the left that nobody uses because it keeps printing out page 39 of the Communist Manifesto in the original German no matter what setting, successfully avoiding the magazine’s social media team in the right corner that’d rather chat with Kiyoomi (Koganegawa) or film embarrassing videos of him to post on the internet (Suna) than actually focus on their jobs. Take a hard right to avoid Komori—Kiyoomi deals with him enough in his free time—walking past the shared desk of Miya (Osamu, not Atsumu, thank goodness) and Haiba (Alisa, not Lev, thank goodness) where the former will ignore him in favour of staring at Akaash from across the room and the latter scoff at his crocs. Hide behind the potted gum tree by the bathroom door, in case Tendou peeks out of his office. Wait three seconds for the coast to clear, then cross the rest of the room in six quick strides—eight if the bathroom door opens—and then he can finally take refuge at his desk, after minimal social exposure.
That’s the plan, at least.
He’s not so lucky today: He makes it two steps past the bathroom door when a grating voice calls out in a familiar sing-song:
“Sakusa,” Tendou, his boss, trills and Kiyoomi freezes mid-step, irrationally hoping that if he doesn’t move, Tendou won’t be able to see him.
“I can see you,” Tendou continues gleefully.
Kiyoomi risks a glance over his shoulder and true enough, Tendou is staring right at him, flapping his hands through the air in an over-exaggerated wave.
“Step into my office for a moment.”
Left with no other choice, Kiyoomi sighs and then backtracks back across the room, following Tendou inside his office, and hesitantly takes a seat at the desk.
Tendou’s office resembles, to be quite frank, a fever dream. It’s not so much that the room is messy, in fact, it's quite organised, but more so that Tendou’s choice in decor makes Kiyoomi question his reality.
There's a twister mat hung on the wall, adorned with a golden plaque that proudly proclaims ‘We at Life Magazine are LGBTQ+ friendly!’. The desk is adorned by several picture frames, but instead of pictures they are still showing the original stock photos that come with the purchase; a family on the beach, laughing, 10 x 15 cm. A shelf on the opposite wall is entirely dedicated to miniature golf sets, and to tie the room together it is not illuminated by a regular lamp, but by a toy aeroplane hanging from the ceiling, carrying a lightbulb.
“So,” Tendou starts, grinning maniacally, fingers splayed like a cartoonish supervillain.
“So,” Kiyoomi prompts drily. If they keep this up they’ll be here for hours. Not for the first time, Kiyoomi wonders if he should just quit. He ultimately decides against it, mainly because despite how most of his colleagues with their grating small talk and inability to stay out of his personal space make Kiyoomi want to stab himself in the eye, he does actually enjoy his job.
“So!” Tendou claps his hands as a wide obnoxious grin splits his face. Dread begins to pool in Kiyoomi’s stomach. “ I have a job for you,” the words are stressed in that odd dramatic cadence Tendou favours.
“I already have a job,” Kiyoomi says, mostly to be difficult.
It backfires because Tendou simply cackles like he’s just been told the most hilarious joke. It’s almost like it’s impossible to piss the guy off. If Kiyoomi hadn’t witnessed one very angry phone call when he had stayed overtime a couple of months ago, he’d say it was impossible—he’d only caught a hissed “Listen here, Mr. Vanilla'' but it was enough to startle him for a moment, impressed at whatever this Mr. Vanilla was doing to get on Tendou’s nerves like that.
“You’re doing this month’s segment on the Hinatas,” Tendou states like it’s a simple fact rather than an order. “I already scheduled the interview for you.”
As far as assignments go, at least this one makes sense. Kiyoomi is in charge of the health and fitness section of the magazine, so interviewing two professional athletes fits right in. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little interested in finding out what the siblings’ training regimen was like.
“Fine,” he agrees, not that he could’ve declined anyways. “But send Kageyama.” Heaven forbid he has to work another interview with Miya Atsumu. The man may be a skilled photographer but that’s where his redeeming qualities end.
I can’t control other people and situations.
In this case, Kiyoomi is willing to try anyway.
✧✧✧
Ask a friend:
Troubles in your life and nowhere to turn to? Don’t worry, our very own Wonderboy is here to offer you advice! Write in at [email protected]
Dear friend,
I’ve been playing with the idea of changing my look but
I’ve really grown attached to my long hair. My friends
tell me I look good the way I am but I also want to try
something new and step outside of my comfort zone.
What if it looks terrible?
Nervous Wreck
Dear Nervous Wreck,
I’ve recently acquired a lovely set of hydrangeas for
my garden. When the time is right I will prune them
and it may be a jarring change at first, but I know
afterwards, they’ll only grow to be even lovelier.
Ask yourself: Is the time right?
✧✧✧
Work is blissfully uninterrupted after that. Kiyoomi spends most of his time researching the Hinatas, writing down potential questions, and throwing furtive glances at Ushijima when he needs a breather.
He’s currently watching Ushijima rub the leaves of one of his plants with gentleness and care that is unexpected for a man of his size (huge) and build (exceptional)—Kiyoomi’s throat suddenly feels very dry—when a shadow falls over his desk.
He tears his eyes away only two be met with a happy smile and a pair of even happier eyebrows.
“Chop chop,” Komori says, sounding awfully chipper. “Lunch time.” To emphasise his point he wiggles his expressive eyebrows in a motion that Kiyoomi shouldn’t be able to read, but he understands as ‘ Your staring was getting pitiful, I’m dragging you out of here’ anyways. That’s the downside of forming a symbiotic bond with your cousin to avoid 75% of all social interactions in life: You become fluent in eyebrows.
Kiyoomi does not dignify the eyebrow wiggle with a verbal reply, only glares a bit but then gets up from his desk anyways, hands shoved into his pockets, and follows Komori through the office as they head to the exit together. It takes almost three times as long as Kiyoomi’s meticulously choreographed journey each morning, because not only can Komori be a bit of a chatterbox sometimes, but he also genuinely enjoys talking to people and will use any opportunity to do so.
Kiyoomi, on the other hand, does not care to hear about Semi’s plans for the weekend or the embarrassing picture Suna took of Miya (Atsumu) mid-sneeze, check it out . Well, okay, he is a bit interested in that last one but not enough to actually engage in a conversation over it.
They never have their lunch break in-building, even though the office does come with a small break room a lot of people sit down in, to eat whatever food they brought from home. However, Kiyoomi refuses to step foot inside after he witnessed Tendou and Koganegawa, in an act of astounding unprofessionalism, spend a full hour building castles out of sugar cubes raided from the kitchen, glued together by only their spit and mayonnaise. You could bleach the entire room and you’d still be able to find traces of unspeakable things, he’s sure of it. Just walking past the open door, he can smell despair and a hint of rotten egg.
So yeah, they tend to eat out. For obvious reasons.
They end up at a restaurant down the street, Komori chattering happily away, reporting the progress he’s made at work while Kiyoomi quietly eats his food.
“I’ve really been struggling with Taurus this month, I feel like I can’t get anything clear down.”
Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything to that but he privately thinks that the notion of a clear horoscope is an oxymoron at best and a fool’s errand at worst.
“Hey, what about your boyfriend, he wouldn’t happen to be a Taurus, would he?”
“Ushijima is not my boyfriend,” Kiyoomi corrects. He’s not even flustered anymore, that’s how many times they’ve had this conversation already. “He’s a Leo, anyways.”
“He could be. Your boyfriend, I mean.” The fact that Komori doesn’t even bother teasing him about knowing Ushijima’s sign when he knows how little Kiyoomi cares for astrology is telling in the worst way. It truly has been too long. “If you actually made a move, for once.”
“I’ve been making moves.” It’s not technically a lie. He spends more time with Ushijima at the office than anybody else. Surely that counts as a move. You don’t see Kiyoomi clearing out the dishwasher with anybody else, do you?
“Staring at him from across the room is not making a move,” Komori fires back sprightly. Then, after using their symbiotic bond to read Kiyoomi’s mind he adds, “And neither does clearing out the dishwasher together.”
Kiyoomi refuses to reply to that, just glares.
That doesn't deter Komori, who continues, “You know, I could write you into his horoscope. Something about a grumpy handsome stranger in his future. How’s that sound?”
“I’m hardly a stranger,” he says, but then he realises that makes him sound like he’s endorsing this kind of behaviour so he quickly adds, “Please stop writing personalised horoscopes.”
“I will once you start making actual moves.”
Kiyoomi loudly slurps his soup, pretending he doesn't hear him.
By the end of the day, he successfully manages to evade Komori’s six other attempts at meddling, even if that means he has to duck out of the office fifteen minutes earlier than he usually would once Komori takes a bathroom break.
It pays out in the end because when Haiba who left at the same time as him once again chooses to criticise his choice of footwear, a deep voice pipes up behind them.
“I think they’re nice,” Ushijima, defier of the fashion police and protector of crocs, says.
Kiyoomi halts in his tracks, startled by the unexpected support.
“I didn't expect anything else from you,” Haiba returns and then sends both of them a winning smile and a goodbye before floating away on her seven-inch heels as if her footwear is in any way superior to his.
“They are nice,” Kiyoomi states defiantly because they are.
Ushijima nods in agreement, smiling softly, and then steps forward to hold the door open for him.
Kiyoomi walks through, offering a quiet thanks in return, before rushing home lest he wants Komori to catch up with him, and then spends the rest of the day pretending he isn’t hopefully in love with Ushijima Wakatoshi.
✧✧✧
Pisces
Are you feeling restricted? Burdened? As Mercury moves back into Gemini, communication should be at the forefront of your mind, especially with your loved ones; your friends and family. Maybe even that one family member that you’ve been ignoring. A cousin, perhaps? Reach out. Listen to their advice. They have your best interests at heart.
✧✧✧
The interview with the Hinatas is scheduled for early in the morning, which is great because that means Kiyoomi spends one day less on Earth having to be exposed to the Kitchen, but also terrible because he’s missing out on watching Ushijima clean up and the mesmerising flex of his biceps as he works.
He’s lost in a particularly pleasant daydream (Ushijima, shirtless, wearing crocs, mopping the tiled kitchen floor) only to be rudely interrupted by the most grating voice known to man.
“Morning, Omi-kun,” yells Miya (Atsumu), greeting him as if they are friends. They are not friends. In fact, Kiyoomi rues the day he ever let Bokuto think that cursed nickname into existence and use it while Miya was in proximity.
He doesn’t return the greeting, only stares and pointedly thinks, please, trip and fall.
Miya does not trip and fall, just grins and steps forward, ready to sling an arm around Kiyoomi’s shoulder in a half hug.
He evades it quickly and efficiently, the way one only can with years worth of practice at avoiding unwelcome physical contact. (Which is most physical contact, in Kiyoomi’s book.)
“I’m real excited about today,” Miya begins prattling away, gushing at what an inspiring athlete Hinata Shouyou is, but Kiyoomi tunes him out in favour of fishing his phone out of his pocket and sending off a quick text to his boss.
[7:49] Sakusa Kiyoomi: make me work with miya one more time and i’ll quit
The reply is instantaneous. Of course, it is. The idea of Tendou being busy doing actual work is laughable.
[7:49] Tendou Satori: haha u r so funny
Kiyoomi seethes.
I can’t control other people and situations. He wishes.
“So what’s got you all grumpy, huh?” Miya asks, drawing Kiyoomi’s attention back to him with a friendly shoulder bump.
“Nothing,” Kiyoomi says, but then thinks better of it. “None of your business. Let’s just do our job and get this over with.” He makes sure his mask is in place, hands buried deep inside his pockets, before pushing the door to the hotel lobby open with his elbow. No way is he touching that.
Miya follows with a long drawn-out, hollering ooooooh like he’s cheering Kiyoomi on for delivering a particularly vicious insult. “Ouch, ya got me good.” He laughs a full and shrill thing.
Kiyoomi senses rather than sees the hand coming to clap him on the shoulder, and promptly quickens his steps to dodge it.
The woman at the front desk welcomes him with a smile, but it turns brittle when he abruptly cuts her off by flashing his reporter ID and telling her that they’ve booked one of the rooms. He takes the key card and listens to her directions with a nod of thanks, before rushing off again.
“Geez, you’re so prickly,” Miya complains from behind his shoulder. “What is it, trouble in paradise? Did ya have a fight?”
“No, shut up.”
Kiyoomi refuses to further engage with this kind of behaviour, instead opting to make the most of his height and take the staircase two steps at a time in order to lose the bleached blond nuisance tailing behind him.
To no avail.
Miya can be quite tenacious when he wants to be.
“I mean, big deal, ya had a fight or whatever.”
Kiyoomi and Ushijima did not have a fight, they barely talk enough to have something to fight about. But Miya doesn't need to know that.
“Doesn’t he write the advice column? Just ask him for advice then.”
It’s the most ridiculous thing Kiyoomi has ever heard. Ask Ushijima for advice? On dating Ushijima?
It’s so ridiculous, it might just work.
No, wait. He can’t believe he’s even entertaining that thought. This would’ve never happened if Kageyama was here instead. He knows how to keep his mouth shut.
“That’s idiotic. You’re an idiot,” he tells Miya—clearly, the man hasn’t been told enough—and unlocks the suite with the keycard, ignoring the offended yelp Miya lets out.
“Hello, Hinata Shouyou and Natsu? Sakusa Kiyoomi, Life Magazine. Nice to meet you,—”
✧✧✧
Dear Ushijima,
Would you like to go out w
Dear friend,
Help. I want to kiss my coworker
How do I seduce m
Dear Wonderboy,
What are your tips on finding out
if one of your acquaintances would
be interested in entering a homo-
sexual relationship with you?
Please help.
✧✧✧
It’s well into the afternoon when a heavy thump against his desk pulls Kiyoomi from his work. His fingers halt with a few dying clicks of the keyboard as he glances from his screen where the first draft of the Hinata interview waits for him to the tall figure of Haiba towering over his desk.
Kiyoomi briefly wonders if this is how normal-sized people feel when meeting him for the first time, but then her face lights up with a happy smile, and he decides no . Definitely not.
“First test of the new edition came back from the printers,” she explains, pulling over a chair from the nearest desk—Akaashi’s—to join him at his. She taps her long manicured nails against his desk (the noise is somewhat pleasing and that is the only reason why he allows her to touch his things) expectantly. “Go ahead, read it.”
He glares at her, putting on his best go-away stare, but Haiba is not Komori and therefore cannot read the visible half of his face. Or maybe she can and simply doesn't care. A horrible thought.
Instead, she raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow at him. “I hate your crocs, by the way.”
Kiyoomi knows.
“I know,” he says, putting all of his displeasure into the two works and then pointedly picks up the magazine from his desk, pretending to slowly flick through it. He’s refusing to make this a thing.
“I know you know,” Haiba says with the air of someone who is absolutely making it a thing. Then, her bright smile giving way to a sly look, she adds, “He’s on page 80.”
Kiyoomi doesn't even hesitate to drop the act, rushing to get through half of the magazine, and there it is:
Ushijima’s (or rather Wonderboy’s) advice column.
Kiyoomi can’t help but lean in a little, greedy for whatever wisdom Ushijima has to offer.
Haiba watches him with a bemused expression. “He really loves flowers, doesn’t he?” Coming from anyone else, the words would probably be derisive, but she makes them sound enthusiastic.
“I just think it’s romantic how much you support him,” she continues with a wistful sigh.
Kiyoomi pauses in the middle of a reader submission asking for advice on how to combat a receding hairline to look up and glare at her.
To no avail.
“I still can’t believe you’re not dating,”—neither can Kiyoomi if he’s being honest. “You two’d make such a handsome couple. You should’ve just kissed him at the Christmas party.”
The Christmas Party . Kiyoomi doesn’t regret many things but maybe he regrets this one.
He’d been working for the magazine only for a couple of weeks but even then he was painfully aware of Ushijima’s presence and his overall charm—had been since day one, really. And who wouldn’t? Kiyoomi took one look at him and how he conducted himself and all he saw was a man who honoured his body, carried himself with a natural confidence that comes with knowing that your hard work will be met with success, and the respect and consideration he extended towards others who did the same.
So it was knowing that Ushijima would be there, that made Kiyoomi first consider going to the office’s Christmas party. It helped that it was more of a get-together and less of a party.
He even dressed up for it, after receiving a strongly worded email from the fashion editors begging him to drop the athleisure look, for once, please , and was willing to call the evening a success after meeting Ushijima’s eyes three times across the room and even receiving a nod in return.
But then it was his turn to open his Secret Santa gift. Underneath an unassuming brown box, awaited him a pair of bright yellow crocs. Half of the room burst into amused laughter but right then and there, Kiyoomi had felt understood.
Ushijima was seated across from him, silent unlike the others, and he remembers meeting his eyes and thinking, was it you? But he didn’t ask because it felt too fresh and too unsure, even if part of him was convinced it had to be, so he remained quiet even when later that evening he and Ushijima found themselves alone under the stars and—
“You’re not even listening to me,” Haiba harrumphs, snapping her manicured fingers in front of his face, causing Kiyoomi to flinch.
“Stop that,” he snaps. “You could take out someone’s eye with those.”
Haiba laughs good-naturedly at that, and Kiyoomi swallows the urge to tell her that he wasn’t joking. There’s no point to it, anyways.
“I can’t believe you’re still wearing his crocs,” she continues with an air of despair.
“They’re comfortable,” he’s defensive despite knowing it’ll be fruitless. They’ve been having this conversation since Christmas. In fact, all Kiyoomi’s life has been since Christmas is having the same three conversations over and over again. It’s either the crocs, the lack of his love life or Sakusa-san, we’ve received another complaint about your workplace demeanour— it’s all the same.
“Doesn’t matter. Some crimes are just unforgivable.”
Kiyoomi glares at her. “We don’t even know if he’s the one who gave them to me.”
Haiba sighs, momentarily admitting defeat. “I guess we don’t.” But then she pauses and winks at him. “Or do we?” With that, she gracefully lifts herself from her seat and leaves him to read Ushijima’s column in peace.
I can’t control other people and situations. That much is becoming glaringly obvious. If he did, nobody would strike up unnecessary conversations with him or harass him about his choice of footwear.
I can only control myself.
✧✧✧
Hinata Shouyou and Natsu: The View from the Top and What It Requires to Stay There
By Sakusa K.
The Hinata siblings are the newest star athletes on the horizon. Shining bright at what some may consider the peak of their career but others claim is only the beginning. What is it that drives them to keep going and what does a typical day in the life of a Hinata look like? Life Magazine sat down with both of them to find out this and more.
“ I’ve wanted to play since I first saw the Little Giant on TV. To see someone like me fly like that—I just knew I wanted that to be me,” Hinata Shouyou tells me with a bright smile and then nudges his sister.
She nods in agreement. “I think for me it was spite. People told me I couldn’t do it, so I did. Or maybe it was just luck. Either way, I am thankful to be here and now I just want to stay here as long as possible.”
Who doesn’t want to live their dream to the fullest? But it is the path towards that dream that is the most difficult. Both their journeys can attest to that. When I address this, bringing up the infamous match of 2013 where Hinata S. collapsed, his face darkens.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes when I was younger,”...
✧✧✧
Despite how well choreographed Kiyoomi’s office dance may be, it offers no protection from the worst case scenario, namely the one where Tendou decides to venture outside of his office. Like he is doing right now.
“Sakusa,” Tendou sing-songs before taking a seat right on top of Kiyoomi’s desk which lets out a worrying creak in response.
“Get off,” Kiyoomi barks, not caring if it earns him another complaint about his workplace conduct. He’ll offer respect when it’s earned, which—looking at Tendou who makes no move to get up—it is clearly not.
“Naw, don’t be like that,” Tendou comments, watching as Kiyoomi pointedly pushes his chair back to get at least some sort of distance between them.
Don’t be like that . He takes offence to that. Kiyoomi will absolutely be like that.
Maybe he should just quit.
Tendou continues as if nothing has happened. As if he is not single-handedly ruining Kiyoomi’s life right now. “The coffee machine is broken.”
“I don’t care. I don’t drink coffee.” He doesn’t. For one, Kiyoomi resents the possibility of forming an addiction to anything, even if it may be something as small as caffeine. For another, there’s the whole thing about caffeine making his heart race, something he disapproves of. Only he is in charge of his body and that includes his heartbeat. Only he gets to make it race.
(And maybe Ushijima, but now is not the time for that.)
“Well,” Tendou smiles, a horrible thing that shows too many teeth to be anything but a show of sadistic pleasure. “I’m making you care. You’re going on a coffee run.” With that, he slaps a slip of paper onto Kiyoomi’s desk.
He glances at it, making out the words ‘hazelnut latte macchiato, three pumps of blueberry, one pump peppermint, cream on top’ underneath Tendou’s splayed fingers. Yeah, no. He’s not doing this.
“I’m not doing this,” he declares, crossing his arms to further make his point.
“You are. I’m your boss. You have to.”
“I quit.”
“If you quit, I’m telling everyone where you live and we’ll throw a big surprise farewell party in your apartment.”
Kiyoomi is pretty sure that’s illegal. There are at least three workers’ rights that have just been violated, if not more. He’s about to say so when they are interrupted by a deep booming voice.
A voice that’s so familiar that it may or may not haunt Kiyoomi in his dreams. A voice that threatens to send shivers down his spine.
“Tendou,” Ushijima says as he walks up to them. “I think Sakusa would appreciate you not invading his workspace.” It’s lucky Kiyoomi is already sitting or else he might swoon.
Tendou pouts but does get up from the desk, grumbling “You’re no fun, Wakatoshi-kun” under his breath.
Wakatoshi-kun. Kiyoomi bristles.
Ushijima’s eyes land on the paper slip with orders. “Oh, are you doing a coffee run? That is very generous of you.” He lifts his eyes to level Kiyoomi with a meaningful look. One that Kiyoomi cannot decipher, currently too busy trying to keep himself together. Maybe Ushijima Wakatoshi is not real. Maybe he is just part of an elaborate fever dream Kiyoomi’s been having, made up by his own mind to torture him. “Allow me to come with you to help you carry everything.”
Kiyoomi’s breath hitches and he is thankful for his mask covering his mouth, even if it doesn’t fully muffle the sound.
“I would appreciate that, thank you,” he forces out, willing his voice to be normal but it comes out slightly strangled instead.
Tendou cackles in the background.
Not dignifying that with a response, Kiyoomi pushes himself out of his chair, grabbing the note and shoving it into the pocket of his sweatpants. It crumples in the process. “Let’s go.”
Ushijima acquiesces with an incline of his head before falling into step right next to him.
He leads them out of the office, down the stairs (neither of them spares the lift a second glance) and onto the bustling streets. Face to face with the crowd, he can’t help but hunch his shoulders a little, pulling into himself to avoid involuntary brushes with strangers.
But then Ushijima steps to his right side, his left guarded by the house fronts they are passing, and acting almost like a human shield. (If Kiyoomi were inclined to read as much into it. He is not.)
“What made—”
“I see you’re—”
They both start and stop at the same time.
Kiyoomi frowns at himself, but Ushijima releases a deep pleasant chuckle. “Forgive me.”
Anything, he thinks in response but bites his tongue before the words slip out.
“I was just noting you are wearing the crocs again,” Ushijima continues, blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil he has thrust Kiyoomi into. Thrust. Bad word choice. He needs to stop.
He glances down at his feet. He is wearing the crocs again. Why wouldn’t he? They are comfortable and allow his feet to breathe, and that’s leaving out the fact that they are a potential gift from the object of his affections.
Who is walking right beside him. Talking. “But please, you were saying?”
Kiyoomi wants to curse himself. Just like that, another opportunity to ask wasted. He clears his throat, pushing past his frustration. “I was going to ask what made you want to write an advice column?”
He is met with silence as Ushijima thinks.
They are about to reach the coffee shop when he speaks again.
“My father always used to give me advice. Whenever I was unsure on how to proceed, I’d go to him,” Ushijima explains, holding the door open for Kiyoomi to step inside. “I only wish to be able to offer the same comfort to my peers.”
Kiyoomi accepts the answer with a hum before stepping up to the counter, already pulling the paper from his pocket.
But before he can begin to rattle down the orders, Ushijima leans in, “Allow me?”, and gently plucks the note from Kiyoomi’s fingers.
Their hands do not brush. Kiyoomi finds himself wishing they did.
“There is nothing here for you,” Ushijima states, brows drawn together as he skims the list. “I know you do not drink coffee, but maybe you’ll find something suitable in their tea selection? It’d be my treat.”
He wants to refuse but Ushijima insists, and eventually, Kiyoomi decides there’s no harm in it, so he orders a herbal tea once they’re done going through the list. He’s been dealing with an itch at the back of his throat anyways, now that he thinks about it. Probably too much dry air.
After paying, they move to the side, waiting in silence as the barista finishes up their order.
It’s not uncomfortable per se, it’s just—Kiyoomi is suddenly painfully aware of how little he actually knows about Ushijima. There are so many questions he could ask, what better time than now, anything to get to know each other better, and yet, he finds himself frozen in place. The possibilities seem endless, Ushijima a person too vast to ever be able to learn, and Kiyoomi is stuck. Stuck in Ushijima’s glow, yet starving for more.
“...think about customising them?” Ushijima’s voice pulls him back to reality.
“What?”
“Your crocs,” Ushijima clarifies. “Do you ever think about customising them?”
The barista calling out their order interrupts them before Kiyoomi can answer.
He’s not sure how much longer he can do this.
✧✧✧
Ask a friend:
Troubles in your life and nowhere to turn to? Don’t worry, our very own Wonderboy is here to offer you advice! Write in at [email protected]
Dear friend,
I have a colleague that I am romantically
interested in. We are both men, so I am
unsure how to best approach this situation.
What would be the best way to subtly let
him know I am interested in him?
S.K.
Dear S.K.,
Love is beautiful in all shapes and forms.
I wish you the best of luck with all your
romantic endeavours.
There are a lot of ways to approach this
situation: Initiate physical contact, maybe
address him more familiarly if you think
he’d be amenable to such a thing. Establish
eye contact when talking to him so he knows
his importance.
Remember: Not every flower blossoms under
the same conditions.
✧✧✧
‘Address him more familiarly. Initiate physical contact.’ The instructions seem deceptively easy, Kiyoomi muses as he reads through Ushijima’s advice column for the third time that afternoon.
He readjusts his mask, pinching his nose to keep himself from sneaking a glance across the room at the man in question. The last time he had done so, his eyes met Miya Osamu's, who was staring at Akaashi, his desk right next to Kiyoomi’s, and the experience was mostly one of unpleasant self-reflection that Kiyoomi hopes to not repeat anytime soon.
‘Address him more familiarly.’ Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi-kun. He experimentally shapes the sound with his tongue, careful not to let anything slip out.
Wakatoshi-kun. He likes the way that feels. The click of the k followed by the tap of the t. He could get used to saying it. Pictures an answering “Kiyoomi” and promptly has to suppress a shiver.
A soft ding draws his attention back to his computer. A new message over one of their private work channels. It’s Komori. Of course.
[16:34] Komori Motoya: stop being weird
[16:34] Komori Motoya: i’ve been watching you read that page for 15min now
Kiyoomi abruptly slams the magazine shut, looking up to pinpoint Komori across the room with a sniper’s accuracy and throw him his most vicious glare.
Another ding.
[16:35] Komori Motoya: lol
Kiyoomi hates him.
[16:37] Komori Motoya: now finish your work we’re leaving in 20
It takes him a moment to remember why exactly that is important. Company dinner to celebrate some kind of achievement. Presence mandatory. It's all coming back to him now, how bothersome.
Usually, Kiyoomi wouldn’t concern himself with events such as these, no matter if his presence is mandatory or not. What will Tendou do? Fire him? He wishes. But circumstances are special: Namely, Ushijima— Wakatoshi-kun —will be there and Kiyoomi has moves to make, physical contact to initiate and emotional distance to bridge.
Maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t have worn his crocs today.
He quickly shakes his head to disperse the thought. He should be proud of his sensible footwear, of his sensible fashion sense. Of his sensible everything, really. Haiba can glare at him all she wants but at the end of the day, it’s Kiyoomi without blisters on his feet, without red angry lines colouring his skin from suddenly too tight jeans post lunch. And if that’s not good enough for whatever restaurant they’re heading to, then Kiyoomi will just…he’ll just…He’ll speak to their manager. Yes. That’ll teach them not to turn Sakusa Kiyoomi away at the door when he is on a mission to seduce Ushijima Wakatoshi.
They do not turn Kiyoomi away at the door. He is regarded with one condescending eyebrow but even that vanishes quickly once he pointedly glares back.
After being led past several tables and a bar, they are shown to a side room, separated from the rest of the restaurant by a sliding door. For some privacy, the waitress assures them, but Kiyoomi gets the feeling it’s more to protect the other patrons from them and the unbearable levels of volume that will undoubtedly follow suit once Tendou or Koganegawa or even Komori get started.
He bee-lines for one of the seats in the back corner, rudely pushing past several of his co-workers in the process.
Usually, on occasions such as these, the seat by Kiyoomi’s side is unofficially reserved for Komori. His cousin acts as a self-assigned Kiyoomi-buffer on most days, but especially during larger social gatherings. (He is not quite sure if that is to Kiyoomi’s benefit or everyone else’s.)
But to his great surprise, it is not Komori who slides into the free seat next to him, it’s Ushijima.
Kiyoomi feels himself tense in a dizzying mixture of nerves and excited anticipation.
He is regarded with a gentle nod as Ushijima carefully pulls his chair closer to the table. Then, “Sakusa. I hope you had a good day at work?”
This. This is the opportunity he’s been waiting for. He takes a moment to collect himself, readjusting his chair that does not need readjustment. Swallows against the dryness in his throat, and forces his voice to be steady.
“Wakatoshi-kun,” Kiyoomi says, acting like he isn’t carrying the entire universe on his tongue. He pauses for a moment, watching for Ushijima’s reaction.
It’s—There’s nothing. Nothing. Devastatingly nothing. Ushijima remains stoic, unchanged, completely unaware of the emotional havoc he is currently wreaking.
Nothing except the momentary glint in his eyes, but that could just as well be a trick of the light, so Kiyoomi refuses to read too much into it.
He forces the disappointment down, continuing as if nothing happened. “It was fine. Less productive than I was hoping but I performed well enough. I will do better next time.”
Ushijima nods approvingly and for a second Kiyoomi fears that that will be the end of it, the conversation is already nipped in the bud, but then he continues. “It was much the same for me. But I too will strive for improvement.”
“You have a commendable work ethic.”
“You, too.”
They fall quiet, Ushijima turning to his other side to join Tendou and Semi in their conversation while Kiyoomi angrily stares at his menu, scanning for whatever meal will be highest in protein. He’s been extending his morning run recently and it would be smart to assist his body in forming and maintaining new muscles. Maybe something with fish will do the trick?
Ushijima releases a chuckle, upper body vibrating with amusement and for a moment Kiyoomi thinks their arms might brush. He can feel the warmth the other radiates, even through layers of wool and cotton. Holding perfectly still, not even breathing, he waits, bracing himself for contact—
The chuckle dies down, Ushijima stills, Kiyoomi remains untouched. The breath he’s been holding escapes in a shaky huff and he slams the menu shut with too much force.
It makes Ushijima turn back around and he leans towards him with a curious look. “Oh, have you already decided?”
Kiyoomi has not. He lies, “Yes, and you?”
Ushijima hums and glances down at his menu. “Ah, not yet,” he glances back at Kiyoomi. “Maybe you could assist me?”
No need to think about that, Kiyoomi leans in to hover over the menu together with Ushijima, using one of his hands to steady himself against Ushijima’s shoulder.
There it is. The long awaited contact. It’s good that he is bracing himself, because suddenly a fluttery feeling takes hold of him, spreading its way through his stomach and chest. Maybe he needs to lay down, it seems like his circulation is not up to its usual standard.
Ushijima is solid and warm under Kiyoomi’s touch, even through the soft woollen sweater he’s wearing. It takes all of Kiyoomi’s willpower to not let his hands wander and explore as they so badly want to, itching to trace the well-defined muscles wrapping around Ushijima’s shapely arms. He never wants to let go again.
“I was thinking about the Hayashi rice,” Ushijima says and it reaches Kiyoomi as if travelling through fog. His ears feel stuffed with cotton.
(He mentally schedules another check-up with his doctor if his condition doesn’t improve in the next few days. This is getting worrying.)
“I think that’s an excellent choice,” he replies, despite having no clue what Ushijima is talking about. Something about food? Probably. “Waktoshi-kun,” he tacks on, emboldened by their proximity.
Ushijima fully turns towards him. Their faces are close, too close. If this were anyone else, Kiyoomi would recoil from the intimacy. But now the discomfort is overshadowed by the deep olive hue of Ushijima’s eyes, rich and warm, by his long lashes which are so dark they look black and so long they cast fluttery shadows on his cheeks. There’s the lightest dusting of freckles on the bridge of his nose and Kiyoomi wants to trail them with his fingers and press delicate kisses on Ushijima’s eyelids.
“Sakusa?” Ushijima’s voice is tinged with concern. Nothing else. Nothing that could even remotely hint that he is affected by this just as much as Kiyoomi is. Nothing.
The realisation is bitter, stinging deep inside Kiyoomi’s chest.
He abruptly yanks himself away, breaking whatever spell Ushijima has placed him under.
“I need to go,” is all he says, before pushing himself out of his seat and fleeing to the bathroom.
I can’t control other people and situations. I can only control myself.
What a joke. Nothing about that embarrassing display speaks of self-control.
✧✧✧
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
CC: [email protected]
Subject: why do you do this to me
Komori,
We can’t make “Just kiss already” the horoscope for Leo.
Best regards,
Akaashi
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: why do you do this to me
Why did you send this to me?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: why do you do this to me
Sakusa,
You know why. Please, put me out of my misery.
Best regards,
Akaashi
✧✧✧
People are avoiding him.
He’s not sure why, only knows that suddenly his well-choreographed office dance is no longer necessary. He’ll step foot inside the office and people will take one look at his face, wince, and turn the other way. He’s not exactly complaining, he’s never made it to his desk faster before, but it is strange. Even Komori who usually weathers Kiyoomi in all his forms has been more distant.
The only constant that remains is Ushijima and their daily dishwasher ritual, which might be the most frustrating since this is the one thing Kiyoomi actually wants to change. Not that he’s ready to brave another attempt after his last try. He needs time to lick his wounds. (He wishes Ushijima would lick them for him.)
It’s Miya (Osamu) who breaks the news to him when they bump into each other outside of the kitchen, with one simple “You look like something crawled into your food and died there” before continuing on his merry way.
Kiyoomi considers this, turning to watch Miya leave, only to come face to face with Koganegawa who releases a loud squeak and takes a hasty step back.
“I’m so sorry, Sakusa-san, please don’t—”
“Do I look upset to you?” Kiyoomi cuts him off, the question coming out cold and biting.
Koganegawa takes another step back, shaking his head vigorously. “No, no, nooo. You look— You look lovely, Sakusa-san! Of course, why would you look upset, you’re not upset, right? Please don’t be upset.” With that, he abruptly turns on his heel and hurries back down the hallway where he came from.
Kiyoomi shrugs it off, instead heading back inside the kitchen to refill his water.
When he gets back to his desk, there’s a new message waiting for him.
[11:08] Suna Rintarou: kogane’s full of shit. u look pissed
He tries to ignore it, but the words gnaw at his mind.
Pissed. Kiyoomi is not ‘pissed’. He is… frustrated. Understandably so. It’s not even Ushijima’s lack of reaction, even if that is disheartening. It’s that Kiyoomi had a plan of how the evening was supposed to go, he had calculated the possible outcomes and decided that the most optimal one would be for Ushijima to whisper “Kiyoomi” back at him, with adoration clear in his voice and then for them to fall into a loving embrace. Not the most likely outcome but that didn’t stop Kiyoomi from wanting it and now he’s sitting here, bereft of an experience that was always more daydream than reality.
The biggest issue is that this is so unlike himself. He is not a man to give into flights of fancy, to dream his days away, and yet, here he is.
But he also doesn’t want to stop. That right there is the crux of the matter. He simply wants Ushijima Wakatoshi, in any form he is allowed to have him. Maybe he shouldn’t, maybe he is being greedy, maybe he will be left with bitter disappointment. None of that changes anything. Kiyoomi wants and wants and wants, and if he wants something, he keeps going until he hits a wall.
Kiyoomi has not hit a wall. Not yet.
Emboldened by his new resolve, he dives back into his work. The next opportunity will come, and when it does, he will not waste it.
Lunch hour has arrived, rendering the office much emptier than usual and he decides to seize the opportunity, grabbing the latest edition of their magazine and heads to the copy room, ready to get himself an extra copy of Wonderboy’s column. For research.
He doesn’t get that far.
The second he pushes the copy room door open he is met with a sight that makes his eyes thirst for bleach.
“No,” he barks and gut reaction demands that he throw the next best object at the couple in front of him. He obeys.
The magazine connects with Miya Atsumu’s head with a soft smack, followed by a yelp, just as Kiyoomi slaps his hand over his face to cover his eyes.
It’s too late. The sight has already burnt itself into his brain. Miya and Komori mid-makeout, half seated on the one good copy machine they have. He’s pretty sure he saw a hand where it wasn’t supposed to be.
I can’t control other people and situations. I can only control myself.
Screw this shit. His left eye begins to twitch.
“No,” he barks again. “Why would you— On the one good copy machine? We use that. I use that.”
Kiyoomi can never use the copy machine again.
“Well, we can’t exactly use the one in the—,” Komori, the menace , starts but Kiyoomi cuts him off with another angry “No”.
He carefully lowers his hand and thankfully Komori and Miya are now in a much more respectable position and— really? Miya? Of all people?
“Just because you got rejected,” Miya grumbles, further cementing his position as Kiyoomi’s worst colleague and personal enemy.
He shakes his head, forces his breathing to relax, and slowly but surely the angry rush of blood in his ears dies down. He sends both of them a scathing glare, then pointedly pulls his travel-size disinfectant from his pocket and covers both of his hands.
“No,” he says for the fourth time because it feels necessary. Then, he takes a deep breath, readjusts his mask and continues, “I will leave. And then I will quit my job.”
“No,” says Tendou two minutes later when Kiyoomi storms into his office, declaring that he is giving his two weeks' notice.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I mean no, you are not giving your two weeks’ notice. I refuse.”
“You can’t do that,” Kiyoomi fires back through clenched teeth.
“Yes, I can ,” Tendou sings in that annoying way of his, before waving his hands in a shooing motion. “Now leave.”
Kiyoomi seethes, even as the door is slammed shut right before his face.
“Why are you doing this to me?” He hisses, not really expecting an answer.
He gets one anyways.
“You can’t miss karaoke night,” comes the muffled reply through the door. And here Kiyoomi thought his day couldn’t get any worse.
He stalks back to his desk, dropping into his seat with an angry huff, ignoring the scared whimper Koganegawa releases when they cross paths.
“Tried to quit?” The voice of Akaashi calls quietly from the neighbouring desk.
Kiyoomi huffs. Nods.
“Me too,” Akaashi sighs. “It never works.”
It’s only when Kiyoomi gets home that he remembers Miya’s (Atsumu, not Osamu) muttered words. Just because you got rejected.
The audacity of that man. Kiyoomi did not get rejected. He will show him, he decides, before angrily drafting another email.
✧✧✧
Ask a friend:
Troubles in your life and nowhere to turn to? Don’t worry, our very own Wonderboy is here to offer you advice! Write in at [email protected]
Dear friend,
I wrote in last month for your advice but
sadly to no avail. My colleague appears
oblivious to my affections. I’ve tried
everything you’ve told me, but he remains
unaffected.
I’ve been told I’m in quite good physical
shape and that my body is “appealing” so to
speak, so I’ve briefly entertained the thought
of just taking off my shirt in front of him
(naturally not unprompted, but one might
spill a drink) but that feels entirely too
unhygienic to do at the workplace.
What else can I do?
Sakusa K.
Dear Sakusa K.,
It is a funny coincidence that you say that
since I also know a Sakusa K who is in quite
commendable shape. So while I’m sure that—if
you are anything like him—undressing would
have the desired effect, I would still advise
against it.
Have you tried inviting him out? Time spent
together with just the two of you is valuable.
So are words, communication is important.
May your love bloom soon.
✧✧✧
Komori and Kiyoomi are the last two people to arrive at the karaoke centre. After the copy machine incident, they quickly fell back into their usual routine, mostly because Kiyoomi is trying his best to forget. They’ve had a brief conversation about it (“Look, I’m sorry…” “No, you’re not.” “No, I’m not.”) which was enough to leave the topic permanently behind them, even if Kiyoomi now has too much insight on why his cousin’s friday nights are suddenly so busy.
They step into the room and are greeted by cheers.
Kiyoomi quickly flees, seeking refuge by Ushijima’s side, which has been left conveniently empty. He tries not to read too much into it, even as Ushijima removes his jacket to make more room for him.
“Good evening,” he greets.
“Good evening,” Ushijima replies.
“How long have they been like this?” he asks, nodding towards the front where Semi is currently performing a rock song that sounds vaguely familiar, deftly dodging Tendou who is trying to shove 1.000¥ notes down his pants.
Nothing about Kiyoomi’s job is professional.
Ushijima hums. “Not too long, I think.”
Kiyoomi nods, and they once again succumb to silence.
The words from Wonderboy’s latest column play in his head over and over. ‘I also know a Sakusa K who is in quite commendable shape.’ What is he supposed to do with that? How is he supposed to live with that? Here, sitting next to Ushijima when he knows the man considers him attractive. Physically at least.
He resists the temptation to unzip his jacket and roll up his sleeves just to reveal his forearms just to see if it would get a reaction out of him. But no, that’s not what he’s been told.
Quality time. He needs quality time.
Does this count as quality time? He wonders.
By now the next song has started playing, Komori is performing a heart-wrenching ballad about a secret love, doomed to fail because neither makes a move.
Kiyoomi pointedly averts his gaze.
“Wakatoshi-kun,” he starts. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”
That does it. Ushijima fully turns towards him, all his focus dedicated to just Kiyoomi as he waits, olive eyes lighting up with anticipation.
He finds himself momentarily distracted by the sharp jawline, the thick hair, cropped short, begging for Kiyoomi to dig his fingers in.
I’m so attracted to you , he thinks. I’m so attracted to you, I’d let you spit in my mouth even though I have an irrational fear of contracting mono.
He thinks, I want to hear every single thought you’ve ever had.
What he says is this. “I greatly enjoy your company. I… admire you a great deal.” Then, to really drive his point home, he lowers his gaze, deliberately checking out Ushijima’s form. Wide chest, thick arms, strong shoulders. “You take great care of yourself.”
When he looks back up, Ushijima is wearing an expression that can only be described as hunger.
“Thank you, I feel the same way about you,” he replies, voice slightly strained.
Before Kiyoomi can do anything about that, like throw all caution to the wind and kiss Ushijima so hard their lungs give out, they are interrupted.
Tendou drops into the seat next to Ushijima and promptly starts yanking at his arm.
“Come on, Miracle Boy, you gotta sing with me,” he whines.
Ushijima glances back and forth between them before finally settling on Kiyoomi. “Forgive me but I have to go.”
“I can see that,” Kiyoomi retorts, somewhat bitterly but by then Tendou has already dragged Ushijima away.
To make matters worse, it turns out that Ushijima has a lovely singing voice.
In a moment of pure desperation, Kiyoomi turns to his nearest person, which ends up being Suna, and demands, yes, demands because Sakusa Kiyoomi does not beg: “Distract me.”
Suna freezes, previously preoccupied with filming a slow zoom-in on Akaashi who is subconsciously swaying to the music and still manages to miss every single beat. He regards Kiyoomi with a smirk, stopping the recording without even looking.
“You don’t even know how lucky you are,” Suna drones and then scoots closer.
Kiyoomi watches him swipe through his phone, scrolling through way too many photo albums until he finally settles on one titled ‘miya atsumu blackmail vault’.
It takes them at least an hour to get through all the clips of Miya embarrassing himself, and by the end, Kiyoomi does feel a bit better. It leaves him with a newfound respect for Suna since the man clearly has a sixth sense for whenever someone (read: Miya Atsumu) is about to embarrass themselves, a talent Kiyoomi hopes will never one day be turned against him.
In the meantime, Ushijima has finished his duet with Tendou and is now busy mingling on the other side of the room.
Kiyoomi watches him for a moment, as he is deeply engrossed in a discussion that looks way too earnest considering he’s currently speaking to Koganegawa.
As if sensing the gaze on him, Ushijima suddenly jerks his head in Kiyoomi’s direction. They stare at each other for a moment, unblinking. Then Ushijima smiles.
Kiyoomi’s heart stops.
The universe doesn’t even grant him a moment of reprieve because by the time he comes back to himself, narrowly escaping fatal cardiac arrest, Ushijima is heading his way with long determined strides.
“Sakusa,” is what he says once he gets there.
“Wakatoshi-kun,” Kiyoomi replies. “Your singing was nice.”
“Thank you,” Ushijima says, lowering himself back into his previous seat. “Are you planning on singing today?”
Kiyoomi snorts, which is answer enough.
Another moment of silence settles between them, but he doesn’t let it linger for long. No opportunity wasted, that’s what he’s been telling himself. Time to live up to it.
“There’s this new athletic store in my area that I’ve been meaning to go to. I was wondering… Would you be interested in going with me?”
Ushijima thinks for a moment, then nods. “I would love to.” Another pause. Then, “I have a friend who is quite interested in working out as well. Would you be amenable to him tagging along?”
“Of course,” Kiyoomi lies through his teeth, swallowing down the frustrated scream bubbling up in his throat. “I can’t wait.”
✧✧✧
Ask a friend:
Troubles in your life and nowhere to turn to? Don’t worry, our very own Wonderboy is here to offer you advice! Write in at [email protected]
Dear friend,
Nothing works. I’ve been positively throwing
myself at him and while he’s being a perfect
gentleman about it he still doesn’t understand
that I am interested.
We’ve been spending a lot of time together, we
even have an established morning routine of
clearing out the office dishwasher so I am sure
he at least values my company. And yet, he
remains blind, even after I’ve told him I find
him physically attractive.
Sakusa K. from Tokyo
Dear Sakusa K. from Tokyo,
My Sakusa K. is from Tokyo as well. Maybe you
two are related? You do remind me of him a lot.
Incidentally, he and I also have an established
routine of emptying the dishwasher together
that I quite enjoy.
I have to admit, I may be at the end of my wits
soon. Are you sure this man is worth the effort
you are putting into it?
I’ve been told many times that a thoughtful gift
can show you the truth of a man’s heart. I have
tried this approach myself but to little success.
But at least he seems to enjoy his gift. Seeing him
wear it daily has been of great comfort to me.
Maybe you’ll have more luck than me.
✧✧✧
Enough is enough.
He has borne it all: The knowing looks following him around the office, the talking behind his back, Ushijima’s resolute front.
Clearly, this isn't working. Whatever signals he’s been sending, they aren't strong enough.
He thought he was being obvious but apparently not.
Slapping the magazine shut, he stomps over to Haiba’s desk to drop it back off, ignoring her knowing glare. He turns on his heel and crosses the room again.
This time his destination is Ushijima’s desk.
“Wakatoshi-kun,” he starts, despite already having the other man’s attention, neck craned upwards, watching him with expectant eyes. “You asked me once if I thought about customising them. My crocs, I mean.”
Ushijima nods. “I did.”
Kiyoomi tugs his mask down and Ushijima follows the motion with his eyes, coming to rest on his lips. He can’t even feel triumphant about it, too annoyed at himself for not having tried it months ago.
“Lately, customising them is all I find myself thinking about.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns back around and heads to his desk.
He drafts another email, this one not for Wonderboy, but for Ushijima Wakatoshi. Saves it, deciding to send it later that evening.
Screw subtlety. Screw controlling himself.
He’s going to get Ushijima Wakatoshi to kiss him, even if it’s the last thing he does.
✧✧✧
Dear Wakatoshi-kun,
I cannot do this anymore. How does the
entire office know and yet you still do not
have a clue?
If you’re the one who gifted me the crocs,
meet me by the fire escape on Thursday
during lunch.
Sakusa K. from Tokyo
✧✧✧
Ushijima does not reply to his email. In fact, Ushijima doesn’t give a single indication that he’s even read it. The only new email in Kiyoomi’s work account is from HR. ( Sakusa-san, ‘that sounds like a you problem’ is not appropriate workplace language… He hasn't bothered reading more than the preview.)
Kiyoomi tries not to let his thoughts spiral as he waits by the fire escape.
It’s the quietest place around the office he knows, located at the back of the building, and Kiyoomi hopes it will afford them the privacy he desperately needs.
The door suddenly swings open with a loud squeak, startling Kiyoomi, and he stands frozen in place, breath catching in his throat, fully expecting to come face to face with Ushijima.
He does not.
Instead, the door reveals one Miya Osamu, carrying two bento boxes.
Kiyoomi slumps with disappointment. “What are you doing here?”
Miya snorts. “This is where I have lunch with Keiji every day. What’re you doing here?”
Kiyoomi glares. “Have lunch somewhere else today then.”
Another snort, accompanied by a quirked eyebrow.
This is where other people might say please, or back down. Kiyoomi however, is not other people so he merely crosses his arms and stands fast.
They stay like this for a while, seconds passing slowly as they are locked in their staredown.
Eventually, Miya sighs, tension bleeding from his shoulders and he relents. “Fine. We won’t interrupt your date.” With that he turns back around, leaving the way he came.
Kiyoomi expects the door to slam shut, but instead, there is only silence.
On the threshold, holding the door open one-handedly, the other clenched into a tight fist, chest heaving as he softly pants, almost as if he ran here (and maybe he did? Wouldn't that be a thought), stands Ushijima Wakatoshi.
“Sakusa—,” he starts.
“Kiyoomi,” Kiyoomi interrupts.
“Kiyoomi,” Ushijima corrects himself, pronouncing the word with great care like it’s a delicate, precious thing. “I received your email.”
Kiyoomi sighs in relief. “Good.” Then, he removes his mask, folding it carefully and putting it in his pocket. “What do you think?”
Ushijima licks his lips. “That I am lucky.” He doesn’t elaborate, only steps closer, letting the door shut behind them.
He hesitantly lifts his hand, the one that’s been gripping the door before, and reaches out, but then abruptly stops, thumb hovering above Kiyoomi’s forehead, right where he knows his moles are located.
I’d let you put your fingers in my mouth and you wouldn't even have to wash your hands, Kiyoomi thinks.
He leans into the touch, closing the final distance between them.
Ushijima releases a shuddering breath.
“I have been—,” he pauses, swallowing. Kiyoomi watches as his throat bobs. “Kiyoomi, you—I don’t know how much longer I would have been able to stand it.”
Me too, Kiyoomi wants to say. He doesn't. Instead, he lifts his hand to briefly cover Ushijima’s before pulling it away, entangling their fingers as he goes.
“You gifted me the crocs?” he asks, even though they both know the answer.
“I did. Do you like them?”
He loves them but that feels like far too much to admit to right now. He nods. “More than I should.”
“I know the feeling,” Ushijima murmurs and then he leans in, sealing their lips in a slow but meticulous kiss.
Kiyoomi falls right into it, sinking into the feeling of Ushijima right against him, the solid shape of him, the warmth he radiates. The comfort. Allows himself to be swept away by it as they explore each other’s mouths.
They break apart with a sigh, and Kiyoomi watches Ushijima’s eyes flutter shut, an expression of utter peace settling on his face.
“I couldn’t allow myself to hope,” Ushijima murmurs. A second passes and he blinks again, eyes opening, startling in their intensity with which they regard Kiyoomi. “But I still found myself wanting…”
“Me, too,” Kiyoomi confesses quietly because he feels like he can now, words much lighter than before.
Ushijima lifts his hand, the one still not interlocked with Kiyoomi’s, once more trying to reach out, but then pauses when he looks at his closed fist.
“Oh,“ the word escapes with a breath. “I almost forgot.”
With that he holds his fist out to Kiyoomi, palm facing up as he slowly opens it to reveal a little package of medical-themed shoe charms.
“For you. You said you’ve been thinking about customising them.”
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Life Magazine Japan ✔
@lifemagazinejp
you can stop flooding our dms. wonderboy finally got the hint