Work Text:
The beer in his hand is cold, the atmosphere in the izakaya around him is friendly and raucous, and Atsumu doesn’t think there’s much else to be done that can further improve his mood.
At least, nothing that doesn’t resemble the figure of a certain vampire currently missing from this table.
He shoves aside the errant thought with a swig of his drink, dragging his attention back to the present with more mental effort than he’d thought he would need.
(“So d’ya do that mind control shit, too?”
“Miya, if I ever had the inclination to control your mind, you wouldn’t know a thing about it.”
“‘S that a yes or no?”
“Read up on your vampire history. That myth was disregarded in the seventeenth century.”)
When Atsumu tunes back into the conversation around him, he’s met with expectant looks. Oops. “Sorry, I completely missed everythin’ from the last five minutes. What did ya say?”
Next to him, Barnes snorts, glancing at Inunaki seated across the table. “Told you he was a million miles away. We were just talking about you, hotshot. If it wasn’t for your hunch to look up that ancient ritual, we wouldn’t have been able to find the witch and close this case for good,” Barnes says, patting Atsumu on the back and reaching for the pitcher of beer. “Don’t know if I even remember what my bed feels like, considering how long we’ve been working on this file.”
“It wasn’t just me—” Atsumu starts, but he’s interrupted by Bokuto, seated on the other side of him, leaning around to grin brightly.
“Yeah, Tsum-Tsum, where’s your partner? I thought we’d at least see him tonight, since this one’s a more high-profile case. We saved a politician’s kid after all! And there’s a half off special for supernatural beings on Thursday nights in this izakaya, ‘s why Hinata’s on his fourth glass already.”
Atsumu blinks, eyes flicking over to see their half werewolf colleague chugging back his drink, and hopes to the gods that Kageyama’s right around the corner to pick his boyfriend up.
“Omi-kun’s not my partner,” Atsumu says after a beat, but he’s suddenly unsure if that was the right thing to say, because Bokuto’s eyebrows do a little weird dance. “Anyway, this isn’t really his scene, y’know. Not sure if I’ve ever seen him kick back and relax a day in his life.”
The lie tastes stale on Atsumu’s tongue; he’s seen plenty of evidence that Sakusa Kiyoomi ‘kicks back and relaxes’ in the last six months since Sakusa started working as a consultant for the team, but he’s not about to say it out here, where his entire department is already suspicious about the nature of their relationship.
Not because there’s any sort of discrimination between human and supernatural creatures when it comes to having relations nowadays, but because every single person in Atsumu’s department is an unrepentant gossipper.
Thankfully, Barnes takes the heat off of him by saying, “You can’t deny that Sakusa-kun’s been a major help ever since he agreed to become a consultant for the non-human related cases. Even if it sometimes feels like I’m trying to pull out a fang whenever I’m talking to him.”
Atsumu remembers the early weeks when Sakusa treated him in the same manner — he wasn’t sure if Sakusa’s haughty attitude was just a trait all vampires possess, or if Sakusa was just exceptional at being obnoxious in his refusal to talk about anything aside from work. Working with Sakusa during those days was almost worse than grinding in the general force before he got transferred and moved to the CID around three years ago.
He can’t say things haven’t changed between him and Sakusa, though, so he keeps his mouth shut with another gulp of his beer.
But his luck seems to have run out this evening, because Inunaki glances at him with a knowing look in his eye.
“Well, our Atsumu-kun doesn’t seem to have the same problem like the rest of us,” Inunaki drawls, smirking. “How’d you get him to loosen up? Considering the first time you two worked together, Meian had to throw both of you outside of his office for public property damage and accidentally losing a suspect in the middle of an arrest.”
“Oi, we ended up finding the actual murderer in the end,” Atsumu retorts.
Hinata pipes up at the other end of the table. “I remember that! It was my first serial murder case, and I wasn’t totally sure if you or Omi-san wasn’t a suspect, since you two wanted to strangle each other half the time.”
The rest of them laugh, and Atsumu throws in an exasperated chuckle — in hindsight, it was ridiculous, the way the two of them were constantly at each other’s throats.
Especially with how—
His phone vibrates in his pocket, and Atsumu holds back a sigh of relief when he quickly skims through the text he’d just received.
“Sorry, boys,” he says as he gets to his feet, throwing down a couple of bills to cover his part of the tab, “Gotta head off now. Just remembered I had a package delivery scheduled for today.”
The rest of his team makes indignant noises about Atsumu leaving them before even getting remotely tipsy, but Atsumu waves them off, and only manages to leave after they wrangle a promise for him to buy them a round the next time they close a successful case like today, and hopes most of them are too inebriated to remember the promise come tomorrow morning.
He’s not sure if he’s pulled the wool over their eyes with his pathetic excuse, anyway — Inunaki hadn’t stopped smirking the entire time and Barnes had raised a glass to him quietly when Atsumu stopped to check his phone again, confirming the contents of the text message he’d gotten.
There’s a half-moon hanging in the evening sky tonight, but Atsumu doesn’t bother walking the rest of the thirty minutes home, choosing to take a bus all the way to the stop closest to his apartment, instead. Even so, when he makes his way up to the fourth floor of his building around fifteen minutes later, there’s already a figure silhouetted underneath the dim overhead light outside of his apartment, clad in a black, wool coat and standing unnaturally still.
“Hope ya haven’t been waitin’ long,” Atsumu calls out as he walks over, not bothering to pick up the pace of his steps.
At the sound of his voice, Sakusa turns around, brows drawn tight and dark eyes narrowed. The rest of his face is covered by a black mask, and Atsumu doesn’t have to look down to know there are leather gloves on Sakusa’s hands as well, mostly plain aside from the intricate etchings along the side of his palms.
“Your protective enchantments need to be reinforced, and it’s only been a month and a half since the last time,” Sakusa bites back. “Told you that warlock was a hack.”
Atsumu rolls his eyes, unlocking the door with a flourish. “Well, that’s what I have you for, right?” He grins, looking back at Sakusa, eyes gleaming and clearing his throat. “Ah, right. I invite you into my humble home, vampire,” he adds with a little bow, chuckling for real when Sakusa merely sighs, irritated but still walking ahead anyway, leaving Atsumu to close the door, locking it physically and listening for the quick click of the enchantments around the area.
As both of them toe off their shoes, behind him, Sakusa says dryly, “How many times have I told you that you don’t have to actually say the words — will and intention is enough nowadays. The magic in your guards should recognise that too.”
“And how many times have I told ya, that wouldn’t even matter if you’d just take my spare key, hmm?’
Atsumu’s retort doesn’t get a reply; at least, not a verbal one, because when he turns around, Sakusa is closer than he’d been earlier, nearly looming over Atsumu with the few inches he’s got on Atsumu. His mask is nowhere to be seen now, and he looks like he wants to be anywhere else but here.
Except, that’s not quite true.
When Atsumu reaches up and drags Sakusa in by the collar, he meets no resistance, and so he pulls, until he’s up against the door with a vampire’s mouth two inches away from his neck, Sakusa’s bulk pressed against him, and Atsumu throws his head back with a laugh.
“Not even gonna kiss me before ya eat me, Omi-kun?”
The groan against Atsumu’s throat shouldn’t sound so seductive, especially when he can clearly hear Sakusa’s annoyance in it, but sue him — he’s got a sensitive neck, and his mind is already feeding him ghost sensations of how fucking amazing it feels to have Sakusa’s fangs drag across thin skin, right before they sink in, followed by the intense heat of Sakusa’s mouth lapping at his blood.
His knees nearly buckle when Sakusa pulls back to look at him, coal-black eyes almost shimmering, with how dark they are. Sakusa’s lips pull up in a smile, and Atsumu bites down on a whimper.
“Should I, when you’re obviously begging for me to eat you up already, Atsumu?”
Atsumu summons enough snark to grin back, tilting his head up just a fraction more, satisfaction filling him when Sakusa’s eyes inevitably fall on his throat for a second.
“‘M not the one eyeing you up like yer a five-course meal.”
“One that talks too much,” Sakusa huffs, and Atsumu opens his mouth for one last retort, but Sakusa reaches him first, licking into Atsumu’s mouth with a low noise that rings around them. One hand wraps around the edge of Atsumu’s jaw, squeezing his cheek hard enough to elicit a whine as Sakusa greedily takes and takes, and the fingers on the small of Atsumu’s back hold him up, pushing his hips forward until there’s barely any space between them from head to toe.
Every second of Sakusa’s attention on Atsumu is intoxicating — and it’s not just because of Sakusa’s vampiric charm; four months ago since Atsumu offered to be a semi-regular blood donor, and then two more months of them falling into bed together is more than enough time for Sakusa to learn how to take Atsumu apart piece by piece, before putting him back together in a heaving mess of desire.
When Sakusa pulls back to let Atsumu breathe — because the bastard doesn’t have to — he leans away just far enough for Atsumu to pant noisily into the scant space between their lips, mind scrambling for coherency.
“Bed,” Atsumu demands; whines, really, but he won’t say that aloud. “I’ve been running on adrenaline for three days straight, I don’t think I can get up if ya put me on my knees right now.”
Every case with Sakusa’s help ends this way, with Atsumu pressed up against a horizontal surface, desperate for Sakusa’s touch all over his body.
“Who said you’ll be the one on your knees tonight?” Sakusa murmurs, lowering his head to suck a mark on the hollow of Atsumu’s throat. Gods, he’s going to be teased for that tomorrow, but he’s barely able to stay upright, fingers clutching Sakusa’s waist like a lifeline. “It’s been a while since I’ve fed from anywhere else aside from your wrists,” Sakusa continues, and to prove his point, he pushes his thigh between Atsumu’s weak legs, pressing against the inner side of Atsumu’s thigh, where he knows from experience that Sakusa’s teeth and lips would drive him insane. “Can I, Atsumu?”
The deep purr of Sakusa’s voice, and Atsumu’s name on his tongue, would be enough to make Atsumu find his release if he was just a little more keyed up.
As it is, he inhales sharply, and cups Sakusa’s cheeks, encouraging him to look at Atsumu.
There’s a flicker of confusion in Sakusa’s dark eyes when Atsumu doesn’t say anything — but it’s really only because Atsumu’s trying his damn hardest to not blurt out how he’s so in love with Sakusa, it’s pathetic.
Somehow, Atsumu swallows it down, feeling the words go down his throat like glass shards, and whispers, “Ya can do anythin’ ya want to me, Omi-kun.”
Sakusa’s eyes widen, and something flashes in them that Atsumu’s hesitant to name, but all he gets is another deep kiss, before Sakusa drags him to bed at last.
The calm doesn’t last long, not in their department here, at least — but that’s why Atsumu had asked to transfer to this location, back when the opportunity had come up.
“I could be doin’ so much more than keepin’ idiots overnight for being public nuisances and fucking jaywalking, Samu,” he’d said vehemently after a night that had nearly driven him to the brink of insanity, after hours of hearing a foul-mouthed harpy hurl drunken insults at him. “This — I didn’t sign up for this shit,” and he would have handed in his resignation letter that day, if Osamu hadn’t slapped him up the side of his head in exasperation.
“Yer bein’ dramatic,” Osamu told him with an eyeroll, and before Atsumu could snap back, he’d added, “Ain’t there any way for ya to leave yer station and work somewhere else? Y’know nothin’ much happens in this town, Tsumu. All the big crimes happen in the city, right?”
Atsumu had stared at him for a long moment.
And then he’d pushed for a transfer as soon as he managed the certifications, the long hours, and the delicate balance between being confident and cocky (and he managed it just fine, shut up, Samu), until he moved three hours away to the nearest big city and found himself neck deep in a case involving a kidnapped coven in his first week, and felt he could breathe for the first time in a long, long while.
Now, it’s almost second nature for Atsumu to skim through his briefs with a trained eye, mentally constructing an image of the scene presented before him, humming quietly under his breath. There are a handful of tools that could help project the whole thing right above his desk, thanks to the public sorcerers association’s contributions to the CID, but Atsumu likes combing through the descriptions on his own at first.
Also, some of the runes on the tools make Atsumu’s skin itch sometimes, heavy with astral magic, and he avoids handling them when he can.
This new file had seemed clear-cut when Atsumu took a glimpse at it, sometime between researching an ancient blood ritual and making preparations to apprehend the witch behind it all in the previous case, but now Atsumu’s on his second cup of coffee, twenty tabs open on his screen ranging from tengu myths to skinwalker legends, trying and failing to not fixate on a single line in one potential witness’ account of the events.
He drums his fingers on the table, and glances up, wincing when he feels the crick in his neck. He’d started on the file sometime before nine in the morning, and a quick look at the clock to his right tells him that it’s been three hours since then, and he’s barely made any headway on it.
Just because of that weird description.
Atsumu clicks his tongue, turning to his left, where Bokuto’s stuck writing a report on some minor property damage that had occurred in a B&E during the weekend. There’s a resigned expression on his features, and he types in an almost lethargic manner, looking half-asleep and slumped over in his chair.
It’s the paperwork that truly brings the best to their knees, Atsumu muses, and feels exactly zero amount of guilt when he balls up a small wad of paper and throws it at Bokuto’s cheek, startling the other man violently.
Bokuto nearly flips over the stack of papers beside him, but he manages to slam his arm down on them, rubbing his cheek as he turns to Atsumu with a frown. “I was concentrating!”
“You were literally halfway to dreamland,” Atsumu shoots back, smiling sheepishly anyway. “D’ya know if Meian-san’s in already?”
“He is — I think he dropped in around an hour ago. Why?” Bokuto leans back to peer at Atsumu’s screen, golden eyes growing wide at the sheer amount of research; Atsumu doesn’t bother covering any of it, used to his colleague’s curiosity at this point. “Is all of that for the new file? I thought you said it was a simple case of theft. Tsum, are those entrails?!”
Atsumu flushes. He had said that, but at least he’d made the mistake now instead of later, when there would be more dire consequences.
“I might have — glossed over something,” he admits reluctantly, and gets to his feet, nonchalantly scrolling the page away from said entrails to avoid scarring Bokuto any further. “Thanks, Bokkun.”
True to Bokuto’s word, Meian is seated behind his desk, looking a little drawn and tired; he’s wearing glasses more often these days, and when he lifts his eyes to look at Atsumu, they’re narrowed and full of suspicion, like he already knows Atsumu’s fucked up a bit.
Or maybe it’s just Meian saying, “If you, Bokuto or Hinata broke something, I don’t want to hear it, Miya.”
“Trust me, if any of us broke anything, ya wouldn’t hear of it until five years have passed and we’re out of yer hair, cap,” Atsumu answers cheekily, sauntering inside the room with ease. Meian Shugo’s easily the best department head he’s worked with; sharp, disciplined, with an permanent air of mild exasperation mixed with pride, and instrumental in helping Atsumu hone his own gut instinct and ability to pick apart complicated threads to reveal truths.
So if there’s anyone that might help back Atsumu up on this thing he’d found, it’s his department head.
Meian rolls his eyes, but he does shift his shoulders back, peering at Atsumu over his glasses. “You were lookin’ at that antique theft case, weren’t you?”
Atsumu nods, and hands over the file, trying not to fidget as Meian takes it from him. “Yeah, I figured we could start by looking at the origins of the antique, but there’s barely anything on it. It’s not East Asian, or European, or of African origin, and there’s a vague description of what might be the thing in a Mesopotamian book but the colours are kinda off?” He explains, running a hand through his hair.
About sixty percent of the world’s known artefacts have been carbon dated, with about twenty two percent found but either having travelled all over the world before they made their way into experts’ hands, making it difficult to pin them down to the century they’d been created, never mind decade.
The rest typically stem from myths passed down through word of mouth, and those are always a bitch to handle, considering how languages have been twisted over the centuries and words carry both old and new meanings, which only invite catastrophe, especially when they involve runes or spoken rituals.
And whenever those appeared, disaster was almost always sure to follow — it was as if the only way to find them was to activate them, which, historically, was never a good idea.
Atsumu was desperately hoping this damn relic wouldn’t fall in that category, but his hope is fading, especially when the lines on Meian’s forehead sink deeper, and he looks back at Atsumu, brows knitted and seemingly on edge.
“Oxygenation and general exposure to the air could account for the shift in appearance, especially if it’s ancient,” Meian says, placing the file down after reading through it, along with the notes Atsumu had managed to scribble down. “And this witness said they heard a humming, right before the lights tripped?”
Atsumu nods. “He’s technically legally blind, but he’s got enough sight to perceive light and dark, so he was aware when the lights went off. Nobody else heard it, even though he wasn’t the closest to the antique at the time.” Not to mention the theft had happened with three people still present in the same large hall, or the fact that the owners of the relic hadn’t bothered to volunteer any helpful information on it, conveniently on holiday at the time.
“So ya think the humming’s got something to do with how the relic works when it’s touched? Or is it to do with whoever stole the thing?”
“... I haven’t gotten that far, but nothing that I’ve read mentioned the relic could emit any sound. I might drop by Shinsou-san’s apartment later if that’s fine with ya,” Atsumu answers, and adds, “I came across some, uh, nasty lookin’ stuff and I wanted to check up on the witnesses first. Just in case.”
Meian doesn’t hide his wince, and he returns the file. “Just in case,” he repeats grimly. “Fine. Are ya callin’ in Sakusa for this?”
A part of Atsumu wants to bristle at the thought that he’d need Sakusa’s help, like he hasn’t fought tooth and nail to be in his position right now, with his own smarts and effort, but the larger side of him that’s more difficult to ignore almost preens at the idea of working with Sakusa again — they’re a great team, now that they’ve figured out how to work with each other seamlessly, and it’s always a wonder to see Sakusa’s eyes light up with a spark that Atsumu easily catches when they’re on a roll, comparing research and evidence and hypotheses side by side, thoughts bouncing back and forth until they eventually result in the successful end of a case.
But he doesn’t want to drag Sakusa into this life more than he already has; Sakusa does have his own job, as he often reminded Atsumu during their recent late night work sessions, and Atsumu takes up enough of Sakusa’s time doing other things, as it is.
Even if he does like seeing more of Sakusa nowadays.
He doesn’t say any of this aloud, though.
“I’ll see,” is what he eventually decides on, and to his credit, Meian merely nods, and shoos Atsumu out of the office.
He sets the file back on his table, and sighs when he looks at the clock, and at his half-empty cup of coffee.
And before he can talk himself out of it, Atsumu sends a quick text as he walks out of the building, heading towards a place he’d become familiar with only in the past few months.
Fuckbuddies hang out too, he reasons, and takes in the overcast skies above him. At least Sakusa won’t bitch too much about being out during the day.
Fifteen minutes later, as Atsumu settles in a comfortable booth, sight adjusting to the dimmer environment of the cafe, with much of the sunlight blocked by overhanging vines and large plants gently swaying despite the lack of a breeze, he orders a bowl of soba, and waits.
It doesn’t take long for Sakusa to appear, dressed in a thick wool jacket, long pants and a hat with a wide brim hat covering his dark hair and eyes. The lower half of his face is hidden behind a white mask this time, and Atsumu can see the edge of Sakusa’s leather gloves jammed inside his pockets.
With over three hundred and fifty years of being part of the undead, Sakusa’s developed more of a resilience against the sunlight, but Atsumu’s seen pictures of vampiric sunburns, and he doesn’t envy the pain they’d leave, even on something nearly indestructible like a vampire.
So can he really be blamed for being so pleased that Sakusa continues to keep seeing him even during the day, despite having to cover up from head to toe to avoid getting hurt by the sun?
When Sakusa slides into the seat across Atsumu, he removes the hat first, brows furrowed as he shakes out his curls, before taking off the gloves carefully, looking just the slightest bit windswept and ethereal.
Atsumu bites down on the compliment dancing on the tip of his tongue, because that way lay the exit point to these lunches and dinners and the casual intimacy of sharing a meal with Sakusa, even if he doesn’t eat the same things Atsumu does.
It hasn’t always been this way, especially with how much they’d clashed at first.
The only reason he’d met Omi was because Atsumu had tracked him down as the sole owner of half a grimoire that was being used in a nasty case involving a corrupted necromancer, and after all was said and done, Atsumu had given the other half to him, instead of letting it rot in the evidence room.
He can’t forget the look of shock that had crossed Sakusa’s face when Atsumu had slipped it to him. “It’s probably safer with ya,” Atsumu had said when Sakusa seemed hesitant, and.
Well.
Here they are, right?
He’s dragged out of his musings when Omi stares at him unblinkingly, and Atsumu isn’t sure how long he’d been doing that while Atsumu was stuck reminiscing on months gone by.
“Ya know that shit freaks me out,” Atsumu drawls, and Sakusa deliberately does not close his eyes for a few seconds longer. “How’s the restoration on that thing you were working on going?”
Sakusa removes his mask, a slight uptick of his lips the only indication he’d enjoyed making Atsumu squirm. “Routine stuff,” Sakusa answers with a shrug. “Definitely not as exciting as having to keep your ass out of trouble, but some of us need a little bit of stability, at least.”
“My ass is completely fine, thanks,” Atsumu retorts without any heat, choosing to ignore the other comment for the moment. Sakusa’s lived for nearly four hundred centuries — stability is not a word Atsumu would use to describe how the world has been during that period of time.
His soba arrives at the same time Sakusa’s drink does, and he takes a bite before continuing. “And don’t lie; you know you like the excitement I bring into your life.” He waggles his eyebrows to emphasise his point, amused when Sakusa only sighs.
The conversation quickly turns to other matters; Sakusa asks after Osamu, Kita and Aran, and Atsumu carefully doesn’t say anything about Komori, knowing vampires can hide away from society for years and years on end, especially when they were mourning the death of their sire.
It’s casual and easy, and Atsumu only compliments Sakusa three times under a veil of carefully constructed lighthearted insults during the entire time. He doesn’t mind this, being head over heels in love with Sakusa, except for the part where it’s starting to get difficult, keeping it all in him, where it belongs.
“This new case I’m working on is another complicated one,” he mentions, picking up the last few mouthfuls of his soba. “So I’ll probably be working late at the office again for the next few weeks.”
Sakusa frowns. His tongue slips out to lick the corner of his mouth, where there had been a tiny drop of blood he’d missed earlier. “But you just closed the previous one. Shouldn’t you be getting a break soon?”
Atsumu wants to scoff at the idea, but he manages to turn it into a laugh instead, staring at Sakusa with mirth. “Then take me on holiday, Omi-kun,” he teases, chin resting in his palm, studying the vampire before him. “I’ve never been anywhere aside from the city and my hometown, and yer always talking about those places you’ve visited. Take me to one of them.”
He’s so sure of Sakusa’s reaction — annoyance, dismissal — that he nearly doesn’t hear Sakusa saying, “Ask me next time.”
“Huh?”
“If you’re serious about it.” Sakusa holds his gaze, features carefully blank. “Ask me again next time.”
It’s silent for a beat, three, four, until Atsumu nods, shaky with the concept of potential. But he waves it away right after, because Sakusa had said next time. Instead, he musters up a smirk, and asks, “Was that glass even enough fer ya?”
The odd tension breaks, and along with it Sakusa’s uncharacteristic demeanour, as he snorts, and moves to stand up, taking the seat beside Atsumu, patiently waiting for Atsumu to unbutton the two top buttons of his shirt.
There are a number of points on Atsumu’s body where Sakusa can feed from, but seeing as they’re in public, the only two spots are Atsumu’s neck and wrists, and since Atsumu would likely need to keep writing and researching for the rest of the day, he chooses the first option, even if it’s toeing the edge of necessity and desire — sometimes, Sakusa would opt to drink from the veins in his throat right before he reduces Atsumu into a heap of lust, but his favourite spot is the great saphenous vein, like how he’d demonstrated the other night, and Atsumu immediately stops his thoughts from heading that way, all too aware of Sakusa’s sensitive nose.
Except it’s too late, because Sakusa cups his cheek, looming close, before nudging Atsumu to lift his chin. “Careful, Miya,” he murmurs, nosing Atsumu’s jaw, cool breath brushing against Atsumu’s exposed throat. “We both have places to be after this.”
“Uh huh, and whose hand is on my thigh right now?”
Sakusa shuts him up by gripping his thigh firmly, his other hand continuing to push Atsumu’s chin away so his fangs can graze Atsumu’s skin before they sink in slowly, pinpricks of pain that have become familiar by now.
Still, Atsumu doesn’t manage to clamp down on the low moan quick enough, and he has a spare thought to be thankful for the fact that no one else is in the feeding area with them as his legs involuntarily splay open by a few inches, and he slumps down in his seat, held up only by Sakusa’s hands and mouth.
Soft, plush lips move in a subtle, sucking motion, as Sakusa keeps feeding from him, and Atsumu doesn’t know when his eyes had fallen shut, but he’s aware of the creeping high left over from the endorphins that Sakusa’s venom had left in his blood, designed to make this entire experience a pleasant (erotic) one.
Sakusa doesn’t take too much from him this time, but Atsumu still feels just a little bit loopy when he gingerly gets to his feet afterwards, and he doesn’t imagine the steadying hand on his back that stays there until they’re back outside, bidding a quick goodbye before they go their separate ways.
It’s been three weeks since this file landed on Atsumu’s table again, and he’s still missing about forty percent of the puzzle pieces.
He suppresses the groan that’s been building in his chest for the last hour, but that means he’s left focusing on the migraine right behind his eyes, and he’s exhausted, and frustrated, and he’s not sure when he’d eaten last, but his stomach is certainly not happy with him.
But not out of options yet.
Sighing, he picks out a different corner of the board he’d been working off, retracing the esoteric ley lines of the city in his head as he mentally turns over this particular puzzle piece; five burglary cases of humming antiques with a trace of magic left behind at the scene, each in a seemingly random spot in the city with nothing to tie them down, except for an old map of the ley lines’ pattern, but not one Atsumu’s seen before.
The registered pattern in the council hall, the one that regular sorcerers worked off to siphon the energy of the earth in this city looked akin to a simple six-pointed star when joined together — Atsumu’s had plenty of experience dealing with them, considering the number of magic-users that tend to end up in court, but the four points in front of him don’t correlate to what he knows.
Instead, the shape these crime scenes are taking resembles more like a half-moon; three of them are forming an outside curve, with one residing at the bottom edge, and the final one nearly parallel to the position of the second point on the curve.
And then there’s the odd humming that had begun from that first scene; Atsumu hadn’t been able to find out a lot more, because Shinsou—
He grimaces and shakes his head, trying to dispel the dark images his mind had immediately conjured at the thought of the blind man, who was supposed to be one of his keys to unlock the secrets of his case.
Shinsou had been fine, when Atsumu went to visit him after that late lunch with Sakusa. He was a half-vampire and a gardener, and he helped to look after the Itos’ compound, among a few others in the neighbourhood. He had a dog, a large, gentle giant of a mutt, and he’d been unbonded.
And then two days later, Atsumu had been called in for a suspected homicide, and he’d found himself running to Shinsou’s apartment as soon as the address was sent.
He’d never have a bond mate now, and Atsumu hopes the realm of the dead allowed animal companions in. Maybe Sakusa can confirm that hypothesis for him.
Atsumu bites the inside of his cheek, placing his middle and ring fingers on his lips for a moment, and then pushing them forward in an unconscious gesture to honour Shinsou and Daiki’s lives, wishing them peace, before he turns back towards the board, readying himself to spend another night at the office, squinting at the odd ley lines.
Maybe he should take a break soon and get some food — he’s starting to gnaw on the fleshy inside of his cheek, and he’s pretty sure Hinata’s ears could pick out the grumbling of his stomach, if the man was anywhere nearby.
A loud noise causes him to jump, accidentally knocking against the chair beside him, and he spins around to glare at Inunaki’s amused smirk. There’s a large box on the desk separating them, and it doesn’t take a detective to figure out there are more books inside the box, ones that Atsumu’s expecting to go through in order to find some answers to this complicated burglary-turned-murder case.
“You coulda said something. What if I had a heart condition?”
“I did. Twice.” Inunaki raps his knuckles against the box. “If you had a heart issue of some kind, Meian would’ve benched you a long time ago. Anyway, someone from the library dropped this off at the front desk for you,” he says, and there’s a gleam in his eyes when he adds, “Also, your phone’s been buzzing a couple of times.”
Phone?
Atsumu leans over to pick it up, not looking at the screen as he answers cheekily, “I’d still solve more cases sitting on my ass,” ducking away from his colleague’s punch with a laugh. “Thanks for this, Inunaki-san.”
Inunaki merely waves his fingers and walks away, leaving Atsumu to check his phone at last.
It’s Sakusa, and Atsumu tries to resist the urge to grin just from a single text, but the almost-smile immediately shifts into a grimace when he reads it — it’s an invitation to dinner tomorrow, at some place that had just opened up, one he remembers Sakusa talking about vaguely a month ago.
One that Sakusa thought Atsumu might like, since it’s a seafood place; the city is landlocked, far away from the piers Atsumu had spent his childhood at, and Atsumu thinks he couldn’t be blamed for wanting more if Sakusa keeps doing thoughtful shit like this.
But it’s the second dinner invitation in two weeks that Atsumu will be turning down because of work, and it sucks. Neither of them have had much time to hang out, not with this new case Atsumu’s working on, and he could just.
Go home early tomorrow. Say yes to the dinner, to see Omi’s face and bring him back home afterwards, sheets rumpled around them, and the mingled scents of parchment and iron and something distinctly Sakusa Kiyoomi will settle on Atsumu’s bed once more.
He wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about this case, though. And Sakusa deserves more than just half-hearted attention.
Raincheck? I’m sorry, there’s just something missing and I can’t figure it out yet.
As soon as we make some solid headway I can free up my schedule
11.45pm
Alright. Let me know when you’re available again.
11.47pm
Will do, Omi-kun
11.48pm
Omi’s reply is short and succinct. Most of his messages are, unless he’s rambling about some ancient text he’d discovered during one of his travels, and Atsumu doesn’t usually read too much into them. But he’s not sure if anyone would be happy about being turned down twice in a row, and he sighs, pocketing his phone for the time being.
Despite Atsumu’s feelings, neither of them are — more than what they’ve agreed to be. Friends who occasionally fuck. Friends who offer up blood and sanctuary and a conversation or two in between. Friends who eat together every few weeks, and wonder if the other person’s lips would taste sweeter after saying “I love you”.
His musings are interrupted by a crash on the other end of the floor, and Atsumu blinks slowly, barely hearing Bokuto’s call of “I’m okay!” right after the noise.
“Right,” Atsumu mutters, shaking his head, resolutely pushing away thoughts of vampires and friendships. He still has work to do, but, “Food first, and then coffee.”
Kiyoomi isn’t sore about the fact that he hasn’t seen Atsumu in close to three weeks.
Even if Wakatoshi had noted how he’d been quieter than usual these days, whenever the other man stops by Kiyoomi’s office with a new relic to be studied, and then sorted according to its place in history.
If Kiyoomi hadn’t been annoyed at the audacity of Atsumu’s carefree smile and pointed remarks about the incomplete grimoire Kiyoomi had been keeping for the last twenty years — with its other half, long presumed to be destroyed suddenly involved in a convoluted demonic case — he would have been remarkably impressed at how unmoved Atsumu was, despite Kiyoomi’s attempt to scare him off.
Most mortals would have run from far less.
Atsumu had taken one look at his fangs, and bared his own blunt teeth in a sharp grin.
“Yer pearly whites are lookin’ good — for an old man, at least. What’s the number of your dentist?”
Somewhere along the way, mere months after that first meeting, all those days barely a blip in Kiyoomi’s existence, Atsumu had buried his way into Kiyoomi’s undead heart through a friendship easily given, despite the fact that Kiyoomi had lived over three of Atsumu’s lifetimes. Mortals like Atsumu are rare, Kiyoomi knows.
Mortals who would look at a beast like Kiyoomi in the eye and say, “You can feed from me, I trust ya,” probably come once in five lifetimes, and it’s any wonder Kiyoomi doesn’t fall in love earlier, really.
So no, Kiyoomi’s not sore at all. And it would be a cold day in hell before he so much as says he misses Miya Atsumu.
(Out loud, at least.)
Their last conversation is a dry, straightforward exchange, with a vague expectation of seeing each other again once Atsumu’s no longer doing his best impression of moving into his office, buried under a puzzle yet again.
(But Kiyoomi keeps the restaurant’s page bookmarked, for a time when Atsumu won’t reject him again.)
When Kiyoomi does visit the CID nearly a week later, it’s not to see Atsumu. Instead, Meian was the one that called him in on a Wednesday evening, requesting a consultation on an odd case.
Kiyoomi carefully averts his eyes away from the empty table where Atsumu would usually be seated at, his long, muscled legs crossed together and a heavy file in his hands that would almost certainly be dropped whenever he waved hello at Kiyoomi.
Instead, he dips his head in a quick nod when Barnes smiles at him during his conversation with Bokuto, and tries not to flinch when Bokuto calls out in a booming voice, “Omi-Omi!”
“Bokuto,” Kiyoomi merely says through pursed lips, thankful for the mask covering most of his expression, and quickly makes his way to where Meian’s office is located, down the slightly dim hallway lined with numerous cabinets and shelves full of files dating from sometime in the last century.
Kiyoomi’s older, of course, but he won’t scoff too much at the CID’s attempt at record-keeping, especially when they’ve only started doing consultations with non-human folk in the last twenty years or so.
When he pushes the door open, Meian’s on his feet, studying a large map tacked onto two tall cabinets. Upon closer inspection, Kiyoomi recognises it as a map of the city, with a line pattern that resembles the ley lines that common, registered magic-users worked with — but there’s a different pattern laying over the first one, clearly scribbled with marker, and Kiyoomi thinks if he was still breathing, he would have choked on air right now.
“Where did you get that?”
He can’t find it in him to feel remorseful when Meian practically jumps a foot in the air, letting loose a stream of expletives as he turns to face Kiyoomi with an annoyed frown. “Last time I checked, knocking’s still a courtesy for your kind,” he says gruffly, and shakes his head. “Anyway, thanks for coming by on short notice.”
Kiyoomi stifles the growl building in his throat. “I asked, where did you get that map?”
One of Meian’s eyebrows starts to arch up. “Found it laying around in the storeroom,” he answered, and added, “It’s why I called ya in, actually. Atsumu’s been workin’ on this string of burglaries and he mentioned there was a weird magic trace in each crime scene. Too strong to just be the signature of a single sorcerer, and the energy levels were similar to a ley line convergence.”
“But none of these burglaries happened at any known convergence,” Meian says, just as Kiyoomi interrupts with, “Because nobody in this century was supposed to know about them.”
Meian narrows his eyes. “This century?” he slowly repeats.
Blue flames wash over Kiyoomi’s vision for a moment, and he blinks them away, taking a single, shallow breath to ground himself.
But Meian doesn’t miss the movement; his posture straightens, and his earlier lighthearted annoyance completely dissipates. “Sakusa-san. You know who’s behind all of this?”
“I thought the last of them had died,” Kiyoomi answers quietly after a beat. There’s no inflection in his tone, but he keeps his hands clasped together behind his back, unwilling to show another moment of weakness in front of this human, fair and unprejudiced Meian Shugo may be.
“Vampires are not typically known to be religious due to our immortal nature, but this brood claimed they worshipped Hekate. Their rituals never honoured her, though. Instead, they were trying to draw on the power of the dark spirits with cursed objects. The spirits were said to be on the face of the moon that faced a barren universe, and these objects would sing the song of the moon when touched by someone with a specific intention,” he recites.
“They created these ley lines using damned rituals. There are no official records of them because your folk was largely spared from that war that occurred over two centuries ago, before humankind and non-humans fully integrated in society.”
“What happened?” Meian asks, leaning forward. “Why was there a war?”
At that, Kiyoomi huffs.
“Pride,” he replies flatly. “The Yue, that’s what they called themselves, believed that the noblest way to honour Hekate was to rid the world of ‘abominations’.” Kiyoomi clenches his fists. “Half-breeds. The gifts of unions that were made in secret. But the cult saw them as a plague, because to lay with humans was to stoop below your stature, then. Even if humans and supernatural creatures weren’t supposed to mingle during that time, it didn’t mean that there weren’t such… Entanglements.”
Meian mutters a curse under his breath. “You’re sayin’ they were goin’ around killing anyone with mixed blood, then.”
“Even the unborn,” Kiyoomi nods stiffly. “Vampires are not known to interfere in each other’s affairs, but…”
“You were there,” Meian completes his sentence, and Kiyoomi nods again. “Gods.”
“I was. And it was not easy to eradicate them then.” Kiyoomi glances at the map again. Clearly, they’d failed.
An odd noise escapes Meian, but his expression doesn’t lift, and he taps the edge of the map twice. “So how do we stop them, then?”
Kiyoomi’s neck nearly snaps with the speed he uses to look back at the chief inspector, incredulity causing him to blurt out, “We?”
The edges of his vision are speckled with blue, and he blinks once to get rid of the memories flashing before his eyes, shaking his head as he leans forward, toying with the edge of his mask. “The Yue are planning something big, if they’re trying to draw on the power of the cursed ley lines once more. Your department is ill-equipped to handle them, Chief Inspector, with all due respect.”
He doesn’t miss the way Meian’s shoulders have drawn back in indignation, but he continues in a low tone, urgency forcing his consonants to possess a slight hiss as his fangs threaten to extend themselves. “They’ve touched on several convergences; this is not the work of a single individual. There are more of them out there, and they will wreak havoc if you continue to outwardly pursue them.” He straightens up, placing his arms behind his back again. “As your consultant, my advice is to back off before you get yourselves killed. You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourselves into.”
Tell Atsumu to back the fuck off. His harsh tone is tempered by the silent request in his eyes, and he leaves the office without waiting for a reply. He’s well-aware of the members of the CID’s headstrong tendencies, and he keeps his phone close by as he quickly makes his way back home, certain he’s about to receive a call soon.
In the end, it takes less than two hours for Atsumu to ring him up after that meeting while Kiyoomi’s hunger has started to rear its head.
Figures that only work would have pushed Atsumu to have a conversation that lasted longer than thirty seconds these days, he thinks bitterly, before immediately banishing the self-pitying thought. Time doesn’t pass the same way for immortals, but Kiyoomi had started keeping a count of how much of it passes ever since he realised he’d fallen in love with Miya Atsumu.
It makes him feel closer to Atsumu, and all the more pathetic for it.
He picks up the call, opening the door of his fridge. “Miya.”
“What the hell, Omi-kun.”
Kiyoomi takes a breath he doesn’t need, and reaches out for a fresh blood bag, noting his supply is starting to run low. He doesn’t usually keep a large stock, considering Atsumu volunteers his services whenever they meet up, but. Well.
It really has been a while.
“That wasn’t a question.”
He hears Atsumu’s deep exhale on the other end of the line, and when Atsumu speaks again, his tone is more controlled, even with the undercurrent of anger rumbling in his voice. “I spoke to Meian-san,” he begins. “Yer sayin’ this is some weird ass death cult and we’re supposed to just turn a blind eye to all of it? Ya understand who’s working this case right now?”
I do, Kiyoomi thinks, tearing into the edge of the blood bag with a fang. “I told Meian about the repercussions if any of you keep trying to dig into the whole thing,” he answers after taking a long sip. “They aren’t to be trifled with, so stop looking into the file, Atsumu.”
Just like he had with Meian, he doesn’t wait to hear what Atsumu has to say. At least this time it’s easier to check out of the conversation with a single tap on his screen, and he drinks the rest of the blood without another glance at his phone.
Atsumu would not take no for an answer; Kiyoomi’s known him long enough to understand that. Kiyoomi can’t evade the man for long, either. The wards around his home are attuned to Atsumu’s aura, allowing him to come and go as he pleases, and nothing in Kiyoomi could truly push him away for long.
But perhaps the little time Kiyoomi has before Atsumu comes marching his way to Kiyoomi’s home would be enough for him to figure out what excuse he has to give to Atsumu for stopping the man from pursuing the case that doesn’t essentially boil down to, “you can’t die, I care for you too much to let any chance of that happening.”
Kiyoomi’s not sure when or how he’d grown to be this optimistic. He blames it on Atsumu.
Twenty minutes later, there’s a sudden ripple in the wards, and Kiyoomi isn’t any closer to figuring out what he can tell Atsumu to get the man to back off from the case. Any more information about the cult will only strengthen Atsumu’s resolve to pursue the truth, and any effort to hide what Kiyoomi knows about them will likely only make Atsumu resent him.
He’s on his feet just as Atsumu rounds the corner of the hallway, and at the sight of Kiyoomi standing still in the middle of his living room, Atsumu falters for a second.
Kiyoomi takes that long moment to drink in Atsumu’s appearance, after weeks of sporadic conversation between them.
He hadn’t realised how much he’d truly felt the absence of Atsumu’s presence until then, and his blank facade, the one he’d spent centuries to perfect, almost drops as he takes in the exhaustion hanging around Atsumu’s features. Dark purple circles mar the skin under Atsumu’s amber eyes, and the corners of his lips are more downturned than normal, but there’s a fierceness in his expression that makes Kiyoomi realise he’s not coming out of this conversation without revealing his true feelings.
At least he’ll have the rest of eternity to learn how to get over one mere mortal.
“If you’re going to abuse your privilege of entrance to my home by storming in without any warning, I’ll have to rework the wards.”
Kiyoomi’s flat words and bristling tone have their intended effect, and Atsumu shakes his head, visibly rousing himself from wherever he’d gone in that space of time where all he’d done was stare at Kiyoomi, like Atsumu might have missed him too.
Atsumu shifts his stance, turning to face Kiyoomi directly. “I’d just break yer door down,” he says with a roll of his eyes.
“Breaking and entering — isn’t that against the law?”
“Yer withholdin’ information, asshole,” Atsumu snaps at him, clearing the space between them with every step forward he takes. “Ya knew how hard I’ve been workin’ on this case — and then I hear from the chief that not only you’re aware of who the hell’s been behind all of this, you’ve also got the damn nerve to make us stand down?”
Kiyoomi’s gums begin to itch.
“For your own good,” he growls. “So why won’t you just listen to me?”
“Because ya sure as hell ain’t doin’ it!”
Almost immediately after his outburst, Atsumu’s frame seems to deflate, as bitterness coats his next reply. “People have died. And more will if we don’t stop this. I didn’t take ya fer a coward, Omi-kun. I thought—” he looks away, inhaling deeply, before his eyes meet Kiyoomi’s gaze once more. “Meian made it sound like ya didn’t even think about helpin’ us with this, and you’ve… You know what this is about, right? So. So why not?”
Why aren’t you helping me, Kiyoomi hears.
“I do, which is why I told Meian to back off.” There hadn’t been much time to gather the old folk yet, and vampire broods are not known to stay in regular contact, particularly with lone vampires like himself. But he’s certain he’s not the only one to have connected the dots; the Yue haven’t been particularly subtle if they’d been targeting the exact convergences from the previous war. “Others of my kind will have figured it out soon enough, and we’ll handle it. This is beyond your department’s jurisdiction, as much as you humans like to think you’re invincible.”
Atsumu’s demeanour grows defensive, as he crosses his arms against his chest. The smirk he wears is reminiscent of the first few times they’d worked together, before Kiyoomi could even entertain the notion that his undead heart would yearn for the man in front of him,
Kiyoomi tells himself that it doesn’t hurt to see it again, when he’s had Atsumu’s scent on his sheets and tucked against his mouth.
“So yer just gonna insult us instead of helpin’? Lord yer fuckin’ authority all over the place just because you’ve lived longer than us?” Atsumu replies derisively, teeth bared in anger. “Because that’s a lotta fancy words just to call my colleagues and myself useless, Omi.”
Even in this situation, Kiyoomi doesn’t want Atsumu to leave with such an ill misconception of what Kiyoomi thinks of him and the rest of his team, so he draws closer with caution. He’s gratified when Atsumu doesn’t move back, only watching him evenly.
“Do you think I would condescend myself to work with you if I really thought that?” Kiyoomi asks. Conflict crosses Atsumu’s expression for a split second, and Kiyoomi presses a little more. “This is not a question about your abilities; this is a matter that firmly belongs to the supernatural, and the vampires who have no regard for lives beyond their own. I…”
“I had a brood, two hundred years ago.” Kiyoomi continues in a hushed voice, and Atsumu inhales sharply. “We were a sizable group, and of an old lineage. They gave me their name because I had no one when I was turned. A few of them… Had relations with humans. No one was condemned for it, but it was still kept secret.”
He stares at the wall beside Atsumu, his words seemingly coming from a far distance. “The Yue murdered every half-blood in my family. And when we fought back, nearly all of us were decimated. I was the only one of my brood that survived the war.”
Silence follows his words. Only the sound of Atsumu’s breathing tells Kiyoomi that the man is still there with him.
So he looks at Atsumu again. “It’s not worth it, Atsumu. You’re better off forgetting about the whole thing.” Kiyoomi swallows, hands balled into fists at his sides. He doesn’t care that Atsumu can see them.
Let Atsumu see how this is affecting Kiyoomi for once.
“It isn’t safe,” he ends in a whisper, head bowed low, the words slipping through the crack in his voice.
Footsteps head towards him, until gentle fingers are coaxing him to look up.
There’s pain written all over Atsumu’s face, his brows drawn and his eyes tearing up for creatures — for people he’d never get to meet. Kiyoomi can feel him shake a little.
“I’m so sorry,” Atsumu murmurs, rubbing the edge of Kiyoomi’s jaw. “I wish there was something else I could say, Kiyoomi. But ya understand better than most people, why we can’t just let them hurt anyone else again—”
“So you would let me watch you die too?!”
The explosion pours out of Kiyoomi in a desperate, raging roar; he hadn’t realised he’d slapped Atsumu’s hand away from his face, until he registers Atsumu holding his hand in surprise. “Fuck, I didn’t mean—” Kiyoomi stutters, instinctively reaching out to try and soothe, but he forces himself to stop, hand awkwardly held in midair between them, unsure if Atsumu would welcome his touch anymore.
But Atsumu is unceasingly full of surprises, because he grabs Kiyoomi’s fingers, squeezing them tightly.
He doesn’t let Kiyoomi pull back, fire in his brown eyes, their hands resting over Atsumu’s chest as he softly says, “You’re saying a lot of things right now, but what does all of that mean, Kiyoomi?”
You know, Kiyoomi’s mind screams, and perhaps crying would be easier than feeling the weight around his throat, made of the words he never thought he’d have to say to the man before him.
The words that have no way of going back, when Kiyoomi croaks out, “I can’t let you get hurt. You — don’t ask me to bear the pain of living without you more than I have to already. It’s enough that you would leave me of old age, but to recklessly get yourself injured or killed?”
He shivers all over, and closes his eyes, freefalling on the trajectory he’d chosen. “I thought maybe you’d… But if you still don’t get it, I’ll spell it out for you. I lo—”
The rest of that sentence gets swallowed up in a harsh kiss Kiyoomi hadn’t anticipated, and he gasps against Atsumu’s mouth, the slick warmth threatening to drown him and pull his frayed emotions even further apart.
And then Atsumu moves back just far enough to speak, lips brushing against Kiyoomi’s kiss-swollen ones.
“Don’t say it.”
Kiyoomi wonders if he had latent magic abilities that might allow him to convince the ground to swallow him up, but he doesn’t get to go down that train of thought any further, because the trembling of Atsumu’s hands on his cheeks is all too apparent, and Atsumu’s voice is hoarse when he quietly adds, “Me too, Omi-kun.”
Oh.
“But I can’t let ya say it yet, not now,” Atsumu continues, “Not when we’re both scared and upset, and I — I just wanted you to know that I.” A deep inhale, as Atsumu shakes in his arms. “Gods above, of course me too, Kiyoomi.”
Oh.
When Kiyoomi eventually nods, he gets rewarded with another kiss, a little less desperate this time, and he thinks he could taste the relief and wonder and fear on both of their tongues. It’s almost more potent than the dark sweetness of Atsumu’s blood, and he lets himself slump down, until Atsumu’s breathing grows shallow and Kiyoomi’s not breathing at all.
They break apart after an indeterminate amount of time, and for a moment Kiyoomi is hungry for more.
But he’s aware that sex will not change either of their minds; Atsumu will go ahead with what he believes is the right choice, even more so now that he understands Kiyoomi’s hesitance. With their emotions as fraught as they are now, Kiyoomi refuses to place lust in the mix; and he readies himself to let Atsumu go for the night (not for forever, not this time), hands falling down from where they’d been gripping Atsumu’s hips tight enough to leave finger-shaped bruises through Atsumu’s clothes.
“Can I stay?”
If Kiyoomi’s heart was still beating, it would have stopped at that moment.
“Here?”
Atsumu nods, and he rests his head on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, his warm breath ticklish against Kiyoomi’s throat. “If you’ll have me. I — but if ya need space—”
Kiyoomi’s arms are wrapped around Atsumu’s back before he can even finish speaking, and Kiyoomi moves to press a kiss on soft blonde hair, chest and throat so tight from affection and the weight of pure, unrestrained longing.
“I need you, Atsumu.”
If he can’t say the right words yet, at least he has this, for now.
Shugo didn’t see them coming.
One second, he’d been watching Hinata, whose ears had pricked up at something none of them could hear, and he was about to ask if they should be preparing for something, when there was a blinding light—
And Shugo had been thrown back against something solid — a loud yell had told him he’d crashed against Barnes — before he managed to scramble back to his feet, reaching for the enchanted dagger he’d keep tucked against his belt, cursing at himself for not bringing his gun with the poisoned bullets as well. “Fall back!” he orders, roughly pulling Barnes up as well.
As he blinks the stars in his vision away, pandemonium breaks all around him.
They had been following a potential lead after Atsumu had a small breakthrough in the case; the city commissioner was becoming more restless, as the robberies began to multiply, and two days ago, they’d found another body.
A young vampire, dead in her apartment. Her partner, a human, had been at work at the time, and they had been completely distraught as they watched the vampire taken away in a body bag for investigations.
That was when Atsumu had called Sakusa, their conversation terse and clipped from what Shugo could hear as he watched over the forensics team scanning the scene.
To his credit, Shugo had tried his best to be tactful when he told Atsumu about the conversation he’d had with Sakusa, but it wasn’t easy when Sakusa had made it distressingly clear that he didn’t want them — or more likely, Atsumu — to be anywhere near the case and the cult involved in it.
Atsumu had stormed out of his office anyway, and Shugo thought there was an even, fifty-fifty chance that Sakusa would tell him to fuck off, or give into Atsumu’s demands.
Judging from Atsumu’s expression during the call, his face carefully turned away from the bag, Shugo had figured it to be the latter. He’d asked afterwards if Sakusa knew who the culprits could be, but Atsumu had shrugged, mouth set in a grim line.
“He did tell me to look somethin’ up, though, and I remember coming across something similar in one of the houses that got broken into,” Atsumu added. “Some sorta sigil — he said the elders wore it on their sleeves back… Back then.”
All of it had led to them cautiously surrounding an area where Atsumu had discovered that the sigil, belonging to a now-disappeared line of warlocks, was etched into an abandoned mausoleum, which had happened to be in the middle of an old, abandoned graveyard. They’d scanned the place for magical signatures and found none, which was the only reason Shugo had allowed his team to move forward.
Shugo has a ghost for a cousin on his mother’s side, but he couldn’t deny that in the evening light, there was a sense of creepiness that he couldn’t shake off, as they began to fan out. In hindsight, perhaps that had been his gut instinct telling him something was about to go horribly wrong.
There’s yelling all around, and from behind him, Barnes rushes forward to put his magical shields up around the both of them, just before a flash of blue attempts to strike them.
He lets Barnes continue to strengthen the shields with more enchantments, looking around to assess the situation.
Already, he notes several of his team members moving back towards the entrance of the graveyard, but the rest of them seem to be caught in grappling fights all over the place; a sinking feeling begins to manifest itself when he realises about three-fourths of them happened to be a supernatural creature.
So this must be the Yue ambushing them, then.
He taps Barnes on the shoulder as they keep moving, wordlessly telling him to cover Shugo as he stalks towards the closest of his team, dagger in hand and Barnes’ shields draped over him like a cloak. He ducks from another attack, and refrains from trying to retaliate.
“Fall back, people!” he repeats in a roar. “Do not engage!”
And then he catches Inunaki’s eye across the graveyard, as an idea begins to form in his mind. It’s reckless, and he knows Inunaki’s still perfecting the move, but he glimpses Fukuro falling to his knees just thirty feet away, and he musters every ounce of his efforts, before letting a thundering bellow.
“If ya can hear me, grab somethin’ to hold on to! Now, Inunaki!”
He grabs onto a nearby headstone, trying to keep his eyes open as Inunaki summons an honest-to-gods hurricane out of thin air right over the field.
It’s unstable, but it does the job — he catches sight of shadowy figures being sucked into the materialised disaster, practically enveloped by the dark clouds, and he thinks that maybe, maybe they’ve finally gotten an edge over the thrice-damned cult.
Until he hears someone screaming, “Atsumu!”
And he sees the moment Atsumu’s forcibly dragged back by one of the cultists; he can’t see Atsumu’s expression from all the way over here, but he can make out the way Atsumu’s trying to fight back, trying to grab onto Bokuto’s arm.
But something blue strikes Bokuto’s chest and he goes down, just as Atsumu’s pulled up, up into the centre of the hurricane.
“Fuck, Inunaki, ya gotta—”
Shugo doesn’t manage to get the rest of his words out, because something even larger than the hurricane appears and envelops it; sickly grey and amorphous, and he’s only able to take three steps before the whole thing disappears, together with the cult members Inunaki had swept up—
And taking Atsumu with them.
The last time Kiyoomi had met with Meian, the man had still seemed to be optimistic about their chances against the Yue, despite Kiyoomi practically warning him off.
Now, the Chief Inspector’s face is freshly bruised, a reddish purple spot stark against his jaw, and his demeanour stiff as he delivers the news that had made Kiyoomi practically fly here, uncaring of the burns from the sun when he’d been too impatient to place proper protection over himself.
It was close enough to sunset anyway, he’d reasoned, and besides—
“I advise you to choose your words wisely,” Kiyoomi snarls menacingly. “What do you mean, Atsumu’s been taken?”
To his credit, Meian doesn’t flinch.
Nor does he back down as Kiyoomi glares at him, gloved fingers tapping the desk that’s barely stopping him from reaching over to grab Meian into explaining what sort of fuckery had happened in the forty-two hours since Atsumu had last called him.
Without breaking eye contact, Meian repeats what he’d said earlier. “We were following a lead that Atsumu-kun had found,” he says, staring at Kiyoomi knowingly.
Both of them knew where the lead had come from, however reluctant Kiyoomi had been to give it.
Meian continues to explain with more detail. “And when we got there, it wasn’t long ‘til we were ambushed. Inunaki was almost successful in removin’ them from the vicinity but one of the bastards had grabbed onto Atsumu in the chaos. Before I was able ta tell Inunaki to dispel his enchantment, somethin’ else had swallowed all of ‘em, includin’ Atsumu.”
Exhaustion leaks through Meian’s pronounced accent and slightly slurred words, but his expression remains stony and marginally composed.
On the other hand, Kiyoomi can feel his fangs beginning to protrude from his gums, aching for something to bite into and rip apart — it’s only due to centuries of instinct control that he manages to speak around them clearly, a slight lisp sneaking out every now and then.
“I told you this would happen. None of you would listen.”
Meian’s eyes narrow at him. The gall of humans; Kiyoomi wonders what gave Meian and his team the audacity, when it was clear from the beginning that they would have been no match for the group Kiyoomi had warned them against. “Unfortunately, one — yer not my boss,” Meian says flatly.
“And second, even if we knew this was gonna happen, d’ya think that woulda stopped any of us? That it’d stop Atsumu from rushin’ in anyway?”
Kiyoomi becomes vaguely aware that he’d stopped tapping.
Instead, he lets his fangs grow even further, pressing against his bottom lip, watching Meian stare at his red eyes and darkened expression.
“You’re his boss,” Kiyoomi says, quiet as a tomb. “You could have stopped him.”
“Benching him would have only made it worse,” Meian retorts, arms crossed and shaking his head. “He’d gone behind all of our backs and we wouldn’t even know.” A sigh escapes him, and Meian’s mask slips enough for Kiyoomi to glimpse the fear he’d smelled as soon as he’d walked into the office, knowing what Kiyoomi was about to hear.
“I didn’t just call ya in to tell ya about Atsumu. Yer a consultant,” Meian adds wearily, “And we need consultin’ on how to move forward. There’s plenty of evidence to support the fact that these cult members have not only broken current laws, but according to the Reparations Act, they’re liable to be held accountable for their actions against your people back then, too.”
He pauses, as Kiyoomi realises what he means. “In the event that any of the accused perishes, the party that were to bring them in for custody would not be put to trial for any wrongdoing, as the act would be counted as self defence.”
“You’re going to kill them,” Kiyoomi says.
But Meian shakes his head. Something flashes across his face. Kiyoomi doesn’t hesitate to name it as vengeance.
“Death’s too easy. But—” Meian swallows visibly. “It won’t be easy, and I don’t foresee things going smoothly, or for them to come in easily.”
“The only fight I have with them now is the fact that they took Atsumu,” Kiyoomi states plainly. “I will find where they’re located for you, but my only objective is to find him.”
“A location is all we need,” Meian lets out a heavy exhale. “I’ll handle the rest — including backup. Thank you, Sakusa-san.”
Kiyoomi merely nods, and leaves the office without a single word.
He’s got work to do.
Motoya picks up on the third ring.
They’re cousins, in a sense — their sires were brothers, and they’d discovered there was a bloodline connection between their human families.
He’s the only true family Kiyoomi has left in this world, and he’d been there during the war. If anyone might know how to find the Yue’s base while bypassing several laws, Motoya would.
Kiyoomi had been half-sure his call would go unanswered, but he hears his cousin’s voice for the first time in thirteen months, wary and curious.
“What’s wrong?”
“How do you know something’s wrong?”
“The last time I lost someone, you didn’t contact me for at least thirty years. It’s only been a year since Iizuna, so you would never have called me if it wasn’t for an emergency.” Kiyoomi thinks he hears a sad smile in the other vampire’s voice, but Motoya returns to sounding serious in the next second. “Something bad happened. What is it, Kiyoomi?”
As Kiyoomi explains the situation, despair begins to seep in, held only at bay by the fact that he doesn’t know for sure if Atsumu’s dead yet — and that means he can still hope.
And that has to be enough right now.
On the other end of the line, Motoya swears softly when Kiyoomi stops speaking after giving the summary of what had happened with the CID unit and Atsumu’s disappearance.
“They’re not going to survive on their own,” Motoya says, and Kiyoomi exhales heavily.
“Believe me, I’ve told them enough times.”
Motoya snorts, something wistful in his tone as he answers, “Their perseverance is part of their charm, though. Right?”
Kiyoomi swallows the ball of dread and anxiety in his throat. “Not if it gets them killed. Motoya, I’m sorry to ask this of you—”
“I’ll reach out to the elders,” Motoya cuts him off firmly. “I can mourn Iizuna for the next five centuries, but we need to get our kind there if your colleagues want to have any hope of surviving.” He sighs, sounding a little more lighthearted as he adds, “I hate that this call had to happen at all, but I am glad to hear you’ve got people with you now, Kiyoomi.”
“I’m just a consultant,” Kiyoomi tries, and gives up when Motoya snorts. “Thank you, anyway. We’d also need a location. Is there anything in the history books about how we’d found them, back then?”
Motoya hums, and Kiyoomi can hear him walking, presumably towards the books. “Iizuna kept records from back then — maybe there’s a way to refocus the convergence traces to the power source; the epicentre must have shifted with the moon’s orbit by this point,” he explains. “I’ll send that over to you, then.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. And Kiyoomi?”
“Yeah?”
“We’ll make sure they burn properly, this time.”
Because the Yue insist on being stereotypical villains even two centuries later, Kiyoomi isn’t the least bit surprised to see that Hirugami had portalled all of them to the outskirts of the city, where the rocky mountains loomed over them under the moonlight, and a network of caves snaked through the range. He vaguely remembers news articles about disappearances in these areas over the last few years, particularly of supernatural folk, and has to suppress his thoughts about what could have happened to them.
“Fuck, ‘s freezing,” Bokuto mumbles, shaking his head. He’d assured everyone that he was well enough to help apprehend the Yue, despite the dark blue scarring Kiyoomi had glimpsed on his chest earlier, as the team had strapped on their armour. A few of them nod with Bokuto, grimacing.
The vampires among them merely look around knowingly. Their kind is not truly susceptible to the cold.
But the unnatural chill in the air is reminiscent of the dark, forbidden magic Kiyoomi can practically smell and feel on his tongue — sour and rotten, like a corpse laid out for a vulture’s feast.
He didn’t think he’d know this taste again.
“They’re nearby,” Kiyoomi mutters through his mask. “They might not have enough in numbers to post guards by the entrance, but the sorcerers among you — you’d know where they’d be in the caves. You can sense it, right?”
Inunaki and Barnes murmur in agreement, as the other magic-users in the group glance at Kiyoomi as well as the other vampires, their expressions guarded. But they nod as well after a beat, a few of them with disgust palpable on their face as they inhale the polluted air.
Kiyoomi doesn’t know most of the people here aside from Meian’s team and the numerous vampires that Motoya had managed to call for help — a desire for true retribution, if they’re honest — along with his cousin, and he doesn’t care. He’s only here for one thing.
Person.
As if on cue, Meian clears his throat, drawing everyone else’s attention towards him.
“Everyone here has been briefed on what’s going to happen this evenin’.” There’s a gravity in the Chief Inspector’s voice, and a part of Kiyoomi does feel sorry for what might befall them later. To the side, Kiyoomi glimpses faces he hadn’t seen for a long time, some since the first war, and he thinks he knows how they feel, going into battle against a familiar enemy again.
But the Yue aren’t as strong as they used to be, not yet, and the CID, together with the vampires, are more prepared this time around.
Besides, Motoya had also given him something else besides the knowledge to find the Yue’s base this time around, and he’d requested a favour from Inunaki for it.
He quietly catches Inunaki’s eye as Meian continues to speak, this time addressing his team specifically. “Men, aim to capture, but in the event that it comes down between yer life and theirs, just remember they’ve already murdered two people in the last month. And they’ve got Miya in there. This case is bein’ placed under the Reparations Act as well, so.” A pause. “Do with that information what ya will.”
Inunaki raises one lone brow. Now?
Kiyoomi nods, and takes a step back. The movement catches Meian’s eye, and he frowns. “Are ya headin’ off now, Sakusa-san?”
“As you’ve said, they have Miya. And I’m here to get him out.” Alive, Kiyoomi doesn’t say, but it’s implicit enough in his tone. If it were up to him, the Yue would suffer a worse fate than what the justice system would have in store for them. “Besides, you’ll find that Inunaki-san has something that might aid you in your mission.”
The charms that he’d had Inunaki conjure were meant to dispel any ill-intent towards the wearer, to be worn by the non-magic users. He’d heard how Barnes had helped Meian with his shield charms, but he’s well aware that Barnes and the other sorcerers would be of more use in the unit’s attacks instead of doing double duty to protect the others.
As Inunaki steps forward, Kiyoomi gives Meian one last look, and heads off towards the caves, letting the dark of night shroud him completely.
He nearly chokes on the aura of decay that greets him even through the mask when he steps foot inside the cave, but he forges on, glancing down at his own charm that would pinpoint him to Atsumu’s location.
It was troublesome, having to ask Barnes to detect the trace of Atsumu’s presence in Kiyoomi’s wards, but it was just enough to conjure a spell that would work within fifty metres of wherever Atsumu would be, and place it in a crystal rock that would be easy to carry.
Kiyoomi finds himself steering clear of where he believes the Yue would be congregating, as he takes a left turn and walks down a path that’s dark and narrow, looking like it was barely used by anyone.
But he starts to pass a number of doors, and a stark realisation hits him that this must be where they kept those they had captured in the past.
The dungeons seem to press against him, but he keeps walking, footsteps light and dagger at the ready in his hand, the location charm in the other. He’s barely able to keep himself from yelling Atsumu’s name, especially when the rock begins to warm up noticeably. But he keeps his pace steady, making sure to scent the air as he makes his way towards where Atsumu is being kept.
If it weren’t for his preternatural senses, Kiyoomi might have stumbled upon the obstacle about twenty feet ahead around the corner.
As it is, he checks the enchantments he’d placed on his body to hide himself from any unwanted eyes, before he keeps going, light-footed and claws out.
He comes across two figures with their backs towards him, and it’s the work of a few seconds to draw his claws over their throats from behind.
Neither of them even had the chance to make a sound as he leaves their bodies on the ground, and continues walking.
Kiyoomi isn’t sure how much time passes until the charm suddenly grows to near-unbearable levels of heat in his palm, and Kiyoomi takes a look around.
His eyes land on the thick metal door to the right just two steps away that separates him from Atsumu—
Before he unceremoniously kicks the damn thing down in one fell swoop, letting out a quiet, victorious hiss.
But the sight that greets him on the other side of the door curdles what little blood he has.
Once, Kiyoomi had arrived at the CID floor and found out Atsumu had been relegated to desk duty after he’d been injured in a foot chase.
“Why does a sprained ankle take so fuckin’ long to heal?!” he’d lamented to a mostly unsympathetic Kiyoomi. It had taken three weeks before Atsumu was given a clean bill of health, and he’d been insufferable the entire time.
Kiyoomi doesn’t think Atsumu would be going back to work any time soon, not after this.
The scent of Atsumu’s blood is more potent than ever in this damp room — a dungeon, he amends, rage already beginning to build when he spies the shackles on the walls, but the Yue members clearly didn’t think Atsumu would have any capability to escape.
Not when he’s laying on his side, curled around himself; his arm is bent at an odd angle, and Kiyoomi spies his back moving up and down slowly, indicating that he’s still breathing, albeit laboriously.
He rushes over from the door he’d blasted through, barely registering the painful friction as he drops to his knees right beside Atsumu, one hand already reaching out for him.
Kiyoomi has to snatch it back almost immediately when Atsumu lurches away, eyes closed and moaning in agony. There’s a cut on the side of his head, dried blood trailing down his cheek. “F’ck off,” he slurs, trying to move his arm, but only succeeds in causing himself pain, from the way his expression pinches.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says, his worry nearly choking Atsumu’s name in his throat. “Atsumu, it’s me.”
Atsumu barely reacts, except to try and move away. “‘S not — yer tricks aren’t gonna work on me,” he gasps out. “So y’can just get the hell outta here.”
Something in Kiyoomi’s chest cracks open, and he keeps his fists still by his side, as he tries again, leaning closer, hoping the other man could hear him, instead of whatever nightmare Atsumu must have been trapped in. “Atsumu, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry — it’s me, Kiyoomi. I’m here now, Atsumu,” he stutters, his gaze taking in every inch of Atsumu’s injured frame. “You’re safe now, so — so open your eyes, please?”
One, two, th—
“Omi?”
Atsumu barely gets it out, but he opens his eyes anyway, squinting up at him.
Kiyoomi doesn’t think he’s seen a more beautiful sight in the three and half centuries he’s walked the earth.
“Hey, Atsumu.”
Atsumu’s mouth drops, eyes widening in disbelief. “Oh. I… This is real?”
The law that would turn the other eye for any Yue member’s death in the face of conflict, the Reparations Act that Meian had invoked for this mission, is not near enough justice for what they have done to Atsumu, in Kiyoomi’s humble opinion.
He nods, and lifts his hand again, making sure Atsumu can see as he carefully reaches out to trace the dried blood on pale skin. “I’m here,” he says again, biting down on the inside of his cheek as Atsumu leans into his palm with a whimper. He leans in, until their foreheads are barely touching, and he can sense the slight trembling all over Atsumu’s body. “We have to get you out of this place — can you move?”
Atsumu grimaces, looking down at himself. “They did somethin’ to me earlier,” he answers, shaking his head. “I tried to fight my way out but ‘course that didn’t work—”
“Gods damn it, Atsumu—”
“—and uh, got knocked out in the process. Can’t move my arm,” Atsumu continues, his breathing shallow and words clipped. “And they, they tried to drain me, dropped me in a transformative circle.”
Kiyoomi freezes. “They were going to sacrifice you.”
“A couple of them were,” Atsumu nods, his eyes growing half-lidded and his words beginning to slur together. Kiyoomi recognises the tell-tale sign of unconsciousness beginning to creep in, and he tries to cut Atsumu off.
“You shouldn’t be talking anymore, Atsumu. Conserve your energy, okay?” He looks back at the empty doorway, hoping against hope his pathway out would be as uneventful as it had been when he’d come here.
“But the rest said it’d… It’d be useless,” Atsumu gasps anyway, and his hand reaches up to grab Kiyoomi’s knuckles in a weak grip. “Omi, ‘s — shit, sorry, don’t think I can stay awake fer much…”
And the rest of his words trail off, as Kiyoomi silently watches amber eyes fall shut.
The first thing Atsumu feels, as soon as he regains a modicum of consciousness, is a wave of relief at the fact that Kiyoomi’s terrified pale face wasn’t the last thing he’d ever see.
The second is a muffled sense of agony sweeping all over his body as he begins to take stock of how he can’t seem to move, and he’s just conscious enough to realise that he should be in way more pain than he is right now, considering what he’d gone through in the last—
Gods, how long has it been since he was out?
Opening his eyes seemingly takes forever, but when he eventually does, he’s greeted with the dim surroundings of an unfamiliar room, and the sound of machines quietly beeping to his left. One glance at the plain green sheets and the lack of personality on the walls is enough to let him know that he’s in some sort of hospital, and he figures there’s a shit ton of morphine running through his system right now.
When he turns to the right (with too much effort than should be warranted), he’s greeted by a sight that makes his throat tighten with emotion.
The guest chair seems to be dwarfed underneath Kiyoomi’s lean, but considerable bulk — it doesn’t seem to have stopped him from curling up in it anyway, ragged, torn clothes and all. His unmasked face looks tense even in rest, and Atsumu is reminded of that night when he’d learned about Kiyoomi’s past.
He waits for a few more seconds, trying to gather strength to speak up…
And Kiyoomi beats him to it.
Dark eyes flutter open, and Atsumu thinks he could cry from the way Kiyoomi’s gaze freezes as soon as their eyes meet, before Kiyoomi’s clumsily getting out of his chair, nearly stumbling over to Atsumu’s bedside.
“Atsumu?”
It should fill him with pride with how easily he’s caused a creature as old as Sakusa Kiyoomi to sound this meek.
And yet, nothing about Kiyoomi’s demeanour inspires anything but a desire to soothe, so he tries to clear his throat again, only to send himself into a coughing fit that burns all over his chest.
“Shush, easy,” Kiyoomi murmurs, and there’s a cup being held at Atsumu’s lips. He does his best to sip the cool water without spilling any on himself, and when Kiyoomi moves the cup away, Atsumu musters up a grin. “Hey, Omi-kun.”
The palpable tension in Kiyoomi’s shoulders doesn’t disappear, but Atsumu is lucky enough to get a small, heavy sigh anyway.
“How are you feeling?”
Atsumu doesn’t bother sugarcoating. “Like someone fucked me up, then tried to break my arm before usin’ me as a last minute sacrifice to some demonic spirit,” he answers, wrinkling his nose as the memories begin to filter in, and horror fills him when he remembers Bokuto had been thrown clear across the graveyard, Meian reaching out for all of them, Hinata barely able to get his colleagues — his friends away from the fray. “The rest of ‘em — Bokuto, Meian-san, they—”
“They’ll live,” Kiyoomi cuts him off before the growing panic could truly take hold. “Bokuto was well enough to join in combat earlier. Hinata sustained a broken leg, but was fully healed as of two hours ago, and he’s being kept for observation. Meian is heading the investigations currently. He merely had a couple of superficial injuries.”
“The rest of your colleagues seem to be doing fine — last I heard, Barnes was treated for smoke inhalation, but that was about it. The vampires that Motoya and I reached out to were a huge help for the mission.”
Beneath the dry report, Atsumu hears the words Kiyoomi isn't saying.
He steels himself. “What ‘bout me, then?”
Kiyoomi’s chest rises with a breath he doesn’t need to take. “It took twenty hours between the time you were taken until I could find you. The doctor said you had extensive bruising from the neck down, internal bleeding around your abdomen, a sprained arm, and three cracked ribs,” he rattles off, his stare piercing as he lists every single mark the Yue had placed on Atsumu’s body. “You also had an energy drain from when some of the cult members tried to sacrifice you.”
The last part is barely a whisper, and somehow it hurts more to see the self-flagellating look on Kiyoomi’s features — it’s almost bizarre, the way it pulls the corners of Kiyoomi’s lips downwards, torment clear in his eyes as he watches Atsumu.
“Guess ya gotta find a new blood bag while I recover, huh?”
A broken, terrified snarl slips past Kiyoomi’s lips. His hand jerks up, like he’s about to reach for Atsumu, before he stops himself, fingers curling into a clenched fist over his chest.
“This isn’t a joke. You could have died, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi whispers hoarsely, lowering his gaze. “And I would have lost you.”
It’s then that Atsumu realises how deathly pale Kiyoomi looks, more so than his usual appearance — thin lips cracked, with a grey sheen underneath the vampire’s skin that’s rarely there, save for times when Atsumu had seen him overworked and underfed.
He’s never had a glimpse of this side of Kiyoomi, and a part of him hates the fact that it was him that reduced Kiyoomi into this seemingly fragile shell of a person.
“I’m here, though,” Atsumu tries, the words sharp against the ridges of his throat. “Ya saved me. I’m okay.”
It doesn’t seem to be the right thing to say, because Kiyoomi doesn’t lift his head. Instead, he speaks to his lap, barely loud enough for Atsumu to hear. “I thought about burning the entire place to the ground, the way they had done to my brood’s home, centuries ago,” he murmurs. “You were — you barely recognised me when I first got to you in that dungeon.”
Atsumu tries to remember what had happened beyond the blurry image of Kiyoomi’s frantic expression and the feeling of being cradled in strong arms, but only succeeds in giving himself a headache. “I didn’t know that.”
Kiyoomi hums, and when he finally sits up straight, his gaze doesn’t reach Atsumu, fixed on a spot to Atsumu’s right. “I… I made you flinch away, and I had to call your name a few times before you realised it was me there, with you.”
“Omi,” Atsumu hisses, letting indignation slip into a single word, and he makes to get up, but Kiyoomi is quicker.
An arm around his back helps to prop him up, while Kiyoomi rearranges the pillow to support Atsumu, carefully placing him back on them once they were deemed fluffed enough. This close, Atsumu thinks he could pick up the cloying smells of blood and war clinging to Kiyoomi, but underneath it is still the same clean, lemon-tinged scent of the soap Kiyoomi prefers, faded with musk and sweat.
And Atsumu is pretty sure he reeks something fierce, but it doesn’t matter when they’re both alive right now—
Even if they’re both still upset and scared, at least they’re here now, on the other side of the horrible case and Kiyoomi’s painful history intertwined with it.
So he doesn’t let Kiyoomi pull back for more than a few inches — he grips Kiyoomi’s shirt with his fist that’s not in a sling as he tilts his head back, and waits for Kiyoomi to meet his eyes at last.
Fortunately, Kiyoomi doesn’t keep him waiting for long.
But the agonised expression he’s wearing is still present, so Atsumu just… Shakes him weakly.
Not enough to truly move Kiyoomi, but dark eyes widen in surprise anyway, staring at Atsumu’s hand, and then his face.
“Omi,” Atsumu rasps, “Ya didn’t make me do shit. I was — I wasn’t in the right state of mind, obviously, but ya calmed me down, kept me safe, and ya got me outta there.”
He musters up a smile, and carefully lays his fingers over Kiyoomi’s still heart. “I scared ya pretty bad, huh?”
Kiyoomi’s throat bobs. “It was difficult, seeing the love of my life injured and unmoving,” he admits, barely a stutter as he finally says what Atsumu had known ever since that night in Kiyoomi’s living room.
The confession settles on both of them gently. Atsumu blinks, fondness radiating from every particle of his being, but he can’t resist asking, “Say it properly, Omi-kun,” with an exaggerated pout for added effect.
He expects Kiyoomi to scoff — indulgently — because neither of them were ever much for outright affection, and he can’t help being endeared by Kiyoomi’s subtlety. And if Kiyoomi does end up saying it, Atsumu wouldn’t put it past him to be just the slightest bit begrudging about it.
But Kiyoomi shoves Atsumu’s expectations into a blazing fire pit when the crinkles beside his eyes deepen, and there is no mistaking the quiet reverence in his voice when he simply says, “I love you, Atsumu.”
Atsumu doesn’t realise how long he’s staring with his mouth agape, until Kiyoomi huffs out, “It’s your turn to say it back.”
“Hell, I love you too, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu murmurs, suddenly aching to be even closer. “Now c’mere and kiss me already.”
He barely catches the soft “Demanding human” from Kiyoomi before his mouth is captured in a gentle, chaste kiss, Kiyoomi’s cool hand on his cheek keeping him steady, even when Atsumu tries to deepen it.
“You’re still an invalid, Miya,” Kiyoomi mumbles against his lips. It’s unfair how easily he makes Atsumu shiver, even if he knows there’s no way they can do anything more than this right now. “Let’s not push it for tonight, hmm?”
“Yer makin’ it really hard not to,” Atsumu answers, and sighs when he realises he won’t be able to stay upright for much longer anyway. The pain begins to make itself more known, and he grimaces as he leans back, gratefully accepting Kiyoomi’s help to lay back down again. “Hey, Omi-kun.”
“Hmm?”
“Is it next time yet?”
Kiyoomi blinks at him, uncertain. “Next time?”
“Yeah,” Atsumu nods, trying to burn the image of Sakusa Kiyoomi’s beautiful face into every corner of his mind, wondering how soon it would be to say “I love you” again. Instead, he clarifies, “You said, ‘ask me next time’, if I was serious about it, and I am. So.” He stuffs down a yawn, and asks, “Take me on holiday, Omi-kun. Somewhere ya always wanted to show me.”
There’s barely any hint of change in Kiyoomi’s expression, except for the glittering brightness in his eyes, and the way he whispers, “As soon as you’re well, I’ll show you the world, Atsumu.”
“Sounds amazin’.” Atsumu’s eyes are falling shut by the time the sheets are placed around his chest and his head is resting on the pillow, but he manages to eke out through a couple of yawns, “You’ll be here when I wake up, right?”
The last thing he sees before he falls asleep is Kiyoomi’s smile, full of relief and love.
The last thing he hears, and he swears the words follow him into his dreams, is, “I’ll be right here, next to you, Atsumu. And every single day after that.”