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Miya Atsumu, despite all claims to the contrary by his twin brother Osamu, was not an idiot.
He was, all things considered, impulsive. Arrogant. Demanding. He’d picked apart all his flaws enough, turned them over and over again in his mind until it was hard to think of anything else. But he wasn’t an idiot. He knew, even if he denied it to everyone except himself, when he’d lost.
And he’d lost. Or was currently losing. It was neither here nor there, the outcome would be the same: Sakusa Kiyoomi would destroy him, one way or another.
The thing is, Atsumu thought he could handle it - the casual way Sakusa brushed his curls away from his face during practice. The defined curves of his shoulder blades as he stripped his - oh god - sweat-soaked shirt off in the locker room. Even the mild look of disgust at the very - oh god - sweat-soaked clothing article drove Atsumu crazy.
Okay, so he might not be able to handle it.
“You’ve been obsessed with Sakusa Kiyoomi for ages,” Osamu said as he passed him his favorite onigiri over the counter. “Why don’t you do something about it?”
Atsumu had just been on a tirade about Sakusa’s cleaning habits, probably for the fiftieth time, but that shut him up immediately.
“That’s not,” he started, flustered. “It’s not - I don’t.”
Osamu raised one eyebrow at him. “Uh-huh,” he dead-panned.
Atsumu thought about mentioning a certain dark haired obsession his twin had of his own, but there were vulnerabilities that even Atsumu didn’t dare poke at, even in retaliation. Suna Rintarou was one of those tender places. It was sacred for Osamu. Atsumu left it at that.
Atsumu was already on edge. It had been a rough season - even Hinata’s endless sunshine had dampened somewhat after a few consecutive losses, especially when it was to his boyfriend’s team. They seemed to enjoy their seemingly-fated rivalry usually, but Hinata was only human, despite all evidence to the contrary, and losing is never easy.
But Atsumu should be better than this. He should be in control, he should be able to adapt to anything thrown at him. It’s how he’d gotten this far. It just wasn’t working.
It wasn’t like it was some big secret that his teammates got other professional offers. They were absurdly talented, and each of them has honed their skills to the sharpest knife point. He’d gotten a few himself, in fact, but he was happy where he was at.
Atsumu had grown - well, if not used to it, he could at least tolerate it now. Except when he walked out of the locker room and saw Sakusa talking to recruiters courtside.
The game that day had been particularly brutal. They’d scraped by with a narrow win, almost too close to call it a victory after all, and Atsumu was exhausted. He’d fumbled a serve or two, which had gotten him a talking to, and seeing Sakusa now - his head tilted thoughtfully to the side while the recruiter gestured to the court, no doubt describing his best plays to him - made Atsumu’s skin feel raw.
As difficult as it was being on the same team as Sakusa, Atsumu suddenly felt a strange and irrational panic at him being on someone else’s. Just like that, the possessiveness that had followed him since high school, maybe even before, reared its ugly head again.
Sakusa glanced over at him briefly, as if he could sense him there, hovering on the sidelines. But he looked away again almost as soon as Atsumu saw it, and within just a few minutes, he’d extricated himself from the recruiters and made his way to the locker rooms to start his meticulous post-game shower.
Atsumu wrestled everything - his tension, his urgency - back down beneath the surface. But it was only a matter of time. He’d never been good at hiding how he felt, no matter how hard he tried.
“You’re slacking,” Atsumu snapped. He heard the snarl in his voice, something he couldn’t control even if he tried. He didn’t try.
Across the court, Sakusa leveled him with a narrow-eyed glare.
“Tsumu…” Hinata started, placating, but he barreled over him.
“You could have easily made that, you just chose not to. Was it not good enough for you?”
Sakusa just ignored him, which somehow made it worse.
“Answer me,” Atsumu said through gritted teeth. He could almost feel Sakusa’s eye roll tangibly even across the space.
“Alright, enough,” Meian interrupted, clapping his hands to get their attention. Mostly Atsumu’s attention, really, since he’d been completely zeroed in on Sakusa. He blinked and looked around. Everyone was staring. He was used to making a scene, but not like this. He felt hot, flushed, and suddenly ashamed.
“Sakusa, was there something off about Miya’s set?”
Sakusa just shook his head ever so slightly, almost an incline, considering. “It was fine,” he said finally. “He can just do better.”
On a surface level, it was blunt, unforgiving, cruel even, but the way Sakusa said it was almost a challenge. Bokuto slapped one hand on Atsumu’s shoulder good-naturedly and he very nearly flinched. He was so riled up even small, innocent touches or sounds could set him off.
“Big words,” Bokuto said with a grin.
“Just you watch,” Atsumu snapped.
“I am,” Sakusa said back, ironically with barely a glance in his direction. “Show me something worthwhile, Miya.”
I am. Something rattled inside Atsumu urgently. Some kind of need he couldn’t name.
It was Sakusa, despite everything, who cornered him after practice. The truth was, Atsumu had been stalling for a while in the showers after, waiting for the rest of the team to head out. He felt guilty and didn’t want to face his teammates after his…outburst.
Especially Sakusa. He hadn’t deserved that. Atsumu knew it. He had been picking apart every second of the conversation, and by the time he emerged from the showers, towel around his waist, and headed to his locker, the room was empty.
Except for Sakusa of course.
Atsumu froze up. He’d never felt particularly self conscious in various levels of undress around the guys, but suddenly he felt - exposed. Like an animal that had been rolled over to show its soft underbelly, tender and vulnerable.
“Do you have something you need to say, Miya?” Sakusa said directly, without waiting for Atsumu to speak, which was a little surprising. But mostly he knew it had been coming. Of course he’d want an apology. Atsumu had crossed the line - whatever nebulous line they’d constructed, unspoken, for a working teammate relationship.
“Look, I’m-m,” Atsumu bit hard into his lip. For all his self-deprecation internally, it really was still difficult to swallow the lurch of defiant pride that rose like bile in his throat. His brain screeched, idiot idiot idiot, don’t ruin this.
“Do you have a problem with my spikes?” Sakusa asked, and Atsumu’s brain screeched again, this time to a halt.
Sakusa was looking closely at Atsumu, his dark eyes intent. Atsumu’s stomach swooped unexpectedly, leaving him breathless for a second. He couldn’t speak.
“What?” he managed to choke out finally.
Sakusa huffed a little, a small noise of confused frustration. Atsumu had heard him make that sound during practices and games sometimes, he wasn’t sure if he even knew he did it. A tiny tell.
“You were dissatisfied with every hit,” Sakusa said. His voice was calm, but Atsumu noticed his hand twitch ever so slightly on the strap of his gym bag. “And then you stopped sending the ball my way entirely.”
Atsumu felt his cheeks flush. He’d been too embarrassed to send sets to Sakusa the rest of practice after he’d lost his temper. He didn’t think he’d notice or, if he did, he didn’t think he’d care. “I wasn’t - I didn’t,” Atsumu stammered, then laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. He kept his other hand clasped around the towel on his waist. “Jesus, Omi, you couldn’t choose a better time?”
Sakusa blinked, his eyes tracking downwards quickly and immediately back up and away.
“Answer the question,” he said, voice a little petulant.
“Nah, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu said. Now that Sakusa was looking away, he started to change into his clothes, relieved to put layers of fabric between himself and whatever he was feeling currently. Like armor. “Your hits were fine.”
“Fine?” Sakusa bit out.
“Fine, fantastic as usual, whatever,” Atsumu waved a hand, even though he knew Sakusa probably didn’t see it. “I was just embarrassed, that’s all. Sorry.”
It came out too soft, he was worried Sakusa hadn’t heard him.
“I was upset,” he went on, facing his locker as he pulled on a loose shirt. “I took it out on you.” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
He shut his locker and turned to Sakusa with a determined, cheery smile. Sakusa had been dutifully looking elsewhere, which Atsumu found startlingly charming, but he turned to face him again at that finally.
He looked, well, confused, if Atsumu was seeing things correctly. There was a small wrinkle above his brow line that Atsumu wanted irrationally to press his thumb into, to smooth it away.
“Ah,” Sakusa said, voice stilted. He had clearly not been prepared for or even expecting an apology, which almost stung. “Right. Well.”
Again, his grip on the strap of his bag tightened almost imperceptibly, but Atsumu was an expert at watching Omi’s hands, so of course he noticed.
“If you’re ever upset about something,” Sakusa said slowly. “You can say something. To the team.” He paused, looking away again, and Atsumu watched the tight, tense line of his jaw. “To me.”
Atsumu felt like the entire world had tipped sideways. “Oh uh, thanks, Omi.” It was lame, he should say more, sound more genuine, ask him what it meant.
Sakusa just nodded once and re-shouldered his bag. For a brief moment, he looked like he was going to say something else, but then he just slipped his mask up over his mouth and nose again, making his face impassive and unreadable. And then he was gone, leaving Atsumu completely reeling.
Atsumu stared at Suna Rintarou. Suna Rintarou stared back. He was wearing black ankle length straight leg pants and high top shoes which was normal. But he was also inexplicably wearing an Onigiri Miya shirt, which was decidedly not normal.
Without warning, laughter bubbled up inside Atsumu and burst out. Meanwhile, Suna just kept staring blankly at him. “Are you quite done?” Suna said finally, voice cold.
It wasn’t until after Osamu confirmed that no, this was not actually some kind of joke, that Atsumu started to feel a sense of alarm.
And Osamu bringing up Sakusa Kiyoomi certainly did not help. Even worse, he essentially exposed Atsumu’s lovesick, hopeless crush on him to Suna like it was as easy as breathing.
The thing was, Osamu had had a crush on Suna since high school, and Atsumu had never once used that against him. It…hurt. He knew it was hurt he was feeling, but he swallowed it down hard. It was Suna, after all. Osamu told him everything except how he felt about him.
Hurt yourself all you want, Atsumu thought briefly, spiteful. See if I care.
Except he did. Except he always did.
“Sorry,” Osamu said over the phone, in lieu of a greeting. To be fair, they never really did proper greetings. When they were growing up, they had been two halves of a whole, who needed casual pleasantries when you always seem to know what the other will say or think.
Until he didn’t anymore. But Atsumu automatically flinched away from that memory.
Atsumu had been halfway back to Osaka when Osamu called. He gazed out the window without really seeing, habitually fiddling with one of the thin leather bracelets he’d looped around his wrist.
“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for, scrub?” Atsumu said. He couldn’t help sounding snippy, a little wounded. All barbed wire spikes to protect his tender parts.
“Should have warned you about Rin.”
Sometimes when Osamu said things, he unexpectedly sounded so young.
Atsumu knew Osamu would staunchly deny that he cared about his brother’s opinion about him, but sometimes his voice betrayed him. They both cared. Atsumu just wore his hurt on his sleeve, no matter how much he tried to turn it inward. Osamu swallowed it all and kept it down, impassive.
“Worry about yourself,” Atsumu grumbled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know. Just don’t be stupid about him, okay? Don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Osamu hung up on him. That went about as smoothly as Atsumu had expected.
He looked at his phone, scrolled aimlessly through the MSBY group chat. It was primarily used by Bokuto, Hinata, and himself for random photos or memes, but sometimes one of his other teammates would add an article or game stats to the discussion.
Atsumu impulsively pulled up a photo he’d taken at the shop that afternoon of him holding an onigiri and sent it to the group chat without really thinking much. He let his phone rest face down on his leg and went back to looking out the window. Until suddenly, his phone was buzzing with multiple notifications.
Startled, he picked his phone back up and saw that the group chat had blown up. There was response after response of the eyes emoji. Bokuto had sent a fire emoji. Atsumu was confused until he scrolled back and saw that he’d taken the photo directly over his lap while wearing workout shorts. And his thighs were on full display in the photo.
Shoyo-kun: put those away! i’m taken, you homewrecker
He followed that with five cry-laughing emoji’s. Atsumu laughed helplessly as well. It hadn’t been his intention, but it wasn’t the first time he’d accidentally sent a thirst trap, so he just let it slide. But then Sakusa’s name blinked onto his notifications.
“Omi-Omi loved an image.”
Sakusa hardly ever interacted on the group chat. And he’d just liked - loved - a picture Atsumu had sent of his essentially bare thighs. Atsumu’s brain was melting. What did it mean? What did it mean, what did it mean? Probably nothing, he told himself. Almost definitely nothing.
He opened and closed a direct text to Sakusa five times before finally sending it.
Did you mean to like that photo?
There was a seemingly endless stretch of time, which in reality was probably less than a minute, before Sakusa’s typing bubble popped up.
Their text history was minuscule - a few comments here and there and the first texts when they’d exchanged updated contact information.
Atsumu remembered going to every game of Sakusa’s that he could back in high school and wishing he had his number then. He hadn’t asked. Sakusa hadn’t suggested it. They both moved on.
But now…Atsumu didn’t know what it was now. Having a crush on him seemed almost juvenile.
Omi-Omi: Yes.
Another pause.
Omi-Omi: I thought the onigiri looked delicious.
Atsumu let out a long, tense breath. The food. He had been looking at the food.
it is~ freshly made to the highest miya standards >:)
Omi-Omi: Hopefully your brother’s standards and not your own.
you wound me. i’m wounded
wait have you had his onigiri before? it’s amazing! he’s been good at it for ages, but he’s the BEST now
Atsumu felt himself brim with pride. For as much as they fought, he believed in Osamu 100%.
Omi-Omi: No, not yet.
Atsumu paused, deliberating, before quickly typing and hitting send before he could think.
visit hyogo sometime, it’ll be my treat
He watched as Sakusa started typing, then stopped, the bubble appearing and disappearing in quick succession. Then started and stopped again.
Omi-Omi: Maybe I will.
At first, it was just texting. It was Atsumu sending him a picture of his breakfast at some swanky cafe because he thought recovering rich kid Sakusa would like it. It was Sakusa, to Atsumu’s surprise, actually having a goddamn sense of humor, making clever remarks instead of just his normal sarcastic asshole ones.
For the first week, Atsumu’s stomach was in knots trying to keep up, to come up with funny or interesting things so Sakusa would keep paying attention. But then he didn’t lose interest.
Even though they saw each other nearly daily anyway, they went out, kind of. They’d grab coffee after practice near the gym sometimes. It never felt like a date because it couldn’t be, not with Hinata or Bokuto tagging along periodically, but Sakusa joined when he didn’t used to - because Atsumu had asked. That had to mean something.
It was nice - having Sakusa’s attention on him. It felt like some kind of honor, even when he was busy tearing him apart as a joke, his dark eyes soft with amusement. It was a privilege to get Sakusa to smile like that.
Atsumu didn’t want it to ever end. If this was all he ever got from Sakusa Kiyoomi, he thought, it would be enough.
Sakusa texted him a picture of the sunrise outside his apartment in the morning, Atsumu sent him a sunset from Hyogo that night. It was like bookends. And that’s when Atsumu knew he’d already lost.
“You like him,” Osamu told him, voice uncharacteristically gentle, like he could finally sense that this too was sacred.
“I like him,” Atsumu admitted. Then he put his head down on his arms resting against the counter and tried to breathe.
They lost another match. No one was calling it a losing streak, but it was a losing streak. Atsumu felt like his insides were crawling upward for one brief, terrible, and suspended moment. That’s all the warning he had before he was throwing up in one of the locker room toilets.
It used to happen a lot when he was a kid. He’d get too worked up over something, then all of a sudden he’d be sick, no matter what he’d eaten or not eaten. It never mattered. But it hadn’t happened in years - not since high school.
In the aftermath, he let his head drop back against the stall wall, stomach still giving half-hearted heaves, hair plastered to his forehead from the cold sweat he’d broken out in. He tried to breathe, tried to get his shit together, but it was a losing battle.
Losing. Losing. He couldn’t keep losing.
“Atsumu,” Hinata’s voice came timidly from the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”
That’s a complicated question, Atsumu thought, but he was too tired to even voice it. He managed a noncommittal kind of sound.
“Need us to call someone?” Hinata said, his voice hushed like he was talking to a spooked animal and not a fully grown professional volleyball player.
Atsumu fought back a flinch. No. No. No one could see him like this. He felt like a child, ashamed and hiding.
“N-nah, man,” Atsumu called out. “I’m fine. Must have been something I ate before the game.”
There was a small pause. “Okay, well,” Hinata mumbled. “Let us know if we can help.”
Atsumu absolutely would not. “Sure thing,” he said, forcing cheer into his voice. “Thanks.”
Finally, Hinata seemed to give up and retreat to the shower area, leaving Atsumu alone. Alone. Alone. His stomach lurched again and he doubled over.
When he finally emerged, the rest of the team was finishing up changing already. By the time he showered, still feeling vaguely sick, scrubbing violently at his face in the too-hot water just in case there was evidence, the locker room was empty again.
Everyone was probably out in the gym getting the post-game talk by their coach. Atsumu would get an earful about missing it later, but he felt so tired and hollowed out it almost didn’t matter. Almost.
His phone chirped cheerfully as he toweled out his hair and he glanced at it, surprised to see it was Sakusa’s name. He’d expected a follow up from Hinata or literally anyone else. A hot, complicated curl of want and embarrassment bloomed at his center. He didn’t want anyone knowing how weak he was, but especially not Sakusa.
But he also couldn’t deny that he wanted to crawl into someone’s lap - Sakusa’s - and let someone - Sakusa - take care of him for once.
Omi-omi: You missed notes. I hope you’re not sick. I have my car if you don’t want to take the train.
It was concise, perfunctory. Atsumu felt hot tears prickle in his eyes anyway. He blinked them back furiously.
Nah, I’m good! Just something I ate. I’m fine. See you next practice.
Atsumu just needed to rest, he thought. Just needed time away to get his head on straight.
But it turned out that having a day off was even worse. Unsupervised and undistracted, Atsumu could spend hours combing through old game footage, picking apart his performance and no one could stop him.
It was late by the time he finally reached his breaking point, where he felt like he would lose his mind if he spent one more second alone.
“You have yer car?”
“Yes, Miya,” Sakusa replied with an exasperated sigh. There was a small pause where Atsumu pictured him shifting his phone from one ear to the other, his lips pressed together like they were whenever he was frustrated or annoyed - definitely not a pout, except it absolutely was.
“Pick me up?” he blurted out. Then, “Please?” He hated how unsteady he sounded, but was grateful he sounded marginally less like a live wire than he’d thought he could manage. In person it would be harder to hide, but he’d already opened his damn mouth and he couldn’t shove the words back in.
“Miya,” Sakusa said slowly, after another pause. Atsumu shut his eyes. He sounded like he was going to say something else, tell Atsumu he was too tired, to call someone else. Anything. But he just gave a little sigh again, this time softer, almost like he didn’t mean to. “Be ready in 15. If you make me wait, we’re not going.”
Atsumu didn’t ask where they were going. It didn’t matter.
He grinned stupidly at his phone. “Patience is a virtue, Omi-kun.” Sakusa hung up on him.
True to his word, Sakusa was there in just over 15 minutes, which was impressive and exactly what Atsumu needed. If he had to wait any longer, he would have second-guessed and bailed out. He forced himself to wait outside his apartment building. The crisp autumn air was just bracing enough to keep him mildly distracted, but as it was, his brain was still working overtime, even as he slid into the passenger seat of Sakusa’s sleek black Lexus.
Sakusa greeted him with a slight incline of his head. He wore his standard black mask so Atsumu only caught his expression in the widening of his eyes when he took in the fact that Atsumu had donned a mask as well.
“Are you sick?” Sakusa asked suspiciously. Atsumu laughed and waved one hand.
“Nah, don’t you worry your pretty little head,” Atsumu said. “Just thought since we’re sharing such a small space together, you’d prefer it.”
Had Sakusa’s hands tightened on the steering wheel slightly when he’d said “pretty” or was he imagining it? The thought electrified him, impossibly, even more.
“It’s fine,” Sakusa mumbled, turning his seat to check for any traffic before pulling back onto the road outside Atsumu’s apartment building. “Where to? Since I’m apparently your chauffeur now.”
Atsumu let out a shaky breath that he turned into a laugh, a quick save that he wasn’t entirely sure was convincing - he thought he caught Sakusa’s eyes flicker towards him.
“I…” Atsumu started. “Guess I don’t really know.” He laughed again, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.
He expected Sakusa to snap at him. He prepared himself for the other man to turn around and immediately drop him back at his doorstep. But Sakusa just hummed a little, an absent thing. Like his sigh over the phone before, Atsumu couldn’t be sure he was even aware of it.
And then, Sakusa drove. They made it onto the main road, then the motorway, cars still zipping by all around them even this late. It was quiet in the car, but somehow Atsumu found he wasn’t uncomfortable. Usually he liked to fill silences, felt too on edge to sit with himself in the quiet.
But in the car with Sakusa, things felt…still, somehow. Like the world was moving violently around them, but they were the motionless calm at the center. Atsumu still felt wired, palms itching, feet restless, but for the first time in god, what felt like days, it was like he could finally breathe again.
“Losing a few matches doesn’t end our season, you know,” Sakusa said finally, after a few moments of silence had stretched between them. With the quiet click of his turn signal, he took an exit Atsumu wasn’t familiar with.
Atsumu let out another breath, and this time it thankfully sounded less shaky. He tipped his head back against the headrest and shut his eyes. “I know,” he said. “Dunno what’s going on with me.” It was strange to admit this, in the quiet, in the darkness, feeling Sakusa’s proximity somehow like a weight.
He kept his eyes shut a moment longer, letting himself feel the alien sensation of movement without sight, Sakusa’s car slipping through the charged night. It was like floating through space. Finally, he opened his eyes. When he did, he let his gaze settle on Sakusa’s hand on the gear shift, all pale skin and the faintly raised lines of his veins beneath.
If Sakusa noticed him staring, he didn’t say anything about it, for which Atsumu - burning faintly with the shame of it - was grateful.
“It’s been a long week,” Sakusa said, after what felt like a century.
“Yeah, yeah, sorry to keep you up,” Atsumu mumbled, rubbing his eyes and turning to look out the window instead. “You must be tired.”
He didn’t recognize the part of town they were in, but watched the dizzying array of lights flickering past. Sakusa drove fast, maybe too fast which was surprising to Atsumu, but it felt smooth. Effortless.
“I was awake anyway,” Sakusa said. As Atsumu resolutely stared out the window, they passed through a tunnel and the darkness outside turned the glass into a mirror, reflecting both his own face and Sakusa’s strong, proud profile. His aristocratic nose, the shape of his jaw something that Atsumu knew - had known, felt like he’d always known - even under his mask.
“Couldn’t sleep, huh, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu teased. He turned back to face him again as they emerged from the tunnel. “Too much on your mind?”
Sakusa did glance at him then, and Atsumu’s heart stuttered in his chest just from one look of those fixed and intent eyes, dark and seemingly unfathomable.
“Something like that,” he said, his voice thoughtful. The electric hum and pulse under Atsumu’s skin which had dulled down slightly while they drove kicked into high gear again. Something about the night felt alive. It made anything seem possible.
Before Atsumu even realized, they were out of the main sprawl of the city, the road becoming an incline as they climbed their way into the hills. There were significantly less street lights and buildings, and the sides of the road were spotted with trees, a few sparse signs, and bus stops.
Atsumu didn’t ask where they were. He found, strangely, that he didn’t want to know. Even as the terrible monster under his skin itched and scratched, fighting to bring everything back under his control, he tilted his head back again and breathed. It was a release - a sick, euphoric relief - letting someone else take over. Someone who knew him. Someone safe.
Sakusa pulled to the side of the road into a small, almost makeshift overlook. There was barely room for one car and some space to stand and look down at the city.
They didn’t speak. Sakusa got out of the car and Atsumu followed him. They looked out at the city lights below them, standing side by side at the railing, its metal caked with rust and spattered with moss. Atsumu slipped his mask off to breathe the sharp fall air. Outside of the epicenter of light pollution, stars speckled the night sky above them, constellations like freckles.
They didn’t speak. Atsumu felt Sakusa’s hand inches from his own and couldn’t help shivering.
“I come here sometimes,” Sakusa said finally. “When everything gets…loud.”
Atsumu turned his head to ask something, but all thoughts left him when he saw Sakusa watching him.
“Omi, I…”
“You know your problem, Miya?” Sakusa said, interrupting Atsumu and immediately and completely derailing whatever train of thought he’d been on.
“Huh?” Atsumu said, stunned.
“You think that no one is watching you.”
Atsumu couldn’t help his snort. “Omi, don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but that is about the worst take I’ve ever heard. Haven’t you heard? I’m an attention whore.”
It came out flatter and more serious than he’d intended. Derisive. Atsumu suppressed a strange flinch at his own tone.
Sakusa glanced at him, rolled his eyes, and looked back out at the view. “I don’t mean watching you play or giving you attention. I mean that you think that no one can see how you feel. You think you’re hiding it.” Sakusa hesitated, and his voice was uncharacteristically gentle when he went on. “But people are looking. People can see.”
Atsumu’s heart was a trapped bird in his rib cage. “People,” he repeated slowly.
“Me,” Sakusa said. He turned to look at him then and held his gaze, his dark eyes searching.
Atsumu was the one who had to look away, swallowing hard, dangerously close to something like tears. He breathed through it as slowly and evenly as he could.
“I feel fine,” Atsumu said, and gave him a quick smile. He knew that they both knew he was lying.
After a few more minutes gazing out over the city, Atsumu turned away from the view and back towards the car, and Sakusa followed wordlessly.
The drive back into the city was quiet, though Sakusa seemed to notice Atsumu’s sudden discomfort with the silence now. After Atsumu had glanced at the radio three or four times - though he barely realized he was doing it - Sakusa reached over and turned it on. His eyes didn’t leave the road for a second as he scrolled through the channels - some fuzzy, some too loud - until he found what seemed to be a quiet, jazzy indie rock channel.
Distantly, Atsumu wanted to ask what kind of music Sakusa liked, but he didn’t seem to have the energy for it. He let himself drift in the passenger seat, until the city lights sparkled in his vision again. The urgency had seeped out of him, replaced by an exhaustion so deep, so lingering, it threatened to swallow him whole.
Finally, they reached Atsumu’s apartment building and Atsumu had to come back to himself. The radio was still playing, a faint and distant sound.
“Thanks for…” Atsumu said, unbuckling his seat belt. He stopped and laughed a little. He had been planning to say “for the ride” but that didn’t seem like nearly enough. “Well, for everything.”
Sakusa put on the parking brake and stared at his hands in his lap for a single, time-suspended moment. Then he reached over and kissed Atsumu.
His fingertips brushed Atsumu’s neck, sending goosebumps across his sensitive skin. Atsumu’ knew his pulse was fast - much too fast - beneath his touch. Sakusa’s skin was cool against Atsumu’s. He felt feverish with want.
“This is going to be a disaster,” he heard Sakusa mutter. Atsumu, for his part, couldn’t speak. His mind was fireworks going off, sparking wild colors behind his eyes, his exhaustion obliterated by wonder.
Sakusa’s hand trailed to the back of Atsumu’s neck, his palm a gentle, grounding pressure. Atsumu burned and burned and burned.
“Want to come up?” Atsumu asked, breathless, when he finally forced himself to pull back.
“I’m in a loading zone,” Sakusa said flatly.
Atsumu’s stomach fluttered, an unexpected little unease at his center. “You could just say no, Omi,” he said, laughing, trying to backtrack, to uselessly try and put walls back up.
Sakusa breathed out quickly through his nose, a huffing sound. Cute, Atsumu thought. “God, you’re impossible. Buckle your seatbelt so I can go park.”
That was, in fact, Sakusa’s way of saying yes.
They went up to Atsumu’s neat little apartment. They kicked their shoes off in the entryway - well, Atsumu did, easy and familiar, while Sakusa delicately removed his shoes and placed them side by side next to Atsumu’s.
That shouldn’t have affected Atsumu that much, but it did. Because of course it did.
Then, he was kissing Sakusa again, before he could stop himself or say anything else to ruin the moment, like he was sure he was about to.
“Get off me, you animal,” Sakusa murmured, though his voice held none of its usual distance, something that made him seem cold and uncaring.
Now he looked almost gentle in the dim light of Atsumu’s front entryway. Atsumu took in the sweep of his dark curls over his forehead, the delicate double kiss of his moles. He wanted to exist inside the soft curve of his lips as they parted willingly, even eagerly, for Atsumu.
“I like ya,” Atsumu blurted out. And there it was, him ruining the moment. Sakusa looked, to Atsumu’s absolute surprise, very nearly flustered.
“What?” he said.
“I—ah—h,” Atsumu was cut off by Sakusa’s mouth on the sensitive skin of his neck.
“Shut up,” Sakusa snapped. “I heard you.”
“Now who’s being impossible,” Atsumu couldn’t help pouting. Sakusa shut him up again with a searing kiss to his lips.
“How’s this,” he said. “Shut up or I’m not sleeping with you.”
“You’re sleeping with me?“ Atsumu felt impossibly happy, his heart skipping two beats. He knew he sounded pathetic, like an excited puppy, but it didn’t matter. He’d said it. He’d said it out loud and Sakusa was still kissing him, still wanted -
All his breath seemed to vacate his body as Sakusa’s palm pressed against him, searching and finding his cock, which was very quickly hardening from his touch, even under his clothes.
“O-Omi,” Atsumu stammered over the nickname. His given name came unbidden to his tongue. Kiyoomi. The intimacy of that felt too raw, too overwhelming to even attempt.
“That depends. Will you be good for me?” Sakusa breathed, so quiet in Atsumu’s ear that he could barely hear it over his own ragged breathing, his thundering heart.
Atsumu wanted to joke. He wanted to tease back, to banter, to say anything, but all he could manage to do was let out a soft, low whine.
Sakusa, to his surprise again, started to smile. It was wonderful - Atsumu wanted to memorize every second of it. “That wasn’t quite a yes, but I get the idea.”
“Yes,” Atsumu managed to get out, in case Sakusa was really going to stop if he didn’t give him full verbal consent. He hadn’t said he liked Atsumu back, but Atsumu chose to shove that to the very back of his mind. Just for the night. Just for now.
Sakusa’s touch was very nearly tender as he pressed his fingertips to the back of Atsumu’s neck, tipping his head sideways so he could lick and - oh god - bite the underside of his jaw. Atsumu couldn’t help whining again. Sakusa had stopped palming him through his jeans, and he immediately needed him to touch him again - preferably with less clothes on. Would Sakusa allow that? What kind of touch was permitted?
Atsumu’s hands flew up reflexively to touch Sakusa’s back, his shoulders, but he hesitated before he touched his hair. It felt…it felt like a line he didn’t know if he could cross.
As if Sakusa could read his mind - Atsumu felt a small jolt of irrational fear that maybe he could - he grabbed one of Atsumu’s hands and pushed it up into his hair, tangling their fingers together in his curls. Atsumu watched, wonderstruck, as Sakusa’s dark eyes fluttered shut at the feeling.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” Sakusa said, blunt as always. He opened his eyes again and fixed Atsumu with an intent stare.
“Oh,” Atsumu replied. He was surprised at how even his voice sounded, flat and emotionless, even as his heart sank like a stone inside him.
“Not tonight anyway,” Sakusa went on, as if he hadn’t just sent Atsumu careening off on an emotional rollercoaster. “I want us to get tested. I want to be more prepared.”
“O-oh,” Atsumu said again, but this time his voice shook. “But you still…want to?”
Sakusa tilted his head a little. “I…” he started. It felt like Atsumu’s whole existence was held in the space between his words. “Of course I do,” he finished. As if it were simple. As if Atsumu was being simple for not understanding. Atsumu even liked that note of disdain in his voice - that was something he could handle. Sarcastic, blunt, frustrating Sakusa was as familiar to him as setting, as breathing.
“You want me,” Atsumu repeated, shifting forward more boldly into Sakusa’s space. It was his turn to mouth at Sakusa’s jaw, to map the sharp line of it with his lips.
Sakusa huffed, annoyed. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Mm,” Atsumu hummed. “But I bet you’d like to…get to my…”
“That’s disgusting,” Sakusa snapped. “And it doesn’t even make sense.”
Unbothered, Atsumu grinned and nipped his neck very gently. “You want me,” he murmured again, almost wonderingly. It was mostly to himself.
“Less by the second,” Sakusa muttered, but Atsumu felt Sakusa’s breath hitch in his chest when Atsumu’s fingers trailed down his chest to hook in his belt. He tugged a little, a question. Sakusa leaned in to kiss him again, an answer.
For all the standard clumsiness of first times together, the rest was simple. Atsumu was so, so grateful that his mania that day between bouts of anxiety had driven him to clean his entire apartment. He wasn’t a slob, but he wasn’t entirely sure his standard “I know where everything goes, and sometimes that’s on the floor” mentality would fly with Sakusa Kiyoomi.
But Sakusa barely paid any attention to the state of cleanliness apart from a quick sweeping glance around Atsumu’s bedroom. “Neat,” he pointed out - and that was all. No tirade, no biting or sarcastic comments. Atsumu thought he should be nervous, then, now that they were on footing they’d never dared to be before. But he wasn’t nervous, not exactly.
He felt, more than anything else, wonder. Wonder, as Sakusa slipped his fingers under Atsumu’s shirt, pushing the fabric up to touch more of his skin. Wonder, as Sakusa made a small, wanting noise every time Atsumu ran his fingers softly through his hair. Wonder, as Sakusa pressed him down into the soft surface of his own bed.
It was nothing like the feverish, lust-filled haze he’d imagined when he’d thought of sleeping with Sakusa before. Because of course he’d thought of it - when he was a teenager, even, he’d wanted him. He just hadn’t known what that feeling was. After all, he’d wanted a lot of things. He still did, though the feeling was different now.
Sakusa didn’t complain or say anything at all when Atsumu turned them so he could curl his body over Sakusa’s and bury his face against his throat.
“Mi-ya,” Sakusa growled out, as Atsumu trailed kisses down his neck. “Careful.”
He didn’t say don’t leave a mark. He didn’t have to. Atsumu laughed, ducking his head further to press a slow kiss to his chest, just above his heart. Sakusa was still fully clothed, even though Atsumu was shirtless now, jeans undone. He could smell Sakusa’s detergent or soap, breathed it in, agonizing over how good it was. “Unfair,” he mumbled. “Perfect. Fucking unfair.”
“What?” Sakusa said. He sounded a little dazed.
“God, you already know,” Atsumu said. “You have to.”
“What?” Sakusa repeated. This time he sounded annoyed.
“Shut your perfect face,” Atsumu growled at him.
Sakusa made a choked off little sound as Atsumu kissed him again on his perfect mouth.
His fingers twitched at the hem of Sakusa’s shirt, but before he could say anything, Sakusa sat up a little to reach down and pull it up and off himself. Atsumu blinked at him. Sakusa’s curls were tousled. His whole heart was in his chest, it was seeping out through his skin.
Sakusa must be able to see it, he thought, head spinning. But Sakusa was undoing his pants, pushing them down his thighs along with his briefs, and Atsumu struggled to think at all.
His mouth had started watering the minute he’d seen his cock - medium length but thicker than Atsumu had expected from Sakusa’s lean frame.
Atsumu didn’t even realize he was sliding his hands up and down Sakusa’s bare thighs until he felt him shiver underneath him. Atsumu stared down at his own hands, stunned, then at Sakusa. His lip was caught between his teeth, pupils wide in his already dark eyes.
When he caught Atsumu staring at him, he frowned. “Are you going to touch me or what?”
“Demanding,” Atsumu murmured, but there wasn’t much force behind it. He was too stunned to put up his usual defensive front. He felt like some part of himself, the part that was so scared of being hurt that he never let anyone close enough to touch the soft, tender underbelly of his real self, was screaming at him in warning.
Again, as if reading his thoughts - though Atsumu knew it had probably been written all over his face, in plain sight where he could see, where anyone could see, god, he was so transparent, so needy, so desperate, so - Sakusa reached up and ran his fingertips along Atsumu’s jaw. His touch was gentle, almost painfully so, and Atsumu felt something inside him still.
“I - ” Sakusa started.
“Can I suck you off?” Atsumu asked. “Is that allowed?”
Sakusa made a faint little cut off sound, almost in disbelief. “Is that allowed…” he muttered, as he pushed his pants and briefs the rest of the way off his legs. “You are unbelievable.”
“Is that a yes…?”
Sakusa chewed on his lip. “Yes,” he said, voice strained, though Atsumu couldn’t see why.
Atsumu licked his own lips, mouth still watering, and flicked his eyes down to Sakusa’s hard, pretty cock. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“God,” Sakusa hissed. “Yes, yes, fucking yes. Please.”
Atsumu thought about gloating over getting Sakusa to very nearly beg - he wanted to memorize the way he’d said “please,” the note of genuine need - but he was too impatient to draw it out any longer.
Without saying anything else, he ducked his head down, dropping kisses to the warm skin of Sakusa’s chest, stopping briefly to close his mouth over one nipple, gliding his tongue over the sensitive nub until Sakusa squirmed and groaned underneath him.
Sakusa’s hand settled in Atsumu’s hair, scratching his scalp lightly and sending tingles through Atsumu’s body. “I’ve been thinking about your mouth - for - for days - ” he whispered.
Atsumu shuddered and immediately had to reach down and press a hand to his own dick through the opening of his jeans. He was hard and aching, his cock straining against the fabric of his own boxer briefs.
“You like hearing that,” Sakusa observed. It was not a question, but Atsumu nodded mindlessly anyway as he swirled his tongue around Sakusa’s nipple again. Sakusa’s hips bucked upward and Atsumu put one hand against his hipbone to steady him.
“Come on, Miya,” Sakusa snapped, lifting his hips and pressing up hard against his hand.
“Patience is a virtue,” Atsumu murmured, finally pulling away from Sakusa’s chest to drag his mouth down his abs, leaving kisses and small bites along the way. No one would see these. He could leave a mark if he wanted to, and just the thought of that thrilled him.
Sakusa snorted. “Not one of yours, I’d imagine,” he said with mock disdain.
Atsumu looked up at him and grinned, all teeth. “I can be plenty patient,” he said, then slowly, so slowly ran his tongue up the length of Sakusa’s cock.
Sakusa groaned again, tipping his head back against Atsumu’s pillows. Atsumu tried to catalog every detail for later, he wanted to remember everything - the way Sakusa’s hair spilled over his light gray pillowcase, the way his body shifted under him, arching, all his pale, pale skin stretched out before Atsumu, the scattering of dark moles. Feeling unhinged, Atsumu wanted to kiss each one, find and connect them all like playing dot to dot.
He relaxed his throat and took Sakusa all the way down in one go. Sakusa swore, clutched at Atsumu’s sheets. His hips jerked upwards again and the tip of his cock bumped the back of Atsumu’s throat. Atsumu had to shut his eyes and breathe to tamp down his gag reflex. He wanted this. He wanted to be good for him, the best - he wanted Sakusa to remember this, too.
“Hands,” Sakusa said. He may have said it a few times and Atsumu hadn’t heard - he felt dizzy as he breathed shallowly through his nose.
“Use your hands,” he said, reaching for Atsumu’s hand. Then, very quietly, so quiet that Atsumu only just barely caught it, “I love your hands.”
Atsumu’s breath shuddered through him as he slid his mouth back up Sakusa’s length, trailing saliva there before wrapping his hand around his spit-slick cock and stroking him. Atsumu risked a glance upward and almost immediately regretted it. Sakusa looked wrecked, his face flushed, chest heaving, curls tangled. He was chewing on his lip again and Atsumu wanted to reach up and touch his mouth, tug his lip out from between his teeth - maybe give him something else to bite instead.
He flushed hot at the thought and rocked forward against his own hand. He kept stroking Sakusa, moving his mouth up and down in time with the motion. Sakusa kept making half-aborted movements with his hips, like he was trying not to fuck up into Atsumu’s mouth, which only made him feel more wild.
“Miya - ”
“Say my name,” Atsumu pulled off to pant against Sakusa’s skin. His voice sounded raw, rough and hoarse and breathless. “Please.”
Sakusa looked down at him and met his eyes, a strange expression on his face. He looked almost desperate, though Atsumu couldn’t parse what that even meant. “Atsumu,” he whispered, and Atsumu came.
He hadn’t realized he was that close. His hips kicked through his orgasm and he sunk his mouth down on Sakusa’s cock again to stifle the sound he made, agonized and needy. Before shame could even sink in, he felt Sakusa start to come as well.
He let out a soft moan as he spilled into Atsumu’s mouth, and again Atsumu tried to mark every detail. The way he tasted, the sound of him, the soft crease between his eyebrows as he breathed through his release.
Atsumu sat up, brushing his lips with the back of his hand to make sure he didn’t drip any and make a mess.
“Wait,” Sakusa said. “Don’t - ” Sakusa seemed to reach for Atsumu’s wastebasket two seconds before Atsumu swallowed. He grimaced, though it was weak and ineffective.
Atsumu grinned at him again. He could still taste him on his tongue.
“Disgusting,” Sakusa mumbled, but he was tugging Atsumu towards him. “Don’t you even think about kissing me until you’ve brushed your teeth.”
“But it’s yours…” Atsumu pointed out.
He leaned in just to tease and Sakusa firmly clamped a hand over Atsumu’s mouth. “Shut your mouth and come here,” he said, reaching for Atsumu’s unbuttoned jeans to push them down.
“Uh,” Atsumu said, remembering suddenly and blushing. “Don’t worry about it.”
Sakusa tilted his head to the side, considering. “You don’t want me to…?”
Atsumu laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not that,” he said. “It’s just. Messy.”
“Ah,” Sakusa said. His hand had found the wet spot in Atsumu’s boxer briefs. He looked up at Atsumu and quirked an eyebrow.
Atsumu’s blush deepened furiously. “Shut up,” he said. “You have no idea how hot you are.”
“I guess I have some idea now.”
“I hate you.”
“I hate you, too,” Sakusa said, but he was smiling. It felt rare, his smile. Almost immediately, Atsumu’s shame and embarrassment dissolved into a small bubble of warmth at his center.
“Next time?” Atsumu asked hopefully. He held his breath.
Sakusa was still smiling. “We’ll see.”
“Hypocrite,” Osamu said, slamming Atsumu’s onigiri on the counter for him and shoving it towards him a little too aggressively. He was upset with Atsumu, and he wasn’t hiding it, which meant he was really struggling.
That seemed unfair since they were both going through it, but Atsumu could understand his brother’s reaction, so he didn’t try to deny anything. He miserably put his onigiri in his mouth in nearly one bite.
Osamu softened a little and leaned against the counter across from him on his elbows. “Want to talk about it?” he asked.
“Not even a little.”
“Oh thank god.”
Instead, Osamu fed him more, and that was enough.
Atsumu used to be mind-numbingly jealous of Osamu and Suna - the ease of them, the way they always seemed to fall in step together. Atsumu had never been easy. Atsumu was always the difficult one.
He didn’t think Sakusa was going to be easy either - except that things with him were oddly simple: even apart from the sex (which, when Sakusa first fucked Atsumu, sprawled out in Sakusa’s bed, fingered open methodically but relentlessly until Atsumu was moaning on every breath, he thought he might have had a religious experience), they carpooled to and from practice in Sakusa’s car, they tried new coffee shops on days off.
It was nauseatingly domestic. And Atsumu was terrified.
They clawed back from their losing streak just before the holidays, but just barely, and Atsumu was thinking about that long stretch of time off with no small amount of trepidation.
He nearly turned his apartment inside out the last time he was left with that much time to himself. Osamu was extra busy with the shop (and pining over Suna) so he knew even if he went back to Hyogo for the holidays, he couldn’t count on just his mom and brother to keep him busy. It was pathetic. How much he needed other people, how little he was needed himself.
Of course he wondered what Sakusa was doing for the holidays, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t want it to seem like he was fishing for something that Sakusa wasn’t offering.
But when he stepped out of the shower rooms after their last practice of the season before the holidays and found Sakusa there, he almost couldn’t help himself.
Atsumu had started taking longer showers after practice, afraid of his own body’s unpredictable nausea, not wanting anyone to worry or, even worse, not care at all. He hadn’t expected anyone to still be around, but Sakusa looked like he had been waiting there for Atsumu specifically. He was sitting delicately on the edge of one of the benches as he scrolled through his phone, his gym bag already slung across his body.
“Holiday plans?” Atsumu blurted out. “Got any?”
Sakusa glanced up from his phone. A complicated sort of expression passed over his face, but it was gone before Atsumu could even process it.
“Just some family things,” he said.
Atsumu was fighting a losing battle of not showing his disappointment on his face when Sakusa went on. “But not until next week.”
He wasn’t wearing his mask, and his lower lip looked red as if he’d been chewing on it.
Atsumu suppressed the insane urge, again, to touch his lips, to smooth his thumb over the soft, angry skin. He swallowed hard.
“Want to,” he started. “Do something?”
Sakusa just rolled his eyes, but then he was on his feet and in Atsumu’s space quicker than anything. Softly, he touched his chin, tipping Atsumu’s face up the very slight amount needed to kiss him. It felt like Atsumu’s entire body melted at his touch.
“Was that a yes?” he said, when Sakusa had released his mouth - they’d kissed in public, his brain was screeching at him, but he didn’t have time to think about that.
“Impossible,” Sakusa muttered. He made no move to pull away though, so Atsumu counted it as a win and let himself melt a little more against him. “I can’t believe I…” he stopped himself from saying whatever it was he was thinking about, nipping at Atsumu’s lip instead of his own for once.
Taken aback, Atsumu let out a soft little groan. He did try to stifle it, to be fair, but it was too late. Sakusa had heard.
Atsumu flushed and pulled away, shoving his dirty gear into his gym bag without too much consideration.
Atsumu had half expected their unspoken arrangement to end as soon as Sakusa thought he no longer needed a distraction in order to play his best. This was something uncharted. It no longer felt transactional. It felt…real.
“Want to start now?”
Atsumu stilled, then turned to look at Sakusa incredulously. “Here?” he asked. “Who are you and what have you done with Sakusa Kiyoomi?”
“That might have been the first time you’ve ever used my actual name,” Sakusa mused. His lip was twitching into a smile.
“Would you really?”
“Would I really what, Atsumu?”
Atsumu stared. Sakusa only used his name in bed, in private - his hand wrapped around him, his thumb sliding over his slit as he murmured, teasing, “Are you going to stop being a brat and come for me now, Atsumu?”
Atsumu stared some more. Sakusa tilted his head a little, like a challenge.
“Would you really fuck me here?” Atsumu managed to get out.
Sakusa smiled. “If you asked nicely.”
Oh god. Oh god, were they going to do this?
But suddenly, the smile faded on Sakusa’s face. “We don’t have to,” he said, inexplicably back-tracking. Atsumu’s stomach flipped over anxiously.
“What?” he said. “Why?” He tried, with only marginal success, to keep the panic out of his voice.
He was acting so strange - as if Atsumu hadn’t been interested. As if he wasn’t already - embarrassingly - getting hard in his sweats at the thought of Sakusa pressing him up against the lockers, pushing his sweats down his ass just enough to rut into him.
“You just,” Sakusa started. “Looked upset.” He mumbled the last part, not even looking at Atsumu, who blinked, uncomprehending. Had he been upset? The only thing he felt upset about was wanting too much from Sakusa, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud.
Feeling brave with that same want, Atsumu stepped closer into Sakusa’s space. It was daring. Sakusa didn’t like anyone to get that close unless he chose it. He was oddly like a cat in that way - like the neighborhood cats around Atsumu’s home growing up, who he’d persuaded into liking him with food until they trusted him enough to allow him to pet.
Atsumu brushed his fingers through Sakusa’s curls lightly, and was rewarded with the view of Sakusa’s eyes fluttering shut, his dark lashes splayed out prettily.
“I’m not upset,” Atsumu said, then couldn’t help spilling out more, because his stupid mouth wasn’t connected to his stupid brain sometimes. “I want you always,” he told him. “In any way I can have you. Whatever you’ll let me have.”
“Let you?” Sakusa muttered under his breath, but then he was pushing Atsumu backwards, pressing him up against the lockers behind them. “Will you let me leave a mark on you?” Sakusa asked, and it sounded like a challenge.
“I told you,” Atsumu murmured. “I’ll take anything.”
I want everything, he thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“That’s a dangerous thing to say, Atsumu, unless you really mean it.”
Atsumu met his eyes - Sakusa’s dark eyes looked intently back, his gaze almost searching. What was he looking for? Atsumu knew he couldn’t measure up, but he wanted him to keep looking anyway.
Keep your eyes on me, he thought. Don’t look at anyone else. The enormity of his desire nearly made him nauseous. To distract himself, he started to drop to his knees, but Sakusa caught him. “Wait,” he said, and Atsumu’s stomach sank.
“Don’t give me that look,” Sakusa said, voice snippy. “Last time you got your mouth on me, you came in your pants.”
“That was - I was - ” Atsumu spluttered.
“Let me,” Sakusa said, and dropped to his knees on the locker room floor instead.
Atsumu felt like his brain was short-circuiting. Sakusa was kneeling on the tile in front of him, tiles that he hadn’t meticulously cleaned first, tiles that could be dirty from the feet of dozens of athletes.
“Omi, don’t - '' Atsumu started to stop him, but Sakusa’s hand slid up his thigh to cup the growing bulge in Atsumu’s sweatpants. He glanced up at Atsumu and lifted one eyebrow.
“You’re giving me mixed signals.” Sakusa’s hand pressed against him, rubbing slowly.
“It’s just…” Atsumu fought back a helpless moan. “It’s…d-dirty…”
“You just showered, right?”
Sakusa was watching him. Atsumu tried to meet his eyes, but his touch even through his clothing felt so impossibly good, it was hard to focus.
“No, the…the floor…”
Sakusa made a small sound, then whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Cute.” But then he was nuzzling against Atsumu’s cock through the fabric before Atsumu could even process that. “Don’t worry,” he said, louder, so Atsumu could hear properly this time. “I won’t be down here long.”
He was teasing him, but Atsumu didn’t have anything in his head to retort with. It was all fuzzy.
“Ah-nnnn,” Atsumu said instead.
“My, how intelligent.”
“Omi…” Atsumu felt Sakusa’s breath, hot against his cock, and he shivered.
A small, terrible voice at his center told him that Sakusa would get tired of this eventually, how needy and desperate and pathetically clingy Atsumu was. But Sakusa’s hands on his thighs were a solid, grounding weight, keeping him from spiraling, if even just for a moment in time.
I want this too much, Atsumu thought, as he pushed his sweatpants down - he hadn’t even bothered to put on underwear since he was just heading home after practice anyway. But he didn’t even know if it was simply a want anymore, or something deeper, more intricate. Something like need.
Sakusa glanced up at him. “Were you just waiting for me to do this?” he asked. “Going around without underwear on just in case I wanted easy access, hm?”
“No…” Atsumu said, defensive, fighting a blush.
Sakusa’s hands had re-settled on Atsumu’s now bare thighs, and when he squeezed, just ever so slightly digging his nails into his skin, Atsumu moaned out loud.
Sakusa’s lips curved slowly into a smile, an almost private, secret thing, before he pressed a kiss to Atsumu’s hip bones - first to one, then the other, opening his mouth to slide his tongue over the skin he’d just kissed.
Atsumu squirmed against the lockers, cold seeping through his t-shirt from the metal. Sakusa’s mouth, usually so solemnly aristocratic or covered by a mask, was unbearably hot in contrast. And when he finally put that mouth on him, Atsumu choked as his tongue sent electric pulses throughout his entire body.
Anyone could walk in. Hinata or Bokuto could have easily forgotten something they needed for the holiday break. The cleaners could be just outside. And it just made Atsumu feel everything even more intensely. He tried to settle his breathing, possibly in some half-hearted attempt to fool Sakusa into believing he was calm and collected about this.
From the look of smug satisfaction that Sakusa shot him, gaze flickering up at him through his lashes, they both knew he wasn’t.
“Show me,” Sakusa murmured, as if reading his thoughts. “How much you like it.”
Atsumu was moaning before Sakusa could finish his sentence. His hands flew up automatically, and he tangled his fingers into Sakusa’s hair just to try and ground himself. He was rewarded with Sakusa humming against him as he moved up and down on his cock with almost expert precision. Atsumu felt almost dizzy. The nearly-sticky warmth from the shower room contrasted with the cold locker at his back, though even the metal seemed to be heating up now in response to his body heat.
Again without thinking, Atsumu’s hips twitched forward. He froze, brain fumbling with apologies that his mouth couldn’t process fast enough to say.
But Sakusa just took it - he swallowed around him thickly, his breath coming out harsh through his nose, but he gave no other indication of distress. “O-” Atsumu could only make the first sound of Sakusa’s name, he was so close to the edge he felt like he was coming apart.
“Omi,” he finally managed. “Omi, Omi, stop, I’m going to come - ”
He tried to hold still but his hips seemed to have a mind of their own, pushing forward urgently into the tight, hot heat of Sakusa’s mouth.
He thought about what it would be like to be inside Sakusa, feel his body rippling underneath him, above him, any way Sakusa wanted to have him. He thought about coming in Sakusa’s mouth. Just the thought overwhelmed him.
“I need - ”
Sakusa pulled his mouth off of Atsumu’s dick with an obscene, wet pop, and Atsumu let out a helpless noise of wanting at the loss of that heat before Sakusa’s hand was on him again, wet with spit.
“I know what you need,” Sakusa said, his eyes dark, his hand on Atsumu’s cock a frantic blur of movement.
Atsumu groaned, hips jerking. He felt Sakusa’s other hand push against his hip bone to hold him steady. His fingertips felt unexpectedly delicate against his skin, despite the manhandling.
There was a distant slam outside the locker room, the sound of a door opening and closing, voices down the hall. They both froze, Atsumu’s breathing embarrassingly loud and uneven in the sudden quiet.
The voices drifted closer, the telltale effusive chatter that signaled that Bokuto and Hinata were on their way.
“Shit,” Atsumu hissed, scrambling to pull up his sweatpants over his still-hard cock. “Shit, shit.”
He was so close it felt unbearable to pull any fabric over his sensitive skin. Sakusa was still on his knees, and when Atsumu looked down at him, he caught the shadow of something as it crossed his face. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn Sakusa looked…hurt.
But then he was standing again, face impassive, before Atsumu could even process what that could possibly even have meant.
Sakusa lifted his chin, gesturing Atsumu towards the showers again. “I’ll handle it,” he said, voice even and firm.
Atsumu grabbed his towel back up from the bench and fled. His face was hot. His skin was hot. Everything was hot. He stood in the empty shower room and forced himself to breathe through what felt dangerously close to panic.
Then he threw on one of the faucets and dunked his head under the cold spray. The shock of the water was just barely enough to blur the edge of his anxiety.
If Sakusa had wanted to fuck him in the locker room, bend him over one of the benches or against his own locker or, fuck, even press Atsumu against the floor - if Sakusa had asked Atsumu for anything, he wouldn’t have even hesitated. He knew this to the very core of his being, and he burned with a strange sort of shame.
If Sakusa knew that, he thought, how much he would let him do - how much he could take - he’d never want to sleep with him again.
In the main lockers, he could hear Hinata and Bokuto talking with Sakusa now, their voices muffled and indistinct.
Atsumu waited until the cold had safely dissipated his arousal - though his spiraling had been nearly enough to do that on its own - before emerging from the lockers again, toweling off his hair.
“Oh, hey,” he said casually, spotting Bokuto next to Sakusa. Hinata was nearby, rummaging in his locker for something. “Forgot something?”
Hinata’s orange head and bright smile popped out from his locker. “Tsumu! Didn’t realize you were still here, too!”
Atsumu forced his gaze to stay on Hinata and not flicker over to Sakusa. A weird impulse unfurled in his chest, a need to see Sakusa’s expression, to know if everything was okay. He wrestled it down.
“You okay?” Hinata asked, hesitant, and Atsumu cursed internally at himself for whatever expression he’d let onto his face without thinking.
“Yeah,” he said and gave him an easy smile. “Why wouldn’t I be, lil red?” He reached out and ruffled his hair. He thought, helplessly, of how Sakusa’s curls felt between his fingers.
He couldn’t help glancing at Sakusa then, only to find his expression shuttered and distant. His stomach twisted uncomfortably.
“Almost ready, Miya?” Sakusa asked.
Atsumu blinked at him.
“Oh yeah,” Bokuto said. “You’re giving Tsum-Tsum a ride home, right? Surprised you’d wait for him, he takes aaaaaages in the shower.”
He tipped his head back to laugh. Atsumu felt his cheeks heat up again, so he turned to face his bag, finishing his quick towel dry of his hair and throwing his shirt on. It wasn’t even an insult - it was true. Bokuto wasn’t intentionally being cruel. But it stung anyway, knowing people saw, people noticed. Sakusa had noticed. And he had waited for him anyway.
“I’d prefer he did,” Sakusa said. “If he’s going in my car.”
“Are you saying you wouldn’t let us in your car, Sakusa-san?” Hinata piped in. He’d finally found whatever he’d been looking for in his locker - it looked like an omamori charm, and Atsumu vaguely wondered if it was for a certain Adlers setter. He frowned. He didn’t care if they were fucking six ways to Sunday, but Hinata shouldn’t be giving them any more good luck.
Sakusa glanced at Hinata and frowned as well, nose scrunching up. Cute, Atsumu thought distantly. “Unlikely,” he said, voice flat.
“I’m hurt,” Bokuto said, but he was still laughing. “Come on, Sho, us disgusting animals have to stick together.” He slung his arm over Hinata’s shoulders amiably.
“Have a good holiday,” Sakusa conceded.
“You too, Sakusa-san!” Hinata said, then turned to wave at Atsumu. “Bye, Tsumu! Enjoy your break! Have an onigiri for me.”
Atsumu shouldered his bag. “See ya, red,” he said, giving Hinata a wink.
Sakusa’s gaze on him felt heavy suddenly, and Atsumu’s shoulders hunched slightly as if he had been caught doing something wrong. “Let’s go,” Sakusa said. His hand fell on Atsumu’s elbow, then the small of his back, then he was leading him towards his car.
The palm on his back felt so, so warm, even through fabric.
The minute they were alone, stepping into the parking garage under the gym facility, Sakusa was on him.
Atsumu didn’t know quite what he was expecting, but he couldn’t possibly have imagined this - Sakusa’s mouth on his, his teeth grazing his lip, just the softest suggestion of pain as he nipped at him. Atsumu let out a surprised little sound, and knew he sounded embarrassingly pleased.
“I’m taking you home,” Sakusa said, his lips pressed up against the shell of Atsumu’s ear so it felt like he could hear his soft voice everywhere. “And then I’m taking you apart.”
“Omi…” Atsumu whined helplessly. His brain wasn’t working properly - half seemed to be frantic with thoughts, spinning wildly like a hamster wheel, while the other half was sluggish, syrup-slow, still caught in the way Sakusa’s hand felt where it rested on his hip bone, a steady, grounding weight.
It wasn’t far from the gym to Atsumu’s place - he usually took the train, leaving extra time so he was never late. For all his other bad habits, Atsumu was fastidious about volleyball. He was on time for every practice, prepared for every game. But by car, the drive should have felt like no time at all.
Except the moment they’d gotten onto the road, Sakusa had reached across without even looking to run his hand along Atsumu’s thigh.
“Omi,” Atsumu started. “What’re you…” Sakusa squeezed his thigh. It was not gentle. Atsumu squirmed from the immediate flood of heat to his dick.
“Haaa,” Atsumu panted out, as Sakusa squeezed again, massaging. “Can’t keep your hands off me, huh?”
Sakusa’s gaze flickered over to him and back towards the road. He didn’t rise to the tease, but he did shift his hand to palm over Atsumu’s dick.
“Still didn’t put any underwear on, I see,” Sakusa pointed out. “Want everyone to see how hard I make you?”
Atsumu went utterly still in the passenger seat.
“Answer me,” Sakusa said. He sounded almost bored. Atsumu’s head spun.
“M-Maybe.”
Sakusa gave him a full look, then, considering. “Good,” he murmured. “I want them to.”
“God,” Atsumu said. His breath shuddered on an exhale. “You make me crazy.”
“The feeling is mutual, I assure you.”
Just tell me if you like me, Atsumu thought. Please. But he couldn’t say it. Sakusa’s hand slid back down his thigh and up again, teasing, and Atsumu tipped his head back and groaned.
“Get me home.” It wasn’t quite begging, but it was close.
“Please - please, Omi,” Atsumu said, words slurring together. Now he was begging.
Sakusa knelt behind him on the bed, three fingers deep, and Atsumu had been rendered nearly incoherent just from that. The most he seemed capable of doing was beg Sakusa to fuck him, but Sakusa, despite his urgency on the drive over, had been taking his damn time.
He’d maneuvered them into Atsumu’s bedroom without taking his mouth off of him, sucking bruises into his neck just beneath where his shirt collar would sit (Osamu had spotted marks on Atsumu before and teased him in front of Suna again, the bastard). He had taken his time undressing them both, Atsumu letting him manhandle him until there was nothing but skin between them, both their hands roaming.
It felt, more than any of their other hookups before, like Sakusa was exploring.
“C’mon,” Atsumu urged. “Thought you said you were going to take me apart.”
He tugged lightly at Sakusa’s curls. Sakusa arched against him, then reached over to find the condoms and lube tucked away in Atsumu’s bedside table. It was such a small thing, but Atsumu’s chest had ached from it - Sakusa’s familiarity in his space, how he knew exactly where everything was. It had only been a few months, and now -
Atsumu tried to surreptitiously press his hips into the mattress, to rut like some kind of animal in heat, but Sakusa made a noise of disapproval.
“Please,” Atsumu whined again, but he stopped moving his hips forward.
Instead, he pressed backward, fucking himself onto Sakusa’s fingers. Behind him, Sakusa made another sound, a small, sharp little intake of breath, almost like he was surprised.
“Atsumu,” he said.
Atsumu, panting wetly into the pillow, tried to turn and face him. “Wh…”
But then Sakusa’s long, wonderful fingers found his spot and Atsumu forgot how to speak.
“You have no idea,” Sakusa whispered. He leaned over him, his chest pressed to Atsumu’s back. His fingers hit his prostate over and over, Atsumu could barely breathe from the feeling. Sakusa was murmuring something else and Atsumu tried to process what he was saying, but his brain had gone fuzzy again.
“Don’t,” Atsumu managed to get out.
Sakusa’s hand stilled its movement, even though Atsumu was still pushing his hips back against his fingers. “Don’t?” Sakusa’s other hand brushed Atsumu’s sweaty hair away from his forehead, and Atsumu felt, distantly, a small spike of anxiety over Sakusa touching his sweat.
“I’m going to come,” Atsumu said.
Sakusa tilted his head a little, an amused smile on his lips. God, Atsumu wanted to kiss him, but he couldn’t figure out a way to twist his body that way. “Isn’t that the idea?” Sakusa asked.
“I want,” Atsumu said, fighting the flush of embarrassment that threatened to spill across his cheeks. “I need to come with you inside me.”
“I am inside you,” Sakusa taunted. He was still smiling as he wiggled his fingers.
Atsumu gasped and squirmed. “You know - ”
“Shh,” Sakusa hushed him. His hand smoothed down the hair at the nape of Atsumu’s neck this time. His fingertips felt cool on Atsumu’s feverish skin. “I know.”
I know what you need, Sakusa had said. As Sakusa’s slick cock slid inside him, Atsumu knew that had been true.
Keeping his hand steady on the back of Atsumu’s neck, Sakusa rocked forward and Atsumu nearly sobbed. It felt like he’d been on the very edge for hours, for days - the locker room seemed like ages ago, another lifetime. But he wanted it to last, he wanted to stay exactly where he was for as long as he possibly could.
“Ky’omiiiii.”
Sakusa huffed, a shaky, breathless sort of laugh in his voice when he said, “Was that supposed to be my name?”
Atsumu nodded as much as he could with his face pressed to the pillow, with Sakusa’s hand cradling his neck. He didn’t have the headspace to even feel embarrassed.
“You’re still talking,” Sakusa said. “Let’s see what we can do about that.” Then he began to thrust in earnest, long, deep punishing thrusts, reminding Atsumu for the hundredth time that they were both professional athletes, strong and powerful.
Atsumu was determined to give as good as he got - he braced his elbows and pushed back again. It was so different, thrusting back onto Sakusa’s cock instead of his fingers, and Atsumu moaned without even meaning to as Sakusa sank deep, so deep his hips were flush against Atsumu’s ass.
Sakusa moaned as well, a soft sound that he bundled up into a kiss and pressed against Atsumu’s spine. Atsumu felt like he was always desperate, starving for those small noises of his. It felt like a gift every time. I did that, he thought, and his heartbeat stuttered.
On the next deep thrust, Atsumu pushing back and Sakusa pressing forward to meet him, Sakusa moved his hand from Atsumu’s neck to grip his hips in both hands. He held Atsumu still as he ground slowly against him.
“Oh fuck, oh god, Omi!” Atsumu was a babbling mess - he could have been saying anything, and that should have scared him, but he couldn’t pay attention long enough to care.
“I love when you get like this,” he heard Sakusa say, distantly, as his hand found Atsumu’s cock, thumbing over the head which was dripping with precome. Atsumu’s brain had stopped short at the word “love,” but he tried to refocus. “You’re a fucking mess.”
“Your fault,” Atsumu mumbled into the pillow, a little petulant. Sakusa laughed, a breathy, wonderful little thing.
Then he twisted his hand as he began to stroke Atsumu in earnest which, as Atsumu was sure Sakusa intended, shut Atsumu up immediately.
“My fault? Maybe,” Sakusa murmured. “It’s all just for me. Isn’t that right?”
If Atsumu didn’t know better, he’d think he sounded almost…possessive.
When all Atsumu did was whine - he was pretty sure he was drooling into his pillow by now - Sakusa tugged on Atsumu’s hair. It wasn’t rough, but just the feeling of it - of feeling owned in some deep, intimate way - had Atsumu choking over a broken, needy sob.
“Say it,” Sakusa said. His voice wasn’t demanding or angry or aggressive. If anything, it was softer than before.
“Just for you,” Atsumu breathed out, hiccupping embarrassingly over the words. “Omiiiii.”
It wasn’t just dirty talk for Atsumu. It was true. The hot curl of shame from that mixed confusingly with the pleasure. Oh god, he was going to come.
“Wait - wait wait,” Atsumu said, panicking, hands scrambling for purchase in his own sheets.
“It’s okay,” Sakusa said softly, and Atsumu thought his voice sounded almost strained - as if he was holding something back. “I want to see you come.”
Atsumu’s eyes rolled back as the steady stimulation against his prostate and Sakusa’s hand on his cock sent him tumbling violently over the edge. He spilled all over Sakusa’s hand, come pooling beneath him in his bed. Fuck - fuck -
Behind him, Atsumu heard Sakusa’s breath catch, and then he was coming too, hips stuttering, cock hot and pulsing inside him, even through the condom. Atsumu heard his own ragged breathing loud in his ears, as loud as his thundering pulse.
“God, Omi,” he said finally, to say something.
He wanted to turn over, he wanted to put his hands on Sakusa’s face and kiss him. He wanted so many things, but all he did was inch away from the wet spot on the bed. Without a word, Sakusa pulled out and away - Atsumu ducked his head, flinching at the sensation. His ass ached - but it was a nearly pleasant kind of hurt.
“I’ll be right back,” Sakusa said softly. After disposing of the condom efficiently, Sakusa stepped out of the room and into the bathroom. Light spilled out into Atsumu’s room. A moment later, Atsumu heard the shower faucet turn on. He felt too fucked to even move, even though he was starting to feel cold and used in a less than pleasant way this time.
It was a weird dissonance - feeling full and sated on one hand, but on the other hand, uncertain, the anxiety creeping back in. Sakusa had left the door to the bathroom cracked open, and Atsumu shut his eyes and let the sound of the water wash over him. He breathed. And breathed. And breathed.
Atsumu must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, gentle hands were nudging him to the side. He shifted obediently, still half asleep, and then someone was running a damp cloth over his sensitive skin. He hummed and just barely opened his eyes.
Sakusa loomed over him in his bed, his hair damp. It must have been the dim light of Atsumu’s bedroom, but he looked oddly vulnerable then. Atsumu blinked at him. Suddenly, he found it hard to breathe, his heart clenching painfully in his chest.
“You don’t have to - ” Atsumu said, and Sakusa started slightly, like he hadn’t realized Atsumu was awake.
But he recovered almost immediately, his face shuttering slightly. He was keeping him at a distance, Atsumu realized, and he tried to school his own expression.
“You made a mess,” Sakusa pointed out, voice flat and practical. “And as you so kindly noted, it was at least partially my fault.”
“Entirely your fault,” Atsumu said. He stretched his arms up above his head, feeling the tension leave his muscles, and grinned up at him. “Don’t be shy, take the win.”
The very edge of Sakusa’s mouth twitched - was he trying not to smile? Atsumu felt like he couldn’t bear the weight of all his hope.
Sakusa’s hand, still holding the damp washcloth he had been using to clean Atsumu’s skin with, was resting against Atsumu’s side, his knuckles brushing a tender spot over his ribs. Then, almost absently, Sakusa’s fingers moved to stroke his skin, smoothing gently over the gooseflesh that erupted in the wake of his touch. Atsumu shivered without meaning to.
Dark eyes flickered towards him, Sakusa’s face strangely searching for a moment. He opened his mouth, then hesitated, shut it again. Atsumu held his breath.
“Wash your sheets immediately,” Sakusa said finally. He let go of the towel and stood.
Atsumu snorted.
“I mean it,” Sakusa said. “It’s disgusting. Don’t fall asleep before washing your sheets, or I’m never coming over again.”
Atsumu felt his absence from the bed like an honest-to-god hole in his chest. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving one hand at him dismissively.
He pictured what it would be like if Sakusa didn’t leave - if he spent the night, if Atsumu could wake up next to him in the morning, hair tousled and scattered across his pillows. But he couldn’t let himself imagine further than that.
Sakusa pointed meaningfully at the spot on the bed, then at Atsumu. Then he ducked down again and brushed a kiss to Atsumu’s lips. It was barely there, just the lightest press of his mouth, but Atsumu felt it everywhere.
As promised, Sakusa didn’t have holiday plans until later, and as expected, Osamu was busy nearly nonstop at the shop. It seemed like everyone and their mother wanted to host their holiday parties at Onigiri Miya. Atsumu was bursting with pride, and even though he wouldn’t admit it to his brother directly, he was glad Suna was sticking around to help out.
With a strange middle point stretch of time between the beginning of his holiday break and the actual holidays when he’d head back to Hyogo, Atsumu spent more time than usual at the gym. He’d thought that breaking their losing streak would have loosened up the tight knot of anxiety in the center of his chest, but it seemed to have only gone temporarily dormant, able to flare up again at any time. So, he exhausted himself, and tried not to think about how angry Kita-san would be with him for not taking care of himself better.
“If you get yourself sick,” Sakusa said one night. “Don’t you dare come near me.”
Atsumu hoped it was an empty threat, that he was all bark and minimal bite. Sakusa sounded a bit haughty for just getting fucked - Atsumu was still in awe every time he got to fuck Sakusa, still surprised how demure he could look spread out on Atsumu’s sheets, despite eviscerating Atsumu with his words at any chance he got.
If Atsumu was being honest with himself, he liked that part, too.
“Why would I get sick?”
Sakusa rolled his eyes. Every time he rolled his eyes, it looked like he was doing it with his whole body. “Because you’re an idiot,” he said, matter of fact. Atsumu pretended to smother him with a pillow, and Sakusa let out a surprised-sounding laugh before pushing him off.
He laughed. Atsumu’s heart stuttered.
“Don’t lie,” he said, to distract himself. “You’d get me Samu’s food to help me feel better.”
“Would not,” Sakusa snapped.
“Would too,” Atsumu said, leaning down to catch his mouth in a kiss. “Would too, would too.”
“You’re unbearable,” Sakusa said, but his hands were gentle when he cupped Atsumu’s face between them. “You’re disgusting and I hate you.”
“Mmhmm,” Atsumu hummed. He couldn’t stop smiling.
The holidays were a blur. Atsumu had known they would be, they were every year. Even though Christmas was just him and Osamu and their mom, it was loud and hectic. The twins almost always brought that out in each other.
It was a warm and happy affair, though, one or two or all of them crammed into the kitchen, cooking and laughing and chatting. Later, full of food and drinking with his brother, Atsumu pretended not to notice their mom drift away to the shrine she’d set up for their dad.
His father was a stranger to him, a man categorized in his brain only by his departure - not even his death. That came later. He was already gone to Atsumu well before he passed.
Osamu nudged his knee against his on the couch. It was a distraction and they both knew it.
“How’s Sakusa-san?” he asked easily, grinning.
“How’s Sunarin?” Atsumu shot back, just to see his brother’s cheeks flush. It was faint, but he saw it. He knew.
Osamu looked away. “Don’t get yourself hurt, you scrub,” he told him. “I’m not picking up the pieces.” Even though he would. They both knew he always would.
Atsumu felt a small pang of worry in his chest. If Suna broke his heart, he knew Osamu wouldn’t fall apart the way Atsumu would. He’d turn it all inward. He’d hurt alone.
“You can,” Atsumu started, a lump forming in his throat. “Tell me if…”
Osamu looked horrified. “Are you trying to have a heart to heart right now?”
“Maybe!” Atsumu snapped, feeling defensive.
“Please don’t,” Osamu said, pained.
“Well, sorry I care about you.”
Childishly, Osamu shoved him. This caused Atsumu to spill sochu on their mom’s couch, which resulted in an argument which promptly derailed their whole conversation.
It wasn’t until later, when they’d cleaned up the spill and took the dishes back into the kitchen to wash them, that Osamu nudged him again.
“I care about you too,” Osamu mumbled.
“I know, asshole,” Atsumu said, because he did.
Atsumu hadn’t gotten a chance for a proper goodbye before Sakusa had left for his own family holidays, but he did get a text after New Year’s.
Omi-Omi: What kind of music do you like?
Atsumu was already on the train back to Osaka, a takeaway box on his lap stuffed with homemade treats.
He stared at his phone for a solid minute, uncomprehending. During the holidays, Sakusa had gone nearly radio silent except for a few brief texts they’d exchanged on Christmas and a photo Sakusa had sent of snow blanketing a frankly ridiculously expensive looking house.
is that your…house? Atsumu had texted him, to which Sakusa reacted with a question mark.
Omi-Omi: Technically speaking, it is my parents’ home.
fuck directly off.
Now Atsumu stared down at Omi’s out of the blue question and felt his stomach swoop with a complicated but familiar happiness. Atsumu had missed him.
hm, a little bit of everything
why?
Omi-Omi: Just wondering.
well that’s not suspicious at all
Omi-Omi: If you must know
Omi-Omi: I wanted to get you something. Toya said maybe an album.
Atsumu nearly dropped his phone. He blinked, reading and rereading Sakusa’s texts again and again trying to make sense of them. He wanted to get Atsumu a gift. He’d asked his cousin about it. His heart felt like it was too big for his chest.
when can i see you again?
He’d typed it furiously, in a daze, and felt a wild thrill at his daring. It was just a hint of what it could look like - to want without apologizing for it.
Omi-Omi: That’s not an answer.
A pause.
Omi-Omi: I’m back later this week.
Atsumu bit down hard on his lip to stop his helpless smile. It was unsuccessful. He didn’t tell Sakusa that he missed him. He sent him an abridged list of artists he liked and thought about when he’d see him next.
It felt impossible, really, to feel so happy. He knew it wouldn’t last - couldn’t. But he still swallowed it all down into the very center of him, as if he could keep it alive there.
Sakusa, Atsumu was not even a little bit surprised to find out, owned a record player. It seemed well-used, too, with albums neatly arranged on the shelves below. They didn’t often meet at Sakusa’s place - Atsumu’s apartment was closer to the gym so they’d fallen into an unintentional rhythm of going there after practices more often than not.
But occasionally, they ended up at Sakusa’s apartment instead. Atsumu loved it there, though he hadn’t expected to. He had always felt most comfortable in spaces that were more in his own control. He could appear at ease, content, and confident anywhere, but there was something about Sakusa’s apartment that was genuinely calming to him.
It was decidedly less cramped - he would call it cozy - than Atsumu’s, and the sparse furnishings he had looked charmingly old. They also seemed expensive, but Atsumu didn’t dare comment on that - Sakusa could be testy sometimes about his money.
“I don’t like to rely on things I didn’t earn,” Sakusa had told him once, and Atsumu still remembered how serious he looked, with that adorable little crease between his eyebrows.
Sakusa’s record player had that same old, charming look to it, as did the shelves it rested on top of, shelves Atsumu was sitting cross-legged next to now, going through his collection. Sakusa was in the kitchen unpacking the desserts Atsumu had brought from home.
“Didn’t peg you for a jazz guy, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu called to him as he put aside another album.
Sakusa peered around the corner. He looked relaxed and comfortable in a black sweater and loose jeans. Atsumu tried to stop staring.
It was funny that for all their years knowing each other at least in some capacity, he had rarely seen Sakusa in casual clothes that weren’t athleisure. It was a good look on him, his pale skin dramatic in contrast to his dark sweater, his dark hair and eyes.
Forcefully, Atsumu tore his eyes away and returned his attention to the albums.
“Well, unlike some people,” Sakusa said, as he padded over in his house slippers. “I’m multifaceted.”
“Yeah, you’ve got layers alright…” Atsumu said, half distracted. He thought he’d seen a familiar cover on one of the shelves. “Like an onion.”
“Did you just - ”
“No way.” Atsumu was glad he was sitting down. “No fucking way.”
He looked up and over at Sakusa, who raised one eyebrow at him. “Care to elaborate?”
“How do you have this?”
“Well, as you know, one usually exchanges money for goods and services.”
Atsumu didn’t even spare any reaction to that response. He was too stunned to think. “I’ve been looking for Dune for ages…seriously, how did you get this?”
L’arc-en-Ciel had been one of Atsumu’s favorites since as early as high school, and he’d found that their first album on vinyl - when he’d tried to find it later in adulthood - was nearly impossible to find. He couldn’t believe that Sakusa had it. He couldn’t believe Sakusa was a fan of Laruku. It felt like his mind was melting out of his ears.
“Oh,” Sakusa said, then looked away in a breezy, dismissive, casual way that seemed too practiced to be genuine. “I actually have all their albums.” Despite mumbling the last bit, it seemed like he was trying to keep the pride out of his voice.
Atsumu stroked the front cover reverently. “How long have you liked them?”
Even in his stunned state, Atsumu found the awareness to note the way Sakusa’s fingers twitched at his side before he slipped his hands in his pockets, which meant that he was probably hiding something. Atsumu found he was recognizing his tells more and more now. What does this mean what does this mean what does this -
“A while,” Sakusa said noncommittally. “Anyway, you could have said you liked them when I asked what music you liked. I didn’t know if you were still into them.”
Atsumu froze and looked up at Sakusa again, confused. Still?
To his amazement, Sakusa’s cheeks looked flushed. “You may have mentioned them at one of the youth camps.”
Wonderingly, Atsumu thought back to high school. He tried to recall Sakusa at the camps, whether he’d noticed him listening. Back then, he’d appeared even more aloof than now. He’d barely said two words to anyone who wasn’t his cousin, though Atsumu thought he remembered Sakusa putting Kageyama through the ringer for beating Ushijima to go to nationals.
Atsumu knew he remembered being obsessed with him as a player, but he had been too overwhelmed by his barely-realized crush on his senpai to pay too much attention to Sakusa as anything else. But he had eyes. He’d taken one look at Sakusa’s swing, his mess of curls, his intense dark eyes, and thought, “Fuck.”
The fact that Sakusa had not only been watching him back - he knew he had been, he was always watching and analyzing players - but listening and paying attention, too, made Atsumu’s chest feel warm and full.
“What?” Sakusa said, voice wary, and Atsumu realized he’d been staring for too long.
“Nothing,” he said. He kept his tone light and easy, even though his mind was reeling. “God, I want to fuck you so badly.”
Sakusa stared at him, his head tilted to the side just so, and Atsumu clapped one hand to his mouth. He hadn’t realized he was going to say it out loud until it was already out.
“That’s a bit presumptuous,” Sakusa said.
“Why? You wanted to fuck me?” Atsumu looked up at him coyly through his lashes.
Sakusa stepped forward and curled one hand in the hair just above the nape of his neck. “Maybe. And if I said I did?”
Atsumu’s eyes fluttered shut. He tried to steady his breathing and his heartbeat, which had skyrocketed the second Sakusa had touched him. Even that light of a touch.
He forced himself to open his eyes and meet Sakusa’s gaze.
“Why don’t you try it, then?” he said, a challenge.
“Big words, pretty boy.”
“Aw, you think I’m pretty?”
Sakusa’s smile was all sharp edges, and yet somehow still as charming as the space around them.
As Sakusa pressed him down into his bed, threading their fingers together above Atsumu’s head, Atsumu felt….strange. He felt undone with Sakusa’s eyes on him, a slow but inevitable unraveling.
They’d been hooking up for months and Atsumu knew he was no good at burying how he felt, knew it was always brimming at the surface of him, just waiting to spill over.
But this, suddenly, seemed somehow different.
Despite what he’d said, Sakusa slicked Atsumu’s fingers with lube and guided his hand so he could open him up. He sighed when Atsumu added a second finger, moaned quietly at the third.
“Yeah?” Atsumu murmured, and shivered when Sakusa clenched around his fingers.
Above him, Sakusa’s eyes fluttered open, dim light glittering in the black pools of his blown pupils. “Please,” he said, voice nearly inaudible. Atsumu gazed up at him, spellbound.
“Yes,” he said immediately. “Whatever you want. Anything.”
Sakusa huffed out a little laugh. “You keep saying that.”
“I mean it,” Atsumu said. He forced himself to meet Sakusa’s gaze and hold it, felt the thrill deep at his center from saying it out loud.
He could’ve sworn he saw a flush creep up on Sakusa’s face.
“Fuck, Atsumu - ” Sakusa said, and it was very nearly a whine. Then he was fumbling for a condom, his movements uncharacteristically frantic, and Atsumu was meeting him halfway, sliding it down on his cock while Sakusa shifted into a better position and sank down.
With a thump, Atsumu tossed his head back against the pillows, his hands flying up to grip Sakusa by the hips. Sakusa responded in turn, lifting his hips and slamming back down, dragging a moan from Atsumu before he settled into a rhythm.
Almost in a daze, Atsumu touched Sakusa’s cock, heard his breath catch.
It wasn’t long at all before Atsumu was gasping on every breath. He tried to focus on jerking Sakusa off in time with Sakusa’s movements.
He barely dared to look up at him. He knew he was so far gone that just seeing him - wrecked and wanton and riding Atsumu’s cock - might tip him over the edge.
But he felt Sakusa’s fingertips on his face, tilting his chin up for a kiss. It made the angle a little awkward, but Atsumu adjusted immediately, thumb sliding over his tip, feeling the beads of precome.
“Close,” Sakusa whispered against his mouth, nipping lightly on his lower lip - then a bit rougher when Atsumu whimpered. “God, I -”
Whatever he was about to say was cut off when Atsumu kissed him again, fierce and needy. He felt unhinged with want, his own orgasm building, nearing its crest -
“I love you,” Atsumu said.
Sakusa came, his body shuddering and clenching around Atsumu, with a peculiar heaving sobbing sound like it was torn out of him. Atsumu tumbled after him, one hand tangled in his curls, the other clasped on his hip.
Atsumu blinked up at him, dazed from the comedown. Some of Sakusa’s come had splashed as far as Atsumu’s chin from the angle. Most had landed on his stomach and his chest, but he didn’t even notice. He couldn’t. He couldn’t even breathe.
Staring down at him, Sakusa looked just as stunned.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
“Atsumu,” Sakusa said, voice soft, and Atsumu’s stomach lurched.
He pushed away as quickly as he could manage - god, he was still inside him - and scrambled out of bed and towards the bathroom. He stumbled a little and fumbled for the light switch, but he wasn’t as familiar with Sakusa’s apartment.
He didn’t have time to bother with it - he was throwing up before he even reached the toilet.
Distantly, he heard Sakusa saying something, but it sounded so far away and muffled, as if someone had stuffed cotton balls in his ears.
“Atsumu,” Sakusa said again, closer now. He retched again, holding one hand out towards the door as if that would stop Sakusa from coming in - he hadn’t shut the door behind him, there hadn’t been enough time - shit -
“What’s wrong?” the words floated over him. “Let me see you.”
“Don’t,” Atsumu said miserably. “Please don’t.”
‘He can’t see this’ was Atsumu’s only thought. He can’t see me like this. He was crying, he realized, really properly crying, his whole body heaving with sobs. Why had he said that?
“Can I turn on the light?” Sakusa asked.
“No!” Atsumu cried. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ll clean it up.”
Disgusting. He was disgusting. He remembered Sakusa’s scrunched up face when Atsumu got come on the sheets, how he wouldn’t kiss him after he swallowed, how he would pointedly put his mask on if any of the team fucking sneezed or heaven-forbid coughed the wrong way.
He’ll never want you again.
“Atsumu,” Sakusa’s hand was on the back of his neck. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Are you sick? Do you need - ”
On instinct, Atsumu flinched away from Sakusa’s touch. But without the calming weight of his hand, Atsumu felt even more undone.
His stomach twisted again, but he swallowed down the nausea as much as he could. “I have to go,” he said, and hoped Sakusa didn’t notice the way his voice broke. His throat felt raw.
Frantically, he wiped up whatever he could. It was dark in the bathroom still, lit only by the dim glow from a lamp Sakusa must have turned on in the bedroom, but Atsumu could still see Sakusa crouched next to him.
“I have to go,” Atsumu repeated. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” Sakusa said. He didn’t touch him again, but his hand still hovered like he wanted to. “It’s okay. I can clean up.” His voice was unbearably gentle, and Atsumu choked on another sob.
Why did he say it? Because he meant it. He loved Sakusa Kiyoomi.
If he could have run from the apartment like he was in some kind of drama, he would have. As it was, Sakusa finally left the bathroom reluctantly so Atsumu could sit in the dark and quiet alone.
Alone. Alone.
After he’d forced himself to just breathe for as long as he possibly could, his heartbeat finally evening out, he quickly washed off. He found that Sakusa had left his clothes folded neatly on the counter for him while he was in the shower. Atsumu swallowed down another lump of agony.
He didn’t look at Sakusa as he moved silently around the apartment gathering his other things - he couldn’t bear to. He’d ruined everything by saying it out loud. He’d ruined it like he always did. He should have known.
“I’ll be right back,” Sakusa told him after Atsumu had finished shoving his things into his backpack. “Then I can drive you home.”
“Nah, don’t worry, I can just take the train,” Atsumu said, focused intently on the zipper of his bag, which was stuck on something.
“I’ll drive you home,” Sakusa repeated. He didn’t say that they needed to talk. He didn’t have to.
But there was no way in hell Atsumu was ready for that conversation. Almost as soon as the bathroom door clicked shut behind Sakusa, Atsumu was gone.
It was freezing outside, much colder than late February had any right to be, and it was a sharp shock after the cozy warmth of Sakusa’s apartment. But Atsumu welcomed the bracing chill, because it emptied his mind momentarily.
All he could think about was his chattering teeth and how he should have worn a scarf and not Sakusa’s hand on the back of his feverish neck. He blinked furiously. He would not cry in the middle of the night on the sidewalk outside Sakusa Kiyoomi’s apartment building.
He shoved it down, knowing it was futile, knowing that trying to bury how he felt was how he’d ended up here alone.
He headed toward the station. He thought about calling his brother, but he couldn’t even bear that. “I’m not picking up the pieces,” Osamu had said. Besides, it was late.
His throat hurt. His stomach hurt. He just wanted to be home. Or, he thought, bitterly, uselessly, you could turn around and go back to Omi’s place. Apologize. Explain. Do anything except run away like a coward.
He could say it was an accident, a mistake, but he knew he wouldn’t. Because it wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a mistake.
Atsumu didn’t know when it had happened, he couldn’t pinpoint one time or even a handful. It was like it all finally stacked up enough for him to realize it - Omi’s rare smiles and even rarer laughs, his sarcasm, the way he watched and listened, the way he challenged Atsumu to be better, how he waited for him after practice, no matter how long it took. Atsumu genuinely didn’t know if he’d ever been in love before, but he knew this had to be it.
“Shit,” he whispered, and his breath turned into mist in front of his face. “Shit.” He scrubbed at his eyes, tucked his jacket tighter around him, and kept walking.
In the end, he did call Osamu. He hadn’t been able to sleep at all when he finally made it home, so he’d taken a questionable dose of nighttime cold medicine and when he woke up again, he felt like time wasn’t real.
He felt hazy and suspended, nearly blissful in unreality. Until he checked his phone and everything came crashing back down on him.
There were five missed calls from Sakusa and a scattering of texts from Sakusa and his other teammates that he couldn’t bring himself to open.
Atsumu knew he was going to spiral. And he knew he couldn’t be alone for it this time.
“I’m coming over,” Atsumu said as soon as his brother picked up. “Ninth inning.”
It was an old game, a code they’d used when they were in middle school and childhood, after they had tried to join a baseball club and then decided unanimously that they hated the sport.
They’d both grown to like baseball well enough, but the phrase had already stuck. It had been years. Still, Osamu would know what it meant - when things got so awful it was beyond words, beyond explanation, they’d reached the ninth inning.
“Are we going to talk about what this is about?” Osamu asked.
It was late afternoon - Osamu had left the shop in the middle of his shift for him, Atsumu thought, with an uncomfortable pang of guilt. He’d never ditched the shop without warning before.
But Atsumu didn’t think he could bear even saying it out loud, so he just shook his head vehemently.
Osamu passed him more food. His brother’s cooking was usually Atsumu’s number one get-out-of-a-slump cure-all, but his chest hadn’t loosened up even a little bit.
“It’s happening again,” Osamu said. “The…” He mimed the act of throwing up and Atsumu grimaced at him.
“Yeah,” he managed to get out around a thick mouthful of rice. Sakusa always teased him for talking with his mouth full when he got too excited. He ducked his head.
“Is it…” Osamu started, then huffed as Atsumu shoveled more rice in his mouth so he didn’t have to respond to whatever he was going to say. “Whatever, suit yourself.”
Atsumu couldn’t muster a retort. Even full of food, he still felt emptied out. He didn’t know how he could go back to Osaka now - how he could show his face at practice with Sakusa there.
A buzzing sound interrupted his thoughts.
“Sunarin,” Osamu said into his phone. He’d been texting while Atsumu ate, but he’d just assumed it was work-related. “Don’t try to weasel information out of me. He won’t say anything.”
Suna asked something Atsumu couldn’t hear, probably if he was there in Hyogo.
“Currently shovin’ his face with rice and mopin’ around my apartment, yeah.”
Atsumu scoffed, offended.
“You called Suna?” Atsumu said, loud enough so he could be sure Suna heard him over the line.
“Technically, he called me,” Osamu pointed out.
“Irrelevant!”
“You’re irrelevant.”
Atsumu opened his mouth, then shut it again. His stomach fluttered uncomfortably.
Maybe he was. Maybe that’s why everyone would leave him in the end.
There was an awkward, charged silence, then Atsumu heard the sound of Suna’s indistinct voice over the line again. Osamu glanced at Atsumu, then leaned back against the counter.
“Hate to do this since you’re not an employee anymore, but could you check in on the shop for me before you come over? I had to rush out in the middle of a shift. But otherwise, I think we’re all set here.”
Atsumu swallowed down more guilt. Another pause as Suna replied. “Thank you,” Osamu said. His voice sounded soft and tender, it was almost unbearable.
Atsumu felt like he was intruding even more than before just for hearing that, just the smallest thing.
“I can go,” he blurted out.
“No, you fucking can’t,” Osamu said, matter-of-fact. “Rin’s on his way. Eat your food.”
That’s the reason I should be leaving, Atsumu thought, but he swallowed another bite and fought to keep it down.
For the next hour or so, Atsumu didn’t feel like talking at all. And Samu, thankfully, didn’t press him further, even though he knew he was feeling uneasy about it, not knowing. Not being able to help.
Still, Atsumu managed to keep his food down. They watched a game replay. They watched one of Osamu’s dramas that he liked. They didn’t talk about Sakusa.
“I like Sunarin,” Osamu said finally. He wasn’t looking at Atsumu, just kept his eyes fixed intently straight ahead at the TV screen.
“Yeah?” Atsumu said, instead of, “No shit,” which he thought might be insensitive right now. He was glad he didn’t when Osamu finally looked at him, eyes clouded and troubled.
“It’s,” he started. “Well - he doesn’t feel that way. Probably. I don’t know.” He scrubbed one hand through his dark hair.
Atsumu remembered when they’d both bleached and dyed their hair the first time, clumsily, and how they’d laughed after at how they finally, finally, looked different - like sun and moon.
“But you’re still fucking,” Atsumu said. Osamu made a disgusted face at him.
“Gross,” he said. “But yeah.” His phone buzzed again, a text this time it seemed, but Atsumu couldn’t quite see it from where he was sitting. He didn’t try, he figured it was Suna anyway.
He felt a prickling annoyance with Suna, and not for the first time. He’d known they were up to something, and he’d known, on some level, Osamu had feelings for him that were more than platonic. But Suna should have known, too. Even after all this time, Suna probably knew Osamu the best - after Atsumu of course. So he should know better than to mess around with Osamu’s feelings like that.
But he returned his attention to the screen without saying anything. He didn’t have any right to judge based on his own non-relationship.
He’d finally gotten around to sending a few texts to his other teammates, delicately skirting around the unread messages from Sakusa in his inbox.
Omi-Omi: Are you alright? Please answer.
Atsumu’s hand hovered over the message, heart fluttering anxiously, but in the end, he scrolled past. Instead, he read through a long text from Hinata as he described trying to teach Kageyama how to play a video game Atsumu had told him about to semi-disastrous results.
Atsumu actually laughed a little as he read through the rambling, excited message. He felt something loosen in his chest at the feeling. It was like sunshine peeking through the clouds.
He’d be able to get through this. He had family and friends who cared about him, no matter how bad he felt. But sometimes not even that felt like enough to drag him back to the surface. It still mattered.
There was a knock on the apartment door. Atsumu glanced towards the little hallway that led to the front door, but Osamu didn’t make a move to answer it. He didn’t even look up.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
Osamu hummed a little, still seemingly distracted by his phone.
“Hello? Earth to Samu? Isn’t that your boyfriend?”
That got a reaction at least as Osamu’s head snapped up so he could glare at him. Atsumu tried to return his expression with a shit-eating grin, but his heart wasn’t fully in it. He was just being petty, and after Osamu had dropped everything just to be there for him.
“Can you let him in?”
“Why me, you lazy scrub? Do it yourself.”
“God, has anyone told you lately that you’re impossible?”
Atsumu refused to flinch. Only one person, really, but he hadn’t really considered the fact that Sakusa could have meant it. He got up without another word and stalked down the hall towards the front door.
“Sorry to ruin your unholy plans with my brother, but you’re stuck with - ”
As soon as the door swung open, he met eyes with none other than Sakusa Kiyoomi.
“- me.” Atsumu finished lamely.
Then he shut the door directly in Sakusa’s face. It was pure instinct - he did it without even thinking.
“Shit,” he hissed under his breath. He shut his eyes, took a slow, deep inhale, then opened the door again.
Sakusa’s hand was raised as if he was about to knock again, and it hung awkwardly there for another moment before he slowly lowered it.
Atsumu stared at Sakusa. Sakusa stared back.
Atsumu knew his expression was raw, too open and vulnerable, but he couldn’t help it. “What’re ya doing here?” he asked.
Sakusa’s eyes slid from his face to his clothes, which Atsumu just then realized were very nearly slovenly. He’d shown up at Osamu’s place in sweats and one of his old Inarizaki hoodies, his unwashed hair uncaringly swept off his face, and he hadn’t bothered to change since.
“You are so stupid,” Sakusa snapped suddenly. This, impossibly, managed to stun Atsumu even more.
“Excuse me?”
“Do you know how worried I was?”
He sounded like an anxious parent - so much so that Atsumu almost laughed. He would have if he wasn’t so confused. “I - ”
“No, you probably don’t know,” Sakusa went on, interrupting him, as he pushed past Atsumu in the doorway. He looked perfect in his thick coat and scarf, Atsumu thought distantly, if a bit wind-swept, his nose a little pink from the cold. “You left in the middle of the night after getting sick, you didn’t answer my calls, I was losing my mind over you.”
Again on instinct, Atsumu’s hand caught the very edge of Sakusa’s sleeve, looking for something to hold onto but unsure if he could touch Sakusa. What was allowed? And what could he let himself have without breaking?
“I was… I’m fine,” Atsumu assured him. Sakusa looked down at Atsumu’s hand on his sleeve and Atsumu let go like he’d been burned.
Sakusa made a strangled sort of sound. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Atsumu.” Then he surged forward and kissed him.
Atsumu’s body responded before his mind could catch up - pressing against Sakusa’s frame, feeling the outside chill still lingering on his coat.
“Don’t you get it?” Sakusa said. He sounded so frustrated that Atsumu had to pull away a little to try and read his expression better.
“I don’t,” Atsumu admitted. He felt a little breathless. “But I’m stupid after all.”
There was that crease between Sakusa’s eyebrows again that Atsumu always wanted to press his fingertips to. To smooth it all away.
“I didn’t mean that,” Sakusa mumbled. Now his ears were pink.
Atsumu didn’t want to talk. He wanted to kiss Sakusa again, because apparently that was still allowed. “About saying things we don’t mean…”
Sakusa froze, his body utterly still against Atsumu’s. He took a deep breath to get it out, but found that nothing came.
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I meant what I said,” Atsumu said.
His stomach twisted uncomfortably, but he swallowed the nausea down as best he could. He had to get through this, then he could go cry on Osamu’s couch and they could (hopefully, one day) get back to their regularly scheduled programming.
Sakusa pushed away a little, and Atsumu felt the space between them like a chasm.
“If you’re trying to tease me,” Sakusa said, a bit petulant. “It’s not funny.”
Atsumu tilted his head, at a loss for what the hell Sakusa was talking about.
Sakusa’s expression, strangely vulnerable, mirrored his confusion. It was a confusion that looked almost like pain. “Isn’t it obvious that I’m in love with you?”
It was like someone had opened the curtains after being in the dark for too long, like stepping out of a matinee movie and forgetting there was still daylight. It was like staring up at the night sky until the stars blurred and focused again.
Atsumu couldn’t get his bearings - his whole world spun. “You love me?” he choked out. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded so small.
Sakusa ducked his head and hunched his shoulders up. He looked just like he had in high school then, and Atsumu, impossibly, felt like laughing again - just at the absurdity of it, everything connected, a full circle.
“I love you,” Sakusa said. “Have. Will.”
When Atsumu tilted his head to the side, Sakusa reached out and touched his ear, rubbing a thumb along the shell. There was something soft, nearly unconscious about the gesture that made Atsumu want to cry. He might. He really might.
“I have loved you,” Sakusa clarified, voice gentler, less self-conscious now. “I will love you.”
And Atsumu did start to cry then - it started with a tiny catch in his chest, then there were tears spilling silently over onto his cheeks. He couldn’t stop them once they started.
“Even - ” he hiccuped again. “Even i-if I get sick?”
Sakusa cupped his face between his hands. They were standing in the little hallway still, facing each other. “Even if you’re sick,” he murmured.
“Even when I’m a fucking mess?”
“You’re always a mess,” Sakusa pointed out.
“You know what I mean.”
“I’ll say it as many times as you want, Atsumu,” Sakusa said. “But the line won’t change.”
How can he know? Atsumu’s terrible brain asked. How could Sakusa know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there wouldn’t be some final straw?
“You really didn’t know,” Sakusa said, voice thoughtful and wondering.
This was all too much to be happening in his twin brother’s entryway, but it was happening, Atsumu crying, Sakusa’s hands catching his tears, and both of them somehow, stupidly, impossibly, in love with each other.
“Let go, Omi,” Atsumu said with a weak and watery laugh. “I’m probably getting snot on you.”
He tried to pull his face away from Sakusa’s hands, but Sakusa frowned until he stopped moving. “It’s okay,” Sakusa said, sure and firm. Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth under Atsumu’s eyes, one at a time. “I’m sorry.”
Something ached in Atsumu’s chest. “What?” he said, trying not to splutter. His face felt warm where Sakusa’s lips had touched him. “What for?”
“I’m not good with…” Sakusa started, then gestured between them as if that explained anything.
“You’re not good with…me?”
Sakusa huffed, sounding frustrated. “Apparently I’m not good with words, either,” he muttered. “No, I’m not good with this, Miya. This.” He touched Atsumu again then, his fingertips the lightest brush along his shoulder, and Atsumu held very still.
“Touch,” Atsumu said.
Sakusa nodded. He looked almost embarrassed, but he took a slow breath in like he was steadying himself. “But ever since I met you, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
Stunned, Atsumu just blinked at him.
“You…” he stammered. “You always acted disgusted by me!”
Sakusa at least had the decency to look a bit sheepish. He rubbed self-consciously at the back of his neck. “Yes, well,” he said, not looking at Atsumu. “I was…confused. And I thought you wouldn’t care anyway.”
To be fair, at the time, Atsumu hadn’t really taken it personally. But he definitely would have if he thought Sakusa had feelings for him.
“God, can we not fucking do this?” Atsumu blurted out.
Sakusa looked momentarily hurt before his expression shuttered completely. Atsumu kicked himself internally. He never wanted to make Omi look at him that way ever again.
“No - ” Atsumu reached for Sakusa, stopping just above his sleeves, desperately wanting to just clutch at him like a crying child and stop him from leaving ever again, but knowing that touch was important for him. For them. “I just meant, can we not do this here?”
It wasn’t like Atsumu thought Osamu would be listening in, but there was something too off-putting about having this kind of conversation in the same weirdly intimate space where Osamu cooked and watched TV and probably (definitely) fucked Suna. Atsumu suppressed a shudder at the thought of it.
“Oh,” Sakusa said. His hands crept up to touch Atsumu’s face again, wiping at the tears there which had started to dry and grow sticky on his skin. Atsumu shut his eyes and willed himself not to cry all over again. “Yeah. Yes.”
Atsumu sighed softly. “Let me get my coat,” he whispered. When Sakusa made no move to let go of Atsumu, he took one of Sakusa’s hands in both of his and kissed his palm. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and he made it a promise. Only then did Sakusa drop his hands so Atsumu could move again.
When Atsumu grabbed his stuff from where he’d dumped it earlier on one of the armchairs in the main room, Osamu was nowhere to be seen. Atsumu had a sneaking suspicion that Osamu had known who was actually at the door - but how had he managed to orchestrate this while also babysitting him?
He thought about Sakusa’s hands on his face and how he was waiting for him in the front entryway. He hurried to scribble a quick note telling Osamu that he was heading back to Osaka and thanking him for everything. He decided he didn’t need to know how this happened. That he was just going to be happy it did.
It was a long drive. It still didn’t feel long enough. Sakusa didn’t let go of his hand the entire way, just kept their fingers laced over the gear shift. Atsumu’s cheeks felt too warm, his body too full, like he could barely contain everything.
“Should we talk now?” Atsumu had asked when they first got in Sakusa’s car - Omi had driven all the way to Hyogo for him, he’d gone to Onigiri Miya to get comfort food for him - but Sakusa just shook his head.
“I want to see your face properly,” he said. “I need to know you’re not pretending.”
Atsumu felt a little hurt that Omi thought he would fake anything between them now, but he couldn’t deny that he had been pretending with him before. Omi couldn’t trust him. He felt his stomach flutter at the thought - he wanted to earn Sakusa’s trust so desperately, but he knew it wouldn’t take just words.
And Sakusa hadn’t let go of his hand. So that must mean something.
They drove. Outside the window, Atsumu watched the sunset turn everything golden, his hometown and all the roads that led him away, back to his new home.
Then he turned so he could see that same gold-orange light make Sakusa a masterpiece - his striking profile, the aristocratic line of his nose.
“You can trust me,” he said, voice soft. “I’m not going to run away again.”
Sakusa’s breath hitched faintly, but he kept his eyes fixed on the road. His hand gripped Atsumu’s just a little tighter.
“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu said, so he knew he was being serious. “I promise.”
Sakusa gave a tight, controlled nod, and Atsumu let him keep his silence. They had time. They had all the time they wanted to figure this out.
It was a long, quiet drive. The sun had dipped below the horizon and the street lights glittered to life well before they finally got to Osaka.
But instead of making the turn for Atsumu’s apartment, Sakusa drove them back up into the hills.
“You’re not planning on taking me up here to kill me, are ya?” Atsumu teased, because he couldn’t help running his mouth, because after all that quiet he’d started to feel restless again.
Sakusa waited until he’d parked safely before rolling his eyes at him, which was something so specifically Omi that Atsumu didn’t know whether he could laugh or cry.
But he seemed to have been caught in that space for hours, ever since Sakusa had shown up in Hyogo.
“I’ve had plenty of chances to kill you before now,” Sakusa said. “Besides, where else am I going to find such an insane setter? Oikawa is in Argentina.”
He got out of the car before Atsumu could splutter out a response, leaving Atsumu to scramble after him.
But Sakusa didn’t go far. He only took a few steps towards the overlook before he stopped and turned, waiting expectantly for Atsumu to follow him. He did, of course.
“Use your words,” Atsumu huffed, like a hypocrite. “You can’t just expect me to follow you like a puppy.”
Except he knew he would.
“Can’t I?” Sakusa drawled. The tense edges of him had softened somewhat - maybe it was something about this place that had that effect on him, comforting and familiar. He looked good, effortlessly so, with his expensive looking coat and artfully wind-swept curls.
“You’re all bluster, Miya.”
Atsumu stopped short. Sakusa turned again to look at him, seeming to falter a little himself. “You know what I mean.”
“Not really,” Atsumu said, and he thought he sounded a bit too miserable without meaning to.
“Like I said before,” Sakusa said. “You don’t think anyone sees you. Or - I don’t know - you don’t think anyone cares to see that there’s more to you than what’s loud and on the surface.”
A gust of wind swept around them, kicking up a flurry of leaves. Winter was ending. Soon, there would be cherry blossoms, Atsumu thought.
Almost pensively, Sakusa pushed his dark hair back and away from his face. Atsumu wanted to run his own fingers through those curls so much it felt like an actual, honest-to-god ache in his chest. But he held still.
“Maybe there’s nothing under all that,” Atsumu said, keeping his voice very even and calm. “Maybe that’s all I am. Did you think of that?”
Sakusa’s eyebrows furrowed. He was so cute when he was upset, Atsumu thought, which would probably make him even more upset to know - he’d be impossible to argue with. Were they arguing now? Atsumu didn’t even know.
“No,” Sakusa said after a moment. “I didn’t think of that, because that’s stupid.”
Atsumu scoffed. “You’ve spent half our time knowing each other outlining how loud and annoying I am.”
“Because I was afraid,” Sakusa snapped. It was nearly vicious the way he spat the words out. “Is that what you want to hear?”
“What? No, I don’t want anything. I…”
“I liked you from the minute I saw you and I couldn’t figure out why. You were smug and arrogant and demanding and your hair was terrible.”
“Thanks,” Atsumu muttered.
“Shut up, you had to know that already. And despite all that, I liked you. Despite everything, you were funny and passionate, and I thought I might die if I couldn’t hit your sets again.”
“Omi…”
“It’s ridiculous!” Sakusa was raising his voice now, he seemed to be completely at the end of his rope. “It’s idiotic and it doesn’t make any sense, but I had it so bad for you I was losing my mind.”
Atsumu was too stunned to speak. He didn’t know how Sakusa kept managing to surprise him more.
“You were so easy with your affection with everyone else and I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands, your mouth, and it scared me because I’d never felt that way about anyone, or wanted anyone to touch me - and then when I joined the team I was too afraid that I’d ruin things and - hmnnnnn.”
Atsumu couldn’t bear not kissing him again.
“How dare you,” Sakusa whispered, but he didn’t let go. He tipped his forehead against Atsumu’s. It was freezing outside, the wind whipping against them, but Atsumu felt like their two bodies pressed together were in their own little pocket of the universe.
“Couldn’t help it,” Atsumu mumbled, grinning helplessly. “I like ya too much.”
“No, not that. How dare you think there’s nothing more to you.”
“Don’t, Omi,” Atsumu said with another weak laugh. “You’ll get me cryin’ again.”
His accent kept slipping out. He couldn’t help it - he felt nearly drunk with feeling, barely able to comprehend anything beyond Sakusa’s hands against his waist.
“You’re so frustrating, you know that?” Sakusa said, but he still didn’t pull back, so Atsumu pressed in closer, ducking his head to nuzzle up under his jaw.
“You may have mentioned it before,” Atsumu said with a hum. “Are we done fighting now?”
“Is that what we were doing?”
Atsumu kissed the tiny hollow place where his jaw met his ear.
“I have no idea,” he admitted, shrugging. Sakusa laughed at that, his soft, rare, wonderful laugh, and Atsumu let himself fall in love all over again.
“Atsumu,” Sakusa said, serious again. “I can’t fix you, you know. I love you,” - it never got old to hear it, a thrill ran through Atsumu each time, then settled into a comforting kind of warmth - “But I can’t make everything okay.”
“I know,” Atsumu breathed out.
“And I can’t do anything at all if you keep trying to push me away like this.”
Atsumu tensed. Of course Sakusa had noticed that was what he was doing, even when he only half realized it himself.
“Bad habit.”
“You don’t trust me, either.”
“That’s not - ” Atsumu stopped, frustrated. It seemed like neither of them were very good with words. Everything made much more sense when they had just used their bodies, but Atsumu knew that specific route would end in disaster. Real disaster, not like whatever this was. “That’s not what it is.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I don’t trust me,” Atsumu admitted. “I don’t trust myself to not fuck this up.”
Sakusa made his petulant huffing sound.
“Well, what if nothing ever fixes me?” Atsumu went on, feeling the words tumble out. He knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t seem to stop now that he was already going. “What if I get sick every time I’m anxious for the rest of my life? What if I’m always in a slump? What if I keep losing and I can’t ever manage to bounce back and I lash out at you and hurt you? How long until it’s too much?”
Until I’m too much. Atsumu felt like he’d lost so much already, in both small and large ways. He didn’t know if this would be the one to break him completely. It felt like it might be.
“I don’t know,” Sakusa said finally.
Awfully, Atsumu felt bile rise up in the back of his throat. But then both Sakusa’s hands were stroking Atsumu’s hair back from his eyes, his touch so gentle and intentional that it nearly hurt.
“I don’t know,” Sakusa said again, pressing his words into Atsumu’s forehead with a kiss. “I know things won’t be perfect. God, it’s already a disaster. But you make me…better, Atsumu. You make me the best version of myself. I’m not half as good as you seem to think I am, but I want to be.”
“But you are,” Atsumu protested. “And you’re going to realize…”
“What? That you snore? That you sometimes forget to brush your teeth?”
A smile twitched at the edge of Sakusa’s mouth, and Atsumu wished he could shut his own goddamn mouth and enjoy the moment, but he couldn’t.
“That I’m too much,” he said, voice flat. “You’re going to realize I’m too much all the time and you’re going to leave me.”
It hung between them, true and raw and ugly.
“You won’t even try?” Sakusa snapped finally. “Miya, you’re the impulsive one here.”
“So?”
“So, be impulsive.”
Stupidly, Atsumu wanted to be back in Osamu’s front hallway then. Everything had made a strange sort of sense there - when he’d just let himself fall into Sakusa, when he’d let himself have a fraction, just a taste of what he wanted.
“You could get hurt,” Atsumu said.
“So could you.”
“I couldn’t live with myself.”
“And you think I could?” Sakusa asked. His voice, which had seemed so calm up until that point, wavered a little. Something melted in Atsumu. “I’m terrified, Atsumu. I want to be with you anyway.”
Atsumu pressed the heels of both palms into his eyes. “What are we even doing?” he said, laughing despite himself. He felt worn out. He was so tired of pretending not to want this.
“You tell me,” Sakusa said. He raised one eyebrow like it was a challenge, like he was teasing him, but Atsumu could see how tight and wary his expression was.
“Okay,” Atsumu said, then stepped back in as close as he could get. He had already decided. “I’m telling you. I’m terrified, Kiyoomi. I love you anyway.”
Sakusa's breath gusted over his face as he let out a shaky sigh. “That’s my line,” he said with a little smile.
Atsumu’s stomach exploded with butterflies like he was a teenager all over again. “Hm, was it? I think you missed the I love you part.”
“I told you I’d say it as many times as you want.”
Atsumu traced his fingertips along Sakusa’s cheekbone, over the shell of his ear, into the tangled waves of his hair, and Sakusa shivered.
“When I told you I loved you the first time…” Atsumu said slowly.
“Hm?” Sakusa had tilted his head to the side just ever so slightly, like a cat stretching out asking for attention.
“When I told you I loved you, you came for me.”
It seemed like Sakusa’s entire body stilled under Atsumu’s touch. But Atsumu didn’t stop touching him - he slid his hand down Sakusa’s chest, then lower, feeling his stomach muscles flex subtly against his palm. Sakusa’s eyes had gone heavy-lidded, his breathing thick.
“Do it again?” Atsumu asked. “Pretty please.”
Sakusa’s eyes fluttered and refocused on him. He looked at Atsumu like he hung the moon.
“Well,” he murmured. “Since you asked so nicely.”
Atsumu was never letting Sakusa out of his sight ever again, and for once, he didn’t care whether that was selfish or not.
Even in the winter chill, Atsumu felt feverish when Kiyoomi pressed him up against the side of the car door, his mouth hot against his lips, his neck. Their hands crept up each other’s shirts, their fingernails dug into each other - Atsumu hissing, then moaning - not from desperation, but something like it.
“Get in,” Kiyoomi said, half command, half request, and Atsumu fumbled behind him for the door handle without taking his mouth off Kiyoomi’s neck. It wasn’t exactly comfortable - Sakusa pushing him down in the backseat, Atsumu spreading his legs shamelessly so Sakusa could press against him, so he could feel how hard he was - but it didn’t matter.
It was perfect. It was everything. And he could have it.
Sakusa was pushing Atsumu’s pants down as best he could in the tight space, his lip caught between his teeth. Atsumu reached out - finally, finally - to pull his lip free gently. Sakusa blinked at him slowly but didn’t say anything, so Atsumu ran the pad of his thumb along his lower lip before dipping it into Sakusa’s mouth, which opened easily for him.
“Tsumu,” Sakusa slurred around his thumb. Atsumu pulled out only to replace it with two fingers. Sakusa sucked on them, tongue sliding languidly against his skin. Atsumu didn’t realize he was lifting his hips, trying to hump against Sakusa’s body, until Sakusa pressed his hips down against his. He gasped.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi said again, this time a little clearer.
“Yeah, baby?” Atsumu whispered, testing it out in his mouth. The possession. The belonging. Kiyoomi moaned around the fingers in his mouth. Atsumu pulled his fingers out because it felt like he needed to kiss him, and Kiyoomi kissed him back, fierce and urgent.
When Kiyoomi lowered his head to Atsumu’s neck, kissing along the tender skin, sucking hard against him, Atsumu had to bite down on his own knuckles to keep from howling. He was leaving a mark now, Atsumu knew it. He wanted him to.
Sakusa mumbled something into his neck - he was grinding his hips down almost mindlessly - and Atsumu tugged lightly at his hair. “What?” he whispered. “What is it?”
“Want everyone to know,” Sakusa said, so quiet Atsumu almost couldn’t hear him. He wouldn’t quite meet Atsumu’s eye. “I don’t want anyone else to have you.”
Atsumu felt like he needed to hold onto something. He’d never really thought falling in love could actually feel like a fall until that moment. “God - Omi,” he choked out. “I’m yours. I told you. You can have anything, whatever you want.”
“And I told you that was a dangerous thing to say.”
“Nah,” Atsumu said. He was smiling. He couldn’t help himself. “Not if it’s you.”
“You’re going to kill me,” Kiyoomi said, burying his face in Atsumu’s chest. “I knew this would be a disaster.”
“The best kind.”
“The best kind,” Kiyoomi agreed. Then he was rucking Atsumu’s shirt up so he could kiss his way along the skin of his stomach.
It was cramped and the angle was awkward, but it didn’t matter, because Sakusa was curved over him, both of them pushing each other's clothing aside just far enough to touch bare skin - just enough so Sakusa could get his mouth on Atsumu’s cock.
Atsumu’s hand scrabbled for purchase on the door behind his head as Sakusa took him all the way down in one go. “Oh, fuck.” Sakusa’s eyes flickered up to meet his - Atsumu could have sworn they almost sparkled in the dim light.
Even though Atsumu was mostly clothed, he felt laid bare, completely exposed. And he wanted it. He had chosen this. He knew that out of all the options, Sakusa Kiyoomi was nowhere near the simplest choice. But god, he didn’t care in the slightest.
“Kiyo…mi…” Atsumu panted, unable to even form his name fully in his mouth. “Stop, stop - I’m going to come…”
Kiyoomi moaned, then wrapped his hand around the base of Atsumu’s cock, moving it in time with his mouth - his other hand seemed to be shoved down his own jeans - and Atsumu wasn’t going to last, he could feel it.
Urgently, he tugged at Kiyoomi’s hair, trying to pull him off his cock, but this seemed to send Kiyoomi further into a frenzy, and it was too late - Atsumu tipped over the edge, choking over a desperate cry as his come spilled into Kiyoomi’s mouth. Kiyoomi made a keening noise.
“Shit,” Atsumu gasped. “I’m sorry - here, spit it out - ”
But Kiyoomi had already swallowed. He lifted his head slowly, face flushed, breath shaky and fast. Atsumu stared at him.
“You…”
“I wanted to,” Sakusa said quickly. Atsumu laughed, breathless, and lifted himself up so he could kiss Sakusa again - he never wanted to stop kissing him, whether or not his mouth tasted sharp with come, it didn’t matter.
“C’mere, baby,” Atsumu whispered, tugging Sakusa onto his lap. “Let me take care of you.”
Sakusa tucked his face into Atsumu’s neck. His cheeks felt hot. “Don’t worry about me,” he said.
“Omiiii,” Atsumu whined, pressing his palm between Sakusa’s legs. “You didn’t even wait for me to tell you I loved you.”
“Well,” Kiyoomi said, pulling back so he could look Atsumu in the eye finally. He was still blushing, Atsumu noted, but smiling. “Good thing we have plenty of time for that.”
“Yeah,” Atsumu breathed. All the time in the world.
From the overlook, they could see the whole city spread out below them like some strange mirror to the starlit sky. But Atsumu wasn’t looking at stars, artificial or otherwise. He was looking at Kiyoomi.
He knew Osamu was going to be so smug about this when he found out, but this was one fight Atsumu was more than happy to lose.