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It was a risk to come back here.
Then again, everything in Sakusa’s life was a risk. What difference would this make?
This is the logic Sakusa used to convince himself that it was a good idea - or at least not a stupidly awful idea - to go back to the place he’d never thought he would see again.
He still remembered what his life here had been like. How could he forget? It was both the best and worst year of his life. The best because of who he spent it with, the worst because of...well, who he spent it with. The constant paranoia of having his true identity discovered never outweighed the desire to stay, but that didn’t mean he’d thought it would last forever. He knew everything here had had an expiration date.
It was just that the longer he stayed, the more he wished that it hadn’t.
No matter how much he thought up theories of how he could stretch out their time longer, that wouldn’t have changed reality. At some point, who he really was would have been discovered, even if the mission hadn’t demanded a revelation.
Sakusa had fooled Atsumu for a long time, but eventually something would’ve drawn suspicion. Something would have made Atsumu look deeper than the background checks. And even Sakusa couldn’t completely erase himself from the world, as much as he tried, there would always be traces. And that would have been enough for Atsumu to find out that his story didn’t match up. He counts himself lucky it never came to that. He was able to keep everything in check, and their days weren’t cut short early.
When he came upon his destination, the first thing he noticed was that the door in front of him was dirty. Not that Atsumu ever cared about the cleanliness of their doors, but it looked...unused. Abandoned. Sakusa couldn’t decide if it made him feel better or worse than Atsumu didn’t live here anymore. He wondered if that was his fault.
As expected, the doorknob turned roughly. Definitely hadn’t been used in a while. But the room inside - Sakusa flinched when he saw it.
Exactly the same.
Everything was exactly the same as the day he left, although it had an added layer of dust. Sakusa’s gaze landed on the coffee table. On it was the book he’d been reading that morning. He’d left it open, intending to pick it up again later. He never had.
Wrenching his eyes away from the living room, Sakusa turned toward the kitchen. There were their plates they’d eaten breakfast on. He remembered the feeling of that morning, eating what he knew would be his last meal here. He had felt so terrible that Atsumu had noticed and worried about him, which just made the feeling worse. He didn’t deserve that. Atsumu should worry about someone who wasn’t lying to him in every way that mattered.
The logical next step was the bedroom, but Sakusa hesitated. Did he even want to see what was there? If the bedroom was consistent with the rest of the place, it would be the same as the day he left, and he already knew what it would look like. Disarrayed, Atsumu’s side with more pillows than any human should ever use. He knew what it would look like.
He went in anyways.
Sakusa couldn’t quite place the feeling that washed over him upon entering, but it was something scarily close to regret. He quickly shut that down. The one thing he had never let himself do was regret his actions, because he knew those consequences. What would he have done if he’d stayed? Give up on his life’s work, let thousands suffer, because he wasn’t strong enough to stick to the mission? No, it just wasn’t plausible. He knew how many people had been saved by his year-long mission, and that made it worth it. His personal desires, like always, had nothing to do with it.
Re-focusing on the room in front of him, Sakusa sneezed. It was dustier in here, and he grimaced because of it. He would be out of here soon, there wasn’t actually much to look at, and there wasn’t anything he really needed to do here. He had simply allowed himself a moment of weakness. He’ll justify it to himself later.
The room, as expected, was messy in all the ways he remembered. The blankets were scrunched up on the bottom of the bed, as if someone had gotten too hot during the night. On the side of the room there was the same chair with the same hole in it that they’d never got around to fixing. The carpet still had that stain from the drink Atsumu had spilled.
On further inspection, however, it became apparent that there were a few small things that had changed, unlike in the other rooms. The dresser drawers on Atsumu’s side were open and emptied. Atsumu’s letters from his brother were no longer messily stacked on the bedside table. And the one picture they had allowed themselves in the entire house, a picture of the two of them, was lying broken on the floor.
Sakusa stepped towards the photo, and picked it up. The glass was completely shattered. A simple drop wouldn’t have done this much damage, it had obviously been thrown with intent. Anger. His breath hitched with the realization that Atsumu had thrown it, although he couldn’t explain why. He knew Atsumu was angry, and it was deserved. Atsumu would never forgive him. It’s just that he thought that he’d already come to terms with that.
He could picture the scene so clearly. Atsumu stormed into the bedroom, enraged, furious. He stuffed his belongings into a bag, and his eyes caught on the photo. Sakusa wondered if he had picked it up and looked at it before throwing it, or maybe he just backhanded it across the room. Which one was worse?
The glass shards from the frame still lay on the floor, and Sakusa had an inane urge to pick them up, to salvage something from the mess. But he didn’t do it. It was best to leave everything how it was. He didn’t want Atsumu to know that he’d come here, if Atsumu ever came back.
This was such a stupid idea in the first place. What did he expect to gain from coming back here? There was nothing that could have helped him, nothing that would have provided closure. It just reopened old wounds that had barely healed in the first place. He usually thought of himself as better than this, he had to be in his kind of work. He didn’t have room for this kind of weakness. Atsumu had just been a job, and he needed to realize that. There was nothing else there, he’d only gotten close to him because that was the only way to get what he needed. The only problem was that Sakusa had let his guard down, and been weak enough to allow himself to jeopardize the mission.
He would never do that again. Whether for the sake of the mission, or the aftermath, he would never allow himself that weakness again.
He moved to set the picture frame, still without the glass, back on the dresser. Let Atsumu wonder if he came back here. It didn’t matter. None of this would, he just needed to -
“You here to let me make good on my promise?”
That voice - Sakusa dropped the frame. It landed softly on the carpet. He spun towards the bedroom door, and no, he hadn’t been hallucinating.
Atsumu.
“Did you go deaf in the last year, or are you just happy to see me?” Although Atsumu’s tone was light, his eyes were hard as stone. His barely there smile was almost a grimace. Sakusa knew that face all too well. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have, ever, and his eyes darted to the nearest escape route - the window. But Atsumu followed his gaze, and realized what he was looking for.
“Oh come on, you haven’t even said hello yet,” Atsumu started, reaching behind his back. Sakusa tensed, and when Atsumu pulled out a gun, his fears were confirmed. Atsumu aimed it straight at Sakusa’s head, and snarled, “But I’d also be alright with a goodbye.”
Sakusa, reacting on instinct, moved forward and shoved Atsumu’s gun to the side, the shot fired somewhere off to his right. It was a simple confirmation that yes, Atsumu really did want to kill him. He’d known that Atsumu almost always meant what he said, but even after a year, apparently his feelings hadn’t changed.
That’s fine. He’d fight his way out of here just like he would in any other situation. It was his job. This is the one thing he can do.
Atsumu quickly shifted the gun to his left hand, and Sakusa knew from experience that either one could fire a good shot - although last time it hadn’t been directed at him. Sakusa wasn’t stupid enough to come here unarmed himself, but he didn’t take out his own gun from his belt. That wouldn’t help anything, he could do this without it.
It took a couple of failed strikes, but eventually Sakusa got one in that knocked the gun out of Atsumu’s hand and into his own, and with that momentum he was able to throw Atsumu to the ground.
The gun was aimed dead center at Atsumu’s forehead. One pull of his finger…
He must have hesitated too long, because Atsumu grew impatient.
“You gonna do it?” Atsumu growled, fingers curling into the carpet. “You beat me! So do it!”
Sakusa tried. He really did. But he just...couldn’t. He couldn’t do it. It was clear to him now, something he should have realized a long time ago - he didn’t want to kill Atsumu.
“Why won’t you do it? I tried to shoot you. I would’ve, if you’d let me.”
“You know why,” Sakusa responded, sharply.
“No, I really don’t. There’s a lot I don’t know. But I do know more than I did before - I know you’re a lying snake.”
Sakusa flinched. “I don’t -”
Atsumu cut him off. “But I also know why you did it. I saw what you did with the drive. It’s not what I would’ve done, but it was good. Better than what I expected, after you stranded me in a building about five minutes from being arrested.”
To be fair, that part was true.
“But that’s not good enough for me,” Atsumu continued, still glaring at him. “I still want to smash your skull in. But because apparently you’re not completely evil, I have a compromise for you. You promise to leave, to never show your face in front of me again, and I’ll let you walk out that door.” Atsumu ended the sentence with a smile, one brimming with faux kindness.
Some people you should never betray.
Sakusa knew he should take the out, it was most likely the only opportunity he would get. There was a small part of him that wanted, foolishly, to stay and try to get Atsumu to forgive him.
But he had learned from last time. That part of him should not be listened to.
He walked out the door. He didn’t look back.