Work Text:
The thing about being afraid of germs is that you’re afraid of germs and it ruins your life. Every single thing you touch, look at, consume, kiss, has germs on it. Sakusa Kiyoomi has known this since he was a child. His fear comes in waves; it can be pleasant and calm or it can wreak havoc on every inch of Sakusa Kiyoomi’s bitter life.
The thing about having a crush on Sakusa Kiyoomi is that you have a crush on Sakusa Kiyoomi and he’s closed off and he hates you and anything else he has ever touched in his life. Every time you look at him, you think to yourself, he’s so pretty it might kill me, and then he turns his head and catches you looking and then you think, oh shit: he might actually want to kill me.
The thing about Miya Atsumu is that he has a crush on Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Everything is fine.
Atsumu is a damn good setter. He believes this wholeheartedly, has almost believed it for his whole life, minus a small phase in university. When he told fifteen-year-old Tobio Kageyama, setter for Schweiden Alders, that if a spiker couldn’t hit his tosses, the spiker must absolutely suck, he had thought it was a pretty good line. He still believes it, after all those years.
Except. Sakusa doesn’t suck and he’s fumbling all of Atsumu’s sets. Atsumu frowns. Does Atsumu suck? But everyone else is playing fine; it’s just Sakusa who’s not getting places as fast, jumping as high, or spiking with his usual force. Maybe his grandma died. The deep, terrible part of Atsumu that is convinced that Sakusa is a robot, does not even know if something like that would phase him. Atsumu feels sick with himself after thinking it. He apologizes in his head.
Sakusa gets the next spike, but it’s still weaker than normal. They get the point, but Sakusa does not meet his eyes. He stares straight ahead of himself, looking slightly glazed over. Atsumu makes eye contact with Meian, and Meian just shrugs. Atsumu looks at Coach Foster, who is glaring at Sakusa so ferociously that it gives Atsumu goosebumps. Yikes. For the first time in his career, Atsumu makes a note to stop setting to Sakusa so much.
He was probably favoring him too much, anyways. Embarrassingly, Atsumu’s ever-present crush is always in the back of his mind, goading him, saying toss to Kiyoomi! Toss to Kiyoomi! Get him to pay attention to you!
So Atsumu’s team loses the 5v5, but losing’s fine because Atsumu is preoccupied with whatever the hell is going on with Sakusa, and Coach Foster seems to be too.
“Sakusa.” Foster says stonily. “Come here.”
Practice is over, so the rest of the team pretends not to look or be interested, making their way to the locker room, Shoyo brightly rubbing his win in everyone’s face, the only thing that can make losing hurt less.
“I would hate to be Sakusa,” Inunaki mutters, and everyone else murmurs their agreement. Most of them have had this happen before, some days they play exceptionally bad and Coach demands to know what’s wrong with them. It had happened to Atsumu once, only once, when he realized he was madly in love with Hinata Shoyo and had struggled to even look at him while simultaneously tossing every single ball to him. It had been an embarrassing disaster that Atsumu blamed on a “family emergency”, but Atsumu is proud to say that when he realized he had a big fat crush on Sakusa Kiyoomi, he did nothing of the sort and played normally.
“What do you think’s wrong with him?” Atsumu wonders aloud, and Meian turns to look at him, eyes crinkling in amusement in a way that made Atsumu wonder if maybe Meian knew something that he didn’t.
“We all have our off days,” Shoyo says kindly.
“But Sakusa’s a robot,” Bokuto says, and Atsumu nods vigorously.
“Maybe he’s sick,” Tomas offers. “That’d be really bad. We have a match tomorrow.”
“Sick from what? He sterilizes everything in reach,” Atsumu zips his bag up with unnecessary force.
“I doubt it’s anything to worry about,” says Shoyo kindly, because Shoyo worries about nothing while worrying about everything.
“I’m not worried,” Atsumu protests, because that would be suspicious.
The locker room falls quiet as Sakusa enters, but this is not unusual. Sometimes, Atsumu swears he can see the storm cloud above his head— cartoon character style– and people know to avoid Sakusa unless they can’t help it. Atsumu turns to face the door, ready to leave, and locks eye contact with Sakusa.
Are you okay, he nearly asks, because Sakusa does not have a storm cloud over his head today. He looks desperately tired, and the way that his hands are curled up in tight fists reminds Atsumu of a child. He looks withdrawn, sinking into himself, he looks smaller than he has ever looked in his life.
But Sakusa narrows his eyes, and there’s a bite to it, the sinking of teeth into the crisp flesh of an apple, because they’re not like that. Sakusa hates Atsumu and it is far from a secret. If Sakusa was not okay, Atsumu would probably be the last to know.
It offends Atsumu today, that Sakusa hates him, even though it doesn’t always offend him. It’s offensive because Atsumu could be nice, no really! He could be. But Sakusa doesn’t want anything to do with Atsumu. Atsumu wants to throw a tantrum, ball his fists like Sakusa, and cry like a toddler who didn’t get what he wanted.
Atsumu does nothing of the sort; Atsumu wide steps around Sakusa so that their shoulders don’t brush. Atsumu calls Osamu as soon as he’s in the car and says, why does everything hate me? And Osamu says, aww, did you just call me ‘everything’?, and Atsumu says, shut up: that was a bad joke. That was the worst.
Atsumu hangs up and connects his phone to his car. He turns on the radio and flips to something disgustingly generic. He presses his forehead to the steering wheel, squeezing his eyes closed tightly as the sound of electric guitars and enthusiastic singing fills the space. He counts to ten before he exhales and opens his eyes. For a few seconds, he looks at the cherry blossom trees, thinking. The blossoms are the most beautiful thing in the world when they bloom. But in a very Kiyoomian way, you only get to see it for a second. Before you know it, the branches are clean and you almost forget, that there was a time the world draped in the beauty of the pastel pink petals, that there was a time that Sakusa Kiyoomi was a human like everybody else, winded and exhausted and balling his fists like a child.
That is the only part of Sakusa’s beauty that is fleeting– the beauty that comes when you see him stripped a little, see him humanized. His physical beauty is constant, unfair, annoying. Atsumu hates it, really, the fact that Sakusa looks good every moment of the day. They shared a room once, traveling for a match, and it was just about the worst experience of his life. Sakusa looks pretty when sleeping, Sakusa looks pretty with his hair sticking up every which way, Sakusa looks pretty brushing his teeth, Sakusa looks pretty with his eyebrows pinched and his expression murderous, Sakusa always looks pretty.
But Sakusa almost never looks vulnerable, Sakusa never looks small. It makes Atsumu’s heart squeeze, it makes him feel protective. But the moment passes and Sakusa is a storm cloud again.
+++
The thing about Atsumu is that he is nice, just not on the outside and not when anyone else would notice. But he is nice. He is!
On the way to Tokyo for their next match, the team is evenly divided over which restaurant to stop at. Atsumu wants greasy hamburgers, even if they’re going to play a match later, because who the fuck cares, hamburgers are good, but Sakusa and Meian are leading the argument against hamburgers and for classic Vietnamese food.
“Why the fuck would we eat terribly when we’re about to play a match?” Meian raises his voice over the commotion.
“I’m always in tip top shape no matter what I eat!” Bokuto argues.
“I’m okay with anything,” Shoyo says amicably, but Inunaki roars: “No you’re not! Don’t just change your mind like that!”
“American food will give you a heart attack by the age of thirty,” Sakusa says. And then under his breath, “and I’ll literally have a panic attack if I have to go into a fast food restaurant right now. Those things are like my… my fucking nightmare.”
Atsumu whips his head to look at him, and he does look a little green.
And because Atsumu is nice, really, he’s nice, he says: “You know, I’m actually not in the mood for hamburgers. Let’s get some noodles,” which sends Inunaki into an uproar.
Is it still a nice thing to do if there are selfish, ulterior motives? Atsumu’s heart thrums at the way Sakusa seems to sigh in relief. I’d give up anything if it meant he felt just a little bit more comfortable, Atsumu thinks to himself, and then gets so embarrassed that he can actually feel his face color. Oh my god, stop it Atsumu. That’s so embarrassing. Never think something like that ever again. Yikes, man. Be cool.
Unfortunately, pigs would probably fly before Atsumu was able to contain his embarrassing thoughts about Kiyoomi. As they’re walking into the restaurant, there’s a brief few seconds where they fall into step next to each other, and Atsumu has to stuff his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching for Sakusa’s hand. Stupid. Atsumu wants so bad. It’s stupid.
So Atsumu orders a bowl of pho and sits across from Meian, and Sakusa orders a bowl of pho and sits at the very end of the table, two seats in between him and Meian. Holy shit. The whole germaphobe thing must make for a very lonely life, Atsumu thinks, and not for the first time.
Sakusa is staring at his food like he wants to murder it. Like his eyes are lasers that will kill every germ in his path. Atsumu watches Sakusa and Sakusa continues to stare. This goes on for far too long. What the hell is Sakusa thinking about?
Eventually, Sakusa breaks his gaze, looking somewhat startled. He turns his head sharply and meets Atsumu’s eyes.
“What are you looking at, Miya?” He asks slowly. His words have no bite.
“Just looking at you, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu shrugs. “You okay?”
Sakusa ignores that. There’s an uncomfortable beat of silence, and then– “What’s your favorite anime?”
“What?” Atsumu tries not to look too disbelieving. Is Sakusa seriously asking him that?
Sakusa frowns and looks back at his soup. “I said what’s your favorite anime.”
It is because he seems almost wounded that Atsumu unwinds. He does not need to know why Sakusa would ask him something like that out of the blue. He is not even tempted to lie and say Naruto like he usually does.
“Um. The Space Between. It’s a sci-fi… action… it’s um, it’s stupid really–”
“Shut up.” Sakusa replies, pulling out his phone and earphones.
Atsumu assumes that Sakusa watches the stupid sci-fi action anime throughout the whole meal because it’s the only thing that makes sense, despite how bizarre it is. He does not say a single word, only stares at his phone screen with pinched eyebrows, eating his soup methodically.
“What a weird guy,” Atsumu says to Meian, and Meian just laughs.
“You’re one to talk,” Meian replies, which Atsumu thinks is not fair. Atsumu doesn’t do weird things, he does embarrassing things that aren’t really embarrassing because he’s shameless. Anyhow, Atsumu has never done something as odd as asking someone he proclaims to hate their favorite anime, and then watching it with his utmost concentration while he eats noodle soup. That’sweird. Atsumu gets more offended the more he thinks about it.
“Stop staring,” Meian hisses at him, so Atsumu stops, his cheeks coloring as he returns to earth.
“I wasn’t staring,” he protests weakly, like the stubborn child he still is at heart.
Meian just shakes his head and directs his attention to where Bokuto was giving relationship advice, likely as a shallow excuse to talk about his relationship with Akaashi.
“All I’m saying is that you have to know if it’s need or if it’s want,” Bokuto is nodding his head wisely as he speaks. “You can’t be with someone because you need them! Not that you ever need anybody, but sometimes you think you need people.”
Atsumu can tell where this train of thought is going.
“I mean, look at me and Akaashi!” Bingo. Bokuto, in his stupid happy relationship that Atsumu is not jealous of, never misses a chance to talk about Akaashi and how happy they are. “When I joined this team, we had a lot of struggles! I mean, I didn’t really understand what was happening, but he had a lot of struggles! He thought I didn’t need him. Now, let’s face it: without Akaashi, I’m a disaster! But lots of people are disasters. Just because I look up every time someone says that gullible is written on the ceiling doesn’t mean that I need someone. But Akaashi had thought, maybe the whole time, that I was with him because I needed him.” He pauses to stuff his mouth with noodles, and then to everyone’s horror, continues to talk with his mouth full. “You see? I never needed Akaashi! And he never needed me. We just like each other. A lot! So you see?” He directs his energy to Shoyo. “You just have to make sure it’s a want, not a need.”
Shoyo is staring at Bokuto with wide eyes. “That’s great advice, Bokuto-kun!” he says, enthusiastically. “I have lots to think about! Atsumu’s my setter now, not him, and I still want to be around him, so it’s a want and not a need!”
“What’s happening?” asks Atsumu. “Is Shoyo trying to ask out Tobio Kageyama?”
Shoyo frowns and stares at his food.
“What’s wrong with you?” Inunaki hisses.
“Yeah, at least try to pretend that we don’t know who he’s talking about,” Tomas agrees.
Atsumu stares. “He literally just said ‘Atsumu’s my setter now, not him.’ Who else could he possibly be talking about?!” He does not mention that he had spent a whole week sulking when he stumbled across old footage of Kageyama tossing to Hinata. He kept complaining to Osamu, he doesn’t look at me like that, and I’m his setter now. I don’t think he’ll ever look at me like that.
“He could’ve been talking about Oikawa Tooru,” Tomas points out, oblivious of Atsumu’s internal struggle.
“Fuck that guy,” Atsumu responds immediately, and then tunes out.
Atsumu eats his meal as he tries to decide which is worse— being in love with Hinata Shoyou or being in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi. They are very much polar opposites, one is sunshine and the other is an absolute thunderstorm. Hinata made Atsumu feel like he was bouncing, drunk, euphoric in his love and completely irrational. Atsumu still thinks Shoyou put the stars in the sky, but he had long ago accepted that Shoyo had eyes for someone that wasn’t him, and Shoyo was better than him in every imaginable way. He got over it. Sakusa makes Atsumu feel stupid, obnoxious, like he’s tripping over his own feet in order to get his attention. It’s a pleasant feeling, despite how it sounds. It makes Atsumu feel brighter, as if it’s worth it to be like a Hinata Shoyo Sun if it means it could just make Sakusa smile under the literal mask.
The one similarity between the two is that pining hurts. Atsumu’s heart squeezes. But he got through it, with Shoyo. He can get over Sakusa. If Sakusa continues to hate him, anyways.
++
The thing about food is there are germs in it. Tiny, microscopic germs, running across each grain of rice like maggots.
Stop, Sakusa tells himself. That’s not true and you know it. It’s too late, the visual image is there and Sakusa is done for.
Everything has germs in it. Sakusa knows this. He has germs. Germs aren’t inherently dirty. They’re just. They’re just fucking. Bacteria and protozoa and fungi and… Sakusa calmly walks to the living room and throws a couch pillow at the wall. It hits with a soft thud and falls on the floor. The dirty floor that Sakusa has walked all over with his house slippers.
This is day one. Sakusa goes to his bedroom and does not cry, but he doesn’t sleep much either. He keeps feeling things crawling on him, trying to infect him, trying to make him dirty. He is fucking twenty-four years old, and he’s scared of germs.
On day two, Sakusa forces himself to eat breakfast so that he can play well in practice. Lunch is less successful. Dinner is a failure.
By day five, Sakusa starts to imagine things. Even tightly sealed foods aren’t safe– Sakusa has begun to imagine all the germs that have seeped in, permeating the plastic wrap or somehow soaking through the container like osmosis.
Sakusa knows the germ thing is irrational– you don’t have to tell him that. Unfortunately, knowing a fear is irrational doesn’t stop you from being afraid. Sakusa stares at a piece of toast for five minutes before he gives up on it. He doesn’t know what’s in it. It could be germs. It’s most probably germs. It’s definitely germs. The bad kind.
But he has to eat, or else he will die. Sakusa puts on a pair of disposable gloves and forces himself to eat. He eats it in two bites– the less amount of bites he takes the less he has to think about what he’s doing. If he thinks about it, he loses. If he doesn’t think about it he’s fine because the germs won’t hurt him. Thinking about them hurts him.
This is not the first time this has happened to him– Sakusa just doesn’t know how long it will last. Once, in high school, he had trouble eating for over a month before he was able to get back on track. Sometimes it happens for a week, and sometimes it’s just a day that it’s harder than usual for him. But he never knows how much longer it will last. And he hates it– it’s when his brain is at its most self destructive and he has the worst intrusive thoughts.
It’s never convenient, but now is the worst time for it to happen. It’s tournament season-- he needs his strength, needs to be at the top of his game, doesn’t want to know that Atsumu’s stopped tossing to him. Doesn’t want to know that he’s ruining himself, little by little, because he’s scared of things too small to see.
It is on day six that he first cries, and goddamn he hates crying, it’s so gross, the snot, the mucus, the tears all running around on his face. He leans his face over the sink as he cries, trying to scrub himself clean.
It is on day seven that Atsumu stops tossing to him and that Coach Foster yells at him. And Sakusa really, really hates himself for it.
+++
Sakusa is not absolutely bananas. He has a therapist. Komori had suggested one right as he started college, and Sakusa had resisted for a week before realizing how necessary it was.
Sometime after day five, Sakusa had been brave enough to bring up his recent struggles with eating, and his therapist tells him what he already knows: that the germs only hurt him because he is afraid of them. He is not sick. He is not infected. He is clean.
And so, she suggests that maybe it will be easier for him to eat if he doesn’t think about the fact that he’s eating. If he puts it on auto pilot and focuses on something else. So Sakusa tries it because he’s a good therapy student, most of the time. And he asks Atsumu for an anime recommendation because Atsumu seems like the sort of douchebag to watch enough tv to have good taste. And he asks because Atsumu was staring at him. And he asks because sometimes there’s an itch he feels in his chest that makes him want to look at Atsumu, talk to him, learn really dumb things about him. Sakusa hates itches. They feel like germs.
+++
Atsumu feels on top of the world every time he enters the venue for a tournament. Surely he’s not imagining it, that girls are looking, that people are saying That’s Atsumu Miya! He swells at the attention, swaggering in with his team, trying not to burn too brightly.
He knows that Bokuto gets the same rush, and he would imagine Hinata does too. They live for glory, for the attention. He resists the urge to run his hand through his hair or wink at a girl on the sidelines. Instead, he turns to look at Sakusa because that’s the natural thing to do.
It was comical the first time, maybe, to see the way Sakusa reacted to crowds. The way he bundles into himself and glares at the world like it offends him, hands shoved into his pockets with his face mask on, curls framing his face, eyes wide and judgemental.
It is less comical when you realize that the germ thing is like, a real thing for him. Atsumu’s heart flails wildly at the sight of Sakusa now, pale and shaking and slightly frantic. Atsumu wants to take him in his arms and take him away from the crowds, away from the noise. He wants to say I’ll take you somewhere safe, and he wants to run his thumb over Sakusa’s cheekbone and say hey, it’s okay. You have nothing to be afraid of. It’s just you and me.
Atsumu tries to squash the want now, but Sakusa looks worse than he’s ever looked. Atsumu wants to take care of him, stupidly, wants to touch him, wants to make him feel safe, wants to make him breathe.
“Omi-omi,” Atsumu says, but he says it too seriously. “Kiyoomi,” he tries again. Too unfamiliar. “Sakusa.”
Sakusa jerks his head up to meet Atsumu’s gaze and he looks fiery, defensive. Atsumu’s heart cracks. Why is Sakusa always like this? Always pushing him away? Atsumu is not a germ. He is not dirty.
“What?” Sakusa snaps.
“C’mon,” Atsumu says, instead of making fun of him because every once in a blue moon, he is capable of being the bigger person. “Don’t do that. I’m trying to ask if you’re okay.”
Sakusa tosses his head and faces forward, where the team is inching toward the gym at a snail’s pace. “I hate,” he begins vehemently. “I hate… I hate… I hate…” his voice cracks when he’s able to finally force the words out. “I hate crowds.” He sounds bizarrely like he’s about to cry, and he looks horrified and disgusted with himself for about two seconds before something inside him visibly breaks and Atsumu’s resolve breaks too– he reaches for Sakusa without thinking and Sakusa recoils immediately, eyes wide, trying to shift out of Atsumu’s reach without running into anyone else. Atsumu freezes, hands outstretched. He drops his hands stupidly.
“Sorry,” says Atsumu quietly. “I didn’t mean to…”
Sakusa wrings his hands. “Shut up,” he says, so Atsumu falls quiet.
Sakusa retrieves a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and Atsumu pretends not to be too interested in how pretty his hands look as Sakusa puts them on.
“Okay,” Sakusa says shakily, and then– Atsumu’s heart stops– he reaches for Atsumu’s hand and grabs on with both of his own. And he squeezes real fucking tight. “Shut up,” he says before Atsumu can say anything. “Don’t say a fucking word.”
Atsumu ignores the command. “Come on,” he says, turning around and spotting the hallway that he had discovered the last time they were there. “Come with me.” An olive branch for an olive branch. He begins to walk, and Sakusa follows, hanging onto Atsumu’s hand.
“Where the fuck are you taking me, asshole? We can’t leave,” Sakusa protests, but he doesn’t pull away and lets Atsumu lead him to the hallway.
“We can get to the gym this way, I just remembered,” Atsumu explains, walking quickly, and trying to avoid people on the way. “Cause last time we were here, Bokuto got lost down here, but we found another way to the gym. It’s just a lot more walking.”
“Are you sure?” Sakusa asks warily, but he’s clutching Atsumu’s hand to his chest now, so Atsumu knows he’s going to keep following him.
There are a few random people scattered through the hallway after the first door, but the number is wildly different from the crowd in the lobby and Atsumu can feel Sakusa breathing easier.
Atsumu leads him through the next door, and is pleased to find that no one else is there. He tugs Sakusa behind him, and then stops walking. “Okay,” he says.
“What?” Sakusa says, trying to sound like a hardass and failing miserably. He drops Atsumu’s hand guiltily, eyes larger than normal and shining, his dark eyelashes fluttering as he looks down at the ground. He is impossibly pretty.
“I– look. You can hold my hand any time you want,” says Atsumu, but it’s the wrong thing to say because Sakusa glares at him and the little bit of his cheeks that Atsumu can see above the mask redden. “I just. Want to know what’s going on with you.”
“Nothing’s going on,” Sakusa says immediately, and he has the nerve to look at Atsumu with a piercing glare.
Atsumu raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. You don’t have to tell me. You’re just acting weird. Weirder than usual.”
“Fuck off.”
“Why the fuck are you like this?” Atsumu is losing his patience. Sakusa is as beautiful as he is infuriating.
“If you don’t like it, why don’t you just leave me alone?” Sakusa mutters.
Atsumu hates him. He has a huge crush on him but he really, really hates him. Because he wants to be so close and Sakusa pushes him so far. “Oh my god,” Atsumu says. “Did you know I want to murder you in your sleep? I’m worried about you. Gross, right? You’re being weird and it’s throwing me off and I want to know if I should toss to you while we play or if you’re gonna fuck every set up again.” Jesus Christ, that’s a low blow. Nice going, ‘Tsumu. Tell your crush you’re worried about him and then panic and insult him when he clearly has something going on.
Sakusa looks at him, and he does so in a way that vaguely reminds Atsumu of the way one might look at a particularly disgusting bug.
“Sorry,” Atsumu says.
Sakusa holds his gaze for an uncomfortably long time. Atsumu refuses to say anything more just in case he fucks it up anymore. Then suddenly, impossibly, Sakusa laughs. It’s a short laugh, and not the most joyous one, but it is a laugh all the same. “You’re such a dumbass. That was really, really mean. Even for you.”
“Even for me?!” Atsumu crosses his arms but he knows it’s not intimidating. “I’m nice.”
“You are not nice,” Sakusa says, a storm cloud once more. “You are the worst.”
“You’re worser,” Atsumu is a child. “Wait. Fuck. That’s not even a word.”
There’s a small silence.
“Shut the fuck up,” Atsumu says to the silence. “Stop distracting me,” he says to Sakusa. “What’s wrong?”
Sakusa blinks at him.
“And if you’re not going to tell me, do you at least have someone else you’ll talk to? Or like… a plan to fix it?”
“Because I’m bringing the team down?”
“I already told you it’s because I’m worried about you.”
“No,” says Sakusa firmly. “I’m not… I’m not something you ever need to worry about. The germ thing is my problem. Not yours.”
“So it’s the germ thing,” Atsumu confirms, and Sakusa freezes.
“What else would it be?” Sakusa says, after a pause, shrugging and looking away as if to suggest that he doesn’t care. Atsumu thinks he might know better.
“What, is the germ thing the only thing that bothers you?”
“No, don’t... other things bother me, it’s just different.” He frowns and looks up at Atsumu. “But the germ thing is the only thing where I feel like… like there’s nothing I can do.” This small confession is the removal of a single brick from the huge wall that shields Sakusa from anyone else. Atsumu’s heart swells at the idea that Sakusa would remove a brick for him. Sakusa seems disgusted with himself at the idea that he would remove a brick for Atsumu. “Why am I even telling you this?” he mutters.
“Because I’m nice,” Atsumu huffs, offended. “What’s the germ thing doing to you that’s different than what it always does to you?”
“It’s happened before, it’s just been years,” Sakusa says, and then with all the nonchalance in the world he says, “I just haven’t been eating,” as if maybe he was reporting the weather or something else equally unimportant.
“What?! Why?” Atsumu doesn’t know what he had been expecting, but it surely wasn’t that.
Sakusa lets out a bitter laugh. “Germs. In the food. Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?” And he makes eye contact with Atsumu and his eyes are devoid of warmth. Atsumu feels sick to his stomach.
“For how long?” he asks, and his voice is small.
Sakusa continues to sound as if he could not care less about his physical health. “Maybe a week. That’s it. It’s fine, really.”
“How long do you think it’ll last?” Atsumu says, trying not to reveal how horribly concerned he is.
“Miya, I don’t know,” Sakusa says, and he sounds just a little lost about it. “I know. It’s competition season and I have to be in my best form. I don’t know what’s happening, and I don’t know how to make it stop and I’m sorry but–”
“Omi-omi, fucks sake,” Atsumu interrupts, glaring at him. “Don’t apologize. I’m not worried about competition season, okay? I’m worried about you.” There are so many things that are tearing Atsumu apart right about now. Sakusa needs help, Sakusa is opening up to Atsumu, Sakusa is beautiful, Sakusa is human. Sakusa is telling him a secret. Atsumu feels like he’s in grade school, the importance of knowing a secret making him feel powerful and close to Sakusa in a way he’s never felt before.
“Like I said, it’s not the first time,” Sakusa shrugs. “It’ll go away.”
“And you’re just okay with that?” Atsumu doesn’t mean it to sound as incredulous as it does.
Sakusa breaks the eye contact and faces straight ahead and begins to walk, hands in his pockets and his face dark. Atsumu nearly trips over his own feet to follow after him.
“No, I’m not okay with that.” He hisses, his expression cloudy. “I told you, I don’t know what else to do.”
“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu says, pityingly, and that makes Sakusa stop in his tracks. Atsumu almost walks into him.
“Do not pity me,” Sakusa says.
“I do pity you,” Atsumu says honestly. “Is it such a bad thing to pity you? I would hate to have to deal with… mysophobia.”
“The germ thing,” Sakusa says.
“Mysophobia. Germaphobia. Do they mean the same thing?”
Sakusa shrugs.
“Anyways,” Atsumu says, “you… do you have a therapist?”
“Of course I have a therapist,” says Sakusa disagreeably.
“Well…?”
“She said to distract myself while I’m eating. Like, by watching shows or something.”
“Is that why you asked me…?”
“Yeah.”
Atsumu falls silent and begins to walk toward the gym. Sakusa follows him.
“Do you cook for yourself?” Atsumu asks.
“No. Not really.”
“Do you think that would make it easier? If you were able to control what you ate and made sure it was… clean?”
Sakusa doesn’t say anything.
“Do you not know how to cook?” Atsumu turns to look back at Sakusa. Sakusa just glares at him.
“How’d you get through college without learning how to cook?” Atsumu wrinkles his nose.
“I had a lot of shit to deal with in college,” Sakusa retorts. “Did you know that college is nasty?”
Atsumu almost laughs before he remembers it’s not funny. And he doesn’t push it because he sees an opportunity. “I can teach you how to cook, Omi-omi.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not? Don’t you think it’ll help? You trust yourself to be clean, right? Just not other people.”
“You are the last person I want to teach me anything.”
Ouch. Atsumu swallows that. “Kiyoomi.”
“You don’t have to help,” Sakusa’s brow furrows and he turns away from Atsumu.
“Do you not want me to help?”
“Stop asking questions like that. I… I want help.” He wrings his hands, struggling to communicate his thoughts. “I’m not… I’m trying not to deny that I need help, okay? I just don’t want you to go out of your way for me. And no matter what you say, you don’t gain anything from helping me.”
Of course I gain something. I’m in love with you and want to spend time with you, is what Atsumu does not say. “I gain a healthier outside hitter,” Atsumu says.
“Miya.”
“Omi-omi.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I can teach you how to cook, Omi-omi,” Atsumu repeats, trying not to sound too hopeful. They’ve almost reached the gym now, their precious one-on-one time is almost coming to an end. Atsumu doesn’t want whatever has possessed Sakusa to treat him like an equal human being to go away the moment they step through the doors.
“Okay,” Sakusa says, his voice quiet and his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Okay. If you want to.”
“Of course I want to,” Atsumu says, then winces because it sounds so eager. So goddamn desperate. His head is spinning from this whole interaction. Sakusa Kiyoomi is so so inexplicably human. Atsumu falls more every second.
“Okay,” Sakusa says, his voice even quieter and his hands even more stuffed in his pockets. His shoulders are hunched and he’s staring at the floor. He’s been like this a lot during their conversation– forcing himself to say things that he doesn’t want to say out loud. “I want you to too. Or… I want you to want to.”
At times like this, Atsumu wants to reach out and touch him an insane amount. He restrains himself. Because just like how Sakusa wants Atsumu to want to help him, Atsumu wants Sakusa to want him to touch him.
“I’ll text you,” Atsumu says, because he has to say something to curb an awkward silence. “Let’s go play a match, okay?”
As Atsumu enters the gym his heart pounds and soars and he clenches his fists to stop his hands from shaking. Sakusa might not hate him. Sakusa’s letting him help him. Sakusa is beautiful. Sakusa might not want to kill him.
Atsumu smiles softly to himself, feeling like a giddy teenager. He feels like he’s conquered the world. Maybe he has. Maybe he shouldn’t get too ahead of himself. But there is so much more possibility to be more in love and to be hurt, if Sakusa doesn’t hate him. He’s nearly bursting with excitement. He makes a side note to ask Osamu to teach him how to cook.
++
I’m trying not to deny that I need help, okay? I want you to want to.
How can Atsumu do anything besides fall for him? Sakusa is so clearly trying to communicate his feelings in a healthy way. He was saying so many things that were clearly hard for him to say. He asked for help. He said what he meant. He was trying not to deflect with anger. His dedication to improving himself in areas other than volleyball is inspiring. Atsumu could take a few notes.
Sakusa texts Atsumu later that day, and he texts just the way Atsumu imagined he would– auto-capitalization on and perfect grammar. No emojis. He asks when Atsumu’s free.
Atsumu has to call Osamu before he replies.
“What do you want?”
“Rude,” Atsumu says. “How’s your week been?” It has been a week since Atsumu last called.
After they tell each other the latest news (the new hire at Onigiri Miya was driving Osamu mad, and the MSBY Jackals had won their game that day), Atsumu addressed his problem.
“‘Samu, I have a problem.”
“Is this the Sakusa Kiyoomi problem?” Osamu asks drily.
Atsumu hesitates. “How did you know?”
“Twins have the ability to read each other’s minds,” Osamu says. “Also, you leave stupid voicemails about him when you get drunk.”
Atsumu frowns. “I do not.”
“Yes you do. I save them. Would you like to hear one?”
“No. Hypothetically, if I was going to… hang out with him–”
“Holy shit, are you going on a date with him?!”
“It’s not a date. Anyways, hypothetically, if he asked me when I was free, when should I suggest we meet up? Too soon is too eager. But too far away is not eager enough.”
Osamu pauses in disbelief. “This is Sakusa Kiyoomi. Do you think he cares about stuff like that? I don’t think he’s going to read into your text message that much. Go on a date with him tomorrow, he’s not gonna care.”
Atsumu has to agree with his twin there. If Kiyoomi really isn’t eating, the sooner the better. “Fine.” He says. “One more thing.”
“What.”
“Walk me through how to cook the tuna rice bowls I like.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“No.”
“Your favorite meal? The thing you cook like at least once a week? You want me to walk you through how to make it?”
“Yes.”
“Why.”
It’s true that Atsumu knows exactly how to cook the dish. He just needs to learn how to teach someone how to cook it. Osamu, while still a brat, is less of a brat than Atsumu. He is kinder and more patient when it comes to teaching people how to do things. Atsumu needs an example of what to do, how to act, when he’s going to do something as intimate as teach his crush how to cook.
“Trust me,” Atsumu tells Osamu. “I’ll explain later.”
“Fucks sake. Fine,” Osamu says. “You still haven’t explained yourself for the last time you made me do something weird like this for you.”
“Oh. Bokuto was trying to hide something from Akaashi and somehow I got involved.”
“Wow. Was he successful?”
“Of course not.”
Osamu hums. “Alright, so get your ingredients…”
+++
Atsumu is on edge the whole next day and he hates it. He doesn’t like feeling out of his element. He doesn’t like not knowing what to do with his hands. Sakusa fumbles a bit at practice and it makes Atsumu feel very urgently like he should do something. You will, he tells himself. Or at least, you’ll try.
It’s a lot of pressure, though. When Atsumu gets back to his apartment he paces around his couch for a good amount of time. What should he do? What will he talk about? Can he really survive this? Making dinner for Sakusa Kiyoomi and trying to convince him that he’s safe there, in his own home.
Besides volleyball, Atsumu has never wanted to be good at something so badly. He wants to be the best person to take care of Sakusa Kiyoomi. He wants to be the best person to love Sakusa Kiyoomi. He wants to be the best person Sakusa Kiyoomi has ever met. He wants to be Sakusa Kiyoomi’s sun when Sakusa Kiyoomi is a thunderstorm. He wants to be the best at this. He wants to be the best setter (he wants to be Sakusa’s best setter).
He runs his laundry and takes a shower and tries not to take too long styling his hair because for some reason, it feels too desperate to take too long on it. To try too hard. To be so eager to be Sakusa Kiyoomi’s best.
He spends too long on his outfit too. It’s not a date. He’s going to cook for Sakusa. That’s it. Sakusa will probably barely look at him. The thought squeezes at Atsumu’s heart painfully– he wants to be seen and loved and touched by Sakusa so badly that it makes his hands shake. He squeezes his hands into fists. He begins to pack his ingredients as neatly as he can– Sakusa had sent him an entire list of everything he had in his kitchen and it was terribly sparse. Atsumu worries. Atsumu could keep his kitchen stocked, if Kiyoomi just asked. Atsumu would cook every day for him.
Atsumu swallows hard. He doesn’t like it when his thoughts and feelings run away from him like that. He wants to be in control. He wishes his heart was like a volleyball, bending to his touch, under control and going to the exact part of the court that Atsumu wants it to. Instead his brain goes KiyoomiKiyoomiKiyoomiKiyoomi and it’s driving Atsumu insane.
He makes sure not to arrive earlier than planned. He does not hold his breath when he knocks on the door to Kiyoomi’s apartment. Except he does because he never in his wildest dreams thought he’d be allowed over. In his mind’s eye, Sakusa Kiyoomi’s apartment is a sterile hospital room, every inch scrubbed clean.
Sakusa answers the door, looking soft and slightly disgruntled. Atsumu frowns. Asshole, he says to himself, except the voice in his head says it fondly.
Sakusa seems to hesitate, so Atsumu cuts in. “I showered already. These are clean clothes.”
Something in Sakusa relaxes and he steps aside to let Atsumu in.
“Sorry,” Sakusa says, another apology. Atsumu takes note of it as he removes his shoes.
Atsumu keeps his arms stiff as he follows Sakusa to the kitchen, feeling as if he shouldn’t move too much lest he upset something. He can’t relax. Sakusa’s apartment is frighteningly devoid of color, the floors pristine as if Sakusa recently cleaned, which he probably had.
“What? Is my apartment exactly how you expected it?” Sakusa turns to him, raising an eyebrow.
Atsumu lets out a breath before he speaks, and his stiff posture goes with it. “Nah, it’s not as bad. You have throw pillows. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Asshole,” Sakusa says.
“What? You asked,” Atsumu retorts, then reminds himself to be Nice Atsumu.
“You’re still an asshole,” Sakusa says.
“You’re being so mean, Omi-omi,” Atsumu says casually, laying out the ingredients on the counter. “I come over here to help you, I answer your questions, and you call me an asshole.”
Kiyoomi studies him seriously. “Do you want me to apologize?”
Atsumu considers. “No,” he says finally, “you’ve been apologizing too much lately. Is that a therapy thing?” Maybe he shouldn’t have asked that. But hey, would he really be Atsumu Miya if he didn’t ask the questions that no one else would?
“What, trying to be a better person?” Sakusa looks at Atsumu with vague disgust. Atsumu raises his eyebrows. Sakusa’s intense gaze softens. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
“I’m proud of you, Omi-omi,” Atsumu says casually. “If you don’t try to improve yourself, you’ll be stuck as a whiny baby forever.”
“Are you talking about yourself?”
“No, I’m talking about ‘Samu,” Atsumu says, treating it as a genuine question instead of an insult, hoping the naivety and stupidity of his remark will make Sakusa crack a smile. No dice.
“What are we making?” Sakusa asks, and he comes so close to Atsumu as he walks to the counter.
“Um,” says Atsumu. “Tuna rice bowls. They’re my favorite. I eat them all the time. They’re… pretty cathartic to make too, so, I don’t know, I thought–”
Sakusa shakes his head to cut Atsumu off. “That’ll be fine.”
“Okay, um,” says Atsumu. Sakusa just stares at him, eyes wide, attention sharp. I’m dying here, Atsumu thinks. “I thought you would want to wash the vegetables.” He manages to keep his voice stable but his heart is going a mile a minute. He’s dying, he’s actually dying, his heart going too fast, his whole body too shaky, his face fighting the urge to break out into a grin, he’s dying like this, with Sakusa paying attention to him and the ingredients for tuna rice bowls in front of him.
Sakusa takes the raw vegetables from the counter silently and starts up the sink. Atsumu takes the chance to look up at the ceiling and try to contain himself. Then he turns around and studies the way Sakusa cleans off the vegetables, his pretty hands methodically cleaning every part of the vegetable with soap and water. He looks so calm that Atsumu’s stomach warms.
“Do you like cleaning?” Atsumu asks suddenly.
Sakusa makes a noise in between a grunt and a sigh. “Necessary evil,” he says.
Atsumu’s heart clenches at that. Sakusa doesn’t even like cleaning but he does it all the time just to feel safe.
“How long?” Atsumu asks.
Sakusa doesn’t answer right away– he just turns around with his vegetables, and Atsumu smiles and starts to explain how to cook them. When Atsumu asks Sakusa to cut the cucumbers, Sakusa holds the cucumber with his fingers pressed down, dangerously close to where he is cutting and just barely avoiding slicing off the tips of his fingers. Atsumu uses everything in him to not scream, and tries to remember the tone Osamu adopts whenever Atsumu does something dumb and he’s trying to be nice for once.
“Hey, wait a second,” he says, his voice as gentle and soft and patient as he can make it.
Sakusa whips around to look at him, glaring daggers. “Why the fuck are you talking to me like that?”
Right. Atsumu forgot that this was Sakusa Kiyoomi. He is not a man who desires things to be sugarcoated. So much for learning how to be nice. He quickly tries to forget anything he was planning to copy off of Osamu’s teaching style and decides to just be himself. “Because you’re holding the cucumbers like a dumbass. Do you want to slice your fingers off?”
Sakusa rolls his eyes and waits impatiently as Atsumu takes a carrot and demonstrates how to cut it. He’s such a little shit, Atsumu thinks fondly, watching Sakusa finish cutting the vegetables and preparing to cook them.
“Osamu used to give me shit every time I did this when we were younger,” Atsumu launches into an old memory just to pierce the silence as he turns on the stove. “I would always burn them. I was too impatient and would stop paying attention and then I’d look up and the air would be grey.”
“Dumbass,” Sakusa replies, staring at the vegetables on the pan, his gaze so intense Atsumu thinks he might be trying to cook them with his eyes.
“Okay. I was a dumbass, but Osamu was a little shit and that’s even worse.”
“You were a little shit when you were younger.”
“How would you know?”
“Because you were a little shit at camp.”
“That’s not true! I was a great sport at camp.”
“You sucked. I hated you.”
Atsumu pauses before he can think of anything to say. Hated? Past tense? As in, does not hate him now?
“What were you like when you were younger?” Atsumu asks casually, turning the heat down and stirring the vegetables aimlessly.
Sakusa frowns and thinks about it. “Well, you asked how long the germ thing’s been going on, right? I barely even remember a time without it. I just don’t like dirty things. And uh, I guess I was kinda a brat about it when I was younger. But um, I mentioned I had a lot to deal with in college. That’s when I guess I realized that the whole world is dirty and germy and I’m part of a minority if I want to keep it clean. Or, I guess I just figured I was alone in my… germ thing. So I stopped being such a brat about it.”
“I didn’t think you were a brat about it,” Atsumu says, because he would imagine that’s the kind thing to say.
Sakusa shrugs. “But I was, wasn’t I? I expected everyone else to be at the same level as me and got pissed when they weren’t. Kinda bratty.”
Atsumu shrugs and turns off the stove. “But that’s every kid right? It takes a while to realize that not everyone thinks the same things as you. Or to understand that it’s valid if they don’t.”
“I guess,” says Sakusa quietly.
“Okay,” says Atsumu and he’s horrified to realize that he has also lowered his voice. Two men, whispering in an apartment as they cook together. Something about it is too intimate. He raises his voice. “I’ll show you how to cook the tuna now.”
Sakusa does not reply and Atsumu somewhat awkwardly fills the silence by explaining what he’s doing. He stutters and over explains sometimes but Sakusa never tells him to shut up. Somehow, Atsumu kinda wishes he would.
When the tuna is sizzling on the stove, Atsumu begins to rack his brains for something to say again. For some reason he settles on: “Have you ever broken a bone?”
“No. You?”
“No.” Okay, good conversation you started there Atsumu. He mentally curses himself.
“You really hate silence, huh?” Sakusa states, and he’s looking at Atsumu with his gaze as intense as usual, but for some reason it’s too much for Atsumu. He blinks a couple times then turns away, staring at the stove without really staring.
“It’s just awkward,” Atsumu says defensively.
“Why is it awkward?”
Atsumu shrugs, poking at the tuna uselessly. “We never talk, I guess.”
Sakusa is still staring at him. “What do you mean?”
Atsumu looks at him in surprise. “I mean we never really have normal conversations outside of volleyball, I guess.”
“Have you… wanted to?” asks Sakusa, unaware that Atsumu is madly in love with him and would give anything to talk to him, to be seen, to be known.
“I guess,” says Atsumu because it seems like a good way to hide the fact that he is madly in love with him and would give anything to talk to him, to be seen, to be known.
“So you’ve wanted to have a normal conversation and when you got the chance you asked me if I had ever broken a bone?” Sakusa is clearly unimpressed. He is such an asshole.
“Asshole. I asked you about your childhood first, didn’t I?”
Sakusa waves a hand. “Whatever.”
Silence falls over them, but because of Sakusa’s earlier quip, Atsumu does not attempt to fill it. He turns the heat off the stone and begins to neatly divide the tuna into two even piles. When he turns to the vegetables, Sakusa interjects–
“Why don’t we ever talk?”
Atsumu fixes Sakusa with a steady gaze. Because you suck the fun out of everything, is the first thing that comes to mind, but Atsumu knows it’s not true. Because you hate me. But that might not be true, either. Because I don’t want you to hate me. That one’s probably the most true.
But before Atsumu can say anything, Sakusa ducks his head and says: “It’s because of me, right?”
“I–let’s eat,” Atsumu says, and his voice is much too loud. Sakusa rolls his eyes at the obvious subject change but lets it go.
Sakusa does not bend over but squats down to his cabinet to retrieve a bowl. The first one he gives without a second glance to Atsumu. Then he takes another bowl and inspects it thoroughly before placing it at the bottom of the stack and inspecting the next one. He does this for maybe a minute, before remembering that he is not alone and glancing at Atsumu’s expression and immediately grimacing.
“I know,” he says, “it’s bad.”
“Have you ever considered disposable plates and bowls? And cutlery?”
“I have them,” Sakusa scrutinizes bowl number six. “But I don’t want to lose every battle. They’re just for emergencies.”
“Is this not an emergency?” Atsumu crosses his arms. He would consider not eating very well for a week an emergency.
Sakusa just sighs and settles for bowl number eight. “I’m tired of it, though. I think I’ve changed my life enough to fit the germ thing. If I change too much, then it’s like the germs win.”
Atsumu processes that. “Is that how you view it? Like a battle?”
“Like a series of multiple battles, I guess. I’m not supposed to view it as one overall fear. Then I’ll think it’s impossible to deal with.”
Atsumu nods and then awkwardly plays with his food while debating whether he should take the first bite or not. Sakusa hasn’t even picked up his chopsticks.
“Um,” says Sakusa. “I kinda, need to be distracted while I eat. Is it okay if I…”
“Don’t sound so apologetic,” Atsumu says, not allowing him to finish his sentence. He should interrupt less, but he’s so uncomfortable with Sakusa being like this, so apologetic and almost timid.
Sakusa brings out his laptop and then moves to sit on the same side of the table as Atsumu. Atsumu holds his breath. They are far enough away that they do not touch. Sakusa is on episode five of the Space Between. Atsumu’s heart beats at the fact that Sakusa is watching it based off Atsumu’s recommendation.
“Do you like it?” Atsumu asks, feeling strangely vulnerable. God, is this how Sakusa feels? No wonder he’s acting so weird.
Sakusa’s eyes flicker to Atsumu’s, and then they drop to Atsumu’s nose. “I guess it’s entertaining,” he replies. He clicks play. After a long time, he finally takes a bite of his food.
Atsumu wonders if there’s anything on his nose. He wonders if there’s anything showing on his face as they sit and eat and watch anime together. It is far too intimate to be reserved for Atsumu-and-Sakusa, who do not talk. Atsumu doesn’t even know if anyone else has ever seen Sakusa’s apartment.
It makes him want to feel special until he remembers that he’s not– he’s convenient, and he’s helping. And he’s lucky to be in that position. It is better than adoring him from afar. It does not settle the itch on his heart. It feels like Atsumu’s in a situation that he is much too greedy for.
Atsumu has spent a lifetime of wanting people he cannot have. Starting with Kita, and spanning the various beautiful and uptight men in college, then, terribly and randomly, Hinata Shoyo. He knows that he has a type (with Hinata Shoyo as an anomaly, because really, what was that?) and he hates that the people he’s attracted to feel so unattainable. Atsumu hypothesizes that it’s a special sort of masochism that makes him fall for people that seem averse to affection because Atsumu craves affection like a baby craves milk. He wants to be someone’s weakness. He wants someone, someone like Sakusa Kiyoomi, to be annoying and prissy and uptight and pretend like he hates Atsumu’s guts, but for them both to secretly know and understand just how much he cares for Atsumu. He wants to be one thing that makes Sakusa Kiyoomi soften.
He knows it is wishful thinking, but who would Atsumu be if he wasn’t greedy? If his heart wasn’t bleeding with want? Because holy shit, holy shit, he just wants someone to love him and be soft with him and let him annoy them. He just wants to be touched, holy fuck, does he want to be touched, wants to be loved, wants to be worthy of something beautiful, wants to be treasured, wants to be seen as a human.
Sakusa is so close to him. Atsumu yearns for it but he contains himself. He watches the anime. He eats the food. And he keeps his distance.
Sakusa is a slow eater. His miniscule bites are few and far between. Atsumu does not comment on it. Atsumu does not comment on anything until halfway through the seventh episode when Sakusa mutters, “that guy is such a douchebag,” and Atsumu, horrified, exclaims, “he is not! He is just misunderstood. You have to keep watching!”
Sakusa had turned to him with an amused smile that made Atsumu heat up all over because what the fuck, Kiyoomi smiled. After the silence had been broken, they continued to watch while muttering thoughts and opinions to each other. It’s... fun. Atsumu has fun with Sakusa, the certified killjoy.
In the middle of the ninth episode, Sakusa clears his throat and says, “are you done eating?” as a way to announce that he is done eating.
Atsumu nods, daring to turn his head and look at Sakusa. Sakusa is impossibly beautiful. Atsumu clears his throat and stands up. “You know how to make it now, right? I sent you the recipe. Next time I’ll–” and then he freezes.
Sakusa looks up. Three horrible seconds pass before Sakusa prompts him. “Next time you’ll…?”
“Um, next time I’ll teach you how to make something more exciting.” Next time. Oh my god he gets a next time. He gets to do this again.
“Thank you, Miya,” Sakusa says, but he’s not looking at him. He is placing the dirty dishes in the sink. Atsumu guesses that he will wash them as soon as Atsumu leaves.
“Of course,” Atsumu says in response, hoping that will Sakusa will understand what it means. Of course I’ll help you. Of course I’ll spend time with you. Of course. Don’t even question it.
Atsumu hesitantly waits for his cue to leave, and seconds later Sakusa walks around from the kitchen and follows Atsumu to the door.
“See you tomorrow,” Atsumu says awkwardly.
“Goodbye,” Sakusa says, but he sounds stiff now that Atsumu is leaving. Atsumu does not question it. The door closes behind him. Atsumu walks to his car. As soon as he is safely in his car he blurts out a few expletives before speeding home. He calls Osamu on the way.
“Are we going to talk about Sakusa Kiyoomi?” Osamu asks.
“He’s fuckin’ adorable,” Atsumu replies.
“Sakusa Kiyoomi?”
“Right? He’s such an asshole and a prick and he’s so, so goddamn annoying and self-righteous but holy shit. He’s like a little fuckin’ dork. He’s so different when he’s… I guess when I’m alone with him. He’s still Sakusa but he’s just so much softer. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
“Ask him out,” Osamu says, and Atsumu can hear him rolling his eyes. “You’re clearly whipped.”
“Fuck off,” Atsumu says because he cannot deny it. “Really. What am I supposed to do?”
“Maybe try falling for someone that’s not a piece of work,” Osamu says unhelpfully.
“You fucking piece of shit. Are you free tomorrow? Can you teach me how to cook something?”
“What the fuck am I, your personal culinary teacher?” Osamu says, but then he agrees to because he spent years being the lesser volleyball player and he will take any chance he gets to assert his dominance as the greater cook.
“I like him,” Atsumu tells Osamu, because he likes saying the words out loud and he has no one else to say them to. It’s his own, precious, secret. “I like him, I like him, I like him.”
Osamu hangs up with a noise of disgust.
+++
It’s the beginning of a routine. Atsumu can cook but his knowledge of recipes is limited, so he asks Osamu to teach him how to make something that he then moves on to teach Sakusa. And it’s completely fine in all the ways that it is not fine.
Atsumu doesn’t really notice the shift until one day he realizes that he’s been walking into Sakusa’s apartment without having to be invited in. He’s used Sakusa’s bathroom before, too, and he’s laughed in this apartment and he’s taught Sakusa how to make dishes that he barely knows how to make himself, and he falls a little in love every time he’s there, anyways. Because he knows where the dishes go. He knows where the pots and pans are. He knows where the paper plates are because they had to use them once when Sakusa nearly had a panic attack after opening the dishwasher. They fly through the first and second seasons of the anime. They do not sit any closer and they do not touch. Atsumu yearns.
And he yearns even more when he realizes how much Sakusa lets him run his mouth; sometimes Atsumu feels like he’s been talking for minutes straight and Sakusa is just letting him without telling him he doesn’t care or telling him to shut up. And it’s worse because Atsumu wants to tell Sakusa about himself so that Sakusa will know him. So Atsumu keeps talking, and one day something changes.
“Everyone thinks being a twin is way more fun than it actually is,” Atsumu is saying as he plates the dish. “It’s fun, sure, but once you’ve done the swapped lives things a few times, it becomes a nuisance. And when people keep calling you your brother’s name it starts to feel like you’re not your own person, just a counterpart.” He places the plate in front of Sakusa and sits down next to him. “And it was worse because we played the same sport, right? But we didn’t have an unhealthy rivalry like you might imagine, because we were both able to keep up with each other. It’s not like one of us was consistently in the other’s shadow, we were always neck and neck. It was one of my favorite parts of playing, honestly, so–”
Sakusa takes a bite.
Sakusa will often have to wait at least ten minutes to get immersed enough in the anime to take a bite of his food, and sometimes it makes Atsumu wince to see how Sakusa struggles to do it. But he takes a bite without a problem now, listening to Atsumu ramble. Well Atsumu has to keep talking now, if it means it’s working for Sakusa.
“–so, um. Uh, when I got selected for the youth camp and he didn’t, I remember being so hurt that he didn’t seem that mad about it. And um, when many years down the line he told me he wasn’t going to keep playing volleyball, that’s the first thing I remembered. It felt the exact same way. Like he didn’t want to rival me anymore, that he was content to step back and watch me go on ahead.”
“When did he decide to stop playing?”
“We went to university together for it and halfway through our second year he just stopped. It was really rough for us, honestly. But we figured it out and we’re fine now.”
“You’ve never questioned whether or not you wanted to do volleyball?”
“Nah. Not since I was a kid. And it helped that I was a cocky little shit and so it never seemed out of reach. I mean, I doubted my abilities a little bit in university, but overall it seemed like it was meant for me. So I didn’t really look back. You?”
“No. Everyone thought I would too, and kept hassling me about having a back up plan for when I went to university and realized it wasn’t really what I wanted to do, but university sucked so much for me that volleyball ended up being the only thing that kept me sane. It was like, the one thing that felt like it hadn’t changed.”
Atsumu smiles lazily at Sakusa. “Poor Omi-omi. You went to a kinda big university too, didn’t you?”
Sakusa grimaced. “They had the best volleyball team, so I guess it was worth it. But the crowds drove me insane. It was just a lot. Everyone is so… unclean. I guess… I guess I hadn’t realized how much my parents had tiptoed around me to keep things clean and me happy. I hated my roommate because he was a slob, but the one time I visited someone else’s room I realized that my roommate was actually clean, and I just had sky-high standards because my parents had babied me about it. I don’t know. It sucked.”
Atsumu nods. “I think everyone feels that, though, but in a different way and about different things. But I think once everyone is on their own for the first time they all kinda feel like they’ve been thrown to the wolves. Adulting is hard. When I was twelve I won a bet with Osamu so he had to do my laundry until college. I got to university and realized I didn’t know how to operate a washing machine. And I had trouble keeping my room clean. And people knew me that didn’t know I played volleyball. And I failed out of like… freshman biology or some stupid class I had to take. It just makes you feel unprepared and small and lost. But you’re not alone in it. That’s what university is for, really. You’re not supposed to graduate as the same person you were when you started.”
Sakusa looks at him. “You,” he says, and does not complete the sentence.
“What?”
“You. I don’t know. You’re so interesting.”
“That does not sound like a compliment.”
“It’s not a compliment, dumbass, it’s a fact. You’re just probably the last person I’d expect to have any sort of hidden depth.”
Atsumu lights up. “You think I have hidden depths?”
“This is not a compliment! You think about things other than volleyball and you’re less dumb than you look which isn’t saying much so this is not a compliment.”
“Sure it isn’t,” Atsumu says, but he can’t help the smile that stretches across his lips. He feels smug.
“Don’t get carried away,” Sakusa quips, and he stands up and takes Atsumu’s empty plate to the kitchen.
“So,” Atsumu leans against the counter as Sakusa starts washing the dishes.
“What?”
“You ate without having to watch the show. Is it getting better? Is it getting easier now that you’re cooking? Does talking help?”
“Yeah, it’s getting a lot better,” Sakusa says, using way too much soap on his plate. “And talking to you… does help.”
“See? Nice Atsumu. I mean, I’m happy to hear that,” Atsumu says quickly. “Even though now we’re still on that cliffhanger.” It is hard to be sincere and keep a light mood.
Sakusa rolls his eyes. “Why are you complaining? You’ve already seen it, you already know what happens.”
Atsumu pouts. “But I want to watch the next episode!”
Sakusa does not point out that Sakusa does not have to be present for Atsumu to watch the next episode. Instead he says, “then wait like two seconds for me to finish washing these and we can watch the next episode. Baby.”
“Baby?!” Atsumu’s heart falls to his stomach. He is suddenly on Mars. Nothing will ever be funny to him again.
“Yeah, you. You’re a big baby. Annoying as fuck,” Sakusa moves to put away the dishes.
Atsumu does not even focus on the insult. He focuses on the fact that he heard Sakusa say the word baby. He will torture himself with this experience now. Sakusa would never call him baby. Never. But what the fuck. Why would Sakusa say something like that?
Atsumu stands and freaks out awkwardly as he waits for Sakusa to put the dishes in the dishwasher. This is distracting because Sakusa bends over to put the dishes in the dishwasher and it’s also bizarre that Sakusa handwashes the dishes and puts them in the dishwasher. But Atsumu should be used to this by now. He comes over and sees Sakusa enough and has heard Sakusa say the word baby. What could possibly surprise him?
Sakusa takes his laptop and Atsumu awkwardly follows him to the couch. Atsumu has never been on the couch before. Sakusa sets the laptop on the coffee table and Atsumu tries to gauge how far away he should sit from Sakusa. He settles for sitting with the space for one Hinata Shoyo in between their shoulders.
In attempt to get more comfortable, Atsumu shifts, and then curls into a ball, resting his chin on his knees. Sakusa gives him a sharp look when Atsumu puts his feet on the couch.
“Shit. Sorry,” Atsumu says, but he’s surprised with himself. It is a mark of how comfortable he’s gotten, being in Sakusa’s apartment.
Sakusa shakes his head, dismissing Atsumu’s apology, and starts the anime. It is riveting. Atsumu cannot pay attention to anything except the fact that he is sitting on Sakusa’s couch. It’s like they’re friends. Maybe they are friends. Maybe somehow, Atsumu has made more advancements in his relationship with Sakusa Kiyoomi than he thought.
Because when the episode ends, Sakusa doesn’t make any move to kick Atsumu out, and Atsumu doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he just stretches out and asks Sakusa for his opinion.
“It’s better than I expected,” Sakusa says begrudgingly.
“Does that mean you liked it?” Atsumu tries and fails to hide his excitement.
“Why do you look so smug? It’s not like I thought I would hate it.”
“Because if you like it, that means you agree with me on something.”
“Why is that so novel?”
“Because, Omi-omi, I think you go out of your way to disagree with me because you hate me.”
“You only think that because you’re self absorbed,” Sakusa rolls his eyes.
No, I’m Sakusa-absorbed, Atsumu thinks, but he doesn’t say it even as a joke because he thinks he might be pushing it by being too friendly, and it’s a weird thing to say even as a joke, and the slight truth behind it is far too embarrassing to even joke about. “What’s something else we agree on?”
“We like volleyball.”
Atsumu sticks his tongue out childishly. A silence falls that would have been awkward a few weeks ago. It is comfortable now, like so many new things have become.
+++
As eating gets easier for Sakusa he finds he is able to return to his usual eating schedule with only a few difficulties, cooking himself breakfast and lunch, finding that on the days Atsumu would cook for him, there was usually enough for dinner for days ahead. Being in control of what goes into his body has changed things considerably for Sakusa, he trusts himself and his cleanliness, and even if his meals don’t even taste half as good as what Atsumu makes, he’s proud of himself every time he eats.
He can play volleyball properly now, thank god, his head doesn’t feel like it’s spinning and he has strength in his muscles. Well, when he’s focused on playing. Sometimes when he’s talking to Atsumu it feels like his body is weak all over again and like his head isn’t screwed on straight. It is terribly disorienting and Sakusa does what he can to avoid it.
The thing is, for a long time even after Atsumu started cooking with him and being comfortable being alone with him, they were still distant and interacted very little at practice. But now Atsumu’s started being comfortable with him in practice too, and it’s jarring to see the easy smiles Atsumu throws to him or the little side comments that he’ll say to Sakusa, and only to Sakusa.
“Nice kill,” Atsumu says, his eyes bright, and Sakusa can feel his face burning somewhat, so he looks away and frowns. Something in Atsumu’s eyes have been burning Sakusa’s insides lately.
“Your shoe is untied,” Atsumu mutters to him later, but he is so close that Sakusa has to step away, and he can’t think of anything to say to him anyways, so he frowns and ties his shoes. It’s weird, sometimes, to think of being with Atsumu in public the way he is in private. Atsumu is so annoying but somehow, he really is… Sakusa wrestles with himself before he admits it but he really is easy to like. Atsumu is so soft and pliant, really, bright and pink and very shockingly kind. He is thoughtful in so unexpected ways. And for someone who is so childish, he is so patient with Sakusa. Sakusa knows he is not an easy person to get along with, but Atsumu is trying. More than Atsumu is trying to get him to eat normally so that Sakusa will be his best self, Atsumu is trying to get along with Sakusa, to be kind to him, to know him.
It makes Sakusa want to punch him. Yes… he really does want to punch him. You would be touching him, Sakusa reminds himself, but still… he wants.
It is even worse that while Sakusa avoids Atsumu’s eye contact, he can’t help but stare at the back of his head. Yes, he really wants to punch him. His shoulders, specifically. When he turns away he sees Meian looking at him, his eyebrows raised, his expression smug. Sakusa drops his gaze to the floor quickly, his face feeling hot. He feels cornered and embarrassed, but he doesn’t know what for. He is allowed to look at the back of Atsumu’s head. It is not off limits.
It makes him somewhat angry. Atsumu misses a set because he is human and Sakusa glares at him and says, quietly but with the intention for Atsumu to hear, what the fuck was that? And Atsumu looks at him surprised at first, but then his face relaxes into a bit of a sneer, an uglier look for him.
“Big talk for someone who just missed their serve,” Atsumu says, but he’s just teasing and Sakusa knows that, he knows there is no hostility behind it, but still he glares and opens his mouth to say something back.
Meian walks by, looking slightly nauseated, and says, “can you two just shut the fuck up for a second?” so Sakusa refrains from saying anything which is good because he couldn’t think of a good comeback anyways.
When practice is over, Sakusa lingers before going to the locker room, to avoid the crowd. When he gets there, he is very careful about the way he makes his way to his locker, avoiding people and their possessions that are strewn haphazardly across the floor. He had tried to keep his things in a separate room in university, but his university team had viewed this as extremely pretentious and then somewhat shunned him. Sakusa was okay with that back then, but if this is his professional volleyball team, he thinks it would be better to get along with all of them. And so he braves the locker room. He is the only one who actually uses a locker, disinfecting it thoroughly before use.
Atsumu sees him coming and quickly moves his shoes and his jersey from near Sakusa’s space. Sakusa ignores him and tries to open his locker, but to his horror he finds it is somewhat stuck.
“Oh, you chose the broken locker, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu says hesitantly. “Here– let me–” and he elbows it with unfair force and the locker door swings open and nearly hits Sakusa in the face.
“Watch it,” Sakusa scowls, and Atsumu opens his mouth to apologize but Sakusa cuts him off. “I don’t need your help.”
It is the wrong thing to say and Sakusa knows it as soon as the words reach the air. That’s what the whole thing was supposed to be about, anyways, he was making so much progress, being brave enough to admit he did need Atsumu’s help. And now he’s just being mean because Atsumu is being nice, as if that makes any goddamn sense. Fuck. Sakusa knows he can be an asshole, but he thought he was better than this.
The way Atsumu’s face changes stabs Sakusa near the heart. Atsumu’s face crumples into itself and then it turns downright nasty. And Sakusa feels dirty, suddenly. And he knows that he deserves to be looked at like that, as if he’s a little disgusting.
“You’re a lot nicer when we’re alone,” Atsumu hisses, and he looks mean and he sounds mean, but Sakusa can see it in his eyes that he is hurt. That Sakusa has hurt him.
And Sakusa realizes that Atsumu is right– even though he really doesn’t want Atsumu to be right. Sakusa doesn’t want Atsumu to think that he’s nicer when they’re alone because he can get something out of him, because Atsumu is convenient and helping him and can cook better than him. He is trying not to be such a brat all the time, and he really really wants to stop pushing away the people that make his life better.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and he doesn’t whisper it because it has nothing to do with them being in public, he’s not ashamed or trying to hide the fact that he is nice to Atsumu or that Atsumu is someone that he likes being nice to. In fact, maybe he kinda wants people to know that he kinda likes Atsumu, that Atsumu is easy to like.
Atsumu stares at him.
“It’s a thing. I’m sorry. When people are nice to me it feels like I’m burdening them so I tend to push them away. I’m working on it.”
Atsumu’s mouth opens slowly. He has not blinked. The locker room has fallen quiet. Someone says uh? and Meian shushes.
Sakusa is not finished. He can be nice to Atsumu in front of people. He wants to be. He is safe there. And it’s none of their business anyways.
“It’s important to me to not burden you because I appreciate you so much. You make my life easier. I like talking to you. And I almost never like talking to people. I’m sorry I can be such an asshole. I know you’re a good guy. I know you deserve better.” Sakusa frowns. The kind words taste weird in his mouth. His heart is beating faster than it ever has before.
Atsumu’s mouth had been opening and closing like a fish, but now he lets out a soft noise that sounds like Kiyoomi.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Sakusa says awkwardly, and he thinks for a second that Atsumu might be following him. But when he gets to the shower he is alone. Standing under the hot stream of water he presses his hands to his face and takes very deep breaths.
Funnily enough, there are still things he wants to say to Atsumu. Things like I’m a better person when I’m around you. You make me want to laugh. Sometimes when you’re not around, I imagine you doing things with me. I wish you came over more. You wouldn’t have to cook. I wish you would come over so that you could talk to me. I think I like your voice. I think I like your laugh. Time goes by really fast when you’re with me. I want you to know this; that I like you.
Sakusa jerks his head back so fast that he bumps it on the shower head. Cursing, he clutches his head in his hands and thinks about that. Surely he does not like Atsumu, not like that. Not like those horrible couples on February fourteenth who share spit and touch all the time. Surely not romantically. He’s liked maybe two people in the past, and it was all so unrealistic that Sakusa squashed romantic desires as deep down as he possibly could. He cannot let Atsumu know; it’s asking too much. Romance was not made for someone like Sakusa Kiyoomi who has to put gloves on before he touches people. Dating him would be a nightmare. He is probably technically socially awkward. He’s not going to ask for someone’s life like that.
The thing about Sakusa Kiyoomi is that he’s afraid of germs and he’s a disaster to deal with. He has been unpopular his whole life because he’s high maintenance, even to talk to. The thing about Sakusa Kiyoomi is dating him is a lot to ask for, a lot of details to look for and learn, a lot of obstacles to get past. The thing about Sakusa Kiyoomi is that it would be easier for everyone, if he never ever ever wanted to date anyone, if he never let himself dream about things that were so clearly out of reach.
The thing about Sakusa Kiyoomi is that he wants to date Atsumu Miya.
+++
The thing about having a crush on Sakusa Kiyoomi when you’re a 184 cm volleyball player with a shit personality and piss-colored hair whose jokes do not land is that Sakusa Kiyoomi is absolutely delusional because he says things like I know you deserve better.
Atsumu wants to say have you seen yourself? How can Atsumu be the one that deserves better? Atsumu is a douchebag. This is common knowledge. Why would Sakusa say something like that?
Why would Sakusa say any of the things he said in the locker room? Is he a sadist? Kiyoomi doesn’t even know how crazy Atsumu is. It feels almost like the months of pining have been worth it, if it lead to this moment, this feeling.
I know you’re a good guy.
Sure, Atsumu tries to be good, but he’s Atsumu Miya. He’s always a little too much. What is Sakusa missing? How has Atsumu fooled Omi-omi into believing that he’s halfway decent? He’s a good setter. He’s not a good person.
Two phonecalls to Osamu and three freakouts later, Atsumu texts Kiyoomi.
Atsumu: i don’t know why it’s so hard for you to believe, but i like talking to you too. & i dont mind cooking.so when am i coming over next?
It takes maybe two minutes for Kiyoomi to reply.
Omi-omi: Does Friday sound okay?
Atsumu: see u then omi-omi!
But something in Atsumu sinks; Friday is four days away. They haven’t gone that long without Atsumu coming over in ages. Was what Atsumu said too much? Is Sakusa embarrassed about his outburst? Should Atsumu have pretended like he never heard anything?
But he did hear. And Sakusa said it so that he would hear. He said it in the locker room in front of everyone while he stared at Atsumu and Atsumu thought he was dreaming. He stood there and he said I like talking to you. And I almost never like talking to people.
So Atsumu’s special to him, or something. But didn’t Atsumu know this? Because who else goes over to Sakusa’s apartment, much less is comfortable in it? Atsumu doesn’t want to give himself false hope, but Sakusa had just about said as much and Sakusa is a blunt person. A blunt object that can split Atsumu in two if he falls the wrong way.
So Atsumu calls Osamu. Osamu answers on the first ring but still has the audacity to sound annoyed.
“This had better be the last time you call me about the Sakusa Kiyoomi thing.”
“He said lots of nice things to me very loudly in front of everyone else.”
“What the fuck?”
“I know.”
“So is he in love with you or something?”
“No, I’ve made no progress in that department. But he thinks nice things about me. He doesn’t hate my guts, ‘samu!”
“Why is him being in love with you in a different department than him not hating you?”
“Because people can hate me and still be in love with me. It’s happened before. But I very specifically do not want Sakusa to be one of those people.”
“Have you ever seen Sakusa date anyone?”
“I can be his first!”
“Yeah, his first nightmare,” Osamu mutters.
“This is the thing. This is the problem. This is the thing,” Atsumu says, his words tumbling out sideways. “I’m starting to think that I might be good for Sakusa. I might be a good fit for him. Isn’t that fucking insane?”
“That is absolutely insane. But–”
“I mean, he’s the most uptight, high-maintenance person in the world. He literally has a yardstick up his ass or something. And he wants everything to be perfect and I am so far from that and I know it. I’m genuinely annoying. I’m trying to be a good person but I fucking suck at it. We know this. It is alien that I like him at all, but even weirder that we kinda fit together. Or am I delusional?”
“You interrupted me,” Osamu says, irritated. “I was going to say that it is absolutely insane. But I can see it. You’re insufferable in a sufferable way. I don’t put up with you because I’m forced to, you know.”
“Osamu Miya. Was that. A compliment.”
“I’m going to hang up in two seconds. But you’re not a bad guy, and we both know it. You could be good for him. It’s worth it to try.”
“Osamu!” Atsumu coos, but Osamu really has hung up. “Bastard,” Atsumu says to his empty apartment. He kicks the couch idly, so that he doesn’t do something stupid like throw his arms out and spin in a circle. “Stupid Osamu. Givin’ me hope. Just because he ended up with the guy he was pining after doesn’t mean that I will. And it’s Sakusa Kiyoomi. This is an impossible task.” But even as he says it he knows he’s not going to talk himself out of it.
The thing about Atsumu Miya is that he does not run from the impossible. He will always try to achieve it. He stops trying when failure proves that a task really is impossible. There was a time when he thought being a professional setter was impossible. Or chugging five beers and then throwing a dart in between someone’s fingers was impossible. He achieved both of those things. So maybe Osamu Miya is right. Maybe it is worth it to try.
“Fuck my life.” Atsumu says.
KiyoomiKiyoomiKiyoomiSakusaKiyoomi his brain says.
+++
Friday comes with surprise rain showers that drench Atsumu completely on the way up to Kiyoomi’s apartment.
“What the fuck did you do, swim here?” Sakusa says when he opens the door. “Why didn’t you bring an umbrella?”
“Well it wasn’t raining before I left!” Atsumu snips, and then he shuffles his feet and says guiltily, “sorry. I know it’s a mess.”
Sakusa stares at him, like he’s debating whether he should let him in. Atsumu nearly opens his mouth to offer to leave when Sakusa says, “okay, whatever. Come in. Now stay right there,” he orders as soon as Atsumu crosses the threshold and closes the door. And then Sakusa disappears.
Atsumu can follow directions, especially when they have come from Sakusa Kiyoomi himself. He stands patiently in Sakusa’s hallway, dripping water into a puddle on the floor. He fights the urge to shake his head like a dog.
Sakusa returns with an armload of towels. His brow is furrowed in concentration. He throws one on the floor, the other at Atsumu, and holds on to the other. Atsumu wraps the towel around his upper body, when suddenly his vision is obscured by a white towel.
Atsumu makes a sound of surprise that unfortunately does resemble a squeak. Sakusa pulls the towel back and frowns at him, then presses the towel to Atsumu’s forehead. “Shut up,” Sakusa chides him, “I’m drying your head.”
Now this is bizarre because Atsumu could easily do this himself. But he says nothing and stays as still as he can while Sakusa very carefully dabs the towel across his face. Sakusa is so close to him, face scrunched with determination. Sakusa is now pressing the towel to Atsumu’s hair. It is not a very efficient way to dry his hair, but still Atsumu says nothing.
Sakusa is meticulous about the proximity, careful not to let any of his skin touch Atsumu’s. The lack of contact does nothing to prevent Atsumu’s skin from heating up. Atsumu stands still and prays the heat on his face and neck are not visible.
And he wills himself to not be selfish about this; not to let his wants and desires blind him to reality. He is wet and making a mess in Sakusa’s apartment. Sakusa is cleaning up a mess. Sakusa does not love him. Sakusa is touching his face tenderly with a towel but Sakusa does not love him. He is a mess that Sakusa is cleaning up. Nothing more.
“How the fuck did you get so wet?” Sakusa mutters and the moment Atsumu opens his mouth, Sakusa clamps the towel over Atsumu’s lips. “Don’t even say it. You’re a twelve year old.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Atsumu glares at Sakusa when Sakusa removes the towel.
“Liar.” Sakusa squints at him. Atsumu just pouts because Kiyoomi’s right– he was going to say it.
“It’s raining really hard,” Atsumu crosses his arms defensively. On cue, thunder booms, so loud it seems to shake the room. Both Atsumu and Kiyoomi jump, so neither of them can make fun of the other.
“Come in,” Sakusa says, “you’ll get sick if you wear those wet clothes. We’ll throw them in the dryer. I left dry clothes in the bathroom, you can go change.” And he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling as if he’s bored and didn’t just tell Atsumu to borrow his clothes.
Shell-shocked, Atsumu stands frozen for three seconds. “You’re so nice, Omi-omi,” he says in what he hopes is a teasing tone of voice. Sakusa just rolls his eyes and Atsumu walks into the bathroom, opening and closing his fists.
He knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up. He knows he shouldn’t hope that it means something, because it really doesn’t. It’s messy for Atsumu to wear clothes soaked in rain water around Kiyoomi’s apartment. That’s the only reason why Kiyoomi would lend him clothes, but Atsumu can’t help but hope that maybe, a far-fetched maybe, Sakusa wants Atsumu to wear them. Because Kiyoomi dabbed at Atsumu’s face affectionately with a towel, and surely Atsumu’s not crazy to wonder if that means something. Surely it’s not just wishful thinking this time. Or is he just being selfish?
Sakusa has lent him a pair of boxers too. Surely this is too intimate. Atsumu takes deep breaths to still his wild heart. He pulls on the boxers, a pair of grey sweatpants, and a baggy Queen shirt. Sakusa Kiyoomi has worn these clothes. Atsumu clenches and unclenches his fists.
“You listen to Queen?” Atsumu asks as he rejoins Sakusa at the couch.
Sakusa looks up at him and raises an eyebrow, then looks back at his phone. His gaze does not linger, much to Atsumu’s disappointment. “Are you going to make fun of me?”
“Course not, why would I do that? They make good music… I think. Bohemian rhapsody, right? Freddy Fazbear?”
“Freddy Fazbear?!” And Sakusa’s all too familiar biting glare is back.
“Whoa, whoa,” Atsumu raises his hands in surrender. “Is that not it? I swear his name is Freddy.”
“Freddie Mercury?!”
“Oh, that does sound right,” Atsumu drops his hands and walks to the kitchen. “Who the fuck is Freddy Fazbear?”
Sakusa disappears for a few seconds, presumably to put Atsumu’s wet clothes in the dryer, and returns with his signature displeased look on his face. “You are so uncultured.”
“Sorry I don’t know old Western bands,” Atsumu retorts, “I’m not eighty.” Then he tries to subtly get a look at Sakusa’s face to see if he crossed a line. Sakusa does not look considerably offended, so Atsumu relaxes.
There’s a small silence, until Sakusa, always one to pop uncomfortable questions, says, “Do you think I hate you?”
Atsumu contemplates this as he begins to slice a carrot into neat, even pieces. “I think if you hated me, you would’ve closed the door in my face.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean… if you hated me, you wouldn’t still let me come over, right?” Atsumu stops cutting vegetables to look at Sakusa suspiciously. “I don’t wonder about if you hate me anymore. Is that what the outburst in the locker room was about?”
Sakusa colours. “I don’t think I’m nice enough,” he says, opening the refrigerator and then closing it.
“You’re plenty nice, Omi-omi. Sure, you always look like you’ve smelled some dog shit, but you’re nice enough to talk to. Unless you confuse Freddy Fazbear with Freddie Mercury.”
“That’s what I thought,” Kiyoomi says, ignoring Atsumu’s jokes. “But it turns out that being nice is different from being not mean. And also Hinata thinks I hate him. Obviously I do not hate Hinata Shoyo.”
Atsumu frowns. That isn’t exactly what he would call obvious.
“What?” Kiyoomi asks flatly.
“I mean, are you sure that’s obvious? You reprimand him a lot.”
“I… that’s… of course I don’t hate Hinata Shoyo! No one hates him! That’s impossible. Everyone’s like, a little in love with him at least!”
“You’re in love with him?” Atsumu turns around so fast he drops a slice of cucumber on the floor.
“That does not sound at all like what I just said,” Sakusa grumbles, picking up the slice and throwing it in the trash. “In fact I was talking about you.”
Atsumu freezes. “About me?” He says it as innocently as possible.
“You dumbfuck. You think I didn’t know?”
“I thought no one knew. Except maybe Meian because that fucker knows everything.”
“No, Atsumu, everyone knows except Hinata.”
Atsumu looks at Sakusa, surprised. “‘Knows’? Sakusa, I don’t still like him like that.”
Sakusa processes the words with a hum. “I suppose you can form sentences around him now.”
“Don’t remind me. I couldn’t string together two words in front of that tangerine fucker. It was so stupid I swear I liked him so much I didn’t know which way was up.” Not that Atsumu’s been flirting, but raving over another guy is not a good tactic.
“Your tosses were shit too,” Sakusa remarks.
“Thanks.” Atsumu shifts awkwardly. It’s a bit uncomfortable to talk about his past crush with his current crush who doesn’t know that he’s his current crush. He turns the stove on.
“Anyways,” Sakusa says, and Atsumu can tell that he’s trying to sound casual, “I don’t hate Hinata. Hinata is very easy to like. But he thinks I hate him. And so does Bokuto. And everyone else. But I’m not mean to them. But I don’t think I’m nice to them.”
“Since when do you care what people think of you?” Atsumu asks, and he’s genuinely curious.
“Since I decided not to be a dickhead.”
“So why don’t you try being nice to them?”
“How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”
“Why would you ask me how to be nice? Don’t you think I’m an asshole?” Atsumu stirs the vegetables without much enthusiasm.
“I don’t think you’re an asshole! I think you’re nice!”
“What? Why would you think that?”
Sakusa mumbles something.
“Oh,” says Atsumu, and he keeps facing the stove because his face is heating up again and he feels vulnerable. “I guess I am nice to you, Omi-omi. I never really think about it, I guess.”
“Well that’s not helpful at all,” says Sakusa Kiyoomi, not a dickhead but almost one, “you’re just telling me you’re nice without trying–”
A cellphone rings loudly in the distance.
“Shit, that’s mine,” says Atsumu, but he’s in the middle of pouring the broth into the pan. “I must’ve left it in the bathroom–”
“Jesus, that ringtone’s annoying,” says Sakusa, “I’ll go get it.” And even though they weren’t that close, when Sakusa leaves the kitchen Atsumu can feel a lack of warmth in his bones.
“It’s Osamu!” Sakusa yells from the bathroom.
“Can you answer it? Put it on speaker,” Atsumu calls back, wiping sweat from his brow.
Sakusa brings the cellphone to the kitchen table, content to take a break and answer the call
“Hello?” Osamu says, his voice slightly distorted.
“Hello,” Sakusa responds as Atsumu busies himself with the cream.
“One second, ‘Samu!” Atsumu calls.
“Who is that?” Osamu says.
“I’m Sakusa Kiyoomi,” Sakusa says, and maybe Atsumu imagines it, but he sounds nervous.
“Oh right, I forgot he mentioned you guys were hanging out. What’s he doing?”
“Cooking.”
Osamu chuckles. “Oh is that his new hobby now? I was wondering why he called me out of nowhere a few weeks ago and asked me to teach him how to cook. Do you just sit and watch him cook or something?”
Atsumu’s muscles tense. Maybe Sakusa hadn’t heard that part. But–
“Did you just say you were teaching him how to cook? Atsumu didn’t know how to cook?” Sakusa's eyes meet Atsumu's and they're blazing with somehing akin to fury, but not quite that.
Okay, so he had heard. Atsumu sighs and turns off the stove to do some damage control. “I did know how to cook! But only a few dishes. It’s not a big deal, right? I just asked him how to make certain things that would have been easy for you to make and that you would’ve liked.”
“But you weren’t supposed to be doing extra work to help me. This was supposed to be convenient for you. What the fuck were you doing? Being taught something just so that you could teach me?” Sakusa sounds incredulous.
“Are you mad at me?” Atsumu tries to read Sakusa’s face.
“Can you please hang up.” says Atsumu’s cell phone. Atsumu jumps. He had forgotten Osamu was on the line.
“No, you hang up! I’m going to win that bet!” Atsumu yells. Somehow, even faced in the perilous possibility of Sakusa being mad at him, Atsumu is crazy enough to remember that he and Osamu made a bet on who hangs up on the other more. Atsumu is in absolutely no danger of losing this bet, but he’ll still take every point he can get. “Don’t hang up, Omi-omi!”
Sakusa ends the call. “I'm not... I'm not mad. I don't want you to cook for me anymore.”
“C'mon, don't be like that. It's not a big deal.” For some reason Atsumu’s heart is growing ten sizes at the fact that Sakusa is this worked up over him.
“It's a big deal to me, okay? It's something you do for me that's a burden to you.”
“So I spend a little extra time the day before I come over to learn how to cook something. That doesn’t mean you’re a burden, Sakusa. I don’t know why you keep trying to push that–”
“Why would you go out of your way for me? I give you autonomy right? You know that you don’t have to do this?” Sakusa rubs his temples.
“This is not a big deal, what’s your problem? So I want to help–”
“You don’t have to help though,” Kiyoomi stands out of his seat and begins to pace in a circle. “I don’t need your help or your pity. I can take care of myself–”
“You were not taking care of yourself!” Atsumu doesn’t even know why he’s shouting. Maybe he’s mad that Kiyoomi still doesn’t get it, after weeks of Atsumu’s devotion. Maybe he’s mad that Kiyoomi is convinced he’s burdening Atsumu instead of making his life better. Maybe he’s mad because Kiyoomi insists on being difficult, instead of just moving on.
“Well that was my problem, and not yours! You’re not my savior or my mom! I don’t know why you would do that for me.” If Atsumu doesn’t know why he’s shouting, he’s doubly more confused as to why Kiyoomi is shouting. Atsumu has done nothing wrong, the way he sees it.
“Why are you so fucking difficult?!” Atsumu yells, then remembers he’s in an apartment and he doesn’t really want to yell at Kiyoomi anyways. “Why is it so hard for you to let people help you?”
“Because I know how fucking high maintenance I am! And I know it’s not worth it to help me so I don’t know why you think it is!” Kiyoomi stops pacing in circles and stares at Atsumu straight in the face. His eyes are almost pleading.
“Jesus Christ, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu says, and something has gone timber in his pre-frontal cortex. “Are you really that dense? You can’t imagine why this would be worth it to me? It’s the same reason why you’re one of the only people I can be nice to without trying. Why I’m different around you. Why I fucking… look at you too long. It’s… it’s the same reason why I think about you all the time and why I toss to you too much and why I worry about you. Why I talk to Osamu about you and why… why I don’t know which way is up around you. C’mon, Omi-omi. Are you really gonna make me say it?” The heavy thing falls from the front part of his brain and smashes into his chest. Maybe it was the intimacy of wearing Kiyoomi’s clothes that made him feel so naked.
Sakusa continues to stare. Then he sits back down at the kitchen table and puts his head in his hands. Great, Atsumu has broken him. “Atsumu, no.” He says, and it’s the softest that Atsumu has ever heard his voice.
“Yeah, okay, I get it,” Atsumu says quickly. Fucks sake, what was he thinking, saying something like that anyways? And yet, he can’t bring himself to regret it.
“No, I don’t mean it like that,” Kiyoomi says, his face still buried in his hands. “You… you don’t mean it like that either.” The apartment is horribly silent, save for booming thunder here and there.
“Kiyoomi, I like you,” Atsumu insists.
“You don’t like me. You can’t like me. I mean, no one’s ever…”
“Are you really trying to say no one’s had a crush on you before?” Atsumu crosses his arms over his chest. “Because I know that’s bullshit. You have a sea of fangirls following you wherever you go. And I know you’ve been on twitter.”
“People like me, then they get to know me and they don’t like me anymore.” Finally Sakusa removes his face from his hands and sits back in his seat. His words are monotonous. “That’s how it works. I’m not… I’m just too difficult.”
“Yeah, you’re a real pain in the ass, but I like you.” Atsumu is confused. He hasn’t made that many confessions in his lifetime, but he has never had the recipient deny the fact that Atsumu’s feelings exist.
“No, Atsumu, it doesn’t work like that. You just got confused or something and–”
“This is a really shitty way of letting me down easy, you know that? You’re not giving me an out; I’m not taking this back, these are my feelings. I like you and if you don’t like me, that’s fine, but insinuating that I don’t know my own feelings–”
“Why are you like this!? I am giving you an out, just take it! It’ll be so easy, Atsumu, we can keep being friends, right? We can be friends and we can forget this ever happened.” Sakusa looks at Atsumu imploringly as if he has offered a good solution instead of a cruel, terrible one.
Atsumu blinks. He very ferociously wants to cry. He turns and walks down the hall before something grisly can happen– like crying in front of Sakusa Kiyoomi who does not love him back. He opens the front door and is met with torrential rain hammering down every inch in sight. He closes the door.
“You’re not going out in that,” Sakusa says dully. “And even if you were, you forgot your phone. Listen, I suck the life out of people. You hear me? I drain them. There’s no way I’m going to watch you let me do that to you.”
“Sakusa, you don’t suck the life out of people,” Atsumu says, because he’s stuck in Sakusa’s apartment so they might as well talk about whatever nonsense Sakusa is spewing.
“Of course I do. I never notice it until it’s too late. I called Komori once and he was at my parent’s house and I heard them saying in the background that ever since Kiyoomi left, it feels like I finally got my life back. And it’s not even like I had to hear it to see it. They had so much freedom without me. And Komori and the few other friends I tried to make in college, it just… it was always too much for them. To have to deal with the germ thing. It’s supposed to be my problem but it affects everyone around me. Everyone else has decided I’m not worth it after a while and I don’t blame them. It’s not… it’s just not what you want, okay?”
“I think I get to decide what I do or don’t want,” Atsumu says, processing Sakusa’s words. Sakusa is so pretty Atsumu would have assumed that it was easy for Sakusa to realize he was desirable. He had never imagined that Sakusa had gone through this– that Kiyoomi truly believes that people are better off without him. “And… and I’m sorry you’ve been through that Kiyoomi, but I like being around you. The germ thing is okay. I like you.”
“No, Atsumu,” Sakusa wrings his hands desperately, “no you don’t get it. I take people’s lives. I take everything from them and make them put it into me. I suck them and drain them and take everything from them because I’m a nightmare to try to keep happy, you have to know, Atsumu. I can’t… nothing is ever enough for me because everything has germs in it. Do you understand me? I am constantly whining and bitching about microscopic things that are everywhere and aren’t even fucking necessarily bad for you. If you really like me… I don’t think I can give you what you really want.” He looks so small, suddenly, sitting at the kitchen table with his hands in his lap trying to tell Atsumu that he is too much.
And all at once, Atsumu feels like an old man and he fights the urge to sit down and rub his temples. He is tired all over, tired of standing, tired of speaking, but most of all he is tired from fighting for something that, for some reason, seems to be nearly impossible for him to have. “Fucks sake,” he says. “Fucking. Fucks sake. You’re telling me that you can’t date because of the germ thing, which is fine by the way, but can’t you just fucking tell me that you don’t like me? Just fucking say it, I can take it. You don’t have to spill your guts just so that I won’t take it as a damn rejection.”
Thunder claps. Atsumu’s phone vibrates. Sakusa Kiyoomi is frighteningly quiet.
“Well?” Atsumu says gruffly, pushing it because he’s a little pissed and feels a little jilted. He doesn’t like that he confessed to Kiyoomi and they ended up yelling and now Kiyoomi’s sad and Atsumu’s sad and unloved.
“Well.” Kiyoomi says and he sounds bored by it. But then he looks up from under his eyelashes at Atsumu, slowly, his eyes searching. Atsumu can read Osamu’s mind, but he thinks he’s never been quite successful with anyone else. Still, he tries, searching Kiyoomi’s pretty face for answers.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Kiyoomi scowls. “Stop it. Actually, go ahead. Read my mind: it’ll save me the trouble.”
“No, Omi-omi,” Atsumu cannot resist the urge this time; he sits down and rubs his temples like an old man. “You'd think I'd have had you figured out by now, but I never understand what goes on in that mind of yours. I hate it.” He lets his eyes fall shut.
“Yeah, you will hate this,” Sakusa mutters.
Great. Atsumu takes a deep breath and prepares for the explicit rejection. He asked for it, anyways. He really is some special sort of masochist.
“I like you.”
Oh, mother of gods, he’s having auditory hallucinations now. Atsumu is in far deeper than he thought. He refuses to open his eyes. He is far too scared.
“I mean it. I’m not just saying it. I like you and I...I care about you and I don’t want to be too much for you. I don’t want to scare you off. I don’t want to drain you or suffocate you or make you bitter or make you resent me.”
Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut. He has no idea what’s happening, but he’s sure that it’s not happening.
“I… I don’t think I can give you what you want but you have to know that I really really want to. But I want to be healthy for you and I… I’ve lived with myself for twenty-four years and I know that’s not what I am.”
I know you deserve better. Holy shit, is Sakusa telling the truth? Is Atsumu really getting what he wants?
“Atsumu?”
Best not to get his hopes up. Atsumu keeps his eyes shut.
“Miya?”
Atsumu hears a faint snapping sound.
“Atsumu.”
“GAH!” Something cold and rubbery touches the back of Atsumu’s neck and he jumps. “What the fuck!”
“Good morning,” Sakusa says, not sounding very apologetic, even though he should. “You just missed my confession.”
“I was not asleep,” Atsumu says indignantly, searching for the source of the cold and rubbery feeling. The mystery is solved when he notices Sakusa has put on a pair of medical gloves. “I was just processing it, thank you very much.”
“You jumped like, five feet in the air,” the corners of Kiyoomi’s mouth turn up, just a little. Then he frowns. “Is that what I look like when someone gets near me?”
“Yes,” says Atsumu because he’s childish. “And if you like me, Omi-omi, isn’t it worth it to give it a chance?”
“You’re too… I…” Sakusa inhales and shakes his head. Then he sighs deeply and raises his arms, and then drops them, and then raises them again, and then drops them, and then raises them again. “Atsumu, you're so... I would really really fucking hate myself if I hurt you.”
“Kiyoomi I… you’re not going to drain me like that, not like all that stuff you were saying. If I feel like you’re exhausting me, I’ll leave. I can handle myself. I’m not… I don’t think I’m better off without you. I don’t talk to you or do things for you because I feel like I have to. I choose to. I have already been choosing you. I like choosing you.”
“I'm a nightmare, Atsumu. You know this. I'm going to hurt you.”
“Of course you will hurt me. And I will hurt you too. That is the painful consequence of agreeing to be vulnerable. Neither of us are perfect human beings. But I think we could figure it out together. I think that we could… both make each other better people.”
“You already,” Kiyoomi starts, and then he sighs and shakes his head and Atsumu’s heart either cracks or starts to put itself back together. “I mean, I.. I think I’m making progress and then I’m shitty to you in practice or I have a panic attack over a speck on a plate. And I'm still the bratty kid I was when you first met me forever ago.”
“Listen, Omi-omi, that’s not how progress works. And it’s not like I’m not shitty to you sometimes, too. You’ll still be making progress no matter how many times you freak out over a speck of dirt or something, because even if the germ thing is forever that doesn’t mean that you haven’t changed, that you haven’t become a better person. Because you aren’t your germ thing. It doesn’t make up everything you are. You're really not going to hurt me the way you think you are. I think you’re nice enough to respect boundaries as long as I set them.”
“I am not nice.”
“That’s just your exterior, Omi-omi. Your tough exterior, you turtle. You’re a softie on the inside, I would know.”
“Turtle?” Sakusa looks around in confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about.”
“Ugh. This is your fault for having me try to convince you to date me. Now I’m rambling.”
“I’m not making you convince me!” Sakusa lets out a sigh of frustration. “Why is this so complicated?” And he looks so adorably annoyed and disappointed that Atsumu nearly puts his foot through the table.
“Fine. I’m reassuring you– not convincing you– that this is a perfectly good idea. And it wouldn’t have to be so complicated if you would just trust me.”
“I let you cook for me. You know I trust you.”
Atsumu becomes very interested in his shoes, a tactic for hiding his smile. “Trust yourself, then.”
Sakusa makes a small noise. Then he walks over to the couch to take a throw pillow and hurl it at the wall. It lands on the floor with a soft noise. “So… you still want to date me. Even though you know I’m a nightmare.”
“Sure do, Omi-omi.” Fuck. Atsumu might be shaking. “And you’re not a nightmare. You’re a… a daydream.” He's not Atsumu Miya if he doesn't say stupid things in situations of high tension.
“Never say a fucking thing like that to me again,” Kiyoomi threatens, his eyes narrowing to slits.
Atsumu can’t help it– he laughs. Really, Kiyoomi is not as scary as he tries to sound.
Kiyoomi smiles slightly at the sound of Atsumu’s laughter. “I’m serious,” he says, but he doesn’t sound very serious. “If we’re going to date you can’t say stupid shit like that.”
“Got it. Only formal and serious declarations of affection, perhaps in the form of an essay or a poem. Maybe even a newspaper article. I’ll use a thesaurus for it.” Atsumu says, teasing Sakusa before the words even process. “Wait, are you actually going to date me?”
Sakusa picks up the throw pillow and then throws it at the wall again.
“What did that pillow ever do to you?” Atsumu questions, his heart cracking like an egg and spilling yolk all over his chest. .
“What are you doing to me?” Sakusa mutters. “Yes. I will date you. And I will be good to you to the best of my abilities.”
“Shit.” Atsumu closes and opens his eyes a few times. Nothing changes. He is still in Sakusa’s apartment and Sakusa has agreed to date him. “Kiyoomi, you’re my boyfriend.”
“Yes,” Sakusa pulls at the fingers of his gloves nervously, then he smiles a secret smile. “Now let’s finish dinner, okay? Boyfriend.”
+++
“Meian definitely knows,” Atsumu says drily, sitting in a way that made him seem too large for Sakusa’s couch.
“I don’t think so,” Sakusa sits next to him, careful to put a few inches of space between them.
“Well you’re kinda oblivious to stuff like that, Omi-omi,” Atsumu says fondly.
“It’s been six days, how would he know?”
“Aww, Omi-omi! Have you been counting?”
“Shut the fuck up,” KIyoomi says, but even as he says it he can tell the words don’t have their old weight.
Atsumu does not shut up. “Well since it’s been six days, can I touch you Omi-Omi? Like, hold your hand or something…?” He says it carelessly but he avoids Kiyoomi’s eyes.
“I… yeah… you can. Just... be patient. I have different boundaries every day,” Sakusa rubs his temples. “I know it’s frustrating but–”
“Don’t apologize, Kiyoomi-omi. I can be patient.” Atsumu says, and when he smiles Sakusa feels it in his chest.
But Sakusa doesn’t want to make him wait, he wants to give Atsumu what he wants. I should kiss him, Sakusa thinks, because he wants to make Atsumu happy. It’s just his lips. It won’t be that bad. The germ thing isn’t that bad today anyways.
“Can I take you on a date though?” Atsumu says shyly, and Sakusa looks at him sitting there, eyes wide and eyelashes fluttering and breathing fast, and Sakusa thinks okay, and Sakusa leans over and kisses him.
Sakusa had imagined it would feel just like pressing his lips to his own fist, nothing too special, just a gesture really, a symbol of affection. But when Sakusa presses his lips to Atsumu’s, his lips feel like they’re on fire and tingling, and Sakusa thinks oh my god, I’m kissing him, and that alone makes him want to be closer; for the first time in forever the pleasant feeling and white noise drive out the fear in his mind and he wants to be closer. He reaches for Atsumu’s face, and Atsumu makes a soft gasp that makes Sakusa pull away hesitantly.
Atsumu just blinks and reaches out tentatively, and when Kiyoomi doesn’t move, he cups Kiyoomi’s face and kisses him again, and this is so much better, the slide of their lips as they move together. Kiyoomi has no idea what the fuck he’s doing but he chases the buzzing feeling in his chest and follows Atsumu’s lead. Sakusa doesn’t have anyone else to reference, but Atsumu seems to be unfairly good at what he’s doing, kissing Sakusa slowly and softly and almost lazily, as if it’s casual. And it could be casual. It could be something they do all the time. Kiyoomi is just that lucky.
And then Atsumu’s teeth close very lightly on Sakusa’s bottom lip and Sakusa’s mouth falls open just long enough for Atsumu to press his tongue in, and his mouth is so hot and it feels so pleasant until Sakusa realizes that Atsumu has his tongue in Sakusa’s mouth and Sakusa pulls back with a start.
Atsumu looks at him guiltily and removes his hand from Kiyoomi’s face, but Sakusa catches it with his own hand and holds it tightly. “It’s okay,” Sakusa says. He can feel a smile coming on so he drops his eyes to his lap. “It’s okay. And yes, you can take me on a date.”
“You’re always hiding your smile from me,” Atsumu whines, so Sakusa looks up at him for a brief second, smiling kindly the way he’s always wanted to at Atsumu, and Atsumu curses. “You’re going to be the death of me, Omi-omi, you know that?”
“You’re annoying,” Sakusa replies, not because he believes it (which he does) but because he can’t think of anything else to say. “You’re really annoying but one day I’m going to let you put your tongue in my mouth.”
Atsumu's cheek pinken, and it's so pretty that it's really and truly unfair. Sakusa is one of the luckiest people alive if it means he can make Atsumu shy.
"That might be one of the nicest things you've ever said to me," Atsumu looks up sideways at Sakusa. His eyes are too goddamn pretty.
"I'm going to say one more nice thing. One. I've never had this much hope for... I've never... I've never been so hopeful about growing close to someone. I didn't think... I never thought I'd find someone that I could actually picture a future with."
And it's true. Sakusa knows that he won't win every battle. He understands that he's a lot for a human being. But he has come to realize that he trusts Atsumu to realize that too, and to not baby him and to not sacrifice himself for him. He could actually be happy with someone. After years of thinking romantic desires were impractical because true romantic love was unattainable... Sakusa catches himself hoping. And even worse, he finds himself enjoying himself. He is caught in free fall, adrenaline coursing through his veins and his heart beating like he is alive, even if he might hit the ground.
But with Atsumu Miya? Perhaps Kiyoomi will fly.
It will be enough. A deep breath. The prying of one's ribs, the reveal of one's heart.
So the thing about Sakusa and Atsumu is that they can be patient, and they can be happy together. In a strange way, whether in the crowds before a volleyball match or the light of Sakusa’s apartment or their team’s locker room, they see each other for what they are: humans who are ready to be loved. If Atsumu cooks for Sakusa, it means he loves him. If Sakusa lets him, it means he loves him with a peaceful sigh. Together, hand in rubber-gloved hand, they will climb steps and knock down obstacles if it means they can claw their way to the perplexing, impenetrable feeling called love.