Work Text:
There’s one thing Atsumu’s known for a very, very long time: anything he wants, he can get.
Of course, there’s exceptions to that rule. Even though he wants to be taller–say, as tall as Osamu or Sakusa–he knows that he has no say in his height. But if it’s something he can work at, then there’s nothing stopping him from achieving his goal.
He wanted to be good at volleyball, so he trained until he was the best setter in the league. He wanted to get signed to a good team, so he went through with all of the stupid events his coach told him to go to. He wanted to secure a spot in the starting line up, so he made sure Coach Foster–and, by association, the rest of the MSBY Black Jackals–knew just how irreplaceable he was.
The point Atsumu’s trying to make, here, is that he’s a go-getter. He’s used to be doing what needs to be done.
So now that he’s faced with something he wants (hint: some one he wants) and he has no idea what to do, he’s a little out of his element.
Atsumu guesses this all started back when he was sixteen years old, at the Youth Training Camp where he met one Sakusa Kiyoomi in all his masked-up glory. Maybe it was the messy, curly hair. Maybe it was the glare Sakusa immediately leveled Atsumu with when he stood a little too close. Or, maybe it was the wicked spike Sakusa let loose on one of Atsumu’s sets. Either way, when Atsumu set eyes on Sakusa, he knew that he wanted him.
Except, because he was sixteen and still mentally immature, he thought Sakusa just annoyed him.
To be fair, Atsumu didn’t realize that the swoop his stomach does whenever Sakusa’s in his vicinity was attraction until, like, a year ago. Yes, he had been sitting on his repressed feelings for Sakusa for seven years. No, he didn’t know there were any feelings to be repressed at the time.
Imagine his surprise when one Sakusa Kiyoomi showed up at the MSBY tryouts, and Atsumu’s initial, knee-jerk reaction wasn’t Fuck, I hate that guy, but Fuck, he’s hot. Suddenly, Atsumu’s obsession with Sakusa made sense. It was like a lightbulb went off in his head, telling him to get his shit together and get Sakusa.
Some things are easier said than done. It took Atsumu everything he had to form a tenuous friendship with the guy–how was he supposed to go about dating him?
Atsumu’s sat on the problem for around a month or two, now that he’s officially at best friend status with Sakusa. But enough is enough, and the closer Atsumu gets to Sakusa, the more he wants to kiss the guy.
So he’s pulling out the big guns.
He steps foot in Onigiri Miya at a quarter to four on a rainy Thursday afternoon in mid-December. Even though the neon sign in the front of the store reads CLOSED, Atsumu knows his fucker of a brother and, more importantly, has the master key to every Onigiri Miya location.
“What’s up, fucker,” he calls, swinging the door open and shaking the water out of his hair. “I’m here ta ruin yer day.” From the back of the restaurant, he hears a long, drawn out sigh.
He follows the sound and sees his ugly twin brother and Suna Rintarou, the bane of his existence, sitting at a booth. They’re both staring at him with twin expressions of disgust.
“Hey! Wha’s with the faces? Ain’t ya happy ta see me after so long?” Atsumu cries, dropping his bag on the floor. Osamu’s eyebrows twitch as he follows the motion–the idiot’s probably thinking about health code violations, even now.
“Ah, yes. Seeing you is the highlight of my day,” Suna deadpans. He looks back at Osamu, and the two of them share a silent conversation. Then, Suna slides out of the booth and heads to the kitchen.
“Can ya get me some nigiri, please?” Atsumu pouts as Suna passes him. Suna raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything, so Atsumu counts that as a yes.
Atsumu wastes no time in taking up Suna’s vacant spot. Osamu blinks at him. “What do ya need,” he asks.
“Geez! Ya really think I’d come all this way jus’ ta ask ya a favor? Yer so cold, Samu–”
“Cut the bullshit, Tsumu.”
Atsumu purses his lips. “So, let’s say, hypothetically, I fell in like with one of my teammates,” he says, looking up at Osamu through his eyelashes.
Osamu’s completely quiet for a second. Then he sighs. “Rin, bring out the beers, yeah?” He shouts in lieu of a response.
“I have practice tomorrow. I can’t drink.”
“I know,” Osamu clarifies. “They’re for me.”
Two beers later and one slightly tipsy Osamu later, Atsumu’s explained the whole situation. Suna, for his part, stayed quiet for the majority of the conversation, only piping in to make scathing remarks about Atsumu every so often.
Osamu, on the other hand, seems to be very opinionated.
“‘M so happy, Rin,” he chortles. “My baby brother coming ta me. Me! For relationship advice!”
“Oh, fuck you, Samu. Maybe I’ll jus’ ask Bokkun–”
“NO!” Osamu yelps, startling both Atsumu and Suna. He clears his throat. “I mean, there’s no need. I guess I’ll just have ta help ya out.”
Osamu pulls out a pad of paper and a pen from the pocket of his MSBY hoodie. Atsumu distantly notes that the paper is the same pad the waiters use to jot down the orders, but before he can comment on it, Osamu’s uncapping the pen and writing in sprawling letters at the top: PROJECT: HOW TO GET ATSUMU A BOYFRIEND.
“Now, first things first. These are clinically proven ta work and therefore should be used responsibly. Look at me, Tsumu. Repeat after me: I will not use these on anyone but Sakusa Kiyoomi.”
“I will not–do I seriously have ta say it? Okay, fine. I will not use these on anyone but Sakusa Kiyoomi.”
“Good. Now, let’s get started.”
Step One: Always make sure you look hot as fuck when you know you’re gonna see him.
Atsumu looks down at the piece of paper Osamu ripped out from the server notebook. The first step is far, far from his comfort zone, and a small part of him doubts Osamu’s advice. But, well, Osamu’s in a relationship and Atsumu’s not, so who knows?
It’s with this thought that Atsumu puts down the piece of paper on his vanity and starts to get ready for morning practice.
Usually, Atsumu doesn’t really care about his appearance at practice. Sure, if he knows there’ll be fans or news coverage, then he’ll wear a better outfit than his usual gym shorts and old t-shirt combo, but for the most part, he knows he’s going to get really fucking sweaty, so he doesn’t see much point in getting glammed up.
This better be worth it , Atsumu thinks to himself.
He had to reach deep in the depths of his closet to find the outfit he now has spread out across his bed. It’s from an old sponsorship he did his second or third year on the Black Jackals. The designer is pretty high up now, and Atsumu shamelessly likes to tell people it’s because of him that the designer got popular. Except he knows that’s not true, because Asahi’s sportswear is actually nice, if not a little pricey for Atsumu’s tastes.
The top is a lightweight maroon muscle tee with arm holes that span the distance between Atsumu’s armpit and his hip. He remembers putting the shirt on for the first time and feeling like his entire chest would be exposed if he moved in any direction too quickly, but surprisingly, the shirt stuck to his sides the entire photoshoot, even as he bumped, set, and spiked. The shorts are black and made of the same material, except they fit snugly around his thighs and stay out of his way, passing even the squat test. Whenever Atsumu moves, the clothes shift with him–he’s not fighting for freedom or drowning in fabric. Even after nearly three years, the clothes fit him like a second skin.
All in all, Atsumu can see why Asahi prices his athleisure wear so high, and as he’s getting ready he jots down a reminder to put in an order for some more clothes.
Atsumu decides to just throw a hoodie over it, because it’s December and it’s cold outside, and he really doesn’t own any flattering sweaters or coats. He does, however, take extra care to spray a little bit of cologne on his wrists and behind his ears.
And then he’s off, draping his duffel bag over his shoulder and starting his walk to the gym.
His apartment is only a few minutes walk from the gym, so he is usually the first one in the locker room. He carries a pair of keys that open the front doors–courtesy of schmoozing the head of security, most likely–and is going through the motions of setting the gym up for the day when Sakusa joins him.
Sakusa’s apartment isn't that far from the gym and has a way of getting to places way earlier than normal human beings, so they often have a good thirty minutes together before anyone else comes. Usually, they chat while they wait for the others, catching up on the latest V-league drama (Sakusa pretends to be higher than all the gossip, but Atsumu knows he got a kick out of finding out Argentina’s setter is actually dating Iwaizumi-san) and whether or not they think Coach Foster is going to make them suffer at practice or not. (He always makes them suffer. Atsumu’s not sure why they still have this conversation every day.)
Today, though, when Atsumu takes off his hoodie, Sakusa just stands there, watching him.
“Omi? Wha’s up?” Atsumu asks. Sakusa blinks at him. Atsumu blinks back. “Yer starting to scare me,” he laughs nervously.
“Your clothes,” Sakusa starts. “Where’d you get them?”
Oh, fuck, Atsumu thinks. He thinks I’m hideous. He thinks I got dressed in the dark. I shouldn’t have followed Osamu’s stupid advice.
Atsumu swallows around the lump in his throat and says, “Oh, these old things? I found ‘em in the back o’ my closet and decided to give ‘em a whirl. Why? Do ya–not like ‘em, or somethin’?”
Sakusa looks away, and–maybe Atsumu’s just imagining it, but is that a blush on his face?? “No, they’re… very flattering,” he murmurs, voice so low Atsumu has to strain his ears to understand what he’s saying.
“Oh.”
Sakusa nods. “Yes.”
Grinning, Atsumu rubs the back of his neck. “Well, shit, Omi, thank ya. They’re from a sponsorship I did a while back and I was thinkin’ of buying some more?” That last part is a question, one that Atsumu’s a little embarrassed to be asking. Do I look good? Do you like how I dressed up for you?
“I think that would be… acceptable,” Sakusa says, which in Kiyoomi-speak means, You look hot as fuck and I want you to continue looking hot as fuck .
Or, at least, that’s how Atsumu interprets it.
Atsumu’s grin lasts through the whole practice, and when he feels Sakusa’s eyes following his every move, he considers the first step a success.
Step Two: Talk about things he likes in front of him. He’ll love knowing you pay attention to his interests!
Atsumu implements step two of Osamu’s list at Bokuto and Akaashi’s housewarming party. It’s been a week since step one, which, in Atsumu’s not-so-humble opinion, was an astounding victory. He needed at least a day to recover from Sakusa’s not-compliment, so when Bokuto announced to the entire locker room that he was throwing a housewarming party at the end of the week and that everyone was invited and was allowed and encouraged to bring a plus one, Atsumu thinks, Here’s my chance .
So now here Atsumu stands, sipping on a White Claw in his teammate’s spanking new kitchen. Sakusa stands across from him, leaning against the counter like he owns the place. Atsumu’s not ashamed to admit that he looks attractive like this: confident. Meian and Barnes are here, too; they’ve been talking for a while about their girlfriends and the shows they’re forced to watch with them.
“Ooh, don’t even get me started on that one,” Barnes is saying, raising his arms like he can physically ward off thoughts about the show. Meian cackles at his efforts.
“I know! Rina has been obsessed with it and it’s just so convoluted! I have no idea how she keeps up with it!”
Atsumu recognizes the show they’re talking about. Sakusa had recommended it to him, at one point; it was actually pretty good, once he got into it, but Meian is right.
Still, though, Atsumu has a job to do, and he’s been provided the perfect opportunity to show off his shit. “I actually thought it was pretty entertainin’,” Atsumu cuts in. Meian and Barnes turn to him, and he registers the weight of Sakusa’s eyes, but Atsumu powers through. “I really liked the direction the writers are goin’ with.”
Barnes’s eyebrows shoot up. “You watch it, too?”
Atsumu nods.
“Huh,” Meian says. “Never would’ve thought you of all people would enjoy a murder mystery drama.”
Atsumu scowls. He opens his mouth to ask what the hell that means, but they’re interrupted by Bokuto crashing into the kitchen. “HEY!” He shouts. “What are you doing in here!! The party’s in the living room, duh!!” He grabs onto the arms of Meian and Barnes, dragging them with him back to where he came from.
Atsumu and Sakusa stare at the empty space where they used to be for a few seconds. “Well, that was unexpected,” Sakusa begins, and then Atsumu’s laughing so hard his stomach hurts.
It takes him a while to calm down; every time he thinks he’s okay, he starts back up again. Once he finally gets a hold of himself, he looks over at Sakusa to see him smiling this soft little smile at him. This is hardly the first time Sakusa’s directed a smile at him, and yet the sight still catches Atsumu off guard.
“I didn’t know you actually watched the show,” Sakusa says once Atsumu’s completely stopped laughing.
“Of course I did,” Atsumu mumbles. “You recommended it ta me.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean you had to watch it,” Sakusa replies. His voice is fond and, paired with the smile still on his face, it makes Atsumu feel like he can take on the world.
Atsumu doesn’t trust his voice, so he shrugs, and that’s the end of that, except then Sakusa turns to face him completely. “So what did you think of the season finale?” Sakusa urges. He puts down his cup—full of water, because he drove here—and rests his arms over his chest, causing the relatively thin material of his black button-up to pull taught against his arms.
Atsumu blinks back visions of holding onto said arms. “I thought the murderer reveal was a little rushed, to be honest,” he replies.
Sakusa scoffs. “Please. They were hinting at it for the entire season.” He picks up his glass of water again and takes a sip. “I guess when they release the next season, we’ll have to watch it together so I can point everything out to you,” he suggests, disinterested eyes flitting up to make contact with Atsumu’s.
Atsumu feels his face burn bright red, but he nods eagerly anyways. “That-That sounds good ta me,” he says.
Humming, Sakusa finishes off his glass of water—Atsumu pointedly does not watch his Adam’s apple bop, no thank you—and tilts his head towards where Atsumu can hear Hinata and Bokuto yelling about the linoleum floors. “Shall we?” Sakusa says, smile melting into a knowing smirk.
Atsumu downs the rest of his White Claw and follows Sakusa out of the kitchen.
Step Three: When you’re around him, show off your assets. (Ha, ass-ets.) Do what it takes, Tsumu.
“What are my best assets?!”
“Good morning, Atsumu-san,” Hinata says, eyes wide in shock. He likely wasn’t expecting to be shouted at the moment he walked into the locker room, but Atsumu’s a little too frantic to care, honestly.
“I’d say your thighs,” Bokuto says at the same exact time, not even missing a beat. Hinata’s head snaps to look at Bokuto. Bokuto shrugs. “It’s true! Look, turn around, Tsumu.”
They’re still in the entrance of the locker room. Anyone–Sakusa included–could come in at any moment. (Sakusa had a doctor’s appointment, so he was unable to come to practice as promptly as usual.) Atsumu weighs the possibility of someone walking in and seeing Bokuto and Hinata stare at his backside against his need to successfully woo Sakusa and, unfortunately, his need wins out.
With a sigh, Atsumu reluctantly turns on his heel and walks further into the locker room. Based on the shuffling noises behind him, Hinata and Bokuto follow, watching his thighs in action.
Hinata hems and haws for a second before saying, “I see what you mean, Bokuto-san, but I respectfully disagree. His ass is much better!”
Atsumu gapes in shock. “The hell are ya–”
“Gasp! HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT!” Bokuto bellows. “His thighs are the size of your face!!”
“And his ass is as big as a volleyball!”
This–this is getting out of hand! Atsumu makes to face them again, but Bokuto grasps his shoulders and keeps him in place. “Don’t move, Tsum-Tsum! We’re going to solve this!”
“You guys have ta be kiddin’ me.”
“No, we’re dead serious,” Hinata says, except he always sounds like he’s joking, so his words don’t amount to much.
God, if Atsumu knew this was where the conversation would lead, he never would have brought this up in the first place! They continue to angle him this way and that for the next five minutes, and yet they still can’t come to a consensus. “Okay,” Atsumu says after being forced to take a lap around the locker room. “‘M puttin’ a stop ta this. I don’t care if my ass is better than my thighs. They’re both perfectly fine!”
Two things happen in perfect unison: Bokuto and Hinata’s faces drop, and the locker room door swings shut behind Atsumu.
Please don’t be Sakusa, please don’t be Sakusa, Atsumu prays to any deity that might be listening.
“What the hell did I just walk into?” Sakusa asks.
Fuck my life.
Atsumu’s still staring at Bokuto and Hinata, who are staring at a spot just over his shoulder. Bokuto’s eyes flicker over to Atsumu, and Atsumu can actually see the thought process in his mind. Slowly, ever so slightly, Atsumu shakes his head, trying to stop the inevitable.
As if it’s in slow motion, Bokuto’s mouth opens, and then the words are spilling out. “Atsumu wanted to know what his best asset was, so Hinata and I were trying to decide if it’s his ass or his thighs.”
The ensuing silence is so deafening that Atsumu wonders, almost nonsensically, if the other people in the room can hear his heartbeat pounding away in his chest.
Atsumu gathers what remaining pride he has left and shifts to look at Sakusa. As he turns, Sakusa’s eyes whip up towards the ceiling. “I don’t even know how to respond to that,” he says, voice dripping with venom.
“Well, maybe you add your inpu–” Bokuto begins, but Hinata slaps a hand over his mouth before he can finish. It’s too late, though; Atsumu watches the disgust wash over Sakusa’s face.
Sakusa huffs out a deep, disappointed sigh, and stomps to his locker. He’s quiet as he unlocks it and shoves his duffel inside, but his body language reads STAY CLEAR. He doesn’t even look over his shoulder at them before leaving the locker room, presumably to start his stretches.
That, very clearly, was a regression in their relationship, and Atsumu didn’t even do anything.
“Okay, I know that was probably my fault, but I’d also just like to mention that he was very obviously staring at your thighs, Tsum-Tsum,” Bokuto says.
Hinata squawks, “As if! He was totally looking at his ass!”
“Oh, we are not starting this again!” Atsumu yelps. “Omi wasn’t staring at my ass or my thighs! Because he hates me now! Because of you two!”
“No, no, he definitely was staring at something , I absolutely promise you Atsumu-senpai, I wouldn’t lie about this.” And would you look at that? For once in his life, Hinata managed to sound like wasn’t joking! Bokuto nods enthusiastically, as if to back up his claim.
And, well, if that isn’t something.
So, basically, Sakusa is either an ass man or a thigh man, and the responsibility of finding out which it is rests solely on Atsumu’s shoulders. Really, isn’t Atsumu so kind to have taken on such a burden?
In all seriousness, though, Atsumu is trying his best to find out what his best friend favors without pushing any of his boundaries. Yes, he wants to date him, but he’ll always prioritize Sakusa’s comfort over furthering their relationship.
After the discovery two days ago, Atsumu took it upon himself to brainstorm different ways to test the hypotheses. It’s the first time he’s enacting any of the experiments and if he says so himself, he’s pretty sure he’ll be able to get it in one.
Thursdays are weight days, so all of the Black Jackals are gathered in the spacious weight room next to the locker room. The last time they were here, Atsumu focused solely on his upper body. But today? It’s leg day.
Atsumu hums quietly to the music blasting in his earbuds as he goes about setting up his camera. Part of the PR he does for the Black Jackals is recording all of his workout sessions and sending them to some temp who then edits the clips and turns them into a video for the MSBY YouTube channel to post. Half of his viewers are gym dude-bros who want to be as jacked as a volleyball star and the other half are horny fangirls who foam at the mouth when they see his biceps. Atsumu tries really hard not to think about who watches his videos.
Technically, he’s not scheduled to record another workout video until next month, but… he needs to be able to see Sakusa’s reaction to his workout session, and it’s not like he’ll be able to tell where Sakusa’s looking when he’s turned the other way around. And it’s not like he’s going to submit this video to the intern, either; this just so happens to be for his own viewing pleasure. (And, probably, Bokuto and Hinata’s pleasure, so they can finally answer the question of ass or thighs.)
Sakusa and him always work out side by side, even when Atsumu’s recording, so he doesn’t have to worry about Sakusa not being in the frame. Thankfully, after the ill-fated locker room conversation that Atsumu’s taken to calling The Event, the four of them made up, so Sakusa quickly takes his place next to Atsumu, dragging with him a few dumbbells and a spare bench.
“Whatcha doin’ today?” Atsumu asks, watching as Sakusa wipes down the bench and the dumbbells. He takes the offered alcohol wipe pouch that Sakusa hands him and starts wiping down his own dumbbells and exercise band.
“Core,” Sakusa says. “You?”
Atsumu sends him a grin. “Legs. I might move over to the leg press at some point, if ya wanna come with.”
Sakusa hums noncommittally. Atsumu knows him well enough to know that means he’ll follow.
Plan A is in motion , Atsumu thinks to himself. He can barely hide how giddy he is.
Atsumu and Sakusa go through the motions of the workouts and, true to their word, move to the machines after a couple of reps each. Atsumu has to set up the camera on the other side of the room, but Sakusa helps, and the process goes by fast enough.
Atsumu gets set up in the leg press with ease, although Sakusa’s helping hand on Atsumu’s thigh threatens to send Atsumu reeling. Exercises like these always make Atsumu a little nervous, but with Sakusa spotting him, he feels safer than ever.
By the time Coach Foster calls time, Atsumu’s thighs and glutes ache , and he genuinely has no idea how he’s going to roll out of bed tomorrow morning. His legs almost give out on him after he untangles himself from the leg press, but before Atsumu can hit the ground, Sakusa’s hands are on either side of his waist, stabilizing him.
Holy fuck, Sakusa’s hands are so big they span Atsumu’s entire waist. And Atsumu’s not that small, either. Sure, he’s pretty fit, but he’s also over 6 feet tall. The fact that Sakusa can fit his entire waist in his two hands is crazy , and Atsumu’s legs quiver again.
“Ha, ha,” Atsumu chuckles nervously. “That was funny, right, Omi?”
Sakusa blinks down at him. “Be more careful, next time.”
“Well, I have ya, don’t I?”
Sakusa looks away, cheeks flushed from exertion. He stays with Atsumu as he stops recording and helps him pack up the camera. He only separates from Atsumu’s side when they reach the locker room and he has to go to his locker to grab his shower things.
Atsumu would normally shower at the gym, but he’s too anxious. He wants to go home and watch the workout footage so he can finally know if Sakusa really checked him out during The Event. He salutes Sakusa goodbye, ignoring the way Sakusa’s lip curls up in disgust, grabs his duffel bag, and practically runs out of the gym in his haste to get back to his apartment.
Uploading the videos to his computer takes about twenty minutes, so the first thing Atsumu does is pull out the SD card and start the uploading process. Then, since he has about twenty minutes to spare, he hops into the shower.
He’s standing in front of his fridge, toweling his hair dry and looking for a quick snack to eat, when his computer beeps. Immediately, Atsumu slams the fridge door shut and sprints to the computer.
It’s always a little strange watching himself doing exercises, and more than once, Atsumu finds himself critiquing his form before realizing that is not what he’s here for. He watches on two time speed, staring at Sakusa and trying to figure out where, exactly, he’s looking every time he glances over at Atsumu.
When the video’s over, Atsumu looks over the evidence he’s collected, and comes to one conclusion:
The experiment was non-conclusive.
Yeah, Sakusa did look at him. And the majority of his glances were dedicated to his ass and his thighs. Except, he looked at both in equal proportions.
Atsumu has no idea how to interpret this information. Is Sakusa an ass or thigh man? The world may never know because there’s simply not enough to go off of.
Technically, the third step was a success. Sakusa clearly could not keep his eyes off of him. But now there’s an unsolved question, and if there’s anything Atsumu hates with all of his might, it’s unsolved questions.
Guess it’s time to enact Plan B.
Experiment ‘Is Sakusa An Ass Or Thigh Man’, or ISAT for short, goes on the back burner for a hot minute, as does PROJECT: HOW TO GET ATSUMU A BOYFRIEND. Atsumu gets a minor sprain in his ankle and has to sit out on a couple of games, and he’s in such a bad mood that he has no desire to interact with anyone, let alone his longtime crush.
Unfortunately, as much as Atsumu wanted to be a total recluse, Sakusa refused to take no for an answer. He forced his way into Atsumu’s apartment multiple times and ensured he was icing his ankle properly. Atsumu would never admit it, but Sakusa’s mother-henning is probably the reason why he healed so fast.
Anyways, once Atsumu felt better, he decided to put his 110% into volleyball again. Sakusa was there the entire time, spurring him on but also making sure he didn’t push himself too hard. And now here Atsumu is, back in the regular rotation and ankle as good as new.
Both the experiment and the project return in full force once Atsumu gets news of the V-League charity gala set to happen in February. Atsumu decides that the gala is the perfect time to get an answer to his experiment once and for all, and to continue the project.
Atsumu spends the next couple of weeks preparing for the gala. He makes appointments with a hair stylist and an old friend of his because fuck if he doesn’t look good at this gala.
The night before the gala, Atsumu and Sakusa are on the phone, chatting idly about this and that. There’s a lull in the conversation, and before he can stop himself, Atsumu’s asking, “Omi? Want ta show up ta the gala together?”
On the other side of the line, Sakusa’s quiet for a second. Then, he replies, “Of course, Miya.”
Atsumu can’t help the grin that takes over his face. “‘Kay,” he says, feeling like a schoolgirl making plans with a boy for the first time.
“I’ll pick you up around seven, okay?” Sakusa continues. Atsumu can hear shifting on his side; Sakusa’s likely settling into bed, and suddenly this whole conversation feels frighteningly intimate.
Panicking only slightly, Atsumu hums an agreement. “Ya better show up wearing yer nicest clothes, Omi-Omi,” he teases. “Otherwise I’ll show ya up.”
“Is that why you asked me to go with you to the gala? You wanted to look better than me?”
“Ah, shit, ya’ve discovered my master plan.”
Sakusa huffs out a laugh. “Okay, well. You should probably go to bed soon, so you aren’t exhausted tomorrow,” he says.
“Excuse me! Yer the one who goes to bed at 8 p.m. every night, ya know! ‘M surprised ya haven’t fallen asleep yet, Omi.”
“You know, now that you mention it, I am feeling a little–” Sakusa’s interrupted by a sudden yawn.
“Goodnight, Omi,” Atsumu mumbles into his phone. If he closes his eyes tight enough, he can almost pretend Sakusa’s next to him on the bed. Atsumu wonders if Sakusa’s imagining the same thing.
“Goodnight, Tsumu,” Sakusa responds affectionately. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, yeah. See ya tomorrow.”
Hanging up feels like heartbreak, but with the memory of Sakusa’s voice in his ear, Atsumu finds himself falling asleep rather quickly.
When he wakes up the next morning, he takes his time getting ready for the day. He’s about to start getting dressed when he gets an incoming call from Suna.
“Hello?” He greets, pinning his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he pulls his outfit out of his closet.
Suna’s microphone crackles on the other end before he says, “Open your door. Osamu and I are here.”
“What the fuck,” Atsumu says. He drops his phone onto his bed and heads to his front door, peeking out of his peephole–and sure enough, Osamu and Suna are standing in his hallway. “What the fuck,” he repeats as he opens the door.
“We’re here ta help ya get ready,” Osamu says, shouldering his way past Atsumu and into his kitchen. “Also, I brought some onigiri.”
Both Osamu and Suna are dressed in matching black suits; Osamu’s jacket shimmers slightly in the light, almost looking like a deep gray at the right angle. Suna’s jacket is the same, except instead of gray it passes as blue.
“Aw, aren’t you two adorable,” Atsumu says. “I think ‘m gonna throw up.”
“That’s exactly how I feel whenever I see yer face, Tsumu,” Osamu grins. “Now go get ready.”
Suna strongarms him back into his room. He pushes Atsumu onto the bed and stands in front of him, hands propped on his hips. “Show me what you’re wearing,” he demands.
“What the hell is up with ya?” Atsumu complains. “My suit’s draped over my vanity chair, see?”
Suna runs a hand down the pants and lets out a low whistle. “How much did you drop on this?” He asks, glancing up at Atsumu when he doesn’t say anything.
“Enough for it to fit me well,” Atsumu finally says at Suna’s prompting.
“Okay, so put it on.”
The jacket is a dark maroon–as to be expected with Atsumu–and fits him like a glove. The shirt he wears under is a sheer black top that shows off enough to be tasteful but not so much to be considered inappropriate. But the kicker–the thing that really makes the whole suit stand out, in Atsumu’s opinion, is the pants.
The pants were made for one person, and one person only, and it’s obvious in the way they fit. They hug without squeezing, and they showcase his leg muscles perfectly. Atsumu watches the way the fabric fits and says, “Asahi-san really outdid himself this time.”
Suna stares in awe. “Atsumu,” he says once he’s picked his jaw off the floor. “When the fuck did your ass get that big.”
Osamu chooses this exact moment to walk into the room. “Did ya really just compliment my twin brother’s ass?” He questions, then looks over at what Suna’s staring at. “Holy shit!” Osamu cries. “Your thighs!”
“No, look at his ass , babe.”
“I’m not gonna look at my twin brother’s ass!”
Atsumu turns around, nervously tugging at the suit lapels. “Do I look okay?” He asks.
“Tsumu, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I really wish I had your body,” Osamu deadpans.
Suna snorts. “I wish you had that ass .”
“Okay, can you please stop bringing up his–”
Atsumu sighs and steps out of the room. They can have this conversation alone. Because of his hair appointment earlier, all he has to do is check to make sure his hair stayed in place while he was getting ready, and then he’s all good to go.
At 6:30, Sakusa texts him to say he’s on his way. Atsumu goes through his last minute checklist to make sure he has everything he needs, and then he plops down on his couch and waits the ten minutes it takes for Sakusa to drive over.
Somewhere around the three minute mark, Osamu and Suna join him on the couch, and Osamu asks, “Why the hell did ya go all out?”
“Duh, step three of the project,” Atsumu responds like it’s common sense.
Osamu blinks at him.
Atsumu sighs. “Remember? PROJECT: HOW TO GET ATSUMU A BOYFRIEND? Ya wrote down steps to make Omi like me?”
“Oh, holy shit! I forgot about that! Ha! How’s that goin’?”
Atsumu smiles to himself. “Pretty good, if I say so myself. ‘M on step three right now. Showin’ off my assets.”
“Ha. Ass-ets,” Suna pipes in.
“Well, I think yer showin’ off yer assets pretty well,” Osamu mumbles, mostly to himself than to Atsumu. Atsumu nods. “How’s Sakusa reacting to yer advances?”
“I think he’s returnin’ them? It’s kinda hard to tell with him, ya know?” Atsumu licks his lips. “Like, I can’t tell if he thinks ‘m annoyin’ or if ‘m hot.”
“I think I speak for everyone when I say it’s pretty obvious yer annoyin’,” Osamu says.
Atsumu’s about to respond, but then his phone rings, and Sakusa’s here, holy shit. “He’s here,” Atsumu says. “I gotta go.”
“Bye,” Suna says, unenthusiastic as always. Osamu waves goodbye.
As Atsumu’s closing the door on his apartment, he hears Suna say, “Seriously, his ass–”
Atsumu pretends like he didn’t hear that, or the ensuing yelp from Osamu, speed-walking down the hallway. He has to shove his hands in his pant pockets to stop from nervously running his hands through his hair as he waits in the elevator.
Parked in front of his apartment complex is the nicest car Atsumu’s ever seen. He has half a mind to pop his head back into the lobby to ask the doorman who, exactly, owns the sweet Ferrari, but then the door opens and sweet Jesus on a stick it’s Sakusa stepping out of the car.
He’s wearing a three-piece suit made out of fabric so dark green it looks almost black. The suit jacket is unbuttoned to reveal his vest, a floral design that showcases the narrowness of his waist compared to his shoulders. Atsumu feels like his mouth is watering.
“Miya,” Sakusa calls, opening the passenger door and gesturing with a jerk of his head at the seat. Atsumu picks up his jaw from the sidewalk and walks, almost helplessly, towards the car. Atsumu can only guess what his face looks like right now.
“H-Hey, Omi,” Atsumu stutters. “Since when did ya have such a nice car?”
“I’ve always had it. I just keep it with the others.”
“The others?!” Atsumu can’t keep his surprise out of his voice. Sakusa smirks at him and forces him down into the seat with a firm hand on his shoulder.
They drive in silence. Occasionally, Sakusa glances over at him like he wants to say something, but as soon as Atsumu makes eye contact Sakusa’s head whips back to face the road.
According to Coach Foster, the gala’s supposed to be heavily publicized—something about the charity they’re sponsoring being huge in Tokyo, Atsumu wasn’t really paying attention—so when they pull up to the museum it’s being held at and are immediately bombarded with cameras and paparazzi, Atsumu can’t really say he’s surprised. Still, it’s a little shocking to feel the weight of so many eyes on him when he’s not in his uniform.
Sakusa smoothly pulls into the valet lane, completely ignoring the camera flashes. “You ready?” He asks, shifting the car into park and flashing a smirk at Atsumu.
“Definitely more ready than ya,” Atsumu teases. He makes to open the door, but Sakusa stops him with a gloved hand on his arm.
“Before we go, Miya.” Sakusa looks Atsumu up and down as best he can while they’re both sitting down. “Those pants make your ass look amazing.”
And then he gets out, winking at Atsumu when all he can do is stare.
That totally means he’s an ass guy, right?
STEP FOUR: When you can tell he’s interested, start to make skin-to-skin contact. A little goes a long way at first!!
Considering what Sakusa said to him in the car before the gala, Atsumu thinks it’s time to put Step Four into effect.
(Atsumu will never forget that night: the way Sakusa stayed by Atsumu’s side the whole time, a hand low on the small of his back. Every time Atsumu walked out of Sakusa’s bubble of personal space, he felt Sakusa watching him, almost possessively. Atsumu’s not too embarrassed to admit that he had to go to the bathroom to adjust himself multiple times.)
He knows Sakusa’s big on germs, so he starts small: letting his fingers linger when he passes Sakusa a water bottle at practice, offering high fives after a good hit, normal things. When Sakusa makes no reaction, he decides to take it further.
Atsumu rests a hand on his back when they have breaks during games, feeling the corded muscle shift under his fingertips. He grabs at his wrists to get his attention when he’s purposely ignoring him. And, one night when they’re huddled on Atsumu’s couch, watching the latest episode of a K-Drama Atsumu forced Sakusa to get into, Atsumu rests his legs in Sakusa’s lap. That caused Sakusa to raise an eyebrow, but Atsumu used up all of his courage to actually make contact, so he stared straight at the TV.
From what Atsumu can tell, the plan is working . Sakusa is looser with his touches now and doesn’t shy away from Atsumu anymore. Sure, they were close before, but if Atsumu tried to touch Sakusa prior to him starting the project, Sakusa surely would have smacked him purely out of reflex. But Atsumu’s past Sakusa’s knee-jerk reaction and something about that makes happiness bloom in his chest.
Atsumu’s at a standstill, though. It feels like he’s done everything he possibly could. There’s no way he can progress their friendship anymore.
He tells as much to Osamu, who snorts and says, “Sounds like it’s time to ask him out.”
But isn’t that too much? Atsumu’s not sure if he’s ready to ask Sakusa to go steady, not when he’s still not 100% convinced Sakusa likes him back. He needs some sort of proof–something more than what he already has so he can finally say, Yeah, I’m ready to put myself on the line .
(Un)Surprisingly, Sakusa provides the confirmation.
They’re walking down the street towards some ramen place that Bokuto suggested for them, and Atsumu’s trying really hard not to imagine this as a date when he feels a brush against the palm of his hand. Atsumu thinks he just thought up the sensation until he feels it again –and again, and again.
Atsumu looks down, ready to swat away whatever is trying to get at his hand, and sees Sakusa’s pinky, extended to skim Atsumu’s palm every time they take a step. While he watches, Sakusa’s entire hand comes to ever so slightly cover Atsumu’s.
“Omi–” Atsumu starts, but when he glances up at Sakusa, he’s taken aback by the bright flush visible behind his mask.
“Just–don’t mention it,” Sakusa says.
Atsumu inhales sharply. Is this actually happening? He subtly pinches himself, almost convinced he’s dreaming–but no, he feels the pain and Sakusa is actually trying to hold Atsumu’s hand.
They’re stopped at a crosswalk, now, waiting for the pedestrian light to turn on, and Sakusa’s still awkwardly holding onto the back of Atsumu’s hand. Well, Atsumu thinks, it’d be rude of me to leave him waiting, I guess .
Without further adieu, he turns his hand over in Sakusa’s grip so their fingers are interlocked.
Atsumu sees rather than hears Sakusa’s barely hidden gasp. It’s Sakusa’s turn to stare down at their connected fingers, and Atsumu pretends he isn’t as bright as the red light.
It’s stupid. They’re just holding hands, but for some reason, this feels much more… intimate than anything else they’ve ever done. Maybe it’s because they’re in real life, not hidden away in Atsumu’s apartment. Or maybe it’s because this is something couples do, and they’re not a couple…yet. Either way, the sight of Atsumu’s tan palm in Sakusa’s pale hand takes Atsumu’s breath away, and that’s when he realizes.
He doesn’t just like Sakusa. He’s in love with him.
“Miya, I still don’t know why you called me here.”
Sakusa’s standing in Atsumu’s genkan. It is approximately 11:28 p.m. Sakusa was supposed to go to bed three hours ago, but Atsumu called him in a rush, asking him to come to his apartment ASAP. In true Sakusa fashion, he arrived ten minutes after Atsumu hung up, even though it’s a fifteen minute drive from Sakusa’s apartment.
“I just–I needed ta talk to ya real fast, yeah?” Atsumu’s pacing in his living room, trying to pick up stray pieces of clothing strewn about the room. Not for the first time, Atsumu wishes he cleaned up before calling Sakusa over.
Sakusa sighs, slipping off his sneakers and putting on the slippers he brought over last time he was here. He wordlessly helps Atsumu gather the bulk of the mess and throws them in the hamper in Atsumu’s bedroom. When he returns to the living room, he tugs Atsumu down onto the couch. “What’s got you so worked up?” He asks, reaching a hand up to brush through the short hairs at the nape of Atsumu’s neck.
The combination of Sakusa being so at home in Atsumu’s apartment and Sakusa knowing exactly what calms him down–and not being afraid to touch Atsumu so intimately–makes Atsumu’s brain melt a little. That’s probably why Atsumu says what he does.
“I thought I just had a stupid crush on ya so I asked Osamu for help to make ya like me back but then I realized ‘m actually in love with ya so can ya please date me thankyaverymuch,” Atsumu blurts out.
Paging Atsumu’s last brain cells, Atsumu’s last brain cells to room 103, please.
Sakusa’s eyebrows shoot up and his hand stills in Atsumu’s hair. “Oh,” he says.
“Yeah.”
Sakusa’s normally blank face cracks, and suddenly he’s laughing harder than Atsumu’s ever seen him laugh. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but it almost looks like he’s laughing so hard he’s crying. Atsumu blinks at the sight. Is he laughing at Atsumu? Did Atsumu misread everything?
“If ya don’t feel the same way, I won’t blame ya, Omi,” Atsumu says, but Sakusa shakes his head, still guffawing.
“Atsumu,” he finally mumbles, voice still shaky with laughter. “You’re fine. I’m completely and utterly gone for you.”
“OH!”
Sakusa chuckles again. “Yeah, oh, dumbass,” he says affectionately. Then, using the hand still on Atsumu’s nape, he pulls Atsumu into him, pressing his lips against Atsumu’s.
Atsumu pulls back briefly. “This means we’re dating, now, right?”
Sakusa smiles against Atsumu’s mouth.
Later, after they’ve made out for so long that Atsumu’s lips go numb, Sakusa–Kiyoomi, now–forces Atsumu to go digging through his vanity drawers to find the original server’s slip Osamu wrote on all those months ago. Kiyoomi runs his fingers over the ink, laughing at Suna’s drawings in the margins and Atsumu’s annotations.
“So,” he grins. “Would you say PROJECT: HOW TO GET ATSUMU A BOYFRIEND was successful, or should we tell Osamu to change his advice?”
“Well, I have ya, don’t I?” Atsumu asks, leaning his forehead against Kiyoomi’s shoulder so he can feel Kiyoomi’s abrupt giggles. “Ooh, just wait until I tell you about ISAT.”
“ISAT? The hell is that? Atsumu? Why are you laughing so hard?”