Chapter 1: horrors of kissing your best friend (on accident)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
If there’s two things that mix like oil and water, it’s Miya Atsumu and the notion of not falling in love too easily.
Despite having his fair share of failed crushes—most going unconfessed, while the only one that did receive a confession ended in a rejection—Atsumu has never found it a necessity to completely close off his heart. One of his strong suits is his ability to move on with his life despite what others might ultimately think about him, and he supposes that he’s got his mother to thank for that, as strong-willed as she is.
So, when Sakusa Kiyoomi walks into MSBY Black Jackals’ tryouts, Atsumu doesn’t stop himself from feeling a twinge of excitement at the notion that he might play alongside the boy he used to find cute at the All-Japan Youth Training Camp. Though, that’s all that it is in that moment, a small attraction for a cute boy that’s now become an attractive man.
Soon enough, he finds himself feeling the telltale feeling of nervousness in his chest whenever they speak; the desire to see Sakusa outside of practices; the pride of being the one that Sakusa decides to tease on a particular day. It’s then that a small crush becomes a plausible love.
It’s not that he 100% believes that Sakusa might want him back. Rather, Atsumu believes that if things go his way, then that outcome would be possible. Sakusa’s not horribly opposed to the idea of falling in love (he found that out during an MSBY outing), and he doesn’t have a particular type (a question Hinata had asked after). To add on to the possibility, both Osamu and Suna have been supportive of his whims, claiming that Sakusa doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that’d spend more time with someone if he doesn’t have to—and that’s what he does with Atsumu, though their time isn’t necessarily spent alone , since Hinata and Bokuto are usually present.
Either way, it’s one of the first times that one of Atsumu’s crushes is being supported by both his brother and his best friend, so he takes it as a good sign.
That’s how he ends up here—walking out of his apartment with the intent to finally tell Sakusa how he feels. Suna’s been at the receiving end of his ‘Sakusa ramblings’ (dubbed by Suna himself), and Suna’s ‘just go for it’ attitude regarding the situation has finally given him the courage to give the second confession he’s ever devised in his life.
Usually, his twin brother would carry half of the burden of his rambling, but lately, Osamu’s been stumbling around Bokuto’s best friend Akaashi, and Atsumu worries that in a moment of clumsiness Osamu might accidentally let the secret of Atsumu’s feelings slip to the overworked manga editor (which could in turn end up being slipped to Bokuto, who has a disastrous inability to keep secrets).
The day is sunny, just windy enough to be comforting, and the jar of umeboshi that he carefully selected from a delicacy store across town lies neatly in the recently-cleaned corner of his duffle bag feels like it might just bring him good luck. The jar has a small heart drawn sloppily on the lid, along with ‘Omi-omi’ printed in the neatest script he could muster, and his practice confession—which he’s spent the past few days on—occupies his already muddled thoughts. However, Atsumu can’t help but feel as if something is out of place, no matter how many times he repeats the words in his head.
As he continues to silently repeat the words in his head, he feels the world moving around him — the bustling of cars, the old ramen shop owner yelling out orders, and even the light brush of wind against his exposed neck — but his grip on reality is all but nonexistent until he feels a hand pulling on the strap of his duffle bag.
“Woah there, Atsumu-san! You could’ve been on the bad side of a car right there,” comes Hinata’s voice from behind him. Once Atsumu is able to right himself and see that he almost walked into a bustling street, he turns to find a concerned looking Hinata Shoyo holding onto the strap of his duffle bag.
“Ah, thanks Shoyo-kun. I owe ya one.”
“Just get me some of Osamu-kun’s onigiri and we’ll call it even,” he says with a smile. “I’ve been craving some lately, but I’ve been on the shorter end of my budget from buying all these things for Omi-san.”
The mention of Sakusa’s name sends Atsumu’s head into a bit of a nervous malfunction for a second, but he sobers up considerably from the reminder of having nearly been run over. “Sure, what fillin’? Also, what are the gifts for Omi-omi for?”
“Hm.. tell him to surprise me.” Before Hinata can elaborate any further, the traffic sign turns green. “Do you want to hold onto me when you cross? You look a little distracted. I wouldn’t want you getting into an accident after I saved you from one just a few seconds ago.”
Atsumu lets out a small chuckle. “Nah, I’m good.”
As they walk briskly across the street, Atsumu slows his pace so that Hinata can keep up with his strides. While they walk, Hinata starts once more.
“They’re for his birthday. I want to get him the perfect thing, but every time I think that I’ve got it, Komori-san tells me that he hates it or something like that.” Hinata’s lips twist into something that resembles a pout. “It was too bad that I’d already bought most of the stuff when he told me…” he mutters, mostly to himself.
Atsumu remembers now. Not that he’d forgotten, of course. He’s actually the one that pestered the date from Sakusa a few months prior. He’s just been so preoccupied with perfecting his confession (a concept that’s almost entirely new to him, since he opted to work on impulse rather than logic whenever it came to his relationships) that the date slipped his mind.
He supposes that he should thank Hinata. If he doesn’t manage to severely mess up the plan he has in mind, then he imagines that he'll likely be spending Sakusa’s birthday with Sakusa in person rather than “staying as far from him as possible” (which is what Sakusa had jokingly answered with when Atsumu first asked what he would like as a birthday present).
Atsumu looks down at the small head of orange walking alongside him. “Just how much did ya buy?”
“Not much. It’s just that money’s been kinda tight. Housing in Japan’s a lot higher than in Brazil, and I was already kinda struggling with money back there too,” Hinata replies with a bashful smile.
Atsumu shakes his head at him. “Don’t wear yerself broke gettin’ stuff for Omi-omi, Shoyo-kun. I bet the prick would appreciate anythin’ he’s given. Even if he doesn’t necessarily like the stuff.” Atsumu knows that he really can’t talk about buying overly expensive things for Sakusa when the jar of Umeboshi is sitting in his duffle bag, but it’s advice nonetheless.
Hinata doesn’t necessarily deflate at the advice, although he does look a little more lost in thought than before. “I know. But I wanted to get him something he’d really like.”
“That’s really nice of you, Shoyo-kun.”
Hinata smiles brightly at the compliment. If Atsumu wasn’t so preoccupied with thinking about how he had nearly forgotten Sakusa’s birthday, he might’ve teased the bouncy man beside him about the almost visible list of ideas coming from his head of hair. In his thoughts, he doesn’t even notice when Hinata begins to mumble words to himself as they walk side by side.
Atsumu’s foggy thoughts only clear momentarily when one of Hinata’s mumbled sentences catches his attention. “Maybe I could get a plushie. He might like that.”
Atsumu stops in his tracks. “Plushie …” He suddenly realizes what feels out of place. He had forgotten to put the small chow chow plush he’d gotten for Sakusa into his duffle bag.
Hinata pauses his rambling to look at Atsumu with a sheepish look. “It’s a dumb idea isn’t it? You’re right he wouldn’t l-”
“Hey Shoyo-kun, ya can go on without me. I’ve gotta make a call real quick.”
“Oh, okay,” Hinata says. “I’ll see you at practice then?”
“Uhh yeah. I’ll see ya in a bit,” Atsumu says with a quick glance at Hinata. He’s only able to catch a quick look at Hinata’s turning figure before he preoccupies himself with searching for Osamu’s contact. “Come on, come on. Pick up. Pick up, Samu.” The line rings four times before Atsumu remembers how Osamu almost never answers calls while at work. “Fuckin’ hell, Samu.”
Atsumu leans back against the wall, wondering how he should go about this.
If he doesn’t tell Sakusa today, he might just implode within himself (an exaggeration, but still). Sure, he’s able to get to the gym from his house by simply walking, but going back to get the gift will cause him to be late to practice—and he won’t risk being late to practice, not even for Sakusa.
“Jeez … this is so hard,” Atsumu grumbles to himself as he rubs the bridge of his nose, pondering why he has to be plagued with a major crush every few years. “I can’t run back and get it, and Samu’s the only one with a key to—” he pauses, suddenly remembering the second person that has a key to his apartment.
He quickly pulls out his phone, glad that he had decided to put Suna on speed dial not too long ago.
To Atsumu’s surprise, the line only rings three times before Suna picks up. He considers himself lucky — Suna usually just ignores his calls and opts to text a “what do u want” at least three hours after.
Suna’s familiar voice answers from the other side of the phone. “ Atsumu? Aren’t you supposed to be in practice?”
“Yeah, but I forgot somethin’ at my apartment. Ya don’t have practice today right?”
Suna hums. “ I don’t. ”
“Great! Can ya go pick up the gift bag I left on my couch and bring it to me after practice? It’s for Omi-kun.”
“Oh right. You’re doing that today.”
Although Suna can’t see the expression on his face, Atsumu lights up in hope. “So you’ll do it?”
“What’s in it for me if I go get it? My day off is calling my name. I was planning on sleeping the day away.”
Atsumu knows that Suna will do it either way, but he still offers something in return anyway. “I’ll get ya some of that real expensive ice cream from across town that you like so much.” It’s a miniscule price to pay for the favor.
“ Deal .”
Suna’s running late.
Atsumu hadn’t thought much of it when Suna texted him and told him that a traffic jam was slowing him down. He already planned for Sakusa to be the last to come out of the locker room due to his rule of never being in the compact locker room with more than five sweaty volleyball players anyway, so he didn’t think that Suna being just a few minutes late would be too terrible.
It isn’t until player by player dwindles out of the squeaky, red gym doors that Atsumu realizes that Suna’s late arrival might be a problem.
TO: sunarin
SUNARINNN ;_____; WHERE ARE YA IM DYIN’ HERE
FROM: sunarin
i’ll be there in like 5
FROM: sunarin
don’t start crying
After he types out a message that contains one too many crying face emoticons, he slips his phone back into his pocket just in time to see the figure of Sakusa Kiyoomi walking out of the locker room.
“Omi-kun!” Atsumu calls out, hoping that his nerves aren’t evident in his voice. “And … Shoyo-kun? What’re ya still doin’ here?” He looks curiously between the two.
Hinata smiles brightly. “Omi-san said that he wanted to get some ramen after practice.”
“Omi-san?” Sakusa asks as he looks down at Hinata. Atsumu’s surprised by the softness in Sakusa’s voice.
“Oh right! Kiyoomi-kun wanted to get ramen,” Hinata remedies. Although Hinata is a naturally bright person, there’s something in his expression that betrays a hint of bashfulness that Atsumu tries not to furrow his brows at. Not sensing Atsumu’s confusion, Hinata turns to him. “You can come if you want, Atsumu-san. As long as you showered that is. Omi-eh, Kiyoomi-kun’s rules.”
From behind his white mask, Sakusa lets out a scoff. “You make me sound like a strict school teacher.”
“Well sometimes you sound like one,” Hinata whines. “Like that time I stood on that stool to get something off the bookshelf and you told me to get down because it was dangerous!”
“Not my fault that you’re short,” Sakusa snorts, but Atsumu sees a hint of a smile etched onto the outer corners of his eyes.
Hinata’s mouth flies open in disbelief. “Not everyone can be 193 centimeters you dumb giant!” His arms partially go up in his moment of fake offense (or at least, Atsumu thinks it’s fake), and Atsumu feels his stomach lurch when he sees that the sleeves that cover Hinata’s arms are at least two sizes too big for him.
Atsumu switches his gaze to Sakusa, feeling his chest prickle with an uncomfortable feeling. His throat begins to feel heavy as he stares at Sakusa’s figure, slowly realizing that the jacket Sakusa’s wearing isn’t the MSBY track jacket, but rather just a plain black sweatshirt.
His conversation with Hinata from earlier suddenly clicks in his head, like a puzzle finally being handed it’s missing piece.
How could he not have known?
He looks between them again, from Hinata’s crossed arms and pouty face to Sakusa’s raised eyebrow and soft eyes. He wants to cry. Or yell. Or run away and hide in a closet somewhere. Maybe he’ll do all three.
He doubts that either of the two will notice the multitude of emotions hitting Atsumu all at once, considering that the two seem to be caught up on having a murmured conversation with each other. That conversation is broken soon enough though, as a familiar voice calls out his name from somewhere behind him. For a second he feels a sense of relief over the fact that Suna’s there—that in just a few minutes Atsumu can yell and cry and huff all he wants in the passenger seat of Suna’s silver Prius without hesitation.
However, the feeling of relief quickly contorts to one of horror as Atsumu turns to see Suna walking towards them with a familiar gift bag held between his fingers. It looks exactly like how Atsumu left it earlier this morning, blue tissue sticking out haphazardly over the sides and framing the small, plush dog head that just barely sticks out. He doesn’t have to even look at the plush to know that a small letter sits snugly against it, with Sakusa’s name drawn in a sloppy heart.
Atsumu wishes for the earth to swallow him whole. There’ll be no mistaking the intention behind the gift if it ever came to be Sakusa’s possession. Which is the last thing he wants to happen.
No , scratch that. The last thing he wants to happen is for Sakusa to open the gift in front of him, his hand reaching in to find the small letter and for Hinata to see it. That he is what he’s absolutely fucking terrified of.
Every step that Suna takes feels like a step into his grave, and even the lazy smile his best friend sports does nothing to calm him. “Sorry I’m so late, traffic was a pain in the ass. I swear I left early.”
If Atsumu thinks rationally, he might come up with three solutions:
- Take the gift bag and hold it tightly against his side before hurriedly spewing out an excuse to leave.
- Drag Suna right back to his car, calling out an excuse as he pulls Suna in the direction of the parking lot.
- Literally anything other than what he actually does. Anything.
He doesn’t do any of those.
Instead he chooses a horribly thought-out fourth option:
- Kiss Suna.
It’s a chaste kiss, one so short that Hinata and Sakusa might’ve even missed it if they just blinked at an unfortunate time. But as he looks into Suna’s blinking eyes, Atsumu gets the sinking feeling that whoever’s orchestrating his life won’t allow him to have such luck.
“Atsumu-san, I didn’t know that you had a boyfriend!”
Fuck.
Atsumu has yet to turn back to where he knows Sakusa and Hinata are standing, still facing Suna and having to watch as the blinking of his eyes gives way to a raised brow. Atsumu gives a look that’s both panicked and pleading, though he’s not even entirely sure what it is he’s asking for.
Suna seems to understand, since he directs his gaze behind Atsumu’s shoulder and gives a nod of acknowledgement. “Suna. Atsumu’s boyfriend,” he says.
Atsumu grips onto Suna’s shoulder, whispering, “Yer a lifesaver, Rin.” He makes sure to repeat ‘thank yous’ over and over into Suna’s ear as he lets his head fall against Suna’s shoulder for just a moment.
“We’ll talk about it later. Turn around and face them first,” Suna mumbles back.
With a minute nod, Atsumu lifts his head up and meets Hinata’s smiling expression. Beside him, Sakusa’s sporting a look of skepticism, and Atsumu makes a stark realization.
Hinata will be easy to lie to, considering that he doesn’t know much about Suna past the two times they met during nationals, but Sakusa will be a bigger problem. Not only has he seen Suna more often than Hinata has, but his cousin is also Suna’s teammate.
Of course, there’s the very real possibility that Komori doesn’t talk about Suna to Sakusa, but the notion that Sakusa will be a lot harder to lie to about a fake relationship with the man standing next to him isn’t all that far-fetched. Sakusa likes to observe people, and Atsumu’s found on multiple occasions that he remembers far more than Atsumu might think.
“Nice to meet you Suna-san,” Hinata greets. “Or, well. I guess it’s nice to see you again. Since we’ve met before,” he adds on with a sheepish grin.
“Don’t sweat it. It’s been a while since high school,” Suna tells him.
Then, Hinata turns his attention back to Atsumu. “Is this why you didn’t want to come with Kiyoomi-kun and I, Atsumu-san? You already had a date planned huh,” Hinata says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Atsumu forces a smile to his face, but he’s entirely sure that it ends up looking more like a grimace. “Right, a … date.”
Then, Sakusa speaks. “Have the two of you been dating a while?” His brows are knit together, but he’s not looking at Atsumu. Rather, his stare is directly pointed at Suna, who sucks in his cheeks at Sakusa’s gaze.
“Just a couple of weeks,” Suna responds calmly.
However, as Atsumu lets his gaze roam Suna’s figure, he picks up on just the smallest bit of tension from the stiffness of his posture. Even Sakusa’s gaze holds a bit of tension. He makes a mental note to ask Suna about it later.
When Suna turns to him, his eyes still sport a hint of distraction. “Should we head out?”
Atsumu nods, clearing his throat. They have a lot to talk about, and Atsumu feels as if spending another second here might cause his nervous system to malfunction more than it already has. “Right, ‘course.” He turns to look back at where Sakusa and Hinata are still standing, not quite holding hands, but standing closer than usual. “Rin and I should .. get goin’. Things to do yanno?”
Hinata just gives a nod back. “Have fun on your date! And it was nice meeting you, Suna-san!”
Atsumu drags Suna by the wrist before he can say anything more.
“What just happened?” Atsumu buries his face in his hands, letting his head rest against the glove compartment of Suna’s car.
“What do you mean what just happened ? You’re the one who started it,” Suna retaliates back. Atsumu winces at the frustration in his voice.
Atsumu sits up and drags his hands over his face. “I didn’t mean to . I panicked and I don’t know.” He leans his head back against the headrest, watching shifting hues of the sun through the sun-roof. He doesn’t even know where to start. “It just happened before I could really think about it.”
He thinks briefly that it isn’t fair that the sun can still cast such a beautiful sight over the sky when his entire day just went to shit. He even goes as far as to think about how everyone always compares Hinata to the sun, and for a moment he hates how accurate the description is. Atsumu reckons that if prompted, people would compare him to a sweltering hot day, the kind of day that made you itch and ruined your mood.
He hates that feeling of jealousy even more. It’s an unsightly feeling.
Before he can really let bitterness seep into his thoughts, Suna’s quiet voice pulls his attention back to the present. Atsumu turns his head slightly to find Suna watching him with the smallest bit of worry dancing in his eyes. “Yeah, I get it. I’m not mad or anything.”
It’s a comforting sentence, one that feels pleasant to his ears amongst the image of Sakusa’s oversized jacket on Hinata’s smaller body swimming in his vision. The pain in his chest stabs at him, and he looks down at the hands that lay in his lap.
They ‘re well-manicured and only a little calloused from years of handling a volleyball between his fingertips. Omi-kun and Shoyo-kun, huh? He thinks about the softness in Sakusa’s eyes, willing the ugly feeling in his chest to let up. It doesn’t.
In an attempt to stop thinking about dark curly hair and a look of adoration in inky eyes that weren’t meant for him, he looks up from the dejected state of his arms and meets Suna’s eyes once more. There’s understanding mingling along the worry, though there’s no indication that Suna will speak again.
He knows that Suna’s giving him space to process the realization that Sakusa and Hinata are dating, and that he’ll allow Atsumu to lament about it for as long as he needs before he begins to pry. Still, he knows that there’s also the blaring conversation of the the other instance—’ Suna. Atsumu’s boyfriend’— that he should probably think about.
“I know I didn’t really … ask before … yanno,” Atsumu finally says. He still feels guilty about it, for making such a disastrous choice in the face of a situation that could’ve probably definitely been handled better, with quite literally any other choice. “I shoulda asked if ya were okay with it.”
Why it is that he jumps to that choice over the other more rational choices? He wouldn’t be able to say. Maybe it was the nerves, or the blinding feeling of disappointment. He settles on a mix of both.
“It’s fine. I didn’t really mind,” Suna assures him, his voice calm. He shoots Atsumu a teasing smile. “It’s not like we haven’t kissed before anyway.”
( “Samu! Sunarin ‘n I are gettin’ eloped! Be my best man will ya?” He’d said as he held tightly to Suna’s neck.
Osamu looked at him increduously, blinking as if it’d explain the sight in front of him. “What the fuck are ya on about?”
“Look, see! Sunarin kissed me. C’mere, Rin. Kiss me again. Samu isn’t approvin’ of our elopement.”)
“Ah ... right. I, uh, forgot about that,” Atsumu responds. That kiss was quite different from the small touch of Suna’s lips earlier. It was far sloppier, and there was a considerable amount of alcohol mixing in their saliva. He tries hard not to feel embarrassment creep up his neck, but it replaces the feeling of rejection for just a second.
The memory is one that Osamu has yet to live down since the morning after the incident, when Osamu woke him by waving a video of Atsumu and Suna standing in his living room and shouting “We’re gettin’ married!” in front of his face. Osamu has yet to let them live it down.
“You forgot that we both got so insanely drunk that we told Osamu we would get married and then made out in front of him ?”
“Shut yer fuckin trap,” Atsumu mumbles as he crosses his arms. Still, it helps him clear his a mind little, as odd as it is.
“Well what do we do now?” Suna asks.
Atsumu sighs, bringing himself back to the present. “I dunno. It’s just ... “ He leans his head against the headrest of Suna’s passenger seat. “I had no idea they were datin’.”
“Yeah.” Suna hums.
“And now they think we’re datin and I can’t take it back without looking like a massive loser.” More of a loser than he already is, anyway.
Suna shrugs. “Then don’t take it back.”
Atsumu scoffs at the idea. “That’s real funny, Sunarin.”
“I’m serious. You’re not the only one they think is in a relationship. It wouldn’t look too good for me either if we come clean and tell them the truth,” Suna says, causing Atsumu’s brows to knit together.
He knows why he doesn’t want to come clean, but really, there’s no reason for Suna to keep going along with the ruse. It’s really only Atsumu’s reputation at stake—not Suna’s.
“Why?”
“Komori confessed to me a few weeks ago,” Suna says.
Ah. Now it makes sense.
“So that’s why Omi-kun asked ya how long we’ve been datin’ for,” Atsumu muses. He remembers the uncharacteristic look in Sakusa’s eyes, one that Atsumu had only ever really seen during matches. Komori probably does talk to Sakusa about Suna then. Probably a lot more than Atsumu would’ve expected.
Suna nods. “Yeah.”
“Ya rejected Komori’s confession right?” When Suna gives him a glare, Atsumu’s quick to explain. Putting both his hands up, he says, “Hey, jus’ makin’ sure that we’re not dealin’ with any two-timin’ accusations or anythin’.”
“I would’ve told you if I was dating Komori, dumbass,” Suna says with a roll of his eyes.
“Well, ya didn’t even tell me that he confessed to ya, jerk.” He now feels a little bad for constantly talking about Sakusa—maybe Suna didn’t feel like he could tell Atsumu that Komori confessed to him because of all the rambling he’s done for the past two weeks.
Suna shrugs, looking out at the parking lot. “It didn’t seem that important to bring up at the time.”
Atsumu frowns. “I still would’ve liked ta know.”
As if cataloguing that for the next time it happens, Suna just nods.
“So,” Atsumu starts again. “Yer alright with goin’ along with it?”
He knows that the most logical answer is to just drop it, to make up some reason for breaking up so that this doesn’t have to be more complicated than it already is. But selfishly, a part of him doesn’t want to take it back, just to put a bandaid on his broken heart. He’s not really keen on adding salt to the wound by having to tell Sakusa and Hinata that he lied.
If Suna’s offering that bandaid, he selfishly wants to accept it.
Again, Suna shrugs. “I mean, yeah. It’s not the end of the world.” He pauses for a moment, almost looking guilty. “Plus, it might help Komori get over me. He’s still pretty hurt about the rejection, and it’s been pretty tense between us.”
It might sound like a cold thing to do to someone, but Atsumu thinks he understands. He knows that Komori is a good friend of Suna’s, and he can see why Suna would want to help Komori get over him, even if it means hurting him just a little more.
Something about being efficient, or what not.
“Okay, we gotta be convincin’ then. It’d be pretty bad if Komori realizes we’re jus’ fakin’ it.” Then, he adds, “And I don’t really want Omi-kun to find out just for him to pity me or anythin’ like that.”
Suna’s brows furrow. “Sakusa doesn’t seem like a guy who would pity you or look down on you.”
Atsumu knows that Suna is probably right. No, in fact, he knows that Suna is right. It’s one of the reasons that Atsumu liked Sakusa so much in the first place - he’s honest to a fault and considerate in his own ways. But that doesn’t make the pit in Atsumu’s stomach loosen much.
“I guess. I dunno.” Atsumu feels himself shrink into his seat. “I just feel real dumb for not realizing that they had a thing.”
“Not your fault, really.” Suna says with another shrug of his shoulders. “You liked him so much that you didn’t really notice other people is all.”
Atsumu frowns, his gaze catching on the small Snivy figurine sitting on Suna’s dashboard. “That makes me sound like some kinda lovesick puppy.”
“Are you not?”
Atsumu lets his arms fall to his side as he slides down into the car seat. “I really, really like him, okay? Like the kind of like that Samu has for Keiji-kun. The gross stuff.” Not quite love, but it’s pretty close. “Guess I was just too caught up in the possible us that I didn’t really think about whether or not he actually liked me back.”
He feels awkwardness settle on his shoulders at the notion that he actually confesses that out loud. It’s true, sure, but Atsumu doesn’t feel any less awkward saying it. Thankfully, Suna doesn’t tease, or pry, or -- heaven forbid, laugh .
Instead, Suna strums his fingers over the wheel, his features carefully knitting into an uncharacteristic frown. “Then are you sure you wanna go through with this? If you really like him that much then maybe it’s better to just come clean. I can sort things out with Komori.”
Atsumu is quick to shake his head no. “I can’t tell him now that I know that he’s with Shoyo-kun. They deserve to be happy without me coming in and wrecking it.”
“Okay,” Suna pauses. “Then let’s just go with it for now. We can fake a break up in a few weeks and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.” He turns his head slightly to see Atsumu’s response. “Sound good?”
Atsumu nods, but his shoulders continue to feel as if a heavy weight is burdening them. “Sorry for kissin ya.” He raises his head to send Suna a solemn, half-hearted grin. “I shouldn’t have dragged ya into my shit decision making.”
Suna frowns again. “First of all, don’t ever say sorry. Sounds weird coming out of your mouth,” he says before pointedly looking away from Atsumu and continuing on, “second of all, we’ve been making shit decisions together since high school.” He clears his throat lightly, clasping and unclasping his grip on the steering wheel. Atsumu notices a light tense to his shoulders. “... One more isn’t gonna kill me.”
Atsumu blinks. And blinks again. And again. He tries to stare hard into Suna’s neck, as if staring so hard will force Suna to look at him.
“That’s ... the nicest thing you’ve ever said ta me,” Atsumu finally says. His throat feels dry and he can feel the familiar feeling of tightness in his chest that indicates incoming tears. He might be a little dramatic, sure, but he’s still getting used to being liked by people, let alone being told by someone that he’s worth getting into deep shit for.
“Don’t say it,” Suna replies, not unkindly.
Atsumu pouts, trying hard to keep tears from welling up in his eyes. “But Sunarin!”
“Don’t say it,” Suna repeats.
Tears begin to prickle at Atsumu’s eyes. Suna might have been one of his first friends and his closest current friend, but Suna doesn’t say sentiments such as these. Suna likes to show his care through actions and never through words.
“Awh but Sunarin!” Atsumu furiously wipes at his eyes, as if that’ll keep the tears from flowing. “Yer gonna make me cry!”
“Oh fuck no you don’t,” Suna says quickly. Atsumu sees him pause when he notices that Atsumu’s actually serious about the tears threatening to burst from his tear ducts. His voice softens a slight measure. “Come on, you can’t cry before you buy me the ice cream you promised me.”
Atsumu sniffles. “So … I can cry after?”
Suna rolls his eyes. “I’ll even put on that movie you like so much so you can cry all you fucking want and I can pretend that it’s about the movie and not about the shit you call your life.”
Atsumu blinks. And blinks. And he cries.
Tears start flowing down so fast and quick that Atsumu’s beginning to forget what it was that he’s crying for in the first place. Maybe it’s the whole Sakusa-Hinata situation, or maybe it’s this whole thing with Suna—probably a mixture of both. Either way, the tears continue to fall at an embarrassingly fast rate.
“What the hell asshole!” Atsumu begins to blubber through his tears. “Stupid, fuckin’ asshole. Since when have ya been so nice to me? Look what ya did! Ah fuck, the tears are comin Rin! I’m fuckin cryin and it’s all yer fuckin fault. Piece of fuckin shit!” Sloppy tears continue to flow down Atsumu’s face.
“I shouldn’t have let you in here,” Suna says, but he hands Atsumu a box of tissues anyway.
“You’d kick me outta yer car while I’m cryin?! That’s low Sunarin!”
“Oh, shut up. Just … don’t get snot on the leather.”
“I take it back. Maybe I do like you just a little bit.”
The drive to the ice cream shop is a long one, but Atsumu doesn’t really mind. It’s not often that they use a car to get around, and the peace of being able to travel without the eyes of the public brings him a sense of tranquility.
The first twenty minutes or so were spent in comfortable silence, with Suna respecting Atsumu’s heartbreak and choosing to play a playlist on his radio rather than intruding on Atsumu’s brooding. Once Atsumu had nearly over-thought himself to death, Suna started conversation once more, just lightly lowering the volume as he told Atsumu about the cute, new dog his neighbor adopted.
Conversation was easy to pick up from there, and eventually they circled back to their new status as “fake boyfriends.” Suna was careful to stray away from actually mentioning Sakusa’s or Hinata’s names, instead settling on fleshing out the smaller details about their new fake relationship.
Here’s what they decide on: They’ve been dating for one month, Atsumu was the one to confess, and they haven’t told people yet because they’re still madly and horribly in love that they can only focus on each other. Suna had wrinkled his nose at that last part, but he didn’t rebuke it.
As they walk along the street from the ice cream shop, Atsumu bumps his shoulder playfully against Suna’s. “If I knew ya could be so easily won over with money I woulda paid ya to help me beat Samu’s ass.”
This side of the city isn’t one that Atsumu frequents often, so they had decided to take a short walk to get away from the long line and considerable crowd of the ice cream shop. It’s nice out anyway, and the adzuki bean ice cream he’s currently snacking on helps to relieve him from the stress of the day.
Beside him, Suna chuckles lightly, and Atsumu turns his head in time to see the roll of Suna’s eyes. “Oh, no. I’d eat shit before ever getting in Osamu’s way when he’s pissed.”
If they were still in high school, he probably would have thrown a tantrum at the notion that Osamu is any stronger than he is, especially when it comes to fighting. But he’s grown now, and he’s grown past the notion that him and Osamu have to be the same or that they have to have the same interests.
Instead, a hearty laugh slips from his lips, and Atsumu realizes how glad he is for Suna’s presence. Suna’s residence in his life has joined Osamu, volleyball, and his family on the list of things he’s gotten used to having around. Somehow, that thought comforts him.
They continue to walk the well-lit street, pausing once to try each other’s ice cream flavors. Atsumu finishes his first, throwing the small cup and spoon into a nearby trash bin.
“Tsumu? Sunarin?”
Speaking of Osamu.
Atsumu stops in his tracks when the familiar voice reaches his ears, while Suna lets out a cough and nearly chokes on the spoonful of strawberry ice cream that’s currently dangling between his lips. They’re sharing a similar sentiment: neither of them thought that they’d have to face Osamu this soon.
With a sharp intake of breath, Atsumu slowly turns around and surprisingly finds his twin brother walking up to them with his right hand intertwined with the left hand of Akaashi Keiji. His eyes immediately come to zero in on the interlocked hands of the pair in front of them, feeling a sense of brotherly pride at the fact that Osamu finally confessed to the guy he’s been carefully dancing around for the past few months. He’s glad that at least one of them is successful in their ventures of love.
Atsumu feels smooth fingers intertwining with his own, and he’s pleasantly surprised at the sensation of Suna’s naturally cool skin against his. Osamu’s eyebrows immediately raise at the action. “Did I miss somethin’?”
“Like yer one to talk,” Atsumu says, his eyes flicking between Osamu and Akaashi’s intertwined hands.
Osamu turns to gaze at Akaashi’s smiling face. Atsumu wrinkles his nose at the disgusting look of adoration on his brother’s features. “It was a recent development,” Osamu says with a small nudge to Akaashi’s shoulder. Akaashi remains silent, but the way he buries his face into his free hand speaks enough about of the situation.
“Recent development my ass,” Atsumu whispers to Suna. In response, Suna lets out a breath through his nose that sounds similar to a chuckle.
“Well what’s goin’ on there then?” Osamu points his and Akaashi’s intertwined hands in the direction of Suna and Atsumu’s hands.
Atsumu shares a glance with Suna. “Also a … recent development.” He tries to replicate the smile Osamu shot Akaashi earlier, but the amused tilt of Suna’s lips tells him that he’s not quite getting it right.
“Really?” Osamu asks, amusement littering his voice.
“Yeah. Really.”
Osamu nods slowly, bearing an expression that looks doubtful, to say the least. “Right. So how long has this been goin then?”
“A month,” Suna answers.
Osamu lets out a small hum. “And why is it that I haven’t heard about this?”
Atsumu tries to remember the story they agreed on before, hoping that he can sound at least a little bit convincing. He’s not entirely sure that he can get out their pre-planned ‘we’re madly in love and forgot to tell people’ speech without tripping on his words. “We’ve been pretty… distracted with each other, yanno.”
Beside Osamu, Akaashi cracks a smile. “I didn’t know you were so shy about sex, Atsumu.”
Oh . That’s not the type of distraction that he meant.
Atsumu’s eyes widen. He forces himself not to choke on his words. “No! Akaashi-kun! We don’t uh..”
Akaashi’s brows shoot up. “You haven’t had …?”
Suna interrupts Akaashi, giving Atsumu a light jab to his side. “No, we have sex. We definitely have sex,” he says with a plastered smile and pointed stare in Atsumu’s direction.
Right. They have sex. Sex is normal, perfectly normal.
“Yeah! Totally! We’re constantly boning cause we’re so in love!” Atsumu adds.
“Okay. A little too much,” Suna whispers.
Atsumu cringes. “Yeah… Sorry.”
The look on Osamu’s face toes the line between horror and disgust as he puts up a hand to stop Atsumu or Suna from saying anything more. “Okay, I’m gonna end that conversation right now. I don’t wanna hear about yer … activities.” He clears his throat. “Keiji ‘n I were headed to dinner. I’ll text ya later.”
With a tight-lipped smile and an exclamation of ‘have fun with Keiji-kun!’ that sounds a little unnatural, Atsumu and Suna find themselves alone once more. For a moment, Atsumu allows himself to sigh in relief that his twin is now gone.
Slowly, Suna turns his head to meet Atsumu’s gaze. Atsumu makes note of the fact that Suna’s hand is still intertwined with his, but he doesn’t make a move to detangle his fingers from Suna’s.
“He totally knows we’re lying.”
This time, Atsumu’s sigh lacks all the relief it held before. “I didn’t think we’d see him this soon. We didn’t have any time to prepare.” They begin to walk towards the park across the street, and Atsumu watches as Suna throws his own ice cream cup into a trash bin. “Once we get the hang of it, it shouldn’t be too hard, right?
“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” Suna assures. Then, after a moment he says, “What about the physical couple things?”
Atsumu’s mouth falls open. “Sunarin!” Sure, Akaashi mentioned that they should have been having sex as a couple, but he didn’t think Suna wanted to go that far.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant like in front of people. Holding hands and kisses and stuff,” Suna explains.
Oh. Right. That makes more sense.
Still, it’s not like they’ll be any better at doing that either.
“You ... want us to kiss in front of Samu? We’re so fucked. He’s totally gonna know! We’ll kiss and it’ll be all like,” Atsumu makes a variety of messy hand motions to illustrate his point.
It’s not he doesn’t think Suna would be a good kisser (in fact, he knows he is), but kissing Suna in front of Osamu stone-cold sober makes his stomach lurch in fear of what the sight might look like. He’s sure that it’d be far from convincing for a supposed couple that’s been having sex on a regular basis.
Then again, they’re not actually a couple. They’re also not having sex regularly. He shakes his head, willing the odd thought process away.
“Relax.” Suna rolls his eyes. “I’m not saying we have to eat face in front of people. Just a peck once in a while so it’ll be believable.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Maybe Atsumu needs to think about this more rationally.
This is Suna. Suna makes him feel comfortable, and he shouldn’t doubt him now. Besides, if there’s anyone he would have to fake a relationship with, doing it with Suna would be his first choice. Not that he did this on purpose, but still.
Suna raises a brow at him. “You sure you’re good with that?”
“Yeah,” he reaffirms. Suna gives him a look. “Don’t look at me like that! Knowing us we’d still mess it up is all I’m worryin about.”
“Then we can practice,” Suna says. His tone is so casual that Atsumu nearly chokes.
“ Practice ?”
Suna rolls his eyes. He stops walking and pulls his hand from Atsumu’s grip. For a second, Atsumu feels himself missing the warmth of the contact, but before he can really miss it, Suna’s taking Atsumu’s face into his hands, slender fingers and surprisingly gentle hold coming into contact with Atsumu's reddening cheeks. Yes, they’ve kissed before (stuck their tongues down each others throats), but that was when they were both drunk and delirious over the effects of the alcohol in their systems. Right now, they’re both fully sober.
There’s a small pause in Suna’s touch, almost hesitant. When Atsumu looks up to meet Suna’s gaze, he watches as green eyes trail down to a place lower on Atsumu’s face. For a moment, Atsumu forgets to think.
“What … what’re ya doin?”
“Practice,” Suna says with utter seriousness. “I’m gonna give you a kiss and you just have to pretend like you’re my boyfriend and not Atsumu.”
He blinks, staring at the curve of a smile that Suna’s lips are pulled into. “So yer gonna kiss me. Like right now?”
A hint of amusement sparkles in Suna’s eyes. “That’s why I’m holding your face dumbass.”
“Oh. Right. Okay.”
“You sure? You look like you’re pale.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. We gotta get this part of the act down,” Atsumu affirms.
“Why are your eyes closed?”
The anticipation is killing him. If Suna doesn’t kiss him right now, Atsumu might combust into flames. The fact the Suna’s fingers are moving just the slightest bit on his cheeks in what might be a caress doesn’t do anything to help that.
“I don’t know! Just kiss me and let’s just hope for the best!”
A light chuckle reaches his ears. “Okay. But you’ve gotta relax your eyes. You’re squeezing them too hard.”
Atsumu feels soft, cold fingertips graze over his eyes. The action instinctively causes his eyes to relax.
“Now just stay still. I won’t kill you.”
“How can I be sure about that?” Atsumu mumbles, his voice no longer laced with nervousness.
The fingers holding his cheeks shake a little, allowing Atsumu to feel Suna’s chuckle more than he can hear it. “Well, you’re just gonna have to trust that you won’t die right after I kiss you.”
“Okay,” Atsumu says softly. He stays still for a moment, restlessness still coursing through the fingertips that lay stiff at his sides. “Wait lemme open my ey-“
His sentence is left unfinished as he feels lips on his. Not even a second later, the warmth of Suna’s lips leaves, the cold wind taking their place. When Atsumu finally opens his eyes, Suna’s gazing at him with a softness in his eyes that Atsumu feels his mouth go dry.
After a moment, Suna slides his hands off his face. The touch lingers.
“You okay? We can still call it off if you didn’t like that.”
“No, no it’s fine,” Atsumu says. “We can just… practice more ‘til we get the hang of it.”
The peck isn’t half bad—not that they could’ve really messed it up anyway. Still, now that the initial nervousness has left him, he feels a little more confident in his ability to kiss Suna more naturally.
Suna grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “That’s forward of you. All grown up.”
“Shut up,” Atsumu answers. “Jus’ kiss me again.”
For the third time that day, Suna’s lips press against his own, and this time, Atsumu lets himself move more naturally. This could work, hopefully.
Notes:
mwahahaha and so it starts.... loserboy lovesick atsumu will start to make appearances soon enough heh
if you wanna scream about atsusuna with me, come find me on twitter !
Chapter 2: playing house
Summary:
atsumu learns the struggles of playing house with his (platonically) attractive best friend
Notes:
this is basically 8.5k words of atsumu being a walking disaster, hope u all enjoy ✍️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Word of his new relationship with Suna spreads fast. Apparently.
Apparently, because Bokuto’s currently draped over his shoulders with a bright grin, asking Atsumu if he’s “bringing Rin-Rin to today’s post match celebration at Myaa-sam’s shop.”
“Bokkun, ‘course Rin’s comin’,” Atsumu tells him as he looks up at Bokuto, the other man still leaning on his shoulders. Even if they weren’t in a pretend relationship, Suna would’ve come regardless, considering that he’s, one: friends with Osamu, and two: friends with Atsumu.
Bokuto gives a gleeful look towards Suna, who’s looking at Bokuto warily, reminding Atsumu of how Suna used to be in high school. That’s not to say that Suna’s nonchalant attitude has worn off, but Atsumu sometimes notices that the nonchalant stare Suna now sports has a bit more softness compared to the look that he so often saw during high school.
They’ve just finished the match against the EJP Raijin, ending in a 3:2 victory in favor of the Jackals. Atsumu realized that playing against Suna apparently makes their relationship more convincing, since the jabs they trade at the net are now considered “flirting” rather than “bickering”. He supposes that it’s not a bad thing—it’s an aspect to their fake relationship that he doesn’t necessarily have to fake.
As the hallway separating their locker room and the opposing team’s locker room gets filled with Bokuto’s excitable questions and Suna’s off-put responses, Sakusa and Hinata walk out of the locker room, standing close. Sakusa intently listens to whatever Hinata’s going on about, head tilted in a way that looks like he’s saying something back.
Atsumu tears his gaze away. It’s only been a few days since he realized that Sakusa and Hinata were dating, and he’s still not used to tamping down the sting in his chest whenever he sees them. With what he knows now, he realizes that he’s been blind to so much. It doesn’t take a genius to notice how Sakusa gravitates in Hinata’s direction, and even the snarky remarks he says to Hinata’s direction during practice and in games hold hints of tenderness that Sakusa doesn’t give to anyone else.
When Atsumu turns his head back in the direction of Bokuto and Suna, he immediately catches Suna’s gaze. Suna seems to have noticed his reaction, because he tugs lightly on Atsumu’s jacket. “Do you wanna head over to Osamu’s shop early?”
Atsumu just nods before turning back to Bokuto, who’s now set his sights on Sakusa and Hinata. “Rin ‘n I are gonna head over to Samu’s. We’ll see ya there in a bit?”
“Can I come with? Omi-omi won’t let me go with them. He’s hogging Sho-chan all to himself,” Bokuto says with a pout.
“Ah, don’t be like that Bokuto-san. Kiyoomi-kun and I just have to go grab something from his apartment before we go,” Hinata tells him.
“Riiight,” Bokuto remarks. Then, to Atsumu and Suna, he mumbles. “ I think they’re gonna do some naughty things, but I’ll let them be. They’re healthy adults after all,” he says with a mischievious grin.
“Bokuto-san, we can hear you,” Sakusa remarks.
Atsumu wants to throw up at the fact that Sakusa doesn’t actually oppose Bokuto’s assumption.
Beside him, Suna intertwines their hands, and Atsumu feels the smallest bit of relief. Although it’s only been a few days since they started this act, Atsumu finds that the small acts of intimacy he now conducts with Suna are actually pretty comforting. In a platonic sense, of course. He enjoys it.
Once Bokuto finishes up whatever it is he’s saying to Hinata and Sakusa, he ambles back over to Atsumu and Suna, sporting a bright grin and an exclamation of “Kay! Let’s Go!”
With Bokuto in tow, the two of them begin to make their way out of the arena, but not before they run into Komori walking out of the locker room. Atsumu watches as his eyes flick to his and Suna’s intertwined hands.
“See you at Osamu’s?” Suna asks him. Honestly, Atsumu gets it. The way Suna addresses him in his quiet way with a small smile—Atsumu can see why Komori’s still pining after him, even after getting rejected. If he was in the same situation, he’d probably take a long time to get over Suna.
Then again, his situation with Sakusa isn’t any different, but the way Sakusa acts towards him doesn’t incite any feelings of hope, compared to how Komori might feel whenever Suna speaks with expression.
Komori shoots Suna a smile back, telling him that he’ll see him there.
Atsumu does feel a sense of guilt for being half of the reason why Komori’s smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes, but it’s not like Atsumu can change Suna’s mind for him. Not that he would even if it was possible—Suna’s feelings are his own.
“Agaaaashi! Knew you’d be here already,” Bokuto greets as they enter the shop. “And hello, Myaa-sam. My favorite chef.”
Akaashi’s sitting at one of the counter stools with a few loose pieces of paper in front of him. Osamu’s leaning on the counter beside him, and Atsumu doesn’t miss the fact that he has a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder.
Osamu smiles at them, amusement littering his expression. “Hello ta ya too, Bokuto-san. Nice win today.”
“Heh. Why thank you, Myaa-sam.” He switches his gaze to the papers laid out in front of Akaashi. “Don’t tell me that you’re doing work. We’re supposed to be celebrating!”
Akaashi mutters a response about being overworked, but he puts away the papers nonetheless.
“Hey, I’m technically not celebrating anything but a loss,” Suna pitches in as he makes his way to sit at one of the tables. Atsumu follows him instead of taking his usual spot at the counter—it’d raise a few eyebrows if he sat so far away from his supposed boyfriend.
“Ya still played well though. I just played better,” Atsumu teases as he pulls out the chair beside Suna.
Suna sends him a deadpan stare. “Volleyball is a team sport, Atsumu.”
“Obviously, Rin. ‘M jus’ talkin’ about the two of us.”
“Ew, don’t flirt in front of me,” Osamu calls out from behind the counter.
“Maybe stop eavesdroppin’ then, Samu,” Atsumu says. He flips off his twin, earning a middle finger back. It’s not like he was actually flirting anyway.
By the time that everyone arrives, sake and beer replace onigiri plates as the chattering of raucous men fills the small shop. The older members of the team are at their own table, while Atsumu and Suna are joined by Bokuto, Komori, Sakusa, and Hinata. Osamu and Akaashi sit with each other at the counter, and Atsumu thinks about telling them to sit with them, but he takes one look at his brother murmuring something in Akaashi’s ear and pointedly decides not to.
Their table’s pretty full anyway, with Atsumu, Suna, and Bokuto sitting on one side and Hinata, Sakusa, and Komori on the other. Hinata sits right across from him, which Atsumu’s glad for. He doesn’t really want a direct view of Sakusa right in front of him, and Komori’s eyes trailing him with jealousy isn’t something he wants to deal with right now.
“So. Shou-chan. Please tell me how you and Omi-Omi got together. I’m actually dying from curiosity,” Bokuto practically begs. The question causes Atsumu’s expression to stiffen just the slightest bit, but it’s not like he can make an excuse to leave without looking suspicious. Instead he stays, taking another swig of the beer bottle in his hands.
Hinata looks to Sakusa, as if asking for permission to tell the story. In turn, Sakusa just nods. Atsumu tries not to gag on the taste of the beer that he continues to pour into his throat.
Eventually, a pale hand comes to tap the bottle, as if telling him to slow down. Suna looks at him with an impassive stare, but Atsumu knows what he’s telling him to do either way. Reluctantly, he tips the bottle away from his mouth, having a hard time swallowing the egregious amount of beer that he hasn’t yet swallowed.
“Well, I actually thought Kiyoomi-kun liked Atsumu-san,” he admits. Now, Atsumu’s glad that Suna made him put the bottle down, because he would’ve undoubtedly choked on the liquid if it was still flowing through his lips. He resists the urge to take another swig as Hinata continues. “I asked him about it, and you should’ve seen the look on his face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so surprised. He just looked at me and went ‘There’s actually no way, you’re joking Hinata’,” he says sheepishly, his words holding the familiar slurring of drunkenness.
Atsumu tries not to wince at the words, so he covers it up with a cough and another swig of beer. So much for not taking another.
“Then he told me that he liked me, and that he couldn’t believe that I was actually so off with assuming. He took me on a date after. Romantic, right?” Hinata finishes with a giggle. His alcohol-flushed face makes the words sound sweeter than they how they actually sound against Atsumu’s ears.
Sakusa puts down the beer in his hand, wiping the bottle tip with a small tissue before handing it back to Hinata. Atsumu didn’t even notice that they were sharing it. It’s somehow so domestic that it makes Atsumu feel even worse.
“I thought I made it obvious I liked you. You thinking I liked Miya actually threw me off, you know.” Sakusa says, but his eyes are trained on Hinata, who’s blinking up at him with a flushed smile.
Oh. Well, that definitely doesn’t hurt, Atsumu thinks with a bitter chuckle that’s only quiet enough for Suna to hear. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was so stupid.
Atsumu knows that he should probably say something along the lines of ‘Hey, don’t sound so disgusted!’, but can’t bring himself to. Instead, Suna saves him from having to reply and he says, “It worked out then. Glad I don’t have to fight you for Atsumu, Sakusa.”
Both Atsumu and Komori take swigs at the same time at that, and Atsumu would find it almost comedic if he wasn’t on the verge of running to the bathroom and hiding away in it for the rest of the night. He knows it’s a mean thought, considering that he’s pretending to be in a relationship with Suna and probably hurting Komori the way Sakusa’s and Hinata’s relationship is hurting him. But then again, he’s not known for being a saint.
Thankfully, their table moves on to a different topic.
Atsumu tries to tamp down his odd mood, but he’s not very successful. Instead, he continues to tipping the beer bottle to lips and taking shots of sake whenever Bokuto wants to.
Then, as if the world wants to fuck with him even more, he knocks over a shot glass of sake while trying to set his beer bottle back on the table.
“Fuck,” he curses as the liquid splashes onto his jeans. The feeling of liquid against his skin makes his discomfort even worse than before. “‘M gonna go dry this. Ya have towels in the kitchen right, Samu?”
Osamu looks up from where he’s leaning his cheek against a propped arm, body facing Akaashi’s. “Yeah, look in the cabinets. Shouldn’t be hard ta find.” Atsumu nods, standing in an attempt to get away from this conversation as soon as he can.
“I’ll come with you,” Suna says, getting up from his seat. Atsumu shoots him a look, but Suna flips his expression to one of drunken sadness. “I’ll miss you if you goooo. I wanna go with youuuu,” he says with a pout and dejected shoulders, voice almost sounding like a whine.
Atsumu wants to look at him like he’s crazy. Yes, Suna gets drunk, but he’s never a clingy drunk—that’s always Atsumu’s job. Before he can get the chance to question him, Suna’s dragging him by the arm and leaning into him. “I’m coming with you,” he says, his words lightly slurred.
As the kitchen’s swinging doors swing back to their normal position, Atsumu vaguely hears Meian’s voice telling him, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Once they’re out of everyone else’s sight, Suna drops his arm and returns back to a semi-normal, non-drunk-like state. Atsumu shoots him a look. “What was that about?”
“What Sakusa said hurt you,” Suna says, his voice now back to his normal speech. Atsumu blinks at the statement, not realizing that Suna noticed.
He should’ve expected Suna to take note of it though. Suna notices quite a bit about him. Or—he notices things about everyone, not just him.
Instead of responding to the observation right away, Atsumu makes himself busy by opening up a few cabinets, looking for a washcloth. Eventually he finds one, making his way to the sink to dampen it where Suna’s already leaning on the counter. “Was I obvious ‘bout it?”
“No, I just know,” he says simply. “You were drinking more often too.”
The hand Atsumu’s using to wipe his jeans pauses for a second. He guesses it really is as simple as that—Suna’s the only other person aside from Osamu that knows him in ways Atsumu doesn’t know himself. The thought makes him crack a smile, one that feels genuine. “Yer so observant, Sunarin. Can’t get anythin’ past ya.”
Suna shrugs. “I’m also not that drunk.”
“Yer not?” Then again, Atsumu tries to remember if he saw Suna drinking much, but he only remembers him drinking a beer. For Suna’s tolerance, a beer could basically be water.
“One of us has to stay sober enough. Especially with Sakusa and Komori being there,” Suna explains.
“Ah, that’s true,” Atsumu remarks. He places the washcloth next to him on the counter, turning to meet Suna’s eyes. “I think we’re doin’ a pretty convincin’ job. Komori-kun’s been lookin’ at us the whole night. I see whatcha mean, he really does seem ta still like ya.”
Suna sighs. “You should be more thoughtful about other people’s feelings, Atsumu.”
Atsumu frowns, realizing his words. He can’t even blame it on the alcohol, not when he barely feels tipsy. “Yeah, my bad. That was kinda insensitive of me ta say.”
“It’s okay,” Suna tells him. “I’m the one that’s doing this to make him get over me, so I’m not any better.”
“Yer still carin’ for him though. Even if the method’s a little unconventional,” he tells Suna. “Yer hurtin’ him intentionally so that he’s gonna be hurtin’ fer less time later on. I think that’s carin’ in its own right.”
Suna’s gaze falls to his feet as he mumbles, “That doesn’t really make me feel any better about it.”
“I guess. It’s not the most moral thing ta do, but I get it.” When Atsumu realizes that Suna’s gaze is still downcast, he says, “Me sayin’ that probably won’t change yer mind ‘bout it, but I’m sayin’ it anyway.”
Suna sighs, tipping his head upward towards the ceiling. He takes a few moments to stare at the wooden expanse of the ceiling before leaning his head back down to its normal placement. “You know, I came with you to make sure you’re okay. I don’t know how that got flipped on me.”
“‘M fine. Just a little fresh right now,” Atsumu says. “I’ll be okay about it eventually.” It’s only a matter of time before he eventually heals the heartbreak himself. He knows that Suna knows that too.
“Okay. Just tap me or something if you need me to make a distraction again,” Suna says with half of a smile. Under the pale yellow light, the sight of Suna smiling heightens the feeling of comfort Atsumu gets from gazing upon the light curve of Suna’s lips.
It’s nice to know that Suna’s not pitying him. He’s simply allowing Atsumu the space to feel sad about it, and Atsumu’s grateful for it. Suna’s always had a way of treating him like a person and not like an obnoxious child, like so many others have done.
“Aren’t ya bein’ a real nice boyfriend.”
“Fake boyfriend,” Suna reminds him.
“Uh huh, whatever,” Atsumu waves him off, “yer still lookin’ out fer me anyway.”
Suna shrugs. “Is that new?”
Atsumu stares at him, brown eyes blinking at the man next to him. Suna turns his head to meet his gaze, looking surprised at whatever he sees on Atsumu’s face.
It’s at times like these that Atsumu really appreciates the unconventional way Suna has for caring about others. He doesn’t extend such an honor on many people, and Atsumu likes that he has the opportunity to see Suna like this—for the thoughtfulness he adds to his otherwise monotone voice.
“Don’t make me cry again.”
That doesn’t stop Suna though, since he continues on. “If you wanna drink your sorrows away, I’ll walk you all the way back to your apartment. Just don’t drink so much that you pass out.”
He hates how Suna just says things like that—considerate and shameless about how caring the statement sounds.
“Gee, yer tryin’ ta make me cry now, aren’t ya? Don’t say things like that or I’ll burst into tears in front of ya.”
Suna grins at him. “That’ll be hard to explain to everyone once we walk back out.”
Atsumu imagines it, walking out with puffy eyes and tears staining his cheeks. That wouldn’t be the easiest to explain, so he tries his hardest not to be too moved by Suna’s compassion for him. It’s harder now though, and he chalks it up to the alcohol probably kicking in.
He allows himself a sniffle and a small laugh before pushing up off the kitchen counter. “We should probably head back then, huh?”
Atsumu’s grabbing the washcloth next to him when Suna responds. “Yeah, they probably think I’m sucking you off or something.”
He whips his head back to gape at the other man. Suna has the audacity to look amused. “Oh my god, Rin. Don’t be so explicit,” Atsumu groans.
“You really are shy about sex. Can’t believe Akaashi was right,” Suna says with a light snort.
Atsumu’s not shy about sex. He’s had sex before—a few times. But hearing Suna say things like that does make him feel a little embarrassed. Maybe he’s been celibate for far too long, if his best friend saying things like that is making him feel the slightest bit flustered.
After Atsumu throws the washcloth into the bin Osamu uses for his used cloths, he says, “No I’m not. It’s just weird ta think about ya doin’ that to me.”
“You’re thinking about me giving you a blowjob right now?”
This little shit.
He wasn’t thinking about it before—not technically —but now that Suna’s mentioned it, he can’t stop himself from seeing such an action play out in his head. But that’s dangerous when Suna is, without a doubt, attractive in Atsumu’s eyes. Platonically attractive.
The thought of seeing Suna from an angle much lower—
Woah. Where did that thought come from?
Atsumu puts a hand up to stop Suna from saying anything more. Really, the action is more of a physical culmination of his desire to push that thought from his head. “Stop, stop. Please shut up.”
“Just messing with you,” Suna replies, chuckling at the look Atsumu throws his way. “Come on, let's go.”
Atsumu trails after Suna, trying not to look too distracted with his attempt to guide his thoughts somewhere else. When they walk back out, Osamu’s staring at them with a skeptical look. “Please don’t tell me I have to sanitize and deep clean the kitchen now.”
“You do,” Suna says.
Atsumu jabs Suna’s arm, earning him a complaint from the other man. “He’s kiddin’. Swear.”
When the two of them return back to their seats, Suna slides him a shot glass of sake. Atsumu takes it, but pours Suna a glass too. He no longer really feels the need to drown his sorrows in alcohol. When Suna tips the shot to his lips, Atsumu feels a little lighter.
TO: sunarin
i may have done something bad
FROM: sunarin
...
what did you do
TO: sunarin
i may have agreed to a double date
FROM: sunarin
with who
TO: sunarin
omi-kun and shoyo-kun...
FROM: sunarin
oh my god
atsumu what the fuck
TO: sunarin
IM SORRY I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY
FROM: sunarin
it's fine
we're getting better at pretending
so we should be fine
as long as you feel okay with it
TO: sunarin
I’ll be fine
hopefully
As Osamu would always say, “Tsumu’s the biggest liar I know.”
Now, there’s plenty of things that Atsumu lies about—taking Osamu’s food, dating Suna Rintarou, pretending that he’s not a walking mess of a person.
Emphasis on the last bit.
“I don’t think I can do this. What if I just tell Shoyo-kun that yer not feelin’ well?”
Agreeing to go on a double date with his unrequited crush, his unrequited crush’s boyfriend, and his own pretend boyfriend wasn’t his finest moment. Especially now that he’s in front of the dessert shop Hinata texted him the directions to, Atsumu suddenly regrets all the decisions in his life that have led him here.
“You told him we’d be here in 5 minutes. And they’ve already seen us,” Suna says, pointing through the café glass where Hinata is currently waving.
“Fuck,” Atsumu curses. “I’m too nervous for this.”
While he’s gotten better at acting like his relationship with Suna is real, he feels as if all that progress has suddenly been erased, almost like his brain is a computer and someone’s just wiped all of its data.
“Hey,” comes Suna’s voice from beside him. He reaches between them, interlocking his fingers with Atsumu’s. “It’s fine, I can take the lead.”
“Sorry, I don’t know why it’s still affectin’ me so much,” Atsumu mumbles, absentmindedly letting his thumb glide over the softness of Suna’s skin.
For as good as he usually is in deflecting rejection, he’s certainly not living up to that notion right now.
As he looks down at the place where his thumb meets Suna’s skin, Suna lightly tugs at their intertwined hands. Atsumu looks back up at Suna, meeting greenish-yellow eyes that hold a hint of worry in them. It’s not often that Suna’s eyes convey such an emotion, so Atsumu flicks his gaze between them, trying to calm himself.
“You’re with me. Just remember that,” Suna says. Sometimes, Atsumu forgets just how caring Suna is.
Suna’s words ease some of the knots in his stomach, and he’s glad that he’s at least not facing Sakusa and Hinata alone. “Okay. Thanks, Rin.”
With his anxiety more at ease, Atsumu follows Suna as he opens the door to the shop, making his way towards the table that Hinata and Sakusa are currently sitting at.
“Hi Atsumu-san, Suna-san!”
Suna responds with a small wave, taking the seat in front of Hinata. “Hey. How’s it going?”
“Great! It took some convincing for Kiyoomi-kun, but he finally agreed to go on a double date,” Hinata says with a smile. “I always wanted to go on one, just once.”
“I’m only doing this because you asked,” Sakusa says with just a hint of softness. Then, he adds, “Plus, Suna seems to keep Atsumu in check, so.”
Suna snorts. “If anything, I make him worse.”
Sakusa looks at them warily, looking regretful of his decision to agree. Suna isn’t necessarily lying. The two of them do often argue and bite back at the other, but it’s all in playfulness. Suna knows that Atsumu will never intentionally hurt his feelings, and Atsumu knows that the same applies to Suna. Still, Sakusa doesn’t know that, and Atsumu can’t let him think that they’re too incompatible to even be in a relationship.
“He’s only kiddin’. Rin ‘n I are just playful,” Atsumu says with a plastered smile, “Not everyone’s cup ‘a tea, yanno?”
Hinata nods thoughtfully. “I guess that makes sense. You two seem to make a good couple though. Balance and all that,” he assures. Bless Shoyo-kun’s soul. Atsumu has the fleeting thought that Hinata is better at advertising their fake relationship than he and Suna are.
Before Atsumu can respond, one of the waitresses walks up to their table, pen and paper in hand. “What can I get you guys?”
Atsumu realizes in their talking, he never got a chance to look at the menu. But, as if reading his mind, Suna doesn’t miss a beat in placing an order. “We’ll have the matcha kakigori with an addition of mochi on top.” Then, as an added measure, he smiles and says, “Thank you.”
The waitress smiles, bashfulness decorating her features. Suna has a smooth tongue, Atsumu has to give him that. Still, he thinks that the waitress is being a little too obvious about her interest in Suna.
He doesn’t have any opinion on it, just an observation.
“One strawberry kakigori, please,” Hinata says from across them. “Oh, and an order of plum juice, thank you.”
Atsumu takes note of how the waitress smiles at Hinata is different from how she smiles at Suna—with just a hint of more pronounced excitement. If only to further prove his point, she shoots Suna another friendly smile before collecting their menus and leaving them with a sweetly-spoken ‘those will be out shortly.’
Suna isn’t flirting back, but he definitely doesn’t seem fazed by the attention. Atsumu makes a mental note to ask whether Suna likes the waitress later on.
“Suna-san, I didn’t even realize that you looked at the menu.”
“Oh, I looked it up before we came here,” Suna tells him. “Atsumu likes matcha so I got that. He likes mochi too, so.“
Atsumu glances at him, impressed by how natural that answer seems to come to him. Or well, he’s probably just telling the truth, since he’s surprisingly considerate, despite his usual passive expression. It’s like Suna keeps a mental catalog of facts about others, and it both impresses and flatters Atsumu.
Suddenly, he realizes that Suna’s order didn’t have any of his own preferences. “But what ‘bout what ya wanted ta order?” Atsumu asks, a frown growing on his lips. “I know matcha’s not yer favorite.”
Suna shrugs. “It’s growing on me. You always make me taste anything matcha-flavored whenever you order it anyway.”
It’s a sweet thing to say, and Atsumu wonders if Suna’s playing it up to sound more romantic. Maybe he still doesn’t like matcha. Still, it’s impressive how good Suna is at faking their relationship.
Atsumu finds that he doesn’t actually hate the whole thing. Sure, he has to tear his gaze away whenever Sakusa smiles at Hinata with a little too much softness, but he doesn’t leave the cafe wishing for a hole to swallow him whole, which is a good sign. Now that they’re getting used to their ruse, Atsumu finds that Suna’s initiative helps him calm down whenever he gets too nervous.
“I think we did pretty good this time,” Atsumu muses as they walk towards the metro, hands intertwined.
Suna hums in agreement befer turning to Atsumu. “How was it for you, though? It was probably hard seeing them like that.”
Atsumu shrugs, and he genuinely says, “I mean, yeah. But it’ll eventually go away.” He looks out at where the sun’s rays create a painting of orange and pink in the sky, feeling a sense of tranquillity at the sight. “I’m not gonna stay hung up on Omi-kun if Shoyo-kun really makes him happy.”
“That’s mature of you.”
Atsumu narrows his eyes at the man next to him. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
Suna gives him a look. “You were crying so hard two weeks ago that I thought you would run out of tears. Just looking out for you.”
“Stop sayin’ things like that. When didja start bein’ so sweet?”
“I’ve gotta work on my acting skills somehow,” Suna says. With a mischievous smile, he continues, “It’s hard for me to act like I’m in love with you when I barely like you.”
Suna’s not looking at him, so Atsumu sees Suna’s smile from the side, curved and fitting for his face. It’s pretty.
Once that thought registers in his head, Atsumu clears his throat, looking away from Suna and back towards the the city landscape in front of them. Instead of responding to Suna’s sentence, Atsumu decides to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Ya know, that waitress seemed to like ya.”
“Oh did she? Couldn’t tell,” Suna says with mock innocence.
“Liar,” Atsumu says. “Ya have a big ego. I know ya noticed.”
As popular Atsumu is for being a “hot guy player”, he hears enough talk around the volleyball scope to know that Suna has his own spot in that club of players. Suna’s name always finds its way into conversations regarding the looks of players in the V.League, always mentioned with names like Atsumu’s, Kageyama’s, and Ushijima’s.
“Guilty,” Suna says as he brings his hands up. Atsumu realizes that they still haven’t let go of each other, but he doesn’t make a move to pull away. “Anyway, I was there with you. What kind of loving boyfriend would I be to let myself be distracted by someone else?”
Atsumu bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “But, still. Ya totally could’ve had a chance with her.”
Suna shrugs. “Not really my type.”
“Huh? What’s yer type then?”
“If anyone asks, I’ll say rude, loud, fake blondes,” Suna says. Atsumu scowls, and Suna laughs at him. “Don’t pout. I’ll have to kiss it off of you.”
Atsumu turns his face in the other direction, fighting the smile that wants to make its way onto his lips. He pushes Suna just slightly away from him with a huff, still not letting go of his hand as they continue down the sidewalk.
It’s perfectly normal to react in such a way if someone says something like that. Who wouldn’t be flustered at such a sentence when it glides so fluidly off of Suna’s tongue?
The outside of the EJP Raijin’s training facility is nicer than Atsumu would’ve imagined. Compared to the Jackals’ mostly sleek and modern structure, EJP’s practice facility features a more homey exterior, with wooden beams and glass doors. It reminds Atsumu vaguely of the Ajinomoto Training Center he used to train at for the All-Japan Youth Camp, right down to the smell of Salonpas permeating the air around him.
Leaning against a wall with a rustic brown finish, he pulls out his phone and waits for Suna to exit out of the facility. His own practice for the day ended a little while ago, and Atsumu had nothing else to do, so he figured that it was a good of a time as any to come play house.
Suggesting the notion of picking Suna up from practice was Atsumu’s doing, his reasoning being that it would make their relationship more believable. After all, Suna did technically pick him up from practice the day that they started this.
“Atsumu?” He looks up from his phone to see Komori approaching him with a bag thrown over his right shoulder. He’s wearing the EJP Raijin’s jacket, the neon color seemingly following him even after graduating from Itachiyama.
Atsumu shoots a smile in Komori’s direction. “Ah, Komori-kun, how was practice?”
“Pretty good," Komori says with a smile that matches Atsumu's. Then, he ticks his head to the side. "Why are you here?”
“Pickin’ up, Rin," Atsumu says, pointing a thumb towards the doors of the facility. "My practice ended early so I figured I’d come get him.”
“Oh.” Atsumu pretends not to notice the sadness in Komori’s eyes. “That’s sweet of you.”
Atsumu waves him off. “Ya flatter me. Rin’s a better boyfriend than I am though.”
He often finds himself hesitating whenever he speaks about Suna in Komori’s direction, but it’s not like Atsumu can really let guilt eat him alive now that they’ve already gotten this deep in pretending. The less convincing they are, the higher the probability that Komori will end up more hurt about the falsehood of his relationship with Suna than the hurt that comes with unrequited feelings.
Even so, Atsumu finds that statements like that flow off his tongue much easier than it used to. With Suna's constant reminders to just loosen up and not overthink it, Atsumu is able to act accordingly in situations. The only times he ever really slips up are when he’s around Sakusa or Hinata. He chalks that up to the fact that he would feel tense around the two either way, and having to keep his act up around them only adds to that.
“Ah, I see," Komori says, pulling Atsumu from his thoughts. "Don’t sell yourself short though, I’m sure you’re plenty good enough for Sunarin.”
Sunarin? Since when did Suna become Sunarin for Komori?
Before Atsumu can say more to Komori, the front door swings open, and Suna steps out.
“Atsumu,” Suna greets. Atsumu waits for Suna to reach him, surprising himself when he pulls Suna in by the hand and gives him a quick peck to the cheek. Suna raises a brow at the action, but it doesn’t seem like he minds.
Komori looks between the two of them, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. “I’m heading home now. I’ll see you Thursday Sunarin." He waves at Atsumu. "Nice seeing you too, Atsumu.”
Once Komori walks away, Atsumu turns to Suna. “What’s Thursday?”
Suna snorts. “Practice, dumbass.”
“Ah, right," Atsumu says with an 'oh' action. The two of them fall in step with the other as they walk in the direction of the metro station, though they’re not in any hurry to get anywhere. Before he can stop himself, Atsumu finds himself asking, “Since when did Komori call ya Sunarin by the way?”
He doesn't really know why he feels a little bothered by it—a lot of others call Suna by that nickname. Or well, mostly just the Inarizaki team. Plus, Komori doesn't really use nicknames often, if Atsumu's observations are correct.
“Uh, I’m not sure.” Suna looks at him. “Why?”
“Just curious.” Atsumu says with a shrug.
For a moment, the two of them go quiet as they continue to walk down the street. When they reach a stoplight, Suna readjusts the way he’s holding his practice bag, and the movement makes Atsumu zero in on a detail he didn’t notice before.
"Yer shirt looks a little tight on ya. Did ya get the wrong size?"
He doesn't mean it as an insult. Quite the opposite actually.
The shirt, which is much smaller than what Suna usually wears, hugs Suna's figure in a way that looks—well, it further emphasizes Suna’s spot within what fangirls dub ‘hot volleyball players’. The short sleeves that hug Suna’s arms are just the slightest bit too tight-fitting, allowing Suna's upper biceps to look more pronounced. As if his arms aren’t a distraction enough, his chest and lower abdominals add onto the look by hugging his upper body well—almost as if Suna's wearing a compression shirt.
He looks good. Really good.
Atsumu's thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Suna's voice. "Shrunk in the wash. I didn't notice when I grabbed it earlier, and it's the only shirt I brought to practice."
Atsumu just nods, afraid that he might say something inappropriate if he tries to make a comment regarding the state of Suna's dress. Instead he lets the conversation die there, looking out onto the street in front of them.
As they continue to walk, Atsumu realizes that he never actually thought further than picking Suna up from practice. They could get dinner, but Atsumu doubts that Suna will want to lug a large practice bag around with him in a small restaurant. “Wanna get snacks at the convenience store?”
“Sure,” Suna shrugs. "There's one just down the street. I go pretty often before or after practice."
Atsumu nods, following Suna as he walks towards the convenience store located at the corner of the street. When they step into the store, Atsumu notes that the interior of the store looks like most convenience store chains would look, but it looks like it's upkept to just a slightly higher standard than most other convenience stores might be.
Although he didn’t really think of what he actually wanted to purchase, Atsumu finds himself gravitating towards the aisle that carries a variety of packaged cup ramen. He doesn’t expect Suna to follow, but Suna just trails behind him.
He doesn’t often eat packaged cup ramen, since it’s not particularly nutritious or healthy—two things that Atsumu usually bases his meals around. Still, it’s been a while since he’s allowed himself to partake in the unhealthy amount of sodium and preservatives that most instant ramen has, and he figures that it might help make him feel better about Sakusa.
Not that he needs cheering up at the moment. He surprisingly isn’t in a bad mood despite having to see Sakusa and Hinata at practice.
Rows of different-colored instant ramen packets line the shelves, and it might be a little overwhelming if Atsumu didn’t already know what brands he preferred. He makes his way to where he sees the familiar packaging of his go-to brand of ramen, but his eye catches on the blue packet that sits next to it.
“Hey Rin, look. They’ve got pokémon-themed ramen.” He plucks out the cup of ramen that’s decorated with a large pikachu face on its side, taking up most of the space. It’s good marketing, considering that it’s doing its intended job of standing out among other popular brands.
Suna comes up behind him, looking over Atsumu's shoulder. “Looks like you a little bit," he remarks.
Atsumu turns to face Suna, shrugging his shoulders. “‘M takin’ that as a compliment. Pikachu’s cute.”
“So are you," Suna says casually. For Atsumu though, the comment is far from casual, and he feels his eyes go wide. Suna's eyes flick over his face, amusement twinkling in his gaze. “Your face looks funny. I’m messing with you.”
Atsumu playfully pushes him. “Asshole.” He looks back down at the package to distract himself from the fact that he wants to smile. He looks at the photo of the ramen on the top, noticing that the usual narutomaki are replaced with something else. “Ooh, they’ve even got pikachu fishcakes inside.”
Suna hums, looking up at the shelf that Atsumu grabbed the packet from. “Get me one too. I want the blue one.”
“I wanted the blue one…” Atsumu says with a twist of his lips.
Suna looks at him with amusement littering his expression again. “You can still get the blue one you know.”
“Yeah, but if there’s two then we might as well try ‘em both."
It's a habit he picked up from growing up with a twin. A lot of the time, if one of them couldn’t make a decision between two items, they’d just each purchase one of the options to share. That way, they can both try whatever it is that they want to try.
Resolutely, Atsumu grabs the other version of the ramen packet from the shelf. "I’ll get the red one.”
Suna chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Okay, I’ll get us drinks. Mango juice for you?”
Atsumu grins. “Ya know me so well.”
Suna walks away in the direction of the drinks aisle while Atsumu wanders over to the aisle where they keep the candy and other packaged commercial sweets. He's looking up at the rows of different hi-chew flavors when he hears someone call his name.
“Atsumu, is that ya?”
The sight he’s met with when he turns in the direction of the voice is the familiar face of Akagi. His senior looks older now, and his hair is shorter than it was in high school. Height-wise, Atsumu still towers over him, despite being younger.
He hasn’t seen much of Akagi since high school, but in his defense, he hasn’t really kept in touch with most of the Inarizaki team. Aside from Osamu and Suna, Atsumu only really talks to Aran and Kita on a pretty regular basis—Kita when he delivers rice to Onigiri Miya, and Aran whenever the Jackals play the Tachibana Falcons.
“Akagi-san, hey!” Atsumu smiles at him. Akagi was always pretty nice to Atsumu, not minding his off-putting personality very much. “Ya live in Osaka?”
Akagi shakes his head. “Nah, visitin’ my girl fer the weekend. She’s lookin’ at the pastries right now.”
“Atsumu, are you done?” When Atsumu turns in the direction of the other voice, he sees Suna approaching with two bottles in hand. Suna’s eyes go wide as they stare at the appearance of their senior. “Akagi-san?”
“Gee, Sunarin’s here too?” Akagi says with a smile. “Don’t tell me Osamu’s ‘round the corner.”
“Nah, he’s probably passed out at Keiji-kun’s place,” Atsumu says. Onigiri Miya closes at five o’clock on the weekdays, so that’s the other likely place he would be at.
Akagi’s head tilts to the side. “Who’s Keiji?”
“Samu’s boyfriend,” Atsumu explains. “He was Fukurodani’s setter.”
“Oh, damn. What else have I missed?” He points at the two of them, looking curious. “Do the two of ya have partners too or what?”
“Oh, well,” Atsumu pauses, glancing in Suna’s direction. Suna makes a motion with his head that tells him ‘go on.’ Atsumu sticks a thumb in Suna’s direction as he says, “Rin ‘n I are datin’.”
“What, really?” Akagi breaks into a surprised grin, looking proud. Although surprise grazes his features, Akagi doesn’t seem to doubt his words in the slightest. “Can’t say I didn’t see it comin’ though.”
Atsumu looks at Akari with a confused stare. “Huh? Whatdya mean by that Akari-san?”
“Aw come on, Atsumu," Akari says playfully. "Anyone with eyes could tell Sunarin had a crush on ya.”
What?
Atsumu turns his head to look at Suna, who looks unfazed by Akari's words. He can’t tell if his lack of reaction is an indication of the statement being true, or if it confirms that Akagi has only assumed wrong. But he would know if Suna had a crush on him, wouldn’t he?
At Atsumu’s silence, Akagi asks, "Did he never tell ya?"
Right, if Suna is his boyfriend, he would've told Atsumu about having a crush on him. Since that's a given for most couples. Analyzing Suna’s reaction will just have to wait until later.
Atsumu clears his throat, wearing a practiced grin. “Ah, right. He did tell me.”
As he looks at Akagi, he sees a woman in a pink sweater pop out from the other aisle. "Michinari, where are you?" She peeks into the aisle they’re currently in, her expression morphing into a smile when she notices them. "Oh there you are!"
Akagi breaks into a smile at the woman approaching them, almost perfectly fitting the bill of the standard ‘man in love.’ When she finally reaches them, Akagi immediately takes her hand. "Hey, Airi. These are my juniors from high school," Akagi says, pointing at Suna and Atsumu.
The woman—Airi—eyes the two of them in a way that reminds Atsumu of how Hinata usually looks at others. She seems cheery and extroverted—a good match for Akagi’s more introverted personality.
As she fixes her stare at Atsumu, she breaks out into a grin. "Oh, I know them! My friend is a huge fan of the Jackals. If you're who I think you are, I think you're her favorite player," she says to Atsumu.
He’s pretty used to interacting with fans and being recognized around town, so Atsumu just gives her a nod. "If that's so, the two of ya should come out to a Jackals game sometime," Atsumu says with a friendly smile.
Akagi nods. "Let me know if ya ever play against Aran, it's been a while since I've seen him." Then, he checks his watch. "Airi and I gotta go though, got a movie ta catch. I'll say the two of ya around!"
The couple walks away from them, leaving just Suna and Atsumu in the aisle. Now that they’re no longer in the presence of another person, Atsumu returns to his analysis of Suna’s (potential) crush on him.
“Did ya really have a crush on me in high school?”
For a moment, Suna stares at Atsumu with an inquizitive look before his eyes give way to an emotion that looks like realization. His lips part as he focuses on somewhere behind Atsumu’s shoulder, blinking. “No, I didn’t.” Atsumu wants to ask him more, but before he can, Suna says, “Should I get a pack of senbei too?”
“Huh?”
“Rice crackers,” Suna says.
“Oh. Right. Yeah, ya should.”
Atsumu thinks that the question sounds more like a deflection than a genuine desire to buy senbei, but he lets it slide. Besides, even if Suna had said yes, he wouldn't know how to react.
Suna wouldn’t have agreed to be his fake boyfriend if he had feelings for him, right? Atsumu doesn't think he could pretend to be Sakusa's boyfriend if he had to. He knows a decision like that would only end badly for his own mental wellbeing.
Atsumu settles then that Suna's probably telling the truth and is probably just distracted about something else. Suna's never acted as if he liked Atsumu like that anyway. Or maybe he has, and Atsumu's never noticed.
He frowns at that thought. If Suna had feelings for him and he didn't notice, that'd mean that he probably hurt Suna at some point, considering that he's always telling him about his romantic endeavors.
"You okay?"
Suna's voice pulls him from his thoughts, and Atsumu meets Suna's gaze. "Yeah, just got a little distracted."
Atsumu decides to sideline the thought. He shouldn't be theorizing about something that's probably not true anyway.
"Okay, you done? I can pay," Suna offers.
"Ya don't hafta," Atsumu tells him.
Suna waves him off, making his way towards the counter. "Nah, it's fine. Couples are expected to pay for each other anyway." Then, he shoots Atsumu a small smile that complements the smug look on his face. "You can just pay for me next time."
Since when did Suna get so flirty?
Maybe Atsumu's just imagining it. Or maybe that's how Suna's always acted. Maybe he flirts with everyone like that. Atsumu ignores the frown that threatens to creep onto his lips at that thought, following after Suna instead.
They walk out of the convenience store with a bag each, one with drinks and the other with various snacks. As they pick up on their route towards the metro station, Suna asks, "Wanna come over to my apartment for a little? Since you're already in this part of town?"
“Yeah,” Atsumu says after taking a sip from his bottle of mango juice.
"I have this new game I bought that I wanna try out,” Suna says as they walk across the street. “It’s called Super Smash Bros. Komori swears it's fun."
“Oh, I’ve heard ‘a that one. Shoyo-kun said that his friends from Brazil used ta play with him.”
Suna hums in response. “You’ve never played it, though?”
“Nope,” Atsumu responds, putting extra emphasis on the ‘p’ sound.
Suna breaks into a grin, an uncharacteristic look of excitement gracing his face. “Great, I’ll have to beat you then.”
“Hah? Don’t get all competitive on me!”
When they reach Suna's apartment, Atsumu places his shoes in his unofficial spot that he claims whenever he’s over at Suna’s apartment. Suna takes the ramen out from the bag of snacks before he turns back to Atsumu and extends his palm toward him.
Atsumu stares at Suna’s open palm, not knowing what he’s asking for. Sometimes Suna will reach his arm in Atsumu’s direction to signal a hand hold, but it seems like an odd time to just randomly hold hands.
“The drinks,” Suna says.
“Huh?” Atsumu blinks up at Suna. In response, Suna just extends his arm out again. “Oh, right,” Atsumu says, handing the bag over to him. A little embarrassed about his own assumptions, Atsumu walks to where Suna placed the instant ramen. “I’ll make the ramen,” he mumbles, already walking over to the stove with the packets in hand.
From behind him, he hears Suna say, “I’ll get the game ready.”
Atsumu just hums in approval, busy placing water into one of Suna’s pots.
For a little while, the apartment is filled with just the sounds of Atsumu chopping green onions and Suna’s rustling in the living room. They stay like that until the shuffling stops, instead replaced with the sound of footsteps making their way back to the kitchen.
"Smells good," Suna notes as he comes up behind Atsumu, looking over Atsumu’s shoulder to where Atsumu’s currently sprinkling green onions in each bowl.
Atsumu can feel Suna's warmth radiating off of him, making him acutely aware of the small distance between his and Suna’s bodies. It’s not like a lack of personal space is a new notion between them, coming to them naturally after years of friendship, so the reaction Atsumu has now is completely unwarranted. Suna always does this—it's not any different now.
Remembering his thoughts from the convenience store, Atsumu wonders if Suna gets this close to most other people, invading personal space like it's nothing. Not that Atsumu minds that Suna is in his personal space, he just—
Just what?
Before Atsumu can even begin picking that question apart, Suna steps away, walking towards the cabinet to grab glasses. The lack of warmth doesn’t go unnoticed by Atsumu, but he tries not to think about what that might mean.
Once he finishes up the ramen by placing a piece of nori into each bowl, Atsumu brings the two bowls of ramen to Suna’s coffee table. After a moment, Suna joins him on the tatami, sitting close enough that their knees touch.
“ Itadakimasu ,” they both say before digging into their bowls.
Compared to the ramen brands he usually reaches for, this brand isn’t anything spectacular, but the cute pokemon-shaped fishcakes swimming atop the broth bumps it up a few places in his book.
For a moment, the apartment falls into a silence as the two of them focus on eating, the post-practice hunger finally hitting them.
After a few minutes, Suna lifts his head. “You wanna try some of mine? You said you wanted the blue one earlier,” Suna says after a while.
“Sure,” Atsumu says as he slides his own bowl over to Suna. “Try mine too.”
Atsumu takes a few spoonfuls of Suna’s ramen, which has a shoyu chicken broth and a hint of black garlic. It’s pretty tasty, though he thinks he prefers the tonkotsu broth that came with his packet. “I think I like the red one better.”
Suna looks up at him. “Really? I think the blue one tastes better.”
As they switch their bowls back, Atsumu’s phone rings. He looks at the homescreen, seeing his mother’s contact name over a blurred gray background.
“Ma? What’s up?”
From the other side of the line, Atsumu hears his mother’s stern voice. “Miya Atsumu.” She pauses for a moment, and Atsumu starts to think of everything could’ve done wrong in the past few weeks. “How could ya not tell me that yer datin’ Rintarou?”
Oh. Samu must’ve said something.
“Ah, sorry ‘Ma. Just slipped my mind is all,” Atsumu says, an apologetic tone tainting his words.
“How rude.” His mother scoffs, but Atsumu knows that she’s not actually that mad. “Come back home this weekend. I wanna have dinner with ya two.” Then, she adds, “Tell Samu to bring his pretty boyfriend too.”
Atsumu wants to make up some excuse, but his mother’s stubbornness is a force to reckon with, so instead he says, “Okay. We’ll see ya then.”
As he puts his phone back onto the table, he turns to Suna, feeling a little guilty.
Suna puts his glass of soymilk down, meeting Atsumu’s gaze. “What’d she say?”
“So,” Atsumu starts, “she knows that we’re datin’.” He pauses, trying to gauge Suna’s reaction, watching as he’s met with blinking eyes. “And she wants ya to come home with me so she can have dinner with us.”
Notes:
tfw when you accidentally drag everyone into your fake relationship and now your mother wants to meet your fake boyfriend
as always, i'd be glad to hear your thoughts on this mwah
Chapter 3: ursa minor
Summary:
a trip back to hyogo awakens a few realizations
Notes:
it's been a little over a month since i last updated because uni life caught up to me, but i hope this isn't too horrible,,, i went through a lot of back and forth about this chapter and i'm not too sure if i love it quite yet, but i hope you guys will :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Can’t believe she managed to find out on the one weekend we have off,” Atsumu mutters, pulling Suna’s duffle bag from underneath their seats and placing the strap into Suna’s open palm.
It’s not like he minds all that much that his mother found out. It’s just a hassle—for Suna especially. Atsumu’s already dragged him into so much trouble through this whole ordeal, and meeting his mother as a boyfriend instead of a friend is something that even Atsumu feels bad about.
Suna grabs onto the duffle bag, falling into step behind Akaashi and Osamu. He shrugs, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Atsumu’s not too far behind. “It’ll be fine. I’ve met her before.”
“I know it’ll be fine, since yer really good at bein’ my boyfriend,” Atsumu replies back, too busy fixing the way the strap of his bag sits on his shoulder to realize the wording of his sentence. When he realizes, he pauses, eliciting a curious look from the man next to him. “Uh, I meant that yer good at pretendin’. It comes easy ta ya. Ya know?”
He looks over, watching as Suna’s lips curl into an amused grin. “I know what you meant.”
Suna has a special talent for lying, as opposed to Atsumu’s half-believable lies. Sometimes Atsumu feels a little envious of how natural all of this comes to Suna, almost like it’s second nature—like being Atsumu’s lover is natural to him.
Atsumu knows that Suna’s probably just naturally a good boyfriend, but he can’t help but feel grateful for how much care Suna puts into making this work. After all, he could’ve easily chosen to veto the plan in its entirety, leaving Atsumu to pick up the pieces of his lie himself.
He supposes that he should be thankful to have a best friend like Suna. Caring, attentive—an overall good friend despite the nonchalantness. Although Suna’s nonchalantness isn’t something that always stays, and Atsumu finds that pretending intimacy with Suna brings out a different side of Suna’s expressiveness that he hadn’t been privvy to before.
It’s nice—being around Suna like that.
“Tsumu, Sunarin! Can the two of ya stop flirtin’ back there and hurry up?” Osamu calls from ahead of them. Atsumu glances at Akaashi and his brother, now decently further ahead than before. As Akaashi leans closer to say something into his brother’s ear, Atsumu instinctively reaches down and intertwines his hand with Suna’s, pulling him along the metro station.
The walk from the station to the Miya household isn’t too long, most of the trek there being occupied by bickering between Atsumu and Osamu about something or another. They stop once to wave hello to the elderly lady that sells bread at a bakery the twins used to frequent as high schoolers, and by the time that the four of them reach the front door of the Miya household, Atsumu has all but forgotten whatever it is that he was arguing with Osamu about anyway.
Atsumu presses the doorbell, only having to wait about 3 beats before the wooden front door swings open to reveal their mother's grinning face. She's wearing the ghastly orange apron that Atsumu and Osamu have gotten so used to over the years, her hair pulled into a messy side bun. Atsumu would make a comment about the color, but he knows that its appearance around his mother’s clothing can only mean that a homemade meal isn’t too faar behind, so he keeps his mouth shut for now.
"My, my. If it isn't my boys," she says, pulling him and Osamu into a hug that’s almost too tight. The two of them fight don’t really try to fight against her grip, but she only holds them there for a moment before she releases them, crossing her arms into a strict stance. "And why have I been kept in the dark about yer boyfriends?" She sends a pointed gaze towards Atsumu, "Especially you, Tsumu. How could ya not tell me yer datin' Rintarou?"
Atsumu rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Sorry, Ma. Slipped my mind."
Right after Atsumu’s answer, Osamu adds, "It slipped my mind too, but I did tell ya eventually."
Their mother's eyes are still narrowed at them, but she eventually concedes. "Fine, whatever. Let me see them though. Move over boys," she says, making a shooing motion so that Atsumu and Osamu step to the side. When her eyes land on Akaashi and Suna, she practically beams. “I can’t believe I raised two boys with such pretty taste.”
Under their mother's bright gaze, both Akaashi and Suna smile politely, with Akaashi giving a soft "thank you, Miya-san."
“Good thin’ they didn’t take after yer taste in men,” comes their grandmother's voice from somewhere within the house. When their mother turns, their grandmother comes into view, her frail body lumbering over to the hallway. "Why are ya all still in the front hallway? Come in," she says.
As Atsumu, Osamu, Akaashi, and Suna slip off their shoes, Atsumu hears his mother make her way into the living room, saying. “Hey, at least they inherited my looks and not that old deadbeat.”
Once they've all got their shoes put away, the four of them amble over to follow Atsumu and Osamu's mother. Akaashi places his bag on the ground and looks up at her. “I’ll have to thank you, then, Miya-san. You did a great job with Osamu,” Akaashi says politely.
Atsumu makes an affronted noise. “Hey! What ‘bout me?”
“She did an alright job with you," Suna says, his voice teasing. Atsumu turns to scowl at him, but he's just met with the slyness of Suna's yellow-green eyes.
“Ah, Rintarou. I can’t believe the two of ya finally figured it out," his mother says, looking at the two of them fondly.
Atsumu tilts his head to the side. “Huh? Figured out what?”
“Don’t gimme that look, Tsumu," she says, rolling her eyes. As she makes herself busy by plating the tonkotsu over a bed of rice, she continues, saying, "Ya really think yer own Ma wouldn’t be able to tell that ya’ve liked Rintarou fer years?”
Atsumu looks even more confused. “What are ya talkin’ bout Ma?”
“Come on, son. Whenever Rintarou was over ya were always tryin’ ta get his attention," his mother says with a roll of her eyes. "Always messin’ around and teasin’ him. Glad ta know ya managed to scoop him up though.”
Osamu nods, his eyes pursed in a way that conveys an 'I told you so' look. “That’s what I’ve been tryna tell Tsumu too.”
Atsumu scowls. “Oi, Samu don’t add onto that.”
Suna elbows him lightly, sending him a pointed look. “Are you really trying to prove that you don’t like me now?”
Atsumu's eyes widen, understanding what Suna's trying to tell him. “Whatever,” Atsumu says, blowing a raspberry in Osamu's direction. Once he turns back from his brother, he throws an arm over Suna's shoulder, plastering on a triumphant grin. “Guess it doesn’t matter what the two of ya are on about since Rin’s my boyfriend now.”
His mother grins, watching the two of them with her arms crossed. “Oh, Ojiro-san is gonna love hearin’ bout this.”
"Wait, ya don't hafta do all that," Atsumu says quickly, stiffening at Suna's side. If Aran finds out, he's not sure how well his acting might be, considering that his senior has seen his dynamic with Suna from the very beginning.
"Uh huh. Still gonna tell her though," his mother says defiantly, looking almost giddy. It's at times like these that Atsumu curses the fact that he gets his stubbornness from his mother.
Atsumu chooses not to argue with the idea any further, already aware that it's useless to do so. They'll just have to cross that bridge when they get to it.
"Miya-san, your cooking smells heavenly," Akaashi says, eyeing the plates of food set out on the table, freshly made with steam still wafting from them.
"Oh! Where are my manners? Akaashi-kun, Rintarou, please sit." She pulls out a few chairs, ushering them over. "Make yerselves at home."
"What about us, Ma?" Osamu asks.
Their mother tsks. "The two of ya already know this house like the back of yer hand," she says with a roll of her eyes.
Across the table, Atsumu catches Suna's eye, who's watching their interaction with amusement. With his lips twisted in an almost-pout, Atsumu stalks over to the empty chair next to him. Osamu mirrors his action, taking the seat next to Akaashi.
Once their mother finishes setting out cups of tea, the six of them sit around the table, falling into a momentary silence while they eat.
"So, Akaashi-kun, what do ya do fer a livin'?" Their mother asks after a while.
"I work as a manga editor," Akaashi replies after he finishes his bite.
"Oh! What have ya worked on? Anythin' an old woman like me would know?"
"Ah, Miya-san, you're still very youthful-looking," Akaashi reaffirms. "I don't think you know any of my manga artists' works though. He's finishing one about zombies, and is working on another that's volleyball related."
"Yer right, I don't think I've ever heard of that,” she says. Then she shoots Akaashi a lopsided smile. “You've gotta let me know the names though. I'll check it out."
"You don't have to, really,” Akaashi says sheepishly. Atsumu watches the exchange, amusement dancing in his eyes. It’s not often that he sees Akaashi actually look shy.
"Nonsense! Gotta be familiar with the work of my future son-in-law."
Osamu nearly chokes on his tea as Akaashi's eyes widen. "Ma.”
"I'm only jokin', don't choke," she says. "Tsumu and Rintarou will probably get married first anyway."
Atsumu has half the mind to choke on his own bite of food, but Suna beats him to a reaction before rice can clog up his throat. “That’s only if Atsumu behaves, Miya-san,” he comments, his silvery voice sounding so natural that even Atsumu believes that they’re really dating.
“He’s a real handful isn’t he?”
Suna nods at his mother, feigning a look of grave disappointment. Atsumu simultaneously wants to scowl and give thanks to the man sitting beside him. Ultimately, he decides on the former, knowing that it’s a reaction that’s more his character.
Soon enough, each of their plates become empty, and Atsumu’s standing in the doorway, watching as Suna puts his shoes on.
“Say hi ta yer Ma n’ Ririko-chan for me,” he tells Suna, leaning against the wooden wall as Suna leans down to tie the laces on his sneakers.
He tries hard not to stare at the planes of muscle that ripple with each motion from Suna’s pale fingers against his laces, but Atsumu can’t help but look.
This has been happening a lot lately—how aware Atsumu is of Suna’s presence, of his warmth, of the sight of him overall.
It’s not like it really means anything. Being more aware of someone you’re pretending to date isn’t an entirely outrageous notion, especially if that said person is already someone that’s been in your life for so long.
“Sure,” Suna answers, standing up from his previously kneeling position. “See you tomorrow?”
Atsumu nods. “Yeah, tomorrow.”
Suna shoots him a thin-lipped smile before he’s turning away and pushing the Miya’s front door open, disappearing behind the dark wood. Atsumu stays at the hallway for just a second longer, thinking about the sight of Suna before he remembers himself. He doesn’t have an explanation for why he thought such a thing, and it’s not something he really wants to figure out at the moment.
Not because Suna isn’t worth thinking about, just—
Atsumu gets the feeling that it’s probably better to leave that thought untouched.
Shaking his head, he turns away from the doorway and walks over to where Akaashi and Osamu are standing in the door frame of Atsumu’s and Osamu’s childhood room.
“This room really is exactly what I thought your room would look like,” Akaashi remarks, looking around the small, messy bedroom Atsumu and Osamu used to sleep in.
It’s not really messy, but the bright posters and various trinkets are a stark contrast to how Atsumu decorates his own room now—the essentials, clothes, a few figurines here and there. He wouldn’t say he’s the most tidy person in the world (at least, nowhere near as tidy as Sakusa is), but it’s definitely an improvement from the state of this room from high school.
“It’s not entirely mine,” Osamu says as he places his duffle bag on the rough brown carpet. “It’s Tsumu’s room too, so that’s why it looks like this.”
Atsumu glares at him. “Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing, ya scrub.”
Osamu just rolls his eyes at him, turning instead to Akaashi. “Ma said ya could sleep on one ‘a the bunk beds, Keiji. Tsumu ‘n I have a sleepin’ bag that one ‘a us can take.”
Akaashi raises a brow. “Why don’t you just sleep next to me? So then nobody has to sleep in the sleeping bag.”
“Was hopin’ ya’d say that.”
“Ew, gross,” Atsumu says, wrinkling his nose.
“Don’t be all cranky jus’ cause Sunarin went back ta sleep in his own bed,” Osamu says as he pulls a shirt out from his bag. “Don’t worry, I’ll cover fer ya when ya eventually sneak out ta go see ‘im.”
“Like hell I will,” Atsumu crosses his arms defiantly, “‘M stayin’ right here.”
“Uh huh. Sure ya are.”
TO: sunarin
hey
ya up?
FROM: sunarin
yea what’s up
TO: sunarin
samu n’ keiji-kun keep gigglin’
needa get outta this room
FROM: sunarin
so you want me to sneak out with you
TO: sunarin
heh ya know me so well
be outside yer house in 5
“I should be sleeping right now,” Suna mumbles as he steps out onto his driveway, clad in a pair of sweats and a sage green sweater.
The exterior of the Suna household is a familiar sight, a quaint two-story home that’s fenced off with white metal and red brick. Osamu and Atsumu would visit sometimes in high school whenever Suna invited them and Ginjima over.
Now, Atsumu stands on the other side of the metal gate, greeting Suna with a grin as he sways on the balls of his feet. “As if ya don’t enjoy my company.”
“I don’t,” Suna remarks, gently locking the gate behind him.
The statement doesn't faze Atsumu in the slightest, already adept in ‘Suna-speak’ as he and the rest of Inarizaki used to call it. Especially now, with Suna falling in step beside him in the dead of night, Atsumu’s well aware that Suna wouldn’t have left his house if he didn’t actually want to.
“Be nice ta yer boyfriend,” Atsumu tuts.
“Fake boyfriend,” Suna reminds him again. When he turns to face Atsumu, his hair is lightly tousled, stray strands falling gently on his forehead. “Where’d you want to go?”
Atsumu shrugs. “Dunno. Walk around?”
“How about the park? The one near Inarizaki?”
Atsumu just nods at the suggestion, following along the concrete path. He has the impulse to reach out and intertwine their hands, but he stops himself just before his fingers can graze Suna’s. Fake boyfriend , his brain supplies him. The voice in his head suspiciously sounds like the voice of the man next to him.
Instead of lingering on such an impulse, Atsumu clears his throat. “How’d yer ‘ma n’ Ririko-chan react when they saw ya?”
A small smile grazes Suna’s face, content and relaxed. “Happy. Riko pretended like she didn’t miss me, but you know how it is.”
Atsumu hums. “Maybe we should stop by tomorrow, jus’ so they don’t think I’m a terrible boyfriend fer not comin’ by ta say hi.”
Beside him, Suna turns his head just the slightest bit in Atsumu’s direction. “Oh, they don’t know. I didn’t tell them,” he says, looking out at something Atsumu can’t entirely see. “I figured it’d probably be better to keep as little people from knowing. Since we’re not really dating.”
“Oh. Right. Yer right,” Atsumu stumbles out. He hadn’t really thought of that—how more people knowing means that there’s more people to lie to. “‘M sorry that my ‘Ma found out, then.”
Suna shakes his head. “I don’t mind. If Riko and my mom found out I wouldn’t mind either,” he reassures. “I just figured it’d be easier for when we eventually end this.”
“That’s true.”
Atsumu wants to ask when Suna thinks they should end it, but something in him holds him back from asking. He keeps quiet, allowing himself to admire his hometown basked in moonlight.
There aren’t any people out, considering that it’s way past midnight. Atsumu doesn’t mind the stillness of the usually lively town though—it’s nice to walk around like this. Suna, too, looks like he enjoys the silence, legs in step with Atsumu’s and face directed out so that the moonlight illuminates his forehead and cheeks.
They eventually make their way to the familiar sight of the park across from their high school, one that Atsumu’s been familiar with since he was little. The scenery has stayed relatively the same, though the greenery is fuller. As he walks along the concrete path toward the playground, Atsumu sets his sights on the swings.
The worn, red seat of the swing looks rather flimsy, but Atsumu sits on it anyway. To his relief, the chains only creak the slightest bit, holding his weight well. Beside him, Suna takes his own seat on the adjacent swing.
Silence continues to stretch between the two of them, but Atsumu doesn’t mind. He didn’t have a plan for the night in the first place, only wanting to be out of the enclosed space of his childhood room. He knows that he probably could’ve taken this walk himself, but Suna’s presence is comforting.
They’ve known each other for so long that the pretenses Atsumu usually keeps with others aren’t kept around Suna, and Suna knows it too.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Suna’s quiet voice fills the chilly Hyōgo air. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Suna starts, “That night when we made out in front of Osamu, do you remember any of it?”
Atsumu already knows what his answer is, but he attempts to recall the memory even so. Still, he comes up empty. “I only know from the video Samu took,” Atsumu says, swaying lightly on the swing. He looks to Suna. “Why?”
Suna shrugs, his eyes once more taking on a hint of distraction. “No reason.”
There’s a hint of something minced between those two words, but Atsumu can’t particularly read into it. He doesn’t have anything to go off on for what might be plaguing Suna’s mind, and Osamu didn’t say anything about that night besides showing them the video and laughing, so he doubts that Osamu would know anything.
Did something happen then?
“Sounds like there’s a reason,” Atsumu continues to probe.
His eyes travel the length of Suna’s figure, far too tall for the swing he’s currently sitting on. The way he leans back looks almost like he might fall, but the grip he has on the rusted metal chains keeps him from doing so.
“It’s fine,” Suna shoots him a thin smile, “I don’t remember it either.”
Atsumu frowns, looking down at the smudges of dirt that line his shoes. Something about that night always stuck with Atsumu, and not even for the reason of shoving his tongue down the throat of his best friend. He’s blacked out many times before, that night included—but he’s never felt as if something important was missing from his memory.
At that thought, Atsumu slides his gaze to Suna’s once more, taking in the sight before him. His head is still tilted upwards towards the sky, moonlight dancing on the tip of his nose. The faraway look in Suna’s eyes is unfamiliar to Atsumu, simultaneously making Suna look content and displeased.
Following Suna’s gaze, Atsumu tips his head upwards, allowing himself to face the half-moon floating in an abyss of inky hues and specks of light. He supposes that he understands the faraway look in Suna’s eyes. The question Suna asked still floats in the forefront of his mind, but the scene above him brings him a sense of calm.
Atsumu’s always liked looking out at nature, despite what people may think. The trees lining the path of his way home from Inarizaki, the overlooking view of the park near his Osaka apartment, and now the night sky.
Silence engulfs the two of them as Atsumu’s words quell while he looks out onto the endless night sky, stars littering the darkness like a freckled face. One star in particular shines brighter than the others, the one that Atsumu remembered hearing about in passing. What was its name again? Selem? No, that doesn’t sound right. Scaris?
“Hey, Sunarin?” Atsumu asks, breaking the momentary silence. He tips his gaze back to the playground, his eyes catching on Suna once more.
Suna turns at the sound of Atsumu’s voice, his features now sporting less displeasure and more contentment. “Hm?”
“Do ya know what that star’s called? The one that’s really bright.” Atsumu tries to point at the star, but he quickly realizes that it’s a futile action, considering that there’s basically a never ending expanse of stars above them.
Suna seems to understand what Atsumu’s asking though. “That’s Sirius,” he answers after a glance upward, “Have you ever gone stargazing?”
“I haven’t.” Atsumu flicks his eyes back to Suna’s direction. “Have you?”
“Yeah. I used to do it a lot when I was younger,” he says. “Since my mom liked space and stuff.”
Atsumu tilts his head to the side, curiously peering at the man next to him. “Does that mean that ya know all the constellations?”
“Not all, but a decent amount.” Suna gives him a smile, his eyes lit up in an uncharacteristic look of childish excitement. “Wanna see some?”
Atsumu frowns, looking back up towards the sky. The inky hue of night time is prominent, but it’s hard to make out any distinct patterns in the stars. “Ya can’t really see that many from here though.”
As if expecting that answer, the look on Suna’s face doesn’t change. “There’s a spot near my house where you can see them better, if you’re up for it,” Suna offers.
Atsumu lights up. “Really?”
Suna nods, already moving to stand from the rickety swing set. “I’ll grab a blanket from my house, then we can go.”
Atsumu follows after him, falling into step beside Suna as they practically retrace their steps back to Suna’s house. He doesn’t really mind though, walking around in an almost aimless manner is a nice change from his life in Osaka.
They pass by the same streets, walk along the same cracks in the concrete. Somehow, Atsumu’s hand finds Suna’s in the sounds of their quiet footfalls.
Suna doesn’t say anything about the touch, and Atsumu doesn’t wonder about why he does it.
“Give me a minute,” Suna says as his house comes into their line of vision. “I’ll be back in a second.”
“Don’t keep me waitin’, Sunarin,” Atsumu quips back. Suna only reponds with an eyeroll, his lips curved just the slightest bit upwards.
When Suna once more emerges from the white metal fence of his house, he has a blue blanket tucked between his hands. As he strides over to where Atsumu leans against the red brick, he pulls out a second piece of fabric, extending it towards Atsumu. “Here,” Suna says as he hands him a sweater, “You seemed a little cold.”
Atsumu didn’t realize that Suna noticed the slight breeze dancing around Atsumu’s thin long-sleeve shirt, but he’s glad for the thoughtfulness anyway. The temperature isn’t entirely horrible, but Suna has probably just saved him from coming down with a cold next morning.
Atsumu takes the gray jacket from Suna’s outstretched hand and quickly pulls it over his head, immediately met with the familiar smell he associates with Suna—hints of sandalwood and fresh linen.
He finds that he quite likes the scent. It matches Suna’s own character, soft-spoken and unassuming.
“Thanks,” Atsumu says.
Suna nods in acknowledgment, beginning to walk further down the street. As Atsumu falls into step with him, Suna speaks again. “We could tell Osamu and Akaashi to come out,” he suggests.
Atsumu’s expression contorts to one of disgust. “They’re probably up ta somethin’ gross. The gigglin’ they were doin’ when I left were eugh ,” he says, making a gagging motion.
“On the top bunk? Wouldn’t it break?” Amusement litters Suna words, and Atsumu doesn’t have to turn to know that Suna’s sporting a smile. He can hear the smile from the lilt of his voice.
“Hope it does,” Atsumu mutters. “The jerk deserves it if he’s defling our room right now.”
“Osamu probably thinks we’re doing the same thing.”
“If we were an actual couple we would not be goin’ at it all the time. Gotta have some decorum,” Atsumu says matter-of-factly. Though, he’s not entirely sure if he really believes his own words.
“That’s not what you told him and Akaashi,” Suna reminds him.
“Well,” Atsumu starts, “we are attractive. Wouldn’t be believable if we aren’t all over each other all the time.”
Atsumu’s not oblivious enough to honestly think that a couple like him and Suna would have an uneventful sex life. It’d be far from it, considering their attractiveness—from an objective point of view. Though, Atsumu can admit that Suna is attractive from his point of view too.
A short, breathy laugh comes from Suna. “Is that your way of telling me that you wanna eat face in front people?”
Not like they haven’t done it before. In front of Osamu, no less.
Atsumu shrugs. “I’m just saying that it’d be normal to be like that.”
“Mhm,” Suna hums. “Like what? Horny?”
Atsumu’s face twists into the a displeased expression. “Yer so vulgar.”
For a moment Atsumu wonders if he really is a prude, but he waves that thought away after remembering his sexual encounters. He’s not a prude—just a little out of his element.
The idea of sex with Suna isn’t something he should mix with a pretend relationship with Suna. Letting the two even exist in the same realm is dangerous enough.
After a moment, Suna replies, “What other word is there besides horny? Sex-deprived?”
“ Sex-deprived?” He shoots an incredulous look in Suna’s direction, “Who even says that?”
“My point exactly.”
Atsumu stuffs his hands in his pockets, eyes trained to the ground as he asks, “Well are ya?” He risks a glance in Suna’s direction. “Sex-deprived?”
“Are you offering?”
The halt in his steps is more abrupt than he means it to be, but Atsumu really can’t help but let his eyes widen at the question.
Sure, Suna’s insinuated sex between them countless of times over the past few weeks, but there’s a difference between teasing about it happening and actually asking if Atsumu wants it. His tone is still somewhat teasing, but the question is still—it’s different.
Maybe a small difference, but Atsumu feels the difference all the same.
“I’m kidding,” Suna says, pushing him lightly. When Atsumu looks up to meet Suna’s gaze, he finds that Suna’s not looking at him. “It’d be weird anyway. You’d probably say Sakusa’s name instead of mine and then it’d get even weirder,” he continues.
One thing about being around Suna for so many years now is that Atsumu’s picked up on an ability to read Suna’s body language easily. His words and feelings, not so much.
Still, the way that Suna’s eyes are purposefully staring out into the space ahead of them as he says those words—Atsumu knows that he’s avoiding looking at him.
He not sure why, but he’s sure that Suna’s in a state of avoidance at the moment.
“I wouldn’t say his name,” Atsumu eventually says. It’s true that he might still feel something for Sakusa, but if he were to sleep with Suna, he can’t imagine that he would forget that it was Suna with him.
A few moments pass before Suna’s turning to face him again, green eyes both impassive and expressive. Atsumu’s not sure how Suna makes an oxymoron like that work, but it does.
“You still like him though, don’t you?” Suna eyes roam Atsumu’s, the movement betraying some hint of emotion that makes Atsumu hesitate.
Atsumu realizes then that Suna’s gaze holds a certain intensity to it that renders him just a little bit speechless. Paired with the touch of moonlight grazing his cheek, he feels as if the question is ringing emptily within his brain.
Maybe he still likes Sakusa, but that’s not really what he’s focusing on. Instead he focuses on the way the mixed hue of green and yellow blinks down at him—how Suna seems so intent on making eye contact now.
He’s focused on it, focused on—
A verbal “Okay, yeah” is what breaks Atsumu’s focus, the two words leaving Suna’s lips before his gaze is gone, face now facing the moonlight. Atsumu tries to think of a response, but Suna continues. “You should get over him naturally. Not with a distraction.”
Before Atsumu can get a reply in, Suna walking towards the edge of a field, the small plot of land covered with minimal greenery.
“This is the spot,” Suna says.
“Sunarin,” Atsumu tries to say.
His reply apparently falls to deaf ears, because Suna just continues to crouch down and lay the blanket out onto the grass.
“Rin,” Atsumu tries again, grabbing onto Suna’s arm. “Yer bein’ weird.”
“I’m not,” Suna says, his voice now steeled into a tone of impassiveness. “Come. Just lay down.”
Atsumu opens his mouth to argue, but Suna tugs on his sleeve before any words can come out. “Atsumu. Just sit.”
Atsumu frowns, wanting to protest even more, but the look Suna sends him makes the argument quell on his tongue. With a sigh, he leans down, mimicking the sitting position Suna’s adapted.
Once Atsumu sits on the blanket, Suna lays back so that his upper body is stretched out and facing the sky. Atsumu follows suit, allowing a distance between the two of them in an effort to not make Suna uncomfortable.
He’s not sure why Suna’s acting the way he is. Or - perhaps it’s all a figment of his imagination. He spares a glance in Suna’s direction, taking note of how Suna’s stretched out, face completely facing the sky.
Atsumu figures that that’s an answer in itself, so he resigns himself to just laying beside him and following along.
It doesn’t take long for the two of them to settle into a comfortable silence, the warmth of Suna’s gray sweater keeping Atsumu from being bothered by the slight gusts of wind that flow between them. The view here really is better than the one from the park, with the inky indigo from before now looking almost pitch black. Among the rich color, the stars littering the night look like bright white specs painted over a canvas.
It’s beautiful, Atsumu thinks.
“That one there is my favorite constellation. The one that looks like a snake,” Suna says after a while. The sheen of his eyes looks almost sparkly under the moonlight, and the length of his eyelashes perfectly accentuates the look. Any of the previous discomfort is now wiped from his face, a look of tranquility replacing it.
Atsumu takes a minute to wonder if Suna’s always looked this ethereal—with soft light touching the tips of his nose, the sparkle of excitement dancing in muted green eyes. He settles on the fact that he always has, and Atsumu’s always known that Suna’s beauty holds a distinct look to him.
A quiet voice in his head whispers again: It’s beautiful.
If Suna notices that Atsumu’s gaze is tilted more in his direction rather than the stars, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead he continues to sink into the blanket, staring up the sky like contentment is drawn in its stars. “Constellations are pretty hard to find at first, but it’s cool to look at once you get the hang of it.”
At that, Atsumu flicks his gaze back towards the night sky, attempting to find the pattern of a snake in the sky. To his luck, he eventually zeroes in on a bundle of stars that resemble a snake, feeling pride for the fact that he was able to find it without asking for help.
Suna’s right though - now that Atsumu’s seen the snake pattern, he suddenly wants to make out some more. “What about the one that looks like a spoon? I heard that one’s pretty popular.”
“Ursa minor. Here give me your hand.” Suna moves so that he’s sidled up against Atsumu, his ear just a few millimeters away from Atsumu’s neck.
If the warmth of Suna’s body behind him in the kitchen was an experience in itself, this new feeling of warmth against his neck is positively dizzying. Slowly, Atsumu lifts his hand, allowing Suna to grasp it in a way that he’s directing a point towards the sky.
“See those four stars there? They make a rectangle shape. The three stars next to them make the handle of the spoon.”
Well, he can definitely see. Not that he can really breathe though.
“Yeah,” Atsumu says, feeling like a rock has lodged itself into his throat.
“It’s a lot nicer to stargaze in Aichi, since the skies are clearer,” Suna says as he pulls his grip from Atsumu’s hand. Atsumu feels the loss of warmth somewhere deep in his chest. “But Hyōgo isn’t horrible.”
“What was it like? Growin’ up in Aichi?” His voice holds a rasp to it, his heart still loud from the way Suna’s body heat is practically emanating off of him.
“It was nice,” Suna says. “It’d be nice to visit again one day. My mom doesn’t wanna go since my dad moved back there.”
Atsumu remembers the divorce, from their third year at Inarizaki. Being the captain to Suna’s vice captain back then, he saw the change Suna had undergone afterwards more than anyone else on the team. He’s glad to know that Suna’s come this far, now able to talk about his father without a twinge of sadness to his voice.
“We should go sometime,” Atsumu suggests, turning his head so that he’s gazing at Suna’s side profile.
It’s not his best idea, because Suna turns his head then too, the space between them shortening. For a short, bated breath, Atsumu has the urge to pull back from the closeness, but then Suna’s lips curl into a gentle smile, and any intention Atsumu has is suddenly wiped from his mind. “Sure. Let’s do it.”
Atsumu’s eyes trail Suna’s face—the closeness allowing him to truly see Suna’s features. His lashes are long, eyes blinking down at him in a way that makes him look so very gentle. It’s a look that Atsumu isn’t sure that he’s entirely familiar with, but he doesn’t mind. The green of Suna’s eyes have always been beautiful, and the emotion swirling in them now only amplifies that thought.
And his lips—his lips look soft, the color a nice blush.
Those lips, those lips—
Those lips are pressed against his.
Suna’s lips are pressed against his. Soft, pliable.
Atsumu doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, moving his own lips against Suna’s in a way that lacks all the awkwardness he held the first time they practiced kissing. He feels more sure this time, more natural.
Tones of wood and linen waft between the two of them as Atsumu reaches up to cup the place where Suna’s jaw meets his ear, pulling him closer. His touch is gentle in a way that they haven’t been in the moments when they kissed before. As the tips of his fingers graze the softness of Suna’s skin, Suna’s right hand comes up to grasp the back of Atsumu’s head, pulling Atsumu’s mouth deeper against his.
It’s then that the softness shifts to something more urgent, and Atsumu licks at Suna’s bottom lip to request further entrance into Suna’s mouth. Suna grants it, shifting so that his body is hovering above Atsumu’s own. Suna’s movements are so fluid against his, limbs slotting perfectly between Atsumu’s.
He’s sober, Atsumu thinks. He’s sober and yet here he is - swallowing the soft pants from Suna’s mouth into his own like a meal handed to a starved man.
Atsumu could get lost in the simultaneous rough and gentle movement of Suna’s lips, his mind now clear to remember and sear this moment into his head.
Slowly, he trails a hand along the curve of Suna’s side against the cardigan, eventually settling on the place where his waist meets his hips. Experimentally, he pulls at it, and one of Suna’s knees shift to press against his inner thigh.
The action draws a clear moan from Atsumu’s lips, one that sends his whole body an electrifying jolt. Apparently, Suna’s feels it too, because he’s pulling himself from Atsumu in that moment, disconnecting their lips.
“Fuck,” is the singular word that quietly slips through Suna’s pink lips, barely perceptible. Atsumu looks up at him through his lashes, rivaling the gaze Suna holds his down with. His eyes sear into Atsumu’s own, ragged breaths syncing into the same cadence that Atsumu’s holds.
Then, he completely pulls away, detangling himself from Atsumu’s body and creating a distance between them on the small space of the blanket.
“Rin?” Atsumu asks after he sits up, mimicking Suna’s motion. He feels a little dazed, coherent thought escaping him. They’ve practiced kissing before, but there hasn’t been a need to put that practice to use quite yet. Besides—they wouldn’t need to kiss, not here. Not when they’re alone.
“Sorry,” Suna says, “Just got caught up in the moment.”
His eyes are trained on everything but Atsumu, and Atsumu doesn’t know why the words feel like a stabbing pain somewhere in his stomach. It’s not like he was expecting the kiss to mean anything, but he didn’t expect Suna to tell him that it wasn’t anything special—that it only happened because the space between them just seemed right at the time, and that the fact that it was Atsumu next to him wasn’t a factor at all.
Atsumu doesn’t voice any of those thoughts outloud though. Instead he looks down at his legs and says, “It’s good practice.”
Suna agrees with him, nodding. “Yeah. Makes us more believable.”
“Right,” Atsumu confirms, his voice less certain than usual.
“Yeah,” Suna says again.
A kiss between two people pretending to date doesn’t mean anything. It means nothing at all. Of course not, because they’re best friends, and they’ve kissed before.
It’s just the moment, nothing more.
“So, Tsumu,” Osamu says as he comes up next to Atsumu, who has both hands lathered in dish soap, with one hand brandishing a sponge and the other holding a plate. “Where’d ya go off to last night?”
On a regular morning, Atsumu would have half the mind to send a scowl in his brother’s direction, but as he flips the porcelain plate between his pruned fingers, Atsumu finds himself distracted.
Atsumu is no stranger to feelings, crushes especially. But after kissing Suna last night, he’s not even sure that he can continue to tell himself that he’s unaffected.
Walking home in a tension-filled silence was an unusual feat for him and Suna, and yet—neither of them made a move to rectify the tension.
On Atsumu’s side, the tension stems from a place of confusion—his feelings, or rather, his changing feelings. Somehow, Atsumu gets the feeling that seeing Sakusa again might confirm what he’s thinking.
As for the tension on Suna’s part, Atsumu draws a blank. Perhaps he regretted doing it, caught up in a moment rather than Atsumu himself—as Suna himself said, without the part about regret. Atsumu wonders if Suna would’ve done the same thing if it was Komori in his position. Would he have kissed Komori then too?
“Went to the park with Rin,” Atsumu eventually answers. “Did ya and Keiji-kun have fun while I was gone?” Atsumu asks, the question almost sounding innocent from the distraction in his voice.
Somewhere from behind him, he hears a choked noise—presumably Akaashi.
“Oh, yeah. Loads ‘a fun,” Osamu replies mischieviously. Atsumu wrinkles his nose in disgust, placing the last dish on the drying rack.
From behind him, he hears Akaashi’s stern voice. “Osamu.” Atsumu glances back, catching the pointed stare that Akaashi’s throwing his brother’s way.
Atsumu thinks that they complement each other well, and Atsumu’s glad for it. His brother had nursed an unrequited love for Kita for so long, and it’s comforting to know that Osamu’s been able to find happiness with Akaashi now.
“What? We just played some games, that’s all. Right, Keiji?” Osamu says, leaning against the kitchen counter, a lopsided grin on his face.
Akaashi just hums in response, but Atsumu can see the smugness littering Akaashi’s features. He thinks that’s another thing his brother brings out in Akaashi—his more relaxed, playful side.
Before Atsumu can tease them further, his mother pops her head into the kitchen.
“Boys, there’s an event goin’ on later tonight,” she says. “Food stalls, if the two of ya wanna bring Rintarou and Akaashi-kun out before ya leave.”
Osamu makes his way to the kitchen table, placing a cup of coffee in front of Akaashi. He looks up at their mother and asks, “Ya don’t wanna come with us, Ma?”
She waves a hand at them, already moving to walk through the hall to the living room. “Nah, got some stuff ta work on before Monday,” Then, moving farther away she adds, “I’ve already gone with yer gran anyway.”
Atsumu leans against the counter, pulling his phone from his pocket. Osamu’s already talking to Akaashi about going, so he knows that the four of them will likely end up going together. He clicks on Suna’s name in his messages, reading their texts from last night before he begins to type a message.
TO: sunarin
goin ta the food stands later tonight in downtown before we leave
Come over
Not even a few seconds later, the typing bubble pops up on Suna’s end.
FROM: sunarin
so bossy
be there after i shower
“Everything smells delicious,” Akaashi remarks as they walk towards the bustling, cart-lined street. Hyōgo’s lively night time scenes were always something Atsumu enjoyed growing up, and this food market makes up all of the parts of Hyōgo’s culture that both Atsumu and Osamu appreciate. He knows that it’s something Akaashi will likely appreciate too, considering that he seems to find peace in cityscape.
As Osamu looks out at the variety of stands lining the street, Atsumu can almost make out the glint in his brother’s eyes. It’s endearing, how his brother only ever sports that look for two things—Akaashi and food. “Keiji. Hope ya saved yer appetite.”
“Of course I did,” Akaashi replies, “Who do you think I am?”
“Ya truly are a man after my own heart,” Osamu says, his voice fond. Then, he turns to Atsumu and Suna. “Do the two of ya mind splittin’ up? I’ve got the intention of draggin’ Keiji all over the place.”
“Nah, the two of ya can go,” Atsumu says.
“Have fun,” Suna calls after them. The two of them watch as Osamu latches onto Akaashi like an excited child, pulling the other man along with a wide grin.
Now that it’s just the two of them left, Atsumu turns to Suna, meeting his gaze. Their hands are close together, but they’re not quite intertwined. Before, Atsumu wouldn’t have hesitated interlocking their fingers, but after last night, he’s not so sure if an action should come so freely between them.
“Where to first?” he asks Suna, probing.
“I could go for some yakitori,” Suna says. His voice betrays no hint of anything being out of the ordinary.
When Suna showed up on their doorstep a few hours ago, Atsumu had tried to observe him—to see if the kiss from the night before was something he was thinking of too. Atsumu didn’t notice a shift in Suna’s mood—almost as if nothing happened.
Even now, as the two of them stroll around bustling vendors in search of a stand selling yakitori, Atsumu still senses no awkwardness in Suna’s gait. Maybe it really was nothing for Suna, and the kiss was just for what he claimed it was: a spur of the moment thing. It’s not an entirely unfounded notion, considering that they’ve kissed before.
But still, something about the kiss from last night—
It felt different.
He’s sure that it wasn’t all from a place of desire. It couldn’t have just been lust. He’s sure of it.
Atsumu tries not to think too hard about it as they walk around the park, keeping their eyes peeled for a stand selling yakitori. Or well - Suna’s eyes are focused on finding the stand. Atsumu’s really only giving a half-assed effort.
After a few minutes, they eventually stumble upon one, and Suna orders two for the both of them to split—one beef and one chicken. The man taking their order is friendly, commenting on Suna’s height and asking if Suna played any sports. When Suna answers that he plays volleyball professionally, the man only smiles, telling Suna that he must be really good at his job.
Once the man finishes taking their order, the two of them stand off to the side of the stall, waiting for the order to be ready.
“Suna-san?” comes a voice from beside them.
Suna turns towards the direction of the voice. “Huh?” As he takes in the girl standing behind the counter, his eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, Uchimura-san, how are you?”
“I’ve been good,” the girl, Uchimura, says. “Been helpin’ out at my parent’s restaurant. That’s why I’m here,” she points to the old man that took their order, “my dad took yer order.”
Suna flicks his eyes in the direction of the older man before turning back to Uchimura. “I never knew you were a good cook.”
She smiles at him, friendly and a little flushed. “I made ya that bento one time, remember?”
Atsumu observes her—a decently tall woman in her twenties. She has her brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and the blue apron she sports is only a little messy.
The look she gives Suna is similar to the look the waitress from the dessert shop gave, but this time, Atsumu feels a certain way about it. This girl has talked to Suna before, whoever she is, and they seem to get along well enough for Suna to want to continue a conversation with her.
“Oh, right. Sorry,” Suna replies.
Suna’s lips are curved into a small smile as he talks, eyes softer than usual. Atsumu thinks that it’s odd, for this girl to be able to receive such a look from Suna.
“Don’t sweat it,” she flashes him another smile, “Ya don’t still live in Hyōgo do ya?”
Suna shakes his head. “No, I moved a few years ago when I started playing for the V.League.”
“Oh that’s right! Yer a professional volleyball player now. One ‘a my friends told me.”
He feels a little bit of relief at the fact that she doesn’t seem to be currently acquainted with Suna, if her not knowing about Suna’s profession is any indication.
That relief is short-lived though, because the two of them continue to converse, and she even manages to get a chuckle out of Suna, one that makes Atsumu frown.
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Suna interact with a girl like this. Even if the words he’s saying aren’t considered flirting, Atsumu thinks that they might as well be openly flirting with each other. She’s not even giving Atsumu any attention, almost as if he isn’t there. Instead, she looks at Suna like the world might just contain the two of them.
Atsumu scowls, feeling annoyance bubble up within him. He doesn’t want to stand here listening to this any longer. Especially not when Suna’s smiling at her like that—as if this girl is a friend.
Fortunately, the shout of “Order 221, yer order’s ready” gives him the opportunity to pull Suna away from her without raising suspicion.
“Our order’s ready,” Atsumu interrupts, pulling Suna’s attention to him. He doesn’t like that Suna’s attention was so focused on Uchimura in the first place, but Atsumu will take what he can get. “They’ve got a dango stand over there that I wanna check out.”
Suna makes so objection to Atsumu’s words, only shooting Uchimura a wave before picking up the plate of yakitori from the pickup window. As they walk, Atsumu tries to keep an eye out for a dango spot, since he pretty much made up that lie. He just wanted to pull Suna away from the yakitori stand—away from Uchimura.
Atsumu tries to quell the question on his lips as they walk, but he finds himself asking it anyway. “Who was that?”
Suna hums next to him, feeding Atsumu a bite of the yakitori before answering. “Uchimura-san. She was in the same class as Osamu and I.”
The yakitori is actually really good, and that makes Atsumu feel even more irritated. He tries not to let that ruin it for him though, since Suna seems to enjoy it, carefully taking bites from the stick as they walk.
Atsumu finishes chewing the grilled chicken before he opens his mouth again. “She seemed like more than just a classmate though.”
“Oh, yeah,” Suna tilts his head to the side, looking thoughtful, “She confessed to me.”
Atsumu turns to look at Suna, stopping in his tracks. “What?”
Suna stops walking too, his brows knitting together as he stares at Atsumu with a curious look. “You knew about that.”
“I did?”
“Yeah,” Suna replies, his voice irritatingly nonchalant. At that, he continues to walk, slowing his pace so that Atsumu doesn’t get left behind.
“Wait, wait. Ya didn’t date her did ya?” Atsumu says as he falls back in step beside Suna. “I would’ve remembered that.”
Suna shakes his head, handing Atsumu the stick of beef yakitori. “No, I didn’t dumbass.” After Atsumu takes the last bite from the stick, Suna throws the plate into a nearby trashcan. “She made me a bento to confess, but I rejected the confession.”
“Oh. I remember now,” Atsumu recalls. “That one really cute one ya had with ya at practice that one time.”
Suna had walked into the locker room, brandishing a blue bento box in his left hand. The items within the box were carefully curated and delicately made, from the squid shaped hot dogs to the flower-shaped eggs. Ginjima had teased Suna then, saying something about being a ladies’ man.
Atsumu wasn’t really paying attention then, much too focused on a problem he had with his serve, if his recollection is correct.
“Jeez, at least pay a little more attention to me,” Suna laughs, beside him. Atsumu can’t entirely tell if Suna’s teasing or if there’s actual truth behind his words.
“I do,” Atsumu says. “I do pay attention. To ya, I mean.”
Maybe he didn’t entirely pay enough attention to Suna back when they played for Inarizaki, but he’s grown to notice a lot about Suna now, even before this little act of theirs.
At their graduation, Atsumu had noticed that the left corner of Suna’s smile was always curved just the slightest bit higher than the right side. When they played their first match against each other as professional volleyball players, he noticed that a crease would appear above his brows whenever he’s faced with a particularly annoying spiker.
Especially now, he notices quite a bit more about Suna now—how he wipes his mouth after every bite of food, how he always sits on a chair and never a booth, how he drives predominantly with his left hand, despite being right-handed.
Suna blinks at him. “Uh, right.” Again, Atsumu hears the awkward lilt in the tone of Suna’s voice, seemingly misplaced on a tongue that usually holds nonchalant words and softer-spoken friendliness. “I was only kidding. You don’t really have to pay attention.”
“I do though.”
I want to , Atsumu wants to say. He likes paying attention to Suna. It’s like he’s learning so much more about him now, despite being best friends for years—as if the usually unnoticed motions Suna conducts are now highlighted in Atsumu’s eyes.
He keeps that thought to himself though, because it feels—it feels emotionally charged. As if saying it outloud might be a bad decision.
Besides, he still likes Sakusa doesn’t he? He does.
He thinks he does.
“Alright, I believe you,” Suna replies, though Atsumu can hear the light hesitation in his voice.
“I’ll pay more attention,” Atsumu continues to say. “I’ve been a bad friend.”
“No, you haven’t,” Suna reassures, placing his hands in his pockets and continuing to walk down the rows of food stalls. “You’re doing just fine. Seriously.”
Atsumu tries to catch Suna’s gaze, but it seems like Suna’s deciding not to turn his head in Atsumu’s direction. “Really?”
“Well, you’re still a jerk,” Suna shrugs, “But yeah, you’re a good friend either way.”
Atsumu frowns. “That’s a backhanded compliment, Sunarin.”
“Hey, I’m your friend because you’re a jerk,” Suna says, his tone light.
Still, something about it bothers Atsumu. Not necessarily that Suna thinks he’s a jerk—because even he knows that he is a jerk. But because he feels as if maybe he’s been a bad friend, too caught up in his own world to care about Suna in the way Suna might care about him.
He also knows that Suna’s not only an attentive friend, but he’s also an attentive boyfriend. Pretend boyfriend , sure, but acting like a real boyfriend nonetheless.
And Atsumu—Atsumu is less than stellar at both.
“But as a boyfriend, bein’ a jerk isn’t a good thing,” he eventually says.
Maybe it’s guilt he feels. Maybe it’s a mixture of something else.
Probably both.
“Well,” Suna starts. “It’s not like we’re really dating. So you don’t have to worry about that,” he says, gaze panning out to the street in front of him.
“I guess.”
Atsumu feels his brows pull together, a frown fighting its way onto his face. He continues to walk, Suna following alongside him.
After a few steps, Suna’s speaks again. “Is this because of Sakusa? You’re worried he didn’t like you because you’re too much of an asshole?”
Not really , is the thought that his head initially supplies him with. Sakusa hasn’t even been on his mind much this weekend.
It’s true that he did think something similar a few weeks ago, but it hasn’t crossed his mind recently.
“No, it’s not about Omi-kun.”
Beside him, Suna snorts. “That’s a lie. You don’t need to pretend it’s not about him, I already know,” he says, not sparing a look in Atsumu’s direction. Atsumu wants to tell Suna that he’s wrong, but he gets the feeling that admitting that Sakusa hasn‘t really been on his mind might change something.
It’d be a good change, because that would mean that Atsumu’s over his one-sided feeling.
But—
Would it really be a good change?
If his feelings for Sakusa change, that would mean that there’s no reason to continue this—his falsified relationship with Suna. Atsumu doesn’t really want to get into that notion at the moment.
Fortunately, Suna saves him from having to reply as his steps come to a halt beside Atsumu. “You’re good though, as a boyfriend.”
“Ya think so?”
“Yeah,” Suna pauses, “you’re good.”
Atsumu levels his gaze to meet Suna’s, blinking at him. He’s not quite sure what to say now. He’s not even sure why being a good boyfriend was even a big matter to him in the first place.
Still, some semblance of relief fills him, and maybe that’s all that he has to be sure of for now.
Later that night, the four of them find their way back onto the metro train, duffle bags placed at their feet as the the train takes them back to their respective stops. It’s relatively late, so they don’t have to fight for a seat on the train, which Atsumu’s thankful for.
Very thankful apparently, since Atsumu wakes to a poke to his arm, finding his head tucked into Suna’s shoulder. The familiar scent of sandalwood greets him before the light from the metro train does.
“Hey, this is my stop,” Suna says as Atsumu blinks the sleep away from his eyes. His voice is at a murmur, just quiet enough to tickle the tips of Atsumu’s ear.
After a few beats, Atsumu finds himself letting out a soft hum before he’s moving to grab his duffle bag from the floor. As he gets up from his seat, he looks down at Suna’s still-seated figure. “I’ll walk ya home.”
Suna mimicks Atsumu’s movements, getting up from his own seat before he levels Atsumu with a look. “It’s out of the way for you.”
“Yeah, and?” Atsumu asks, his head tilting to the side.
“Gee, Sunarin. Tsumu’s real smitten with ya,” Osamu comments from his seat beside Akaashi. “This prick never goes outta the way fer anyone.”
“That’s not true, ya scrub,” Atsumu retorts, “I just don’t go outta my way for my idiotic twin brother.”
A wrinkle appears at Osamu’s nose. “Who are ya callin’ idiotic?”
As the train doors open behind him and Suna, Atsumu simply flips his brother the finger before turning toward the door. After a second, he hears Suna’s familiar gait catching up to him before the man appears at his side.
For the few moments that they spend walking through the station and up the stairs to the main street, Atsumu allows the silence to remain untouched, still drowsy from sleep. Once the sounds of nightlife welcome the two of them, Suna speaks once more. “You really don’t have to walk me home.”
“I want to,” Atsumu says with a shrug that feels entirely too casual.
The shrug is far too casual, because Atsumu knows that there’s no reason for him to do this. There’s no reason to walk Suna home when it’s out of the way. There’s no reason, and yet, he’s still here—something in him feels compelled to.
Whether he admits it or not, something’s shifted for him. Something about the weekend they spent in Hyōgo has changed his feelings somehow, someway.
Deep down, he knows a part of him knows that he’s only trying to prolong Suna leaving, because then perhaps this odd air between them will break. Atsumu’s not sure if he wants that.
Suna’s been at his side for the whole weekend, playing house and pretending to be the best boyfriend Atsumu can ask for.
And Atsumu—
Atsumu’s confused. He’s confused, and he’s not sure what it is that’s changed.
It’s not Suna, because Suna’s acting like he always acts, no hint of anything unusual going on. It’s Suna’s effect on him, how little things that went unnoticed in his mind are now what he sees first.
He’s not sure what to make of that.
“Was this weekend okay for you?” Suna asks as they walk.
“Yeah. It was good,” Atsumu replies. Then, he smiles a little to himself. “We did good.”
Suna nods thoughtfully. “Your mom seemed really convinced.”
“She was so convinced that it almost convinced me,” Atsumu replies.
Maybe that’s not the right thing to say when he’s currently undergoing states of confusion, but it’s an honest answer. If he’s honest with himself, Suna has dangerous levels of skill when it comes to convincing others of their relationship.
It’s only now that Atsumu’s slowly starting to find himself to be included in such a group.
“That’s a good sign then. You’re getting better at playing the role,” Suna says tells Atsumu. He can feel Suna’s eyes on him, looking at him without the sheen of avoidance they’ve held all day.
Atsumu turns his head in a similar fashion, meeting Suna’s stare. “I know I told ya this already, but yer really good at bein’ my boyfriend.”
“I know,” Suna says, sporting a cocky look.
Atsumu wrinkles his nose. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
“We were having a moment?” Suna raises a brow, but the mischief on his face doesn’t let up.
Atsumu pushes Suna’s side lightly. “Jerk.”
“I’m kidding. We can have a moment if you wanna have a moment,” Suna says, still teasing. Though Atsumu makes out something else underlying in his tone, something that doesn’t feel as light.
Atsumu tilts his head to the side, peering at Suna with drawn brows. “What’s that supposed ta mean?”
Suna shrugs. Then, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, he offers, “I could kiss you again.”
It’s so casual , the way he says these things. So, so casual.
Almost like he doesn’t mean any of it. Almost like it wouldn’t affect him at all to do so.
Atsumu guesses that he can’t blame Suna for not putting much importance in it—they’ve already done so after all.
“Didn’t ya say that it was just a spur a’ the moment thing?” Atsumu frowns. He knows Suna means nothing by speaking about it so casually, but it still stings just the smallest bit.
It’s become clear to him that the kiss didn’t mean anything for Suna. In normal circumstances, that would be a welcome thought, one that Atsumu would hope for. But that’s the glaring problem now: it’s a thought that now brings a lurching feeling to Atsumu’s stomach.
“I did say that,” Suna says, not looking at Atsumu. “Doesn’t mean that it can’t happen again.”
“We don’t have to kiss unless there’s other people around,” Atsumu says, mostly for himself.
He feels it again, the shift. It’s a different shift from how the shift felt with Sakusa.
Especially now — he still likes Sakusa doesn’t he? He feels less sure of that.
Maybe he needs to see him again, see if it feels the same.
“I know,” Suna says, his smile tighter than before. “This is me. I’ll see you?”
“Yeah, you’ll see me.” There’s something in the air, something Atsumu can’t understand. “Thanks again. Fer goin’ along with this.”
Suna smiles at that, and Atsumu watches him as he turns away, towards his apartment. Something’s changed.
Maybe Atsumu doesn’t mind it.
Notes:
the chronicles of miya atsumu: cringefail loserboy are really about to start now...
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hope you guys enjoyed this hehe i rly love atsusuna stargazing
Chapter 4: maybe you're mine
Summary:
I really like ya.
Notes:
sorry again for the month of radio silence.... but!! here's chapter 4 :) next chapter will be the last, so we're almost at the end mwahaha
the rating may or may not change next chapter… we shall see!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There’s three things Atsumu has learned from his weekend trip to Hyōgo:
- He enjoys stargazing. Stars are nice, and they’re pretty too.
- His brother should not be trusted on a bunk bed with Akaashi Keiji.
- He might like his best-friend-slash-fake-boyfriend.
The verdict for three is still up in the air.
Atsumu could try to fight against the cliché of falling for one’s fake boyfriend, but he rather prides himself in being honest with himself—so he doesn’t veto such an idea. Falling for his best friend would be a cliché in its own right anyway, fake relationship not taken into account.
Still, he’s watched enough subbed western movies about such clichés to know that once he gives himself that verdict, it’ll be hard to reverse it. So, he knows that he needs to be sure—needs to be sure that he’s not mistaking forced proximity for feelings, and that the new changes in his feelings for Suna are indeed his own.
He’s thought it over and over, twirling the idea of liking Suna between his fingertips like a small, crystal ball, and he’s come to a conclusion. Before he can even begin toying with such an idea, he needs to see Sakusa. Seeing Sakusa would be the deciding point, whether or not he still feels the tug in his stomach at the sound of his teammate’s gruff insults and mask-muffled words.
If he doesn’t, well—
Then he’ll have his answer.
Atsumu’s about five minutes away from the Black Jackals’ practice facility when his phone buzzes twice in his pocket. Pausing, he reaches down to pull his phone from his back pocket and clicks the lockscreen open to see Suna’s familiar contact photo pop up in the form of two text notifications.
FROM: sunarin
sakusa’s bday today
FROM: sunarin
u gonna be ok?
Atsumu stares down at his phone, reading the seven simple words Suna’s sent him. Quickly, he slides out of his messaging app, pulling up the calendar.
Tuesday, March 20: 2 events
- 10:30-13:30 Morning practice
- All-day Omi-omi’s birthday ＼(￣▽￣)／
Oh. He forgot. He forgot Sakusa’s birthday.
He thinks that fact might as well be as blaring of an answer as an answer can be, but he still wants to be sure. He’s not usually cautious about getting crushes on people, but he also doesn’t pretend to be in a relationship with said person. The stakes are different here, and besides, it’s not just any regular person.
It’s Suna—his best friend. Even he knows that jumping to a conclusion like that about his best friend would be a stupidly reckless idea.
TO: sunarin
ya ‘m doin fine
TO: sunarin
thanks for lookin out for me
He watches as three gray dots appear on Suna’s end.
FROM: sunarin
anytime
FROM: sunarin
lmk if u need anything
Sometimes Atsumu wished that Suna wouldn’t just casually say things like that. He’s so quietly caring that it might drive Atsumu mad. Because he knows that he’s not special in receiving that kindness from Suna. Because that’s just how Suna is.
With a sigh, he texts back a quick thanks before pocketing his phone once more. There’s no use in thinking about it now when he’s already decided that he needs to see Sakusa first. He’ll just have to deal with his feelings for Suna after dealing with whatever remaining feelings he has for Sakusa. He owes Suna that.
When Atsumu walks into the locker room, he’s met with the sight of Sakusa, already dressed in a plain black shirt and green shorts. Atsumu can still admit that Sakusa’s good-looking, even in simple practice clothes, but Atsumu no longer sees him as good-looking.
That’s probably sign number two.
“Happy birthday, Omi-Omi!” Atsumu tries to say in the usual way he does. A little loud, maybe somewhat annoying, but enough to just barely grab a chunk of attention from the man in front of him.
“Thanks, Miya,” Sakusa replies in a tone that’s not as prickly as usual. It carries a tone of appreciation, something that holds no bite that the usual banter would.
And that’s that. Sign number three, and it’s the last thing that seals it.
Atsumu wonders if that really is the answer to his question—if it’s as simple as that. Before Sakusa had been someone he’d looked forward to talking to everyday, hoping to squeak out a jab or any acknowledgment from the taller man.
Now? Now he’s just—
He’s ordinary.
He’s just a guy he plays volleyball with, a friend, someone he sees three times a week. And that’s it. Nothing more.
He’s just some guy, and that gives Atsumu his answer. Because now that Sakusa no longer feels like someone special, Atsumu realizes that there’s someone else he looks forward to seeing, someone he hopes for whenever he gets a text on his phone.
Suna Rintarou. Best friend.
Also: best friend that he’s pretending to date.
Atsumu must’ve done something terrible in his previous life to be given a situation like this.
“Atsumu-san!” A head of orange appears a few steps behind where Sakusa’s standing, the aura of his bright smile almost infectious. Sakusa turns at Hinata’s appearance, gently taking something from Hinata’s outstretched hand. He doesn’t pay the rest of their interaction any mind, meticulously going back to folding a small face towel into a neat square.
The exchange is wordless, which is a word Atsumu wouldn’t ever think of associating with Hinata Shoyo of all people. But somehow, that’s what it is—wordless.
Huh. That’s a sign of intimacy Atsumu has never really thought of.
“Hey, Shoyo-kun, what’s up?”
“I wanted to throw a little get-together for Kiyoomi’s birthday,” he says, poking a thumb to Sakusa’s figure against the locket. “Would you come?”
Atsumu doesn’t miss the lack of honorific attached to Sakusa’s name, and surprisingly, the knowledge of that doesn’t hurt. It’s a welcome feeling, one that he hasn’t been able to genuinely feel these past few weeks.
“Omi-kun let ya throw a party fer him?” Atsumu ticks his head to the side, “Really?”
“Not a party , ” Sakusa clarifies, “Just a few people. Shoyo says that it’ll be fun or whatever, and who am I to say no?”
Atsumu gapes for a second at the sentence. Now that the rose-tinted glasses have come off, the realization of just how much Sakusa must like Hinata hits him. “Shoyo-kun, what’d ya do to Omi-Omi?”
“Kiyoomi’s a big softie once you get past all of,” he makes waving motions in the direction of Sakusa’s body, “ that .”
Sakusa shoots Hinata a death glare. “Don’t ever call me a big softie. Ever.”
Hinata grins. “Whatever you say, Omi!” Then, turns once more to face Atsumu. “So, Atsumu-san. You’ll come?”
“Ya sure Omi-kun even wants me there?”
“Well yeah,” he replies, as if the answer was obvious. "He only acts like that. He doesn’t hate you, Atsumu-san.”
“Really?”
“Don’t make me say it, Miya,” Sakusa mutters. Then, a little louder, he says, “You can bring Suna too, if you want.”
“ Really?”
“He’s more likeable than you,” Sakusa says bluntly. “Toya will probably be happy to see him.”
“Oh, right,” Atsumu says, a little dumbly. He’s sure that Sakusa knows about Komori’s feelings—he has to. As far as he knows, Sakusa and Komori could be mistaken for brothers rather than cousins, with how close they are. Still, he doesn’t think that Komori has really been that happy to see Suna lately, or at least, happy to see Suna with Atsumu.
“Great, it’ll be at my apartment,” Hinata says with a smile. “I’ll text you the directions after practice.”
Atsumu nods. “I’ll bring Sunarin along too, then.”
“Shouldn’t we get him a present?” Suna asks, his arm brushing against the sleeve of Atsumu’s jacket.
Their hands are intertwined again, the curve of Suna’s fingers on top of Atsumu’s suddenly feeling a lot warmer than they did before. This time, it had been Suna who initiated the contact, grabbing hold of Atsumu’s left hand once they exited the metro station.
This is fine , he thinks. This isn’t a bad idea.
It’s better to keep this up—at least for now. Just because Atsumu’s over Sakusa now doesn’t necessarily mean that Komori’s over Suna. Atsumu knows that he should probably ask at what point Suna would want to actually end this, with more detail and a more fleshed out goal. But if Suna hasn’t gone through the trouble of defining it at all until now, then who is he to tip that delicate scale?
For now, he knows that their reasons for faking dating were one, Atsumu not wanting to make a fool of himself in front of Sakusa, and two, Suna seeing it as a better way to deal with Komori. As far as those reasons go, the Komori situation is still up in the air.
Besides, Atsumu isn’t selfless enough to let go of Suna while he has him like this. At least for now he can play along, getting a glimpse of what an actual relationship with Suna would be like, with feelings this time. He can play along until he finally confesses or until Suna decides that they’ve acted enough.
Or, Suna could fall for him too. Atsumu quite favored that ending.
Atsumu points at a dainty looking gift shop placed at the corner of the street, its windows lined with an assortment of items. “How about we go in there?”
As they walk towards the small corner store, Atsumu takes in the various trinkets on display. The shop offers a variety of gifts, from keychains to calligraphy materials. Beside him, Suna muses, “What do you even get for a guy you have a crush on for the birthday party that his boyfriend planned for him?”
See, Atsumu could rectify that statement and tell Suna that he no longer harbors a crush on Sakusa, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, would it? There’s no harm in omitting truths, especially when Atsumu knows that admitting to it might make Suna want to break off what they’re carefully tiptoeing around at the moment.
It’s not that Atsumu can’t find the courage to just go for what he wants, but he figures it can’t hurt to continue to play fake boyfriends for now. At least, until he can scope whether Suna falling for him is even a plausible notion.
“Somethin’ simple, I suppose,” Atsumu answers.
“Maybe get him a fountain pen?”
“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Atsumu says with a tilt of his head.
He tugs on Suna’s hand, leading him to the counter where most gift shops keep their specialty pens. An elderly lady stands behind the glass display cases, greeting them with a friendly smile. “Anything I can help you with, dears?”
“What typa pen wouldja recommend giftin’ a friend for his birthday? Nothin’ that’ll break the bank if that’s possible,” Atsumu says sheepishly. He’d rather not turn up with an expensive gift that Sakusa or Hinata might raise an eyebrow at.
The lady opens up the glass display and carefully picks out a thin, silver pen. She hands it to Atsumu, and he carefully separates his hand from Suna’s to grab the pen with both hands. “This is one of our less expensive fountain pens that we sell for 4000 yen. It’s not as fancy as some of the other gold ones we have, but it still does a very good job. I would say it’s a very good gift for someone who’s looking to get into using fountain pens,” she explains. Then, she slides a small notepad towards him. “Feel free to try it out on this notepad.”
Atsumu examines the pen between his fingertips. It’s definitely a very pretty pen, and if the lady hadn’t told him the price, he might’ve mistaken it for having a much higher price. “Whatdya think ‘bout this, Rin?”
Suna takes the pen from him and scratches a small doodle on the note pad. Atsumu watches him work, a smile growing on his face at the small fox he draws. It even has its tongue sticking out, and Atsumu thinks that it bears a resemblance to Suna.
“Nice fox,” he comments as Suna adds the finishing touch.
“Thanks. You think it’s good enough for Sakusa?”
Atsumu nods. “We’ll get this one,” he says as he hands the pen back to the lady.
“Perfect, I’ll get this wrapped up for you.” She returns the pen back into the display and reaches into the shelf behind her for an unused one. As she tucks the box into a small, paper bag, she looks up at them. “Are the two of you together?”
Atsumu just nods, the answer coming to him naturally. “Yeah, my boyfriend,” he says absentmindedly.
“Ah I see,” the woman says with a kind smile. “The two of you look good together. I bought a fountain pen with my husband when we first started dating. It’s why I opened up this shop.”
“Do you have an interest in stationary?” Suna asks.
“Ah, no. It was my husband. But I got interested in it over the years because he talked about it so much.”
“That’s a sweet story,” Suna says with a polite smile.
The lady smiles before handing the paper bag to Atsumu. “Thank you. Would you like to keep the drawing you made?”
Atsumu nods. “Yeah, if that’s alright.”
“If I knew you’d wanna take it, I’d have put more effort into it,” Suna says from besides him.
The lady rips off the piece of paper from the notepad and hands it to Atsumu. As he takes the paper from the lady, he holds it up next to Suna. “Nah, it’s cute. Looks like ya a lil’ bit.”
When Suna rolls his eyes with a small smile, Atsumu grins triumphantly and folds the paper before placing it into his wallet.
“Is there anything else I can help you gentleman with?”
When the two of them say no, the lady bids them goodbye and Suna intertwines his fingers with Atsumu’s as they walk out of the shop.
The walk to Hinata’s place is a quiet one, though not uncomfortable. As they stroll through the streets of Osaka, Atsumu finds himself wondering how tonight might go. This will be the first time that he and Suna will be pretending to be a couple after Atsumu’s realization. He doesn’t think it’ll change much, at least—Suna will still be acting the same. Atsumu thinks that maybe his newfound feelings will aid his acting, since he’s not really pretending to like Suna anymore.
Then again, it could also be worse in the off chance that his feelings manifest into something that will make the falsity of their relationship hit him ten times harder than before. Still, he thinks that even then it might be alright. It’s Suna after all.
A squeeze to his hand draws him from his thoughts.
“You gonna be okay?”
Atsumu nods, his thoughts still milling about. “Yeah,” he says. Maybe he should elaborate more, but it’s hard to seem heartbroken over Sakusa when he’s not anymore.
“Just tell me if you want to leave, yeah?”
Atsumu smiles at him. “Yer really considerate, Rin.”
“Well, I mean. I kinda have to, since I’m your pretend boyfriend and all,” he shrugs, “Wouldn’t be doing a very good job if I didn’t distract you from the one-sided pining you got going on up there.”
Atsumu blinks at Suna’s words. Even before, Atsumu never thought of Suna’s presence as a distraction. It’s more that Suna’s presence helps ease his nerves, and it helps that at least there’s someone there that knows what he might be feeling or thinking. The only person that really gets him on that level is Osamu, but that’s a given, since they’ve got that twin connection or whatever it was that his mother used to call it.
“Yer not here as a distraction though. I like havin’ ya here,” Atsumu says, testing the waters.
When no immediate response comes from Suna, Atsumu looks up to see that Suna’s looking at him with his brows just slightly drawn together. He studies him too, how he looks against the soft moonlight. Even with the odd expression on his face, Atsumu thinks that Suna has this look to him that makes him look a little bit ethereal. Like a fox god, as the Inarizaki team would point out when they were still in high school.
“Somethin’ wrong, Rin?” Atsumu asks after a moment.
“I…” he hesitates. Then, he shakes his head. “No, nothing’s wrong,” he says.
He tugs at their intertwined fingers before continuing forward. Atsumu has half the mind to question him further, but Suna changes the topic of their conversation before Atsumu can even get a question out. Swallowing his curiosity, Atsumu decides to just leave it as is. Maybe it’d do him some good to just let it simmer.
When they ring the doorbell to Hinata’s apartment, they’re greeted with a bright smile, one that’s signature for the man standing in the doorway. “Atsumu-san! Suna-san! I’m glad you could make it.”
As they step into the small, humble apartment, Atsumu’s surprised by how neat it is. By no means did he think that Hinata was a slob or anything, but the level of cleanliness would probably rival what Sakusa’s apartment would look like.
“Kiyoomi! Suna-san and Atsumu-san are here,” Hinata says as the taller man appears behind him.
“Thanks for coming, I appreciate it,” he says with just a little less edge than his usual tone.
Atsumu blinks at the words, not used to Sakusa ever being openly nice to him. Beside him, Suna pokes him. “Give him the gift.”
“Ah, right,” he extends the paper bag towards Sakusa, who looks mildly surprised. “Rin helped pick it out. It’s a fountain pen,” he tells him. “We tested the display one at the store and it writes pretty well.”
Sakusa nods and tells them thank you before taking the bag. “Shoyo has some drinks in the fridge if you want some. Toya brought juice too,” he says before pointing at Komori, who’s sitting on the couch.
Atsumu looks over and watches as Komori’s eyes flick to his and Suna’s intertwined hands. As bad as it is, a small feeling of possessiveness washes over him at Komori’s gaze, and he tightens the grip he has on Suna’s hand. Suna isn’t technically his , but Atsumu will take what he can for now.
“Tsum-Tsum!!” Bokuto’s head pops out from the hallway, bright and cheery. “Omi-omi says that he’ll drink a little today, since it’s his birthday. Isn’t that exciting?”
Atsumu looks back to where Sakusa’s standing next to Hinata in the kitchen. “Really Omi-kun? Yer drinkin’?”
Sakusa shrugs. “Shoyo begged me.”
Shoyo-kun’s really got Omi wrapped around his finger, Atsumu thinks. Though, he supposes that he’d do anything Suna asked him to do now, so he really can’t be one to talk.
“Alright, everyone, time for a shot each,” Hinata announces, holding a bottle of sake. “Two for you, Kiyoomi,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Sakusa rolls his eyes, but his lips are quirked upwards just the slightest bit. He takes a seat next to Komori and looks at Hinata expectantly when he leaves a space for him on the couch. Atsumu mirrors the move, instead tugging at Suna’s hand before he’s taking a seat on the tatami mat and looking up expectantly for Suna to join him.
To his pleasure, Suna sits close, his knee brushing against Atsumu’s own. A small victory.
Hinata pours five shots for them, with each shot glass taped with their names. Sakusa eyes his two shots with disdain, but surprisingly downs both of them with little reaction. Or—not even a little. Basically no reaction. If Atsumu wasn’t already used to Suna’s high alcohol tolerance, the feat would’ve been pretty impressive.
“Woah, Omi-omi, you’re amazing…” Bokuto comments with wide eyes.
“Everyone drink on my behalf.” He promptly sets the two shot glasses onto the end table, keeping it just a smidge farther than arm’s reach from Hinata. “Just don’t make a mess,” he says with a cross of his arms.
Beside him, Hinata chuckles. “Heh. Kiyoomi, you’re so strict.”
Sakusa’s gaze softens. “You know what you signed up for,” he tells Hinata with a small smile. In return, Hinata shoots him his own dimpled smile and whispers something in Sakusa’s ear that makes him smile wider.
He feels a light tap on his arm, and finds that Suna’s extending another shot towards him. “Want another?”
Suna’s looking at him with a little bit of concern, which makes Atsumu pause for a second before he realizes what Suna must think about him looking over at where Hinata and Sakusa are sitting. Maybe Atsumu should make it clear that he doesn’t feel that way anymore, especially if Suna’s gonna treat Sakusa like some long-lost love that Atsumu never had.
He most definitely wouldn’t fall for Atsumu if that’s what he’s thinking, and Atsumu would rather raise his odds of getting his feelings reciprocated than make them ten times worse.
“I’d rather have a shot of ya,” Atsumu says in an attempt to flirt. It comes out half flirty, half awkward in a way that probably would’ve passed for someone that isn’t Atsumu. But Suna knows that Atsumu’s talented at sounding sly—which is usually enough to pass for flirting. As he watches Suna shoot him a questioning look, Atsumu fights back a groan at how horribly he executed the line.
“Weirdo,” he says with just the smallest hint of a smile. The sight of it makes Atsumu feel a little better. Just a little. “Stop making bad pick-up jokes and take the shot.”
Atsumu decides to just take the shot for now, opting to not dig himself into a bigger hole. The alcohol helps to mend his pride a little, the burning of his throat actually feeling welcome for once.
As he sets his shot glass down, he sees a flash of motion to his left. Bokuto’s head is popped outwards, his eyes set on Suna. “Hey, Suna. Are you good at drinking?”
“Rin’s a tank, Bokkun,” Atsumu answers.
Bokuto beams. “Wanna go shot for shot?”
Suna raises a brow at the man sitting beside him. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I can handle my alcohol pretty well.”
“I’ll stop before I get too drunk. Promise,” Bokuto replies with a serious expression and a hand over his heart.
“Sunarin, I’ll go shot for shot too,” Komori tells him. Atsumu watches the way that Komori gazes at Suna and feels a small twinge of discomfort. He’s got a charming smile on, and his eyes look soft as he looks at him. He tries to fight a frown as Suna smiles and lets out a small chuckle.
“Alright, let’s pour the shots then.”
“Rin, pour me one too,” Atsumu says. He can’t afford to let Komori beat him in anything. Though, he supposes that he already has Komori beat as Suna’s fake boyfriend—but still. He can’t be too cautious when it comes to Suna’s attention.
Suna sends him a glance. “You’re not going shot for shot with me though. I’d have to carry you all the way up to your apartment.”
“That makes me wanna do it more,” Atsumu says. He feels triumphant when Suna’s smile grows just a little. Suna’s gaze on him is a treasure that Atsumu hasn’t been appreciative enough for, but he’ll gladly rectify that now.
“Alright,” Komori says, effectively pulling Suna’s gaze from Atsumu. “Ready to take it?” He’s already holding his cup out, so the other three of them fill their glasses too.
They begin to take shot after shot every few minutes, and Atsumu quickly finds that he really can’t hold his alcohol. He taps out early and just watches as Bokuto, Suna, and Komori continue to go for shots. Sakusa and Hinata stay out of it, with Hinata only taking occasional sips of beer.
Eventually, everyone seems to slowly feel the effects of the alcohol, and Bokuto, Hinata, and Komori all end up in a conversation about what the best anime is. Atsumu’s not really paying attention, but he does find himself start to squirm from the need to do something . When Suna notices his restlessness, he just laughs and Atsumu finds that the sound is pleasant to his ears.
Atsumu scowls. “Don’t laugh at me.”
Suna puts on an innocent face. “I’m not laughing,” he says.
Before Atsumu can stop himself, he scoots over so that his thighs touch Suna’s and wraps his arms around his waist. When Suna looks down at him, one eyebrow quirked, Atsumu just beams at him and places his chin on Suna’s shoulder. As Suna softens into his hold, Atsumu feels his cheeks get pleasantly warmer.
Suna fits perfectly against him, Atsumu thinks.
“Nobody move, it’s selfie time!” Bokuto announces as he takes out his phone. “I’ll send it to the MSBY group chat so that everyone tells Omi-Omi happy birthday!”
Sakusa protests at first, but Bokuto pulls out the most convincing pout he can, staring down at Sakusa until he finally caves. Atsumu would find it more funny if he wasn’t already caught up in the way Suna’s waist fits around his wrapped arms. He could very well just squeeze him—just to see what his reaction might be like.
“You’re gonna take the picture like this?” Suna asks.
Atsumu blinks up at him. “Don’t wanna move,” he says, his voice a little slurred, “‘S that alright?”
Suna just nods, so Atsumu doesn’t move from his position, not really caring too much about whether the team sees him cuddled up next to Suna. They’re dating after all.
Fake dating his brain supplies, but he waves the thought away.
After a beat, Atsumu takes back his previous statement of not wanting to move, mumbling into Suna's neck, “‘M feelin’ adventurous. Kinda like I wanna run around". Scents of citrus and sandalwood fill his senses, and Atsumu has the fleeting thought that he could easily get drunk off of this and not the alcohol.
“Don’t make me chase after your drunk ass.”
“No promises,” Atsumu answers, a half-lidded grin finding its way onto his face.
Atsumu doesn't actually make a move to get up and run, so they continue to stay in that position, with Atsumu clutching onto Suna like a child would a teddy bear. Suna doesn’t seem to mind though, since he has one hand placed on Atsumu’s knee and the other holding his shot glass.
It’s rare for Suna to converse more than him, so Atsumu allows himself to fall into thought. Well—more so that he can’t really think about anything other than the warmth of Suna’s palm on his knee.
Eventually, Bokuto taps out of his competition with Suna, claiming that Suna’s “too much of a tank for his own good.” It’s not long after that Atsumu and Suna begin to get up, Atsumu reluctantly relinquishing the hold he has on Suna’s waist. Before the two of them step out of Hinata’s apartment, Atsumu gleefully tells Sakusa ‘happy birthday’ and thanks Hinata for his hospitality.
The one thing that Atsumu likes about being drunk is the feeling of some kind of freedom. Like floating in clouds that hold him up, or seeing the world with a little bit more appreciation for the littler things.
One of those things: the red flush currently blooming on Suna’s face, perfectly pairing with the hazy golden stare he sports. They’ve only walked a few blocks, and Suna’s been walking in this carefree-sort of gait that makes Atsumu wants to fall behind and watch Suna in such a state.
He would, if being close to Suna didn’t feel so intoxicating at the moment. Not quite holding hands, but grazing skin on fingers every once in a while as the warmth of the other’s body invades the space between them.
Atsumu thinks that being able to be with Suna like this with the knowledge of his feelings towards the man is so much better than how it was before he acknowledged his change in feelings. He wants to make this situation come to life—for the feelings he feels to be reciprocated as their fingers interact with each other’s.
“Hey Rin. Why don’tcha like Komori?” Atsumu asks as they walk side by side, occasionally bumping into one another. Maybe he’s being a little overly-cautious about Komori, considering that Suna’s already rejected him. But Atsumu thinks that’s exactly why he’s so focused on how Suna sees Komori—Atsumu doesn’t want to be someone that Suna only sees as a friend.
Suna’s voice joins the quiet bustle of the street, just barely betraying the higher pitch his voice adopts when he drinks. “Dunno, I just don’t,” he says simply.
“Hmm,” Atsumu hums, his eyes blinking in slow motion. “What would make ya fall in love with someone then?”
Suna raises a brow at him. “Why are you so full of questions?”
“Don’t be mean!” Atsumu argues back, his voice bordering on a whine. It’s a good thing that there’s not many people out on the streets, because Atsumu feels as if he would be able to tell that he was drunk from a mile away. “Now, be a good boyfriend and answer my question.”
“Fake boyfriend,” Suna tuts.
“Whatever.” Atsumu waves him off, ignoring the light feeling of emptiness that the words leave him with. “Answer me.”
If having to be reminded about the falsity of their relationship is the price he has to pay in order to know how Suna would fall for someone, he’ll gladly take it. Small losses for a bigger victory—or something like that.
Suna’s steps fall to a halt, and as he thinks about the question, the air between turns quiet for a moment. Atsumu thinks that he’s pretty like this, face slightly flushed and eyes drawn in concentration. But Suna’s always been pretty, and Atsumu knows that. He’s about to trace the silhouette of Suna’s side profile with his gaze, but Suna’s voice pulls him from the light stupor he’d been in.
“I think I’d just have to look at the person and think that there’s nobody I’d rather spend time with,” Suna says. “I don’t think that I’d fall for someone just because they do a bunch of romantic things. They have to be special to me.”
“And Komori’s not special to ya?”
“Not in that way. He’s a good friend,” Suna answers.
“Have ya felt that way with anyone else?” He tries to not sound so curious, but he gets the feeling that his attempt fails in doing so.
Suna takes a sideways glance at him. “Yeah, I have.”
“Who?”
A small smile finds its way onto Suna’s features as his gaze falls to the concrete sidewalk. If Atsumu didn’t know any better, he would think that there’s sadness etched in the corners of his smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
He hates it when Suna answers him in a vague manner, especially now.
“I would actually,” Atsumu says, not even bothering to hide his curiosity anymore. “So tell me.”
Suna hums. “I’ll think about it,” he says, evading the topic. Before Atsumu can pester anymore answers out of him though, Suna decidedly ends the conversation by poking at him lightly and pointing at the road in front of them. “Now stop asking me questions and focus on walking.”
Atsumu frowns at Suna’s blatant avoidance, dropping his gaze to the ground beneath him. As he focuses on the steps his feet take, he notices that small circles have begun to multiply on the gray stone. Looking upwards, he realizes that the circles are droplets of water, if the wetness littering his face is any indication. As if confirming his realization, he sees more raindrops continue to fall from the sky.
“I think it’s starting to shower,” Suna observes, his eyes also trained on the cloudy night sky.
As much as Atsumu could stare at the state Suna’s in right now—neck exposed, drops of water littering his cheeks and catching on his hair—he knows that getting rained on isn’t the greatest idea in the world. Especially with championships coming up, neither him or Suna could risk getting sick.
“There’s a park with an azumaya nearby,” Atsumu recalls. He’d seen the azumaya earlier that night when they were still making their way to Hinata’s apartment. Without another thought, he takes Suna’s hand and tugs him in the direction of the park. “C’mon Rin. Follow me.”
As the rain starts dropping faster, they break out in a clumsy run, still holding onto each other as they quickly try to find cover. Despite their efforts, they’re still pretty drenched by the time that they find sanctuary under the azumaya. The damp feeling of the cotton fabric resting on his shoulders bothers him just the slightest bit, but he figures that it’s better than being drenched.
“What kinda luck do we have?” Atsumu drunkenly giggles.
“You’re always getting me in trouble,” Suna says with a smile, taking quick breaths out of his mouth.
Atsumu sticks out his tongue childishly. “I just saved us from the rain.”
“You’re so annoying,” Suna says with a small laugh as he takes a seat on the wooden bench.
“Mhm, ‘wow thank ya very much Atsumu’. That’s all I hear,” Atsumu replies, taking a seat besides Suna. He turns to look at him now that they’re both seated, taking in the sight of Suna’s drenched figure. Dark, shiny strands sit on his forehead as droplets litter his skin. Underneath his lower lashline, Atsumu notices that the usually clean eye makeup Suna sports is now smudged ever so lightly. “Yer eyeshadow is gonna get messed up,” Atsumu realizes with a frown.
Suna raises a brow at him. “Since when have you ever noticed that I wear eyeshadow?”
“Since high school, dumbass. Everyone knows that ya have nice eyes. ‘Course I’d notice the eyeshadow too” Atsumu says pointing a finger upwards, “My ma raised me right.”.
Suna laughs, and it sounds pleasant in Atsumu’s ears, almost like a melody in his dazed state. “Maybe I’ll ask you to do it for me next time.”
“Can I do it tomorrow?”
“Sure, but I have an early practice. So you’d have to be at my apartment early,” Suna replies with a shrug.
“How ‘bout we have a sleepover at yer apartment then?” The familiar giddiness of being drunk asks the question before he can really think to keep his mouth shut, but it’s not a question that entirely out of character for Atsumu sans alcohol, so he lets the question stay.
“You totally just invited yourself to my apartment.”
“Mhm. And yer gonna let me in anyway,” Atsumu says with a smug smile. Suna’s only response is a smile that makes the rain feel less cold on Atsumu’s skin.
Once the rain lets up, they walk to the metro, not quite holding hands, but still standing close enough to the other that they bump into each other every few steps. The walk to Suna’s apartment is spent in comfortable silence that’s only filled with the occasional drunk giggle from Atsumu, but neither of them seem to mind. Eventually, the cold air blowing on the wetness of his clothes begins to wash away the feeling of drunkenness from his system, and by the time they’re in the warmth of Suna’s living room, Atsumu feels all but sober.
He peels the wet sweater from his skin, immediately feeling a little colder despite the lack of wet fabric sticking to him.
Suna notices the light shudder he makes and frowns. “We’re gonna have to shower before we sleep. I don’t want either of us to get sick,” he says as he lays his own wet jacket on a chair. “I’ll get you something to wear. You can shower first.”
Atsumu nods, following Suna into his bedroom. “Do ya have a towel I can use too?”
Suna’s already one step ahead of him as he sticks his head out of his closet and throws a towel in his direction. “Catch.”
As Atsumu locks the door behind him, he examines himself in the mirror. His hair is dry now, but the gel he usually wears has worn off, leaving his hair to fall down his face. For a moment, he wonders if Suna noticed the difference, but he shakes his head to will the thought away. He really has to figure out a way to have a crush without transforming into some lovesick schoolgirl.
The warmth of the water running down his back helps ease the thoughts a little, but Atsumu can’t completely shake them. He suddenly regrets that he even suggested spending the night at Suna’s apartment, but he can’t take it back now. He’s never been nervous around Suna, but whatever he’s feeling at the moment might as well be the closest he’s ever gotten to nervousness.
Lathering shampoo into his hair fills the shower with the scent of Suna, sans cologne. The scent is pleasant, citrus and sandalwood. He wonders if Suna’s sheets smell like him too.
Oh god, can his brain shut the fuck up?
If he continues that train of thought, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to survive the night without saying or doing something stupid. Then again, his track record for stupid decisions is far from spotless.
He finishes washing up quickly after that thought, needing to be out of this bathroom and the thoughts it's putting into his head. After shaking his hair with the towel, he wraps the towel around his waist and steps out of the now humid bathroom.
As he opens the door, his eyes immediately land on Suna, who’s sitting on the edge of his bed, scrolling on his phone with a stack of clothes next to him. When he looks up, Atsumu feels himself still. Suna’s lips part, and the action draws Atsumu’s gaze to them—pink and a little dry from the rain, but still looking soft. In turn, Suna’s eyes trail down his torso with a gaze that makes Atsumu feel warm. His eyes stop where the towel starts, and Atsumu suddenly wishes that he wrapped it a little lower.
Eventually, Suna takes a breath and hands him the stack of clothing. “The extra blanket I have is in the wash, so you can just sleep in the bed with me. If you want,” he says, sounding just awkward enough for the tone in his voice to sound foreign. His eyes convey a different emotion though, the sharpness of his gaze sending a feeling straight to Atsumu’s stomach.
Blinking, Atsumu forces himself to take a breath. “Right, okay,” Atsumu tells him, hoping that Suna doesn’t pick up on the odd tone of his voice. Thankfully, Suna just nods and wordlessly makes his way to the bathroom, leaving Atsumu to change in his room.
Once he has his clothes on, Atsumu opts to lay on the bed, not yet getting under the sheets. He stares up at Suna’s ceiling, willing himself to not think about Suna in the shower or the scent of him mingling in the pillow. He quickly regrets that though, because now he’s thinking about their conversation from earlier about Komori and what kind of person Suna would fall for.
He wonders if Suna would ever be able to feel that way around him. Sure, he knows that Suna enjoys his company and that there’s definitely mutual attraction—but still. Platonic feelings mixed with attraction doesn’t necessarily equate to romantic feelings.
Before long, the bathroom door opens, and Suna steps out, shaking his hair with a towel. “Do the clothes fit?”
“Yeah, they fit good. Thanks,” Atsumu says, still feeling a little distracted. “Are ya sure it’s okay if I sleep here? I can take the couch, yanno.”
Suna climbs onto the bed, sitting against his pillow. “It’s fine, I don’t want you to get sick if you don’t have a blanket.”
“That’s nice of ya Sunarin. Didn’t know ya had that in ya,” Atsumu teases.
Suna chuckles. “You’re still a friend, even if you’re a big jerk. I’m only admitting that because I’m still paying for the fuck ton of shots I took earlier.”
Right. Friend.
“Yer still drunk?”
Suna sends him a lazy smile. “A little bit. The shower sobered me up a little though. I didn’t realize that Bokuto-san could drink so much. I already knew that Komori could, but man, Bokuto-san can drink. ”
“Me too, honestly,” Atsumu agrees. Before he can stop himself, he finds himself asking, “Would ya let any of yer other friends sleep in yer bed like this?”
“No,” Suna answers with little hesitation. The quickness of his answer relieves Atsumu a little bit, the ugly green feeling dissapating from his body. He wouldn’t know what he would do if Suna said yes, and he would rather not think about the jealous thoughts that idea elicits.
“Why me?”
To his surprise, Suna lets out a small chuckle. “You’re so oblivious sometimes, Atsumu.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing,” Suna says with a shake of his head. “You should sleep.”
“What about you?”
“I have to dry my hair first,” Suna tells him. “Just wanted to let it airdry a little before I use the blow dryer.”
“I can help ya dry it,” Atsumu offers, trying to ignore the beating of his heart. “Samu and I used to help our gran do it when our Ma was at work.”
Suna shrugs, eyes a little hazy from the alcohol. “Sure, less work for me.”
Suna gets up from the bed and moves to the corner of his room that has a mat and a small mirror hanging on the wall. Atsumu follows him, sitting behind Suna as he plugs the hairdryer into the outlet.
It’s when Atsumu starts to run his fingers through Suna’s hair that he realizes that this might be a bad idea. Even in its damp state, Suna’s hair feels soft, and Atsumu can’t escape the smell of his shampoo when he’s this close. It feels so intimate .
Friends. Friends, friends, friends. They’re friends.
“Hm,” Suna hums. “That feels nice.” It’s only three words, innocuously slipping out, but the effect it has on Atsumu feels like a truck plowing into him. Fuck, why did Suna have to say that?
Atsumu stays quiet, not quite trusting his voice at this point. Absentmindedly, he gets a little careless and accidentally tugs a little too hard on Suna’s hair. Suna’s reaction isn’t a yelp, but something far worse.
It’s a groan. And holy fuck Atsumu can’t do this.
Atsumu’s not even sure that Suna’s even aware that he’s made that noise, but Atsumu’s very, very aware. He thinks about tugging a little harder, just to see what sounds might come out of Suna’s lips at the action. It’s a mistake to think that, because now he’s thinking about kissing him and tugging at his hair while his lips are on Suna’s and fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
He needs to finish this before his thoughts consume him.
Atsumu shakes his head, swallowing his thoughts and choosing to focus intensely on the hairdryer in his hands. He focuses on the black finish, the text printed on the side, the different kinds of buttons. It helps, because soon enough, the damp hair between his fingers becomes dry. He shuts the hairdryer and unplugs it with a quickness, not looking at Suna as he wraps the cord and places it back into the small basket Suna pulled it out of.
“‘M feelin’ a little tired. Wanna sleep?” Atsumu asks as he walks back over to the bed and avoiding looking at Suna. He needs to sleep this off, and hopefully he’ll start thinking normally by the time that he wakes up in the morning.
Suna hums in agreement and goes to turn off the light as Atsumu tucks himself into the sheets, lying still and pointedly looking up at the ceiling. He doesn’t turn his head when the weight of Suna’s body joins his on the bed. He especially tries not to feel the heat radiating off of Suna when he slips under the covers.
“Goodnight, Atsumu,” Suna says, voice sleepy.
Atsumu forces himself to swallow, hoping that his voice doesn’t betray him. “G’night, Rin.”
When Atsumu wakes up the next morning, he’s met with a sliver of light peeking through the window and the sight of Suna tucked between his arms. He doesn’t know how they ended up in such a position, but before he can stop himself from thinking it, he has the thought that he likes the feeling of holding Suna, even if he’s done it before. Those times were in public though, for the eyes of others. Right now—it’s just them.
Then Suna shifts just the slightest bit, pushing his body further against Atsumu’s, and he makes a realization. He’s hard.
Oh god .
Attempting to tamp down the need to pull away from Suna as quickly as possible, he carefully tries to untangle his arms from Suna’s body so he doesn’t wake the man. His efforts are in vain though, because Suna stirs anyway, blinking up at Atsumu, who’s halfway pulled himself from the hold he has Suna in.
Atsumu wishes he didn’t, and not even for the reason that he’s currently sporting a hard on. No, it’s because Suna’s sleeping expression is nothing short of breathtaking, with his lashes fluttering each time he slowly blinks. Atsumu badly wants to touch the delicate skin of his cheek just to see if Suna would melt into his hand and let his eyes flutter closed at the contact.
Fuck. He needs to pull away from Suna right now. “Goin’ to the bathroom,” he quickly says.
Suna hums, still sporting his sleepy look and Atsumu has to tear his gaze away. “There’s extra toothbrushes in the cabinet.”
Atsumu nods, and quickly walks to the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. Asking to stay over at Suna’s is most definitely his worst decision thus far—and that’s saying quite a lot. He attempts to get rid of his downstairs problem first, squeezing his eyes shut and thinking of every unattractive thing he can think of.
He’s glad that doing so softens him, vaguely having the terrifying thought that he’d have to actually take care of it in the presence of Suna’s bathroom while the man in question is just a thin partition away. Some of the tenseness drains from him at the relief of not having to resort to such a thing, and he hurriedly brushes his teeth before it can become a problem again.
When he steps out, Suna’s no longer laying down, now sitting cross-legged on his bed with some strands of hair sticking up in haphazard directions. “I’ll just wash up real quick. The stuff I use for my eyes is on my desk,” Suna tells him.
Atsumu nods, walking over to Suna’s desk, taking in the simplicity of it. Compared to Atsumu’s own desk, Suna’s is much more minimalistic, though there’s a small figurine in the corner of the desk that brings a smile to Atsumu’s face. He remembers the day that Suna got the figure from a random gashapon shop that they stumbled upon while they were out with Osamu.
In addition to the figurine, two pictures are hung on the wall just above the desk. One of the pictures is a childhood photo of Suna with his sister and mother. The other is one from highschool—a selfie Osamu had taken during one of the Inarizaki outings. Behind Osamu, Atsumu is being carried piggy-back style by Suna. He remembers winning a bet and laughing at Suna’s face when he realized that he’d have to lug a grown 16 year old boy on his back. Both of the photos elicit a sense of fondness within his chest.
“What are you looking at?” comes a voice from behind him.
Atsumu doesn’t know when Suna even exited the bathroom, but now he’s just a few centimeters behind Atsumu. His breath tickles the back of Atsumu’s ear, and Atsumu has to suppress the shiver that his body instinctively wants to let out.
“Nothin’.” Atsumu steps to the side, putting the slightest bit of distance between him and Suna. Suna doesn’t seem fazed by the action, so Atsumu clears his throat and grabs the eyeshadow palette from the corner of the desk. “Ya ready?”
Suna nods. He takes a couple steps backward and brings his legs to another crossed position on the bed. With a small pat to the empty space next to him, Suna sends Atsumu a look that wordlessly invites him to take a seat next to him.
Now that Atsumu can really look at him, he realizes that Suna’s front bangs have been clipped up with mismatched hairpins, one yellow and one green.
Suna must notice his stare, because he looks at Atsumu and says, “Oh, I just put my hair up just in case. I used to do it when my hair was longer, but I guess I got into the habit of it.”
“Ah, I didn’t think it was weird or anythin’,” Atsumu explains as he moves to sit on the bed too. He’s carefully organizing the eyeshadow and angled brush in front of him when he opens his mouth again. “It’s cute.”
Wait. He meant to keep that within his thoughts.
He lifts his head with an explanation already on his lips, but it dies on his tongue as soon as he meets Suna’s eyes. Suna’s blinking at him again, eyebrows just slightly drawn together. His eyes are wider than they usually are, and the way that they’re sitting gives Atsumu a view of Suna from just slightly above, reminding him of just how fucking pretty he is.
Atsumu clears his throat again. “Jus’ try not ta blink, I don’t think I’ll take long,” he tells Suna. Although he’s never applied makeup on someone else before, he’s watched his mother do it countless times. Besides, years of honing his skills as a setter and a server has given him a delicate touch when a situation calls for it.
Carefully, he dips the brush into the black powder, being cautious not to grab too much. Suna’s eyeshadow is never too dark, just perfectly accentuating the shape of his eyes. Atsumu doesn’t want Suna to show up to practice looking like he acquired a black eye.
He leans in closer, focusing on the corner of Suna’s right eye. A small feeling of relief resides in his chest when the brush glides on smoothly without the pigment being too dark. He meticulously spreads the pigment at an angle along Suna’s lower lash line before adding just a small dusting atop his upper lashes. Once he’s satisfied with the look, he turns to the other eye and carefully recreates the look.
Eventually he leans back just a little, not completely, but just close enough that he can still feel Suna’s measured breaths fanning his cheeks. Although he’s been focused on Suna’s eyes, he hasn’t exactly met his gaze, opting instead to pointedly stare at points of his eyes where he couldn’t make direct eye contact. Now that he looks up at him, Atsumu feels his breath shallow out.
Suna’s intently staring at him, gaze so focused that Atsumu feels as if he can’t look away on his own accord. Slowly, Suna’s gaze begins to tread lower on his face, stopping just above Atsumu’s chin. It dawns on Atsumu that Suna’s looking at his lips , eyes just betraying the smallest hint of desire.
Atsumu still remembers the feeling of those lips molding against his, the stars hanging as the background to Suna’s figure cradling his own. He remembers how Suna’s own felt soft against his, smooth fingers trailing gently down his face. Surely it couldn’t have all been on impulse? Surely, there was some part of Suna that wanted to kiss him .
As if acting on their own accord, Atsumu’s fingers come up to tickle the line of Suna’s jaw, handling his face with a gentleness he almost exclusively saves for volleyballs beneath his fingertips. If Suna would let Atsumu kiss him here—that has to mean something.
Atsumu tips forward, and Suna—
Suna leans back.
Atsumu tries his hardest to tamp down the disappointment that settles in his chest, feeling the sudden distance between them like cold air. Just because he’s beginning to feel different about Suna doesn’t mean that Suna feels any different about him. For all he knows, Atsumu might just be imagining the miniscule changes in Suna’s actions—that perhaps they haven’t changed at all.
“Thanks,” Suna tells him with an awkwardness that sounds foreign on his tongue. “I should probably head out soon. Is that okay?”
Atsumu nods. “Yeah, of course. Thanks fer lettin’ me stay.”
It’s not long before they head for the living room, Suna providing Atsumu with another hoodie to wear. Your jacket probably smells like rain and wet dog , is what Suna gives as a justification. Atsumu doesn’t bother to object, preferring to smell Suna’s familiar scent on the hoodie over the foul smell of his rain-soaked jacket from the night before.
“Thanks for the eyeliner,” Suna says as he grabs his bag from beside the couch. Atsumu picks up the jacket he draped over one of the table seats last night. “You did a good job.”
“I couldn’t mess it up,” Atsumu responds as they head out the door. When Suna’s back is turned to him, his hands fiddling with his keys, Atsumu continues, “It’s one of my favorite things about ya.”
Maybe he’s digging himself into a deeper hole. Maybe he’s only setting himself up for another painful rejection. But he wants to go all out this time.
He wants to make that rejection worth it—wants to make it so that he has no regrets about not making the most out of his time while he still has Suna like this. Even if it’s still only pretend for him, Atsumu selfishly wants to take whatever it is that Suna allows him to have.
At least, until he finally confesses his feelings. Then maybe Suna will let him take these moments for real, as a real boyfriend.
Or maybe it’ll be another rejection. Atsumu hopes it won’t be that.
He really, really hopes.
Suna says nothing to his compliment, only blinking at him before nodding. They make their way to the station in quiet comfort, stopping once they hit the point where their paths split.
“See ya soon, Rin,” Atsumu says, sending Suna a smile before turning to walk in the direction of his stop.
Suna pulls on his arm before he can turn completely. “Wait.”
Then he kisses him. A small peck, barely there.
“Have a good day,” Suna says before turning on his heel and walking away. Atsumu has no time to react, watching Suna’s retreating figure with wide eyes.
Have a good day, Rin. I really like ya .
The thought goes unspoken, a small confession given to the air. Soon enough, Atsumu will voice it out loud, in time.
Notes:
hmmmm do i smell angst coming ... the scent of angst.. very strong......
Chapter 5: if only you knew
Summary:
suna rintarou loves miya atsumu. that's always been true.
Notes:
soooo i completely lied. this isn't the final chapter because it got away from me and suddenly it manifested into these 9k words. the NEXT chapter will be the last (i hope), and hopefully it makes the wait worth it :)
the rating has changed for the contents of the next chapter, so maybe the added tags will give you guys a little bit of anticiptation !!
this chapter is in suna's pov, and if you can't tell by the end of it, suna's a veryyy unreliable narrator. in a way atsumu is too, but suna is way way worse. laugh out loud! hope you enjoy <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
October 31st - 5 months prior
This might be the most pathetic thing he’s ever done, Rintarou thinks as he leans against the wall, swirling a cup of red liquid between his fingertips. The flashing lights in the room match the music playing off the walls of Bokuto’s spacious Osaka apartment, hues of reds, blues, and pinks interchanging every few seconds.
He’s dressed as Frankenstein—not the monster, but the doctor, because “Frankenstein isn’t actually the monster, it’s the name of the doctor!” Atsumu had insisted. It isn’t the worst costume in the world, just a long, white lab coat over a red sweater and black slacks. The lab coat is torn at a few places, a touch that Komori had suggested when Rintarou told him about what costume he’s be wearing at the party. A good, solid costume, Rintarou would say.
Of course, a Frankenstein costume would be null without his matching monster.
“Sunarin, pose for the camera!”
There it is: Miya Atsumu, clad in green face paint and a black blazer, throwing an arm around Rintarou and angling a camera at the two of them.
Miya Atsumu, who had begged someone, anyone, to dress as Frankenstein with him this year because “his stupid twin brother was refusing to.” Miya Atsumu, who had turned his twisted grin in the direction of Suna Rintarou, swearing up and down that Rintarou would be the absolute best friend ever if he wore the matching costume with him.
And: Suna Rintarou, who just could not say no.
“Make it look like ya like me,” Atsumu says, turning his head to face Rintarou. Rintarou doesn’t even have to turn his head to know that Atsumu’s nose comes dangerously close to brushing his cheek, simultaneously feeling the warmth of Atsumu and seeing the position of their faces in the camera. With a sigh, Rintarou holds up a peace sign, allowing for a small, curated smile to show on his face.
That seems to be enough for Atsumu, because he rounds his head back towards the camera and tugs Rintarou even closer. Atsumu presses the capture button before Rintarou can even blink, and soon enough, he finds Atsumu’s hair tickling his cheekbone with his arm wrapped around Rintarou like he has no concept of personal space.
“I’ll post that on Instagram,” Atsumu says as he inspects the photo, zooming in on his face. “Want me to tag ya?”
Rintarou shrugs, already feeling the lack of warmth now that Atsumu’s arm isn’t wrapped around him. “Do I look bad?”
Atsumu shoots him a look. “Of course not. Yer stupidly photogenic.”
Rintarou takes the compliment without a word, taking another sip from the cup in his hands. Atsumu and his stupid offhand compliments.
If Rintarou had just a little more survival sense, he would’ve talked himself out of realizing his crush on Atsumu three years ago, just short of when they both respectively turned 20. It wouldn’t have worked, considering that Atsumu’s been a thorn in his heart for every moment after, and perhaps even before that.
It was something so trivial, really, that made Rintarou realize that his feelings for Atsumu had somehow, somewhere, morphed from platonic to romantic.
October 31st, three years ago, on Atsumu’s bathroom floor was when it started. The scene was Atsumu’s head in a bag, his neck sweating from the exertion of simultaneously sobbing his eyes out and throwing up any semblance of food he had that day. Rintarou remembers sitting next to him, patting his back with one hand and holding a glass of water in the other. It was just a few weeks after Atsumu’s first break-up, a girl who worked at Black Jackals’ training facility back then. Rintarou stayed at Atsumu’s side, even when he was sobbing for a majority of the night, droning on and on about how he didn’t know where he went wrong with this girl that he liked so much.
Sure, the jealousy over Atsumu’s now ex-girlfriend was probably the first clue, but it wasn’t until later that night, when Rintarou stared at Atsumu’s heaving figure that it finally clicked for Rintarou. Even though he was heartbroken over someone else, Rintarou realized that he would willingly be there for each time Atsumu cried, or each time he threw up after too much alcohol. He wanted to be there for everything else too—all of Atsumu’s moods.
He should’ve known then that he was completely fucked.
With a small breath, Rintarou lifts the cup to his lips again, filling his senses with the distinct sharpness of alcohol. He’s not overly fond of the taste of alcohol, but the burn is enough to temporarily keep his mind from his inner monologue. As he sips, he watches Atsumu over the rim.
He’s still making clicks on his phone, likely antagonizing over what filter to put on the photo or whether he should put a creative caption. Rintarou finds it endearing, how Atsumu’s brows are slightly pulled together in concentration.
As Atsumu places the finishing touches, Rintarou tips the cup again, welcoming the familiar burn in his throat. He shouldn’t be thinking these things while he’s drunk, because he finds that his self-restraint for keeping his feelings hidden severely plummets once he begins to feel drunk. There’s been times where Rintarou had to stop himself from doing something stupid around Atsumu when he’s drunk—like telling him all about his three-year-long crush, or grabbing Atsumu by the collar and kissing him until he can’t anymore.
He can’t do any of that, because he’s well-aware that Atsumu doesn’t feel the same way.
With a frown, he swallows down the last of the liquid, hoping that this drink isn’t the one that does him in. He highly doubts it, since he’s only feeling a little disoriented right now, which is a sign of him being tipsy, not drunk.
Trying to compose himself, Rintarou turns to Atsumu and asks, “Where’s Osamu?”
He’s not incredibly curious, but he wants to prove to himself that he’s still capable of making normal conversation without feeling the telltale sign of needing to giggle over something completely irrelevant. Besides, he can hear Atsumu talk, and a tipsy Rintarou loves to hear Atsumu’s voice.
“I think he’s talkin’ to Keiji-kun. Bokkun’s best friend,” Atsumu answers while he pockets his phone and turns his full attention to Rintarou. “They started talkin’ about onigiri and some Tokyo branch so I just walked away,” he says with a shrug.
It’s awfully nonchalant, the way Atsumu says it, and Atsumu’s not known for being nonchalant. Rintarou raises a brow at him. “I thought you’d be more nosey.”
“Yeah, usually,” Atsumu agrees, “but I think Samu needs to get out there. Workin’ himself too hard.” He leans just the slightest bit closer, placing a finger in the air and looking a bit proud. “Plus, he asked about Keiji-kun after our match with the Adlers, and he never asks about anyone. I’m playin’ wingman.”
Rintarou tries hard not to smile at the sentence, but he knows that he fails. It’s terrible really, how often Rintarou smiles for Atsumu despite being known as Inarizaki’s least expressive player for all of his three years there. Either way, he’s accepted his fate, since Atsumu’s just full of love underneath his prickly exterior, and Atsumu truly puts effort into the people he loves.
Rintarou would know, even if Atsumu’s love for him stops at being a friend.
He can’t say any of that aloud though, so instead he attempts to neutralize his face and responds, “You’re way too involved in other people’s lives.”
“I shared the womb with the guy. I can get as involved as I want,” Atsumu retorts. “Anyway!” Atsumu exclaims with a clap of his hands, “Time for me to catch up. Can’t let ya get drunk all by yerself.”
Two drinks and seven shots of sake later, Rintarou finds himself standing next to Bokuto with Atsumu leaning into him, the weight of him feeling warm against Rintarou’s arm. Atsumu tapped out after two shots, his face and ears taking on a pretty, red flush that Atsumu swears looks perfectly normal. Rintarou, on the other hand, feels his eyelids get heavier with each movement, a small, sly grin plastered on his face.
Currently, Atsumu’s swaying against Rintarou’s side, using his elbow to prop himself up against Rintarou and saying something to Bokuto. Rintarou’s not even entirely sure what the hell he’s on about, but he’s speaking and Rintarou just wants to shut up him up—with his mouth. Which is a dangerous thought when the alcohol coursing through him itches to take the reins.
It’s horrible how much Rintarou likes to hear Atsumu’s boisterous way of talking. What he once found annoying is now one of his favorite things about the blonde-haired boy next to him. Seriously, Rintarou must have a fucked up taste in men, because he really shouldn’t be smiling at whatever Atsumu’s complaining about this time.
“Right Rin? Don’tcha agree?” Atsumu all but yells as he whips his head in Rintarou’s direction. Bad Idea.
He’s so goddamn close that Rintarou can imagine his nose grazing against his cheek, and god Rintarou’s a goddamn saint for the amount of self-control he has. With every ounce of control he can muster, Rintarou takes a finger and pushes against Atsumu’s forehead, effectively pushing Atsumu far enough to give ample space between them.
“Can’t think when you’re so close, dumbass,” Rintarou scowls.
Luckily, Atsumu doesn’t take it the way Rintarou means it and simply rolls his eyes against the finger Rintarou still has against his forehead.
“Hey! Get yer greasy finger offa me!” Atsumu complains, reaching up to take Rintarou’s finger in his hand. He doesn’t let go, instead moving Rintarou’s finger around like his own as he speaks. “And answer my question!”
Rintarou pulls his finger from Atsumu’s grip, frowning. Atsumu’s looking at him with a pursed lips and drawn brows and Rintarou wants to kiss him silly. He wonders if Atsumu’s eyes would widen in surprise, or if his smugness would cause him to smirk instead.
God he so badly wants to know. He wants Atsumu to know. He wants to eat him whole, and—
Fuck, he’s so drunk.
“Are you guys gonna kiss?”
Rintarou snaps his head in the direction of the voice, eyes finding Bokuto, whose gaze is flicking between Atsumu and Rintarou. He forgot Bokuto was even here.
With a quickness, Rintarou steps away from Atsumu and shoves his hands in his pants before they can find another place to go. “We weren’t even that close,” Rintarou counters.
“Nuh uh,” Bokuto says with a shake of his head. “Your noses were nearly touching. One second from eating each other.”
“Your eyes are playing tricks on you, Bokuto-san,” Rintarou attempts to defend again. He knows Bokuto is right, but he can’t think about that right now. Not when his self-restraint is slipping with every second.
Before Bokuto can say anything more, Rintarou offers that they take another shot, and to his surprise, Atsumu agrees with him. He claims that it’ll be his last shot of the night, and Rintarou’s almost positive that one more shot inside Atsumu and he’s going to be deliriously drunk.
Either way, Rintarou gets the three of them one last shot, and the alcohol finally catches up to him. He’s most definitely very drunk right now.
Atsumu too, apparently feels the effect of the last shot, because before long, Rintarou is dragging him to find Osamu, knowing that they’re incredibly drunk and should get home before one of them causes a scene. Atsumu’s more likely to do so, but Rintarou can’t even trust himself not to do something embarrassing.
As they approach Osamu, Atsumu yells, “Samu! Keiji-kun!” Rintarou’s dragging him along, being careful not to drag his feet so that Atsumu doesn’t trip over him.
Osamu takes one look at Atsumu and turns his gaze to Rintarou instead. “Sunarin, how could ya let this fuckin’ idiot get this drunk?”
“Fuck if I know,” Rintarou counters, unable to hide the way his speech slurs with each word.
“God, yer both plastered,” Osamu sighs, taking in the sight of the two of them. Beside him, Atsumu lifts up a peace sign, smiling so wide that his eyes are closed instead of open. “Sorry Akaashi-kun, I should probably haul these jerks back home.”
“I can help,” Akaashi offers, “You’ve been drinking too.”
Osamu shoots a smile in Akaashi’s direction, lopsided and toothy. “Appreciate the sentiment, but I think ya might have yer hands full later too,” Osamu says, pointing to Bokuto. The man in question is now in the middle of the dance floor, teaming up with Hinata to pester a tall blonde into dancing. From Rintarou’s vague memory, he recognizes the blonde as the middle blocker from Karasuno that he matched up against all those years ago.
Akaashi stares at the scene for a few seconds before he sighs and turns back to Osamu. “It was nice seeing you, Myaa-sam. Perhaps we’ll see each other again at Onigiri Miya sometime.”
“Ah, ah,” Osamu tuts. “Told ya to call me Osamu, remember?”
Osamu’s words earn an eyeroll from Akaashi, though Rintarou sees that the corners of his lips quirk upwards. “Right. I’ll see you around, Osamu.”
With that, Osamu seems satisfied, giving Akaashi one last grin before he’s turning to Atsumu and Rintarou.
“That’s my twin!” Atsumu yells, earning him a jab in the arm from Osamu.
“Say it a little louder, will ya, Tsumu?” When Atsumu looks ready to actually open up his mouth to repeat the statement, Osamu quickly shoves a hand over Atsumu’s mouth, pointedly dragging him away from Akaashi. Rintarou follows after them, keeping an eye on Atsumu’s blonde hair to keep from losing them as they find the exit.
“How much did the two of ya even drink?” Osamu asks as they finally make it out of Bokuto’s apartment door.
Before that last shot, Rintarou knew the answer to that question. Now, his memory fails him. Not like it matters anyway, since Osamu’s not actually asking for an answer.
They just barely make it down to the main street when Atsumu suddenly speaks, breaking his small moment of silence. “Samuuuu, I don’t think I can make it home,” he says, clutching onto Osamu’s shoulders. “Can I sleep on yer couch?”
“As long as ya don’t throw up anywhere,” Osamu says. He flicks his gaze in Rintarou’s direction. “What about Sunarin?”
“Well he’ll come with us obviously!”
Rintarou looks at Atsumu. “Huh? Who said that?”
Atsumu points an accusing finger at him, waggling it like a parent would. “Ya can’t even walk straight! Yer not allowed to go home by yerself! What if ya trip and die?”
“You’re being dramatic,” Rintarou says.
“Don’t care! Yer comin’ with us!” Atsumu decides, detangling himself from Osamu to clutch on Rintarou instead. With a toothy grin, Atsumu looks up at him. “We can share the couch!”
Another bad idea. For Rintarou’s own sanity, they should most definitely not share the couch.
“I would end up on the floor. You would push me off in your sleep,” Rintarou counters. He’s never slept beside Atsumu before, but he doesn’t need to add another thing to his list of Atsumu-related things that he severely craves.
“Sunarin, I can make Tsumu sleep on the floor instead,” Osamu offers. Bless his soul.
“Samu! That’s mean!” Atsumu whines, still hanging off of Rintarou. “Rin and I are sleepin’ on the couch, and that’s final.”
Damnit.
Alcohol in Atsumu’s system is simultaneously a blessing and a curse. It’s a blessing in the way that Rintarou will never hate the way Atsumu clings to him, flushed face grinning up at him in a way that makes Rintarou’s lips curve upwards. The touches Atsumu leaves all over his arms and shoulders provides Rintarou with a warmth that he’s never been able to replicate with any other feeling—something that feels euphoric along his own alcohol-induced high.
Rintarou knows it means nothing—at least, it’ll never mean anything to Atsumu in the way it means something to him. He thinks that he’s good at resigning himself to that fact, especially after all these years of being just Atsumu’s best friend. But it’s on nights like this that he has to physically fight the sadness that threatens to overtake him.
Over the years, he’d gotten better at tamping down the pit in his stomach that’s developed from the feeling of always being just a step away from being someone that Atsumu feels something for—someone that Atsumu might fall in love with the way that he’d tripped and fallen for Atsumu somewhere along the way. Tonight might just be one of those nights that hits him harder, and the way Atsumu’s dazed eyes blink up at him doesn’t do anything to relieve the pit that Rintarou’s become so good at ignoring.
Still, he allows Atsumu to lean on his shoulder, the warmth of his drunk mumbling brushing against a spot on Rintarou’s neck that sends a shiver down his spine. Osamu’s now holding onto Atsumu’s other arm, guiding the three of them through the city streets. For a second, Rintarou’s melancholy is interrupted by the thought that the three of them struggling to get to the remaining few blocks to Osamu’s apartment must be a sight to see for onlookers.
Rintarou’s not entirely sure how long it takes them to get to Osamu’s apartment, but they make it nonetheless. Not for the first time, he’s eternally grateful that Osamu lives on the first floor, making his apartment so much more accessible than his or Atsumu’s—both being on the third floor of their respective apartment complexes.
“That might’ve been the longest walk of my life,” Rintarou remarks as the three of them stand just in front of Osamu’s doorway, still holding Atsumu up. Rintarou’s far from the lanky boy he was in high school, but his hatred for overexertion has only waned the slightest bit.
Atsumu lifts his head from where it’s laying on Rintarou’s shoulder, sporting a toothy grin. “Oh, we made it!”
“With no help from ya,” Osamu says as he continues to move towards the couch, practically dragging Atsumu’s weight along with him. In a combined effort, Osamu and Rintarou get Atsumu to the couch, laying him onto it. After a moment, Osamu turns to him. “I’ll get the two of ya some blankets and clothes.”
Wordlessly, Rintarou nods, slumping back to lean on Osamu’s counter. Without something to focus on, the swaying of the ground catches back up to him. The lingering taste of alcohol on tongue has a taste that makes him just the slightest bit queasy, and he finds himself angling his head towards the ground.
The weight of the alcohol now weighs heavier on him, hitting him harder now that there’s silence for the first time that night.
“Sunarin? Ya alright?”
Rintarou lifts his head up, eyes meeting Atsumu’s over the couch. He’s now pulled himself up to a sitting position, honeyed eyes blinking up at Rintarou. In the warm sheen of Osamu’s living room lamp, Atsumu’s bleached hair almost makes him look short of angelic. It’s horrible really, how much of an effect Atsumu has on him.
“Fine,” Rintarou mumbles. “Drank too much.” A hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if attempting to rid him from the headache of being in love with this oblivious man.
“Sit with me,” Atsumu says, completely unaware of Rintarou’s inner turmoil.
Rintarou sighs, pushing up off of the counter. “I really don’t know why I keep doing this,” he mutters, still taking a seat next to Atsumu anyway. He avoids meeting Atsumu’s wide-eyed stare, already well aware that he’s weak to seeing the way Atsumu’s eyes resemble those of a puppy whenever he gets really drunk. Storing that thought in the back of his mind, he closes his eyes and tips his head against the couch headrest.
Whatever , he thinks. Rintarou’s drunk too, so techinically , he’s not in his right mind—hasn’t been since he first realized his attraction to Atsumu at 15 years old.
Unfortunately for him, Atsumu doesn’t ever let him stew in his thoughts for long. “Doin’ what?”
“Nothing,” Rintarou answers, still not turning to face Atsumu. Instead, he opens his eyes to look up at the ceiling, staring at the blank, white canvas.
He feels the couch shift a bit, and Rintarou feels something come to lay down on his lap. It’s the back of Atsumu’s head, his alcohol-flushed face looking right up at him. At this angle, Atsumu looks so pretty that Rintarou thinks he might die. Curse Atsumu and his tendency to be a clingy drunk.
“What are you doing?” Rintarou asks, trying to hide the strain in his voice. This is not a battle that he’s strong enough to fight, having Atsumu laying his head on his lap like this and having to pretend like it’s not all that Rintarou’s ever wanted.
“Bein’ annoyin’ and clingy,” Atsumu says with a grin, so oblivious to the fact that the sight of him has Rintarou wanting to fall face first onto a pillow and scream.
“Go be annoying and clingy somewhere else,” Rintarou mumbles, not sure how much longer he can put up with this. Where the hell is Osamu, anyway?
“Yer the only one that lets me be annoying and clingy,” Atsumu replies.
With a sigh, Rintarou finally just gives in. “That’s because I’d do anything for you.”
“Ya would?”
Without thinking, the words are out of Rintarou’s lips before he can think to keep his mouth shut. “Yeah, cause I like you.” The words don’t register at first, but the minute he realizes what he just admitted, his eyes fly open. “Shit.”
Atsumu sits up, peering up at Rintarou with his stupid, flushed, drunk face.
“I wasn’t supposed to say that,” Rintarou says, trying to avoid eye contact. Atsumu makes that action hard though, because he’s staring holes into the side of Rintarou’s head. “Stop looking at me like that.”
The request falls on deaf ears, and Atsumu stares at him for a moment more. Rintarou hates his life. Why’d he have to let it slip now?
Silence engulfs the two of them, and each second that passes makes Rintarou more restless. Right as he’s about to break the silence, Atsumu finally speaks.
“Can I kiss ya?”
Rintarou’s eyes snap to Atsumu’s face. He can’t entirely read what’s going through Atsumu’s mind, but that doesn’t really matter now. Atsumu asked to kiss him.
Maybe Rintarou loves his life.
Atsumu’s still drunk, if his flushed face is any indication. But Rintarou’s drunk too, and Atsumu just asked if he could kiss him.
Who the fuck is he to say no?
Finally, Rintarou nods, and within seconds Atsumu’s on him, arms coming up to wrap around Rintarou’s as his lips find his.
The kiss starts off slow—or, as slow as Rintarou’s own self-restraint will let him. Atsumu’s lips are softer than Rintarou imagined, and he can taste the alcohol on Atsumu’s tongue, hints of sake mingling between their breaths.
Rintarou wants to keep it gentle, so as to relay his feelings through the movement of his lips, but soon Atsumu’s pulling him closer and all restraint goes out the window.
Rintarou all but devours him, lips moving against Atsumu’s with the desperation of someone who’s been wanting this for far to long. He doesn’t know how long they spend with their mouths clashing against the other, but Rintarou doesn’t care. His thoughts are filled with Atsumu—Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu.
As much as Rintarou likes to hear Atsumu’s voice, he thinks that having him shut up like this is the second best thing.
Eventually, they have to part, their lungs pulling them apart. Atsumu’s lips are swollen from Rintarou’s minstrations, and god he looks beautiful.
The drunk sheen in Atsumu’s eyes is still evident, so Rintarou knows that it’s the alcohol talking when Atsumu exclaims, “We should get eloped yanno.”
Rintarou does a good job at not taking the statement seriously, because they’re not even dating, let alone ready to get married. Atsumu’s just like this when he’s drunk, spewing out whatever crosses his mind with even less of a filter than he usually does.
Rintarou rolls his eyes at him, hands stil gripping onto Atsumu’s waist. “You’re moving way too fast.”
“But wouldn’t it be fun?” Atsumu’s wide eyes are back, and it’s almost enough to make Rintarou want to give Atsumu whatever he wants. “Samu can be my best man!” Atsumu adds, his smile wide.
“I could be yer what?”
Osamu finally makes his reappearance, standing in the middle of his living room with a blanket tucked at his side. Rintarou’s glad that he’s not shy about sex or anything in that realm, because Osamu’s staring at the two of them like they’ve each grown three heads.
Atsumu’s smile practically beams at his twin’s arrival, and Rintarou knows that he’s just so drunk, because a sober Atsumu would’ve been horrified at Osamu finding them like this. Instead of being embarrassed, Atsumu doubles down, hopping off of Rintarou’s lap to stand in front of the couch. “Samu! Sunarin ‘n I are gettin’ eloped! Be my best man will ya?”
Osamu looks at Atsumu increduously, blinking as if it’d explain the sight in front of him. “What the fuck are ya on about?”
“Look, see! Sunarin kissed me.” Atsumu turns around, grabbing Rintarou’s hand and attempting to pull him up. “C’mere, Rin. Kiss me again. Samu isn’t approvin’ of our elopement.”
Rintarou stays where he is, not allowing Atsumu to pull him. “Not in front of Osamu.”
Honest to god, Atsumu pouts . It almost works, but Rintarou stands his ground, staying seated. When Atsumu realizes that Rintarou isn’t going to budge, he turns back to Osamu. “Samu! Get a video of this!”
“A video of what?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Atsumu says, grabbing his phone off the coffee table and pushing it into Osamu’s hand. “Here’s my phone, just hit record.”
Osamu shoots Atsumu a quizzical but brings the phone up anyway.
Satisfied, Atsumu pulls on Rintarou again, and this time, Rintarou allows himself to be pulled upwards. With a triumphant grin, Atsumu grabs a hold of Rintarou’s shoulders. “Rin and I are gettin’ married! Ma, Osamu’s gonna be my best man!”
From behind the camera, Osamu pokes his head out. “Ya want me to send this to Ma? Have ya finally lost it?”
Atsumu shrugs. “Maybe! Alcohol does wonders ya know!” Then, he turns to Rintarou again, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Rin, I’m gonna kiss ya again,” he says before turning back to yell at Osamu. “Samu, don’t record this!”
Osamu puts the phone back down on the coffee table, looking disgusted. “Ew, yer so weird.” He throws the blanket straight at Atsumu, earning a complaint from him. “Take these. Don’t fuck on my couch or I swear to god I’ll never let either of ya in here ever.”
Rintarou wakes to a heavy weight above him, his head pounding as he adjusts to look up at the ceiling. The crackling of oil reaches his ears, and he gets a whiff of fried eggs. Osamu must hear him stir, because Rintarou hears his voice from the kitchen. “Mornin’ lovebirds.”
“Fuck off, Osamu,” Rintarou mumbles just loud enough that Osamu will hear. “My head is pounding.”
Memories of last night flood him, and Rintarou makes the stark realization that it’s Atsumu laying on him. Rintarou had confessed last night. He confessed, and—Atsumu kissed him. He kissed him.
Speaking of Atsumu, he stirs at Rintarou’s words, sitting up with a yawn.
“Sunarin’s such a comfy pillow,” Atsumu comments, blinking the sleep away from his eyes.
“At least the two of ya didn’t spend the night down each other’s throats,” Osamu remarks, making his way to the couch and standing in front of them with a look. He wrinkles his nose at the sight of the two of them. “Or at least I fuckin’ hope not. I don’t wanna have to clean that couch.”
“What?” Atsumu asks, looking more alert.
Rintarou follows, pulling himself up until he’s sitting, his back leaning against the couch’s armrest. Despite his pounding headache, Rintarou feels incredibly light, his contentment overshadowing the hangover.
Atsumu, however, looks the opposite of relaxed. “What did ya just say?”
Instead of answering, Osamu just hands Atsumu his phone, telling him to play the most recent video in his camera roll.
With wide eyes, Atsumu navigates to his photos app, clicking on the first video. He presses play, and suddenly Atsumu’s voice sounds from the phone.
(Rin and I are gettin’ married! Ma, Osamu’s gonna be my best man!”)
It’s funny really, seeing Atsumu’s drunk movements caught on camera.
“What?!” Atsumu all but squawks. “How did this happen?!”
“Ask Rin,” Osamu snorts. “I leave the two of ya for five minutes and come back to ya yellin’ about gettin’ married.” Then, his nose wrinkles in disgust once more. “I don’t even wanna mention the makin’ out. I could’ve lived my whole without seein’ that.”
This time, Atsumu directs his wide-eyed stare at Rintarou. “Rin. Is he lying?”
“No,” Rintarou responds, still feeling relaxed.
Atsumu’s mouth drops open. “How can ya say that so casually? We made out in front of Osamu!”
Rintarou shrugs. Sure, it’s a little embarrassing, but he’s happy enough with the fact that it happened in the first place. Atsumu’s always had such expressive reactions, and Rintarou can’t help the smile that creeps up on his face at how wide-eyed Atsumu is.
Atsumu’s head switches between looking at Osamu and then Rintarou. He does it so fast that Rintarou almost worries for the state of Atsumu’s neck.
Then, with Atsumu’s next words, all of Rintarou’s contentment fades.
“It was just a mistake then! We were drunk, Samu!”
The smile immediately drops. Did he hear Atsumu right?
Atsumu turns to him. “Sunarin, back me up here,” he says.
And just like that:
Oh.
It was a drunken mistake. Atsumu’s telling him that he didn’t mean anything he did. He didn’t want to kiss Rintarou, not like that. He doesn’t feel the same way.
Rintarou feels his stomach drop.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
His lips part, and fuck it hurts.
After a moment, Rintarou tries to steady himself, forcing the lump in his throat down. “Yeah,” Rintarou eventually says. He takes a breath, hoping that his voice doesn’t shake. “It was a mistake.”
Stupid. It was all a mistake.
Rintarou shakes the memory from his head, laying his head against his steering wheel with a sigh.
He really needs to get his act together.
If he had just been a little more logical when Atsumu had kissed him in front of Sakusa and Hinata, he would’ve known that agreeing to fake date Atsumu would only end badly for him. Still, he agreed, because Atsumu has some magnetic pull to him that caught Rintarou in its orbit and has yet to let him go.
The months following his drunken confession had been hard, considering that Atsumu never once acknowledged it. Part of Rintarou knew that he likely just didn't remember the night at all, but that didn't stop the thought that perhaps Atsumu did remember, and he just didn't know how to navigate around Rintarou's feelings.
Rintarou would like to say that he was unaffected by Atsumu's silence, but the two weeks he spent avoiding Atsumu after would contradict such a statement. Texts went unanswered, but each unanswered text was followed up with another meme sent the next few days. After two weeks, Rintarou finally mustered up the courage to respond, with just a few laughing emojis and an explanation of "Sorry, I've just been really busy."
Atsumu didn't seem to mind the absence, only continuing on after as if Rintarou's lack of response didn't bother him at all. Perhaps it didn't, since it wasn't even the first time Rintarou had fallen off Atsumu's grid in an attempt to rid himself of the horrible feelings that had festered for his best friend.
Of course Atsumu didn't remember. Rintarou was finally able to put that question to rest when he finally gave in and asked Atsumu what he recalled from that night. He didn't know whether that made him feel better or worse.
Perhaps worse, since now he can't stop the pit in his stomach from forming every time Atsumu referred to him as his boyfriend, or touched him in the way a lover would. If he felt a little less for Atsumu, then perhaps he wouldn't be going through the mental trouble of repeating fake, fake, fake , every time their pretending would feel too real.
And now—it's all finally coming to head.
Rintarou should've known that it'd end this way, with him only falling desperately deeper for Atsumu while Atsumu is none the wiser, only keeping up their pretenses as part of the act. What's worse is that Atsumu seems to have gotten the hang of acting, going from awkward lies to always knowing just what to say, how to show Rintarou off to everyone else—how to be such a good boyfriend that it's driving Rintarou insane.
Because even now, even after all the flirting and advances from Rintarou's part, Atsumu still sees him as nothing more than the friend that stupidly let him pretend to be his boyfriend.
Maybe if we pretended to be in a relationship, Atsumu would end up falling for me , was his thought when this first started. A long shot really, because Atsumu's only gotten more comfortable with being affectionate while still remaining oblivious to the turmoil Rintarou feelswith each time Atsumu intertwined his hand with his.
It's horrible really, how utterly oblivious Atsumu's been to his advances. He had to know that Rintarou wouldn't dare do anything like this with anyone else, didn't he?
(“Have ya felt that way with anyone else?”
“Would ya let any of yer other friends sleep in yer bed like this?”
“It’s one of my favorite things about ya.”)
Damnit. Damnit Atsumu, why couldn't you just get it?
Then, a knock comes at his car window. "Nii-san!"
Right . Ririko. He's here to pick something up from her.
Sluggishly, Rintarou opens the car door, facing his sister. "Sorry, Riko. Got lost in thought."
Ririko snorts, eyes twinkling in amusement. "You think too much. What is it this time?"
"Nothing," Rintarou says, shaking his head. Maybe if he told someone, this whole thing wouldn't weigh so heavily on him. Still, he agreed not to let anyone know about the falsity of this relationship, and he's not about to break that now. Not when their expiration date was looming closer and closer.
Atsumu's going to approach him about breaking it off soon, he's sure of it. He even got through Sakusa's birthday without so much as a tear, so he figures that Atsumu will likely realize that there's no reason for them to keep this up anymore.
Maybe Rintarou should do himself a favor and just bring it up himself. He plans to anyway, he just has to muster up the will to do so.
With a clench of his jaw, Rintarou steps out of his car, stretching his legs from the drive to Ririko's house. She wanted to give Rintarou the old painting from their mother's house, claiming that she had nowhere to put it anyway and that Rintarou's barren apartment could use the decor. "Where's the painting?"
Ririko rolls her eyes at him. "Alright, you don't wanna talk about it I see." She begins to walk inside her front door, pointing at the painting that's been laid on a small end table. Rintarou's glad that this portion of the front doorway doesn't get much sun, or else he'd have to lecture Ririko on how to better keep the art stored. Not that it matters too much now, since it'll be in his care from now on. "I had Takashi move it, but he had to rush to work so he just left it there so it's easier for you to grab."
It's a nihonga style painting of a eurasian bullfinch perched on a cherry blossom branch. The art is beautifully made, perfectly framed within the edges of the kakejiku. He admits that it's actually a painting that would catch his own eye if he were to come across it in a shop, and it'll look nice hung up above the couch in his living room.
Tentatively, Rintarou takes one more glance at the art before moving to carefully roll it up, taking extra care not to handle it too roughly. Once he has the scroll properly rolled up, he looks to Ririko. "Thanks, I'll send you a picture of where I put it. Do you need anything else?"
His sister shakes her head. "Nothing else," she says, walking out with him. "You look a little tired though."
"Just busy. It's the playoff tournament, so there's lots of training and practice that we've been doing," Rintarou tells her.
"Oh right! Your team won the first game right?"
Rintarou nods. "We have our next game on Friday."
"Takashi and I will try to come out then. Haha 's been watching your games on the television," she says.
Rintarou thinks back to the congratulatory text his mom sent him earlier that week, enthusiastically telling him congratulations. He’s grateful for her, even if he doesn’t see her as often as he should.
Ririko begins to walk him to the door, stopping at the doorframe. "Do you play against Atsumu in this bracket?"
Rintarou shakes his head. "No, his team is on the opposite bracket. We'll only play each other if we make it to finals."
Ririko nods thoughtfully. "Tell him I said good luck," she says with a smile. "And tell him to take you out on a date soon. You look like you need it."
A sigh threatens to escape from Rintarou's lips at the statement, but he stops himself before he can let it out. There's no point in correcting her, not when she doesn't know that his relationship with Atsumu is fake. Especially not when she'd been so happy for him when she heard the news, being the only one that knows about his crush on Atsumu. Not that he ever told her--she just seemed to realize it on her own.
With a wave goodbye, Rintarou makes his way back to his car, opening up the back door to put the painting in. When he opens it, he realizes that his backseat is littered with old jackets and the duffle bag he uses for practices—far too messy for him to be comfortable putting the painting along with all the other objects. Carefully, he places the painting on the singular open seat before grabbing the jackets and duffle bag, intending to place them in his trunk.
Maybe he should've just taken his chances though, because when he opens his trunk, he's met with a gift bag and stuffed animal haphazardly laying in separate spaces of his trunk.
Atsumu's gift for Sakusa.
He'd completely forgotten to hand it to Atsumu when he dropped him home that day, and he doesn't use his car often enough to have caught it earlier.
Letting out a breath at the sight of the offending items, he pulls out his phone and clicks on his messages with Atsumu.
TO: atsumu
hey i just realized that the gift you got for sakusa is still in my trunk
TO: atsumu
i can drop it off at your apartment if you're home
His eyes flick to the gift bag and plushie, and he puts his phone down next to where he placed his duffle bag, grabbing the spilled contents of the gift. The bag is a horrid green color, reminiscent of Itachiyama's colors. Rintarou wonders if Atsumu chose such a ghastly color on purpose, a thoughtful homage to the color that Sakusa used to wear in high school.
Grabbing the plushie, he goes to place it in the gift bag, but he stops short when he notices a small slip of paper at the bottom of the bag. Against his better judgement, he pulls the slip out, immediately regretting doing so.
It’s just a small piece of cardstock, but his eyes catch on Atsumu’s handwriting, looking the neatest it’s ever looked.
For Omi-Omi! ^_^ <3
Rintarou feels a pang in his chest. Sure, Atsumu calls him “Rin” and “Sunarin”, but neither of those nicknames were dubbed by Atsumu himself. “Sunarin” was the nickname his coach used for him in high school, and “Rin” was a nickname Osamu had given him. Atsumu just seemed to pick up on both of them, using them interchangeably over the years.
Omi-Omi. Omi-kun.
Mika-chan.
Aran-kun.
Nicknames that Atsumu’s given to his crushes.
The nickname he uses for Rintarou is decidedly not one of those.
It hits him again, the realization that he will always just be Atsumu’s best friend. Even with the kisses they’ve shared, it was always Rintarou slipping up and initiating. The only time that Rintarou can think of that Atsumu ever initiated anything close to that was when he’d leaned in slightly after doing Rintarou’s eyeliner, but even then, Rintarou took note of the desire mingling in Atsumu’s eyes and knew that it wasn’t because Atsumu wanted to kiss him .
The kisses they shared always seemed to be more lust-driven on Atsumu’s end, and Rintarou would be a fool to think that moment is any different. Not that his restraint then made any difference, considering that he gave in afterwards, kissing Atsumu goodbye before they parted ways.
That’s what he intended it to be—a goodbye kiss, both literally and metaphorically. Rintarou would let him go with that kiss, was what he decided.
Now he just needs to actually make good on his word. Just once, he needs to choose himself and save the heartbreak of realizing that the past two months haven’t done anything to change Atsumu’s feelings towards him.
Suddenly, a ping on his phone gets his attention.
FROM: atsumu
I’m home
FROM: atsumu
Ya can stop by anytime :)
A smiley face, huh. Atsumu must be in a good mood, then.
A stark contrast to Rintarou’s current mood.
Staring at the smiley face Rintarou steels himself. He has to just end it here before he really ends up hurt, not that he isn’t already. He won’t ever move on from Atsumu if they’re still playing house like this.
With a sigh, he pockets his phone and stuffs the plushie in the gift bag.
I really like you, Atsumu. It’s about time I let you go.
When the door to Atsumu's apartment swings open, Rintarou's met with a beaming smile. Atsumu looks happy, Rintarou notes. Not just happy though—he looks a little nervous, his eyes flicking all over Rintarou's face.
"Hey," Rintarou says, his tone not quite right. He doesn't expect Atsumu to pick up on it though, so he doesn't really see the harm in letting the tone stay. It'll be hard enough to get the words out anyway. He doesn't need to worry about whether or not Atsumu will think that he's upset or not.
"Hi," Atsumu breathes. It's only been a week since they last saw each other—the morning after Sakusa's birthday—but Rintarou feels like it could've spanned months. He's spent enough of the past few nights laying awake to the gnawing in his chest, and he figures that the fatigue probably adds to that feeling.
Even so, Atsumu looks different. Rintarou can't exactly pinpoint it, but something about the way Atsumu looks right now tugs at his heartstrings. His blonde hair is unstyled, softly falling down his forehead in loose waves. Even his eyes, the same honeyed brown that Rintarou's grown to love, have a brighter glint to it. He's glad that Atsumu looks a lot happier now, compared to when they first started this. Heartbreak on Atsumu was always Rintarou's least favorite thing to see, because it would drain Atsumu of some of his color, and even his unshakeable sense of character, Rintarou finds that sometimes heartbreak causes Atsumu to lose some of his spark.
The heartbreak usually only stays for a little while, but it’s still an expression that Rintarou hates to see on Atsumu.
Rintarou aches at that notion, knowing that he’d love Atsumu wholeheartedly, if only Atsumu reciprocated his feelings.
Either way, the way he looks now makes the pit in Rintarou's stomach feel heavier. Perhaps it's just the knowledge that this is the last time Rintarou will be able to live in the bubble of their fake relationship before it ends.
It'll end, and Atsumu will continue on with his life, leaving their falsified relationship as a thing of the past. Rintarou, on the other hand, has his work cut out for him. Not only does he have to suffer the withdrawals of no longer being able to pretend like Atsumu's his, but he'll also have to work on moving on from Atsumu completely.
It's not like he has any other choice anyway, considering that it'd really be pathetic if he still clutched to this unrequited crush even after faking a relationship with him. He'll just have to live with the fact that he put himself out there, allowed Atsumu to treat him like a lover, and that it just wasn't enough.
If the things they've been doing weren't enough to change Atsumu's feelings, then nothing ever will. And Rintarou wants to be okay with that.
Carefully, he extends the bag towards Atsumu. "Here," he says as Atsumu takes it from him. "Sorry that I didn't notice that I still had it."
Atsumu waves him off, letting the hand holding the gift bag fall unceremoniously at his side. "It's alright. Didn't really even notice."
"It got a little fucked up in the trunk too. That's my fault," Rintarou adds. He knows that he's stalling.
Atsumu shakes his head in response. "Seriously, Rin. It's alright," he assures. "It doesn't mean anything to me now, anyway."
And there it is: the confirmation that Atsumu's over Sakusa. Something in Rintarou feels like it plummets at the realization.
In normal circumstances, he probably would've been happy to hear the news. Not only would Atsumu stop hurting, but it would mean that Atsumu was able to open up his heart again.
But the situation they're in is far from normal, and one of the defining reasons for their relationship was the fact that Atsumu was still hung up on Sakusa. Now that that's gone, Atsumu has no reason to keep him by his side as a fake boyfriend.
"Wanna come in?" Atsumu asks. He looks hesitant as he poses the question, but Rintarou doesn't make a move to step forward.
"Atsumu," Rintarou says instead. He's still standing outside of the apartment, and Atsumu’s still leaning against the doorway. "Should we break up?"
It sounds so real, the way Rintarou says it. He's sure that Atsumu can see right through him—right through the emotion that doesn’t belong to someone who’s just a friend. There's no way that he can't tell, not when Rintarou is approaching him like this. Rintarou's always been able to take things with stride—most things, but not Miya Atsumu. He thinks that Atsumu has this special ability to make Rintarou feel so strongly that it translates onto his face, something that he's gotten so good at controlling over the years.
"What?" Atsumu's voice is quiet, and his eyes are wide as they stare at Rintarou. "Ya wanna break up?"
No, he thinks. He would choose to stay like this, if only it was real.
Rintarou doesn't say that though. Instead, he swallows the lump in his throat and says, "You're over him. I can tell."
Atsumu seems to pale at the statement, and Rintarou can't help but feel as if he's said something wrong. His words shouldn't warrant such a reaction from Atsumu, but he's definitely sure that he's correct in his assumption.
"How long have you known?" is what Atsumu asks. "How long have ya known that I don't like Omi-kun like that anymore?"
It's an odd question to ask, Rintarou thinks. Why would it matter how long he's known? He doesn't even know what the right answer would be.
"I had a feeling. You've seemed happier lately," Rintarou says instead.
Rintarou wishes to be the reason behind Atsumu's recent happiness, but he's been hurt by the unrequitedness of his feelings enough times to know that even if it seemed like Atsumu was happier because of him, it likely isn't true.
It's just a trick his mind likes to play on him, just like the night when they first kissed. He’d mistaken Atsumu’s gentle way of kissing him for a feeling that’s never been reciprocated. He was sure before that the gentle way Atsumu first kissed him meant something. He knows now that it didn't.
"You know, don't ya?" Atsumu's voice is uncharacteristically small, and for a split second, he looks heartbroken.
That can't be right. Why would Atsumu be heartbroken over hearing that Rintarou knows that he's over Sakusa?
"About Sakusa?"
"No," Atsumu starts, "I thought—" He cuts himself off mid-sentence, looking at Rintarou in distress.
Rintarou smiles at him, hoping to reassure Atsumu. He’s not even entirely sure what he’s trying to reassure him on, but he figures that he should meet Atsumu halfway. He always does, always observing the other and understanding the things Atsumu doesn’t say. "I pay attention to you, Atsumu," Rintarou says.
You always have my attention. I'm always looking to you, even when I try not to.
"Oh," Atsumu says weakly.
Rintarou falters for a second, taking in the way Atsumu's expression has changed.
"Is something wrong?"
If anything, Atsumu looks even more upset. "I—" he starts before swallowing. "Sorry."
Now it's Rintarou's turn to look confused. Atsumu rarely ever says sorry. In fact, he thinks he’s only heard Atsumu say it twice in his life, this moment included.
"What are you saying sorry for?"
"You knew," Atsumu says, as if it explains everything. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"
A crease forms between Rintarou's brows. Why would knowing about Atsumu no longer liking Sakusa make him uncomfortable?
"I just know that it was the reason we started this. It's okay that you didn't tell me right away," Rintarou attempts to reassure him again. "I know it's been a busy week. With the playoff bracket and everything."
"Right," Atsumu nods, looking dazed. It's almost as if he's not even listening to what Rintarou's saying, too caught up in his own thoughts. "Then, ya wanna break up?"
"Isn't that what we agreed on? We pretended to be in a relationship because of the whole Sakusa thing."
Atsumu shuffles on his feet. The way that they're standing feels makes the small distance between them feel thick with tension and awkwardness. "What about Komori then? He's over you?"
"I think so," Rintarou says. He's not entirely sure about Komori, but it's not like it matters now. Even if Komori's not over him quite yet, there's really no reason to prolong this lie. No other reason besides Rintarou's own selfish desire to keep it going.
For a moment, it's silent between the two of them. Rintarou doesn't know if he's imagining it, but Atsumu seems so upset, and for the first time, Rintarou can't read him.
"What do we tell people?" Atsumu finally asks.
"We can tell them that it just didn't work out. That we're better off as friends," he says. The words are hard to get out, but it's a notion that Rintarou's been repeating to himself for the past few weeks anyway. Friends . He's always just a friend to Atsumu.
"Friends," Atsumu echoes.
"Yeah." Rintarou feels a clench in his jaw from the sadness of it all, but he knows that he has to let Atsumu go. He can't just keep holding his hand and kissing him and constantly, always, wanting more. It hurts to know that Atsumu doesn't shy away from all those things, despite not returning his feelings.
Rintarou knows that the kissing and the affection isn’t the problem. Atsumu can reciprocate all those things with ease—welcomes it even. It's just with that knowledge that Rintarou knows that that's likely all it is to Atsumu: attraction, physical intimacy.
The one thing Atsumu can’t reciprocate is love. Rintarou can't keep pretending like it doesn't hurt to see lust behind Atsumu's eyes when he so badly wants it to be love instead.
"I should get going," Rintarou finally says. If he stays here any longer he might do something stupid, like cry. He really doesn't want Atsumu to see that. "Good luck on your game this weekend," he musters a smile, "I'll be cheering you on."
Atsumu meets his eyes once more, and Rintarou tries not to get caught on the clench of Atsumu’s jaw. "Yeah,” he says, uncharacteristically quiet. “I'll cheer ya on too."
It's then that Rintarou wishes he could say it again, the five words that he's always known. I'm in love with you.
It would be nice to say it once, when they're both sober and Atsumu can remember it. But Rintarou knows better than that. He knows that it'd do neither of them any good for him to say it again.
So he doesn't. Instead he tells Atsumu goodbye, and walks down the stairs of his apartment complex. When he’s back in the driver’s seat of his car, he finally allows himself to let the tears out. He’s never cried over Atsumu before, but he figures that now is the best time to finally accept the hurt.
It was real to me, Atsumu. I hope a part of you knows that. You deserve to know that you're loved.
Notes:
very angsty chapter for a very angsty guy. if you look up yearning and pining in the dictionary, a picture of suna rintarou will be there
i hope his hurt makes sense to you guys though, because as i was writing the flashback scene i completely undterstood why suna is so dead set on believing that atsumu doesn't return his feelings... then again, i did write it all, so i sure hope that i would understand LMFAO
hoping to get the final chapter out before mid-january, but maybe a strike of writer mania will hit me. either way, my pen will be on fire, TRUST!
Chapter 6: the look of love
Summary:
atsumu miya: 0
world: 1
Notes:
it's finally here!! don't be alarmed by the fact that there's a chapter after this - the original ending chapter was just a whopping 16k words so i decided to split it ! the title of this chapter is from the song "no.1 party anthem" by arctic monkeys, which was a great bg song for when i wrote this chapter :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The MSBY Black Jackals cinch their fourth win, and as the volleyball drops to the ground in the opposing team's court, Atsumu feels exhilarated.
"The MSBY Black Jackals are moving on to the finals!"
The sound of the speaker breaks the silence of the ball dropping, and suddenly, cheers and hollers erupt, echoing throughout the stadium. Around him, people are moving—Hinata is giving Bokuto a high-five, Meian is wiping sweat from his forehead, Inunaki is clapping a hand on his back. Atsumu's happy, of course he is. Volleyball is the only thing that can pull him from his deepest depths of sadness, the familiarity and thrill of it feeling like home.
Still, he feels a piece missing—a piece by the name of Suna Rintarou.
Games and practices have been his only reprieve since the words "break-up" left Suna's lips—the feeling of smooth leather being the only thing that can come close to the comfort of Suna's touch. Atsumu hasn't heard from him since their breakup, and his days feel entirely too empty without Suna's presence.
He's not sure how he managed stretches like this before, when Suna would fall off the grid and leave him without responses for weeks. Atsumu supposes that was because he used to feel secure in where he stood with his best friend. After putting up with his antics for years, weeks without talking to Suna never felt too long, because Atsumu always knew that all it would take was a phone call to bring him back, even if his texts remained unanswered. Without fail, Suna would always answer back, even if took some time.
Suna's tendency to respond to texts slowly never felt personal. Back then, it was just a characteristic of his, something that Atsumu had just grown accustomed to over their years of being friends.
Now, it feels personal.
He allows himself a sigh as the team makes their way to the locker room. Games have been the only place where he’s been able to effectively lock out thoughts of Suna, momentarily being able to focus on the adrenaline before his wallowing returns. Now that they’ve played and won, Atsumu doesn’t stop his thoughts from wandering back to Suna.
His moods have been so bad lately that even Sakusa offhandedly asked if he was doing alright after their last practice. If his mood affected his playing, he’s sure that Coach Foster would’ve approached him too.
Whatever , Atsumu thinks. Nothin’ that they’re not used to .
As long as he keeps playing well, then it’s just fine that he keeps moping too.
He’s entitled to his own moping anyway, considering that he’d basically been rejected. Not that he ever gave a formal confession, but Suna said that he knew .
Or at least, that’s how he best remembers it. The moment Suna suggested the breakup, he had a hard time following any words after.
He was painfully obvious about his feelings, and since Suna has the ability to read him so well, he wouldn’t put it past him to have picked up on his feelings. Either way, Suna wouldn’t have broken up with him if he liked Atsumu back, so the question of whether Suna actually knows about his feelings is basically null.
Atsumu busies himself with packing up, slipping off the slippers he uses for the locker rooms and pulling out a pair of socks from his duffle bag.
Get it together Miya , he grumbles to himself. He grabs a sock, bending his leg so that he can slot his foot in.
As he works the sock up his leg, a voice catches his attention. “Shoyo, we’re gonna be playing the Adlers for finals.”
Atsumu’s head whips up at that, his left sock just barely pulled over his foot. The Adlers were playing the EJP Raijin today. That means—
“EJP lost?” He knows that Sakusa was talking to Hinata, presumably because both Ushijima and Kageyama are on the Adlers. It makes sense for them to be the prime team that the two would look forward to playing against. Still, he’s never a problem with butting into people’s conversations, and he’s not about to start now.
Sakusa nods, turning his gaze from Hinata to say, “Yeah. Toya texted me. Their game ended 30 minutes ago.”
He should text Suna, just to check up on how he feels about the loss. Well, maybe not just because of that, but it’s an easier conversation starter than “ Hey sorry I haven’t texted but ya really broke my heart, which is really more my fault, but is there any chance I misheard ya and ya actually have real feelings for me? Just double checking.”
Pulling out his phone, he opens up his messages to Suna for what might be the tenth time that week. He tries to avoid reading the last text sent, but he fails anyway.
Ya can stop by anytime :)
He didn’t even care about the gift bag Suna was returning, he was just excited to see him then.
Ah, he shouldn’t start brooding again. Atsumu starts typing before he can talk himself out of it.
TO: sunarin
I saw the score
God he’s hopeless. What kind of opening is that?
Frowning, he goes to type out a second message, but a response appears before he can even click on the text box.
FROM: sunarin
yeah. tough game, they just outplayed us
TO: sunarin
Ya feelin’ alright about it?
FROM: sunarin
there’s always next year’s playoffs
i should be congratulating u tho
you’re finals bound
TO: sunarin
Will ya come? To the final game?
Atsumu stares at the message, anxiously waiting for Suna’s typing bubble to pop up.
FROM: sunarin
you want me to come?
TO: sunarin
Yes
FROM: sunarin
okay
i’ll be there
Atsumu smiles at the message, feeling as if he’s gained at least a small win. Suna will be there in the stands, and maybe that’ll be enough for him.
“You finally texted Suna then?” Sakusa asks from his locker. Sans mask, Atsumu can see the smirk he’s wearing.
“None of yer business, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, childishly pulling an expression.
“Kiyoomi don’t tease him,” Hinata says, “He’s barely smiled these past few weeks,” he adds, lowering his voice, as if trying to whisper.
Atsumu moves his gaze to Hinata. “I heard that Shoyo-kun.”
“Whoops, sorry Miya-san!” he says, not looking apologetic in the slightest. “It’s just good to see you smile again. You’re scary when you’re moody.”
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” Atsumu remarks, though his tone is light. In fact, everything feels a little lighter. It’s a little pathetic how a few texts from Suna have turned his mood around, but he’s accepted that Suna just has that effect on him.
For the first time in two weeks, Atsumu walks out of the Black Jackals’ training facility with a smile on his face.
Match point. 32-33, in favor of the MSBY Black Jackals.
Atsumu flexes his fingers, awaiting the serve from behind him. It's been a grueling game, and he can feel the way that his lungs beg him for a break, despite how high his stamina already is. He knows everyone on the court feels it too, considering how messy their plays have gotten as a side effect of the exhaustion.
One more point.
The Adlers easily receive Inunaki's serve, but that's not a problem. Now, the real show begins.
Atsumu's eyes flick over the opposite side of the court, simultaneously taking note of where his own players are on the side of the court. Another bump--this time to Kageyama. Atsumu reads the set quickly, and so do Thomas and Meian. They aren't able to completely block Romero's spike, but they force his shot right to Inunaki--a good play.
His brain whirls at an amazing speed, analyzing where to send his set. He could go for a quick with Hinata down the center, or he could choose to go with Sakusa, who's gearing up at the left wing. There's two blockers directly in front of Sakusa, but going for a quick with Hinata means that Hinata will have to make a cross-shot against all 202cm of Sokolov.
Then he feels it. Bokuto's presence on the right wing, his adrenaline practically emanating off of his body.
This timing. This angle.
He sends it right to the spot where he knows Bokuto's palm will be.
"The MSBY Black Jackals have won it! They've won it all!"
In an instant, a heavy weight is pouncing on his back as the stadium erupts in familiar cheers, nearly deafening as spectators jump up in the stands.
"Tsum-Tsum! That set was great! We won!"
Bokuto's far from light, and Atsumu just barely gets enough footing so that the mass of the man doesn't send him careening face-first onto the floor. Thank god, he thinks. It'd be embarrassing to pull himself off of the court with a bleeding nose just seconds after they won the most important game of their season.
With Bokuto still bouncing around him with his hands on his shoulders, Atsumu breaks out into a grin and pumps his fist into the air.
This is the second time that he's won the finals with MSBY, but nothing can top the rush that zips through him as he takes in the final score, his gaze traveling around the stadium at all the spectators that came to watch.
Well—maybe one thing can top that.
He lets his gaze fall straight to the lower bowl, just a few rows behind their team bench. There, in the stands, is Suna, beaming and prideful.
It's like a scene straight out of a movie, with the rest of the crowd fading as his eyes lock with Suna's green, his own crooked smile directed right at Atsumu. Suna doesn't often smile in that way, toothy and lit up.
Atsumu sears the memory into his mind, wishing that he had a camera to take a picture so as to never lose this image.
With Suna's figure still in his vision and the cheers ringing in his ears, he makes a resolution then, one that he should've made from the very beginning:
Fuck it. I'm gonna tell him how I feel. Just ya wait, Rin.
He goes through the motions of wrapping up a finals match—shaking hands with the other team, posing for cameras, and taking a team photo with their shiny, gold trophy. Atsumu is practically beaming, feeling waves of adrenaline and glee pass through him.
After their team photo, one of their managers takes the trophy to the locker room, but Atsumu hangs back. Suna’s standing in the area of the court where fans are allowed to be after games, patiently waiting while scrolling on his phone. Atsumu knows that he sat with Komori during the game, but he doesn’t see any sight of the other man, and Atsumu guesses that he’s probably congratulating Sakusa somewhere.
Either way, Atsumu basically has tunnel vision, not paying attention to anything else as he approaches Suna.
“Rin!”
At the sound of his name, Suna looks up, a small smile playing at his lips. Atsumu’s not sure if he’s lovestruck or if it’s just the weeks of not seeing Suna, but he looks downright heavenly—so attractive that Atsumu wishes that he could pull him into an empty corner and kiss him till their lips are bruised.
Ignoring the part of his brain that tells him that he’s not allowed to do that, he focuses instead on the happiness he gets just from seeing Suna. He doesn’t want to ruin his mood with thoughts like that right now.
“Hey,” Suna says, his voice low and soft. Atsumu missed hearing it. “You played really well.”
Atsumu’s heart swells. God, he really could kiss him right now.
Not yet. Gotta tell him first.
“Thanks fer coming,” Atsumu replies, his breathing speeding up at the sight of the small smile that Suna sports.
He may have walked off the court with a shiny, gold trophy, but he swears that Suna’s smile is the best prize he could’ve been given.
“I would’ve come anyway, even if you didn’t ask. To support you,” Suna says, still sporting a smile. Then, his smile falters the slightest bit, and he adds, “And the rest of the team.”
Right . Rest of the team. Not just him.
Fuck it . He doesn’t care. He just needs Suna to know.
“Rin, I wanted—”
Before he can finish his sentence, he hears Meian’s voice from behind him. “Atsumu!” He turns to see that Meian’s standing next to an interviewer, seemingly wrapping up an interview of his own. The interviewer eyes him too. “Ya gotta do an interview!”
Damnit . He looks between Suna and Meian, not wanting to leave Suna just yet.
“Go,” Suna encourages. “I’ll see you at the celebration. Osamu and Akaashi planned it.”
“Okay,” Atsumu breathes. He touches Suna’s wrist, giving him a smile. “I’ll see ya then. Wait fer me.”
Atsumu meets Suna’s eyes, heart beating a little faster as Suna nods. “Okay.”
With that, he withdraws his hand from Suna’s wrist, turning and walking to where the interviewer stands. To his displeasure, the interview lasts longer than he expects, considering that there seems to be a lot that this interviewer wants to ask him. Usually, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to talk up the cameras, but by the interviewer’s fourth question he’s answering with two sentence answers.
Eventually, the interviewer exhausts all of his questions, and Atsumu finally heads to the locker rooms, feeling more worn than he did after spending a grueling four sets on the court.
Thirty minutes later, Atsumu finds himself at the door of Osamu’s apartment with Bokuto at his side. He’s lightly buzzed, since Meian goaded him and most of the team into finishing a champagne bottle in the locker room with the reasoning of “Cmon guys, we just won the fuckin’ finals!” As he feels the light giddiness in his fingers, Atsumu decides that it was a good choice to say yes to champagne.
Atsumu figures he’ll need the liquid courage anyway. It’s one thing to give a confession, but it’s another thing entirely to give a confession despite not knowing for sure if he really got rejected the first time. If luck is on his side, then it’d be true that he misunderstood what Suna meant, and that he was not rejected during their break-up. If luck isn’t on his side, then Suna will have to reject him a second time.
He really hopes that luck is on his side tonight.
Bokuto knocks on the door, and after a few seconds the door swings open to reveal Suna. Atsumu feels his nerves hit him as Suna’s eyes slide over to him.
“Suna!” Bokuto exclaims, with energy that strongly contrasts Suna’s.
It seems as though Suna’s gotten used to Bokuto’s outbursts though, since he doesn’t even flinch, saying, “Congrats on the game-winning spike. Shit was fire.”
Bokuto stares at Suna for a moment before whispering in Atsumu’s direction. “What does ‘shit was fire’ mean? Is that a good thing?”
“I think so,” Atsumu whispers back. Pleasantly, he finds that his small exchange with Bokuto causes amusement to litter Suna’s features.
Suna steps to the side, allowing space for the two of them to enter. “Are you guys gonna come in?”
“Oh yeah!” Bokuto walks into Osamu’s apartment, looking excitedly towards the kitchen. Atsumu follows after him, sparing a glance in Suna’s direction when he turns away to shut the door closed. “Where’s Akaashi and Myaa-sam?”
“Right here,” Osamu calls out, walking out of his room with Akaashi in tow.
A devious smirk grows on Bokuto’s face as he begins to wiggle his brows. “What were the two of you up to in there?”
“Bokuto-san, we were not doing anything dirty,” Akaashi responds.
“If I were you, Akaashi, I would be taking every opportunity to jump Myaa-sam’s bones,” Bokuto says with a shrug. The statement earns him stares from all of the people in the room. “What? Am I wrong?”
Osamu lets out a chuckle. “I’m glad ya think I’m attractive Bokuto-san.”
“My pleasure,” Bokuto responds in turn, seemingly unfazed by Akaashi’s crossed arms. “Don’t look at me like that Akaashi. I still remember all the texts you would send me about him before you started dating.”
Osamu turns to Akaashi, a wolfish grin growing on his face. “Oh really?”
“Yes, I wanted you to fuck me on every flat surface I could think of,” Akaashi says with the straightest face Atsumu’s ever seen. Osamu’s grin slowly drops as his eyes widen and the tips of his ears turn red.
Beside Atsumu, Bokuto lets out a hearty laugh. “I didn’t think you’d actually say it in front of everyone!”
“Atsumu looks like he needs a drink,” Akaashi says, taking in the mortified look on Atsumu’s face. Gladly, Atsumu takes the invitation, heading straight for the fridge as another knock comes from the door. From his crouched position in front of the fridge, Atsumu hears Hinata’s voice fill the apartment.
“We managed to drag Bakayama and Ushijima-san along!”
Atsumu pops his head out of the kitchen to take a peek at the front door, and finds that Hinata and Sakusa (probably mostly Hinata) got more than just Kageyama and Ushijima to come.
As all the bodies file in, Atsumu recognizes them as members of the Karasuno team from their high-school days. There’s the freckled boy with the nasty jump floater, the blonde middle blocker that Suna loved picking fights with, and a small blonde girl that he can’t quite remember. Just when Atsumu thinks that’s the end of it, another two come from behind the group—a guy about the same height as Hinata with long highlighted hair, and a much taller man with a bad case of bedhead. From where he’s standing, Atsumu would guess that this guy is about the same height as Suna and Sakusa, which is to say: pretty tall, especially for someone that doesn’t play professional volleyball. Or at least, Atsumu doesn’t think he does, but he does look oddly familiar.
Atsumu leans against the kitchen counter, popping open a can of beer as he scans the room for Suna. To his surprise, Suna’s still mingling by the door. Huh, that’s odd.
He figures he should probably go and make talk with the group that just filed in, but he’s too impatient for that right now. With an unopened can of beer in one hand and his own beer in the other, Atsumu makes a beeline to where Suna’s standing.
“Rin, I got ya a beer,” Atsumu says as he reaches him. Suna eyes the beer, his eyes flicking to Atsumu’s face before he takes the cold can from Atsumu’s hand. For a second, Atsumu thinks that Suna’s gaze holds a bit of sadness to it, but Suna’s gaze is gone from him before he can think to analyze it.
“Thanks,” he says as he goes to crack it open.
Before Suna can even take a sip, Atsumu finds himself saying, “I was thinking, maybe we could ta—”
Another knock.
Atsumu’s sure that Suna heard him, but he looks to the door instead. “I’m gonna answer that.”
As Suna moves to open the door, Atsumu lets out a small sigh. “Yeah. Sure, go ahead,” he says to nobody in particular.
For a moment, Atsumu feels a little dejected, but when the door opens to reveal Kita and Aran, Atsumu feels the feeling of dejection fade.
The night just started, Atsumu reminds himself. Aran-kun and Kita-san would tell me that too, if they knew.
It’s funny, really, how his voices of reason always seem to take the form of Kita and Aran.
Atsumu goes to greet his seniors, a smile building on his face. He makes a boisterous greeting, obnoxiously playing up the annoyingness of it just because he knows that it’ll rile Aran up. His greeting gets his intended reaction, because within seconds of stepping inside the apartment, Aran’s already pinching the bridge of his nose. Atsumu grins triumphantly, but it quickly falters as he notices Suna slip away from them.
Aran and Kita are talking between themselves, so Atsumu doesn’t feel bad for looking around the room instead of staying engaged in the conversation. To his displeasure, Suna’s now standing on the opposite side of the room, having a conversation with Kageyama. Normally, Atsumu wouldn’t pay any mind to it, but he knows that Suna heard him earlier. Even if he did get interrupted, he knows that Suna read him well enough to know what Atsumu wanted to say.
It’s early. It’s fine, he tells himself.
Except, it’s not fine anymore—not when the night continues on and Atsumu makes the realization that Suna is set on avoiding him.
When Bokuto initiates a house shot, Suna stands between Kageyama and the tall guy with bedhead instead of standing with Atsumu. Atsumu tells himself that it’s not the end of the world, and Suna’s probably just having a conversation with Kageyama that he hasn’t finished yet. It was fine.
Suna eventually leaves Kageyama’s side, only to head to kitchen and start taking shots with Hinata and the guy that Atsumu eventually figured out was Hinata’s sponsor, Kodzuken. For some frustrating reason, Suna stands between the two of them, not allowing Atsumu to slip in beside him and insert himself in the conversation. Of course, Atsumu could disrupt any time he wants, but he doesn’t want to do anything rash quite yet. Especially not when he’s at a vulnerable disadvantage here, since he’s the one that’s obviously trying to get Suna’s attention.
As he takes his third shot of sake, Atsumu begins to feel restless. He wonders if Suna’s avoidance is a confirmation of him knowing about Atsumu’s feelings. He might be avoiding him because he knows how Atsumu feels about him, and he doesn’t want to lead him on. That thought immediately makes him feel sick to his stomach, and he downs another shot to mask the sudden wave of sadness that the thought brings.
“You doing alright, man?”
Atsumu looks over in the direction of the voice, finding that the tall man with the messy hair is now sitting next to him on the couch. Out of all the people Atsumu expected to check on his foul mood, this guy was the last person he’d expect. Or well—that’s not completely true. The tall blonde guy would probably take that spot instead.
‘’I’m fine,” Atsumu mumbles out, staring at his empty shot glass and feeling the world start to get dizzy around him. He sets the shot glass down, deciding that he’s probably had enough for tonight. One more shot and he’d probably start getting emotional over Suna avoiding him, and even he knows better than to ruin the mood like that. “What’s yer name by the way? Ya look familiar.”
“I’m Kuroo,” he says. “I’m one of Bo’s best friends.”
Atsumu nods, vaguely remembering the name. He flicks his eyes back to the kitchen where Suna’s still drinking, now with the addition of Bokuto, Akaashi, and Osamu. “The little guy. Shoyo-kun’s sponsor. Is he yer friend too?” Atsumu asks, recalling how the two of them came together.
Kuroo takes a swig of the beer can in his hand and hums. “Yeah, Kenma’s my best friend. We’ve been friends since I was eight and he was seven,” he says. “Next door neighbors.”
He nods again, not yet taking his eyes away from where Suna stands next to the guy he now knows is Kenma. It doesn’t look like they’re talking much, and Atsumu figures that this Kenma guy probably isn’t the most sociable person in the world. Still, Suna seems to be able to pull some conversation from him, and for some reason, Atsumu doesn’t feel the jealousy he’s been feeling all night.
The reason for that quickly becomes apparent to him, as he turns his gaze away from the kitchen and back to Kuroo.
Except, Kuroo’s looking at the kitchen too.
Even as Atsumu looks at him, Kuroo doesn’t immediately take his attention away from the kitchen, and Atsumu makes the stark realization that he recognizes the look on Kuroo’s face. Despite the red flush to his cheeks, Kuroo’s eyes seem to be set on one person in particular, and three things stick out from the way his gaze follows Kenma’s every movement.
There’s admiration, love, and a hint of sadness. He looks at Kenma as if he’s resigned himself to some form of yearning, and Atsumu can tell that this isn’t a recent feeling for him. No, the look in Kuroo’s eyes betray a melancholy that only forms after years of feeling some way for someone.
“Ya like him,” Atsumu says without thinking. His words finally pull Kuroo’s gaze away from the kitchen and he lets out a chuckle before taking another sip of beer.
“Am I really that obvious?”
“No,” Atsumu finds himself saying. It was obvious to him, but that’s only because—
It’s only because he recognizes that look. Suddenly, Atsumu feels himself still, the weight of a realization crashing into him at full force.
“Someone’s looked at me like that too,” Atsumu says, almost dazedly.
He recognizes the look, the same bittersweet way Kuroo’s eyes follow Kenma’s. He recognizes it from yellow-tinted green eyes, because that’s been the unexplainable twinge in Suna’s eyes that he could never put a name to before. It’s a look that’s always been directed at him.
Oh.
Suna’s feelings, they’re—
Fuck. How couldn’t he see it before?
“You look like you just realized something,” Kuroo points out.
Atsumu turns in his direction, blinking rapidly. “Does he know? Did ya tell him?”
Kuroo shakes his head. “I haven’t told him. Sometimes I feel like he knows, but he hasn’t said anything.”
“Are ya ever gonna tell him?”
Another sip of beer. Ah, this is probably a sore topic. Still, Atsumu’s too far in now and Kuroo hasn’t shut down his questions, so he figures that it’s fine to keep asking.
“Maybe,” Kuroo starts. “Honestly though, I don’t think I’ll ever make the first move. I know I’m in love with him, but our friendship means too much to me for me to ruin it if he doesn’t feel the same.”
Atsumu frowns, looking down at the floor. “Doesn’t it hurt though? Keeping it in?”
He’s only kept his feelings for Suna a secret for about a month now, and keeping it in has already nearly driven him insane. Atsumu doesn’t know long Kuroo’s liked Kenma for, but it has to be painful, not saying anything after all these years.
“It does,” Kuroo says after a moment. “I think it’s more on me for being a coward though. A part of me always feels like he’s never gonna want me back the way I want him, and if I already feel that way, then I don’t see the point in disrupting the peace we have,” he pauses before adding, “even if it hurts. I’ve just learned to live with it, I think.”
Atsumu looks back at the kitchen, his heart nearly stopping when he realizes that Suna’s been looking at him. He half expects him to pull his gaze immediately, but he lets it linger for a moment before he looks away to down a shot.
It’s the same. Atsumu’s sure of it. That look—its the same way Kuroo looked at Kenma.
“It’s him isn’t it? The one standing next to Kenma,” Kuroo says as Atsumu openly stares at Suna’s side profile.
He probably doesn’t know that in the public eye, Atsumu and Suna already dated. Still, Atsumu has been putting off telling Osamu about the break-up—or really, he’s been putting off telling anyone. Briefly, he wonders if anyone in this room knows that him and Suna aren’t “together” anymore. He’s sure that some of his team members have an inkling, considering Atsumu’s recent mood and the fact that him and Suna haven’t talked much all night.
Or maybe they’re all too drunk to notice. That makes it better for him, because once other people start finding out that they broke up, it becomes real.
“You should tell him,” Kuroo adds. “I feel like you’re a lot braver than I am, Miya.”
For a second, Atsumu wonders how Kuroo knows his name, but he remembers that he’s one of Bokuto’s best friends, so it only makes sense for him to know who he is.
That’s it then. That’s the push Atsumu’s been needing all night.
“I think I will,” Atsumu decides, standing from the couch. “Wish me luck. I hope it works out for ya, too.”
Kuroo smiles at him, giving him a little thumbs up as he wishes Atsumu good luck. Then, before Atsumu can let anything else stop him, he makes a beeline for the kitchen.
Immediately, Suna’s eyes catch his, holding his gaze for a tension-filled moment. Atsumu doesn’t even have to say anything before Suna’s placing his shot glass down on the counter and excusing himself from the small crowd.
So, Suna was definitely avoiding him before. Not that it matters now, because Atsumu’s gonna talk to him even if he has to physically drag him by the hand.
He’s glad that he doesn’t have to resort to that though, since Suna follows him out of the door without a word.
The night breeze hits him, momentarily making him more aware of his surroundings. Suna leans against the wall right next to the door, and Atsumu takes the space beside him.
Suna doesn’t look at him, instead gazing out at something into the distance. Atsumu swallows the lump in his throat, knowing that this is all in his hands. If Atsumu’s assumptions about Suna’s feelings for him are correct, then he knows that Suna won’t be the one speaking first.
They stand there in silence for what feels like forever, but it doesn’t look like Suna minds it all that much, still looking out into the distance. Atsumu tries to find the right words, something that encompasses all that he wants Suna to hear. He’s putting himself out on a limb here, he knows. It’s entirely too possible that he made the wrong assumption, thinking that Suna might’ve felt the same way this whole time. There’s an even worse possibility though: the possibility that Suna does already know about Atsumu’s feelings, that he knows , and still doesn’t want him.
But Atsumu can’t let him go on a maybe. He can’t let this unspoken thing hang between the two of them just because of what might be a misunderstanding.
Suna’s avoiding his gaze, just like he’s done all night, and Atsumu takes the time to study him again.
Suna’s fucking beautiful, and Atsumu’s a goddamn idiot for not being able to just vomit out the words that he’s been wanting to say all night. Even with the alcohol coursing through him, a pull of hesitation silences his tongue.
Atsumu’s rarely been scared to go for anything in his life, but something about Suna makes him afraid to mess it all up. They’ve been best friends for years, and Suna has become such an integral part of who he is. He can’t afford to lose him if this all goes south.
It’s his fault, for dragging them in this mess in the first place. It’s his fault for falling for the boy that’s been a steady presence his life since their time at Inarizaki. A lot of things in his life have been his fault, but even for all the jabs Suna makes, he’s never made Atsumu feel like it’s his fault, even if it was.
He gets it now, what Suna meant about looking at a person and knowing they wouldn’t want to be with anyone else. Because Suna makes him feel seen and understood.
So, instead of words, Atsumu does what he does best—he speaks through his actions.
He finds himself turning to face Suna, and in a second he’s pulling Suna’s lips to his.
It’s gentle in a way. He doesn’t want this to be like all the other kisses they’ve shared—awkward or fast-paced. After a beat, Suna’s reciprocating, and as Atsumu tastes the alcohol on his tongue, he makes the realization that this particular action might be a mistake. He should’ve said something first—said something that will make Suna see that he’s not just kissing him because of the drunkenness of his body. He doesn’t want to consider the possibility that Suna’s only kissing him back because he’s drunk too.
That last thought only stays at bay for a split second.
It stays at bay until skillful hands grasp at the fabric of his hoodie, accompanied by a hungry tongue in Atsumu’s mouth. It’s fast, and the movements Suna takes are far more careless than Atsumu’s ever felt when they kissed. It’s messy, and uncomposed, and— fuck Suna’s drunk.
His hands are less coordinated, and his eyes look hazy under the yellow light of Osamu’s front door. Suna is so so beautiful under this light, but—
It doesn’t feel right .
“Wait,” Atsumu whispers as he pulls his lips away from the intoxicating hunger of Suna’s own. He keeps a firm grip on Suna’s left arm, not wanting the closeness between them to disappear, even if he went about this all wrong.
He just needs to get his head right. A confession whispered between alcohol-coated tongues isn’t the way to do this, not after all of this pretending. He needs it to feel real—as real as the beating of his heart under where Suna’s clutches onto his hoodie.
But before Atsumu can pull himself together, Suna’s tipping his head downwards, the grip he has on Atsumu loosening. He’s still only a hair away from Atsumu’s body when he whispers, “We should head back inside.”
Suna attempts to side-step from Atsumu’s grip, but for once, Atsumu’s reflexes move faster than the sluggishness of being drunk. He grips onto Suna’s wrist, hoping that Suna will just look at him.
“Fuck, wait. I wasn’t supposed to kiss ya yet,” Atsumu says, his voice containing a hint of panic. “I like ya. That’s what I meant ta say,” he quickly says before he can lose the words again.
A pair of olive green eyes snap up to meet his own, the speed at which they do almost being too fast for someone under the influence. It’s there—that emotion that Atsumu had recognized on Kuroo’s face. It’s the same, he’s sure it is.
Atsumu doesn’t shy away from Suna’s gaze, not breaking eye contact as Suna’s lips part upon hearing his words. A silence stretches between them as Suna’s eyes scan his face, and slowly his widened eyes take on a sadness that makes a pit form in Atsumu’s stomach.
“That’s not funny, Atsumu.”
Funny? Can’t he see that Atsumu’s dead serious right now?
“I’m not tryin’ to be funny. I like ya,” Atsumu says again, not backing down. This means that Suna didn't know about his feelings before, right? He hopes so.
Suna shakes his head, a pained expression on his features. “You’re just mistaking attraction for actual feelings.”
Atsumu’s grip loosens the slightest bit at the words, having caught him off-guard. “I wouldn’t do that to ya.”
He wouldn’t—not to Suna. He might not be the best at being a good friend, but he knows something like that would be a shitty move.
He also knows that he’d feel like the worst person alive if he hurt Suna like that. He couldn’t do something like that to him, especially after all the patience and thoughtfulness Suna’s showed him over the years.
Before Atsumu can think to hold on, Suna pulls his wrist from Atsumu’s grip, looking down at the ground with a rueful smile. “You already did.”
Atsumu freezes. “What?”
His chest feels heavier than it had been all night. He nearly feels sick at the thought of it—the thought that he was that careless to the closest thing he has to a best friend. Sure, he never sugarcoats his feelings, not caring about whether the other person feels a certain way about it. But Suna’s different.
Even before feelings mixed with what they already had, Atsumu always knew that Suna would get him in a way that most people never bothered to do. Despite all his grievances about his personality and how tiring him and Osamu are, Suna would always stick around.
With another shake of his head, Suna speaks. “Maybe once I get over you I’ll be able to tell you.”
If Atsumu could feel his heart physically drop, he would’ve felt it drop to his stomach. That confirms his assumption about what Suna feels for him, but still, he doesn’t get it. Did he hurt Suna without knowing? Did he miss a chance that he didn’t know he had?
“Don’t move on,” Atsumu says, and he doesn’t care that his voice holds a vulnerable shakiness to it. If there’s a chance that Suna means what he thinks he does, he can’t let him go again. “Don’t move on from me.”
Suna’s sad smile has fallen, replaced by a conflicted look. The flex of his fingers is tense, and there’s a certain hardness in the clench of his jaw. “We shouldn’t have this conversation right now. Not when we’re both drunk.”
Then, he adds, “Not again.”
Those two words are enough to send Atsumu reeling. Again?
Has this happened before?
Atsumu tries to remember instances when they’ve both been equally drunk, considering that there’s only been a handful of times where it’s happened. As he filters through the memories he has of nights where he’s been with Suna in the presence of alcohol, one particular memory sticks out.
A video on his phone, taken by Osamu.
“Rin and I are gettin’ married! Ma, Osamu’s gonna be my best man!”
(“ I’ve been meaning to ask. That night we made out in front of Osamu, do you remember any of it?” )
Something did happen then. He hates that even now, when it’s most important, he still can’t remember a single thing.
“Whatever I did that night—“
Suna cuts him off before he can continue. “Don’t do this to me again. Whatever it is, say it to me when I know you can’t forget the next morning.”
“Wait,” Atsumu tries to say.
Before Atsumu can continue his sentence though, Suna fixes him with a stare. “Say it to me sober,” he says with determination. “Say it sober, or don’t say it all.”
Atsumu hates that he’s right. Nothing as important as this should’ve ever been tainted with any form of alcohol. Not after they’ve spent months dancing around this unspoken tension that Atsumu wasn’t even sure was reciprocated. They’ve spent so much time pretending, and it’s not fair to either of them to try to confirm the presence of real feelings when their minds are hazy.
He doesn’t want there to be room for any doubt. He can’t let Suna doubt just how much he really, really likes him. Because god, he really does like him.
More than he’s ever liked anyone else before.
The rebuttal dies on Atsumu’s lips, and the plea of “ stay” goes unspoken. Atsumu knows that he’s known for being selfish, but he can’t selfishly ask Suna to stay here when Atsumu’s already fucked up so many times.
Especially not if Atsumu’s hurt him this much.
And worst of all?
Atsumu can’t remember a single thing that he said or did. That might just be the worst thing of all.
So, when Suna pulls away from him, Atsumu lets him, even though he wants nothing more than to stop him from leaving. But Atsumu knows that he has to momentarily let Suna go here, because Suna deserves better than this.
Tomorrow . Tomorrow, he’ll make everything right. He’ll give Suna everything he deserves and more.
Atsumu watches as the door clicks behind Suna, the silence feeling deafening to his ears. He can only hope that this will be the last time that he has to let Suna go.
Notes:
you guys can decide if kuroken end up together or not
Chapter 7: i belong to you
Summary:
the benefits to fake dating your best friend (even after you break up!): a short story by atsumu miya
Notes:
and here it is... the final FINAL chapter! i'll continue this little sappy rant in the endnotes so that you guys can jump right into the chapter! this is the first time writing explicit sex and i hope it's not toooo bad
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Atsumu wakes up on Osamu’s couch the next morning, he feels like absolute shit .
This time though, it’s not from the alcohol. This time, he remembers everything, from the hurt in Suna’s voice down to the way his eyes shimmered with an overwhelming amount of emotion.
Atsumu hurt him, likely more than once. The worst part is that he can’t for the life of him remember anything from that night, with the exception of what was captured on video.
Did Suna confess to him that night? Did Atsumu lead him on? Or did Atsumu confess, even if he didn’t like Suna at the time?
God he hopes it’s not the third option. Out of all of the messed up things he’s done in his life, that would take the cake for the worst thing he’s ever done.
Atsumu groans, feeling as if the world swallowed him whole and spat him back up.
“Oh, yer awake.”
He has half the mind to stay in this position, sprawled over the couch with an arm over his eyes, but he reluctantly moves so that he’s sitting up. As he blinks a headache away, Osamu approaches him and extends a mug out to Atsumu. It’s tea, Atsumu knows. Osamu always served him tea after a night of drinking.
He takes a small sip, comforted by the warm liquid. “How’d I end up here?”
Atsumu remembers slinking off to Osamu’s room after he came back inside, too worn out and distressed to want to interact with anyone else for the rest of the night. However, he doesn’t remember walking to the couch.
“Once everyone left I found ya asleep and curled up in a ball against the closet door,” Osamu answers as he takes a seat in the arm chair next to the couch. “Keiji helped me carry ya onto the couch.”
“‘Helped’ is a little generous,” Akaashi says from the kitchen counter. He looks a little worse for wear, and Atsumu can recognize the signs of his hangover. “I was so drunk that I barely remember moving him.”
Osamu lets out an affectionate chuckle before turning back to Atsumu. “So, what was the fight about?”
“We weren’t fightin’,” Atsumu mumbles. He has to remind himself that Osamu doesn’t know that they technically “broke up”. He probably just assumes that the two of them got into a bad spat before the night. Technically , that is far from the truth.
There was no argument, because Atsumu feels no negative feelings towards Suna. He’s just really, really pissed at himself right now. Maybe Suna feels the same way.
“Right,” Osamu remarks with a snort, “And pigs can fly.”
Atsumu tilts his head back against the couch cushions, gazing up at the ceiling. He doesn’t want to tell Osamu and Akaashi that all of it was fake, because 1) it’d be far too convoluted to explain, and 2) it’d hurt him to have to recount it all, all while being aware of how goddamn stupid he’s been. But, he figures that if there’s anyone’s advice that would help, it would be Osamu’s and Akaashi’s.
“I fucked up,” Atsumu eventually says, not moving his head to look at either of them. He keeps his eyes transfixed on the ceiling, his shoulders falling dejectedly against the couch. He’ll leave out the details of their pretending and just ask for advice as a guy wondering how to fix an argument with his boyfriend.
“How bad?”
“Pretty bad,” Atsumu responds.
He hears Osamu hum at his words. “Is it redeemable?”
“I hope so,” Atsumu says, unable to keep the shakiness of his voice at bay. If he was Suna, he wouldn’t forgive him. Not after all he’s done to unintentionally hurt him. “If it’s not—” Atsumu can’t finish the rest of his sentence, feeling the heaviness of his chest.
“Hey, Tsumu,” Osamu interjects before Atsumu’s mood can get worse. “None ‘a that. It’s Sunarin we’re talkin’ about. Whatever it is, he’ll hear ya out.”
Atsumu supposes that Osamu’s right. Suna is always so patient with him.
Fuck, he’s really taken him for granted.
“But I’m so shit at sayin’ things,” Atsumu says exasperatedly. He moves so that his elbows are laying on his thighs and buries his head in his cupped hands. “I’m even more shit at apologizing.”
“Yeah, cause you’ve only aplogized like three times in yer life,” Osamu tells him, not unkindly.
Atsumu drags his hands down his face, laying his fingertips on his chin. “Not helping.” He can’t even be mad at it, because he knows Osamu’s right.
“Rin knows that too,” Osamu says after a beat. His voice is more gentle this time. “He knows that an apology from ya holds a lotta weight.”
Atsumu thinks that over. It can’t be that easy, can it?
Obviously, Suna can still deny his apology, but it’s a decent start to the conversation Atsumu wants to have with him. He’ll apologize for his obliviousness, for his inability to hold Suna’s heart in the gentle way that it should be held—for never knowing how to deal with his own feelings.
He has such a long list to apologize for, and if Suna will give him the time, Atsumu’s willing to apologize for everything for the rest of his life. It’s the least he can do, considering all that Suna’s done for him.
He regrets that he can’t tell Suna that he loves him, because he knows that’s not exactly true yet. His feelings are so new, and he wants Suna to hear those three words from him when he’s overflowing with that love, when he can match the love that he hopes Suna still has for him at the moment.
For now, he’ll do what he can to convince Suna of how special he is to Atsumu—how he makes Atsumu feel something he’s never entirely been able to find in anyone else. Because he’s Suna, and that’s who Suna is to him.
Despite it all, Suna finds a way to fill in the gaps where Atsumu’s missing.
“I know what I needa do,” Atsumu says, suddenly moving to his feet.
“Make sure to shower before. Don’t show up to his door lookin’ like that,” Osamu comments.
Atsumu looks down at himself, taking note of the outfit he wore the night before. He has no doubt that he likely smells of sweat and alcohol. His hair is probably in a worse state, and the griminess of his unbrushed mouth feels appalling.
Yes, a shower will be good. To symbolize a change in his relationship with Suna. A good one—hopefully.
“Wear an old hoodie of his, too,” Akaashi calls out from the kitchen, looking a little less ragged. “Works like a charm.”
“Oh yeah,” Osamu says, a smirk playing at his lips as he looks at Akaashi. “Works real nice.”
Atsumu wrinkles his nose in disgust, not liking how his brother is staring at Akaashi one bit. “Yer both disgusting. At least wait for me ta leave,” he says.
Osamu fixes him with a stare. “Then, off ya go,” he says with a shooeing motion. “Don’t act as if yer not gonna follow Keiji’s advice anyway.”
Atsumu waves his brother’s comment away, already making a beeline for the door. He didn’t have much on him anyway, just the clothes on his back and the phone he slipped into his pocket. Before he closes the door behind him, he hears Akaashi call out, “Make sure you’re prepped!”, followed by Osamu’s exclamation of “Keiji!”.
For a moment, he feels appalled that Akaashi thinks that he would bottom, but the feeling quickly goes away when he realizes that he’s not exactly wrong . Atsumu would say that he’s the textbook definition of a switch, but if it’s for Suna? Then he’ll be whatever Suna wants him to be.
That’s a thought for later though. First, he has to win Suna over. Then , if everything goes right, he can focus on the best ways to make Suna feel good, and god, if Suna gives him the chance, Atsumu will gladly make good on his word.
Now, operation “ make Rin my real boyfriend and never, ever break his heart again” really starts. And Atsumu will be damned if he fails.
It’s approximately sunset when Atsumu finally finds himself standing outside of Suna’s door, anxiously gripping a plastic bag in his right hand. He’s showered, a little out of breath, and clad in the hoodie Suna gave him in Hyōgo all those weeks ago. His hair is meticulously done, and the smell of his best cologne (the one Suna helped pick out a year ago) effectively follows his every move. He feels a little bit like one of those girls that would nervously approach him in high school with the intent of confessing to him, and honestly the connection isn’t too far off.
Except he actually knows Suna, and he likes him so much that the sting of a rejection now might send him into a spiral that’ll have him laying in bed for at least a week. Is it dramatic? Maybe. Is it true? Yes.
With one last exhale, he lifts a fist up to the door.
“Atsumu?”
Suna stands in the doorframe, sporting tousled, wet hair and the familiar scent of sandalwood and citrus. Suna’s eyes zero in on the hoodie Atsumu sports, a flicker of recognition flashing through his irises. He doesn’t comment on Atsumu’s choice of clothing, instead looking up to meet Atsumu’s eyes with hesitation.
Atsumu hates that he’s the one that put the hesitation there.
“Hey,” Atsumu says softly, a contrast to the boisterous speech he usually opts for. “I brought fruit tarts.” He holds the bag up, watching as Suna’s eyes flick to the bag and back to him.
Atsumu regrets that it’s not something homemade like he initially intended, but he took one look at the ingredients in his kitchen and scrapped the idea of making Suna’s favorite homemade lemon cake before he had the chance to accidentally burn his kitchen down. It’s for the best. Either way, it’s the effort that counts, since he fought with an older lady to get the last few tarts at the bakery—another one of Suna’s favorites.
Not his proudest moment, but it’s definitely not the worst thing he’s ever done.
He extends the bag out, allowing Suna to grab hold of it. “I tried baking that lemon cake ya like, but it didn’t go as planned. I bought these instead,” he says as Suna inspects the contents, damp strands of hair falling down his forehead.
“Thanks,” Suna replies, his tone a little softer than before. Atsumu takes it as a small win. “These are hard to get,” Suna says.
Atsumu scratches the back of his head, feeling just a little guilty. Just a little. “I begged the old lady to let me have them instead, since these were the last ones.” He doesn’t mention that he actually argued with the woman instead of begging, but he saves that story for another time. “Can I come in?” he adds.
“Yeah, I’ll put these in the fridge,” Suna says, moving so that Atsumu can step in the doorway. As he shuts the door behind him, Suna makes his way to the kitchen, his footsteps making soft pads on the floor.
Atsumu steadily walks inside, opting to sit on the plush, beige couch next to the kitchen. He immediately notices a new painting hanging just to the right of the couch, a beautifully painted scroll that matches Suna so well. As he moves his gaze from the painting to where Suna is bent over near the fridge, he chews at the inside of his mouth, trying hard not to feel too impatient. Especially after last night, patience should be the least of his worries.
Right now, he has to focus on just getting one thing right. Even if he can’t put the words together perfectly, as long as Suna understands what he means, then that’s all he can ask for.
After a beat, the fridge door shuts closed, and Suna turns back to look at him, eyeing the spot next to Atsumu. He wordlessly makes his way towards it, leaning against the cushion and placing his hands on his lap as he sits. He’s close enough that Atsumu could reach over and touch him, but there’s an obvious distance between them that feels entirely intentional.
Suna doesn’t speak, likely waiting for Atsumu to start the conversation. Atsumu knows this, staring down at his fingers and tapping them together. He knows where he needs to start, but he still feels apprehensive about his ability to actually say it in the way that he means.
Still—an apology is what Suna needs, and Atsumu’s going to give it to him, even if it’s imperfect. He can only hope that Suna will be able to understand all that he’s trying to say, even if his words aren’t as eloquent as they should be.
“I’m sorry,” Atsumu starts, turning so that his body is angled towards Suna’s. To his disappointment, Suna doesn’t mirror his action, not moving from his position. Despite the heavy feeling in his gut, Atsumu pushes forward. “I’m sorry for last night.”
Suna’s immediate reaction stabs Atsumu with a flash of panic. His lips part, and he’s blinking his eyes rapidly, looking down at the ground with the most painful look Atsumu’s ever seen. “Oh,” Suna all but whispers.
With the quickness of light, Atsumu reaches over and puts a hand over Suna’s. He feels Suna’s hand twitch at the contact, but he doesn’t pull away from Atsumu’s grip.
“Wait, it’s not what ya think,” Atsumu tries to remedy. Still, Suna doesn’t look at him, and Atsumu curses himself in his head for never, ever, knowing how to say things right. “I’m sorry for how I went about it. I wasn’t,” he takes a breath, “I don’t know. It was supposed to be better. I was supposed to say everything better.”
He watches Suna carefully, and to his relief, Suna meets his eyes. The hesitation is still there, but there’s also a hint of hope. He says nothing, but Atsumu takes that as a sign to continue. “I should’ve known better than to tell ya drunk. Ya deserve to hear my feelings when I’m fully sober,” he says. “Ya deserve so much better than what I did last night.”
He drags his thumb against the smoothness of Suna’s hand, trying to somehow use the comfort of the touch to help him say the rest of his words right.
“I don’t think I’ll ever remember what ya said to me last Halloween, but I’m sorry for kissin’ ya then,” Atsumu says. “I shouldn’t have kissed ya if I didn’t have feelings for ya.”
He hopes that Suna hears the unspoken “ back then” at the end of his sentence. Atsumu thinks that he’s been plenty obvious about the fact that he has feelings for Suna now—both from the night before and the way that he came to Suna’s apartment, clad in Suna’s hoodie.
“Then, last night,” Suna tentatively starts, “Is that true for last night too?”
“No,” Atsumu immediately says. “I was planning to confess to ya the minute I saw ya after the game,” he admits, looking down at Suna’s floor with a small smile at the memory of seeing Suna after winning the finals. He looks back up to meet Suna’s gaze again. “But then I got drunk, and ya were avoidin’ me, and then when I finally got a bit of yer time, I panicked.”
“You noticed that I was avoiding you?”
Atsumu almost snorts. Almost. “Ya weren’t exactly subtle about it, Sunarin.”
“I thought the distance would help me get over you. We stopped all the pretend, and I was supposed to finally be over you by the time I saw you again,” Suna tells him. With a small smile, he looks down at where Atsumu holds his hand and adds, “It didn’t work.”
Those three words makes Atsumu feel warm for the first time in this conversation. If Suna can admit that, then this conversation is going well—hopefully.
“But why? Why’d ya want to end it without sayin’ anything?” Atsumu asks. “I thought I was so obvious.”
Suna looks at him, his brows furrowing. “ I was being obvious. You were so oblivious to my advances that I thought I didn’t have a chance. Like you really could only see me as a friend, even after everything.”
Now, it’s Atsumu’s turn to be confused. “What? I thought that ya were just really good at actin’. I did everything I could to try to make ya fall for me.”
“Atsumu,” Suna says, sounding like a mother scolding a child. “I’ve liked you for three years. I was never acting. All of it was real.”
Oh.
Oh wow.
“Three… three years?” Atsumu asks, his eyes wide. He put the pieces together the night before that Suna did indeed have feelings for him even before their fake relationship, but he never imagined that he’s felt this way for years . “Ya never said anything.”
“I knew you didn’t feel the same,” Suna says. “There was no point in telling you when I knew that.”
“But, didn’t ya ever feel like ya just— couldn’t keep it in?” Atsumu knows that his patience is far shorter than most people, but he also knows that keeping it in for that long is possible, considering his conversation with Kuroo last night. Still, he just can’t wrap his head around it.
“I mean, I didn’t really keep it in,” Suna says with a small chuckle. Another good sign, Atsumu notes. “I couldn’t keep it in last Halloween, since I confessed to you that night. But you said it was all a mistake, and so I kept it in for longer.”
Then, he adds, “I tried to move on after that, and I really thought I was doing a good job.” Another chuckle escapes him. “Until you asked me to be your fake boyfriend.”
Atsumu thinks that he really deserves a good kick. Maybe he’ll ask Osamu to do it for him later.
God, he’s stupid. So, so stupid. He can’t believe Suna is even giving him a chance to speak right now, after all Atsumu’s put him through.
He really is grateful to Suna’s mother for teaching him this ungodly amount of patience.
“Then why did ya agree? It had to hurt, havin’ me ask that of ya,” Atsumu says with a frown.
“Wouldn’t you agree? If Sakusa asked you to do the same thing?”
“Absolutely not,” Atsumu replies. “No way. That’s like—that’s like agreeing to be boiled alive.”
He might be dramatic, but if he was in love with someone for three years and was asked to fake date that person because of someone else that they liked, he likely would’ve imploded within himself. If their situations were switched, and Suna asked that of him, he would spiral. Even thinking about it makes him feel sick to his stomach.
“I guess I’m a masochist,” Suna says with a shrug. “It seemed like an alright idea at the time. I thought maybe it was a sign to not give up yet,” he says, giving Atsumu’s hand a small squeeze. “There was the chance that I could get you to feel the same way for me by pretending to be your boyfriend, and I couldn’t say no to it. Pretending meant that there wasn’t any stakes. I could flirt and make moves with the fallback of it just being pretend if you didn’t take it well.”
Atsumu thinks that he might just burst into tears. He had no idea about the extent of just how much Suna was willing to do for him.
“I’m glad ya didn’t give up. I took so long to realize how I felt, and ya just—” he pauses, looking at Suna like he’s an angel sent from above. “Ya waited so long for me. Ya did all that even though I was hurtin’ ya the whole time.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Suna says, but the small smile he tries to hide contradicts his words. “I did break up with you, remember?”
“I deserved that,” Atsumu says. “I shoulda told ya sooner. I shoulda told ya that I started havin’ real feelings for ya.”
“What now then? Now that we know how we feel?”
“Be my boyfriend,” Atsumu immediately says, gripping onto Suna’s other hand. He’s deliberated over and over about how this conversation might go, and he knows exactly what he wants. “Be my real boyfriend.”
Suna’s quiet for a moment, before he eventually says, “Okay.”
“Really?”
“We’re dating. For real,” Suna confirms.
Atsumu smiles at him, wide and toothy. “Ya have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.”
“I think I might have an idea,” Suna says, a soft smile decorating his features. Atsumu would stare at him for hours, if only to memorize this exact expression on Suna’s face.
He doesn’t get the chance to though, because Suna pulls his hands from Atsumu’s. He shifts so that he’s completely facing Atsumu, his legs crossing in a way that allows him to place his left hand on the space next to Atsumu’s thigh and using his right hand to gently cup the curve of Atsumu’s jaw. “Can I kiss you?”
“Only if ya promise it’s gonna mean somethin’ this time.”
Suna brings his face closer—so close that Atsumu can feel his breaths fan against his cheek. Atsumu thinks that Suna might just go ahead and kiss him then, but instead, he grazes his nose against Atsumu’s, stalling when his lips are a breath away. “Promise,” he whispers.
His heartbeat speeds up, and Atsumu feels like he can hardly breathe as he reaches up to cup Suna’s jaw, drawing his lips impossibly closer, just short of them touching. The anticipation is killing him, and fuck if Suna doesn’t kiss him now he’ll go insane.
It’s his patience that snaps first, and he surges forward. When their lips finally slot together, it feels like coming home.
He may have tasted Suna’s lips multiple times before, but Atsumu thinks that this is the sweetest he’s ever tasted. Suna sets the pace, a slow and gentle dance that gives Atsumu a pleasant feeling in his stomach. Atsumu’s senses are full of Suna, from the smell of his shampoo, to the warm touch he has against Atsumu’s cheek.
Atsumu thinks the moment might just top the feeling of winning the finals. Kissing Suna like this—with the knowledge that it’s real— makes him feel warm all over.
Carefully, Atsumu guides his arms down Suna’s body, coming to rest when he reaches the small of Suna’s back. Slowly, he pulls Suna in by his hips, and Suna responds by leaning forward and pressing him against the couch.
For a moment, their eyes meet and their breaths sync with each other’s. But when Suna’s gaze travels lower on Atsumu’s face, Atsumu can physically see the way that hunger is added to the adoration of Suna’s eyes.
When Suna brings his lips down to Atsumu’s, it’s rougher and more desperate. Atsumu can’t help but reciprocate the pace, dutifully exploring Suna’s mouth with his tongue. He tastes like mint, and Atsumu wants to taste more of him.
He tightens his grip on Suna’s waist and drags his hips downward. He lowers him right where their hips meet, making sure to tighten his hold so that Suna’s hard-on grinds against him. The small amount of friction causes a moan to slip from the both of them, and Atsumu can’t help but lifting his hips so that they’re constantly pressed against each other.
The way their bodies move against each other doesn’t disturb the way that they nearly swallow each other whole, incessant lips fighting to reach farther than the other. As Suna’s lips probe his tongue, Atsumu realizes that Suna is his . He’s his to kiss, to touch, and to eventually love.
No more pretend.
The happiness of that realization only adds to his arousal, especially with the way that Suna’s covered cock feels fucking heavenly against his own. In between breaths, Suna’s hips press down harder than before, drawing out a loud, gutteral groan from Atsumu.
“Fuck, Atsumu you can’t make those noises.”
He looks up at Suna through his lashes, not even bothering to deny that he was beginning to harden. It doesn’t help that Suna’s taller frame encases him against the plush couch cushions, his lips just the slightest bit swollen from the way Atsumu had kissed him.
Atsumu thinks that it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. Beautiful and so incredibly attractive that Atsumu knows that he might just go crazy. Hazily he lets his hands travel downwards, stopping short of where Suna’s sweatshirt meets his waist. “Please let me suck ya off,” he finally says. His voice borders on begging, but he can’t bring it in himself to care. Not when Suna’s lips have put him in a daze that brings every single desperate moment to the forefront of his thoughts. “Please,” he says again.
He feels the breath that Suna sucks in more than he hears it. “You want it that bad?”
“Ya don’t even fuckin’ know, god,” he just barely manages out, feeling so incredibly attracted to the man currently straddling him. The question from Suna’s mouth makes the desperation in him even worse, and when his thigh brushes up against Suna’s hardness, Atsumu’s almost positive he’s going to lose his mind.
He doesn’t even know how he was able to restrain himself over and over before this, because he’s so painfully turned on that the idea of not having Suna in his mouth in anything more than a second is a notion that he doesn’t even think about entertaining.
The gods must hear his pleas, because Suna hurriedly gives Atsumu permission to do so, leaning backwards so that Atsumu can place his face just above the place where Suna’s cock creates an imprint in his gray sweatpants.
Raptly, Atsumu tugs at the waistband, nearly drooling when Suna’s length springs free. He had seen it in high school, but back then it didn’t look like the way it does now. Now that it’s hard and on display for his eyes, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a cock that has ever transfixed him in this way.
He could worship him , is what crosses his mind first. He’d already known that Suna was beautiful, but the sight of Suna Rintarou with his sweatshirt riding up just enough to allow a sliver of structured abdominals and a cock that’s as pretty as the face it belongs to—it’s a sight that he might go to war for. Not that he’d like it if anyone is given the same privilege of seeing Suna like this, but even his possessive streak can’t possibly deny the absolute need to plant kisses on every inch of his pale skin.
Atsumu surges forward, bumping his nose against the flesh just beneath the head and placing a hand on Suna’s thigh. Slowly, he licks a stripe upwards, from the base of it to the tip that’s already leaking precum. The drag of his tongue elicits a groan from the man above him, and Atsumu has to try his hardest to suppress his own moan as he hollows out his cheeks and begins to take Suna into his mouth.
“Holy fuck ,” he hears Suna say as he slowly bobs his head forward and back, making sure that the entire length of Suna’s dick is covered with his saliva.
With each one of his motions, he increases his pace, taking Suna’s cock in his mouth like he was made to do such a thing. He tongues the head, slides it into his mouth skillfully, and fills the room with the wet sounds of his ministrations and Suna’s soft praises.
“Ya taste so good .”
“Atsumu—your mouth,” he pants out, pulling on the strands of Atsumu’s hair the way that Atsumu had once fantasized about doing to the man above him. His pulls follow th same sloppy pace of Atsumu’s throat, deftly taking him in his mouth. “So warm. Wet. God .”
Atsumu can tell that Suna’s close with the way that his eyes are fluttered closed, hips rocking upward at the same tempo of his groans. He tries to match the shallow thrusts into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks and slurping so hard that obsene sounds fill the kitchen. He’s never really been fond of giving blowjobs, but the grip Suna has on his hair makes Atsumu want to absolutely suck this man dry.
Before Atsumu can do so, Suna pulls his mouth off of him, looking reluctant. “Wait, I’m gonna—”
“Rin, want it.” Atsumu’s panting, the air in his lungs feeling wrong without the shape of Suna’s hard cock in his mouth. He feels so hungry , desperately wanting to just pull out the orgasm that he knows Suna’s just at the brink of.
Suna shakes his head. “No, I wanna be in you first.”
Atsumu lets out a filthy moan, the pool in his stomach feeling warmer. “Shit, that’s so hot.” He watches as Suna pulls his pants back up, and he allows Suna to manneuver them to a sitting position. “Kay, lube, condom, don’t care actually. Want ya.” With a grin, he brings his lips to Suna’s ear, whispering, “I prepped myself.”
Suna’s grip tightens around him, and he fixes Atsumu with a look. “Bed.”
Atsumu follows his directions, moving to get up. He extends his hand to Suna, grinning down at him. After a beat, Suna grabs hold of his hand and allows Atsumu to drag him in the direction of Suna’s bedroom door.
Once they’re past his doorway, Atsumu climbs on his bed without turning around, inviting Suna to follow after him. Suna takes his invitation enthusiastically, pressing against Atsumu in the blink of an eye. He’s catching Atsumu’s lips the minute that he’s on top of him, continuing what they interrupted on the couch.
Without disconnecting their lips, Suna uses his knee to push Atsumu backwards until Atsumu’s back is pressed against the bed pillows. In this position, Atsumu can smell everything about Suna, from the linen on his sheets and the distinct waft of sandalwood and citrus from Suna’s shampoo.
Suna runs his hands down Atsumu’s chest, eventually coming to a stop at the bottom of his hoodie. His fingers fiddle with the fabric for a moment before they slip underneath, dragging his fingertips along the planes of Atsumu abdominals. The touch of Suna’s fingers pulls a shiver from Atsumu’s lips, and he brings his hand down to stop Suna’s movements.
“I’m the one the one that’s groveling. I should be takin’ care of ya,” Atsumu says as he keeps Suna’s fingers at bay.
“As good as that sounds,” Suna reponds, his voice an octave lower. “I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long. I wanna feel good by making you feel good.”
“But—“
Suna fixes him with a stare, hunger still mingling in his olive green irises. “Don’t get all selfless now, Atsumu.”
“Who says I don’t get off to makin’ ya feel good too?” The blowjob he gave Suna earlier was enough to make him feel like putty, and he can’t imagine what touching Suna all over, pulling noises out of him, would do for his own sanity. Even the small whines that Suna’s let slip make a buzz of excitement zip through him. “I don’t have completely selfless intentions,” Atsumu adds.
If anything, he’s being far more selfish for feeling so much pleasure from the way Suna’s body desperately grinds against his.
Atsumu wants to stand his ground—it’s what he had planned. But in a split second, Suna leans closer, bringing his lips next to Atsumu’s ear. They ghost against the shell of his ear, and Atsumu has to suppress a groan from the sensuality of the move.
“Then let me be selfish,” Suna whispers against Atsumu’s ear. “Let me have you.”
Goddamnit.
“Shit. Fine. Yer so hot,” Atsumu chokes out, barely feeling like he can speak from just how aroused he is. He moves his hands so that he can force Suna’s eyes to meet his, hoping that he can keep as much of his composure as he says, “But we’re goin’ for a second round then. I’ll do the work.”
Suna chuckles, a deep sound that makes all of Atsumu’s fight leave his body. “I’ll take you up on that,” he says before resuming his work with Atsumu’s hoodie and tugging at the fabric. “Now get these clothes off. Too many layers.”
Atsumu doesn’t hesitate to let Suna remove his clothing with the anticipation that he’ll get to do the same. By the time that they’re stripped of all their layers, Atsumu can’t decide where to look first. Everything about Suna is perfect .
Perfect, and all his. God, he loves the sound of that.
Suna’s kneeling just above him, showing off his well-built body from years of training, the planes of muscle being an homage to the efforts Suna puts into the gym. Atsumu even thinks that Suna’s shoulders may be broader than his own, which is a feat in itself. Suna was always leaner than he was in high school, and Atsumu’s build is already something most people aspire to have. The fact that Suna’s shoulders are broader than his now—Atsumu can’t even begin to explain how that makes him feel.
They’re still on equal levels of strength, but even so, Atsumu never wants to stop seeing Suna like this.
Suna must feel the same way, because as his eyes rake down Atsumu’s body, the heat of his stare leaves a path in its wake. “You’re perfect,” he says, still admiring Atsumu like he’s the most beautiful thing Suna’s ever seen.
“Ya like what ya see?” Atsumu says teasingly. His mischievous grin widens when Suna responds to his teasing with a small smile.
“Shut up,” Suna mumbles. “Give me a second to enjoy this.”
He starts by planting kisses along the length of Atsumu’s neck, sucking a particular spot on his collarbone that takes the breath from Atsumu lungs. The swirl of his tongue is rough against the spot, and Atsumu knows that it’ll leave a mark. He makes a mental note of leaving marks all over Suna after this, wanting to take in the sight of him covered in Atsumu ’s marks as a possessive feeling bubbles within him.
Slowly, Suna moves on from the spot, peppering kisses on Atsumu’s pecs and down his abdominals. As he works his way down, one of Suna’s hands rakes down Atsumu’s chest, reaching lower, and lower, and—
“Wait,” Atsumu says urgently, stopping Suna’s hand from reaching his already leaking cock. “Don’t touch that,” he chokes out, “I’ll come embarrassingly fast.”
Suna’s eyes take on a mischievous glint. “What if that’s what I’m aiming for?”
No, Atsumu can’t have that. Even though this is a dream come true, he can’t let himself come faster than Suna does. “And what if I tell ya that I really, really wanna come from yer cock instead?”
Suna all but freezes, drinking in the way that Atsumu says the words. “Okay,” he whispers, as if Atsumu’s words have knocked the wind out of him. “I’ll get the lube and condom. Let’s get you ready for me, yeah?”
Atsumu nods at an embarrassingly fast rate, not knowing how Suna can turn the situation with just a few words. Not that Atsumu minds, because he needs to feel Suna in him as soon as possible.
His eyes follow Suna as he moves off of Atsumu, grabbing a condom and a bottle of lube from his nightstand drawer.
“Let me put it on for ya,” Atsumu finds himself saying. He knows that it might be faster for Suna to do it all himself, but Atsumu desperately craves the intimacy of slipping the rubber over Suna’s cock and lathering lube over the length.
Suna nods, moving so that he’s back in his previous position between Atsumu’s legs, patiently waiting for Atsumu to open up the condom wrapper.
Atsumu hurriedly pulls the condom out, leaning forward so that he can easily slip it onto Suna’s hardened cock. It’s so pretty, and Atsumu delights in the way it twitches under his hold. He wants to tease Suna for his reaction, but he’s a man on a mission right now.
He slathers lube on his hand, rubbing it along Suna’s length. It’s almost torturously slow, but after he’s lubricated enough, Atsumu grips Suna’s cock just the slightest bit. The action draws a gruff groan from Suna’s lips, and before he knows it, Suna’s hand wraps around his own lube-covered one, using the leftover lube to coat his fingertips.
“I know you’re prepped, but let me just make sure that you’re ready,” Suna says, hovering his fingers near Atsumu’s hole. “I remember you said that your first time bottoming wasn’t the best.”
Atsumu really is so lucky. His first time bottoming had been when he was 19, four years ago, with a short summer fling he had with someone from Osamu’s university. Suna’s been paying attention to him even before he even started to have feelings for Atsumu, always being so careful with Atsumu in a way that nobody’s ever been.
“I like ya, Rin,” Atsumu says. “So much.”
He doesn’t want to get emotional right as Suna’s about to slip a finger into him, but he can’t help it. Not when Suna’s always been there—a steady presence in his life that he’s always taken for granted.
Suna must sense the shift in Atsumu’s tone, because he dips down to press a gentle kiss to Atsumu’s lips before resuming his previous position. “I like you, too. If that wasn’t clear,” he says softly. “Can I?” He places a light touch at Atsumu’s rim, just short of sliding his finger in.
“Yes,” Atsumu nods, “Please.”
Carefully, Suna pushes in, and Atsumu can’t stop the moan that escapes as Suna probes into him.
“ Shit ,” Atsumu curses at just how long Suna’s finger is. He can’t even imagine how good it’ll feel when he’s finally full of Suna’s length.
“That alright?” Suna asks.
Atsumu nods. “More than alright. Keep going—wanna get ya in me.”
Suna happily obliges his request, beginning to fuck his hole with a single finger. It’s so good, the way he can reach deep into Atsumu. Atsumu moans, allowing Suna to finger him for a moment before he’s impatiently telling Suna to insert another.
A laugh escapes Suna’s lips at Atsumu’s request, his lips curling into a smile that makes Atsumu want to take a picture. Then, he adds another, curving his fingers in just the right way.
Atsumu swears he sees stars.
“ Shit , fuck oh god,” Atsumu exclaims. “I almost came from that.”
“Thought you wanted to come with me in you?” Suna looks all too pleased at the reactions he’s getting from Atsumu. He must really have the patience of a saint, because if Atsumu was in his position, he would be desperate to slide into him by now.
“I’m ready,” Atsumu says after Suna gets a few more strokes in. He really doesn’t know how much longer he can stand without being stuffed full of Suna’s cock. “Put it in me,” he gasps, “Now.”
Suna’s fingers leave him, and the momentary emptiness makes Atsumu want to whine. He stops himself before the whine slips out, because he’s never whined during sex before. He’d never felt the need to, but he’s so, so close to letting it loose.
The emptiness doesn’t last for long though, because Suna quickly replaces his fingers with the tip of his head, slowly pushing into Atsumu’s heat. The drag of his cock against Atsumu’s walls makes Atsumu groan with each inch that enters him.
Atsumu could tell that Suna was long before, but having the length of it inside him is a completely different sensation. He feels absolutely full , and by the time that Suna’s hips are finally flush against him, a deep, gutteral groan comes out of him, matching the grunt that Suna lets out against his ear.
For a moment, the both of them are motionless, basking in the feeling of finally being connected.
“You feel so good,” Suna whispers in his neck. “So much better than I imagined.”
“Rin. Move, please,” Atsumu basically pleads. He needs to feel Suna’s thrusts in him, hard and punctuated.
To his relief, Suna doesn’t oppose his request, pulling out just enough so that his tip is still in Atsumu before hammering the rest of his length back in.
Atsumu seriously sees stars, as the feeling of Suna’s thrusts fills him, over and over. It’s so good, and Atsumu is moaning with each time Suna’s presses in, knocking the air out of his lungs and pulling Suna’s name from his lips.
“Rin—“
Suna doesn’t stop his pace, continuing his assault on Atsumu’s hole as he says, “Call me Rintarou. Just once.”
“Always wanted to call ya that,” Atsumu says with a grin, his voice coming out breathy as Suna continues to push into him. His words only sends the assault of Suna’s hips into an even faster tempo, filling the bedroom with the sounds of skin slapping, breathy moans, and a mantra of Rintarou, Rintarou, Rintarou.
Just when Atsumu thinks that he can’t feel any better than this, Suna starts to utter praises into his ear, his pace not letting up in the slightest.
So good. So good for me.
Perfect. You’re so perfect.
Everything I’ve ever wanted.
Atsumu’s already barely holding out, and the words Suna’s telling him has his patience thinning into a frayed string.
“Rin, I swear if ya don’t stop sayin’ things like that, I’ll—“
Suna cuts his sentence off with another thrust, looking down at him with a gorgeous smile. “Yeah? You’ll what?”
His stamina is a gift from god, and the sweat that’s started to bead along his forehead only emphasizes just how attractive he is. Suna’s cheeks are tinted red, a look of bliss taking over his gaze as he looks down at Atsumu.
It’s even worse that he maintains eye contact as he says the words, not once letting up his pace.
“Yer killin’ me. I’m seriously gonna kill ya,” Atsumu mewls, having to tear his gaze to the side as he tries to catch his breath. Suna slows his pace just a bit, but he makes up for the lack of speed with the strength of his thrusts. It’s almost as if he’s trying to bring Atsumu’s gaze back to his with just how well he reaches deeper into him.
It works, because Atsumu eventually meets his gaze again, his breath stuttering when he sees the way that Suna’s looking down at him.
A cheeky smile plays at his lips as he says, “Being balls deep in you doesn’t sound like a bad way of dying.”
Atsumu can’t believe how much self-control Suna has right now to tease him like this. “Why ya little—“
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Suna kisses him, effectively cutting Atsumu off.
“You’re cute.”
“Don’t call me cute when yer fuckin’ my brains out,” Atsumu counters, trying to get the upper hand over Suna. It seems that it doesn’t work, because Suna only grips his hips tighter, and delivering a thrust that makes Atsumu throw his head backwards against the pillows.
It takes Atsumu a moment to recover from that particular thrust, and he tightens his grip around Suna’s neck. “I swear yer gonna pay fer this if ya ever let me put my dick in yer ass,” he eventually spits out. He gets a feeling of satisfaction when he feels Suna throb inside of him. “Oh ya liked that, didn’t ya?”
“Shut up,” Suna grunts, his thrusts getting a little sloppier.
A shit-eating grin grows across Atsumu’s features as he watches the way that Suna’s eyes flutter closed. “I’d take such good care of ya. Make ya feel so good,” he whispers as confidently as he can. He knows that Suna has all the power here, considering that he’s fucking Atsumu better than Atsumu’s ever been fucked before. Still, Atsumu can’t pass up an opportunity to tease him.
“ Atsumu. ”
“What? Ya don’t wanna think about how full ya would feel?” Atsumu practically purrs, feeling his own desire climb at the idea of reducing Suna to the state that Suna currently has him in. His smugness doesn’t last for long though, because Suna answers by slamming his hips roughly against Atsumu’s. “Shit, fuck .”
“I need to do a better job of fucking you if you can still talk right now,” Suna grunts, picking up his pace with lazer-sharp preciseness. The speed and strength of Suna’s renewed vigor clears Atsumu’s head of everything, leaving him with only the feeling of how good Suna’s making him feel. “Someone’s quiet now,” Suna says, his breath still coming out ragged.
“Can’t think,” Atsumu gasps. “Only thinkin’ of ya.” He holds onto Suna for dear life, his hunger building with each second.
“Good,” Suna whispers against his lips. Then, he crushes his mouth against Atsumu’s, his tongue exploring every crevice of Atsumu’s mouth.
They stay connected like that, bodies rocking together in a way that makes Atsumu send prayers to whatever god led him to this situation. The green of Suna's eyes sear into him with every push, a whisper of I love you hidden behind the clouds of lust. Atsumu imagines saying it back when he knows the time is right—when he knows he means it.
For now, Suna is willing to accept his recently developed feelings, and that’s all he can really ask for. Besides, he’d like to think that Suna would wait for him to get to that point, however long it takes.
“ Rintarou ,” Atsumu whispers when Suna finds the spot that makes Atsumu’s eyes want to roll to the back of his head. He feels absolutely wrecked and ecstatic—as if Suna's skin, his grunts, and the sweet nothings he whispers are the only things keeping Atsumu alive. Out of all the sex Atsumu’s had, the ecstasy of this moment is incomparable to nothing else. “‘M close.”
“Me too,” Suna says back, the breathlessness laced into his voice sounding like honey in Atsumu’s ears. He takes the hand that’s currently pressed into the back of Atsumu’s thigh and snakes it so that he grabs a hold of Atsumu’s own hard dick instead. Atsumu counters the move by wrapping his legs completely around Suna's waist, unable to stop the cacophony of moans that escape him as he feels Suna reach even deeper into him.
He’s a babbling mess at this point, unable to focus on anything but the shape of Suna inside him and the feeling of long, calloused fingers stroking him so expertly that Atsumu might’ve had half the mind to be jealous if he wasn’t so fucked out.
“Coming. Rin, fuck. I’m coming, I—“ He’s silenced by the feeling of Suna's tongue in his mouth, the wet feeling of his spit mingling with Suna's sending him off the edge.
As stickiness paints his stomach, he simultaneously feels a flood of warmth in him, hearing his own name rolling off of Suna's tongue in a way that makes Atsumu never want to hear anyone but Suna say his name in entirety ever again. As the rocking of Suna's hips slow, they both come down from their high, swallowing each other’s grunts with open-mouthed kisses.
Suna climbs off of him, the smell of sweat and sex permeating the air. They lay side-by-side for a moment, catching their breaths. Atsumu feels like he’s been renewed, feeling as if he’s floating on a bed of clouds.
Once he catches his breath, he looks over at Suna. He has an arm over his eyes, a small, satisfied smile playing at his lips. Suna must sense his eyes on him, because he turns to face Atsumu, propping his head up with an arm.
Atsumu wants to say something, but Suna plants a sweet kiss on his lips, telling him that he’ll grab a towel to clean Atsumu up. He almost asks him to stay, but Suna reassures him that he’ll only be a second, so Atsumu lets him go, immediately missing the weight of Suna beside him.
Suna makes good on his word, returning to the bed with a towel in less than a minute. He gently wipes the cum from Atsumu’s stomache before placing the clean part of the towel on his nightstand.
As Suna returns to his place besides Atsumu, he brushes the stands of Atsumu’s hair from his forehead. “You okay?”
“I think I’m a changed man,” Atsumu says, turning his head and curling against Suna’s body. “I’ve got a mission now.”
Suna wraps his arms against Atsumu, before looking down and raising a brow at him. “A mission?”
“Wanna make ya cum as many times as the amount of days since ya first confessed,” Atsumu answers cheekily. He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten as much satisfaction as he did from the blissed out expression on Suna’s face. He wants to see it over and over again, the look of pleasure caused by him. “Good apology right?”
Suna chuckles, rubbing his thumb against Atsumu’s cheek. “You’re gonna milk me dry.”
“I’ll stock yer fridge with cartons of milk then.”
A snort escapes Suna at his sentence, and he has to lean back to laugh at Atsumu’s absurd statement.
“Worst joke you’ve ever told,” he says, still laid back.
Atsumu pushes himself up to his arms, meeting Suna’s amused gaze. “Hey! I’ve definitely told worse.” He can barely contain the smile that makes its way onto his face, letting out a laugh at the deadpan expression on Suna’s face.
Satisfied with the reaction, Atsumu curls up against Suna again, tangling their legs as they lay together.
He could spend the rest of his life wrapped around Suna, he thinks. He’d be damned if he can’t have Suna like this for the remainder of their time on earth.
“Rin?” Atsumu eventually says, propping his head against Suna’s shoulder.
“Hm?” Suna hums, looking down at him.
“I just wanted to say thanks,” Atsumu says with a smile. “For not givin’ up on me.”
Suna presses a kiss against his forehead before sending Atsumu a smile of his own, gently curved in contentment. “I couldn’t have given up on you. No matter how hard I tried.”
A warm feeling fills Atsumu’s chest at the sound of that, and for the first time in his life, Atsumu feels like he’s truly found his own version of home. Suna’s so easy to love, and Atsumu doesn’t doubt that he’ll soon be overflowing with love for this man.
He thinks that he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Four months later - Aichi Prefecture, Japan
“That’ll be 20000 yen, dear.”
Atsumu fishes his wallet out from his pocket, grabbing a few bills from the pocket where he keeps his cash. The elderly lady at the booth takes his money, smiling as she hands Atsumu a small drawstring bag in return. She thanks him for his business, and Atsumu bows as he gives him a word of his own thanks.
He pockets his wallet again, holding the small bag in his hands as he makes his way back to where Suna is grabbing a drink from the merchant across the lady’s stand.
“Hey,” Atsumu says as he reaches where his boyfriend is standing, having a similar exchange with the vendor at the booth.
“Hi,” Suna replies, turning around with a cup of light green liquid in his hands. Atsumu had seen the stand selling sugarcane juice a little while earlier and convinced Suna to buy them a drink, so that he had enough time to slink off to the other lady’s booth. “Where’d you go off to?”
Atsumu falls into step with Suna as they make their way through the night market, taking the drink from Suna’s hand to take a sip. He lets the sweet liquid flow down his throat, pleasantly finding that the taste is more potent than other sugarcane juices he’s had before.
As he passes the drink back to Suna, he intertwines Suna’s free hand with his. “Saw something I wanted to buy,” he says, purposefully being vague.
“What was it?”
“You’ll see,” Atsumu says cheekily before he pulls Suna along, guiding them through the busy streets. They have one more stop on their itinerary, and Atsumu doesn’t want to show Suna the purchase until they get there.
Call him a romantic, if you will.
Suna chuckles at his blatant deflection, allowing Atsumu to walk them through weaves of people. The walk to their destination is about 20 minutes, so they spend their time taking sips from the juice as Atsumu lets Suna show him around the town.
Atsumu suggested that they take a trip to Aichi before the new season starts, remembering Suna’s desire to visit his hometown from when they were stargazing in Hyōgo. It’s their third and final day here, the first being used for some sightseeing (Atsumu’s request), and the second for a visit to Suna’s father.
The visit to Suna’s father wasn’t the best exchange in the world, considering that Suna’s not on exceptionally good terms with him, but Suna said that dropping by to say hello wouldn’t be horrible. He wanted to introduce Atsumu to him, even if he never visits him again. Atsumu finds it hard to say no Suna’s wishes, so he agrees, hoping that he could alleviate some of the tension on Suna’s part when they see his father.
His father knew that they were coming, so the three of them went out for lunch at a restaurant near his father’s home. It was tense, to say the least, considering that Suna hadn’t been in contact with his father much after the divorce. Still, it ended amicably, with Suna’s father thanking him for the visit and extending an invitation for them to stop by the next time they’re in town.
Suna didn’t seem too enthused to say yes, and he made that clear, despite his father’s disappointment.
Atsumu’s just happy that Suna was able to face his father like that, especially since their relationship has always been rocky. Suna said that saying hi would be good for him, as the first step to moving on from the way his father hurt his family.
Now, they’re on their final day here, currently making their way to the spot Suna used to frequent with his mother for stargazing. It’s a small park next to one of the shrines in the city, just a little more elevated than the rest of the parks in the city.
It’s beautiful, Atsumu thinks once they reach it. There’s a few benches around, but the small patch of greenery they surround are devoid of any harsh lights, illuminated only by some warm-colored lanterns. From here, the inky darkness of the night sky is freckled with stars, and Atsumu can immediately make out the basket-like constellation Suna first showed him.
“What do you think?” Suna asks, turning so that he can look at Atsumu.
Atsumu slides his gaze from the sky to Suna’s face, which is gently illuminated by the warm light of the lanterns. “It’s beautiful, Rin,” he says, his voice soft and adoring.
Suna mirrors his smile, gently tugging on Atsumu’s hand so that they can make their way to one of the benches. Once they’re seated with their thighs pressed together, Atsumu pulls the small, drawstring bag out of his pocket.
“I got ya somethin’ at the market,” Atsumu says, pulling out the contents of the bag.
It’s two bracelets—both made up of the same black leather and silver clasping. One bracelet features three jade beads decorated with a silver charm to the right and left of them. The other has amber beads, a distinct golden orange that contrasts the pale green of the jade on the other.
Jade to closely match the hue of Suna’s eyes, and a dark, rustic amber to match Atsumu’s.
Atsumu extends the jade bracelet in Suna’s direction. “This one’s for ya.”
Suna gazes down at the bracelets with widened eyes. “The colors, they’re—”
“Us,” Atsumu finishes for him. “Perfect isn’t it?”
Suna takes the jade bracelet from him, inspecting it between his fingertips. He must notice the quality of them, because he looks up at Atsumu and asks, “How much did these cost?”
“Mind yer business,” Atsumu replies with a cheeky grin. Sure, they cost more than most bracelets, but Atsumu would gladly spend that amount if it means that he gets to see this look on Suna’s face, eyes mingling with appreciation and love .
Love.
“I love ya, Rintarou.”
Suna hadn’t said it to him yet, and Atsumu knew that he was patiently waiting for the day that Atsumu would finally say it first. He’s been so patient, showing his love to Atsumu in every other way—from the gentle way he touches him, to the way that he’d drive them an hour just to try a dessert shop Atsumu offhandedly mentioned wanting to try.
Suna’s staring at him, his lips slightly parted. The shock is evident on his face, and Atsumu pokes his side lightly. “C’mon, Rin. Say it back,” Atsumu teases. “I know ya love me too.”
Atsumu watches as Suna begins to laugh, a melodic sound that makes him feel warm all over. “You’re insufferable,” he says. “I do though. I love you too.”
A sigh of relief escapes Atsumu at Suna’s reciprocation of his confession. “Oh thank god. I would’ve died if ya didn’t say it back.”
Suna bumps his shoulder, an affectionate smile plastered on his face. “You are the most dramatic person I know.”
“And yet, ya love me. So who’s really losing here?”
“I’m winning,” Suna says gently, bringing his hand up to stroke Atsumu’s cheek. “I managed to get you to fall in love with me.”
“That was inevitable. I gotta give it to myself for comin’ up with that whole fake dating thing.” He grins, wide and cheeky.
“You’re so annoying,” Suna responds. He pulls Atsumu closer, pressing his lips against Atsumu’s. Atsumu tries to chase his lips again when he pulls back, but Suna presses a finger against his mouth before he can. “Put this on me first.”
The smile on Atsumu’s face feels like it’s permanent now as he grabs Suna’s hand and fastens the bracelet on Suna’s pale wrist. When Suna grabs his to do the same for him, Atsumu has one thought:
He should really thank Shoyo-kun and Omi-kun. Their relationship landed him the love of his life.
Suna Rintarou: love of his life.
He quite likes the sound of that.
Notes:
they go for 3 rounds after btw #certifiedfreaks
and that's it! this was originally gonna be a one-shot until it ballooned to 60k words, which marks it as the longest fic i've ever written LOL this fic has rly become my baby and i hope this ending is good for u guys because i suckkkkk at writing fluff. i hope you liked it <3
come find me on twitter! @inarzkis