Chapter Text
Sakusa shouldn’t have agreed to the damn trip in the first place.
A calm, short vacation with friends—can’t be that bad, right? One week in Vietnam after the V-League, a reward for enduring the endless matches, late-night flights, and press interviews. Just a quiet break before they were all flung back into training camps.
What could possibly go wrong?
He should have known better.
Because the moment he opened the group chat, a single notification popping up on his phone during a late night stretch session, his eyes caught on a name that made his stomach flip in instant dread:
Miya Atsumu: “ALRIGHTTTTTTT flight tmr let’s go babyyy 🏖️😎 ”
His jaw tightened. His fingers hovered over the screen, reading it three times to make sure it wasn’t some sick hallucination.
No one told him.
Not Bokuto, who had pouted for weeks until Sakusa agreed to come.
Not Akaashi, who had calmly handled everyone’s bookings.
Not Kenma, who promised it would be “lowkey.”
Not even Iwaizumi, who usually gave Sakusa a heads-up about everything.
No one had thought to mention that Miya. Atsumu. would be there too.
And the worst part?
It was too late to back out.
⸻
The layover in Singapore was meant to be simple: one night, sleep, eat laksa, and catch the next day’s flight to Da Nang. The twelve of them dragged their suitcases through Changi’s cool, lavender-scented air, navigating sleek terminals and indoor waterfalls while Bokuto bounced excitedly like a child on sugar.
“IT’S SO PRETTY HERE!” Bokuto shouted, arms flung wide under the towering rain vortex. A few people turned, some with amused smiles, others with frowns.
Akaashi sighed but didn’t stop him, pulling Bokuto’s backpack forward so he wouldn’t wander too far.
Kuroo was filming everything, narrating dramatically, “And here we see Bokuto Kotaro in his natural habitat—loud and deeply impressed by water falling from the ceiling—”
Kenma followed behind, barely glancing up from his phone as he recorded, “This is going on the vlog.”
Hinata and Kageyama were arguing over who got to carry Hinata’s new pink cat-shaped neck pillow, their voices echoing under the glass dome.
“It’s mine, Kageyama!” Hinata yelled, snatching it back.
“You already have your hoodie! You don’t need this too!” Kageyama hissed, trying to grab it again.
Oikawa was striking poses near the orchid gardens with his sunglasses on, flashing peace signs for selfies. “Hashtag blessed, hashtag travel vibes,” he said while adjusting his hair.
“Put your damn phone down before I chuck it in the waterfall,” Iwaizumi grumbled, yanking Oikawa’s suitcase toward the escalators.
Osamu was trying to drag Atsumu away from a bubble tea stall. “We literally just got here, ‘Tsumu.”
“But look at the toppings, ‘Samu, they got BISCOFF FLAVOUR—”
Sakusa was sanitizing his hands for the fifth time since landing, resisting the urge to spray down the handle of his luggage as people bumped past him.
⸻
After dropping off their suitcases at Yotelair, the chaos did not end.
“Convenience store hunt!” Bokuto declared, as if they hadn’t all just eaten airplane food two hours ago.
“I want kaya toast,” Hinata said, bouncing on his toes.
Kenma perked up, “7-Eleven here has the onigiri with the good tuna mayo.”
“I need new sunscreen,” Sakusa muttered under his breath, pulling his cap lower as he followed the group.
They ended up splitting into messy pairs, Bokuto and Akaashi leading the charge down the sparkling terminal floors. Oikawa was detoured by a cosmetics section in duty-free, swatching lip balm while Iwaizumi physically pulled him away by the backpack straps.
“Look, Iwa-chan! This one’s minty, wanna try—”
“No.”
Atsumu wandered too close to the whisky tasting counter, only to be dragged away by Osamu before he could beg for a sip. “Yer embarrassing, ‘Tsumu.”
Kuroo managed to convince Kenma to look at headphones in duty-free. “For the flight,” Kuroo reasoned, nudging him with a grin.
Kenma, already clutching a canned coffee, hummed softly, letting Kuroo point out options.
Meanwhile, Sakusa stood near the refrigerated drinks at 7-Eleven, inspecting the bottled waters suspiciously before picking the one with the cleanest cap. He glanced over to see Atsumu loudly debating with Hinata over what snack to buy.
“Get the curry puffs, Hinata,” Atsumu said, leaning over Hinata’s shoulder.
“But I want the pandan cake,” Hinata replied, wide-eyed.
“Curry puffs are better—”
“I’m getting both!” Hinata declared, stomping over to the cashier.
Sakusa clicked his tongue, grabbing a small pack of kaya toast sandwiches for himself. He turned to see Atsumu eyeing a packet of prawn crackers, pausing before placing it back on the shelf.
Their eyes met.
Sakusa immediately looked away.
“Tch,” Atsumu muttered, turning to the instant noodle aisle.
⸻
They gathered near the automated payment counters, everyone holding some assortment of snacks, water bottles, and random finds: Bokuto with a bag of Milo nuggets, Oikawa with a lip balm he swore was essential, Kuroo with a new travel charger, Kenma with a tub of mints, Hinata clutching two boxes of pandan cake, and Kageyama trailing with a confused scowl, holding three different bottles of isotonic drinks.
Sakusa scanned his items quietly while Atsumu behind him grumbled about not finding the specific brand of spicy seaweed he liked.
The group found a spot in the airport’s sunflower garden, illuminated by warm lights, where they sat in a rough circle, snacking and sharing bites under the warm, humid Singapore air.
Bokuto handed Sakusa a Milo nugget with a bright grin, which Sakusa accepted wordlessly, popping it into his mouth while maintaining his glare at Atsumu, who was eating prawn crackers across from him, eyes darting up occasionally to meet Sakusa’s before quickly looking away.
For a moment, it was peaceful: Hinata was giggling at Bokuto’s stories, Kuroo and Kenma were sharing earphones while watching a video, Oikawa was taking photos of the flowers while Iwaizumi sighed but stood next to him anyway.
And in the middle of it all, Sakusa sat, the Singapore breeze brushing against his skin, the noise of planes rumbling above, and the taste of chocolate malt on his tongue as he watched Miya Atsumu wipe salt off his fingers.
He already knew this trip would be a mess.
But there was something about the way the others laughed around him, about the way Atsumu’s eyes squinted when he smiled, that made Sakusa hate it just a little bit less.
⸻
The walk back to the hotel felt different.
Their shoes squeaked against the polished tiles as they moved past sleepy duty-free shops and glowing vending machines, the chatter of late-night travelers echoing through Changi’s endless, lavender-scented halls.
Kenma was yawning, blinking sleepily at his phone as Kuroo nudged him along.
Bokuto was still buzzing, trying to convince Akaashi to check out the butterfly garden, “Just for five minutes, Keiji, pleeeease—”
“No, Bokuto-san, it’s late,” Akaashi replied, deadpan but fond.
Hinata and Kageyama were bickering softly about whether Hinata could finish all the pandan cake he bought.
“I can eat it all!” Hinata insisted.
“You’re gonna throw up,” Kageyama muttered.
Oikawa was trailing behind, rearranging the contents of his skincare shopping bag, while Iwaizumi carried both their backpacks with a resigned sigh.
Osamu was scrolling for food recommendations in Da Nang while Atsumu peeked over his shoulder, making commentary.
“Oi, ‘Samu, they got a banh mi place near our resort, ya see?”
“Don’t breathe on my neck, ‘Tsumu.”
Sakusa walked behind them, clutching his small 7-Eleven bag, eyes sweeping over the group, ensuring no one wandered off. He was tired, his mask tugging against his ears, and all he wanted was a shower and silence.
It was almost comforting, this quiet post-chaos walk, until Bokuto suddenly spun around with a gasp.
“GROUP PHOTO!”
Akaashi’s eyes widened, “Bokuto-san—”
“It’s our first night of the trip! We need a photo! RIGHT HERE!”
Sakusa sighed, but before he could protest, Atsumu was right next to him, grinning obnoxiously, draping an arm over his shoulders.
Sakusa froze. “Get off.”
“C’mon, Omi-kun, smile for once!” Atsumu sing-songed.
“Don’t call me that,” Sakusa snapped, trying to shrug him off, but Atsumu only gripped tighter, laughing.
Bokuto held up his phone, “Say Singapore layover!”
Everyone shouted except Sakusa, who glared at the camera while Atsumu beamed, cheek pressing dangerously close to Sakusa’s temple as the flash went off.
Bokuto immediately began posting it in the trip GC.
“LOOK LOOK!! memories~ ✈️🌴💛”
Sakusa’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t check it.
⸻
They reached the hotel, the sleek purple lights glowing softly as they shuffled into the small lobby, greeted by a young staff member who quickly handed out room keys.
“Okay, everyone knows their room, right?” Akaashi asked, checking the list one last time.
Everyone nodded—except Atsumu, who paused, blinking at his key card.
“Wait… who’m I with again?”
Akaashi’s head snapped up. “You’re with Sakusa-san.”
Atsumu groaned, “Noooo.”
Sakusa felt his eyebrow twitch, “I’m not sharing with him.”
“Too late,” Bokuto called, already pulling Akaashi toward the elevator. “BYEEEEE!”
Kenma and Kuroo slipped in next, Kenma yawning so hard his eyes watered.
Iwaizumi physically dragged Oikawa, who was still complaining about lighting for his skincare selfie.
Hinata and Kageyama followed, Hinata clutching his pillow, Kageyama carrying all their snacks.
Osamu and Suna was already inside, waving with an amused grin. “Good luck, ‘Tsumu.”
Atsumu shot his brother a betrayed look, then glared at Sakusa, “Yer gonna ruin this trip, I can feel it.”
Sakusa narrowed his eyes, “That’s my line.”
⸻
They entered their room, which was smaller than Sakusa would’ve liked, the two twin beds pushed to opposite walls with just a narrow aisle between them. A muted purple glow lit the space, casting strange shadows on Atsumu’s face as he threw himself dramatically onto his bed.
“Ugh, I’m so tired,” Atsumu whined, rolling over, “Why’d they stick me with you, anyway?”
Sakusa ignored him, pulling out his sanitizing wipes and meticulously cleaning the light switches and remote before sitting on the edge of his bed.
Atsumu watched, smirking, “Yer really like that, huh?”
“Like what?” Sakusa shot back.
“All neat and clean and stiff. Must be exhausting.”
Sakusa glared at him, “Must be exhausting being an idiot all the time.”
Atsumu barked a laugh, flopping back, hair splayed across the pillow. For a moment, the room fell quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant buzz of airport announcements.
“Ya snore?” Atsumu asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Good. I don’t wanna deal with that,” Atsumu mumbled, closing his eyes.
Sakusa climbed under his sheets, phone in hand, scrolling past the trip GC where Bokuto had spammed their group photo with sparkles and heart stickers.
His eyes darted across the room to where Atsumu was already breathing softly, one arm thrown over his eyes.
He turned away, pressing his phone to his chest, and let out a slow exhale.
It was only the first night. Only six days left.
Sakusa closed his eyes, telling himself he could endure it.
Even if Miya Atsumu was the last person he wanted to wake up to in the morning.
———
It was late at night, probably around midnight, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound in the small purple-lit room. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender, and Sakusa was finally drifting into a deep, warm sleep when—
SLUUUURP
The sharp, wet sound of noodles being sucked up violently into someone’s mouth.
Sakusa’s eyes snapped open, lashes fluttering against the pillow as he inhaled sharply.
“What the fuck—”
He shifted, eyes adjusting in the dim light. Across the room, Atsumu was crouched on the floor near the tiny table against the wall, his blond hair sticking up in messy tufts, a pair of cheap wooden chopsticks halfway to his mouth. Steam curled from the red cup of Shin Ramen in front of him, the spicy scent instantly filling the room.
“ohf—? dif I wake ya up, Omi?” Atsumu mumbled around the noodles, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, eyes wide and guilty.
“Seriously, Miya? Eating at night?” Sakusa hissed, dragging the blanket tighter around himself as he turned away, trying to bury himself in warmth again. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, and the cold air hit the back of his neck.
“Sorry…” Atsumu chewed and swallowed, his grin audible in his voice, “ya want a bite..?”
“Now why would I want tha—”
grooooooowl…
Sakusa’s stomach betrayed him, the rumble echoing embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.
Atsumu choked on a laugh, noodles nearly falling from his chopsticks, “I mean, that just tells me yer hungry, Omi-omi.”
“Shut up.”
Sakusa was fully awake now, glaring at the ceiling before sighing dramatically, pushing himself up until he was sitting on his bed, blanket still wrapped tightly around his shoulders like a cocoon. His curls were a mess, and his mask lay discarded on the bedside table, exposing the pout on his lips.
He glanced at Atsumu, who was smirking while slurping another mouthful of noodles, eyes glinting with mischief.
Sakusa’s face scrunched in disgust before he scooted off the bed, blanket dragging on the floor behind him as he wormed over to the 7-Eleven plastic bag they bought earlier, rummaging through it aggressively.
“Why is it so damn cold here…” Sakusa muttered under his breath, hugging the blanket with one arm while digging into the bag with the other.
“…Omi, ya aren’t sick, are ya?” Atsumu asked, brows furrowed, noodles paused halfway to his mouth.
“I’m not, Miya. Stop jumping to conclusions.” Sakusa snapped, his voice sharp but softer around the edges in the quiet.
“The air conditioner is literally on 27 degrees celsius,” Atsumu said, gesturing to the glowing numbers on the display.
“It’s still cold.” Sakusa sniffled, rubbing his nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
Atsumu stared, chopsticks still in his mouth, eyes softening just slightly before flickering away. He muttered something under his breath Sakusa couldn’t catch.
Finally, Sakusa fished out a small bag of crisps, the kind that looked pathetically tiny in his athlete-sized hand, but it would do for now. He plopped himself back onto the edge of his bed, blanket still wrapped around him, and pried the bag open with a loud crackle.
He shoved a crisp into his mouth, eyes closing as the salt hit his tongue, momentarily drowning out the lingering bitterness of being awake at midnight because of Miya Atsumu .
Across the room, Atsumu was watching him, eyes warm with barely concealed amusement.
“Ya look like a grumpy caterpillar,” Atsumu teased, taking another loud slurp of noodles, the steam fogging up his lashes.
“Shut up,” Sakusa mumbled through a mouthful of crisps.
They sat there in silence for a moment—Atsumu sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his ramen, Sakusa curled up on the bed in his blanket cocoon, munching crisps in small, controlled bites while glancing at his phone every few seconds.
Atsumu slurped again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Ya sure ya don’t want a bite? The broth’s good.”
“I don’t want your germs, Miya.”
“Oh, so ya want my germs, got it,” Atsumu grinned, raising an eyebrow, leaning forward dramatically with the cup extended.
“Disgusting,” Sakusa muttered, looking away, ears just faintly pink.
“Ya say that, but yer eyes are sayin’ ‘give me a bite, Atsumu’,” Atsumu said in a sing-song voice.
Sakusa glared at him, crunching another crisp aggressively. “I’m going to throw that cup out of the window.”
Atsumu burst out laughing, his head tipping back, the sound bouncing softly against the small room’s walls.
It was stupid. It was late. The room smelled like spicy noodles and crisps, and the air was too cold, and Sakusa hated everything about it.
But the sound of Atsumu’s laughter was warm in a way that made something in Sakusa’s chest loosen, just for a second, before he swallowed it back down with another crisp.
———
Atsumu soon finished his Shin Ramen, tossing the empty cup into the trash, licking the last bit of spice off his thumb before collapsing back onto his bed with a satisfied sigh.
But the room felt oddly quiet.
He shifted on the thin mattress, glancing over to the other side where Sakusa lay, bundled in his thick white blanket, facing the wall, the only sign of life the small tremors shaking through the blanket every few seconds.
Atsumu blinked. He rubbed his eyes, thinking maybe he imagined it, but—
Another small shiver. Another sniffle.
“Omi, yer doin’ alright? Yer shiverin’,” Atsumu’s voice broke the hush, low and tentative, a rare softness lacing his usual loud tone.
“I’m fine, Miya. Go back to sleep,” came Sakusa’s muffled reply, hoarse, trembling, and swallowed by the blanket.
But he wasn’t fine.
Because as he lay there, the room spinning slightly in the dim purple glow of the hotel lights, Sakusa felt like his body was betraying him piece by piece.
His skin was burning hot and icy cold at the same time, a clammy sweat clinging to his neck and hairline as shivers racked through him in slow, torturous waves. Every breath scratched down his throat like sandpaper, and he swallowed around the dryness, hoping it would ease, but it only worsened.
His joints throbbed, a deep, dragging ache in his elbows, knees, and hips, like someone had tied small weights around each bone and pulled.
At this point, he just wanted to curse the gods with—
Fuck you. Why did you have to curse me with hypermobility.
The pain was sharpest in his hips and elbows, those familiar pressure points that always flared when he was cold or feverish, but tonight it felt heavier, deeper, sinking into the marrow of his bones.
He tried to pull the blanket tighter around himself, fingers trembling as he clutched it like a lifeline, squeezing his eyes shut, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths, in, out, in, out, counting in his head to drown out the pounding of his pulse.
But the shivers didn’t stop.
And then the bed dipped behind him, and Sakusa’s breath caught.
“Omi…” Atsumu’s voice was closer now, softer, almost a whisper, “yer not fine.”
“Go. Back. To. Sleep,” Sakusa snapped, but his voice cracked, breaking on the last word, betraying him.
There was a rustle as Atsumu shifted, and Sakusa could feel the heat radiating from where Atsumu sat on the edge of his bed, the warmth stark against Sakusa’s freezing skin even through the layers of his blanket.
“Don’t need ya to take care of me, Miya,” Sakusa croaked out, hiding his face deeper into the pillow, shame burning under his skin as a cough tickled his throat, forcing its way out, weak and scratchy.
“I ain’t gonna let ya freeze ta death either, dumbass,” Atsumu muttered, but it wasn’t teasing, not really.
Sakusa’s vision blurred for a moment, frustration welling up in his chest as another tremor rattled down his spine, his teeth clacking together with a small, humiliating noise.
The room felt too cold, too small, too loud with the sound of his shivers and the throb of his joints. His body felt like it was made of glass, ready to crack if he moved too quickly.
Atsumu was quiet for a moment, then Sakusa heard the shuffle of fabric and felt something heavy drape over him—a second blanket, the scratchy hotel one Atsumu had been using.
Sakusa’s eyes opened, blinking against the burning in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything as the additional weight settled over his shaking body.
“Don’t get used to this,” Atsumu muttered, voice low, but Sakusa could hear the concern layered underneath.
Sakusa sniffled, pressing his face deeper into the pillow, swallowing down the wave of nausea and weakness that washed over him.
“Wasn’t planning to,” he whispered back, the words barely audible, lost in the rustle of the blankets and the quiet hum of the air conditioning.
Atsumu hovered for a moment, as if unsure whether to stay or leave, before he sighed, heavy and tired, shuffling back to his bed.
Sakusa laid there, wrapped in both blankets, the shaking gradually slowing to small tremors, the warmth seeping into his cold skin, easing the stabbing pain in his joints just enough to take the edge off.
He could still feel Atsumu’s presence across the room, could hear the soft rustle as Atsumu settled back down, and the room felt a fraction less cold.
Just a fraction.
But enough for Sakusa to finally let himself close his eyes, exhaling shakily as he drifted back into sleep, the faint scent of spicy ramen lingering in the air, mingling with the warmth Atsumu left behind.
———
Sakusa thought it would get better by the morning.
It did not.
If anything, it was worse.
His body felt heavy, sinking into the thin hotel mattress like wet cement, every joint screaming in sharp, relentless pulses of pain that made it hard to even breathe. His skin felt too tight, heat burning under his cheeks while the rest of him was freezing, cold sweat dampening the collar of his t-shirt.
The alarm he set for 7:30 AM had been ringing for at least ten minutes now, the shrill ding ding ding echoing off the narrow walls of the tiny room.
“God… Omi, can’t ya just turn the alarm off—” Atsumu’s voice was groggy, muffled by his pillow, hair sticking up like a field of golden grass.
“…I can’t,” Sakusa’s voice was faint, nearly swallowed by the layers of blankets wrapped around him like a cocoon.
Atsumu’s eyes cracked open, one brow twitching. “Whaddya mean ya can’t?”
“I said I can’t,” Sakusa repeated, a tremor in his voice he couldn’t hide, hands clutching the blanket tighter around his shoulders, knuckles white from the effort.
Atsumu pushed himself up on one elbow, blinking at the cocoon across the room, his brows furrowing. “C’mon, I offered ya help yesterday, and now yer bein’ all bratty?”
Sakusa didn’t reply.
He couldn’t.
Because the moment he shifted, pain flared hot in his hips, a stabbing ache shooting down to his knees, making him suck in a sharp, shaky breath. His elbows throbbed with a deep, splintering pain, wrists aching as he tried to adjust his grip on the blanket. His head spun, nausea curling in his stomach, bile rising up to burn the back of his throat.
He wanted to cry.
He wanted to get up, turn off the damn alarm, brush his teeth, pretend he was fine. But he couldn’t.
His eyes stung, and he squeezed them shut, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing as the alarm kept ringing.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Atsumu let out an exasperated huff, flinging his blanket off dramatically. “Wow, so yer just gonna do this huh—”
But the words died in his throat as he fully sat up and really looked at Sakusa.
At the way Sakusa’s shoulders were trembling under the blanket. At the pale, clammy skin on his neck where the blanket slipped down. At the way Sakusa’s breaths came out shallow, labored, almost like he was trying to keep himself from sobbing.
Atsumu’s grin slipped, replaced with a worried scowl.
“Omi…” he called softly, but Sakusa didn’t respond, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched.
Atsumu’s chest tightened, an uncomfortable, twisting feeling bubbling up. He stood, crossing the few steps between their beds, and hesitated, watching Sakusa’s trembling form.
“Hey… Kiyoomi.” He rarely used Sakusa’s first name, but now it came out quiet, careful.
Sakusa’s eyes cracked open, glassy and unfocused, lashes sticking together. His breathing was ragged, and his lips were pale, pressed together so tightly they trembled.
“Turn off… the alarm…” Sakusa managed, voice raw, before another wave of pain made him flinch, pressing his forehead into the pillow, swallowing down the nausea clawing up his throat.
Atsumu’s hand hovered, unsure, before he reached for Sakusa’s phone on the nightstand and silenced the alarm with a quick swipe.
The room fell into a heavy quiet, the only sound Sakusa’s shaky breaths and the faint hum of the air conditioning.
“Yer sick,” Atsumu said, voice low, eyes narrowing.
“I’m fine,” Sakusa whispered, but it sounded like a plea.
Atsumu clicked his tongue, “Yeah, ‘fine’ my ass.”
He glanced around, spotting a water bottle on Sakusa’s side, uncapped and half-full. He picked it up, checking the temperature with his wrist before moving closer, crouching beside Sakusa’s bed.
“Omi, drink,” he said, nudging the bottle toward Sakusa’s lips.
Sakusa flinched, glaring at him weakly. “Don’t need your help.”
“Too bad, ‘cause yer gettin’ it,” Atsumu snapped back, but it lacked its usual bite.
He held the bottle, waiting.
Sakusa’s eyes flickered, glassy, before he let out a broken sigh, shifting just enough to take a small sip, the water cool on his burning tongue.
The sip turned into a few more before he pulled away, turning his face back into the pillow, breathing hard.
“Good,” Atsumu muttered, placing the bottle back down.
Atsumu stood, running a hand through his messy hair, pacing once before letting out a sigh. He glanced back at Sakusa, who was clutching the blanket like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
Atsumu’s chest twisted again.
“Look… stay put,” he muttered, slipping on his slides.
Sakusa didn’t respond, eyes closing again, a tremor still running through him.
Atsumu pulled the door open, the bright lights of the hallway spilling in, and turned back one last time.
“I’ll get the others. We’ll figure it out, alright?”
And for once, Sakusa didn’t argue.
He just lay there, breathing carefully, letting the quiet settle as the door clicked shut, leaving him in the cold, lavender-tinted room, the faint taste of water still on his tongue.
And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to simply be —weak, sick, human.
Because Miya Atsumu would be back.
———
After a while, the creaking of the door and the rustling of a plastic bag woke Sakusa up again.
The faint scent of warm bread and the cold, crisp air of early morning Singapore hit him at once, but the pain—god, the pain—was so sharp it made his vision blur, his breath hitching as he tried to shift even slightly under the covers.
His hips felt like they were splitting in half, knives twisting in the joints, each breath sending sparks of pain down his spine, elbows and wrists aching so badly he could barely keep his hands curled around the blanket. His throat was raw, dry, his skin sticky with sweat despite the chills wracking his body.
No one knew he suffered from this condition, except for his family and a handful of close friends. It was manageable, usually, but when it flared up like this—combined with the fever and nausea—it stripped him of everything, leaving him raw, exposed, humiliated by his own body.
He was at his all-time lowest right now, and the fact that he could do nothing about it made him feel impossibly small.
The door shut with a soft click, and he heard the familiar stomp of slides on the floor before they were kicked off, landing somewhere near the door.
Atsumu’s presence filled the room instantly, warm, buzzing, alive. He moved quickly, but quietly, the rustle of a plastic bag followed by footsteps approaching the bed.
Then, there was a pause.
Sakusa’s eyes cracked open, blurry, and he saw Atsumu crouching down, golden hair sticking up in every direction, face uncharacteristically serious.
“Can… I touch ya?” Atsumu asked softly, voice barely above a whisper, cautious in a way Sakusa had never heard from him before.
Sakusa’s breath hitched. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want Atsumu of all people to see him like this, fragile and helpless and weak.
But he needed help.
Even if it was from the person he hated the most.
Sakusa gave the tiniest nod, small enough to avoid aggravating the pain in his neck but clear enough for Atsumu to see.
Atsumu’s eyes softened, and he slowly raised his hand, moving like Sakusa was made of glass, gently placing the back of his hand against Sakusa’s burning forehead.
“God… you’re burning,” Atsumu muttered, brows knitting together, his voice tight, eyes darting across Sakusa’s face as if searching for something to do, something to fix this.
He moved quickly, cracking open a new water bottle with a loud snap , fishing out a blister pack of medication—paracetamol, cold meds—before settling them on the bedside table next to Sakusa with a soft clatter.
“C’mon. Sit up,” Atsumu urged, tucking one arm under Sakusa’s pillow to help him lift.
Sakusa squeezed his eyes shut, teeth sinking into his lower lip, as he tried to shift, tried to push himself up, but the pain shot through his hips and elbows like fire, making him gasp.
“…I can’t,” Sakusa choked out, voice shaking.
Silence.
Atsumu’s hand froze on his pillow, his eyes wide, confused. “What—?”
“It hurts,” Sakusa whispered, tears he didn’t want to shed gathering at the corners of his eyes.
Atsumu’s mouth opened, then closed, his brows furrowing deeper, something raw and pained flashing across his face.
“Okay,” Atsumu said finally, voice firm but soft, like he was steadying himself.
Sakusa kept his eyes shut, humiliated, breathing shallowly.
“Where’s yer painkillers?” Atsumu asked, glancing around.
“…Front pocket of my black bag,” Sakusa murmured, voice barely there.
Atsumu stood, rummaging through the small suitcase near the foot of the bed, finding a small pill organizer tucked into the side pocket. He popped it open, revealing a few labeled compartments.
“Which one?” Atsumu asked, holding it up carefully.
“The red ones. Two,” Sakusa said.
Atsumu nodded, popping two red pills out into his palm before moving back to Sakusa’s side.
“Here. Take these first,” Atsumu said, holding out the pills with one hand, the water bottle with the other.
Sakusa didn’t move.
Atsumu blinked. “Omi?”
“I can’t take them on an empty stomach,” Sakusa admitted, barely audible, shame flooding every inch of him, making his ears burn despite the fever.
Atsumu’s eyes widened before he let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Yer a real piece of work, ya know that?”
Sakusa flinched, looking away, clutching the blanket tighter.
Atsumu stood, grabbing something from the plastic bag he brought in—a small, warm paper bag. He ripped it open, the smell of toasted bread and butter filling the cold air.
“Kaya toast. I got it from that 24-hour stall,” Atsumu said, pulling out a small, warm triangle, steam still rising from the crispy edges.
He moved closer, crouching down, holding the toast near Sakusa’s lips.
“Eat,” Atsumu commanded, but his voice was gentle.
Sakusa’s eyes flickered, glassy, throat tightening. He wanted to refuse, to push Atsumu’s hand away, to pretend he wasn’t this weak.
But he was.
And the toast smelled warm, comforting, sweet.
Sakusa parted his lips, just enough to take a small bite, the buttery warmth melting on his tongue, the sweetness of the kaya filling his mouth.
“Good,” Atsumu praised softly, waiting patiently as Sakusa chewed slowly, forcing himself to swallow despite the pain in his throat.
Another small bite, then another, Atsumu feeding him carefully, thumb brushing against Sakusa’s bottom lip accidentally, making both of them freeze for a moment.
Sakusa’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t say anything, taking the last bite, chewing slowly.
“Done?” Atsumu asked.
Sakusa nodded weakly.
Atsumu held out the water bottle again, helping Sakusa guide it to his lips as he took small sips, the cold water soothing the burn in his throat.
Then, Atsumu held out the red pills, and Sakusa took them, swallowing them down with another sip of water, closing his eyes as the room tilted around him.
“Good job,” Atsumu said softly, placing the bottle back down.
Sakusa opened his eyes, breathing heavily, looking at Atsumu for a moment, his vision blurry, tears he couldn’t hold back slipping down his cheeks.
Atsumu’s eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. “Hey, hey, don’t—shit, don’t cry, Omi—”
“I’m not crying,” Sakusa rasped, voice cracking.
“Yeah, sure, ‘course ya aren’t,” Atsumu muttered, but his hand was already moving, brushing away the tears from Sakusa’s cheek with his thumb, warm and careful.
Sakusa’s breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut, leaning just slightly into the touch before pulling back, exhaustion flooding him.
Atsumu adjusted the blankets around him, tucking him in securely, making sure the edges were snug around Sakusa’s shoulders.
“Sleep. I’ll wake ya when it’s time to go,” Atsumu said, standing up.
Sakusa didn’t respond, but as he drifted back into the darkness, the pain slowly easing as the medication began to work, he felt a strange, fragile warmth bloom in his chest.
Because Miya Atsumu, for all his faults, had stayed.
And Sakusa, despite himself, was grateful.
———
Their flight wasn’t until 12 PM.
Sakusa stood up slowly, the blankets sliding off his shoulders as the cold air hit his sweat-dampened skin, making him shiver. He rubbed a clammy hand over his face, checking the clock on the nightstand.
9:05 AM.
They still had time, but every minute felt like a hurdle he had to drag himself over.
He shuffled toward the bathroom, each step heavy, the floor cool against the soles of his feet. His curls clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, tickling the edges of his eyes. Nausea churned deep in his gut, a sickly, rolling wave that made the edges of his vision pulse with every step.
His joints still ached, a dull, grinding pain in his hips and elbows that flared each time he shifted his weight, but the painkillers had dulled it enough for him to move without feeling like he would black out.
His hand hovered over the bathroom light switch, fingers trembling, before he flicked it on with a soft click . The harsh, iridescent light of the small hotel bathroom flickered to life, bouncing off the pale tiles, illuminating every crack and stain with brutal clarity.
Sakusa squinted against the brightness, breathing carefully as he stepped inside, the cold tiles biting into his feet, sending a sharp jolt up his legs.
He placed a hand against the wall to steady himself, blinking away the dizziness, the world swaying softly around him.
In, out. In, out.
It was going fine, he told himself, gripping the edge of the sink, breathing through the nausea as he reached for his toothbrush with shaky fingers.
Until—
A sudden, violent wave of nausea surged up, burning the back of his throat, making his mouth flood with saliva. His eyes widened, stomach clenching painfully as his knees buckled.
Sakusa barely managed to drop to his knees in front of the toilet, the cold tiles biting into his joints as he hunched over, arms shaking as he braced himself.
He gagged once, twice, before the contents of his stomach finally forced their way up, burning acid tearing up his throat as he retched violently into the toilet bowl. The taste of kaya toast, bitter with bile, coated his tongue, making him gag again as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
His body shook with the force of it, knees digging into the tiles, elbows screaming with pain as he clutched the edge of the toilet, his hair falling forward in messy, damp curls.
Another wave, another retch, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps between each heave.
He hated this.
He hated this weakness, this humiliating vulnerability, the way his body betrayed him so easily, the way he had no control as his stomach twisted and emptied itself again and again.
Sakusa’s vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges as the last of the nausea wrung itself out of him, leaving him shaking, empty, sweat dripping down his back, cold and clammy.
He stayed there for a moment, panting, forehead resting against the cool plastic of the toilet seat, letting the chill seep into his burning skin, his entire body trembling with exhaustion.
A knock at the door jolted him, followed by a familiar voice, hesitant, soft.
“Omi…? Ya good in there?”
Sakusa didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, swallowing hard to force down the dryness in his throat.
A pause.
Then, the doorknob turned slowly, and the door creaked open.
Atsumu peeked inside, hair a mess, eyes wide with concern that he tried to mask with a scowl.
“Shit—Omi—” Atsumu muttered, pushing the door open fully and stepping in, his bare feet padding against the tiles.
Sakusa glared weakly, unable to summon the energy to snap at him, his arms trembling as he tried to push himself up.
“Don’t—” Atsumu said quickly, kneeling beside him, warm hands reaching out, hovering before gently settling on Sakusa’s shoulders, steadying him.
Sakusa flinched, tears stinging his eyes from the pain shooting through his elbows, but Atsumu’s grip was careful, firm but soft, grounding him.
“Ya done?” Atsumu asked quietly, his thumb brushing against the back of Sakusa’s shoulder without thinking.
Sakusa nodded weakly, swallowing around the dryness in his throat, blinking as a tear slipped down his cheek, falling onto the tile below.
Atsumu’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t comment, instead reaching behind him for a washcloth, wetting it under the sink before gently wiping Sakusa’s mouth, cleaning away the bile with small, careful strokes.
Sakusa squeezed his eyes shut, humiliation burning under his skin, but he didn’t pull away, too tired, too drained to fight it.
“C’mon, let’s get ya up,” Atsumu muttered, looping one arm around Sakusa’s back, the other gripping under his arm carefully, avoiding the sore joints as much as he could.
With Atsumu’s help, Sakusa managed to stand, leaning heavily against him, the world tilting dangerously before steadying as Atsumu’s warmth pressed against his side.
Atsumu guided him to the sink, helping him rinse his mouth, Sakusa’s hands shaking as he cupped the water, spitting it out with a small groan.
“Ya done?” Atsumu asked again, softer this time.
Sakusa nodded, hair dripping water down the sides of his face, his breaths heavy.
Atsumu’s hand hovered before pushing a damp curl away from Sakusa’s eyes, his touch feather-light.
“Good. Let’s get ya back to bed, yeah?” Atsumu murmured, guiding him back toward the room, one hand steady at Sakusa’s back, the other gripping his wrist to keep him upright.
Sakusa didn’t resist, leaning into the warmth, each step a small victory as he made it back to the bed, collapsing onto the mattress with a soft exhale.
Atsumu tucked the blanket around him again, adjusting the pillows, moving with a quiet, careful efficiency that made something warm flicker in Sakusa’s chest despite the nausea still swirling faintly inside him.
Sakusa’s eyelids fluttered, exhaustion pulling him back down, but before he slipped under, he felt Atsumu’s hand brush over his hair again, a soft, fleeting touch.
And for the first time that morning, Sakusa let himself relax, just a little, allowing the darkness to pull him under, safe in the warmth of Atsumu’s careful hands.
———
“Hey… Omi, time ‘ta wake up.”
The soft, hesitant voice pulled Sakusa from the depths of a heavy, fever-drenched slumber, the fog in his mind slowly parting as he blinked against the light filtering through the thin curtains.
“Mmmph—what time is it?” Sakusa mumbled, his voice low, rough, heavy with exhaustion.
“10:07,” Atsumu replied, kneeling by the bed, his hair still messy, eyes sharp but soft. “The group’s askin’ for ya. They said we’re gonna walk ‘round for a bit before headin’ out for an early lunch and check up on ya.”
Sakusa let out a small sigh, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palms. His joints, for once, felt free from the stabbing pain that had pinned him down all night, but the nausea still roiled in his stomach, a sour taste lingering on his tongue.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed slowly, pausing to steady himself as the room swayed faintly, taking a deep breath before pushing himself up.
Atsumu’s hand shot out instinctively, hovering just near Sakusa’s elbow, ready to catch him if he stumbled. Sakusa glared weakly, but didn’t swat it away, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breath.
He moved to his suitcase, pulling out a clean t-shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants, moving slowly, carefully, ignoring the way Atsumu’s eyes followed his every movement, tracking him like a worried hawk.
He slipped into the bathroom to change, splashing cold water on his face, rinsing his mouth, hoping to wash away the sickly taste of bile and exhaustion. His curls clung wetly to his forehead, his skin pale, dark circles etched under his eyes, but it would have to do.
He tugged on his oversized black hoodie, the familiar weight comforting against his still-aching shoulders, before slipping into his shoes, the motions practiced, mechanical, a mask over the way his body still felt like it was on the brink of collapse.
He grabbed his black mask, slipping it over his nose, the fabric soft against his skin, and pulled on his beige baseball hat, tucking stray curls under it with shaking hands.
It was all muscle memory by now.
The armor he wore when he needed to pretend he was fine.
When he needed to pretend he wasn’t on the brink of shutting down.
⸻
“You good?” Atsumu’s voice was quiet, breaking through the silence.
Sakusa glanced at him, eyes tired but steady, nodding once.
“Yeah.”
Atsumu raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but didn’t argue.
Instead, as Sakusa moved to grab his tote bag from the corner of the room, Atsumu stepped forward, plucking it from his hand with an easy, practiced motion.
“Oi—”
“Yer not carryin’ this,” Atsumu said firmly, slinging the bag over his own shoulder. “And ya ain’t carryin’ yer luggage either.”
“I can handle it,” Sakusa snapped, glaring under the brim of his hat.
Atsumu just stared back, unfazed. “Don’t care. ‘M doin’ it anyway.”
Sakusa clenched his jaw, a retort at the tip of his tongue, but it died as he felt a wave of nausea rise, forcing him to close his eyes and take a steadying breath.
Atsumu’s hand hovered near Sakusa’s lower back for a moment before falling back to his side, thumb twitching like he wanted to reach out.
“Ya ready?” Atsumu asked, softer now.
Sakusa opened his eyes, exhaling slowly, nodding once more.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
⸻
They stepped out of the small room, Atsumu locking the door behind them, Sakusa’s tote bag securely on Atsumu’s shoulder, his other hand gripping Sakusa’s small suitcase, wheeling it along the hallway with casual ease.
They moved through the hotel corridors, the quiet morning air mixed with the distant hum of Changi’s terminal, travelers passing by in small groups, the scent of coffee drifting through the air.
Sakusa walked slowly, careful with each step, focusing on breathing past the nausea swirling in his gut. His fingers were curled in the sleeves of his hoodie, hidden, gripping the fabric as a grounding point.
Atsumu kept pace beside him, occasionally glancing over, eyes scanning Sakusa’s face for any sign of wavering.
When they reached the lobby, the rest of the group was already waiting, gathered near the indoor waterfall, Hinata waving wildly the moment he saw them.
“Omi! Atsumu! Over here!” Hinata yelled, earning a sharp “shut up” from Kageyama, who was holding both their drinks.
Bokuto lit up, waving both arms. “Omi’s here! He’s alive!”
Sakusa shot him a weak glare that made Bokuto grin wider.
Akaashi stepped forward, eyes sweeping over Sakusa with a quiet, calculating concern before he nodded. “Glad you’re up, Sakusa-san.”
Kenma looked up from his Switch, giving a small nod, while Kuroo grinned, “We were about to come get you.”
Oikawa, sunglasses already on, flicked his hair dramatically, “You look pale, Kiyoomi-chan, but it’s a look.”
Iwaizumi smacked him on the back of the head. “Don’t be annoying.”
Osamu, holding a cup of warm tea, passed it to Atsumu, who took it before gently holding it out to Sakusa.
“Here,” Atsumu murmured, his fingers brushing against Sakusa’s as he took it.
The warmth seeped into Sakusa’s cold fingers, grounding him, the steam rising up, comforting against his masked face.
“Thanks,” Sakusa whispered, taking a small sip, letting the warmth settle the nausea, just a bit.
Atsumu adjusted the tote bag on his shoulder, giving Sakusa a lopsided grin.
“C’mon, Omi. Let’s get ya some stir fried noodles before the flight.”
And despite the dizziness, despite the nausea and exhaustion pulling at him, Sakusa managed the smallest, quietest huff of laughter under his mask.
Because Miya Atsumu was carrying his things, holding out tea, matching his slow steps.
The group was walking toward their gate, chatter buzzing softly around them, laughter and tired complaints echoing in the high-ceilinged terminal as they weaved past clusters of travelers and rolling luggage.
Sakusa trailed at the back of the group, his steps careful, steady, as he pulled out his ticket again to double-check.
Terminal 4, Gate 25.
His fingers, still cold despite being tucked inside the sleeves of his hoodie, brushed over the crisp edges of the boarding pass. His eyes scanned the print for the fifth time, the words blurring slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over him.
A raspy cough tore its way up his throat, catching on the dryness, making him wince.
“How long is the walk until the gate…?” Sakusa asked, voice hoarse, muffled under the black fabric of his mask.
Atsumu, who had been walking a few steps ahead, immediately slowed, adjusting his pace until he was right beside Sakusa, golden hair messy, tote bag still slung across his chest with Sakusa’s belongings tucked securely inside.
“Just ‘bout five more minutes, yer doin’ alright?” Atsumu asked, his voice low but gentle, eyes flickering over Sakusa’s face, checking the droop of his eyelids, the slump of his shoulders.
“…yeah,” Sakusa muttered, shifting his mask slightly to adjust it against the bridge of his nose, fingers pressing into the warmth of his pockets. The soft fabric of his hoodie sleeves against his palms was grounding, reminding him to keep moving, one foot in front of the other.
They kept walking, the floor beneath them a blur of polished tile reflecting the terminal lights, the distant sound of rolling luggage and boarding calls mingling with Bokuto’s loud laughter somewhere up ahead.
But it felt like forever.
Every step was a reminder of how exhausted he was, how his legs felt like they were made of heavy clay, each stride sending small jolts of pain through his hips, a dull ache that pulsed in rhythm with the faint pounding in his skull.
He kept his gaze fixed on the ground, watching the slow shuffle of his sneakers, trying to breathe past the tightness in his chest, in, out, in, out, focusing on the rhythmic swish of the fabric around his legs.
Atsumu stayed close, his steps slowing whenever Sakusa faltered, hovering without making it obvious, glancing over with that same worried crease between his brows.
Finally, the glowing sign of Gate 25 came into view, the large white numbers shining above the waiting area, surrounded by travelers sprawled out in the rows of grey chairs.
Sakusa let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his shoulders slumping as they finally reached the gate.
Without a word, Sakusa walked straight to an empty seat near the window, dropping into it with a quiet, shaky exhale, the metal frame creaking under him as he sat.
He pressed his back against the chair, closing his eyes for a moment, the coolness of the plastic against his spine a small relief against the heat in his skin. Another raspy cough bubbled up, muffled into the crook of his elbow, leaving his chest burning.
He didn’t even realize Atsumu had followed until he felt the familiar shadow fall over him.
Atsumu placed Sakusa’s water bottle down on the seat next to him before sitting, arms draped over his knees, glancing over.
“Here. Drink,” Atsumu muttered, not quite looking Sakusa in the eye.
Sakusa cracked his eyes open, shifting to take the bottle, unscrewing the cap with trembling hands before taking a slow sip. The cool water eased the dryness in his throat, helping him swallow past the thick lump there.
Atsumu watched him for a moment, then leaned back, crossing his arms, pretending to be focused on the window as their plane rolled into view on the tarmac.
“Good job,” Atsumu said quietly, so quietly Sakusa almost missed it.
Sakusa blinked, startled, before looking away, setting the water bottle down and pulling his knees closer, hiding his flushed cheeks behind the mask and hat.
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t need to.
Because Atsumu was here, close enough that Sakusa could feel the warmth radiating from him, grounding him as the exhaustion weighed heavy on his bones.
The group settled into the row behind them, the grey airport chairs squeaking under shifting bodies as they sprawled out with bags and snacks, their energy bright and restless in the waiting area.
Hinata and Kageyama immediately started bickering, voices rising and falling like background music.
“Give it back, Kageyama!” Hinata hissed, lunging across the seat for a half-open bag of chips.
“You already had two packs, dumbass!” Kageyama snapped, holding it just out of reach as Hinata’s fingers clawed at the air.
“Hinata, Kageyama, please lower your voices,” Akaashi sighed from where he sat beside Osamu, who was scrolling through photos of food on his phone.
“D’ya think we can find a good bánh mì place once we land?” Osamu asked, showing Akaashi a photo of a crispy baguette stuffed with herbs and meat.
“I’m sure there will be, Miya-san. We can check near the hotel,” Akaashi replied, nodding thoughtfully, though his eyes darted up every now and then to keep track of Hinata’s escalating whines.
Suna and Kenma were half-whispering, half-sulking across two seats, Suna lazily flipping through his phone while Kenma tapped away on his Switch.
“Do you think Atsumu will shut up once we’re on the plane?” Kenma mumbled, not looking up.
“No,” Suna deadpanned, glancing over at Atsumu, who was rummaging in Sakusa’s tote bag, checking if everything was there.
“Figured,” Kenma sighed.
Kuroo and Bokuto, meanwhile, had turned seat-checking into a game, darting from chair to chair, comparing tickets like conspirators.
“Bro, if you get the window, I’m switching with you halfway,” Bokuto declared, puffing out his chest.
“Only if you give me your in-flight dessert,” Kuroo shot back, smirking.
Bokuto’s eyes widened. “That’s blackmail!”
“It’s strategy,” Kuroo corrected.
Their laughter bubbled around them, voices overlapping in soft, chaotic layers that somehow made the sterile gate waiting area feel alive, like the comforting hum of a home full of people.
⸻
In the midst of it, Sakusa sat quietly, tucked into the corner seat by the window, mask and hat shadowing his face, hoodie pulled over his hands as he held his water bottle loosely in his lap.
He was tired.
So tired, in a way that seeped into his bones, into every slow blink, every breath that felt like it scraped against the inside of his throat. The nausea was still there, but dull now, a low hum in the background as the painkillers worked, leaving him heavy, weighted, but not in agony.
His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he exhaled, the warm Singapore air outside replaced by the cool conditioned breeze of the terminal.
Next to him, Atsumu was scrolling through his phone, shooting the occasional glare over his shoulder when Hinata’s squealing grew too loud, or when Bokuto nearly tripped over Kuroo’s feet.
Then, a softer glance would flicker back to Sakusa, checking the rise and fall of his shoulders, the small twitches of his fingers inside his sleeves.
“Sleep if ya need to,” Atsumu said, not looking up from his screen, but his voice was softer than usual.
Sakusa didn’t reply, didn’t have the energy to muster a glare or a sarcastic remark. Instead, he shifted, pulling his hood a little lower, his head tipping back against the chair as his eyelids drooped.
The chatter around him faded into a soft blur, the laughter and bickering of his teammates becoming a warm, distant hum.
And slowly, Sakusa drifted, letting exhaustion pull him under as his breathing evened out, his body sinking further into the chair.
His hand slipped slightly, the water bottle teetering in his grasp.
Before it could fall, Atsumu reached over, gently taking it from him, screwing the cap back on, and tucking it into Sakusa’s tote bag.
He glanced at Sakusa’s face, noting the slight furrow of his brows, the way his lips parted just a little as he breathed, the shadows under his eyes still dark but softer now in sleep.
“Good job, Omi,” Atsumu whispered, so quietly only he could hear, before settling back, one arm resting along the back of Sakusa’s chair in case he needed to steady him when they got up.
Outside, the plane was waiting on the tarmac, sun glinting off its metal wings as the clouds shifted, a promise of the next step in their journey.
And inside, with the hum of laughter and the soft rise and fall of Sakusa’s breaths beside him, Atsumu let himself relax, just for a moment, as they waited to board.
———
Their flight was eventually called, the announcement echoing through the terminal as the screen above the gate switched to NOW BOARDING .
The group moved as a chaotic unit, chattering and nudging each other as they scanned their passes, Bokuto practically bouncing with excitement while Kuroo tried to keep him from knocking over a barrier. Hinata was dragging Kageyama by the wrist, arguing over who would get the aisle seat, while Osamu calmly handed out passports and boarding passes like a parent managing children on a field trip.
They disappeared down the tunnel in a noisy, laughing blur, leaving Sakusa and Atsumu behind in the quiet that followed.
Atsumu glanced at the two boarding passes in his hand:
D24, E24.
Right. They had seats next to each other.
He glanced at Sakusa, who stood a half-step behind him, head down, curls peeking from under his beige bucket hat, shoulders hunched under his oversized black hoodie, hands buried deep in the pockets, the black mask hiding most of his face.
A harsh, wet cough tore through Sakusa’s chest, muffled into the mask as he sniffled, shoulders shaking faintly.
Atsumu’s grip on the passes tightened, the worry in his chest twisting tighter.
“C’mon, Omi,” he murmured, shifting the small suitcase and the tote bag onto one shoulder, leading them forward.
The flight attendant at the door smiled warmly as they approached, bowing slightly. “Welcome aboard.”
Atsumu dipped his head in return, Sakusa giving the faintest nod as he trailed behind, boots dragging slightly on the floor as they stepped into the narrow aisle.
They moved past the rows of blue seats, the overhead bins clattering as passengers stowed away luggage, the air filled with the muted hum of conversation and the rustle of boarding passengers settling in.
“Here we are,” Atsumu said, tilting his head toward the row ahead as he scanned the numbers above.
D24, E24.
“You have the window seat. Sit,” Atsumu continued, voice firm but soft as he nodded toward the seat by the window.
Sakusa didn’t reply, just moved forward, the edge of his sleeve brushing Atsumu’s arm as he stepped past him. He sank into the seat heavily, the soft thump of his body meeting the cushion louder than it should have been.
Atsumu moved quickly, lifting Sakusa’s small suitcase and tucking it neatly into the overhead bin. He placed his own backpack beside it, adjusting the strap before zipping it shut.
“You need yer tote bag?” Atsumu asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced down at Sakusa, who was sitting quietly, head resting against the window, his breath fogging the glass slightly.
Sakusa’s eyes blinked open, heavy and unfocused, before he gave the smallest, drowsy nod, his curls shifting as he moved.
Atsumu sighed softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite himself, and lowered the tote bag, placing it carefully on Sakusa’s lap.
Sakusa’s hands, trembling faintly, moved to clutch the handles, pulling it close as he turned back to look out the window, the grey clouds rolling over the tarmac, the plane wing glinting under the soft morning light.
Atsumu slipped into the seat beside him, settling in with a soft exhale as he adjusted the seatbelt across his hips, glancing sideways at Sakusa to check if he was buckled.
He was, of course, precise even in exhaustion.
⸻
The cabin lights dimmed as the engines rumbled to life, the plane gently vibrating as it began to taxi down the runway, the rows of lights outside streaking past the window in soft blurs.
Sakusa blinked slowly, the hum of the engines and the warmth of the cabin lulling him into a heavy daze. The medicine, combined with the exhaustion from the night before, weighed him down, pulling at his eyelids with each blink.
His head swayed slightly with the movement of the plane, vision blurring as he struggled to keep himself upright, the nausea a dull echo in the back of his throat.
Then, slowly, gently, he shifted, turning his head away from the cold window and leaning toward the warmth beside him.
Atsumu froze, eyes widening as Sakusa’s curls brushed against his shoulder, his body going still as Sakusa’s head lowered, resting softly against the slope of Atsumu’s arm.
For a moment, Sakusa hovered there, half-aware, eyes fluttering shut as his breathing evened out, warm and soft against Atsumu’s skin.
And then he settled, fully, letting his head rest on Atsumu’s shoulder, the gentle weight of him sinking in as the engines roared softly, the plane lifting into the sky.
⸻
Atsumu swallowed, his eyes darting down to the dark curls pressed against his hoodie, the soft exhale of Sakusa’s breath warming the fabric with each slow breath.
His heart thudded, too loud in the quiet of the cabin, the world outside turning into clouds and soft blue light as they climbed higher.
He could see the faint tremble of Sakusa’s fingers where they clutched the handles of the tote bag, even in sleep, and without thinking, Atsumu reached over, gently wrapping his hand around Sakusa’s, his thumb brushing over the knuckles in small, grounding circles.
Sakusa didn’t stir, only sighed softly, sinking deeper against Atsumu’s shoulder as the hum of the plane filled the space around them.
Atsumu let his head fall back against the seat, letting out a slow breath, keeping his hand there, steady, as the clouds rolled past the window beside them.
Outside, the sky was clearing, soft streaks of sunlight piercing through the grey as they flew toward Vietnam, warmth slowly spilling across the cabin.
And inside, for a fleeting moment, everything was quiet.
Sakusa slept through half of the flight, the soft hum of the engines and the warmth radiating from Atsumu’s shoulder lulling him into a deep, heavy sleep that wrapped around him like a weighted blanket.
It was the best he’d felt in days, the ache in his joints reduced to a dull throb, the nausea low and manageable under the fog of drowsiness.
But the smell—
The warm, heavy scent of reheated airplane food—salt, pepper, the faint tang of tomato sauce, and something else he couldn’t place—slammed into him like a wall, jerking him awake with a sharp, startled breath.
His eyes flew open, blurry and unfocused, the bright cabin lights harsh after the comfort of sleep.
He sat up quickly, a slight dizziness pulling at the edges of his vision as he pressed a palm against his eye, rubbing at the tiredness clinging to his lashes, trying to blink away the sleep that clung stubbornly to his mind.
The movement dislodged the hood of his oversized black hoodie, letting a few curls slip free to rest against his forehead, damp with the warmth from where his head had rested on Atsumu’s shoulder.
Atsumu, who had stiffened the moment Sakusa’s weight left his side, turned toward him immediately, concern flickering across his face as he took in Sakusa’s flushed cheeks and the bleary, half-panicked blink in his dark eyes.
“Woah, woah, easy there, Omi,” Atsumu murmured, voice low, one hand coming up to hover near Sakusa’s arm but not quite touching, thumb twitching as if resisting the urge to steady him.
Sakusa blinked again, swallowing against the sudden wave of nausea that rose as the cart rolled closer, the smell intensifying in the cramped cabin air.
“Sorry,” Sakusa rasped, voice hoarse under the mask, muffled but clear enough for Atsumu to hear. He glanced down, realizing the tote bag was still clutched in his lap, his fingers stiff and aching from gripping it even in sleep.
His stomach churned again as the scent of warm bread and something greasy reached them, and he let out a quiet breath, focusing on the even rise and fall of his chest to steady himself.
The flight attendant paused by their row, smiling brightly.
“Good morning, would you like a meal?” she asked politely, holding out two trays, each sealed with foil and plastic cutlery on top.
Atsumu glanced at Sakusa, eyebrow raised. “Ya wanna eat, Omi?”
Sakusa shook his head immediately, the curls around his face bouncing lightly.
“No,” he murmured, eyes flickering away, staring out the window at the clouds rolling beneath them, pale sunlight streaking across the wing.
Atsumu nodded, taking only one tray, setting it down on his tray table as the cart moved down the aisle.
“Don’t force yerself, yeah?” Atsumu said, ripping open the plastic cutlery and stirring the food absentmindedly, the warm scent rising between them.
Sakusa stayed silent, shifting to press his forehead against the cool window, letting the faint vibration of the glass ground him as he breathed in slow, controlled exhales.
But the scent was still there, inescapable in the recycled air of the cabin, making his stomach twist uncomfortably, bile rising at the back of his throat.
Atsumu glanced at him, noticed the slight tremble in Sakusa’s shoulders, the way his gloved fingers clutched the tote bag again.
“Breathe, Omi,” Atsumu said softly, his voice steady, calm, a grounding presence against the rising panic in Sakusa’s chest.
Sakusa squeezed his eyes shut, obeying, inhaling and exhaling slowly, trying to focus on the distant hum of the engines rather than the heavy scent of food.
After a moment, a small, warm pressure settled on the back of his hand, gentle and careful.
Atsumu’s hand, warm and steady, pressing lightly through the fabric of Sakusa’s sleeve.
“I got ya,” Atsumu murmured, just loud enough for Sakusa to hear.
Sakusa’s lashes fluttered, his eyes opening just slightly as he turned his head, catching the soft, genuine concern in Atsumu’s golden eyes.
And for a moment, even with the nausea, the exhaustion, the noise and cramped air, it was enough to calm the storm inside him, if only for a breath.
Sakusa tried to keep breathing.
In, out. In, out.
But the recycled cabin air felt thick, heavy with the layered scents of reheated meals, instant coffee, and warm bread, pressing down on him with every shallow breath he took.
His head was still resting lightly against the cool window, but even the faint vibration of the glass wasn’t grounding him anymore. Instead, it rattled against his forehead, each bump and shift of the plane sending tiny shocks through his skull, amplifying the pounding in his temples.
The food cart had moved on, but the scent clung to the air like oil, thick and nauseating.
His stomach lurched again, bile rising up his throat, burning, and he swallowed hard, fingers digging into the soft fabric of his hoodie sleeve.
“Breathe, Omi,” Atsumu’s low voice said beside him, steady and calm, a quiet anchor in the chaos of his body.
Sakusa tried.
But it wasn’t working.
His chest tightened, his throat closing as another wave of nausea crashed over him, stronger this time, making his vision blur with panic.
“Atsumu,” he rasped, the name tearing from his throat before he could think, voice raw under the mask.
Atsumu’s head snapped toward him immediately, eyes sharp, concern flaring across his features.
“Oi, Omi—”
Sakusa’s hand shot up, clutching Atsumu’s sleeve, knuckles white, as he turned away from the window, mask shifting against his face as he sucked in a sharp, trembling breath.
The world tilted, heat flashing under his skin, sweat prickling at the back of his neck, nausea rising so fast it was suffocating.
“Shit,” Atsumu cursed softly, moving quickly, unclipping his seatbelt with a loud click .
“Come on, c’mon, let’s go,” Atsumu muttered, sliding out of his seat, reaching down to hook an arm under Sakusa’s elbow with careful pressure to avoid his joints.
Sakusa’s legs felt weak, barely holding him as Atsumu helped him stand, guiding him into the narrow aisle.
A few passengers glanced over, but Atsumu didn’t care, one hand gripping Sakusa’s wrist, the other steadying him at the small of his back as they shuffled toward the tiny lavatory at the back of the plane.
The cabin felt like it was spinning, the ground swaying under Sakusa’s feet, sweat dripping down the side of his face under the mask as he sucked in ragged breaths.
They reached the bathroom door, Atsumu knocking quickly before pulling it open.
“Go, Omi,” Atsumu urged, practically guiding Sakusa inside.
Sakusa stumbled in, barely managing to shut the door before he ripped his mask off, dropping to his knees on the cramped floor, clutching the sides of the tiny sink as the wave of nausea finally won.
He retched, harsh and painful, the sound echoing in the small space, bile burning up his throat, eyes stinging with tears he tried to blink away.
Another retch, another wave, his body shaking violently as he gasped for air between heaves.
His joints screamed at the angle, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, only clutch the sink as he emptied what little was left in his stomach.
Outside the door, Atsumu stood guard, jaw tight, hands fisting at his sides as he listened to Sakusa’s harsh coughing, every pained sound like a punch to his chest.
“Breathe, Omi,” Atsumu said quietly, even though he knew Sakusa couldn’t hear him through the door.
Inside, Sakusa squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against the cool metal of the sink, breathing in shallow, shaky gasps, the sharp scent of disinfectant mingling with the acid taste in his mouth.
His arms trembled, sweat dripping from his temple, mixing with the tears that slipped down his cheeks.
He felt weak. Pathetic.
And he hated it.
He hated that Atsumu was outside, hearing this. Seeing him like this.
But he couldn’t stop it.
After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, the nausea finally eased, leaving Sakusa drained, his body slumping against the sink as he sucked in small, ragged breaths.
He reached for the small cup, rinsing his mouth shakily, splashing cold water on his face, watching the droplets drip into the tiny metal basin.
His reflection in the scratched mirror was pale, dark circles under his eyes, his curls sticking to his forehead, damp and limp.
He didn’t want to leave the bathroom.
Didn’t want to see the look on Atsumu’s face.
But he couldn’t stay here forever.
⸻
With trembling hands, Sakusa adjusted his mask back over his mouth and nose, pulling his hood up again before unlocking the door.
Atsumu was standing right there, his eyes snapping up as the door cracked open, scanning Sakusa from head to toe in a split second.
“Feelin’ better?” Atsumu asked softly, his voice rough with concern he didn’t bother hiding.
Sakusa couldn’t meet his eyes, nodding stiffly as he stepped out, clutching the wall for balance.
“Yeah,” Sakusa croaked, voice muffled and small under the mask.
Atsumu let out a quiet breath, stepping closer, his hand hovering before gently pressing against Sakusa’s lower back, guiding him carefully back down the aisle toward their seats.
Sakusa let him.
Because he didn’t have the strength to argue.
Because he was too tired to pretend anymore.
And because, deep down, the warmth of Atsumu’s hand steadying him in the cramped, cold cabin was the only thing keeping him upright.
They made it back to their seats, Atsumu guiding Sakusa gently with a steadying hand at the small of his back, careful not to push too hard, just enough pressure to remind him he wasn’t alone.
Sakusa sank into his window seat heavily, head lowered, shoulders slumped, every inch of him drained, the nausea replaced with a cold emptiness in his gut, leaving him lightheaded and shivering under the thin fabric of his hoodie.
He leaned his forehead against the cool window, eyes squeezed shut as he sucked in slow, shaky breaths, trying to steady the world that tilted around him with each shallow inhale.
The quiet hum of the cabin returned, passengers murmuring softly, the scent of food lingering but distant now as trays were cleared, replaced by the faint tang of coffee in the recycled air.
He felt Atsumu settle beside him, felt the slight dip of the seat as the other man shifted, pulling something from the tote bag that had slipped onto Atsumu’s lap.
“Here,” Atsumu’s voice was low, quiet, soft enough that it didn’t grate against Sakusa’s pounding head.
Sakusa opened his eyes slowly, blinking at the clear water bottle held in front of him, condensation clinging to the sides, cold droplets sliding down onto Atsumu’s fingers.
Sakusa hesitated, swallowing against the dryness in his throat, before lifting a trembling hand to take it.
His fingers brushed against Atsumu’s, warm against cold, before curling around the bottle, gripping it tighter than necessary to steady the shake.
He unscrewed the cap slowly, bringing it to his lips under his mask, tugging it down just enough to take small, cautious sips.
The water was cold, soothing the burn in his throat, washing away the bitter acid taste clinging to his tongue.
“Slow,” Atsumu murmured when Sakusa paused to catch his breath, his eyes following every movement, every flicker of discomfort on Sakusa’s pale face.
Sakusa nodded, taking another small sip before pulling the mask back up, the elastic snapping lightly against his ear as he exhaled, lowering the bottle into his lap.
Atsumu reached into the tote bag again, rustling through it before pulling out a small, blue energy jelly packet, the kind athletes kept on hand for emergencies.
He held it out, pinched carefully between two fingers.
“Eat this,” Atsumu said, voice firm but quiet, no room for argument.
Sakusa stared at it, his lashes lowering as he weighed the nausea still curling in his gut against the emptiness hollowing him out.
“You need somethin’ in yer system, Omi,” Atsumu added, softer this time, his thumb brushing lightly against the plastic packet as he held it.
Sakusa’s fingers twitched before reaching out, taking it carefully, feeling the cool plastic against his palm.
He twisted the cap off with slow, deliberate movements, breathing in carefully before bringing it to his lips under the mask, pulling it down just enough to squeeze a small amount into his mouth.
The sweet, mild flavor sat on his tongue, light enough not to trigger the nausea, and he swallowed slowly, letting the warmth spread through the empty ache in his stomach.
Atsumu’s eyes softened, watching him without saying a word, his own hands resting loosely in his lap.
Sakusa took another sip of water to wash it down, then another small squeeze of the jelly, the sweetness grounding him, reminding him he was still here, still okay.
The taste wasn’t great, but it was warm, comforting in a way he couldn’t explain.
He lowered his hand, mask slipping back into place, and leaned back against the seat with a quiet sigh, eyes fluttering shut as he clutched the half-finished jelly in one hand, water bottle resting loosely in the other.
“Good job,” Atsumu said softly, almost to himself, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Sakusa’s lashes fluttered, but he didn’t open his eyes, letting the hum of the engines and the faint warmth from the jelly fill the quiet between them.
Atsumu adjusted in his seat, slipping the tray table up before leaning back, his shoulder brushing against Sakusa’s lightly, leaving it there, steady, warm.
Outside, the clouds drifted past the window, soft and bright under the sun as they made their way toward Da Nang.
And inside, for a moment, Sakusa let himself breathe, leaning just slightly against the warmth beside him, letting his guard down in the hush of the cabin, safe in the quiet that only Atsumu could give him.
———
The plane finally landed, the tires bumping against the tarmac with a heavy thud that rattled through Sakusa’s bones, the cabin lights flickering to full brightness as the engines roared down, slowing, stopping.
The seatbelt sign dinged off.
Passengers began to stand, stretching, pulling down bags, the aisle crowding with tired travelers eager to get off.
Ahead, the group had already filtered out, their laughter and complaints fading down the jet bridge, leaving only Atsumu and Sakusa in the slow trickle of passengers exiting row by row.
Atsumu reached out instinctively for Sakusa’s tote bag, fingers brushing the strap—
But Sakusa’s hand shot out first, gripping it, pulling it over his own shoulder with a quiet determination, curls falling into his eyes under the bucket hat.
He stood slowly, carefully, bracing a hand on the seat in front of him for balance as the cabin spun for a moment, the warm, humid air from the open doors rushing in, mixing with the stale plane air.
Atsumu paused, eyes flickering over Sakusa’s pale face, the tightness around his eyes, the tension in his jaw, before letting his hand drop.
“Fine,” Atsumu muttered, but his lips twitched, a fondness in his eyes he didn’t bother to hide.
Instead, he reached up, pulling both of their small suitcases from the overhead bin with practiced ease, ignoring the slight strain in his shoulders as he set them on the ground, handles clicking into place.
“Let’s go, Omi,” he said, shifting the bags so he could pull them behind him.
Sakusa nodded silently, adjusting the tote bag on his shoulder, fingers trembling slightly on the strap as they stepped into the aisle, following the last of the passengers off the plane.
⸻
They walked through the glass corridor, past windows streaming in bright, blinding sunlight, Atsumu’s stride easy but steady, matching Sakusa’s slower, cautious steps without complaint.
They finally emerged into the arrival hall, where the group was bunched around in a chaotic circle near a large pillar, luggage scattered in a messy pile.
Hinata and Kageyama were fighting over snacks—again—Hinata’s small hands clutching a bag of dried mango while Kageyama tried to pull it away.
“It’s mine, Kageyama!”
“You already had one, idiot!”
“Buy another one later!” Bokuto yelled unhelpfully, flapping his arms.
Akaashi and Suna stood off to the side, checking their passports with the calm exhaustion of parents managing toddlers, Suna quietly flicking Akaashi’s arm whenever he took too long.
Kuroo and Osamu were in a hushed but intense discussion, Kuroo’s eyes bright as he gestured wildly, “I’m telling you, Vietnamese coffee will change your life.”
“Yeah, yeah, but have ya tried the banh mi here yet?” Osamu shot back, smirking.
Kenma was glued to his Switch, barely acknowledging the chaos, his thumbs tapping rapidly as he moved with the group like a shadow.
When Atsumu and Sakusa approached, Bokuto’s eyes lit up instantly, pointing a finger with his usual volume.
“TSUM-TSUM IS HERE! How’s Kiyoomi doing?”
“Yeah, I saw the two of you rushing to the lavoratory earlier,” Akaashi added, slipping his passport back into his bag, eyes sharp as they flickered to Sakusa, scanning the pale skin peeking from beneath his hat, the way he clutched the tote bag tightly.
Sakusa stiffened, the memory of the flight flashing behind his eyes, embarrassment flooding his cheeks under the mask.
Atsumu clicked his tongue, shifting the suitcases behind him as he glanced back at Sakusa before facing the group.
“He’s fine,” Atsumu said, shrugging, but there was a quiet firmness in his voice, a protective edge that made Suna raise an eyebrow, smirking.
“Looked pretty dead on the plane,” Suna drawled, earning a sharp jab from Kenma’s elbow without him looking up.
Bokuto’s eyes softened, stepping forward and lowering his voice, “Glad you’re okay, Kiyoomi. Let me know if you need anything, ‘kay?”
Sakusa blinked, shifting, then nodded once, mumbling, “Thanks,” under his breath, just loud enough for Bokuto to hear.
“Group, let’s move,” Akaashi said, clapping his hands once as Kageyama and Hinata immediately froze mid-argument, Hinata clutching the dried mango victoriously.
They shuffled forward toward immigration, falling into line, the air warm and heavy around them, the chatter quieting as the line moved slowly under bright lights and large ceiling fans that barely stirred the thick air.
Sakusa stood quietly, shifting his weight as the nausea lingered, but less intense now, manageable, like a low tide pulling at him rather than a wave crashing down.
Atsumu stood just behind him, both suitcases at his side, close enough that Sakusa could feel the warmth radiating off him like a shield against the chaos.
Their eyes met once, briefly.
“You good?” Atsumu mouthed, tilting his head.
Sakusa blinked, then nodded, gripping the tote bag tighter, and turned back as the line moved.
They handed over their passports, the officer scanning them before stamping with a heavy thud, the ink still wet as they moved forward, one by one, the light of the exit doors glowing ahead.
⸻
When they exited the airport to head toward the van, it was… surprisingly cold.
Not freezing, not biting, but the kind of cool breeze that slipped past the layers of humidity and wrapped around them like a soft blanket. The air was crisp in a way that made the exhaustion from the flight lift slightly from Sakusa’s shoulders, a gentle contrast to the heavy, recycled air of the plane.
It was January, after all, and Da Nang’s winter wasn’t harsh, but comfortably cool, like the temperature you set your air-conditioner to when you needed to sleep well.
The sky was bright, streaked with soft clouds, and the palm trees lining the pavement rustled lightly in the breeze as taxis and buses rumbled by, honking occasionally.
“WOAHHHH IT’S SO NICE HERE!!” Hinata practically screamed, his eyes wide and bright as he turned a full circle, arms thrown into the air, his small backpack bouncing on his shoulders.
His hand shot out, grabbing Kageyama’s wrist without warning as he began dragging him across the pavement toward the row of parked vans.
“OI—OW—TONE DOWN YOUR GRIP, IT HURTS—OWWWW—” Kageyama yelled, stumbling after him, his duffel bag nearly slipping off his shoulder as he tried to pry Hinata’s hand off.
“Stop being a baby, Kageyama, hurry up!!” Hinata whined, still pulling, nearly tripping over his own feet in his excitement.
“YOU STOP PULLING—WE’RE NOT EVEN LATE!!” Kageyama snapped back, face twisted in annoyance, but his steps quickened to match Hinata’s energy anyway.
⸻
Bokuto let out a booming laugh, clapping his hands once as he took in a deep breath of the breeze, “IT SMELLS SO FRESH HERE!”
“It’s just air, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighed, but there was a soft smile on his lips as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder.
Kenma, clutching his Switch with one hand, glanced up, blinking against the brightness, “At least the WiFi is decent.”
Suna snorted softly, flicking Kenma’s hood as he passed, “Don’t tell me you’re gaming already.”
“Already in a match,” Kenma replied flatly, thumbs tapping.
Kuroo and Osamu were in the middle of an enthusiastic conversation, Kuroo waving his arms, “I’m telling you, Vietnamese coffee is gonna ruin every other coffee for you, Osamu.”
“Good. I need it. I’m gonna eat everything here,” Osamu declared, rubbing his hands together.
Sakusa walked at the back of the group, adjusting the tote bag on his shoulder, taking in slow, careful breaths of the crisp air, letting it cool the warmth still clinging to his skin.
His legs felt heavy, but the breeze brushing against his cheeks helped, the air scented with something floral and fresh, mixed with the faint tang of sea salt.
Atsumu walked beside him, rolling both of their suitcases with one hand, the wheels clicking softly on the pavement.
The blonde glanced over, squinting against the sunlight as his hair fluttered slightly in the breeze.
“Better?” Atsumu asked, voice quiet so only Sakusa could hear over the chaos ahead.
Sakusa’s fingers tightened on the tote strap, but he nodded once, looking ahead as Hinata and Kageyama nearly knocked over a small cart in their rush.
“Yeah,” Sakusa replied softly, his voice muffled under the mask, but clear enough.
“Good,” Atsumu murmured, a small, relieved smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
⸻
They reached the white van parked at the curb, the driver waving at them with a polite smile, loading their luggage into the back as the group crowded around the open door.
Hinata was bouncing on the balls of his feet, peering inside, “Oooh, there’s so much space!”
“Window seat!” Bokuto shouted, immediately diving in.
“Bokuto-san, we talked about this,” Akaashi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before following him in.
Kuroo and Osamu began negotiating over who would sit where, while Kenma quietly climbed in, curling into the corner seat, Switch already back in his hands.
Suna rolled his eyes, nudging Kenma’s leg as he slipped into the seat beside him, “Don’t pass out before we even get to the hotel.”
Kageyama and Hinata continued their wrestling match in the doorway, nearly blocking everyone else.
“JUST GET IN, HINATA!”
“LET ME GO FIRST!”
Sakusa stood back, letting the chaos flow around him, the breeze brushing over his curls as he exhaled slowly, grounding himself in the soft air.
Atsumu glanced back after handing off the luggage, giving Sakusa a small nod before jerking his head toward the van, “C’mon, Omi. Let’s get ya seated before the kids kill each other.”
Sakusa rolled his eyes faintly but stepped forward, letting Atsumu guide him with a light hand at the small of his back as they climbed into the van, the cool air inside a soft relief as they prepared for the drive towards the resort.
They were finally here, and for the first time since the flight, Sakusa let himself believe it might be okay.
———
When they reached the resort, it felt like they had stepped into a different world.
The entrance was lined with lush palms swaying in the breeze, the air scented faintly with frangipani and sea salt. The glass doors opened to reveal a grand lobby , sunlight flooding through towering windows that stretched from ceiling to floor, illuminating the marble floors in soft reflections.
Above them, chandeliers glittered, glass pieces catching the morning light in rainbow shards, swaying gently in the breeze that drifted through the open-air lobby.
The space was cool, the hum of soft instrumental music weaving through the air, blending with the muted conversation of other travelers checking in.
Staff in crisp white and beige uniforms greeted them warmly, bows and gentle smiles, ushering them toward the reception as they gathered in a semi-chaotic cluster.
Hinata’s eyes were wide, spinning in a slow circle as he looked up at the chandeliers. “WOAHHHHH, IT’S SO PRETTY.”
Kageyama tugged at his sleeve, hissing, “Stop spinning, you’re gonna hit someone.”
Bokuto was practically bouncing, “LOOK AT THE CEILING! IT’S SO HIGH! Akaashi, look! Look!”
“I see it, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi replied, adjusting his bag with a resigned but fond sigh.
Kenma, with his Switch now safely tucked in his pocket, was filming a quiet video on his phone while Suna photobombed him with a peace sign, smirking.
Kuroo and Osamu were whispering rapidly about which restaurant they should try first, Kuroo pointing toward a café visible through the far window.
Sakusa, drained from the plane and the warm breeze outside, let himself drift to the back of the group, lowering himself carefully onto one of the plush cream-colored sofas near a low coffee table, the cushion sinking pleasantly under his weight.
He pulled off his hat, placing it in his lap, the cool air against his forehead a relief as he closed his eyes for a brief moment, breathing in the faint scent of citrus from a diffuser on the table.
His body still felt heavy, limbs buzzing with that strange post-fever exhaustion that settled into his bones, but the quiet hum of the lobby was calming, grounding him after the chaos of the flight.
⸻
A staff member approached quietly, a small tray in her hands.
She set it gently on the coffee table, the porcelain cups rattling softly against each other, droplets of condensation rolling down the glass as the cool air kissed the cold surfaces.
“Welcome, please enjoy some lemongrass iced tea,” she said warmly, bowing before beginning to hand out the drinks.
The glasses were small, elegant, the light tea tinted a soft golden-green, a slice of lime floating on top with a sprig of mint.
A second staff member followed, draping cold, damp towels over her arm, the scent of lemongrass and eucalyptus rising softly with the steam.
She handed them out to the group one by one.
Hinata squealed, pressing the cold towel against his face, “Ahhh, this feels so nice!”
“Don’t scream,” Kageyama muttered, but pressed his towel to the back of his neck, visibly relaxing.
Bokuto draped his over his head dramatically, “I feel like I’m at a spa!”
“You’re loud even here, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighed, but there was a small, amused smile on his lips as he wiped his hands and neck with the towel.
Kenma pressed it briefly against his temples before folding it neatly on his lap, while Suna left his draped across his shoulders, eyes half-closed in contentment.
Kuroo and Osamu exchanged a glance before clinking their tea cups together with a grin, “Cheers.”
⸻
The staff member stopped in front of Sakusa, bowing slightly before placing a cup of tea on the table in front of him and handing him a cold towel, the damp fabric cool against his warm fingers.
“Thank you,” Sakusa murmured softly, voice still hoarse from the flight, but clear enough to earn a warm smile from the staff before she moved on.
He pressed the towel against the side of his neck, letting the coolness sink into his skin, his lashes fluttering as he exhaled, letting the tension bleed out of his shoulders.
Atsumu appeared beside him, placing their room keycards on the table with a small thunk before settling down into the seat next to Sakusa, his own cold towel draped over his neck.
“Drink,” Atsumu said, nudging the tea closer to Sakusa’s hand with a gentle push.
Sakusa glanced at him briefly, then down at the tea, droplets sliding down the glass in slow rivulets.
He lifted it carefully, taking a small sip.
The tea was cold, crisp, the lemongrass sharp and refreshing on his tongue, cutting through the lingering taste of exhaustion, the lime adding a soft tang that made him swallow slowly.
“Good?” Atsumu asked, leaning back with his own cup, watching him out of the corner of his eye.
Sakusa nodded once, pulling the towel from his neck to wipe the sweat from his forehead before draping it over his lap.
“Yeah.”
Atsumu hummed softly, a small, quiet smile on his lips as he took a sip of his own tea.
⸻
Around them, the group continued to chatter softly, Hinata still bouncing as he peered around the lobby, Bokuto counting the lights on the chandelier while Akaashi pretended not to know him, Suna filming Kenma’s unimpressed face, Osamu and Kuroo planning their next meal.
Outside, the breeze rustled the palm trees, the scent of the ocean drifting in as the sunlight danced across the marble floors.
And for a moment, with the cold towel on his lap and the crisp tea in his hand, Sakusa allowed himself to breathe, letting the warmth and coolness settle around him in equal measure as they waited for their rooms.
A few minutes of chaotic chatter, rearranging luggage, and Hinata bouncing around the lobby like a caffeinated rabbit, the time finally came: sorting out the rooms.
Akaashi returned from the counter with six keycards neatly lined in his hand, looking every bit the calm, tired shepherd herding a group of overgrown children.
“Okay, so…” Akaashi began, flicking his eyes over the group, “Bokuto will be with me—”
“YES! I LOVE YOU AGAAAAASHIIIII!” Bokuto screamed, throwing both fists into the air like a toddler on a sugar high, a grin splitting his face as he wiggled dramatically in place.
He followed it up with a shameless wink that made a few nearby staff members glance over, confused.
Akaashi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before handing Bokuto their keycard, “Please lower your voice, Bokuto-san.”
“Akaashi, you can’t tell me to lower the volume of LOVE!” Bokuto declared, clutching the keycard to his chest.
Akaashi ignored him, moving down the list with practiced calm, “Next, Oikawa will be with Iwaizumi.”
Oikawa immediately slung an arm over Iwaizumi’s shoulders, batting his eyelashes dramatically, “Iwa-chan~ our honeymoon suite, ne?”
“Shut up before I leave you outside,” Iwaizumi muttered, shrugging him off but not moving away.
“Kageyama with Hinata,” Akaashi continued.
“YES!” Hinata shouted, jumping up and down while Kageyama groaned, “Why me, why me, why me—”
“Stop complaining! You love me!” Hinata chirped.
“...fine,” Kageyama turned away, ears pink.
“Osamu with Suna,” Akaashi finished, handing them their card.
Osamu smirked, clinking his tea glass against Suna’s, “Gonna be fun, Suna.”
Suna raised an eyebrow, sipping his tea slowly, “Don’t snore.”
⸻
Sakusa, who had been quietly sitting back on the sofa, clutching his now half-finished lemongrass tea, felt a prickle of annoyance—and dread—crawl up his spine.
He coughed roughly into his mask, adjusting it with one hand, before clearing his throat, “Wait. Who would I be with?”
The question hung in the air, heavy for a moment as the group paused, turning toward Akaashi.
Akaashi’s eyes flickered to Sakusa, then to Atsumu, who was leaning casually against the pillar, spinning a keycard around his finger.
“…You’re with Atsumu,” Akaashi said finally, his voice neutral, carefully even.
Sakusa’s eyes narrowed, his brows pulling together in sharp irritation, as if the universe wasn’t already testing him enough by making him sick on this trip.
Atsumu didn’t immediately respond with one of his usual snarky quips, nor did he throw his hands up dramatically.
Instead, he paused, the keycard stopping mid-spin as he turned to look at Sakusa, eyes soft, calm, warm in a way that made Sakusa’s stomach twist unexpectedly.
Atsumu just nodded once, “Alright.”
That was it.
No teasing, no “Omi-kun~” in a sing-song voice, no loud complaints.
Just quiet acceptance.
Sakusa felt a flare of heat rise to his cheeks, hidden mercifully behind the black mask, and he looked away quickly, muttering under his breath,
“God… just shoot me already.”
⸻
Across the room, Suna was taking a casual sip of his tea when Osamu leaned in, whispering something low.
Whatever it was, it made Suna nearly spit his tea back out, spluttering as he quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.
“PFFT— No way. NO WAY, ATSUMU—” Suna choked out between laughs, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.
Atsumu’s head snapped toward them, eyes narrowing, “WHAT?”
“Nothing,” Osamu sang sweetly, his grin wide and wolfish as he glanced at Suna, who smirked back lazily, sipping his tea like nothing had happened.
Atsumu glared suspiciously, but before he could press further, Bokuto was suddenly slapping him on the back so hard Atsumu nearly dropped the keycard.
“IT’S GONNA BE SO FUN, TSUM-TSUM! YOU AND OMI, ROOMIES!” Bokuto shouted, ignoring Akaashi’s sharp, “Bokuto-san, please,” in the background.
Atsumu groaned, “Bokuto, I swear—”
Sakusa just buried his face deeper into his mask, clutching his tote bag tighter as the group’s laughter and chaos swirled around him.
He felt the burn of embarrassment, exhaustion, and something else in his chest as Atsumu shifted closer, slipping the keycard into his pocket, quietly preparing to gather Sakusa’s luggage when it was time to head up.
And though Sakusa would never admit it, the soft, quiet glance Atsumu gave him—uncharacteristically patient, uncharacteristically gentle—was the only thing keeping him from truly shutting down.
“C’mon, let’s go, Omi.”
Atsumu’s voice was calm, the uncharacteristic softness lingering in the quiet syllables as he hooked his fingers around the handles of both their suitcases, dragging them with practiced ease toward the outdoor hall on the right that led to their rooms.
The wheels of the suitcases clicked softly against the marble floor, echoing under the high ceilings as the group’s laughter and chatter faded behind them.
Sakusa sat for a moment longer, clutching the empty tea glass in his hands, the condensation leaving faint streaks across his palms. He closed his eyes, breathing in the crisp, lemongrass-scented air of the lobby, before letting out a quiet, resigned sigh.
He stood, his legs heavy but steady enough, clutching the tote bag strap tighter over his shoulder as he began following Atsumu, the soft thump of his sneakers muffled against the marble.
⸻
The glass door leading to the outdoor hallway was tall, gleaming, streaked faintly with the marks of the breeze and salt from the sea air.
Atsumu reached for the handle, glancing back to make sure Sakusa was close behind before pulling the door open with a low, smooth click .
The moment it cracked open, a gush of cold wind swept in, rushing past them like a greeting, rustling Sakusa’s curls and fluttering the hem of Atsumu’s loose t-shirt.
It wasn’t biting cold, but a refreshing, comforting cool that made the sweat clinging to Sakusa’s skin evaporate instantly, sending a small shiver down his spine.
His eyes fluttered closed for a brief second as he tilted his head down, letting the breeze brush over his fever-warm skin, the salty tang of the ocean mixing with the fresh scent of green leaves rustling in the gardens outside.
Atsumu paused, watching Sakusa with a softness in his gaze, the wind ruffling the ends of his hair as he adjusted his grip on the suitcase handles.
“Ya cold?” Atsumu asked quietly, tilting his head, his voice blending with the soft rustle of palm leaves outside.
“I’m fine,” Sakusa muttered, pulling the tote bag closer to his chest as he stepped forward, the breeze slipping under the hem of his oversized black hoodie, tickling the warm skin of his lower back.
But the shiver that ran through him didn’t go unnoticed.
⸻
They stepped out into the outdoor hallway, which was open to the breeze, lined with planters filled with bright flowers in pinks and oranges, the polished tiles cool underfoot.
Above them, the sky was a brilliant blue, streaked with feathery clouds, and the sun was bright but softened by the breeze, making it feel like the perfect temperature on their skin.
The path to the rooms was quiet, only the soft hum of distant waves and the rustle of leaves filling the air.
Atsumu walked slightly ahead, rolling the luggage with a steady rhythm, glancing back occasionally to check if Sakusa was keeping pace.
Sakusa followed, each step heavy with the lingering exhaustion from the flight, but the clean air made it bearable, the salt and breeze grounding him as they moved past the gardens toward the private wing of the resort.
He caught Atsumu glancing back again, brows furrowed just slightly, and looked away, focusing on the slow, careful steps beneath him.
“Yer walkin’ like a grandpa,” Atsumu said lightly, the teasing in his voice gentle, the edge missing.
Sakusa shot him a tired glare, “Shut up.”
Atsumu just huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head before turning forward again, leading them toward their room, the breeze continuing to swirl around them, carrying the scent of the sea and the soft promise of rest.
And for a moment, with the breeze in his hair and the distance between them comfortably close, Sakusa let himself think—
Maybe it wasn’t so bad being here after all.
———
It was only a bit after 2 PM when they finally reached their room.
The door swung open with a soft click , revealing a bright, airy space with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the shimmering sea, the afternoon light spilling across the polished wood floors. A faint scent of lemongrass from the diffuser in the corner mingled with the salty breeze that wafted in when Atsumu slid open the balcony door a crack.
Their luggage rolled quietly across the floor as Atsumu tugged it toward the side, dropping his duffel bag near the wardrobe before turning to look at Sakusa, who was standing awkwardly in the entryway, clutching his tote bag against his chest.
“Ya gonna stand there all day?” Atsumu drawled, raising an eyebrow as he kicked off his slides.
Sakusa shot him a tired glare, but it lacked any real bite. “I’m getting there,” he muttered, lowering the tote to the floor with a quiet thud before shrugging off his hoodie, revealing the loose black t-shirt underneath, the fabric clinging slightly to the sweat still damp on his skin.
Atsumu’s eyes flickered for a moment before he turned away, busying himself with the suitcase. “Sit down. I’ll unpack your stuff,” he said, popping the suitcase open with a small snap .
“I can do it,” Sakusa replied automatically, stepping forward.
Atsumu turned, giving him a flat look. “Sit, Omi.”
Sakusa hesitated, then sighed, dropping onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he pressed a hand against his forehead, the coolness of his palm grounding him.
He watched silently as Atsumu began pulling out his clothes, folding them neatly before placing them into the drawers: black shirts, a few soft sweatpants, and a pair of shorts for sleeping. Atsumu even found Sakusa’s toiletries bag, setting it carefully on the bathroom counter with practiced efficiency.
“You don’t have to do that,” Sakusa mumbled, shifting on the bed.
“Yeah, well, too late,” Atsumu shot back, but his voice was soft, a crooked smile on his lips as he moved back to the suitcase for the next handful of clothes.
There was a quiet that settled over them, broken only by the rustle of fabric and the hum of the air conditioning, the occasional call of birds outside the balcony.
When Atsumu zipped the now-empty suitcase shut, he glanced back at Sakusa, who was staring at the floor, fingers curling around the edge of the mattress.
“Go take a shower, Omi,” Atsumu said quietly, “Ya look like yer gonna collapse.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t argue. Go,” Atsumu insisted, pointing toward the bathroom with a tilt of his head.
Sakusa scowled but pushed himself up, shuffling toward the bathroom, ignoring the amused huff Atsumu let out as he closed the bathroom door behind him with a soft click .
⸻
Inside, the bathroom was warm and softly lit, the large rainfall showerhead glinting under the recessed lights. A faint smell of lavender from the resort soap lingered in the air.
Sakusa placed his hands on the counter for a moment, exhaling slowly as he stared at his reflection. His curls were a mess, sticking to his forehead, and the dark circles under his eyes were prominent, his skin pale but blotched pink from the heat.
He ran a hand through his curls, pushing them back before reaching out, turning the shower knob carefully, waiting until the water spilled down in a warm, steady stream.
He stuck out his hand, testing the temperature, letting the warmth seep into his cold fingers, loosening the stiffness in his joints, before finally stepping in.
The water enveloped him instantly, cascading over his shoulders, down his back, washing away the sweat and the exhaustion clinging to his skin.
He closed his eyes, tilting his head back as the warmth soaked into him, breathing in the faint scent of lavender as the steam curled around him, fogging up the glass.
For the first time since the flight, since the airport, since the endless nausea and exhaustion, Sakusa felt like he could breathe.
He let his hands press against the tiled wall, the water sliding down his arms, feeling the weight of everything loosen, just a little, under the steady stream.
Outside, he could hear the muffled rustle of Atsumu moving around the room and the soft clunk of the wardrobe closing.
And for now, with the warmth around him and the soft sounds outside the door, Sakusa allowed himself to let go, if only for a moment.
⸻
When Sakusa came out of the bathroom, the warm lavender-scented steam trailing behind him, he felt lighter.
His curls were still damp, sticking in loose, dark waves around his forehead and temples, droplets dripping onto the soft black t-shirt he’d changed into. A faint flush clung to his cheeks from the shower’s warmth, the exhaustion in his limbs now softened into a heavy calm.
He stepped out barefoot, the cool wood floor grounding him as he glanced around the bright, airy room, sunlight slanting through the half-open balcony door, carrying in a soft ocean breeze.
Across the room, Atsumu was at the door, bent over as he tucked his slides neatly into the shoe rack near the entrance, shifting to lace up his sneakers. He looked up when he heard the bathroom door click shut.
“Oh—” Atsumu paused, blinking at Sakusa for a beat, eyes briefly flicking over the damp curls sticking to his forehead before snapping back up to meet Sakusa’s gaze.
“I’mma just head out with the group for a bit,” Atsumu continued, slipping his right foot into his sneaker, pulling at the laces with quick, practiced movements, “They wanna check out the beach before dinner. You stay here and rest, yeah?”
Sakusa blinked, the words taking a moment to process as he stood in the middle of the room, steam still drifting off him, his fingers absently combing through his damp hair.
“Oh, alright…” he murmured softly, voice hoarse from the heat of the shower, his eyelids heavy as the weariness began to creep back in.
Atsumu straightened, shrugging on a light beige jacket, pulling the zipper up halfway as he glanced over his shoulder.
“You sure you’re good?” Atsumu asked, his voice casual, but his gaze lingered, sharp and watchful.
Sakusa shifted his weight, looking away as he hugged his towel to his chest, the soft fabric still warm in his hands.
“I’ll be fine,” he replied quietly.
Atsumu opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but closed it, letting out a small huff before turning to grab his phone and wallet from the nightstand.
Meanwhile, Sakusa shuffled over to his bed, the soft mattress dipping under his weight as he sank down with a quiet sigh, clutching the towel to his lap. He glanced at the half-open balcony, the breeze stirring the white curtains, carrying in the sound of distant waves crashing rhythmically against the shore.
His body was still tired, but the ache had dulled, leaving a bone-deep heaviness that made the soft sheets all the more comforting.
⸻
Atsumu paused by the door, glancing back one last time, his hand on the handle.
“Drink some water before you sleep, yeah?” he said, his voice softer now, the warm, genuine kind of softness that made Sakusa’s chest tighten unexpectedly.
Sakusa looked up, catching Atsumu’s eyes for a moment before glancing away, mumbling, “Yeah, I will.”
Atsumu hesitated, shifting his weight before finally pulling the door open.
“Text me if you need anything,” Atsumu added, slipping out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.
⸻
For a moment, the room was quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioning mixing with the gentle rustle of the curtains. Sakusa sat there, staring at the closed door, the towel clutched in his lap.
He glanced at the water bottle on the nightstand, reaching for it with trembling fingers, taking a small sip as he let the coolness settle in his throat.
The faint scent of lavender from the shower still clung to his skin, and as he set the bottle down, he let himself lean back onto the pillows, the softness pulling him in, letting the distant sound of waves lull him.
And for a brief moment, with the breeze in the room and the soft scent of clean sheets around him, Sakusa let himself rest, eyes fluttering shut, the quiet warmth of the afternoon wrapping around him as he drifted into a light, comforting sleep.
———
Sakusa hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
He had only intended to close his eyes for a moment, to let the heaviness in his bones ease against the soft hotel mattress, the clean scent of the sheets and the lingering lavender from his shower grounding him.
The air was comfortably cool, the ocean breeze slipping in through the cracked balcony door, rustling the sheer white curtains as the faint hush of waves rolled in and out in the distance.
His damp curls stuck lightly to the pillow, a few strands tickling his forehead as he turned his head to the side, burrowing deeper into the plush fabric.
⸻
Outside, the world shifted quietly from afternoon gold to sunset pink , the light streaming into the room softening into warm hues, painting gentle stripes across the floor and across Sakusa’s sleeping form.
A soft buzz broke the quiet—a vibration against the nightstand, his phone lighting up briefly before dimming again.
It buzzed once, twice, before going still.
⸻
Sakusa stirred, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked slowly, disoriented by the pink light spilling across the ceiling, the quiet of the room heavy but comforting around him.
He lifted a hand, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm, blinking again until the room came into focus.
The towel he had been clutching earlier was still draped loosely across his waist, and the coolness of the sheets under his fingertips reminded him he hadn’t pulled the blanket over himself before dozing off.
His throat felt dry, a faint itch at the back of it reminding him of the exhaustion still lingering in his body.
With a quiet groan, he reached over to the nightstand, fingers fumbling for his phone, the screen lighting up as he unlocked it.
There was a message from Atsumu, sent just ten minutes ago.
[Atsumu]: u awake?
[Atsumu]: sunset looks nice rn. u feeling ok?
Sakusa stared at the screen for a moment, the corners of his lips tugging down in a tired but faintly amused huff.
Of course Atsumu would text something like that.
⸻
He pushed himself up slowly, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sat up, stretching his arms above his head, a small crack echoing from his shoulders.
He moved toward the balcony, sliding the door open a bit more as the breeze swept in, carrying the salty scent of the sea and the distant laughter of children playing on the beach below.
The sky was painted in soft streaks of pink and orange, the sun dipping low over the water, reflecting shimmering gold onto the small waves rolling toward the shore.
Sakusa rested his forearms on the balcony railing, letting the breeze brush over his still-warm skin, cooling the last of the residual heat from sleep and the shower.
He lifted his phone again, typing back slowly.
[Sakusa]: I’m fine. Just woke up.
A moment later, the screen lit up again.
[Atsumu]: good. stay in the room. i’ll bring some snacks.
Sakusa blinked, the corners of his lips twitching faintly. He started typing.
[Sakusa]: Don’t boss me around.
[Atsumu]: lol. too late.
⸻
Sakusa lowered the phone, shaking his head with a quiet, tired exhale before glancing back at the sunset, letting himself take in the colors as the last warmth of the day touched his skin.
For a moment, with the breeze on his face, the quiet of the room behind him, and Atsumu’s messages lingering on the screen in his hand,
Sakusa felt okay.
Sakusa set his phone down on the nightstand, the screen going dark as he let out a quiet, shaky breath.
His hand trembled slightly as he reached for his water bottle, unscrewing the cap and bringing it to his lips. The water was cool, sliding down his dry throat in small, careful sips, easing the roughness just a little.
He placed the bottle back down, twisting the cap shut before lowering himself back onto the bed, this time tugging the soft, plush white blanket over his shoulders, pulling it up to his chin.
He wrapped himself tightly in the sheets, cocooning himself in the warmth, the lavender scent of the freshly washed linens mingling with the faint salt of the sea drifting in through the slightly cracked balcony door.
Outside, the last light of sunset slipped away, replaced by the soft glow of the resort lights, shadows stretching across the polished wood floor.
Sakusa’s eyelids fluttered shut, the exhaustion creeping back in, heavier now, pulling him into a restless, hazy sleep.
⸻
He didn’t know how long he was out.
But the soft click of the door unlocking pulled him from the edges of sleep, his lashes fluttering as the room shifted with the faint scent of the night air drifting in when the door opened.
Footsteps, quiet but familiar, padded across the floor, accompanied by the soft crinkle of a plastic bag.
Sakusa stirred, shifting in his bed, rolling from the side facing the window to the side facing the door, the blanket still wrapped tightly around him.
His head throbbed, a heavy, pulsing pain blooming behind his eyes, making it feel impossible to open them, let alone speak. The weight of the headache pressed him deeper into the pillow, a soft whimper caught in his throat.
He kept his eyes shut, breathing slowly, carefully, as he listened.
⸻
“…still asleep, huh?”
Atsumu’s voice was low, quiet, like he was speaking to himself, the words hanging softly in the air.
Sakusa could hear the soft shuffle of Atsumu’s slides as he crossed the room, the faint thud as he placed the plastic bag down on the desk opposite the bed.
There was a pause.
Then, the quietest movement—a slow step forward, the faint creak of the floorboard.
And suddenly, warmth.
A gentle, careful warmth that hovered over him, close enough for Sakusa to feel the shift in the air, the heat of another person radiating near him.
Then, a single finger brushing softly through his damp curls, pushing back a strand that had fallen across his forehead.
The touch was so, so soft, featherlight, as if Atsumu was afraid Sakusa might break under even the gentlest pressure.
Heat bloomed across Sakusa’s face, rushing to his ears and spreading across his cheeks, hidden mercifully by the shadows and the blanket pulled up to his nose.
His chest tightened, breath catching for a moment as he fought to keep his breathing steady, to keep his eyes closed, even as every nerve in his body seemed to light up under that soft touch.
⸻
“I hope yer doin’ alright, Omi,” Atsumu’s voice came, even softer now, tinged with something melancholic, something heavy, like he genuinely felt bad for Sakusa.
It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t the usual playful bite Sakusa was used to from him.
It was gentle, honest, warm in a way that made Sakusa’s throat tighten.
Atsumu’s finger paused, lingering for a breath, before slipping away, taking the warmth with it.
Sakusa wanted to say something. To tell him to leave it. To say he was fine. To say thank you.
But the headache pulsed, and the exhaustion pulled at him, the words sticking in his throat, unspoken.
⸻
He stayed still, breathing softly as Atsumu moved away, the sound of the zipper of the bag opening, the rustle of something being taken out and placed onto the desk.
Atsumu hummed quietly under his breath, a soft, low sound, as if to fill the quiet.
And even as the pain in his head made the world feel heavy, and the blanket weighed down on his tired body, Sakusa let himself sink into the warmth left behind by that gentle touch, letting the soft hum of Atsumu’s presence lull him back toward sleep.
Because for the first time that day, even in the haze of pain and exhaustion, he didn’t feel alone.
———
After what felt like an eternity, Sakusa finally woke up.
His eyes fluttered open, lashes sticking together from sleep, blinking slowly as the bright white lights overhead made him squint, a yawn tearing its way out of his throat as he lifted a hand to cover his mouth.
His hair was a mess , sticking up in places, the curls fluffed into soft, uneven tufts from sleep and the warmth of the pillow, a few strands falling over his eyes as he sat up.
He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palms, trying to adjust to the brightness that filled the room.
Right.
Atsumu probably turned on the lights.
⸻
He sat there for a moment, the blanket pooling around his waist, wearing only a loose black t-shirt and sweatpants, the fabric wrinkled from sleep.
He blinked, head turning as he hazily looked around the room, the late evening light outside replaced by the warm glow of the lamps and ceiling lights inside.
The faint hush of waves could still be heard from the balcony, but the air was quiet, comfortable.
⸻
Atsumu was sitting on the sofa near the window, one leg propped up, scrolling lazily on his phone, his thumb moving in slow swipes, the screen lighting up his face in the dimness.
He looked relaxed, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the soft white light outlining the shape of his jaw as his hair fell into his eyes.
When Atsumu noticed movement from the bed, he glanced up, eyes meeting Sakusa’s sleepy, blinking stare.
For a moment, Atsumu just stared, frozen, his lips parting slightly.
And then, a slight curve appeared on the corner of his mouth, a small, soft smile that was too warm, too unguarded for the Atsumu Sakusa was used to.
⸻
“… cute .”
The word slipped out of Atsumu’s mouth, soft, low, but just loud enough for Sakusa to catch.
It hung in the air like a spark, crackling in the silence.
⸻
Sakusa’s eyes widened, blinking rapidly, and a flush exploded across his ears, creeping down to the tips of his cheeks, heat rushing so quickly it made his head spin.
His eyebrows shot up, and he just stared at Atsumu, lips parting in shock.
Silence.
Heavy, suffocating, awkward silence.
The kind that buzzed in the ears and made the air feel thick, even with the soft ocean breeze drifting through the cracked balcony door.
⸻
“OH—!” Atsumu practically squeaked , his eyes going wide as he snapped his head back down toward his phone, ears turning red under the golden strands of his hair.
“I—I mean uh—” Atsumu stammered, waving one hand in the air, not looking at Sakusa, “You should—uh, wash your—your face…”
His voice cracked embarrassingly, and he cleared his throat, trying to cover it up.
“Yeah! Yeah, go wash your face,” he repeated, nodding too quickly, his thumb moving furiously across the screen in an attempt to appear casual.
“We’re uh—we’re heading down to the restaurant beside the buffet for dinner later, so—so uh, yeah.”
He coughed, eyes still glued to his phone, the tips of his ears now bright red , visible even under the soft light.
⸻
Sakusa, still frozen, blinked once, then twice.
He lifted a hand, pressing it against his burning ear, as if to hide the blush creeping across his skin.
His heart was thudding annoyingly loud in his chest, the sound nearly drowning out the hush of the waves outside.
He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, searching for something to say, but nothing came out.
He was painfully aware of how soft his curls probably looked, how rumpled his shirt was, how sleepy and flushed he must have appeared—
—and how Atsumu had called him cute.
⸻
Sakusa finally tore his gaze away, grabbing the edge of the blanket and pulling it tighter around himself, mumbling under his breath.
“…Idiot.”
⸻
But Atsumu didn’t hear it, or pretended not to, still staring at his phone with a death grip, his thumb unmoving now, the tips of his ears still red.
And for a brief moment, the quiet was filled only with the sound of the waves, the faint hum of the air conditioner, and the rapid beating of both of their hearts.
Sakusa limped off the bed , the blanket falling from his shoulders and pooling on the mattress, the cool air brushing against his warm skin as he dragged his feet toward the bathroom.
His legs felt heavy, a leftover weight from sleep and exhaustion clinging to him, but his heart was pounding, loud and fast , like he’d just sprinted down the beach outside.
The moment he reached the sink, he turned on the faucet, the cold water splashing against the porcelain, droplets bouncing onto his fingers as he cupped his hands under the stream.
He splashed the cold water onto his face, once, twice, again, trying to shock the heat out of his skin, the icy sting grounding him for a moment.
But when he turned off the water and looked up into the mirror , his reflection stared back with damp, fluffed curls sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed a deep pink, eyes wide and still hazy with sleep.
His lips parted, breath catching as he swallowed, the dryness of his throat hitting him hard.
His face was still red.
His heart was still hammering.
Atsumu had called him cute .
And now, it wouldn’t leave his head.
⸻
He stood there, gripping the edge of the sink, head lowered as water dripped down his chin and onto the collar of his shirt, dampening the fabric.
“Get it together,” Sakusa muttered to himself under his breath, shutting his eyes briefly before pulling in a slow, steadying inhale.
Finally, he let go, drying his hands on the towel before stepping back out into the room.
⸻
Atsumu was still on the sofa near the window, his phone resting on his thigh now, fingers drumming nervously against the edge as he stole quick glances at the bathroom door.
His foot was tapping rapidly on the floor, the tips of his ears still pink , the light from the small lamp near the window catching the soft gold of his hair.
When Sakusa stepped out, Atsumu’s head snapped up, eyes wide, before flicking quickly away as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to look casual and failing miserably.
⸻
“…Atsumu.” Sakusa’s voice came out sharper than intended, rough and low, breaking the quiet.
Atsumu jumped slightly, the phone nearly slipping off his knee as his head shot up again, his eyes meeting Sakusa’s for a moment before darting away.
“Y-Yes—?” Atsumu squeaked, his voice cracking embarrassingly, cheeks going redder as he cleared his throat, looking absolutely mortified.
Sakusa blinked, staring at him, the flush in his own cheeks rising again as the silence stretched for a beat too long.
⸻
“What time is it?” Sakusa finally asked, swallowing down the dryness in his throat.
Atsumu blinked, eyes widening before flicking down to his phone.
“Uh—it’s almost 8 PM,” Atsumu replied, voice steadier this time, though his thumb was tapping nervously against the back of his phone. “We’re just about to head out and meet up with the group.”
He paused, hesitating, before adding, “If… y’know, if yer up for it.”
Sakusa nodded once, brushing a damp curl away from his forehead, trying to keep his face neutral, even as his heart continued to pound loudly in his chest.
“Yeah. Just let me get ready.”
⸻
Atsumu opened his mouth, as if to say something else, but closed it again, lips pressing into a thin line as he nodded, shifting on the sofa, the tips of his ears still pink.
Sakusa turned away, pretending not to notice the way Atsumu’s eyes lingered on him for a moment too long, the air between them heavy, charged with something unspoken, something warm and unfamiliar.
And as Sakusa moved toward his luggage to grab a clean shirt, he let out a quiet breath, trying to steady the trembling in his fingers.
Because Atsumu had called him cute.
And for the first time, Sakusa wasn’t sure he hated it.
Sakusa turned away from Atsumu, his heart still thudding painfully in his chest, the weight of the moment lingering in the quiet room as the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the space.
He moved toward the wardrobe where Atsumu had neatly stacked his clothes earlier, the soft scent of lavender detergent wafting up as he lifted a black t-shirt and a clean pair of grey sweatpants.
Behind him, he could feel Atsumu’s eyes on him, hovering, flickering, before darting away each time Sakusa shifted.
⸻
Sakusa pulled off the shirt he’d worn to sleep, the fabric sticking briefly to the back of his neck before slipping off, exposing the pale skin of his shoulders and the lean lines of his back, the muscles shifting slightly under his skin as he moved.
The cool air hit his skin, making him shiver as a damp curl slipped down the side of his face, sticking to his jaw.
He could hear a soft, strangled sound behind him, so quiet it was almost inaudible.
⸻
Atsumu, sitting on the edge of the sofa, was trying so hard not to look .
His eyes flickered up, catching the pale stretch of Sakusa’s back, the curve of his neck, the faint lines of muscle shifting under his skin.
Atsumu’s mouth went dry, and he immediately looked down at his phone, thumb swiping over the dark screen repeatedly even though it was off.
But his eyes betrayed him, glancing up again, just once, catching the way Sakusa’s hair fell messily over his eyes as he pulled on the fresh black t-shirt, the fabric sliding down over his shoulders and clinging lightly to his still-warm skin.
⸻
Sakusa’s fingers moved with quiet precision, tucking a damp curl behind his ear before reaching for the waistband of his sweatpants, carefully swapping out the old for the new, moving with a practiced efficiency, the faint rustle of fabric the only sound in the room.
He kept his eyes down, focusing on the movement of his hands, pretending he didn’t feel Atsumu’s gaze burning into the back of his neck, the warmth crawling up the sides of his face.
His throat felt tight, but he swallowed it down, pulling the clean sweatpants up over his hips before adjusting the shirt, tugging it lightly so it fell comfortably around his frame.
⸻
When he finally turned around, fully dressed, his curls still slightly damp and clinging softly around his face, Atsumu was looking directly at him .
They both froze.
Atsumu’s mouth opened slightly, words caught in his throat, before he snapped his head away, scratching the back of his neck aggressively.
“Y-You done?” Atsumu managed to choke out, his voice embarrassingly high, the tips of his ears red once again.
Sakusa blinked, pressing his lips together before nodding, his own cheeks tinged pink as he clutched the dirty clothes in his hands.
“Yeah,” Sakusa replied softly, his voice quiet, eyes flicking down to the floor before darting back up to Atsumu’s face, catching the way Atsumu’s eyes softened for a moment before the setter looked away.
⸻
“Alright, uh—” Atsumu stood up abruptly, nearly dropping his phone, fumbling to catch it before shoving it into his pocket. “Let’s go down and meet the others, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Sakusa repeated, swallowing as he moved to toss his dirty clothes into the laundry bag, the fabric rustling as he let it drop.
The air felt heavy, warm, charged with something neither of them dared to name as they moved toward the door, Atsumu’s hand hovering near Sakusa’s back for a moment before pulling back, clenching at his side instead.
They didn’t say anything else as they slipped into their slides, the quiet only filled by the soft thud of the door closing behind them and the hush of the ocean outside.
⸻
The outside air was cooler than the afternoons , a crisp breeze rolling in from the sea, carrying the scent of salt and the soft rustle of palm leaves under the faint glow of the walkway lights.
Sakusa stepped out onto the paved path, the stones cool beneath the thin soles of his slides, the night breeze immediately brushing against his bare arms and the back of his neck, making goosebumps rise across his skin.
He hadn’t expected it to be this cold once the sun had set, the breeze sharper, the air no longer holding the warmth of the afternoon humidity.
⸻
Ahead, Atsumu walked with an easy stride , hands tucked into the pockets of his oversized beige jacket, the fabric falling loosely around him, swallowing his frame in the way only “style” could justify.
“’S for the style!” he’d said earlier when Bokuto teased him, pulling at the sleeves that hung past his wrists with exaggerated pride.
But now, walking under the night sky, Sakusa could only watch the way the fabric fluttered with each step, the warmth it held taunting him as the cold bit at his exposed skin.
⸻
A shiver ran through Sakusa, sharp and sudden, making him pull his arms closer to his body, fingers tucking under the hem of his oversized black t-shirt, trying to preserve what little warmth he had left.
“You okay?” Atsumu’s voice broke the quiet, turning his head just enough to glance back, his golden hair catching the soft glow of the lights.
Sakusa’s lips parted, but the cold air rushed in, stealing the words from him.
“Cold?” Atsumu added, his voice softer, tinged with concern that made something tighten in Sakusa’s chest.
Sakusa hesitated, then slightly nodded , his curls bouncing faintly with the movement, eyes dropping to the ground as he hugged himself a little tighter.
⸻
Atsumu stopped in his tracks , turning fully now, watching him, a crease forming between his brows.
There was a hesitation in his eyes, a pause, like he was wrestling with something inside, jaw clenching once before relaxing.
Then, with a sigh, he slipped his arms out of his oversized jacket , shaking it off in one swift movement, the fabric rustling quietly in the cool air.
Sakusa’s eyes widened slightly, blinking as Atsumu stepped closer, slowing his steps to match Sakusa’s.
⸻
Atsumu slung the jacket over Sakusa’s shoulders , the warmth still trapped in the fabric enveloping him instantly, the soft lining brushing against the back of his neck, settling over his arms, swallowing him in warmth.
The scent of Atsumu’s laundry detergent mixed with something faintly citrusy clung to the fabric, and Sakusa’s breath caught, the cold forgotten for a moment as heat spread across his cheeks.
“…yer gonna get even more sick,” Atsumu muttered, his voice low, almost grumbling, but the way his hands hovered for a moment to adjust the jacket around Sakusa was impossibly gentle.
“Just wear it.”
⸻
Sakusa stood there, frozen, the oversized jacket hanging off his shoulders, the sleeves far too long, the hem nearly reaching the middle of his thighs, completely swallowing him in Atsumu’s warmth.
His fingers curled into the soft fabric, clutching it lightly as he kept his eyes down, teeth tugging at his lower lip.
“…thanks,” Sakusa whispered, so quiet it was nearly lost to the breeze.
Atsumu scratched the back of his neck, looking away, ears turning pink as he coughed lightly, trying to mask the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“S’fine,” he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants as he resumed walking, this time slowing his pace deliberately to match Sakusa’s steps , the distance between them smaller than before.
⸻
They walked side by side under the soft glow of the walkway lights, the ocean breeze still cool but no longer biting, the night air filled with the sound of waves rolling softly in the distance.
And for a moment, with Atsumu’s warmth wrapped around him and the soft scent of citrus in the fabric, Sakusa let himself breathe , letting the quiet between them settle into something warm, something safe, as they made their way toward the restaurant to meet the others.
A soft, quiet settled between them as they walked, the night breeze cool but no longer biting with Atsumu's jacket wrapped snug around Sakusa's shoulders.
The only sounds were the rhythmic clack of their sneakers against the pavement, mingling with the distant hush of waves rolling in and the faint rustle of palm leaves swaying under the glow of the walkway lights.
Neither of them spoke, but the silence wasn't heavy; it was soft, gentle, the kind that filled the spaces around the warmth rather than tension.
———
Ahead, the restaurant slowly came into view, warm lights spilling out from the glass windows, casting golden reflections onto the walkway. Laughter and chatter drifted out, mingling with the clink of dishes and the faint aroma of grilled meats and fragrant herbs that hung in the cool air.
Outside, the group was waiting near the entrance, clustered in a messy chaotic cirlce.
Bokuto was loudly declaring something about ordering "THE BIGGEST MEAL POSSIBLE," waving his arms in wide arcs as Akaashi sighed beside him, fingers rubbing his temple.
Kuroo and Kenma stood off to the side, Kenma scrolling lazily on his phone while Kuroo peeked over his shoulder, trying to see what he was playing.
Hinata and Kageyama were already bickering, Hinata poking Kageyama’s arm repeatedly as Kageyama swatted his hand away, scowling.
Osamu sat on a low ledge beside Suna, who was also scrolling on his phone, thumbs moving lazily as his half-lidded eyes flickered up every now and then to watch the chaos.
⸻
Atsumu pushed open the restaurant door with one hand, the cool air of the air-conditioner spilling out , brushing against their skin, making Sakusa shiver lightly beneath the jacket.
“Tsumu! Over here!” Osamu’s voice called out, loud and clear, his grin easy as he waved them over.
Suna lifted his eyes briefly, giving Sakusa a small nod before flicking his gaze back to his phone, his expression unreadable but calm.
⸻
Atsumu gave a slight nod , acknowledging his brother, before striding forward with his usual confidence, his posture relaxed.
But even as he walked, he kept his pace slow , matching Sakusa’s careful, steady steps, never rushing ahead, their shoulders brushing lightly every few steps as they moved.
Sakusa glanced up briefly, eyes catching the warm glow of the restaurant lights reflecting in Atsumu’s golden hair, the soft, warm look on his face as he kept close.
It made Sakusa’s chest tighten, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the jacket wrapped around his shoulders.
⸻
As they reached the group, Hinata’s eyes lit up, waving enthusiastically, “Omi! You’re here too! We’re gonna EAT SO MUCH!”
“Don’t yell, Hinata,” Kageyama muttered, tugging at his sleeve.
Bokuto immediately grinned, “Omi, you better eat lots to get your energy back!”
“Don’t pressure him, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighed, though a small, knowing smile tugged at his lips as he glanced at Sakusa, taking in the oversized jacket swallowing him.
Suna smirked, nudging Osamu, who let out a quiet chuckle, “Looks like someone’s jacket is gettin’ more use than he expected.”
“Shut it,” Atsumu shot back, though his ears turned a faint pink as he pulled open the restaurant door wider for Sakusa, tilting his head.
“C’mon, Omi. Let’s get inside.”
⸻
Sakusa tightened his grip on the jacket around his shoulders, pulling it closer, the scent of Atsumu’s detergent and faint citrus washing over him as he stepped inside, the warmth of the restaurant enveloping him immediately.
And as the door closed softly behind them, the soft chatter of the group surrounding them, Sakusa allowed himself to feel the warmth of the moment settle around him , like the soft hush of the sea outside, comforting and calm.
Sakusa slid into the seat beside Atsumu, the warm restaurant air wrapping around him, the scent of grilled meats, fresh herbs, and lemongrass broth weaving together and making the room feel alive.
His headache was still painfully there , a dull, throbbing ache behind his eyes that pulsed with every bright light and loud sound, but it was so much better than yesterday —enough that he could sit here, surrounded by his friends, letting the low hum of chatter and laughter wash over him.
Still, a slight tremor ran through his hands as he settled, pulling Atsumu’s jacket tighter around his shoulders, seeking warmth in the comforting fabric.
He lifted a hand to his mouth as a raspy cough slipped out, rough against his throat, his shoulders shaking lightly with the force of it.
⸻
It earned immediate attention from the group.
“Kiyoomi-san, are you sure you’re okay?” Akaashi’s calm voice cut through, gentle but tinged with concern as he paused, his fingers resting against the laminated menu halfway through flipping to the next page.
His green eyes flickered to Sakusa’s face, scanning him carefully, noting the faint flush in his cheeks and the way his hand shook slightly as he lowered it from his mouth.
“We’re going out tomorrow,” Akaashi added, “It’s better if you rest fully tonight.”
⸻
“Yeah, Kiyoomi-chan!” Oikawa chimed in dramatically, leaning over the table with a concerned pout that was almost comical, his brown hair bouncing with the movement.
“It’s better to stay and rest, I have some supplements I can share!” Oikawa continued, already reaching into the sleek crossbody bag slung across his chest, digging around with exaggerated flair.
⸻
Iwaizumi, sitting beside him, shot him a look, eyebrow twitching, “Of course you have them. But why do you even bring those supplements with you anyway?”
Oikawa’s head snapped around, his brown eyes wide, gasping in mock offense as he held up a sleek white bottle triumphantly.
“IT’S FOR THE BEAUTY, IWA,” Oikawa declared, flipping his hair dramatically with one hand while clutching the bottle to his chest with the other, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
⸻
Iwaizumi’s eye twitched, “You’re unbelievable.”
“YOU JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND THE SACRIFICES OF MAINTAINING THIS GLOW,” Oikawa shot back, waving the bottle around, the cap nearly flying off.
Bokuto’s laughter boomed across the table, “HAHA, OIKAWA, YOU SHOULD SHARE SOME WITH ME TOO!”
“Bokuto-san, please,” Akaashi sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose, though the corner of his lips twitched in a faint smile.
⸻
Across from them, Kuroo leaned back in his chair, smirking, “What, you planning on getting even prettier, Bokuto?”
Kenma, barely looking up from his Switch, muttered, “Like that’s possible.”
“KENMAAAAA!” Bokuto wailed, slumping forward onto the table dramatically.
Suna, seated beside Osamu, scrolled lazily on his phone, smirking, “Give it a rest, Bokuto.”
Osamu chuckled, leaning over to peek at Sakusa, “But seriously, Sakusa, you good? We can grab ya something light.”
⸻
Through the chaos, Atsumu glanced sideways , his eyes lingering on Sakusa as the group bickered, the corner of his lips tugging up faintly.
He nudged Sakusa’s foot under the table, leaning in slightly, voice low so only Sakusa could hear amidst the noise.
“Want me to get ya some warm tea? It might help with the headache,” Atsumu asked softly, eyes warm, the glow from the hanging light above reflecting in the gold of his irises.
Sakusa blinked, caught off guard, swallowing past the dryness in his throat, his fingers clutching the edge of Atsumu’s jacket.
“…Yeah. Thanks,” Sakusa murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but the way Atsumu’s small smile grew was enough for Sakusa to know he’d heard.
⸻
And as Atsumu signaled the waiter, ordering warm lemongrass tea for him, the warmth of the restaurant settled around Sakusa like a comforting blanket.
The headache still pulsed, the group still argued, but in this moment—wrapped in Atsumu’s jacket, the promise of warm tea on the way, and the quiet warmth in Atsumu’s eyes—
Sakusa felt okay.
———
They soon ordered.
Or rather, the group descended into chaos , the laminated menus flapping around like birds as everyone started shouting out what they wanted, overlapping voices bouncing off the warm wooden walls of the restaurant.
“I WANT THE GRILLED MEAT PLATTER!” Bokuto shouted, eyes gleaming, bouncing in his seat like a child, nearly knocking over the water glass in front of him.
“Bokuto-san, please calm down—” Akaashi sighed, adjusting his glasses as he tried to read the menu in peace, only to have Bokuto lean over him, pointing at the pictures.
“Kuroo, we should get the seafood hotpot! We’re in Vietnam, live a little!” Oikawa yelled across the table, flipping his hair back dramatically.
“Bet,” Kuroo shot back, already raising a hand to call the waiter.
Kenma, without looking up from his Switch, muttered, “Just get me rice,” and went back to tapping away, ignoring the chaos.
Suna scrolled lazily on his phone, glancing at Osamu, “Are you really gonna order five dishes for yourself?”
“It’s research,” Osamu defended, tapping at the menu with a grin, “Gotta try the flavors for the shop, ya know.”
Hinata and Kageyama were nearly wrestling over the menu, “I WANT THIS,” Hinata yelled, pointing at the sizzling pancake platter.
“No, we’re getting THIS,” Kageyama countered, shoving another dish under Hinata’s nose.
“WHY CAN’T WE GET BOTH?!”
“BECAUSE WE CAN’T EAT THAT MUCH—”
“Yes, we CAN!”
⸻
In the middle of this chaos, Sakusa quietly lifted his hand, eyes scanning the menu slowly as he adjusted Atsumu’s oversized jacket around his shoulders, pulling it tighter.
His head was still pounding, each shout from Bokuto or Oikawa making it throb, but the warmth of the jacket was comforting, the citrus scent calming him as he exhaled softly.
He could feel Atsumu’s eyes on him, hovering, but not pushing, waiting for him to speak.
“Just the pho,” Sakusa finally said, his voice quiet but clear, the simple warmth of the rice noodles and broth the only thing he could stomach right now.
Atsumu nodded immediately, “One pho for Omi,” he repeated to the waiter, ignoring the raised eyebrows from the others as he said it so casually.
⸻
Sakusa’s eyes flickered to Atsumu for a moment, catching the soft, warm smile on his lips before Atsumu turned to the waiter, rattling off his own order with easy confidence.
“You’re not gonna get more, Atsumu?” Bokuto blinked, mid-shout, pausing his battle cry for more grilled meat.
“Nah,” Atsumu shrugged, “Gotta watch my diet if I wanna keep beatin’ ya at jumps, Bokuto.”
“HEY!”
Atsumu snickered, leaning back, but his eyes darted to Sakusa, checking the color in his cheeks and the tired heaviness in his eyes.
⸻
As the waiter moved to collect the rest of the table’s orders (which looked like a feast fit for twenty rather than twelve), the group erupted back into chatter, debating sauces, dipping styles, and who would eat the spiciest dish.
In the middle of it all, Sakusa sank a little deeper into the oversized jacket, letting the noise wash over him, the promise of warm pho and Atsumu’s quiet, hovering presence grounding him amidst the chaos.
The drinks arrived first, glasses of iced tea sweating in the warm restaurant air, beads of condensation rolling down the sides and pooling into small rings on the wooden table.
Bokuto's fresh coconut arrived with a small paper umbrella, which he immediately began playing with, waving it at Akaashi while laughing loudly. Oikawa snapped a photo of bright his pink drink, angling it "for the feed," while Iwaizumi threatened to knock it out of his hand if he didn't put the phone down.
Atsumu's drink was simple, a cold lime soda with mint, which he sipped casually while leaning back, one arm slung over the back of Sakusa's chair, close but not touching, the warmth of his presence a quiet, steady comfort.
Then, the food began to arrive, the waiters moving around the crowded table with practiced ease, setting down sizzling plates of grilled meats, steaming baskets of fresh rice, plates of fried pancakes, and bubbling pots of seafood hotpot.
The aroma was rich and warm, a blend of lemongrass, garlic, and charred meat filling the air, mingling with the chatter and laughter that echoed off the warm-toned walls.
———
In front of Sakusa, the pho was set down gently, steam curling into the air, carrying the scent of fresh cilantro, tender beef, and fragrant broth.
He wrapped his hands around the bowl for a moment, letting the warmth seep into his cold fingers, the steam brushing against his cheeks, softening the headache that still pulsed quietly behind his eyes.
⸻
He picked up his chopsticks, hands trembling faintly as he lifted a small bundle of rice noodles, bringing it to his lips.
He ate slowly, carefully, nibbling on the noodles in small, precise bites, chewing with patience, letting the softness of the noodles settle comfortably in his stomach.
Between bites, he lifted the ceramic spoon, scooping up a small portion of the steaming broth, blowing on it gently before taking slow, cautious sips.
The warmth spread down his throat, loosening the tightness in his chest, the salt and depth of the broth grounding him.
⸻
He could feel Atsumu’s eyes on him, warm and watchful, hovering protectively without being overbearing.
“Good?” Atsumu asked softly, leaning in, voice low enough that only Sakusa could hear amidst the laughter of Bokuto yelling about who could eat the most meat.
Sakusa paused, glancing up at him, his curls falling softly over his forehead as the steam from the soup curled around them, framing his flushed face.
He swallowed, nodding once. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice quiet but genuine.
Atsumu’s lips twitched into a small, relieved smile, and he leaned back slightly, picking up his own chopsticks, but his eyes flickered back to Sakusa every few moments, ensuring he was eating, ensuring he was okay.
⸻
Around them, the table was chaos—Hinata and Kageyama arguing over who got the last piece of grilled pork, Kenma quietly stealing it while they fought, Suna filming Osamu for “future blackmail,” and Kuroo and Oikawa loudly debating dipping sauces.
But in that small, warm bubble between them, the soft sound of Sakusa’s spoon tapping the bowl and Atsumu’s quiet glances felt like the only things that mattered.
And as Sakusa took another small sip of the broth, letting it warm him from the inside out, he felt a little more alive, a little more at ease, wrapped in the warmth of the moment—and the warmth of Atsumu’s quiet, constant care.
———
The night ended in a blur of chaos and warmth, the restaurant filled with the lively energy of the group.
Bokuto was practically screaming , waving his chopsticks in the air, declaring, “I COULD EAT TEN MORE OF THESE!” while Akaashi sat beside him, quietly sipping his tea, muttering, “Bokuto-san, please,” though the corner of his lips quirked with faint amusement.
Hinata was literally vibrating , bouncing in his seat as he chattered to Kageyama about how amazing the food was, his small hands waving wildly, nearly knocking over their water glasses twice.
“Did you taste that pancake?! It was SO GOOD!” Hinata squeaked, eyes wide and bright, cheeks flushed with excitement.
“You’re going to choke if you keep talking while eating, dumbass,” Kageyama scolded, shoving another piece of pork into his own mouth, cheeks puffed.
Kenma, half asleep, mumbled, “Too loud…” as he scrolled through his phone under the table, while Suna lazily took a video of Hinata’s chaos for future blackmail.
⸻
Oikawa was busy snapping pictures , positioning his drink and the remnants of the dishes in aesthetically pleasing angles, leaning over the table with his camera app open.
“Hold the plate closer to the light, Iwa-chan, I need the steam to catch—”
“Stop it, Shittykawa, or I’ll break your phone,” Iwaizumi growled, his eyebrow twitching as he reached over to grab Oikawa’s wrist, trying to yank the phone away.
“Don’t touch it! You’ll smudge the lens!”
“I’m going to smudge your face in a second—”
⸻
In the middle of the chaos, Sakusa sat quietly , the oversized jacket still wrapped around him, a comforting weight against the chill of the restaurant air.
His bowl of pho sat in front of him, the steam long gone now, leaving behind a faint scent of herbs and warmth that lingered around him.
He hadn’t finished it, his appetite not quite back to normal, but he had eaten half of it , small, careful bites, letting the broth warm his throat and settle in his stomach.
And that was enough .
That was what mattered.
⸻
Atsumu glanced over, eyes flicking to Sakusa’s bowl before meeting his eyes, a small, warm smile tugging at his lips.
“You did good,” Atsumu said softly, his voice almost lost under Bokuto’s laughter and Oikawa’s dramatic whining.
Sakusa blinked, looking down at the half-finished bowl, fingers tightening around the edge of the table for a moment before glancing back up at Atsumu.
His lips parted, a soft exhale escaping him, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly.
“…Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse but honest, the corners of his mouth twitching in the faintest hint of a smile.
⸻
Around them, the noise continued—Bokuto arguing with Osamu about who could eat more, Hinata nearly falling out of his chair in excitement, Oikawa clicking his tongue as Iwaizumi confiscated his phone, Kenma pretending not to know any of them.
But in that moment, with Atsumu’s warm gaze and the quiet satisfaction of having managed to eat something, Sakusa allowed himself to sink into the warmth of the moment.
The night was loud, chaotic, filled with laughter and bickering, but for Sakusa, it ended with a quiet, comforting blur of warmth, the jacket around his shoulders, the taste of broth on his lips, and Atsumu’s small, approving smile lingering in his mind.
———
The group finally left the restaurant, the warm, fragrant air of grilled meats and broth replaced by the crisp, cool breeze of the Da Nang night as they stepped outside, the glass doors sliding shut behind them with a soft whoosh .
The streetlights cast a gentle glow on the sidewalk, illuminating the small group of twelve as they spilled out onto the pavement, laughter and soft chatter still lingering around them like an echo of the warmth they had shared inside.
⸻
Bokuto stretched his arms up toward the sky, letting out a loud, satisfied groan, “THAT WAS SO GOOOOOOD.”
“Bokuto-san, you’re going to scare the other guests,” Akaashi sighed, tugging lightly at the sleeve of Bokuto’s shirt as he tried to pull him back from blocking the walkway.
“I’m too full to move,” Hinata whined, clutching his stomach, but his eyes were bright, bouncing on the balls of his feet despite his claim.
“Then stop moving, idiot,” Kageyama snapped, but he was holding the bag of leftovers Hinata insisted on taking, gripping it tightly with a faint blush on his cheeks.
⸻
Oikawa was checking the pictures he had taken, scrolling through them with a critical eye, while Iwaizumi hovered beside him, arms crossed, grumbling, “If you post one where I’m blinking, I’m deleting your account.”
“Iwa-chan, don’t be mean! It’s for memories!” Oikawa protested, clutching his phone to his chest dramatically.
Kenma was tucked under the glow of his phone screen, scrolling quietly as he walked, while Suna leaned over to peek, smirking, “You’re not even looking where you’re going.”
“I don’t need to,” Kenma replied without looking up.
Kuroo and Osamu were arguing softly about which coffee shop to try tomorrow, their voices blending into the low hum of the night as they followed the group.
⸻
Sakusa stepped out last, the oversized jacket still wrapped around him, the sleeves hanging past his hands as he tucked them into the pockets to preserve warmth against the cool breeze brushing over his damp curls.
His head still felt heavy, a quiet throb lingering at the back of his skull, but it was dulled now, manageable in the comfort of the cool air and the warmth of a full stomach.
⸻
Beside him, Atsumu slipped out of the door, letting it close softly behind him as he fell into step with Sakusa, matching his slower, careful pace.
“Ya did good, Omi,” Atsumu said quietly, just for him, the warmth in his voice carrying over the gentle hush of the street.
Sakusa’s lashes fluttered as he glanced sideways, catching the small, genuine smile on Atsumu’s lips, the glow from the streetlights catching the gold in his hair, framing him in soft light.
Sakusa swallowed, turning his gaze forward as he mumbled, “It was just pho.”
“Still proud,” Atsumu replied, grinning, his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, the tips of his ears flushed pink.
⸻
A sudden breeze swept past them, rustling the palm trees lining the street, making Sakusa’s hair flutter against his forehead as he shivered lightly.
Without thinking, Atsumu reached over, adjusting the jacket around Sakusa’s shoulders, pulling it tighter with a soft, protective tug before letting his hand drop, his fingers brushing lightly against Sakusa’s wrist before pulling back.
Sakusa blinked, the tips of his ears burning as he tucked his chin into the collar of the jacket, hiding the faint pink spreading across his cheeks.
“Thanks…” he murmured, so quietly it was nearly lost to the breeze, but Atsumu heard it, his grin softening into something warm as he nodded once.
⸻
The group continued down the path back toward their rooms, laughter and small arguments drifting into the night.
Bokuto was already planning breakfast, Hinata skipping ahead, Oikawa and Iwaizumi bickering, Kenma and Suna quiet shadows, Kuroo and Osamu still debating flavors.
But in the middle of it all, Sakusa and Atsumu walked side by side, steps matching perfectly, the soft hush of the sea in the distance grounding them as the night wrapped around them like a blanket.
And for a moment, Sakusa let himself breathe, letting the warmth of the jacket, the soft glow of the streetlights, and Atsumu’s quiet, constant presence beside him become the only things that mattered.
They reached their resort room a few minutes later, the hallway quiet except for the muffled laughter and conversation from distant rooms, the soft hum of the sea breeze seeping in through the open-air corridor.
Atsumu lifted the keycard , the green light blinking with a soft beep as the lock clicked open.
“Make sure ya eat yer medicine, Omi,” Atsumu muttered, toeing off his slides near the door, letting them thunk lightly against the wall.
⸻
Sakusa nodded silently, stepping inside, the door shutting behind them with a soft click that sealed them into the quiet comfort of the room.
The familiar scent of lemongrass from the resort diffuser and the faint salt from the sea outside lingered in the air, mixing with the faint citrus scent still clinging to Atsumu’s oversized jacket.
Slowly, Sakusa slipped his arms out of the sleeves, the fabric sliding off his shoulders and down his arms before pooling into his hands.
He held it for a moment, fingers curling into the fabric, before extending it back toward Atsumu, head lowered, curls falling into his eyes.
“…Thanks for the jacket,” Sakusa mumbled, his voice raspy, quiet but sincere.
⸻
Atsumu looked back, blinking for a moment before a soft, genuine smile curved onto his lips, his eyes crinkling faintly at the corners.
He took the jacket gently from Sakusa’s hands, folding it over his arm before giving a small nod, his gaze warm.
“No problem,” Atsumu said softly, voice warm in the dim room.
⸻
Sakusa turned away, moving toward the small table near the window where his tote bag sat , rummaging through it with slow, careful movements as he searched for his medicine.
The light from the bedside lamp illuminated the room in a soft glow, casting gentle shadows against the walls as the quiet between them settled comfortably, broken only by the faint rustle of Sakusa digging through his bag.
He finally pulled out the small bottle of pills, setting it down on the table with a soft clink before reaching for the water bottle beside it.
⸻
Atsumu strode over, slipping out of his hoodie, leaving him in a loose white t-shirt as he hovered near Sakusa, watching closely.
He noticed how Sakusa’s hand trembled , the pill bottle rattling softly against the glass as he tried to steady it, his fingers tightening around the bottle cap as his breath caught in quiet frustration.
Without a word, Atsumu’s hand shot out , large and warm as it covered Sakusa’s trembling one, steadying it gently.
Sakusa froze, his breath hitching, eyes flickering up to meet Atsumu’s warm, steady gaze.
⸻
“Let me,” Atsumu murmured, his voice quiet but firm, his fingers brushing lightly against Sakusa’s as he took the bottle from his grasp.
He twisted off the cap with ease, tipping the bottle gently to let a single pill roll into his palm before holding it out toward Sakusa.
Sakusa hesitated, his eyes darting between the pill and Atsumu’s soft, warm expression.
“Open,” Atsumu said, softer now, his thumb brushing lightly against Sakusa’s knuckles in a comforting rhythm.
⸻
Slowly, Sakusa parted his lips, letting Atsumu gently place the pill on his tongue before he lifted the water bottle to his lips, taking a careful sip to swallow it down.
The water was cool, washing away the dryness in his throat, and he lowered the bottle with a quiet sigh, blinking up at Atsumu.
“…Thanks,” Sakusa whispered, his voice barely above a breath, but the sincerity in it was clear.
⸻
Atsumu’s lips twitched into a small smile, his thumb still brushing softly over Sakusa’s knuckles before he finally let go, stepping back just enough to give Sakusa space.
“Anytime,” Atsumu replied, his voice warm, his eyes soft as they lingered on Sakusa’s flushed cheeks.
⸻
Outside, the waves continued to hush softly against the shore, the quiet of the night wrapping around them as the warmth of the small moment settled into the space between them.
And for a moment, with the lingering touch of Atsumu’s hand and the quiet comfort of the medicine finally taken, Sakusa allowed himself to breathe, letting the safety of Atsumu’s care wash over him in the quiet of their shared room.
When Sakusa got ready for bed, the quiet between them was soft, the glow of the bedside lamp washing the room in warm, golden light.
He moved to the right side of the bed , near the door, where the sheets were still messy from the nap he’d taken earlier, the fabric wrinkled and faintly scented of lavender and the warmth of the afternoon sun.
Sakusa slid under the covers , the plush blanket cool against his skin before the warmth seeped in, wrapping around him like a gentle cocoon. He dragged it up to his chin, turning onto his side to face the door, his curls brushing against the pillow as he settled, exhaling slowly.
⸻
The soft click of the bathroom door opening broke the hush of the room.
Atsumu emerged, blonde hair damp and sticking up in chaotic tufts as he aggressively towel-dried it, making it stick up at odd angles like he’d just been electrocuted.
His skin was flushed from the shower, a loose black t-shirt hanging off one shoulder as he rubbed the towel roughly over his hair, drops of water falling onto the floor as he moved.
Sakusa’s eyes flickered over, catching the sight before quickly darting back toward the door, heat rising faintly to his cheeks.
⸻
The other side of the bed dipped as Atsumu climbed in , the mattress shifting with his weight.
He didn’t settle immediately, instead sitting cross-legged with the towel slung over his shoulders, scrolling lazily on his phone, the screen lighting up his face in the dim room.
His damp hair stuck up in soft, messy spikes, casting small shadows on the walls, the faint scent of soap and citrus drifting over, grounding Sakusa in the moment.
⸻
“…Atsumu.”
The name slipped from Sakusa’s lips before he could stop it, quiet, muffled slightly by the blanket pulled up to his chin.
He kept his eyes fixed on the door, the soft light from the hallway spilling under the crack, his heart pounding.
“Yeah?” Atsumu replied, not looking up, his thumb still swiping over the screen.
Sakusa swallowed, the dryness in his throat catching as he tried to gather the words, the blanket clutched tightly in his fingers.
“Why are you doing this?”
⸻
Silence fell over the room like a thick blanket.
Atsumu’s thumb froze mid-swipe , the soft glow of his phone illuminating the stillness in his expression before he slowly shut off the screen, letting the device drop onto the nightstand with a soft thud .
His eyes flickered toward Sakusa, watching the way the blanket rose and fell with each shallow breath, the curls falling across his eyes as he kept his gaze fixed forward.
⸻
“Like what?” Atsumu asked, his voice softer now, lacking his usual teasing lilt, a quiet seriousness in the warmth of his tone.
Sakusa’s fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket, pulling it higher, his breath catching as he finally found the courage to continue.
“Y’know… caring for me. Like this.”
⸻
His words hung in the air, heavy and soft, the sound of the ocean outside barely audible over the pounding of his heart in his ears.
He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for a laugh, a teasing remark, something that would brush away the vulnerability he had let slip.
But none came.
⸻
Atsumu shifted on the bed, the sheets rustling as he moved, the towel slipping from his shoulders and landing softly on the floor.
“Because I want to.”
His voice was low, honest, cutting through the quiet with a warmth that settled deep in Sakusa’s chest.
⸻
Sakusa’s eyes opened slowly, blinking against the sting of sudden heat in his eyes, his breath hitching.
“Why?” he asked again, softer this time, the word nearly a whisper, trembling.
⸻
Atsumu’s hand lifted, reaching across the small space between them before pausing, hovering, before it settled lightly on Sakusa’s blanket-covered arm, the touch warm, grounding.
“Because you deserve to be cared for, Omi,” Atsumu said quietly, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric, the softness in his eyes visible even in the dim light.
“And because…” Atsumu paused, his throat working as he swallowed, his fingers curling slightly.
“Because I care about you.”
⸻
Sakusa’s breath caught, his lashes fluttering as he stared at the door, the soft glow blurring slightly as his eyes burned, the words sinking into him like the warmth of the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
Atsumu’s hand stayed there, warm and steady, neither of them moving, the quiet of the room filled with the soft hush of the waves outside and the shared beat of their hearts in the darkness.
And for the first time in a long time, Sakusa allowed himself to believe it was okay to be cared for.
“What does that mean, Atsumu?”
Sakusa’s voice was barely above a whisper , raspy and trembling as it slipped into the quiet room, the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant hush of the ocean filling the space around them.
He blinked rapidly , trying to get rid of the burning in his eyes, the sudden warmth rising to his cheeks and the tightness in his chest making it hard to breathe.
⸻
Across from him, Atsumu sat still, his hand still resting on the blanket over Sakusa’s arm, his thumb frozen mid-stroke.
His lips parted, words caught on the tip of his tongue before he let out a deep, shaky sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as he exhaled, the tension in his posture visible even in the dim light.
Atsumu’s gaze flickered away for a moment, his eyes darting to the window where the soft moonlight pooled onto the floor, before returning to Sakusa, raw honesty shining in the warm brown of his irises.
⸻
“…It means,” Atsumu started, his voice low, thick with something vulnerable, something that made Sakusa’s breath catch in his throat.
He swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he clenched it once before letting it go, the hand on Sakusa’s blanket tightening just slightly, grounding himself.
“It means…” he tried again, his voice cracking before he cleared his throat softly.
And then, softer, gentler , he let the words fall into the quiet.
“I like you, Omi.”
⸻
The words hung between them, suspended in the warm, heavy air of the room, sinking into the soft blankets, the pillow Sakusa gripped, the trembling in his chest.
They echoed in his mind, louder than the sound of the waves outside, louder than the soft buzz of the air conditioner.
I like you, Omi.
⸻
Sakusa felt the air leave his lungs in a slow exhale, his lashes fluttering as his vision blurred for a moment, the heat in his cheeks spreading to the tips of his ears.
He swallowed, the dryness in his throat catching, the words swirling around him like a tide he couldn’t stop.
And then, slowly, shakily, Sakusa shifted , the blankets rustling around him as he moved.
He turned, rolling over carefully, pulling the plush blanket tighter around his shoulders as he faced Atsumu for the first time since they climbed into bed.
⸻
Atsumu was staring at him, eyes wide, vulnerable in a way Sakusa had never seen before, the messy tufts of his damp blonde hair sticking up in chaotic spikes, his flushed cheeks illuminated by the soft bedside lamp.
His lips parted like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out, his hand still resting on Sakusa’s blanket, frozen, waiting.
⸻
Sakusa’s curls fell softly into his eyes as he blinked, looking at Atsumu, really looking, at the way his chest rose and fell unevenly, the way his eyes held so much warmth and uncertainty all at once.
He opened his mouth, closing it, before opening it again, the words catching on the tip of his tongue as his heart thundered in his chest.
“…You…” Sakusa started, his voice so soft it was almost drowned by the hush of the waves outside.
“You mean it?”
⸻
Atsumu let out a breath that shook, his lips twitching into the softest, smallest smile, his eyes crinkling just slightly.
“Yeah,” he breathed, nodding, the word leaving him in a soft exhale, as if it was the easiest truth in the world.
“I mean it, Omi.”
⸻
The silence between them wasn’t heavy this time. It was soft, warm, filled with the quiet beating of two hearts in sync under the blanket, the glow of the lamp washing them in gold.
Sakusa’s lashes fluttered as he held Atsumu’s gaze, the burn in his eyes returning, but this time, it wasn’t from fear.
And for the first time in a long time, wrapped in the warmth of the blanket, facing Atsumu under the soft hush of the night,
Sakusa allowed himself to believe he could let someone care for him—and maybe, just maybe, he could care back.
The room felt smaller now, warm with the soft hum of the air conditioning, the hush of the sea outside grounding them as they lay there, facing each other under the covers.
Atsumu’s words, “I mean it, Omi,” still echoed in the quiet, filling the space between them like the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
⸻
Sakusa stared, blinking slowly, his breath caught in his throat as he tried to steady the rapid beating of his heart, the blanket clutched tightly up to his chin.
He opened his mouth, but the words tangled in the back of his throat, sticking to the fear and confusion that still clung to his chest.
His fingers twitched under the blanket, brushing against the soft fabric, grounding himself in the warmth of Atsumu’s jacket still faintly clinging to him.
⸻
Atsumu’s hand shifted, hesitating before reaching out, brushing lightly over the blanket where Sakusa’s hand was hidden, his thumb tracing a small, comforting circle over the fabric.
His eyes were so soft , so open, waiting, patient.
“Take your time,” Atsumu whispered, his voice low, gentle, like a promise that he wasn’t going to push, wasn’t going to leave.
⸻
Sakusa’s lashes fluttered, his breath shaky as he pulled in a slow inhale, his throat tight as he forced the words to come out, even if they came out small.
“…I don’t,” Sakusa started, his voice cracking, “I don’t know if I can say it like you do.”
His eyes dropped to where Atsumu’s hand touched the blanket, the soft circles grounding him, letting him breathe.
⸻
Atsumu’s lips twitched into the smallest, warmest smile, his thumb pausing in its movement as he waited, listening.
Sakusa swallowed, his cheeks burning, eyes glistening faintly under the warm glow of the lamp.
“But…” he continued, so softly it was nearly drowned by the sound of the waves outside.
“I think—” Sakusa paused, breath hitching as he finally lifted his eyes to meet Atsumu’s, his lashes damp.
“I think I might like you too.”
⸻
The words hung in the air , trembling, raw, honest, so rare coming from Sakusa that it made Atsumu’s breath catch, his eyes widening before softening into something impossibly warm, impossibly gentle.
The smile that bloomed on Atsumu’s lips was blinding , but soft, a light in the dim room as he let out a shaky breath of laughter, relief flooding across his face.
“Yeah?” Atsumu breathed, his voice breaking, his hand pressing more firmly over Sakusa’s through the blanket.
“Yeah,” Sakusa whispered, blinking as a tear slipped down his cheek, quickly brushing it away with the back of his hand, looking embarrassed.
⸻
Atsumu’s smile softened, and he reached up, carefully brushing a damp curl away from Sakusa’s forehead, his fingertips featherlight, leaving warmth in their wake.
“Thank you for telling me, Omi,” Atsumu said softly, his thumb brushing gently against Sakusa’s cheek before pulling back, giving him space.
⸻
Sakusa let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the weight in his chest loosening as he blinked at Atsumu, cheeks flushed, the smallest, shyest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Shut up,” Sakusa mumbled, rolling his eyes, but the smile didn’t leave his face.
Atsumu’s laughter was soft, warm, as he settled back onto his pillow, still facing Sakusa, their knees brushing lightly under the blankets.
⸻
And for a long, quiet moment, under the soft glow of the lamp and the hush of the waves outside, they simply looked at each other, letting the warmth of the moment sink in, letting the soft vulnerability settle between them like something precious.
The warmth between them was soft, buzzing quietly in the space that stretched from Sakusa’s flushed cheeks to the gentle curve of Atsumu’s smile.
Sakusa tried to look away, pulling the blanket up to hide the lower half of his face, but his eyes remained on Atsumu, wide and embarrassed, lashes fluttering as he blinked rapidly.
Atsumu’s thumb brushed lightly over Sakusa’s knuckles under the blanket before he pulled his hand back, only to reach up again, pushing a soft, damp curl away from Sakusa’s forehead.
⸻
“You’re so cute, y’know that?” Atsumu teased, his voice low, warm, but with that playful lilt that made Sakusa’s stomach flip.
Sakusa’s eyes widened, his ears turning bright red as he immediately slapped Atsumu’s hand away, “Don’t.”
“Aw, c’mon, Omi,” Atsumu grinned, leaning closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he poked Sakusa’s cheek lightly, “Say it again.”
“No.”
“Say it,” Atsumu whined softly, dragging out the last word as he tilted his head, his hair falling into his eyes, “Please?”
Sakusa’s mouth opened, then closed, his cheeks growing impossibly hotter as he glared weakly, “You’re so annoying.”
⸻
Atsumu chuckled, leaning back on his elbows, his grin softening into something warmer as he watched Sakusa squirm under the blanket.
“I can’t believe I finally get t’ hear that you like me, and you’re all shy about it,” Atsumu hummed, his voice teasing but quiet enough that it felt private, meant only for the two of them.
“Shut up,” Sakusa mumbled again, pulling the blanket higher until only his eyes peeked out, glaring at Atsumu, but the glare lacked its usual sharpness.
“You’re cute when you’re shy,” Atsumu sing-songed, unable to hide the bright smile spreading across his face.
⸻
“I will suffocate you with this pillow,” Sakusa threatened flatly, eyes narrowing, but the pink dusting across his cheeks and the way his eyes darted away betrayed him.
“‘M worth it,” Atsumu shot back instantly, winking, his grin turning lopsided, playful.
⸻
Sakusa let out a frustrated huff, burying his face into the pillow for a moment before turning back to glare at Atsumu, his curls sticking up in all directions now, making him look even softer.
Atsumu’s grin softened, and he reached out again, brushing a curl away gently, letting his fingers linger against Sakusa’s warm cheek.
“Thanks for tellin’ me, Omi,” Atsumu said, quieter now, the teasing dropping into something warm and genuine, his thumb brushing lightly over Sakusa’s cheek.
Sakusa swallowed, eyes flickering up to meet Atsumu’s warm gaze, the corners of his lips twitching into the faintest, shyest smile.
“…Shut up,” Sakusa mumbled one last time, but it was softer, the words carrying no weight, letting Atsumu’s hand stay against his cheek for a moment longer.
⸻
And in the warm hush of the room, the air soft with the distant sound of waves, they lay there, facing each other, small smiles tugging at their lips as their knees brushed lightly under the blankets, letting the warmth between them grow, letting the teasing linger—
—soft, comforting, and safe.
The teasing finally died down, the laughter slipping into quiet soft smiles , the air warm and heavy with the gentle hush of the ocean outside.
Sakusa’s eyes were half-lidded now, lashes fluttering as sleep tugged at the edges of his mind, the warmth of the blankets cocooning him, Atsumu’s citrus scent still clinging to the fabric around his shoulders.
⸻
Atsumu shifted, sliding lower under the covers until he lay on his side, facing Sakusa, his damp hair finally starting to settle in soft tufts across his forehead, a few strands still sticking out rebelliously.
His eyes, warm and honey-bright, softened as he watched Sakusa fight to keep his eyes open, the faintest smile pulling at the corners of Atsumu’s lips.
⸻
“Tired, Omi?” Atsumu whispered, voice low, gentle, meant only for Sakusa in the quiet glow of the bedside lamp.
“Shut up,” Sakusa mumbled automatically, his voice raspy, thick with sleep as his eyelids drooped, but the corners of his lips twitched upward.
⸻
Their knees brushed lightly under the blankets, a warm point of contact that neither of them pulled away from, grounding them in the soft, charged quiet.
Atsumu’s hand shifted under the covers, brushing lightly against Sakusa’s before their pinkies hooked, neither acknowledging it aloud, but neither letting go.
⸻
The waves outside were a soft hush, like a lullaby, weaving through the warm air of the room.
Sakusa’s breathing began to slow, matching the gentle rhythm of Atsumu’s, the tension in his shoulders finally loosening as his body relaxed into the mattress, the warmth of the blankets and Atsumu’s quiet presence lulling him closer to sleep.
⸻
Just as Sakusa’s eyes fluttered shut, Atsumu’s voice came, softer than before, filled with a sleepy, tender warmth.
“Night, Omi.”
⸻
Sakusa’s lashes fluttered once, twice, before he let out a quiet breath, the smallest, softest whisper slipping into the space between them.
“…Night, Atsumu.”
⸻
The lamp clicked off, plunging the room into the soft darkness of the night, the moonlight filtering in through the sheer curtains, painting silver lines across the floor.
Their breathing synced, slow and steady, knees still brushing under the blankets as their pinkies remained hooked, grounding them to each other.
⸻
And in that quiet, safe warmth, with the soft hush of the waves and the faint scent of salt in the air,
Sakusa let himself drift into sleep, wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, the comfort of Atsumu’s presence, and the softness of being cared for—and letting himself care in return.
The teasing finally died down, the laughter slipping into quiet soft smiles , the air warm and heavy with the gentle hush of the ocean outside.
Sakusa’s eyes were half-lidded now, lashes fluttering as sleep tugged at the edges of his mind, the warmth of the blankets cocooning him, Atsumu’s citrus scent still clinging to the fabric around his shoulders.
⸻
Atsumu shifted, sliding lower under the covers until he lay on his side, facing Sakusa, his damp hair finally starting to settle in soft tufts across his forehead, a few strands still sticking out rebelliously.
His eyes, warm and honey-bright, softened as he watched Sakusa fight to keep his eyes open, the faintest smile pulling at the corners of Atsumu’s lips.
⸻
“Tired, Omi?” Atsumu whispered, voice low, gentle, meant only for Sakusa in the quiet glow of the bedside lamp.
“Shut up,” Sakusa mumbled automatically, his voice raspy, thick with sleep as his eyelids drooped, but the corners of his lips twitched upward.
⸻
Their knees brushed lightly under the blankets, a warm point of contact that neither of them pulled away from, grounding them in the soft, charged quiet.
Atsumu’s hand shifted under the covers, brushing lightly against Sakusa’s before their pinkies hooked, neither acknowledging it aloud, but neither letting go.
⸻
The waves outside were a soft hush, like a lullaby, weaving through the warm air of the room.
Sakusa’s breathing began to slow, matching the gentle rhythm of Atsumu’s, the tension in his shoulders finally loosening as his body relaxed into the mattress, the warmth of the blankets and Atsumu’s quiet presence lulling him closer to sleep.
⸻
Just as Sakusa’s eyes fluttered shut, Atsumu’s voice came, softer than before, filled with a sleepy, tender warmth.
“Night, Omi.”
⸻
Sakusa’s lashes fluttered once, twice, before he let out a quiet breath, the smallest, softest whisper slipping into the space between them.
“…Night, Atsumu.”
⸻
The lamp clicked off, plunging the room into the soft darkness of the night, the moonlight filtering in through the sheer curtains, painting silver lines across the floor.
Their breathing synced, slow and steady, knees still brushing under the blankets as their pinkies remained hooked, grounding them to each other.
⸻
And in that quiet, safe warmth, with the soft hush of the waves and the faint scent of salt in the air,
Sakusa let himself drift into sleep, wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, the comfort of Atsumu’s presence, and the softness of being cared for—and letting himself care in return.