Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When his brother didn’t spend the intermission chirping at Sakusa’s Act Two performance, Osamu no longer had to wonder about whom Atsumu had asked in Act One.  He’d known for quite some time that Atsumu had a big, embarrassing crush on the man, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad.  

He didn’t want to say anything; Atsumu spooked easily, and pressing him to admit his feelings would make him clam up worse than before.  It wasn’t to say the two would be bad for each other, quite the opposite.  He’d be lying if he hadn’t been worried about his brother continuing on after he retired.  Osamu knew that the only reason he danced as well as he did was because he had Atsumu, and it worked both ways.  One thing that had plagued him over the last six months was if Atsumu would plateau and spiral.  

If there was one thing worse than a spooked Atsumu, it was a whiny one.  

Since day one of their acquaintanceship, however, Sakusa had pushed Atsumu to work harder, be better, and stand straighter, simply by pressing the right buttons.

How he’d known which buttons to press upon meeting Atsumu, Osamu couldn’t know.  He could only chalk it up to his twin being an open book.  

As he stood backstage, Atsumu pouting in his seat in the dressing room, Osamu huffed.  For as much as Atsumu toted he didn’t care what other people thought of him, he was surprisingly touchy.  

He gave the stage one more look, committing it to memory.  From stage right had slid an enormous set piece.  It had columns, arches, and a pair of grand doors through which he and Ushijima would enter mid-act.  Further downstage right, the Queen and Prince’s thrones had appeared, and directly across from them, another columned gate hiding a riser on which some extras would stand.  

The ballroom was grand indeed–he remembered the first time Atsumu had seen it.  His brother had whistled, impressed, and given Osamu a grin.

“Got yer work cut out for ya,” he’d said. “Don’t mess it up.”

At the time, Osamu had just punched him in the gut and moved on with his life.  Now, Osamu had to let out a calming breath.  

Don’t mess it up, indeed.

He turned around as he heard Meian’s two-clap from the dressing room, hearing him call ‘places.’  Osamu stood to the side as the cast hastily exited the small room, letting them pass by onto the curtained stage.  The sides of his lips turned up in a small grin as he watched them file into their places, including Sakusa, who stood from where he’d been seated against the wall.  He’d enter through the same grand door as the dark-haired man later in Act Three with Ushijima, but right at the moment it was Sakusa and the middle-aged woman playing the Queen who stood behind the opening set piece.  

Osamu gave the last set piece one final, skeptical look.  It was attached to the rafters, a ladder attached to the high platform above.  Atsumu had told him over and over that it was safe as could be, that he would only be on it for Osamu’s solos, but Osamu couldn’t help giving it a weary eye.  

He’d never admit it out loud, but Atsumu bested him in many things.  Brains was not one of them.  

Satisfied with the set’s ardent, silent promise to keep his brother safe, Osamu turned to the dressing room to find Atsumu with his legs kicked up on his vanity, head fallen back over the edge of his seat.  

How he found it comfortable wasn’t for Osamu to know, but it made grabbing Atsumu’s nose entirely too easy.

The blond jerked in his seat, an upset sound coming from him, but Osamu had already let him go, taking his own seat again.  He had at least four solos before he had to be onstage, and if his assistant didn’t find him backstage at least two minutes before his cue, the girl would remind him he was on.  

“No sleepin’,” was all he said to Atsumu, who huffed as he straightened, taking down his feet.  

“I wasn’t sleepin’,” Atsumu shot back. “I was restin’ my eyes.”

“Rest ‘em later.  I gotta talk to you.”

Atsumu blinked at that, sitting straighter and sobering. “What’s wrong?” He asked, and Osamu’s eyes narrowed, staring his brother down.  

He had to be tactical about this.  The wrong word would send Atsumu careening the other direction than he wanted him to go, and the last thing Osamu needed was his brother to be distracted during the season.

On the screen above them, the curtain opened to more applause, and the orchestra, struck up by Kageyama in the pit, began playing.  From stage right, diplomats and royalty entered, a brief introduction before they would dance in front of Siegfried and his mother.  Osamu kept staring at Atsumu, who, feeling more scrutinized than before, started to bristle.  

“What?” He finally repeated, and Osamu, deciding to fuck it, turned his full attention to his brother.

“Yer a good dancer, ‘Tsumu,” he said, loud enough for Atsumu to hear but quiet enough that no one else would hear him. “Yer dense as all get out, but yer a good dancer.”

Atsumu recoiled at that. “Rude,” he said, but Osamu pressed forward.

“If ya think ya’ve found someone that’s just as big’a ballerina as you, don’t let’em slip away, you understand?” When all Atsumu could do was blink, he continued. “Stop bein’ a coward.  It’s ruinin’ yer openin’ night.”

Atsumu’s eyes narrowed, “Nothin’s ruinin’ my openin’ night more’n yer half-assed attempt at a pep talk,” he shot back. “What’s this about?”

The audience broke into applause again as the grand doors opened and Sakusa, hand in hand with an older woman, entered upstage.  They greeted the crowd in silent acknowledgment, raising their hands above their heads, their free ones gently lowering.  The crowd politely quieted down at the gesture, and Sakusa led his ‘mother’ to her throne.  

Osamu rolled his eyes.  He’d be the first to admit he was shit at pep talks, but he didn’t think he was this bad.

“Yer in yer head too much,” he said, “and yer overthinkin’ what makin’ a move would do to the rest of the cast.” Atsumu’s mouth opened as if to disagree, but Osamu cut him off. “If ya wanna kiss him this bad, just go for it.  It’s better’n regrettin’ it fer the rest’a yer life.”

His brother sobered, turning back to his lap.  Osamu almost felt bad before the pout returned, and he rolled his eyes.  

“And fer yer information,” he said, “Suna’n’ I kissed way before the final curtain call.  We turned out okay, didn’t we?”

Atsumu pondered it for a bit, to the point that Osamu thought he’d spoken out of turn.

His fears were gone the minute Atsumu’s mouth pulled into an insufferable grin.  

“Ya turned out gross, is what ya did,” he said.  

Osamu looked at the ceiling.  

“I dunno why I even bother,” he muttered, getting up.  Before he could move far, Atsumu grabbed him by the wrist.  

“C’mon,” he said. “Not that I don’t mean it, but just cause it worked fer you two doesn’t mean it works fer everyone.”

“Who’s to say?” Osamu asked, feeling his patience run thin. “Someone too scared to smooch a cute boy that he puts his entire career on the line ‘cause of it?”

Atsumu gawked. “I’m not putin’ my career on the line,” he protested, but when Osamu simply rose an eyebrow his way, he pressed his lips into a thin line. “M’just…scared this’ll change everythin’.”

He said it so quietly Osamu almost missed it, but when the words registered in his head, he softened.  

It was the most vulnerable Atsumu had been with him during the entire show.  Osamu wasn’t blind; he knew his retirement news had weighed heavily on Atsumu throughout rehearsals, and the feelings he’d tried to ignore hadn’t helped, but the dark-haired twin hadn’t pushed him on it, hoping it would figure itself out.

He was just tired of waiting.  

He pinched Atsumu’s nose again, holding on as Atsumu yelped, turning his head violently back and forth trying to escape. When he stopped fighting it, Osamu leaned in close, his eyebrows raised on his forehead.

“Let it,” was all he said before he let go, turning to the dressing room door.

Atsumu blinked at his brother’s back, holding his nose.  

Let it.

The words rang in his head, over and over.  He took a moment to look in the mirror, ensuring his idiot brother hadn’t smudged his makeup, before he followed.  Unsure if he was going to complain about Osamu’s behavior or if he was going to watch from backstage instead of on a screen, Atsumu exited the dressing room and, much like costume day, was greeted with Hungarian Dance.  The ballerinas onstage, royalty trying to gain Siegfried’s eye, twirled and leapt.  He caught sight of Kageyama’s head bouncing up and down as he led the orchestra.  

Osamu was making his way back behind the set pieces, where he knew Atsumu couldn’t follow him, just like the bastard he was.  Leave it to him to drop his two cents on Atsumu and then run off where he couldn’t gripe at him.  Pressing his lips into a thin line, Atsumu crossed his arms over his chest, choosing instead to pout in the wings, where he could watch the rest of the act.  

It wasn’t like Osamu had said anything groundbreaking.  Atsumu was an adult.  He just…couldn’t shake the idea that making a move on Sakusa would destroy everything he’d built.

Let it.

The little Osamu that lived rent-free in Atsumu’s head rose from its pit, where Atsumu buried it.  

What would it destroy?  It asked.  Atsumu sank to his haunches, letting his arms rest on his thighs.  Lonely nights sitting at home?  Your pity parties that you’re never going to find anyone that would put up with a professional ballerina’s schedule?  

He bit his lips together as Sakusa pushed himself out of his throne onstage, joining the dancers as they all reprised their dances with him, Siegfried looking for a partner.

Atsumu watched him lose himself in the movements; as always, Sakusa’s poise and grace was nothing less than perfect.  

It made the blond want to be better, to stand taller, to reach higher.  He could twist and lift ballerinas with the same ease, but he could do it better.  He could treat the stage as if it were a trampoline, one arm over his head and the other to his side as he let his legs spread themselves in a mid-air split.  

He could do it the same way Sakusa did, but he could do it better.  

He watched Sakusa do it the same way he used to watch Osamu do it, and it clicked.

It wasn’t just a passing lust.  It wasn’t even a crush.  

Atsumu wanted Sakusa to push him to be a better dancer.  A better person.  

Let it.

The thought frightened him.  

We shouldn’t, Sakusa had said.  

Sakusa has never cared about anyone, Ushijima had said.  

He never said he didn’t want to, either, Atsumu thought.

Bolstered by the recent developments in his head, Atsumu pushed his inner Osamu back into its container and stood.  For the first time in a very, very long time, he didn’t feel sick at the thought of final curtain.  As the Queen approached Sakusa onstage, urging Siegfried to marry, he watched Sakusa ‘weigh his options’ before grabbing the Queen, furiously miming a conversation with her. 

It was Siegfried saying that he loved none of the women offered to him.

Fuckin’ A, Atsumu thought, am I actually in…love with that asshole?

Actual anger at the thought bubbled in his stomach.  How dare Sakusa Kiyoomi burrow his way into Atsumu’s heart.  

Right as Siegfried finished speaking with his mother, the music swelled, and the grand doors center stage burst open.  Osamu and Ushijima entered with their outside hands outstretched, the inner arms linked as a father leading his son into a large palace.  Atsumu watched Osamu, urging the same feeling he’d felt watching Sakusa to reappear.

He felt nothing but pride for his brother, a small smile teasing his lips up as Ushijima presented him to the Queen, Sakusa watching in awe as Osamu gave a deep bow to her.  He snapped up, giving Sakusa the feral grin that he’d perfected for Odile, before he led the prince off stage right.  

Annoyed, Atsumu turned to his set piece and began climbing the ladder onto the sliding balcony.  If he couldn’t find the drive to be better than Osamu anymore, he’d just have to be better than Sakusa.  It was that easy.  

Nothing like speedrunning the seven stages of grief, Osamu’s voice said in his head as he came to the top of the balcony.  From there, he could watch Ushijima as he flourished his cape off his shoulders and onto Siegfried’s throne before he began his own solo.  

Grief.  At falling in love.

I gotta get my head checked or something, Atsumu thought, leaning on the metal bar.  He took each of the princesses, one by one, and spun them into his web, before all of them flitted in, dancing around him while he balanced on one foot’s toes. 

Atsumu knew from watching Ushijima for six months that his stature only made him look like a giant.  Instead of stomping around, however, the man was as light on his toes as Hinata, long legs making his jumps look as though he was frozen in midair for a moment before he was landing back on the stage with all the grace of a feather, shed from a bird mid-flight.  The visiting royals make their way offstage as he spun mid-flight, hopping into the air as he hit the ground once more, before twirling into Sakusa’s throne, on top of his cape.  The princesses bowed to him before leaving, and he was on his feet once more, arms outstretched as he announced his son, holding out his right arm.

Osamu entered stage right, across from Atsumu, led by Sakusa.  When Osamu reached center stage, he raised himself to his toes, arms over his head, watching as Sakusa took two more steps away from him, raising one arm over his head and the other to his side.  

The electric duet between Odile and Siegfried began.  Odile’s movements, stark and staccato in contrast to Odette’s languished ones, looked good on Osamu.  Each time Sakusa’s hands appeared on his hips, he was in the air, holding the audience’s attention while Siegfried reveled in the idea of Odette appearing at his ball.  

Every time Sakusa went to hold Osamu’s hand, he would pull back, lips turning into a half-snarl.  The last time he tried, Osamu moved stage left, starting on a diagonal spin until he was back next to Sakusa, who took him by the hips and spun him around five more times. 

The percussion hit their final mark at the same time Osamu and Sakusa faced each other, Osamu with one leg raised behind him and arms stretched wide to his sides.  

They held the pose for the pregnant pause between movements, staring at one another, before Sakusa moved forward, turning Osamu upstage as he moved behind him.  Osamu leaned forward, swinging the leg he’d had behind himself upward, before using the momentum and Sakusa’s hands to spin himself to face the audience again.  The same leg swung out without touching the floor, his opposite arm rising above his head.  

When Osamu finally put both heels on the ground to stride with Sakusa, they took two steps forward before Sakusa was rushing in front of Odile, taking his hand and lowering himself to one knee as if to kiss his hand.  

Odile quickly pulled his hand away, turning and striding across the stage to leap back center, where Siegfried was there to meet him, hands on hips again.  They gravitated toward one another once more, until Osamu pushed away to where Ushijima was waiting for him, hand outstretched.  Osamu touched hands with him, fingertip to fingertip, and then he was back in Sakusa’s hands, their duet ebbing and flowing with the orchestra.  

Ushijima strode around the stage, taking Osamu’s hand at three more junctures until Odile returned to his duet with Siegfried.  Atsumu stood at attention, arms in port de bras when the concertmaster hit his vibrato on his violin, Sakusa spinning his brother on one foot until the held out note ended with a quarter note.  Sakusa and Osamu stood back to chest, Sakusa holding Osamu by the ribs with his other hand outstretched while Osamu stood en pointe on one toe, the other stretched in front of Sakusa behind him, both hands pointed the same direction as his foot.  

Applause broke out for them, and when they broke the pose, Sakusa escorted Osamu downstage to acknowledge the appreciation.  Osamu, still half-smirking half-snarling the way Odile did, gave a graceful bow before he was off, and the balcony under Atsumu began to move.

He used to be startled every time it moved, but now, standing in fifth position with arms outstretched, he only jostled slightly.  

His part in Act Three was minimal.  Meian had told him, at the beginning, that the only reason he was onstage to begin with was for the visuals at the end of the act.  In the meantime, he would act like a butterfly in a cage, echoing Sakusa’s poses in his solo, but for the most part, only onstage to be seen.  

The worst part, he figured, was that he couldn’t watch Sakusa the way he wanted to.  Yes, he’d seen him throughout rehearsals, but this was different.  His feelings for Sakusa might be requited, and all he wanted to do was watch the man.  

Be professional, he thought to himself, keeping his eyes focused on a point across the stage.  With each strike of a chord, Atsumu would change his pose, from everything to arms above his head, to out at his sides, to first port de bras, to one leg in the air…

Just a ye olde cage dancer, he’d said to Osamu a few weeks back, and the sentiment still stayed in his thoughts.  

When his solo was through, and he was bowing to the crowd, Atsumu slowly turned away from the crowd, holding his arms out to his sides in his swan pose.

Behind him, Sakusa raised a hand over his head, announcing Osamu’s next solo.  The orchestra, silent with the audience as the man in question entered stage right and took his position center stage, began his gentle spinning and steps, carefully manicured as he shifted his weight from one set of toes to the other.  He dipped himself up and down, lifting one leg after another as he made his way back and forth across the stage.  Odile’s quick, sharp movements fit well with the tails on his biketard, he had to admit.  

He’d won the little victory on the sleeves of his unitard, and as he moved his arms above his head and to his sides, he felt like he was just dancing in his normal practice clothes.  He twirled stage left, bouncing onto his toes, arms above his head, and dipped himself, one leg stretching high above his head before he snapped both feet back down onto the stage.  The music died down long enough for him to pose, before he began the long swirl of spins first across downstage, his arms flowing in and out, then upstage, and then downstage one more time, slowly moving up-center stage once more.  

Every few spins required him to reset his footing, relaxing down to his heels before he was back on his toes.  Up and down, around and around he spun.  Head empty, he let himself move as Odile wanted; sharp, pointed, and most of all, alluring.  

When the music hit its final staccato, the harp, woodwinds, and violins coming to a halt, he stopped as well, one leg in front of the other in an exaggerated second position, his arms mimicking the pose, one behind him and the other above his head.  

The audience broke out in applause once again, and Osamu raised both arms to acknowledge it, moving downstage as he fell into a deep bow, much like Odette’s, except he let a touch of arrogance shine through.

He hadn’t wanted to bring it up to his brother, for fear of inciting another argument, but Osamu would miss this.  He wouldn’t miss the long practicing into the night, the endless rehearsals, and interviews, but the true joy of immediate, resounding approval was nothing less than gratifying.  

As he straightened, loping offstage, he forced himself to remember the same feeling of gratification that came from someone enjoying a meal he’d spent time preparing, and when he was safely in the wings, he turned around.  

It clicked in his head, then: the same feeling he’d been hoping would come to fruition.  

As much as he savored the spotlight, he was ready to say goodbye.  

The orchestra burst into the next movement, and Sakusa, very literally, leapt into motion.  Osamu made his way upstage, glancing upward as Atsumu began to move again, Odette vying for Siegfried’s attention.  

Despite his attempts, however, Siegfried only leapt some more, Sakusa’s lithe body almost freezing midair as he moved.  Osamu turned his attention back to the present moment, taking in a deep breath.

He’d practiced the next part over and over again.  Any ballerina trying to prove themselves waited for this exact moment, and here he was, his final show, going out with a bang.

It only felt right.  

As Sakusa moved downstage right, Osamu swooped his arms over his head, re-entering with quick, precise steps. 

When he was one spin from center stage, he took it, delving right into the meat of his hard work.  

Above him, Atsumu fought against the spins, changing his pose, but Osamu had no time to look up at him.  

He’d upped the ante with his fouettés the day after the cast dinner, with Meian’s blessing.

If you can make it work, Meian had said, rubbing the back of his neck, you can do whatever you want with them.

So, as Osamu’s right leg came off the ground and he began his crowning achievement, he started with a double fouetté.  

And continued on in that way.

He no longer had to count, but he only swung his right leg out eighteen times, instead of the thirty-six usually required of Odile.  Between, he simply let himself spin.  He’d picked the midpoint between the exit signs in the house as his spot.  

More applause came for him midway through his fouettés, and he let it wash over him, accomplishment like balm over his calloused toes.  

When he was quite finished, he moved stage left for Sakusa’s mimic of him.  Osamu watched him for just a moment before he was back in motion.  The last portion of their duet brought them both downstage right, before Sakusa caught him by his waist and Osamu led him back from whence he’d come.  Osamu hopped back on his flat foot with the orchestra, his other pointed behind him.  Sakusa went to follow, but Osamu held out a hand to stop him, only letting Siegfried take steps after him while he was standing en pointe on the same foot.  After the third repeat, they met center stage for one more spin.  

When both men were facing forward, Osamu presented himself to the audience, arms outstretched to his sides and head tilted upward.  Sakusa’s hands tightened the same time he engaged his core, and before he knew it he was in the air.  

As soon as he pointed his toes, he was back on them, spinning away from Sakusa at the same time he did, and they faced each other.  The moment between was quick—barely there, before they each took a step toward one another.  Sakusa dropped to one knee, taking Osamu’s hand and staring him in wonder.  When he closed his eyes and pressed Osamu’s fingers to his cheek, the Miya twin let out a silent, mimed bark of a laugh, before he was swooping his free hand over his head, leaning back in a cruel, mocking version of Atsumu’s pose in the balcony above.  

The crowd thundered to life once more and he and Sakusa melded out of the pose, Osamu turning his head down to face him again and Sakusa straightening, staring at him in wonder.  

Osamu turned to face the crowd, taking first a bow to accept their appreciation.  Once he’d straightened, he was turning back to Sakusa, who graciously bowed to him.  He returned the bow, and then Sakusa was taking his hand again, facing him toward the audience.  

He couldn’t see particularly well beyond the lights, but he could see enough to know that the entire house was on their feet.  

Completely at peace with his last first night, Osamu took another bow, his gratefulness to their approval apparent on his face for a single moment before he schooled it back into Odile’s permanent snarl.  

When he straightened, it was with both arms above his head.  He gave the audience one last smug look before he exited stage left.  

As the spotlight on Atsumu faded to black and the balcony slid offstage, the blond snapped into motion.  Once he was completely backstage, he relaxed, turning to the ladder and quickly making his way down it.  Onstage, the music flared to life once more, Sakusa reveling in his love for Osamu.  

Atsumu had little time for Sakusa—right now, his brother was waiting for him at the foot of the ladder, and all he wanted to do was hug him.  

“‘Samu!” He hissed, grabbing Osamu’s outstretched hand and crashing into him. “What the fuck that was so good!”

“Damn right it was,” Osamu lightly smacked him on the back, and they let go of each other, just connected at the hands for a moment before Atsumu shook them both up and down once.  

“I’m gonna miss this,” he said, genuinely, and Osamu grinned, squeezing his brother’s hands together.  

“Let’s go get blown up,” was his only response before he let go, the music turning sour.  Siegfried, at this point, had received the Queen’s approval for a husband, and had even asked von Rothbart’s blessing.  Osamu took a few running steps through the wings before he was spinning onstage.  Atsumu moved downstage, to where three technicians stood.

He’d never been a fan of this next part, but he’d had to admit, seeing the footage of it just three days prior:  it was fucking fantastic looking.  

Ushijima raised his hand, stopping their immediate engagement by taking Osamu’s hand and turning him toward himself, kissing the black-haired ballerina on the forehead.  Sakusa was there to take Osamu’s hand as he was released, and they spun around center stage, connected at the hand as Sakusa led him to the Queen, standing on the other side of the older ballerina.  

Atsumu couldn’t see Osamu beyond Sakusa’s broad shoulders, but he could see enough to watch as Ushijima cut off their marriage, swooping the Queen’s hand out of the way before she could marry them and leading Sakusa away.  When they were sufficiently away from the two, von Rothbart pressed Siegfried, doubting his love for his son.  

Sakusa, feigning confusion, showed Siegfried confirming his love.

Ushijima spun once in front of him, holding his hand up and out, two fingers extended, demanding Sakusa’s eternal love.  

Siegfried was quick to move center stage again, turning first to von Rothbart, then to Odile, and then mimicking the pose, expressing his eternal love.  

The technicians in front of Atsumu pressed three buttons:  the first rolled a line of small smoke bombs onto the stage.  The second ignited the bombs, letting out a cloud of green smoke. The third button flickered the lights on and off in a crack of lightning.

Atsumu moved after the second button press, moving under cover of the smoke bombs.  He could hear the audience gasping over the sound of the orchestra.  The smoke was opaque enough to hide him, but dissipated just as fast to show him on his toes, stepping in place as he reached out to Sakusa, Odette ‘wailing’ at Siegfried’s betrayal.

Sakusa’s face became the picture of shock, and he turned to Osamu, who hopped to his toes, making a mockery of Odette’s pose once again by turning it into a sharp, exaggerated thing, head thrown back in a silent cackle.  

Atsumu only knew there was another smoke bomb in front of Ushijima because of their rehearsals together, but another glorious gasp came from the audience when it went off.  

Two things happened at once.

First, a trap door underneath Ushijima opened and the man fell to a pit of foam boxes underneath.

Second, from the fading smoke and strobing lights, Bokuto appeared, revealing himself from behind his feathered cape.  

Sakusa reeled at the sight, taken off guard as the owl man spread his arms into a victorious pose.  Atsumu reached out to him as the dark-haired man tried running to him.  Before he could get far, Bokuto was standing in his way, gesturing grandly to Osamu as if reminding Siegfried he betrayed Odette.  Bokuto took two steps backward to where Ushijima had stood at the same time Osamu and Atsumu took a step forward onto the sturdy trap doors flanking the center stage.  

Two more smoke bombs went off simultaneously.  Atsumu remembered (thankfully) to clench his ass as the floor beneath him disappeared and he was falling into the same foam Ushijima had landed in not two minutes prior.  

The man was currently dragging himself out of the pit, holding out a hand for Osamu as he edged the side.  

Don’t worry, I got it, Atsumu thought as he struggled with the blocks of foam underneath himself.  He had around five minutes before he needed to be onstage again, but that didn’t mean he got to just sit around and relax into the plush landing.  

The sound of another smoke bomb going off preceded the first trap door to open again, and Bokuto was falling in next, arms over his head.  He stuck the landing, at least, tossing a few squares off his head before he poked out of it, grin on his face and everything.  Atsumu was out by then, hands on his hips as he watched his friend haul himself out.  The white-haired man gave him a wide grin as he made his way toward Atsumu’s side.  

Applause came from above, meaning Atsumu had exactly two minutes before he was needed onstage.  It gave him just enough time to help Bokuto out before they split ways, Atsumu jogging past Ushijima and Osamu as he made his way back up the stairs to the wings of stage right.  The whirring and jostling of the ballroom had ended, and behind the midway curtain, Rothbart’s cave was sliding into position.  

Just in front of Atsumu, though, hidden by the curtain and sounds of the orchestra wailing while the upset cygnets rushed Siegfried, who had stumbled all the way from the castle to find Odette, slid the cliffside.  He watched the ramp as it moved.  It wasn’t steep by any sense of the word, but he was sure grateful for the traction he’d get from the popcorn texture that had been applied to it.  The side that faced the audience was made to look like a steep cliff, and as the music built in tempo and urgency, the midway curtain separated, and Atsumu was running up the incline.  

The music hit its peak at the same time Atsumu came to the edge, throwing his arms over his head.  He leaned forward, as if ready to jump, but brought himself back, bringing up first one arm to gracefully wipe at one eye and then the other.  From where he stood on the stage proper, Sakusa reached out both arms upstage to him, and Atsumu flinched, Odette seeing him for the first time.  He rose to his toes, stepping in place as Sakusa rushed forward onto the cave set piece, arms still held out.  

Let it, Osamu had said, and while Atsumu’s eyebrows rose to show Odette’s turmoil, yes, there was also the very real feeling in his chest that maybe Sakusa wanted him, too.  

Much like Odette couldn’t deny Siegfried anything, Atsumu found he couldn’t stop his arms from reaching out to Sakusa.

They stood like that for just a moment before Atsumu turned back around, striding down the ramp with his arms waving out and over his head.  It curved at the bottom, forking off from where he’d entered on it, a shorter, steeper ramp he had to descend to reach the stage.  He’d just rounded the corner of it, facing the audience, when Sakusa’s hands were on him, grabbing Atsumu on his right hip, his other arm snaking around his left thigh and lifting him into the air.  His arms flopped to his left, pointing with his toes, and he let himself be carried further stage right before Sakusa lowered him again.  

He hadn’t much momentum of which to speak, but with a half-fouette and Sakusa’s help, he was turning in a slow spinand into a deep dip.  The leg he’d been pointing at his knee came up into the air at the movement.  Sakusa helped right him, turning around three more times in the process.  When Atsumu was facing him once more, he held up the back of his hand to his face, Odette too hurt by Siegfried to look him in the eyes.  

Sakusa’s hands fell from his waist and he was taking three steps backward before he held his hands first to his chest, then spread them in a gesture to the floor, as if to ask ‘what have you done?’

Before Siegfried could answer, Atsumu was holding his hands to his face again, moving further away from Sakusa.  

He couldn’t just let things change.  He’d spent his entire life reaching for more, holding on tightly to what he’d had to get to the present moment, on top of the world, back home in Japan.  

Atsumu took the same pose as he had at the top of the ramp, arms up behind himself, one leg trailing behind the other.  

By doing so, he’d completely and utterly misunderstood Osamu’s wants.

Hands appeared on downstage hand, and Sakusa was pulling it downward as he fell onto a knee, holding Atsumu’s fingers to his sweaty cheek.  

He’d pushed aside any hope for a deeper connection with anyone.

He pulled away from Sakusa, spinning around him only for the man to follow him, dipping him into another pointe penche. 

He’d been afraid.  And that’s why he’d held on so tightly.  

When Sakusa spun him around again to face him, Atsumu covered his face and leaned away as far back as Sakusa’s hands would allow. This time, when Atsumu righted, spun around so his back was facing the dark-haired man before he took two stepping spins.  

Atsumu liked to boast that he wasn’t afraid of anything, but the more he danced, the more it dawned on him.

Sakusa helped him into a deep pointe penche again, this time spinning him around on one toe like he was a music box.  He righted again, looking over his shoulder long enough to feel Sakusa’s warm breath on his cheek.  

In his desperate need for more, he’d just been trying to drown out his fear of being alone.  

They broke away as soon as it happened, Odette leading Siegfried further stage right.  Sakusa, at his back still, held his hips as Atsumu kicked one leg behind him, letting his arms swing up in the same movement.  He let his head fall back just long enough to hold the pose, then his leg was relaxing while Sakusa took him by the arm, spinning him toward himself.  

And that was just it; the same way Odette didn’t want to fully let go of Siegfried, Atsumu found himself not wanting to let go of Sakusa.  

Atsumu twirled out of Sakusa’s attempted embrace, spinning into yet another penche with the man before Sakusa was turning him toward himself again.

He just couldn’t also hold on to Sakusa without also letting go of Osamu.  

He leaned back in Sakusa’s grip once more, using it as lead up into another spin out of his arms.  Three spins stage left brought him into another pose, Sakusa’s hands still firmly on his hips as he lifted one leg, pointing his toes stage right.  

Let it.

The pose fell, and Atsumu, now as far stage left as he could get, crossed his arms over himself.  Sakusa’s hands fell from his hips as the man took two long steps backward before falling onto his knee once more, spreading his hands to the side and letting them fall gracefully toward the stage.  

Let it go, ‘Tsumu, the Osamu voice in his head whispered, and, with Odette, Atsumu turned over his shoulder in a lithe spin to see Sakusa kneeling behind him.  

Sakusa, who had crept into his heart so thoroughly and completely.  Sakusa, who Atsumu had hated six months ago.

Without missing a beat, but feeling the same shift he was supposed to express on Odette’s face, Atsumu closed the distance between himself and the man, twirling around him back stage right, stopping once every few steps to lift a leg.  

Sakusa, who had distracted him from his despair at letting go of Osamu by showing him he could still continue onward without him.  

Sakusa, who had pushed him to be better.

Let it.

He hit his mark stage right, turning back to Sakusa, crossing his wrists in front of himself.  Sakusa followed, taking Atsumu’s hands and lifting them up.  Atsumu raised them above his head, one leg pointed in the air.  Sakusa mimicked the pose with both feet on the ground, and they leaned away from each other, further and further away until Atsumu let his entire upper body hang at the mercy of Sakusa’s grip, bent in half backward.  

Sakusa, who had, unknowingly, been holding Atsumu up.

All Atsumu had to do was trust he would hold him.  

Sakusa turned them both in a half-circle, and Atsumu lifted his torso again, meeting Sakusa’s eyes for the first time in the act.  

Slight specks of gold flecked the obsidian eyes that stared back at him.

They wavered with the music before Sakusa took one steadying step backward.  Atsumu, still on his toes, let himself be pulled forward, leaning beyond his own toes and letting Sakusa carry his full weight.  

It didn’t last long.  In fact, they breathed together once before Sakusa was placing Atsumu back onto his toe.  Atsumu turned away, taking two steps back stage left with Sakusa on his heels.  When he moved into the next spin, it was with one hand above his head, hand loosely held by Sakusa, who wrapped his other arm around Atsumu’s, helping him raise it in front of himself.  He broke the pose and took two steps away from Sakusa, arms stretched at his sides, before turning back around, holding them pleadingly out toward the man.

He could let go of Osamu.  Really, he could…

If he had a partner like Sakusa.

Sakusa stepped into his arms, wrapping his own around Atsumu as the blond leaned back, giving him a place to rest his head on his chest.  Atsumu had learned in their second dress rehearsal to not actually touch Sakusa’s hair, much as he wanted to, but held his hand so that it looked like he was embracing the man fully.  

While they held the pose, the music changed and cygnets entered behind them, stepping in time as the oboe duet died down.  Sakusa and Atsumu straightened once more, the former taking a few steps away from the latter to face the audience, and once more, proclaim his eternal love for Odette, and Odette alone.

This time, as Atsumu’s hands flew in a swoop over his head and he spun into Sakusa, who led him into the same fateful lifts, it was as a man in love letting go.  Lift after lift, he felt safer in those strong arms, and spin after spin, he realized how tangled Sakusa had already become in his life.  

The final pose crept up on him in a way it hadn’t before.  Before he knew it, he was turning around over and over with Sakusa’s hands on his hips to the vibrato of the first chair floutist, cygnets moving to frame himself and Sakusa center stage.  Sakusa moved to hold him by the hip again, Atsumu on one toe.  The violin and flute hit their last notes as Atsumu let his head fall back again, arms out and behind himself.  

Clapping from the audience only lasted a short amount of time–long enough for Atsumu to feel freer than he had in weeks, and long enough for Bokuto to appear from behind the cave again.  

Rothbart ran through the cygnets as Odette and Siegfried embraced once more, waving his arms as if to stir them up in his control again.  When he reached Atsumu, the blond spun away at the same time Sakusa staggered backward. Siegfried stepped back forward, less afraid of the owl, but Rothbart held him at bay, gesturing first to the prince, and then to the cygnets, tapping his cheek twice as if to challenge him. 

Atsumu didn’t have to look to know that Sakusa stepped up to Bokuto, hands held out to Odette, professing his love for the swan prince.  Bokuto’s head fell backward in a silent, raucous laugh when Atsumu turned back, and the trickster turned to the cygnets, waving his arms once more.  They all rose to their toes, moving to create a sense of confusion onstage while Siegfried and Odette came together again, Sakusa herding Atsumu stage left as if to assure him everything would be all right, and that they’d figure everything out.  When they went to embrace again, Rothbart’s feathered cape separated them and Atsumu flew away in a wide arc up stage right.  Sakusa mirrored his movements, his arc taking him up stage left.

They met in the middle near the ramp, going to embrace once more.  Bokuto’s route, a straight line between the two arcs, was fast enough to break them apart just as they met, and the two split back the way they’d come.  

Now between them, Rothbart chased Siegfried away toward the cave, but turned around just in time for Odette to cross his arms in front of himself again, pushing at them as if he were trying, really trying to forgive Siegfried completely.  

Realizing what was about to happen, Bokuto stumbled backward, Rothbart frightened by the idea that they just may have found a loophole.  

Sakusa rushed past him, taking Atsumu’s hands again while Bokuto’s gestures stirred the cygnets further.  The two spun slowly before they crossed the stage as close to the audience as they could get, miming a harsh argument until they reached stage left again, where they fell into a final embrace, this one more desperate than any other.  

The embrace lasted for two beats.  When it was over, Atsumu was back on his way to the cliff, Sakusa holding out his hand as if to shout after him.  On his way, Bokuto intercepted Atsumu, grabbing him by the hips and lifting him over his head in a fast circle.  He made it around once before Sakusa was grabbing him from behind, finishing the spin.  

Atsumu’s feet had barely touched the ground before he was moving again.  Back where he’d left them, Bokuto was throwing Sakusa to the stage and stalking after him, Rothbart about to put a spell on Siegfried, but Odette was already ahead of him.  

Brass instruments made their crescendo downward in pitch while Rothbart turned to find Odette gone.  Atsumu, back on the cliffside ramp, was on his toes, his arms changing from limp at his sides to above his head as he moved.  The brass began making their way back up the scale as he reached the precipice, reaching one arm high above his head and the other back down to Sakusa, who was watching him from on the stage.  Before they blared the landing note, timpani rolled a dooming drumroll.

Siegfried shook his head violently, as if shouting to his love.

Atsumu sprung off the side of the ramp, striking a midair pose of both arms above his head and both feet pointed behind him, like a bird in flight.  

He hit the foam below in time with the main theme blasting into the theater, face down.  The orchestra carried on, driving the rest of the ballet, as he made his way onto his back, monkeying as best he could out of the way.  It was hard work; harder than usual, at least.  They’d practiced his jump enough times that he knew the mechanics of it, but this time, this angle, this moment, felt different.  

Before today, he’d still been clinging on to everything from his past as if it were his lifeline.

Now, drained, his limbs felt like lead.  He got himself onto his back with his arms resting above his head, out of Sakusa’s landing zone just in time for the music to swell again.

In the blink of an eye, the man was disturbing his tranquil foam pit.  He didn’t face plant the same way Atsumu did every time; no, Sakusa Kiyoomi even fell with grace.  He landed on his side, and as Atsumu went to chirp at him for not being in his way, the words got stuck in his throat.  

He’d seen a litany of expressions on that man’s face–many of them untoward.  Everything from annoyance, to lust, to fondness, to hatred, to amusement…but this?

Something softened in Sakusa’s gaze–the music from the orchestra did nothing to drown out the thumping of Atsumu’s heart as the man situated himself so he was leaning over the blond.  As Bokuto agonized onstage to his demise and the cygnets slowly raised their arms in a silent salute to Odette and Siegfried, the lights reflected onto the two turned softer as a sunrise, bouncing off Sakusa’s marble skin. Atsumu opened his mouth as if to say something–anything to break the thick swell of emotion between them, but as the main theme crashed through their ears, this time in a major key, Sakusa moved forward, one hand finding its way to the back of Atsumu’s neck, as if to hold him in place.

Like Atsumu would ever move.  

The third blare of the brass finally, finally brought Sakusa’s lips to Atsumu’s, and the blond melted into the kiss, one of his arms coming down from where it was resting above his head to one of Sakusa’s cheeks.  

One kiss led to two, two to three, until both of Atsumu’s arms were around Sakusa’s shoulders, and they were kissing in earnest, drinking in each other as if the other was water after a year in the desert.  Even as the audience began to applaud again, it was all secondary to Atsumu.  

Yes, he’d let go of Osamu, but when Sakusa pulled back, his eyes searching Atsumu’s, he knew he’d found solid ground on which to land.  

A grin–one he didn’t have to force–spread his lips wide and he leaned up to kiss Sakusa one more time.  

It was nothing more than a quick peck on the lips.  Meian’s voice dragged them both out of the liminal space they’d created in the foam pit.

“Hey, lovebirds,” he shook the large container, jostling them. “Get out there and take your bows, or else I get your understudies to fill in tomorrow.”

Atsumu had to let Sakusa climb over him first, but even as he monkeyed over him, he managed to keep one hand comfortably on Atsumu, as if to mean that taking his hand off the blond would make him disappear.  

Not that Atsumu was complaining–he was the one to grab Sakusa’s hand when they were safely out of the pit.  He let Sakusa drag him backstage, then downstage as the audience continued their applause.  Ushijima and Osamu were taking their own bows, hand in hand at the center of the stage, when they reached the wings farthest downstage.  Atsumu went to nip at Sakusa’s jawline again, but before he could, Meian’s hand planted itself on his back and he was being pushed forward.

The crowd was already on their feet when they made their entrance, but the applause that had began to die down renewed itself at the sight of the two leads.  Atsumu caught sight of his brother clapping for him, which was enough for him.  He’d never be able to see far enough into the house to see where Suna and their mother were sitting, but he could feel their approval, their encouragement, and (he might be projecting, just a little bit) their worry that he’d be sad on Osamu’s last opening night.  

Sakusa bowed next to him, and when he straightened, he gestured to Atsumu, who took in a large breath before letting his upper body fall in a graceful bow of his own.  

He wanted so, so badly to assuage their worries.

When he stood up again, Kageyama was making his way on the stage.  Atsumu’s grip on Sakusa’s hand tightened.  He waited for the conductor to bow himself.  He knew better than to step on someone else’s curtain call.

When he was finished, however…

Atsumu held his and Sakusa’s joined hands above their heads.  When the taller of the two turned his head as if to ask what he was doing, Atsumu pushed to his toes so he could easily plant another kiss right on the man’s mouth.  

The sound of the cast–and by the cast, probably Bokuto and Hinata–cheering spurred the audience on, as if giving them the okay to react similarly.  Sakusa, dumbfounded, took a moment to kiss him in return, dropping their hands.

A light flashed brighter than the stage lights, and, coming to his senses, Atsumu pulled away.  He stared at Sakusa for a moment, afraid he’d done something wrong, when the man simply wrapped an arm around his waist, turning them both back to the audience for one final bow.

Weeks later, when a large manila envelope appeared on Atsumu’s doorstep, he blinked down at it, confused.  He picked up the envelope, reading the return address for one Akaashi Keiji, and stared.  

“Atsumu?” Sakusa’s voice came from behind him as he ripped open the package.  A copy of the New York Times spilled out, the main headline a mess of English, probably about some scandal or another.  He would notice it more later.  

Right then, his eyes were drawn to the upper left corner, where someone had highlighted a smaller headline for him.  

Thanking his rudimentary English lessons, he was able to read the words:

Love Wins In Tokyo:  Shugo Meian Delivers the LGBT Swan Lake and Love All At Once.

The envelope fell out of his hands, and Atsumu was ripping the newspaper open.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa repeated, closer and a little more urgently.

Akaashi had flagged the page he was looking for, thankfully, so he was able to unfurl it to the story in question.  A card fell out, but he paid it little mind.

There, right on the newsprint, was the answer to Atsumu’s line of questioning what that light had been.  He’d all but forgotten about it, but now, staring down at the photos, he remembered it clearly.  

Taking up the full ‘Entertainment’ page was first a picture of the cast, then a few of Kageyama and Hinata, English interspersed between, probably explaining the story.  

On the other side of the fold was a full-resolution photo of the entire cast (plus Kageyama) onstage, watching, clapping, and laughing as Miya Atsumu stood en pointe, kissing Sakusa Kiyoomi directly on the lips.  

“Congratulations on signing with MSBY,” Sakusa read from behind him.  His chin appeared on Atsumu’s shoulder, arms snaking around his torso.  The card that had fallen from the paper came with it, but Atsumu couldn’t bring himself to look away from the photo. “Your friends at the Times look forward to following the trails you blaze.”

Atsumu smiled, finally ripping his eyes away from the paper to look down at the linen-like cardstock his boyfriend held.  

“Signed, Akaashi Keiji,” he finished.

“Ya sound unhappy,” Atsumu pointed out, to which Sakusa simply hummed, wrapping his arms fully around Atsumu’s waist and laying his cheek on his shoulder.  

“It’s not how I pictured coming out to the world,” he admitted, “but then again, neither was being outed by Vaganova.”

“Which one would ya prefer?” Atsumu asked.

“Well…” He slowly turned Atsumu around to face him, the paper lowering with Atsumu’s hands, “It does work as a pretty spectacular ‘fuck you’ to the blacklist.”

“Mhm,” Atsumu hummed, wrapping his free arm around Sakusa’s neck. “M’sorry ya couldn’t decide yerself.”

“You make an adequate consolation prize.”

“Hey–!” Atsumu went to argue, but he was cut off by Sakusa’s mouth on his own.  He melted into the kiss.  He’d continue the argument when he had sufficient blood flow to his head. 

“Aw, come on!” A voice came from further in the apartment, and Sakusa and Atsumu turned to see Osamu with his hands on his hips. “How much longer are ya gonna take?  I’ve been standin’ here, waitin’ fer the coffee machine fer five minutes!”

A chuckle bubbled out of Sakusa’s chest, and he waltzed Atsumu, who kicked the door shut while flipping his brother off, to the kitchen counter, where he lifted the man onto the countertop so he could stare up into golden, honey eyes.  

Yes, his entire world had been upturned months ago, but now, looking up at the man who had dragged him from the bitter darkness of his own head, he figured he’d recovered from the awkward landing just fine.