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“Who here thinks that Omi-omi is the hottest.” Atsumu’s voice is breaking.
Everyone looks at Sakusa, who is blissfully unaware to the drama around him. He’s changed out of the towel into white practice shorts, with black knee guards underneath. He hasn’t put on his shirt, so the whole room can see water glistening on his pale, perfect skin, dotted with a constellation of moles, and dripping from his elegant black curls, which are swept messily back, so that only half of his forehead is visible. He must have done a morning workout before official practice, because his back muscles are thick and defined, and tightly corded in his biceps like velvet over steel. As the team watches, Sakusa gives his hair one final rub with his towel, and then shrugs on his practice shirt, his abs flexing. His head pops out from the neck of the shirt, such that his curls bounce almost sensually in ripples from the top of his head.
One after another, the whole team slowly raises their hands.
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After a Twitter poll crowns Sakusa as the hottest member of the Black Jackals, Atsumu sets off on a quest to prove the Internet (and himself) wrong.
Series
- Part 1 of you are the cause of my euphoria
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Sakusa Kiyoomi expected the worst when he agreed to help Miya Atsumu move apartments.
But what he didn’t expect to find —not once, not ever— was a love letter written to none other than Kita Shinsuke.
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Depression is a towering, tumbling tidal wave, sweeping through Sakusa’s stability. It crashes down against the shore of his mind, fast and without warning. The waves wreak havoc and leave him drenched, trembling and waist deep in sorrow. Some days are worse than others. Some days, the tide is calm and down to his ankles, lapping at his skin lazily while the water ripples. It is peaceful enough to breathe in that space; he can almost ignore his illness on those days. All of the racing thoughts float away, away, away into the distance, like a buoy atop a silent sea.
The bad days are a different beast. In Sakusa’s heaviest hours, the chaos pulls him underneath the surface. The salt water thrashes and fills his lungs, sloshing inside of his skull. Those days are swirling pools of ash, sticky and cloying.
And today is a bad day.
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Sakusa has depression. Atsumu is there to listen.
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degrees of physical contact as a metric for affection by sktserotonin
Fandoms: Haikyuu!!
05 Oct 2021
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“Wouldyoudothatwithme?”
“Huh?”
“Would you do that with me? Be my warm-up? My trial run?"
Atsumu blinked. "Your guinea pig."
"You said it, not me."
“Why me?” Atsumu breathed out in what was almost a laugh. All instincts were telling him he had to be the punchline of a joke.
"You’re… convenient,” Sakusa’s eyes flicked up to meet Atsumu earnestly. “And… you’re a good friend.”
Or Atsumu agrees to an experiment that will help Sakusa get used to physical contact. But while Sakusa is measuring whether he's ready for holding hands or not Atsumu begins measuring something else entirely.
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“Nice pin,” Kiyoomi said, gesturing vaguely at Atsumu’s gym bag. Atsumu looked down to see the ace flag pin on the side of his bag. He had gotten it a week ago, but no one had commented on it until now.
“Oh! Uh, thanks. Ya, uh, know what this is?”
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes and reached into his own bag, pulling out his car keys. Atsumu put a hand under Kiyoomi’s, lifting the keys closer to his face. There was a keychain with a gradient from orange to white to blue. The aroace flag.