Chapter Text
“How many times have you sneezed already?” Osamu frowns, his eyes glued to a book in front of him, as his brother lies on the sofa in their living room. “Bless you.”
“Thanks,” Atsumu mumbles, staring at the ceiling. Being ill is his least favorite thing in the world.
“Mom’s gonna be back soon so you’d better eat that soup, Tsumu,” his brother continues, scratching his chin with a pencil and leafing through a book.
A minute of silence, and a sneeze again.
“I wanna go back to school,” Atsumu wines, throwing the blanket he’s been wrapped into aside. “Wanna play with the boys, and show them my new fingerboard, and go to our PE classes, and – ”
“Tsumu,” Atsumu can’t see it, but Osamu is shaking his head. “As soon as you get better, mom will let you attend classes. You’ve missed only a week so nothing special has happened there. Well, except for – There’s a new boy.”
“What?” Atsumu exclaims, jumping up from the sofa, sniffing. He turns his head to his brother, sitting in the kitchen, and pouts. “And you didn’t tell me that? What a sneaky poop you are! Did you make friends with him? What’s his name?”
“I only tell you if you eat your soup,” Osamu smirks.
He hears his brother scold as he goes to the refrigerator and takes out the soup, heats it up and eats it quickly, the spoon clinking against the plate.
“I’m fine, alright? I don’t feel pasty.”
“Tell this to our mom, then. Hi, mom!” he leaves his seat and rushes to the door, Atsumu following him with angry shouts.
“But you promised to tell me! Samu! Mom, tell him to keep his word! Argh, don’t push me like that, I wanna hug our mom, too, you poop!”
x
A couple of days later, Atsumu - recovered and full of anticipation - shows up at school.
“Hey, Atsumu!” someone waves at him as he enters the class, but Atsumu pays no attention. His dark brown hair is tousled from running, and his school uniform is rumpled; the only empty desk in their class is still unoccupied.
“Where?” he stares at his brother resentfully and points at the empty desk. “You said he’s sitting here!”
Osamu only shrugs, taking his own place.
“Oi, Atsumu, you wanna see that weirdo?” someone giggles and Atsumu turns around to ask, but forgets everything when a new boy enters the classroom. He has cute black hair that curls a little and falls over his face, and two funny moles over his eye and an incredibly distant look, as if the class can make him feel bad. The school uniform looks great on him, and Atsumu who hates these white shirts holds his breath in admiration and a little envy.
“Hey! I’m Miya Atsumu!” he shouts, staring at the boy who is still standing in the doorway. “And that’s my brother, Osamu, but you probably know him already, so –”
Atsumu wants to say something else, but their teacher enters their class and asks them to take their seat. Luckily, that boy’s desk is right in front of Atsumu.
“Hey,” he whispers when the boy sits down. The boy turns around, still confused and a little frowning, and Atsumu continues. “I’m Atsumu. And that is Osamu. Don’t get us mixed up, we’re very different,” Atsumu covers his mouth with his hand, as if telling this boy his most intimate secret. “We’re 8, and –”
“Don’t get distracted, class!” the teacher asks and the boy has to turn back, leaving Atsumu pouting.
Atsumu doesn 't like arithmetic. He doesn't like all these numbers and games with "how many apples will a girl have if she gives two of them to her friends", songs about subtraction and funny pictures on the board. Maybe he is into these, but not today.
He spends twenty minutes watching outside and drawing in his notebook, sometimes pausing to copy examples from the blackboard, and sighs impatiently, but all his boredom vanishes as the boy in front of him suddenly turns around and whispers: “Sakusa Kiyoomi.”
The smile on Atsumu's face is the most springy thing that blooms this day.
x
During the break, Atsumu pesters him with questions about where he comes from, how old he is and what he likes, whether he has fingerboards and whether he likes arithmetic, but five minutes don’t seem to be enough for everything, and the boy - Sakusa Kiyoomi, as it turns out - is still a bit withdrawn.
“Oi, you’ve got ink right on your cheek!” he laughs and Sakusa goes bright red. “Here, lemme help you.”
He reaches out a hand to his cheek, brushing a little stain of ink with his thumb, and notices how Sakusa tenses up and presses his lips together but does not say a word.
“Atsumu, don’t touch that weirdo or he’ll get you into that cult,” another giggle and Atsumu turns with an angry spark in his eyes.
“What’s ya problem, huh?” he frowns and slowly removes his hand from Sakusa's face.
“Ask him, not me, Miya!”
“Tsumu, don’t.” That might be Osamu, but Atsumu pays no attention to him, approaching the guy who keeps on bullying their new friend.
“But I want you to answer. Why are you like this, huh?”
“Atsumu, don’t.” That might be Sakusa, and oh, Atsumu is pleased to hear him. He doesn’t sound insecure – he actually sounds as angry as Atsumu might sound – and Atsumu freezes. “It’s okay.”
Atsumu wants to bombard him with a hundred more questions: ask him why he thinks everything that is happening is okay, and what “okay” is for him, and why he is being bullied by their classmates like, but fails it for now. Calligraphy comes first.
x
Calligraphy is boring, leaving Atsumu's fingers stained with black ink and his mind overfilled with anger. He’s expected more good things to happen on his first day at school, but still there’s one lesson left; physical education.
Atsumu loves PE lessons: he immediately dissolves in a crowd of laughing children and runs so fast that it’s hard for Sakusa who’s sitting on the bench to keep track of him. There is so much energy in him that he is glowing from the inside, running from one end of the field to the other and shouting loudly. He is the first in every competition: disheveled, flushed, but so pleased that Sakusa frowns. Physical education has never been his favorite subject and is unlikely to become one.
“Kiyoomi, wait! Whew, gimme a second!” Atsumu catches up with him already at the exit, completely out of breath, when their classes are over, his sports uniform still not changed and something clenched in his fist. A graze on his cheek is something new, Sakusa thinks. “Is that yours?”
When he unclenches his fist, Sakusa freezes. A thin chain, which he used to wear around his neck, and a small cross, usually barely touching the notch between his collarbones, now lie in Atsumu's soiled palm as the boy continues to smile at him.
“Did you…,” Sakusa’s voice sounds puzzled: he can’t bring himself to say "did you fight with those boys because of this, are you silly, your parents will be called to school, and all because of what?". He feels his palms sweating with nervousness.
“Sorry, it’s kinda torn,” Atsumu scratches his head and smiles carelessly, as if nothing had happened. “Dunno what it is, really, but you looked very upset in the morning, so I decided to return it to you. Here, take it.”
When Sakusa reaches out his fingers to pick up the chain in slight disbelief, the haze in his head begins to dissolve. This little defender doesn’t cease to amaze him, but also he’s most likely to turn his back on him as soon as he finds out the truth.
“You…Don’t know?”
“Mmm, yeah, kinda. Thought this is your necklace or something like that,” Atsumu shrugs and watches Sakusa hide the chain in the pocket of his bag.
“That’s a chain with a Catholic cross,” he frowns again, as if scared to see Atsumu’s reaction.
“A chain, yeah!”
“…with a Catholic cross. Yeah.”
“Yeah?” Atsumu awkwardly rubs his neck and now his smile looks a little guilty. “It’s yours, right?”
Sakusa nods. “Do you know what it means?”
There’s a moment of silence, and Atsumu shakes his head with that silly smile on. “Nope.”
“It means,” Sakusa holds his breath for a moment, as if trying to delay the inevitable, “that my family is Catholic. And that we go to a Catholic church. Not to Shinto shrines or Buddhist temples, but to –”
“Yeah,” Atsumu nods again. “Catholics. Gotcha. Still don’t know what that means, but it’s not that important. It’s something about religion, right?”
He waits for Sakusa to nod doubtfully and licks his lips in anticipation.
“Cool. I remember our mom once told us not to be rude with people who have different views on religion, or were of different race and everything like that. Sure, I know nothing about that Cathosomething, but it’s not my business, see?” Atsumu giggles and raises his stained hands in surrender.
“But those kids... They were calling me the cult boy and –” Sakusa is all but an exposed nerve.
“They were just silly poops. And I am not. They will never touch you again, Sakusa Kiyoomi,” Atsumu makes a step forward, puffing out his chest in pride. Only the shiny armor of a knight is missing now. “They don’t matter anymore. What really matters is...Well. I’m Miya Atsumu.”
He starts to introduce himself again, and this time a soft shade of a smile touches Sakusa’s lips.
“I’m 8 years old and I have a brother whose name is Osamu. We’re twins, but we are different. I like eating tuna and playing with fingerboards,” his excited face expression tells Sakusa that he doesn’t “like” it – he adores it. “I don’t like calligraphy classes and sometimes arithmetic, but still I like our school and especially those PE classes.”
As the warm April sun embraces them in its loving arms, Sakusa finds himself not shivering now. He still frowns a bit, black wavy locks falling down on his forehead as he watches the brown-haired boy smile nicely and speak on his favorite topics. Maybe it’s not the sun to thank for this comfort, though.
“...and, oh, I hate vegetables and want to be strong and healthy without them, but our mom says I won’t do it,” he says with sorrow in his voice. “This is what matters, Kiyoomi. Wanna be my friend now?”
He holds out his hand – a small dirty palm, the back of his hand covered with scratches, nails bitten – and smiles softly. “Hm?”
The gentle spring wind ruffles his brown hair; the school playground is filled with more and more children every second. It seems to Sakusa that Atsumu is not like the others. For the first time, Sakusa really wants to give someone a chance.
As soon as their fingers touch – still soiled, Atsumu’s, and clean, Sakusa’s, – Atsumu makes an ecstatic sound and squeezes his palm, shaking it slightly.
“Is it a ‘yes’?”
“Yes,” Sakusa answers, looking at their hands in slight disbelief. “It’s a yes.”
x
“Mom, can we that new boy over, please? I promise we’ll behave!”
“Do you even know how to spell ‘behave’, huh?” Osamu smirks.
“Eat slugs!”
“I prefer broccoli, thanks,” Osamu giggles and sticks his tongue out, watching his brother go mad.
“Mom, Samu is making faces at me again!” he points an indignant finger at his brother and looks for something to throw at him, but their mother turns around and whishes at them.
“Atsumu, language. How many times should I ask you not to get into fights at school?”
“’T wasn’t a fight, mom. ‘T was a battle,” Atsumu smiles smugly, examining the vegetables on a plate and shifting them from side to another. “So…Can we have Sakusa over? Please-please, we –”
He feels his mother put her hand on his head, gently picking at the dark locks, and only from this loving gesture he wants to close his eyes and to purr like a cat.
“Atsumu,” she taps the top of his head and presses a soft kiss on the same place she touched. “Of course, you can. I’m happy to know that my boys have a new friend at school. Clean your room and he can come over.”
“My part of the room is clean already,” Osamu announces, giggling as he sees his brother frown at the word ‘clean’.
“Oh, you always clean it, you neat poop!”
“Atsumu!”
“Sorry, mom. Sure, I’ll clean my half of the room and then we’ll invite him.”
Even the thought of cleaning up and finishing his nasty vegetables doesn’t seem so bad to him; if after all this torture a friend comes to him, then it is worth it.
x
“You ask him.”
“No, you.”
“You.”
“You. Tsumu, ‘t was your idea to have him over. He’s your friend.”
“Yeah, but – Wait, he’s our friend!”
They keep on bickering in the hallway, watching Sakusa who is in the class, and Atsumu feels that his heart is ready to jump out of his chest. Suddenly, Osamu shoves him in the shoulder too hard, and Atsumu utters a strangled cry, rubbing at the bruised spot, and then freezes. Sakusa looks directly at them. They have no other option now.
They approach him together, standing side by side, too awkward to say anything smart, and Sakusa looks a lot more confused than usually.
“Um…Hi,” there’s so much awkwardness in Atsumu’s voice that the room seems to explode.
“Hi?” as for Sakusa, he sounds nervous. Everyone in the classroom is staring at them.
“Hi!” the only cheerful voice belongs to Osamu.
“I wanted to…,” Atsumu starts, but eventually gets interrupted.
“…we wanted to…”
“….yes, we wanted to know if you can come over…”
“…if you don’t have any plans and…”
“…if you wanna see my fingerboard collection…”
They keep on mumbling something else, but Sakusa doesn’t listen to them; he thinks he is already bright red of embarrassment.
“Oi? You are friends with the cult boy now?” this voice is familiar to Sakusa and he squints, trying to swallow his pride. He notices Atsumu’s face turn angry and watches Osamu clutch his hand, and it’s pure shock to Sakusa to see someone this mad in the class.
“Shut up or I’ll kick you again!” Atsumu does not have time to turn to the offender, as Osamu pulls him back. “So, um? Will you visit us?”
Sakusa finally looks away from them and stares at his desk. He traces his fingers on a wooden surface, feeling the twins’ eyes glued to him, but cannot say a word. If he had his cross on his neck, he would probably touch it.
“No?”
“What?” Atsumu exclaims, nearly falling on his knees right next to Sakusa’s desk. “Why? Please, we’ve cleaned our room –”
“Tsumu, the lesson is about to start.”
“But I want Kiyoomi to visit us!” he is so close to begging, that Sakusa feels ashamed for that.
“Maybe not today?” there’s a shade of uncertainty in Sakusa’s voice and he still doesn’t look at Atsumu, but somehow he manages to continue. “Maybe tomorrow?”
“What? Tomorrow! Great! Thank you, Kiyoomi!” with this cry, Atsumu rushes to his desk, quickly sitting down and moving his chair closer to the table, and, judging by the sound, fidgeting for a couple of seconds.
When a teacher enters the classroom, Sakusa tries to concentrate. Count to ten. Breathe in, breathe out. Once again. He lowers his eyes to the notebook and listens, trying to delve into the learning process, but something distracts him.
“Something” is a soft whisper of ‘thank you, Kiyoomi’ over his ear and a slight pat on the shoulder from his new friend, and Sakusa’s heart flips.
x
“Why are you doing all… that?” Sakusa asks them as the twins lead him to their house, chatting unstoppably and being as cheerful as possible.
“All what, Kiyoomi?” Atsumu turns his head to see the immense concern on Sakusa’s face but doesn’t stop. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Sakusa answers, adjusting the strap of his bag. “I mean… Being so nice to me. Why?”
“Cause you’re our friend!” a giggle, as if it’s something obvious. “Right, Samu?”
“Sure.”
Looking at them from the back, Sakusa realizes that he will never learn to distinguish them on the spot. They are identical. This dark hair, physique, the way they walk – everything is just like one and the same person, only mirrored. He shakes his head - either to drive away the swarming thoughts, or to remove the lock sticking to his forehead – and squeezes the shoulder strap more tightly just in case.
“Mom, we’re home!” Atsumu shouts as soon as they cross the threshold of the house. “With Kiyoomi!”
She greets them warmly, patting both her boys on their heads, but Sakusa is still keeping behind them cautiously.
“You must be Sakusa, right? Boys have been talking a lot about their new friend these two days. Especially Atsumu,” she smiles softly at him and Sakusa blushes, averting his eyes.
“Mom, please!”
“Sorry, sorry,” she laughs at Atsumu’s reaction. “Go and wash your hands, boys, I’ll set the table.”
Atsumu whines in the background, but obediently follows his brother to the bathroom, showing the way to Sakusa. The bathroom is cramped even for three boys: there is only room for two people in front of the washbasin, but Atsumu decides to let his brother go ahead, peering over his shoulder and watching the process.
“What?” Osamu asks, looking at his brother through the mirror.
“Nothing,” Atsumu shrugs and keeps silent for a second. “Сome on, you're not alone in this bathroom. The faster we wash our hands, the faster we eat, and therefore the faster we go to play to our room.”
Osamu sticks out his tongue and turns to his brother, splashing water on him.
“Then I’ll be the first to finish my meal and go play to our room.”
He's out of the bathroom faster than Atsumu can think of anything offensive to say; the spirit of rivalry among the brothers has always been strong. He quickly puts his hands under the stream of water, barely wetting them, and turns around to run out after Osamu, but bumps into confused Sakusa.
"What?"
"But you didn't wash your hands," Sakusa shifts from one foot to the other, not sure whether to step aside or not, but Atsumu doesn't try to run out. Just looks at him attentively and waits. “They’re still dirty.”
Sakusa sees the confusion on Atsumu's face: such confusion that he looks away and stares at his wet palms as if trying to find some real dirt on them, but finds nothing.
“And how should I do this?” Atsumu finally asks, looking up at Kiyoomi.
Sakusa makes his way to the washbasin, feeling Atsumu stand at his side and watch his hands carefully.
“First you apply the soap,” he explains, illustrating his words with actions. “Rub it on your hands to make a foam and then…Up and down and rub and rinse,” he says, and Atsumu giggles. “What?”
“Sounds like a poem.”
In less than a second, Atsumu's hands are in the washbasin again. He applies soap, hesitantly rubs it on his hands, and glances in the mirror to catch Sakusa 's reaction.
“Like that?”
“Uhm, kind of. Make it foamy.”
While Atsumu is washing his hands - or rather studying the process, - Sakusa can't rinse his own. He watches as Atsumu chaotically rubs soap on his hands, creating a thin foamy layer that gradually becomes larger, and smiles to himself, mumbling something.
“Up and down and rub and rinse,” Atsumu giggles. “Like that?”
“Yes,” Sakusa nods. “Now rinse.”
Their hands touch when they both reach for the tap to make the water pressure stronger; they touch when Atsumu playfully puts his palms under the stream first, pushing Sakusa away; they touch when Sakusa removes the soapy trail from Atsumu's wrist.
They quickly wipe their hands on a towel hanging on a tiny hook and Atsumu smiles radiantly.
"Now food!"
When they’re all at the table he, of course, whines displeased.
"Vegetables again! Mom!"
"But you want to become strong and healthy, don't you?"
"I do!" Atsumu answers whimsically. “But I don’t want to eat broccoli. And radish. And– what is this?”
“Spinach,” Sakusa prompts quietly.
"And spinach! Cucumbers are fine, but mom! Please!"
“Alright, alright,” she answers, raising her hands in surrender. “Thought you can change your mind.”
Atsumu defiantly pushes all his least favorite vegetables to the other side of the plate and wrinkles his nose. He only stops pouting when their mom leaves the kitchen, sometimes glancing at his brother's plate to make sure he isn’t finished yet.
“You can take mine,” Sakusa says, attracting their attention.
“What?”
“My cucumbers. If you like them,” he adds, eyes glued to the plate.
“Really? Even Samu doesn’t let me take his cucumbers!” Atsumu exclaims. “You’re my bestest friend, Omi!”
Sakusa blushes slightly to the sound of his nickname.
“Here, take my veggies! That broccoli, radish and – oh, I forgot. Spichan?”
“Spinach,” Osamu laughs. “You silly poop.”
“No, you!” Atsumu snarls.
“You.”
“You!”
They seem to keep on doing that forever, but eventually all three of them manage to finish their meal and get to the room.
As Sakusa expected, everything is the same there, but not completely: different toys are on identical beds, two similar-looking tables have different degrees of mess on them, a poster with a skateboarder is found on one wall, with a volleyball player – on the opposite. He carefully looks around, while Atsumu enthusiastically shows him his entire collection of miniature skateboards, his new yellow t-shirt that cannot be worn in school, and his comfortable - “best of the best” - bed.
“Omi-Omi,” Atsumu calls, a little less enthusiastic. “You look confused. Is everything fine?”
Sakusa immediately catches two glances at himself, and both have the same degree of alarm.
“Yes. You’re just…,” he stops, thinking over his words. “So similar. But yet different.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing about twins,” Atsumu chuckles. “Do you have troubles with distinguishing who is who?”
Sakusa shakes his head, and a lock of black hair falls on his face. He sits down on Atsumu’s bed and smoothes the bedspread with his hand; the fabric glides nicely under his fingers. He is definitely unlikely to distinguish between them from the side.
“Just a little bit.”
There’s a moment of silence in the room, and Sakusa can see how Atsumu's face is changing. He was sure that they were completely different. They’re not identical. But the tension in the room disappears as soon as Atsumu tousles Sakusa’s hair and chuckles.
“I’ll promise that one day we’ll dye our hair and you’ll always know who is who even if we’re silent!”
x
Atsumu gets a real skateboard at the beginning of summer, and everyone should know about it, Sakusa is no exception.
"I’ll show you when you come over, ‘cause mom doesn’t let me take it to school, but it’s so gorgeous, Omi-Omi! A real skateboard! Can you imagine?”
He brags all day at school, telling how cool the wheels are and how fancy the deck is, how smoothly it moves and how great it must be to perform tricks on it; Sakusa is still far from skateboarding, but the way Atsumu speaks about it is the most inspiring thing he’s ever met. However, trying to skate turns out to be utterly different.
“Do you think it’s a good idea?” Sakusa asks, his browns knit and arms crossed.
“Sure! Sit here!”
“It looks dangerous.”
“Put your skinny bum here, Kiyoomi! This thing is safer than you think,” Atsumu reassures him, tapping the skateboard with his hand. “Sit here, legs in front of you, hands grabbing the deck from below.”
“Maybe we should’ve practiced more with...ordinary skating?” Sakusa asks but already knows the answer. It was a complete failure: all those times that he was trying to stand steadily on the skateboard were a real nightmare, because he seemed to lose balance at every single breath. His legs were shaking, and the board was sliding to the opposite side, so he couldn’t do any proper movement except for falling. Thanks to Atsumu who was always there to catch him.
“Please, I want you to try and skate! Even if you are sitting on the board, not standing! You’ll see how great it is!” Atsumu tempts him, still touching the skateboard with so much love and tender in his eyes that Sakusa nods eventually. “Hooray! Come on, sit here.”
It takes Sakusa a minute or so to sit down comfortably, adjusting his body. His fingers are gripping on the deck nervously but strong enough, and Atsumu’s hands on his back give him a hint of confidence. Kiyoomi looks at the slight slope of the road and swallows.
“Don’t worry, Samu is right there! I won’t push you too hard and it’ll be fine.”
Atsumu counts to three and presses his hands firmly to Sakusa’s back, pushing him forward. The slope is slight - really slight, it doesn’t give the time to speed up - but as the board starts moving, Sakusa feels panic approach him. He grips tightly on the deck and closes his eyes, feeling the wind hit his face and adrenaline sweep him like a tidal wave. A scream of horror is stuck in his throat, and the next second he feels himself falling down.
It doesn’t seem to hurt for the first couple of seconds. Kiyoomi hears the sound of wheels rolling forward, the thuds of him falling and eventually the two screams, but nothing hurts, unless - He opens his eyes, terrified, and raises his head a bit, lying on the ground. When the twins run up to him - Osamu with a skateboard pressed to his chest, Atsumu with a face full of horror - Sakusa tries to stand up, but sharp pain pierces the body in the area of the hand on which he landed.
“Ouch,” he manages to utter.
“Omi-Omi!” Atsumu shrieks, sitting down on the ground next to him and watching him carefully. “Does it hurt? Can you move your hand? I’m so sorry, maybe I pushed you too hard, or it was really a bad idea, I’m sorry, really sorry, I –”
Sakusa moves his arm tentatively, but feels nothing but a dull ache in his elbow. He turns his hand and sees scratched skin and blood, but nothing more.
"It's okay."
"But you’ve got blood all over you hand!” Atsumu screams, holding Sakusa's hand with his fingers. “I can blow on the wound so that the pain goes away! Here!”
He bends lower, his lips almost touching Sakusa’s hand, and blows on the reddened skin with bleeding abrasions on it. Sakusa twitches in surprise: cold breathing touches the sore areas, and he automatically tries to pull his hand away, but Atsumu holds tight. It only gets better in a few seconds.
“Maybe we should go home?” Osamu suggests, still pressing the skateboard to his chest. “I don’t think that blowing on the wound will do all the thing.”
“Uhm, yeah, sure,” Atsumu nods in confusion, finally letting go of his hand. “Can you go, Omi? Or do we need to…Support you somehow?”
“I think nothing is broken,” Sakusa hums, looking at his elbow. “Just a few scratches.”
“A few scratches,” Atsumu makes a nervous chuckle. “Sure. Mom will kill me.”
She is angry, of course, but only a little: she says that it was bad of them to force Sakusa, even though Kiyoomi mentions it several times that he was the one to agree. He has his wounds healed, now it’s covered some colorful band-aids, and the twins’ mother gives Sakusa a new T-shirt – Atsumu’s, the one that he has never worn before - and the soiled school shirt goes to the laundry.
“Sorry,” Atsumu mumbles again as the three of them are sitting on the sofa. His head lies gently on Sakusa’s shoulder from that side that wasn’t injured. “We won’t do it ever again.”
“Even if I ask?” Sakusa wonders.
Atsumu immediately perks up, raising his head and looking into Sakusa’s face.
“I liked it, except for the falling part,” Sakusa explains, blushed a little because of their closeness.
“Really?”
“Skateboarding is nice,” Sakusa nods and suddenly he is grabbed into a warm hug. “Ouch!”
“Oh, sorry, sorry, I forgot! Just wanted to let you know that you’re the best.”
“I need to go soon,” Sakusa says as Atsumu lets him go and presses his head to Kiyoomi’s shoulder again.
“Family church day?” Atsumu asks, still nursing a hope for Sakusa to stay. He feels Kiyoomi nod, and sighs in response. “Alright, then. Hope your parents won’t be mad at me.”
“Why would they be?” Sakusa chuckles, and his laughter calms Atsumu down, making him nuzzle at Kiyoomi’s shoulder.
“I’ve hurt their son. And got his school uniform dirty.”
“If you say this once again I’ll tickle you to death, Tsumu,” Osamu threatens.
“And I’ll help him,” Sakusa chuckles again, and the next second Atsumu is trying to dodge the annoying hands tickling him.
x
Their first trimester ends with a week-long summer rains, Osamu’s leaving for his sports camp and the news that Sakusa won’t be in the town during their vacations. Nothing could be worse for Atsumu.
“What? Why?” he asks, bewildered.
“Don’t know. That's what my parents decided,” Sakusa shrugs.
“And when do you leave?”
“In a day or two.”
Atsumu freezes in mid-stride, looking at Sakusa in disbelief.
“So soon…,” he mumbles.
By the time they reach Atsumu's house, the tension is still there.
“Maybe you…,” Atsumu starts, but his thoughts flounder. “Maybe you want to stay? Like. Not for the vacation, I see, but. For a night? A sleepover?”
He stands at the top of the stairs, looking down at Sakusa and running his hand over the railing in confusion.
“My mom is gonna be out for work this night, so maybe you want to stay with me? Huh,” he makes a nervous giggle, still avoiding eye contact to hide his confusion and sadness, but his gestures and manner of speech give him away.
“I’ll ask my parents’ permission,” Sakusa promises and waves his hand at Atsumu. “If they let me, I’ll come over.”
Atsumu is waiting for him all evening: he sees his mom off to work, plays with fingerboards and skates around the house, watches TV and flips through some of his brother’s books, but Sakusa doesn´t come. He doesn’t come at 6 o’clock, nor at 7, nor at 8, and Atsumu is close to crying in despair, but a slight knock on the door interrupts his thoughts. All drenched, Sakusa is standing on the porch, clutching the strap of his bag.
“Omi-Omi!” Atsumu exclaims, embracing him in spite of his drenched clothes.
“Sorry, we were busy in the church,” Sakusa sounds like he’s short of breath. His hair is all wet, black strands stick to his forehead. “My dad gave me a lift, but still… I’m a bit wet.”
“Come in, then, and make yourself and home.”
Their whole evening is comprised of watching TV and fidgeting on the sofa, constant demonstrations of fingerboards and Atsumu's infectious laughter. He tries to catch the nuts that he throws over himself with his mouth, but each time they fly past his mouth and fall on the sofa.
“Wanna try, Omi? It’s funny!”
“No, I’m out,” Sakusa answers, laughing at him and picking up the nuts from the floor. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure you can! My house is your house.”
When Sakusa returns, he is already wearing black pajamas with small golden stars embroidered on it, and water is dripping from the ends of his hair.
“Where should I put the towel?”
“Gimme that, I’ll find a place. Do you want to sleep already?” Atsumu wonders with a degree of confusion on his face. He thought they would be having fun all night, though.
“Not yet,” Sakusa takes his place, his feet up on the sofa and back comfortably pressed to the cushions.
A few minutes pass until he yawns, hiding his mouth with his hand, but Atsumu notices that.
“You’re sleepy, Omi-Omi!”
“’m not.”
“You are. Wanna go to sleep?”
“Not yet.”
“Wanna cuddle?”
“Maybe,” he leans closer to Atsumu and presses against his side. “Don’t want to go anywhere.”
There’s a sad smile on his face which Atsumu manages to notice, but still he can do nothing with that. He strokes Kiyoomi’s shoulder, carefully caressing it with his palm, and sighs.
“We’ll still need to go to bed.”
“I don’t mean going to bed. Just…In general,” Sakusa is suddenly so insecure in his hands that Atsumu tenses up.
“Come on, don’t be that whiny, Mi-Mi. We’ll still have plenty of time when you come back,” he tries to soften the situation and is surprised to hear Sakusa laugh. “What?”
“What was that? A new nickname? Mi-Mi?”
“Don’t you like that?”
“I do, but your tendency of shortening my name is hilarious,” Sakusa chuckles. “What’s next? I-I?”
“You’re a poop, Kiyoomi!” Atsumu is about to slap him, but Sakusa dodges, getting out of his cuddles. “C’mere and I’ll kick your skinny bum!”
“You won’t!”
“I will, trust me!”
Sakusa dodges a cushion thrown at him and hides behind an armchair.
“We’re friends!”
“Yeah, but that’s a weak argument, Kiyoomi! Even if I love you I still can kick your bum.”
Their pillow war continues for a long time: they almost knock down frames with photos and drop Sakusa’s bag from the sofa, run around the house one after another and scream so much that the neighbors probably hear them.
“Mi-Mi, stop, please! No!” As a result, Atsumu lies on the floor, all shaking and whining while Sakusa tickles him fiercely. “You’re a cheater! Stop!”
“I’m not,” his fingers keep on torturing Atsumu’s ribs as he tries to wriggle away but fails.
“Omi!” there are tears in Atsumu’s eyes when he finally catches Kiyoomi’s hands and grips them firmly. “There’re a few things which I’m scared of and tickling is one of them.”
“You started that,” Sakusa frowns, and the cross necklace hangs from his neck so low that it dangles almost in front of Atsumu’s face. “Let me go.”
“Swear you won’t do that again.”
“I swear.”
“Pinky promise?” he holds out his little finger, still lying beneath Sakusa on the floor, and feels the other boy interlock their fingers.
“Pinky promise,” Sakusa nods. “I swear to do no bad things to you, Miya Atsumu. Ever.”
Atsumu feels his cheeks become red and turns his head away.
“Lemme go.”
x
As they finally reach the bedroom, Atsumu looks a little less bewildered than while they were fighting.
“Mom changed the bedding, so you can sleep on my bed, and I will be on Osamu’s,” he explains and adds immediately: “Mine is a million times cooler!”
While Atsumu is in the bathroom, Sakusa settles in bed: he hides under the blanket, organizes the pillows more comfortably, nestles, and finally calms down. His first overnight stay with a friend is his best so far. The muffled light from the bedside lamp makes him sleepy, he yawns again and stretches on the bed, looking through his fingers at all those books and fingerboards placed on the shelves.
“I’m heeere,” Atsumu announces as he enters the room.
His pajama t-shirt has a funny fox face on it, black shorts are skewed, and he looks so ridiculous that Sakusa giggles quietly in the folds of the blanket.
“I still can kick your skinny bum, Kiyoomi, be careful with who he giggles at,” Atsumu assumes airs and hears more giggles. “Kiyoomi!”
“Sorry, Tsumu. You just look funny.”
“What is so funny about me?” he huffs. “My pajamas?”
“Just you,” Sakusa tries to explain. “You look funny. And you can always make me laugh, just being yourself.”
He waits for Atsumu to nestle in his brother’s bed and catches his smirk.
“So it’s an achievement for me? That I can make you laugh.”
“Maybe,” Sakusa yawns. “Can we turn off the lights now? It’s really late.”
“Sure.”
With the lights off Sakusa blinks a couple of times, getting used to the darkness in the room.
“You’re staring,” he pouts, putting off sleep.
“I am,” Atsumu gives him a warm smile and buries himself into the soft blanket.
“Why?”
“’Cause you are cute. And you’re my best friend.”
“You’re mine, too. Good night?”
“Good night, Omi.”
x
Sakusa wakes up when he hears the nestling sounds in the bed next to him: as if Atsumu is trying to bury himself alive in the folds of his blanket and pillows, to fall down to the first floor of the house and then underground immediately. So, he’s a restless sleeper, then – He keeps his ears open and realizes that Atsumu isn’t sleeping. He’s awake, mumbling something, and Sakusa sits up on the bed looking in his direction.
“Atsumu?”
“Huh?”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
But Sakusa doesn’t believe him. He turns on the bedside lamp and looks around: Atsumu is hiding his head under the covers, but except for this everything is still the same in the room. The dogs are barking somewhere in the street, the moon is creeping into room with its silver rays.
“Are dogs another thing you’re afraid of?”
“Mhm?” a muffled sound comes from Atsumu’s side.
“Dogs. You said you have a couple of things you’re scared of. Tickling is the first one. Are dogs on the list, too?” Sakusa wonders, trying not to sound annoying. Atsumu says no word, but the way he shudders and presses the pillow to his head when a new bark cuts through the silence speaks for itself. “Alright. Should I close the window?”
“It’s closed,” Atsumu mumbles.
He lies facing the wall, but for some reason Sakusa is sure that he frowns with each approaching bark. Sometimes the dogs go silent, sometimes, apparently, they run very close to the house, and judging by the sounds they make there is a whole pack of them.
Time seems to last forever: these ever-changing sounds get on Atsumu’s nerves, and sleep goes by the wayside, but when he hears a howl right next to him he opens his eyes and turns around in the bed.
It’s Sakusa. Sakusa, who’s standing by the open window, Sakusa, who’s pressing his hands to the sides of his mouth to make the sound louder; Sakusa, who’s howling into the darkness of the night.
“What are you doing?” the shock on his face is genuine.
“Telling them to go away,” Sakusa’s answer is so simple as if there’s nothing strange with him howling like a dog.
“Omi!”
“What? Wanna join me?” he smiles at Atsumu and turns back to the window howling again.
It’s a strange strategy, Atsumu thinks. If he was a dog he would definitely run closer and start barking even louder to scare the enemy. He sits up, hesitates, but ends up standing next to Sakusa, staring into the darkness of the night.
“See? They’re almost gone.”
“Omi,” he calls.
“It’s okay to be scared sometimes,” Sakusa thinks aloud. “And it’s okay to have something that calms you down.”
Atsumu notices how Sakusa caresses the cross oh his neck with his fingers and stares at him again. He didn’t seem to be that… inspirational before.
“You’re staring again.”
“Yeah. Thank you, Omi,” he whispers.
“There’s nothing to thank me for,” Kiyoomi shrugs, going back to his bed. “Let’s sleep now. Hope nothing will bother you anymore.”
But Atsumu freezes, watching him climb into the pile of softness on his bed. He’ll be gone in a day or two. He won’t be back for months. They won’t have time like this, and won’t play, and won’t have sleepovers, and won’t do anything together, and all those thoughts seem terrible to Atsumu.
“May I, like, sleep with you?” he asks, looking anywhere but not at Sakusa. “Osamu’s bed is terrible.”
“We can change our places if you’re uncomfortable,” Sakusa prompts, but Atsumu only shakes his head.
“No, not like that, I – I just wanted to cuddle. Please.”
“Sure, then.”
It takes them a minute to adjust: the bed isn’t very wide, but they are still kids, so there’s definitely a place for two if you organize everything. It’s strange for Sakusa to be lying so close to someone; face to face, feeling Atsumu’s breath on his cheek and that curious look with a shred of sorrow on his whole self. He feels Atsumu’s lips gently press to his temple and blushes, even if it can’t be seen in the dark room.
“Wh – ”
“Mom says we only kiss people we really appreciate, Omi,” Atsumu explains. He still knows so little about so many things, but the only thing he can be sure about is the following. “I appreciate you, Kiyoomi. And that’s not only because you eat my nasty veggies and scare away the dogs. You’re my best friend.”
This phrase seems to be engraved in his mind, Sakusa thinks. He wants to say “thank you”, and “you’re my best friend, too”, and “let’s sleep already”, but holds out his little finger instead. He waits for Atsumu to hold out his own and interlocks them.
“I’ll come back soon and no dogs will ever scare you, Atsumu. Pinky promise.”
x
It’s something intimate and vital for Atsumu – their pinky promises. He knows Sakusa will keep his word, knows he’ll come back, so the summer vacations he has to spend with Osamu and their mom are not that bad. Bad times come as soon as the trimester starts.
Sakusa isn’t at school on their first day. He doesn’t come on the second day, doesn’t show up on the third, and when the boys start to mock again, saying “Where’s your cult boy, Miya? Went to his church and disappeared?” Atsumu snaps.
He punches one of the bullies with his fists, pressing him to the floor and not paying attention either to his brother, or to other pupils, or to the teacher who is trying to stop them. He screams: "Don't you dare offend my friend, you poop". Shouts: “He’ll come back soon.” Yells: “You’re jealous.” But nothing comes to live.
When their mom drives them home and tries to retell her conversation with the teacher who said that their family had left, Atsumu doesn’t listen to her. His face is covered with scratches and a newly-formed bruise from the fight, eyes watery; the distant look he has reminds Osamu of his brother’s first meeting with Kiyoomi at school, but that time it was Sakusa who was confused. Now roles are changing.
“He couldn’t do that, mom,” he sobs eventually, fully absorbed by his feelings. “He couldn’t just leave. He made a pinky promise. He couldn’t, mom, we’re friends, he – ”