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It’s dark when Sakusa reaches his front door, keys poised at the lock, a sigh heavy on his lips. It had been a long journey to get here; a two hour flight, an hour long train ride, and a twenty minute cab. The driver was unusually chatty for almost midnight and it resulted in Sakusa’s splitting headache. All he wanted now was to take a shower to wash off the obvious filth caking his skin and then head to bed, curling up against Atsumu like he always does when he gets home from tour. He’s positive Atsumu is asleep now, the man long since given up in staying up for him.
It makes Sakusa’s heart ache, but he asks so much of him already that he can’t bear to ask him to stay up and wait just a little longer.
Sakusa sets his guitar and suitcase down on the floor near the entrance of their apartment. Normally he would take them into the bedroom and unload them immediately, but he feels dirty, so he opens the suitcase to grab his toiletries and heads to the bathroom as quietly as he can. There’s no light coming from anywhere in the apartment, meaning Atsumu is asleep like Sakusa figured. The door is wide open, which is odd, but Sakusa pays it no mind as he hightails it to the shower. The warm water against his back is comforting and he spends ages scrubbing it down until it’s red and angry, hotter than the water will ever be. But he feels clean, his hair less greasy and already plumping and curling back to its original state after he dries it with the towel.
It’s then, as he gazes into the mirror, that his eyes wander downward and he notices Atsumu’s toothbrush is missing. Maybe he’d gone to stay with Osamu? But he surely would have told Sakusa about it...
He has no qualms in flicking on the bedroom light now as he enters the room. The bed is neatly made, just the way Sakusa likes it, and it is severely lacking Miya Atsumu. Sakusa tries not to panic, and luckily his confusion takes over. Where is Atsumu? He’d never just taken off before, not without telling Sakusa how much fun he was going to have and how he wished Sakusa could be there.
“Atsumu?” He calls into the apartment, turning on all the lights so he can see. There’s nobody else but him in this space. All of Atsumu’s shoes are gone from the entrance where Sakusa had deposited his upon entry. He remembers each time they’d come in and Atsumu would haphazardly toss his shoes around and Sakusa would yell at him to clean them up. There’s nothing to clean up now.
Sakusa tears their apartment apart, trying to find any sign of Atsumu in it. All his collectibles are gone, the memorabilia from Sakusa’s shows that he owned, his pictures and jersey from Inarizaki. The drawers in their room are half empty where Atsumu’s clothes once took up space, their closet a similar picture. Sakusa collapses to the floor, eyes wide and unseeing, fingers curling at the knuckle into fists.
He’s gone. He really left.
A fight from before he’d gone on tour resurfaces in his mind and he squeezes his eyes shut trying to force it away.
“Do you have to leave?” Atsumu had asked as he watched Sakusa pack his things.
Sakusa let out an annoyed sigh. How many times did they have to have this conversation? “Yes. I’ve asked you before if you wanted to come with me. We have the space.”
“I don’t want to come with you,” Atsumu’s voice is clear and crisp, accent momentarily faltering in his anger. Sakusa never understood it, but perhaps he thought more about the way he spoke when he was trying to convey his feelings. “I want you to stay, Omi. You’re gonna most of the year! I barely get to see you!”
“The tour is already booked,” an aggressive zip noise fills the air between them and there’s a thud as the suitcase hits the ground. “I can’t just cancel it. I have to go.”
“Fine. Then don’t expect me to be here when you get back.”
Sakusa hadn’t thought anything of it. Atsumu says shit like that all the time to get under his skin. Usually they’d fuck and make up right after, Atsumu as apologetic as ever and Sakusa right behind him. But they hadn’t had a chance to hash it out, their conversations tense throughout Sakusa’s whole touring cycle. They talked less and less in the days leading up to Sakusa’s homecoming. Sakusa never thought once that Atsumu would actually leave him.
But as he looks around their half empty apartment, the space lacking any personality that Atsumu brought with him, maybe Sakusa should have listened to him more. Maybe he should’ve stayed. Is he willing to give up his dream for the person he loves though?
He isn’t sure. That’s a loaded question. It wraps around his throat like a taut wire and pulls until he can no longer breath. He inhales sharply every few seconds but it feels as if there’s no air in his lungs. Tears spring to his eyes and he curls in on himself on the cold hardwood floor, thoughts tumbling out of control.
Sakusa isn’t sure how long he’s on the floor for, whether it be minutes or hours, but his body feels heavy when he eventually rises. His vision is blurry as his phone screen swims and he unlocks it, blindly finding Atsumu’s contact. His most recent message had been left on read, but he’d grown accustomed to that. When had that become their new norm?
To: Atsumu
>> Atsumu please. Where are you?
>> I’m sorry. I won’t leave again.
>> Please come home.
He waits a few minutes, and a few minutes becomes ten, twenty, thirty. No response. It’s the middle of the night, there’s a good chance he’s sleeping, but Sakusa can’t let it end like this. He won’t. He’s built a life with Atsumu for the past six years. Is it really going to end like this, with Atsumu leaving without so much a note? A last word? Sakusa can’t stand it.
The thing is, Sakusa is used to people leaving him. They can’t handle the way he works, how he operates; everything has to be clean, precise, perfect . Sakusa isn’t happy unless things are accommodated to his standards. Atsumu understood, always made preparations so everything would be in place for him. Atsumu is the only one who knows the real him, the version he usually doesn’t want anybody else to see. Atsumu held him when he cried, when he rubbed his skin clean until it bled, when he didn’t want to talk at all. Who now is left to do that? Sakusa’s bandmates can barely understand him, his interlude home a much needed break before they’re in the studio together again, writing and recording. They understand him somewhat, but never like Atsumu.
He keeps texting him, leaving voicemails of him begging and pleading. Atsumu would probably laugh when he got them, making fun of how whiny he’d become. “ You’ve turned inta me, Omi-kun!” He’d say, and Sakusa would scowl and deny it. But Atsumu’s charm (if it could even be called that) had rubbed off on him in some ways. He always cowered away in the corner and now Sakusa is able to stand in front of a crowd of hundreds of people. That has to be Atsumu’s doing. Atsumu helped his confidence, that’s it.
Sakusa texts Osamu too, because he just knows that wherever Atsumu is, his brother must be right there with him. It was a little annoying at first, having this shadow follow them wherever they went, but at a distance. Osamu would always be a priority for Atsumu.
To: Miya Osamu
>> I know he’s with you. Please tell him to come home.
There’s no response and Sakusa curses, throwing the phone onto the bed. He can’t sleep there; he’s sure it’ll smell like Atsumu. The thought of drowning in his intoxicating scent isn’t a horrible way to go but right now it’s unbearable, so Sakusa heads to the couch. It’s lumpy and a little bit uncomfortable, the blanket scratchy against his skin. It too smells like Atsumu. He can’t escape him.
Sakusa gets no sleep that night and before he knows it, the sun is rising and tapping at his eyelids. They feel heavy but he forces them open, dragging himself up and towards his phone in the bedroom.
From: Miya Osamu
<< He’s not here
The text had come only thirty minutes ago and Sakusa is quick to dial without a second thought. It rings once, twice, three times and Sakusa thinks it’s going to go straight to voicemail before it picks up.
“ Sakusa -” Their voices are different, but there’s a touch of Atsumu in it and Sakusa’s chest tightens.
“Please, Osamu. I... I don’t even know what’s going on,” Sakusa sounds desperate, pathetic. He’d scoff at himself if he was a third party. But he’s the main character in this tragic love story.
“ He’s my brother. I have to protect him, ” explains Osamu cryptically, and Sakusa’s grip on his phone tightens. “ I’m sorry. I- ”
“I know he’s there. There’s nowhere else he would go right? I just want him to come home. Just let me talk to him.”
“ I’m sorry for this .” The line goes dead afterwards and Sakusa stares in shock as he pulls it from his ear. Osamu hung up on him. A brief idea comes to mind and Sakusa starts to act on it, grabbing a bag and shoving clothes into it. If Atsumu won’t come home, then he’ll have to go to Hyogo and talk things out so he wants to come back. Yeah, that’ll work. They’ve talked things out before, this is just like that.
Sakusa has one foot out the door when he realizes just how bad of an idea this is. Going to Atsumu will make things worse, even if he thinks it’ll prove just how much he loves him. All he’d be doing is making empty promises to him, promises he knows he won’t be able to keep.
Sakusa drops the bag onto the floor and goes with it. He’s lost. He didn’t think he’d be so lost without Atsumu but then again, he didn’t think he’d have to navigate life without him ever again. Atsumu was supposed to be by his side forever.
The days pass slowly, in the coming weeks. Sakusa feels like he’s moving through molasses. He tries to sleep but it’s fruitless. He takes long naps, but he’s up all night, sitting on the couch, bags under his eyes growing darker and darker. He ponders where he’d gone wrong, wonders what he can do to fix it. He stops texting and calling Atsumu after a while, when his messages go unread and his calls go unreturned. It’s painful, but it numbs, just like any wound. Sakusa isn’t sure this one will heal, but if it does, it’ll leave a nasty scar in its wake.
Nighttime brings new songs, and he plays them until his fingers bleed and reharden. He can never bring himself to sing out loud, or more than a hushed whisper, the feelings too raw and too open. He knows if he tries to sing them he won’t be able to pick up the pieces of his own shattered heart. Sakusa always wrote songs he thought the fans would like, but these are for him. These lyrics are his therapy, because he’ll be damned if he goes to an actual shrink.
“You don’t look so hot,” Semi says when he shows up for band practice two months after Atsumu leaves. Semi had founded the band with Sakusa, when he’d seen Sakusa’s acoustic videos online and reached out suggesting they start a band. Semi is no stranger to people with intricacies and can handle Sakusa just fine, but never as well as Atsumu could. Nevertheless, he’s the only other original member from when the band started, the two of them going through multiple other drummers and rhythm guitarist.
“Thanks,” Sakusa bites, glancing at the bass lying across Semi’s lap. “That new?”
Semi shoots him a grin and holds it up; it’s shiny and purple, not a scratch on it. “Yeah! You like it?”
Sakusa just grumbles a response; he doesn’t like much of anything lately. He tries not to think of what he does like, what he loves , or who, because that would rip open the wound that he’s so desperately trying to hide. Sakusa supposes it doesn’t matter though, not anymore, not when he’s about to get into a booth and sing these songs for the first time while trying not to break apart.
Semi goes on to tell him about the process of buying the new bass but Sakusa isn’t listening. Halfway through, Bokuto bursts in excitedly, almost breaking down the door in the process. Semi winces and glares over at the excited drummer.
“Dude-”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Bokuto cheers, overpowering Semi and leaving him to just sigh and tighten up the strings of his bass. Sakusa hadn’t missed those greetings, and the presence of his splitting headache makes them worse. With the way Bokuto drums, no matter how amazing it is, Sakusa’s sure to have a migraine by the end of the session.
“Sorry I’m late,” Iwaizumi walks in before Bokuto can launch into a story with his own excuse. Semi waves his hand dismissively and Bokuto practically tackles Iwaizumi, narrowly missing Sakusa who is standing right beside him. Why he’d accepted Bokuto into the band a year ago, well... his talent overshadowed his puppy-like personality, and Sakusa just couldn’t let him go. Iwaizumi was a blessing in disguise, joining just before Bokuto, with his quiet demeanor but playful tongue. He and Semi worked beautifully together, and Iwaizumi stayed mostly out of Sakusa’s personal business so he was great in Sakusa’s book.
They spend a couple of hours going over Sakusa’s lyrics and his plans for the instrumentals. Usually he likes to let the band come up with their own riffs and beats but this time he wants to make sure they have a more melancholy feel, reflecting what he feels in his heart.
Semi is staring at him as they listen to him rattle off the lyrics in a monotone, only cracking twice and clearing his throat right after. Sakusa is sure he’s been caught but Semi doesn’t say anything until practice is done and they’ve gotten a few guitar parts locked down.
“Are you really okay?” Semi catches him when he’s putting his mask in place and walking towards the stairs.
“Yeah.”
Semi narrows his eyes, “Those lyrics are... well, you’ve never written anything like it.”
“I’m not allowed to change my style?”
“You are but they’re depressing , Sakusa, even for you. Did you and Miya break up or something?”
Sakusa looks away and Semi sighs. “Something like that. Don’t ask, please don’t.”
Semi throws up his hands, “Whatever you want man. But they’re good. I think people will really like it once we get it finalized.” He smiles assuredly and shoves his hands into his pockets before he walks into the opposite direction, leaving Sakusa standing there. Now if only Sakusa liked the lyrics, and if he were strong enough to sing them outloud without having an emotional meltdown.
He refuses to record the songs when anybody else is there. He’ll go to the studio late at night and record the songs himself, mixing them on his laptop, making sure they sound good with the instrumentals. His bandmates aren’t fond of the idea, but Sakusa can’t let them see him cry in the small booth, can’t let them see the tear tracks on his face before his lips even part to wail his melancholy siren song.
The months pass in a fog of sleepless nights and studio sessions. Before he knows it, his love letter to Atsumu is being released on the web for the whole world to listen to. Sakusa doesn’t like the fact that he’d ripped open the same wound over and over again, its scar mangled and ugly, but the result lands them another album deal and a country-wide tour. Going on tour is what got him in this mess in the first place, and Sakusa still isn’t sure he can sing these songs in front of his friends, let alone a crowd of people. Somehow he’ll forget the pain in favor of blinding, scorching lights, by the sound of the drum behind him, the bass and guitar coming in from both sides, cocooning him in their comforting sounds.
Sakusa practices every night, singing quietly into his apartment, louder in Semi’s as he sits on the floor with his back turned towards them so they can’t see his face. He doesn’t cry that time, but his voice breaks like the floodgates will burst at any moment.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to do this?” Semi wonders, stomping out a cigarette. By now they’ve all pieced together what happened from Sakusa’s vague recountings, different every time but somehow forming the whole picture.
“If I don’t, what then? More time wasted.” Sakusa shrugs his jacket on. It’s the night before they’re to set off on tour. They’ll start and end in Tokyo, hitting every major city in between. They’ll end up in Hyogo for two nights and Sakusa knows he’ll spend those nights pondering if Atsumu is there, if Atsumu will come see him, if he won’t just be a figment of his dreams anymore. What will Sakusa do if he sees him in the crowd? He’s never so much as cracked a smile during their concerts. What will the fans think if he sobs while singing of his heartbreak, his months of yearning?
Sakusa doesn’t cry on stage, thankfully. For an hour he’s able to forget about the hole in his chest and listen to the hundreds of people screaming his lyrics back at him. They play a bunch of old hits and a few new ones, that way Sakusa can remain sane and still enjoy it. The fans don’t seem to mind, they vibe with whatever is thrown at them.
Every night Sakusa goes back to the bus while the three others drift off into the night, coming back hours later smelling of smoke and alcohol. Sakusa sits on the couch in the bus or lies in bed, writing lyric after lyric, thinking of cheaply dyed blondes and lazy smirks, of sharp tongues and stammering excuses, of shouting matches under the dim light of a cramped kitchen. His fingers ache after each show from all the strumming, but he picks up his guitar anyway. He’d thought he bled himself dry but he hasn’t stopped thinking of Atsumu; not a day goes by where the man doesn’t consume his mind. It’s pathetic really, Sakusa knows this, but he just can’t stop.
It gets worse when they arrive in Hyogo. Sakusa can feel in his bones that Atsumu lingers in these streets. They’re not too far from Onigiri Miya, his phone tells him, and Sakusa wants nothing more than to march in there and demand to see him. He knows Osamu oversees the store himself, so there’s a good chance he’ll be there. But Sakusa refrains, because his hands shake at the thought of confrontation.
“Three minutes to showtime!” Bokuto booms, clapping his drumsticks above his head. There’s a dull buzz from around the curtain where their fans are waiting for them to start. Sound tech is still making their final touches, making sure everything is working. Sakusa focuses on them rather than Bokuto rocking back and forth on his feet. Iwaizumi is off to the side, head down and eyes closed, likely reminding himself not to fuck up. Semi claps a hand on Sakusa’s back, giving him one last raise of an eyebrow before they get the thumbs up and the lights dim, the crowd screams, and suddenly the air is electric.
For a moment, Sakusa is able to forget where he is, he’s able to forget the strain he’s been going through, and loses himself in the haze of lights and cheers. Performing is therapeutic, even for somebody like him, who hates being the center of attention and despises being in a room full of people. He sings, emotions raw and throbbing with each lyric, until his shirt sticks to his chest, heavy with sweat, beads running down his temple and sticking to the curls in his hair. He sings until he glances down at the crowd instead of over their heads and the lights catch on a pop of blonde in the darkness. He sings, and then he doesn’t, because he can’t. A week of looking into the crowd, hoping that any blonde man he sees will be Atsumu, has led to this,
It’s Atsumu. Sakusa knows for sure, because he’s envisioned Atsumu in his mind for days, weeks, months . Even without the smirk, it’s him, in the flesh, watching him perform. He came .
Sakusa picks up the song again after having to tug his glance sideways when Semi’s voice fills the speakers. They overlap a little bit, Sakusa’s voice a lot more open and raw now that the subject of the song is standing so close yet so far, too far.
Miraculously, Sakusa gets through the song. The crowd seemed to enjoy it, despite his mishap. Had they even noticed, or were they just existing in this space and time, unaware that Sakusa is bleeding, his wound has been ripped out of his chest on this very stage. He moves away from the mic to stalk over to Semi, tugging him close by the elbow. “Follow my lead,” he hisses after they tug their ear plugs free.
“Wait-” Semi tries to catch a hold of him but it’s hard when they’re both dripping sweat. He says it to Iwaizumi too, whose eyebrows fly to his hairline. Sakusa gestures to Bokuto and although Bokuto throws his hands up, he plays along. Sakusa keeps his back to the crowd, still screaming, for a long while to center himself. He’ll be alright, won’t he?
Taking a deep breath, he spins on his heel and clears his throat into the mic. The crowd hushes, hundreds of pairs of eyes blinking up at him expectantly.
“This is a new song,” he begins. It’s one he wrote while on the bus, when the others were intoxicated out in Tokyo and Sakusa was mourning a loss from months ago. “I wrote it for somebody who means a lot to me. Who means everything to me. I hope... I hope he knows.” He finds Atsumu in the crowd again, holding his doe-eyed gaze. This had always been one of the biggest subjects of their fights; Sakusa wasn’t out to the public, didn’t think it was important. But Atsumu wanted to show him off, parade him around like a trophy. Sakusa thought more of his career, as he always did. The band was just making it big, he didn’t want anything to ruin that. Coming out would definitely ruin his chance of success
Sakusa doesn’t think of the repercussions now. Nothing else matters besides Atsumu looking up at him from the crowd. Sakusa hits a chord, long and deep and melancholy. He sings of loneliness, love lost, love that embeds itself deep in his soul. He sings of everything that is Atsumu and ignores the tightness of his throat, voice holding firm.
His bandmates follow every beat and melody flawlessly, but Sakusa isn’t concerned with that. He could give less of a shit if they sound good or not. But if he doesn’t pour his very soul onto this stage right now for Atsumu to hear, Sakusa will never forgive himself. When the song is over, he can’t tear his eyes away, not even when Semi comes over and growls incredulous praise into his ear. Sakusa’s eyes are trained on the blonde, who is now walking away , forcing himself through the crowd.
Atsumu is leaving, and Sakusa has to catch him.
“Do something,” Sakusa cuts Semi off, ripping off his guitar and propping it against one of the amps. He almost loses his balance, but he regains it before he ends up on the floor. He turns to make sure the crowd can’t see his pleads, “Do a guitar solo, drum solo, anything . Ten minutes. Please.”
“Where are you going?” Semi calls as Sakusa takes off, weaving through backstage, through their crew, venue workers, security. Security tries to stop him but one feral glare and they back down like scared prey. His ear plugs drape around his neck now and he can hear the awkward laugh Semi sends through the mic, not used to being put on the spot. This hasn’t been a traditional show, but Sakusa doesn’t care. He needs to find Atsumu, now.
Sakusa finds him in an empty corridor, heading towards one of the back exits. “Atsumu, Atsumu !” He calls, hoarse and desperate, because Atsumu is just out of reach.
Atsumu falters and he’s stiff when he faces him. Sakusa can tell he’s trying his hardest to look confident, but Sakusa is almost knocked off his feet when he realizes they’re face to face. “Hey, Omi-kun.” The drawl he receives is trembling.
The nickname strikes right through Sakusa’s heart. Omi-kun, Omi-kun, Kiyoomi- He can hear all of it, taunting in his brain and he squeezes his eyes shut. This is a different Atsumu in front of him now. “Atsumu.” He can’t help but say it again. How long had it been since he’d said his name out loud? Sakusa takes in every detail of him, the way his hair is a few shades lighter, muscles a little bigger, expression growing less and less confident by each passing second. “ Atsumu .” It tastes so good on his tongue, he’s addicted again.
Atsumu shrugs, “That’s me.”
Sakusa swallows. “Yeah... I... I’m glad you’re here. Are... How... Are you doing alright?” Sakusa has always prided himself on speaking eloquently, but he’s reduced to such juvenile speech from a simple meeting.
Atsumu runs his fingers through his hair and Sakusa can remember the way it would feel against the pads of his fingers when he’d do the very same thing. “Yeah, I’m alright... Saw you were comin’ to town and I couldn’t miss it, ya know?” Atsumu laughs, one hitch of breath, and another string snaps inside of Sakusa. He’s going to fall apart right here. Atsumu continues, “The song... it was... well... How are you doing?”
Sakusa wants to laugh with him. He wants to yell, to tell Atsumu every single detail of what inner turmoil he’d endured in the past however many months. The days had been so blurred together that Sakusa no longer knows how long its been since he left. “I haven’t,” Sakusa starts, “been fine. Not since...” The ghost of their relationship hangs heavy in the space between them. “The song, yeah...” He shoves his hands in his pockets, then takes them out again. His skin crawls. He feels uncomfortable with this pressure. He focuses on the loud rumble of bass and drums and guitar as his bandmates cover his abrupt absence.
“I know you don’t like slow songs,” Sakusa cuts off his own thoughts, gaze snapping back to Atsumu, who is looking at him expectantly. “I’ll play something else, anything you want, if it means you’ll stay.” I’ll do anything you want as long as you stay here, with me. “I miss you, Atsumu.”
Atsumu looks away from him. Sakusa can hear each second tick by which Atsumu doesn’t respond. “It’s weird, havin ya beg, Omi-kun. I used to have to do that, but you’d never stay, so why should I?” The tightness in Sakusa’s throat is back and it’s his turn to look away from piercing honey eyes. “If I stay now, for another song, you’re just going to have to leave again after. I get tired of missing ya, Omi-kun. It’s too much.”
“I wasn’t begging,” the defense is automatic and Sakusa hates himself for it. He replays Atsumu’s words in his head, the accent sounding thicker than it was when they’d been together. Months apart and Sakusa has to relearn everything about him, even though he felt like he didn’t forget a thing. “But I’ll beg if that’s what it takes for you to stay.” He takes a step closer, just a small one, and is relieved when Atsumu doesn’t flinch away or move a muscle. “I’ll always have to leave, I don’t have a choice... but you can come with me. Everywhere. I want you with me, Atsumu, please.”
Atsumu is already shaking his head before Sakusa finishes. His heart cracks in new places and if it hadn’t already been broken, it would’ve completely shattered again. “I can’t come with ya, Omi. I’ve got a life too, ya know?” A long pause, he can feel the crowd getting anxious. Sakusa needs to go back, but he’ll end the concert early if it means he’ll get one last moment with Atsumu. “I wanna be with ya, but this life ain’t for me. I don’t think...”
“You don’t think what?”
“Don’tcha think you should go back?” The question is sudden and it cuts through Sakusa. He should, he was just thinking of it, but he can’t, he won’t, not until he gets some final confirmation.
“I should go back,” he confirms. “Will you wait for me after the show?”
"I dunno Omi. What's in it for me?" Why does he always have to be so difficult? Why can't he just say what he feels? Sakusa knows he’s stalling. But under all of that, Sakusa knows he wants to agree. Sakusa knows that Atsumu doesn’t hate him, and it’s enough to make him smile, just barely.
“I’ll play you a song,” Sakusa compromises. “I’ll buy you dinner. I’ll tell you how good you look tonight. Your ego always loves that.”
The laugh he receives is better than any Sakusa has played, any lyric he’s ever sung, any meal he’s ever tasted. It’s heaven and he’d drop down on his knees and pray if it meant Atsumu would just stay. “You still haven’t played my favorite song,” Atsumu points out and Sakusa can’t tell him that he hasn’t been able to play it for that reason. It’s a fan favorite, yet Sakusa can’t bring himself to sing it. But he will, if it means- “If ya play it, maybe I’ll go to dinner with ya. Then you can tell me how good I look.” The Atsumu in front of him now, as opposed to before, is the one Sakusa remembers before he left.
“Okay.” Sakusa nods in promise, because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything more. He leaves before Atsumu can, because his presence is more urgent, even if Atsumu is his spotlight. When he gets back to the stage the crowd erupts and a wash of relief radiates from his bandmates. He doesn’t apologize, letting them finish their instrumental, watching Atsumu filter back in with the crowd.
Only then does he announce the name of Atsumu’s favorite song as the next one they’d play, throwing his bandmates off once more because they hadn’t practiced that one. Luckily, it’s ingrained in the way they play, so they’re able to play through it, Sakusa smiling throughout. Atsumu looks like he’s enjoying himself, and that’s what matters to him.
Sakusa is itching by the time it’s all said and done and they’re saying goodbye to their fans. As soon as they’re backstage, Iwaizumi is cornering him, “What the fuck was that about?”
“Yeah, I don’t mind playing solos but you have to give us a warning first!” Bokuto whines.
Semi doesn’t say a word, because he can read it all over Sakusa’s face.
“Atsumu’s here. I... I had to see him.” Sakusa wants them to understand. They’ve all been in relationships before, they know what it’s like to love somebody and lose somebody. If they had the opportunity to reconnect with the person they loved most, wouldn’t they take it too?
Iwaizumi runs a hand down his face and just sighs, “Don’t do it again. This is shit Bokuto would do, not you.”
“Hey!” Bokuto whines and Iwaizumi just tugs him away.
“Did it go well?” Semi asks, the two of them following behind the wrestling pair.
“I don’t know... I told him I’d take him to di-” He feels vibrations in his pocket from his phone and Sakusa hastily pulls it out. It’s from Atsumu, telling him to meet him at Onigiri Miya. Sakusa wishes it were somewhere fancier, but considering Onigiri Miya is closed for the evening and they’ll have the whole place to themselves (plus Osamu, most likely), Sakusa can’t really complain. “We’re going to dinner.”
Semi nods and pats him on the shoulder gingerly with a grin, “Use protection, okay?”
Sakusa sends him a scathing glare.
He spends the next half hour showering and changing into clothes that aren’t soaked through with his own sweat. Sakusa has never dressed up for Atsumu before, but he knows if the roles were reversed, Atsumu would be doing everything he could appearance wise to make sure Sakusa would take him back. He has to think like Atsumu, so he puts on a leather jacket, plumps up his curls just a little, and steps off the bus. He slips the mask over his mouth and nose, putting sunglasses over his eyes for the illusion of a disguise. It’s dark out and he’s sure nobody will recognize him anyway.
Besides, the fans know better than to approach him. He remembers Atsumu making fun of him once, calling him a horrible public figure because he wouldn’t take pictures with people. Sakusa doesn’t want to get too close to strangers, breathing the same air as them unless he has to. During concerts is fine, but otherwise...
The windows of Onigiri Miya are shuttered but the door opens just fine, the chimes singing above him as he steps inside. It’s dimly lit, all the chairs turned onto the table tops except for one in the back corner where Atsumu is sitting. Their eyes meet again and much like in the venue, the air is electric. Each step is charged until Sakusa is sitting in front of him.
“You came,” Atsumu only sounds mildly surprised.
“Of course I did.” Should Sakusa be offended? He wants to prove to Atsumu that he wants him back, he needs him back.
“‘Samu made us some food, you must be starvin’ after all that movin’ around.”
The timely rumble of Sakusa’s stomach gives him away and he reaches for one of the Onigiri, taking a bite. They sit in awkward silence while Sakusa eats, Atsumu watching his every move, assessing him. But he never opens his mouth. Sakusa thinks this is probably one of the only times Atsumu hasn’t filled the silence with ramblings.
“Why did you leave?” Sakusa asks when he’s done. If Atsumu isn’t going to talk, then he will.
Atsumu sighs and he links his hands behind his head, “I was tired of bein’ second choice to your career. You know that, Omi. I begged ya not to go on that last tour.”
“I know. But... we had it good, Atsumu. It was only every few months out of the year.”
“Yeah, but I want you with me all the time! I hate having to say goodbye,” Atsumu rubs a hand over his face, leaving it there for a moment. He’s revving up to say something else and Sakusa lets him have the floor rather than yelling over him. “Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I miss you so much it hurts, Omi.”
“Why didn’t you come back then?”
“Come back?” Atsumu laughs, “How could I come back? I thought ya gave up? You called and texted me for a week straight, ya even called ‘Samu, then... nothing. Radio silence. I thought you’d given up. So I gave up too.”
“You’re too stubborn for that,” Sakuse shakes his head, “I wrote a whole album for you. These past few months have been agony... I... I spent every day thinking about what I should have been telling you all along.” Sakusa is uncomfortable. He hates being this vulnerable, telling it how it is. But Atsumu is often an open book, so he thought he’d try that.
“What is that?”
“I love you,” Sakusa looks him in the eye as he says it and he swears he sees Atsumu’s breath hitch. “I love you even when you call me that stupid nickname, even when you drool in your sleep, even when we stay up until one in the morning yelling back and forth about me going on tour or to practice or to record. I feel... empty without you, Atsumu. I really do. I came out to the world tonight for you . To show you how much I love you.”
He waits. He waits and waits and waits and then there’s a blur of blonde hair and soft lips on his, careful fingers tugging at his curls, the weight of a knee in between his thighs as Atsumu kneels on the chair to get closer. “I love you, Omi,” Atsumu breathes against his lips and Sakusa curls his calloused fingers against his waist, pushing his shirt up to feel bare, hot skin. He licks into his mouth with urgency, tasting what he hasn’t in months.
“I can’t promise I won’t leave again,” Sakusa pants as Atsumu mouths at his neck.
“I know, but the world will know you’re mine, and that’s enough for me.” Atsumu growls in his ear and Sakusa’s eyes flutter shut. The warning Semi had given rings in Sakusa’s mind, and Sakusa thinks he’ll have to heed to it once they’re out of the restaurant. But Sakusa is drowning in Atsumu’s intoxicating world, and he’s not ready to set himself free again. Not for a long, long time.