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“I don’t even know where to start.”
“I mean, you’re at the front counter. Probably the right choice.”
Atsumu gives a theatrical sigh. He’s here at the university’s Fine Arts library on a Tuesday afternoon on a quest for a selection of multiple works from classic poets. They’re required reading for his English class; Atsumu considers himself pretty proficient in English, but this course demands poetry analysis and essays also written in English. He’s unfamiliar with the former but much better with the latter, and feels a slight crisis coming on because he’s never analyzed poetry before. Novels with themes and character arcs are much easier.
He’s also trying to flirt with the hot librarian currently manning the front desk.
“Probably?” Atsumu repeats, raising one eyebrow at the librarian. “Not sure if I should stick with my choice, then, with that resoundin’ review.”
The librarian laughs. “Let me see your course list. I have a soft spot for poetry.” Atsumu unlocks his phone and passes it over the counter to the librarian’s outstretched hand. The light from his phone casts a mirror image onto the man’s thin wire-rimmed glasses and Atsumu takes the time to check him out. He’s handsome, tall with dark hair that curls across his forehead to frame two moles sitting above his eyebrow. High cheekbones, strong nose, narrow face; broad shoulders that stretch the black sweater he has over top a black button up. He looks serious, and Atsumu kind of wants to ruffle his feathers.
“We have the Dickinson, Neruda, and Yeats compilations that you need.” The librarian nudges the swinging door to the counter with his hip. “Come with me, I’ll lead you to the poetry section, so you’ll know where to get other books next time.”
“Thanks,” Atsumu says, and falls into step with the librarian. “Are you a Fine Arts student too?”
The librarian shakes his head. “Pharmacy student, actually.” They glance at one another and Atsumu’s face must have the question all over it, because the librarian chuckles. “Why aren’t I working in the science library? Like I said, I have a soft spot for poetry.”
“The reason really can’t be as romantic as that,” Atsumu says, and is pleased when the librarian chuckles again.
“No, you’re right. It was just an open job that was on campus. It doesn’t take much to work the front counter, because the actual librarians with their degrees do the real work in the offices nearby. I just check books out for people.”
“Lots of free time at the front desk, then?”
Librarian shrugs. “Generally. I help people with printer or computer issues, too.”
“Busy man.” Atsumu gets another smile and another half-shrug. They stop at the towering bookshelves and the librarian reaches up to pull a few small books from the shelves.
“I’m partial to Emily Dickinson myself,” Librarian says, and they turn to make their way back to the front desk. “Takeda-sensei’s speciality is contemporary Japanese literature. I’ve heard his course on poetry in English is just as great, so. You’re in good hands.”
“That’s a relief, but I can analyze a poem about as far as I can throw one.”
The librarian gets back behind the counter, books held somewhat protectively. “Please don’t throw the books.”
“I wouldn’t, don’t ya worry. I’d get banned from this place, and I’m not payin’ for these new at the bookstore. The university takes enough money from us,” Atsumu sniffs, and tries not to linger on the full grin on the librarian’s face when he laughs.
“Y’meant it, then? Havin’ a soft spot for poetry?”
The librarian raises his eyebrows and hands the books over.
“I just wanted t’know if you wouldn’t mind helpin’ me if I got stuck,” Atsumu blurts, fumbling through his explanation. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t good at figurin’ poems out. It’s makin’ me nervous.” He snaps his mouth shut to prevent further nervous babbling.
The librarian blinks at him and Atsumu shifts his weight, ready to bolt out.
“Yeah, of course I can.” He nods at Atsumu. “I work pretty often here, so you’ll probably find me whenever you’re in next.”
“Awesome,” Atsumu says through a relieved sigh. “You’re a lifesaver. First gettin’ me the books, then checkin’ them out, and then bein’ cool with me showin’ up to talk poetry.”
“I am a librarian,” he says.
Atsumu scoffs. “Not even a real one.” He snickers at the narrowed eyes he gets in return and flicks open the first page of one book on his way out.
As it turns out, the next time he sees Hot Librarian a week later isn’t even in the library. Atsumu is on his knees in the grass next to the sidewalk, a block or two away from his dorm, murmuring encouragement to a mean looking black cat who is currently warily approaching him and his outstretched hand holding a cooked fish stick. He’s seen this cat roaming around campus for quite a while and it has a reputation for being feral and touchy with humans. Because he’s procrastinating on the way to the library to get some work done, he went and took some leftover fish sticks with him to try to befriend this cat.
He clicks his tongue gently and extends the fish stick further as a peace offering. “C’mere, beautiful,” he coos. “Don’tcha want a fish stick? It’s warm, I just baked ‘em for my dinner.”
The cat eventually makes it close enough to start biting at the fish stick and Atsumu carefully pets its head while it’s eating. When the cat starts to purr, he feels like he’s accomplished something amazing.
“Who are you?” A voice asks from behind him. “I've been trying to befriend that cat for nearly two years.”
Atsumu turns around in his crouched position. It’s the handsome librarian, looming tall on the sidewalk.
“Miya Atsumu, charmed,” he says, and continues petting the cat. “Fish sticks. Easy peasy.”
“I’ve tried fish before,” the librarian says. “Sakusa Kiyoomi. You’ve worked some kind of miracle. Are you a witch?”
Atsumu barks out a laugh. "You think I'm a witch? It’s October, Omi-kun, but really? Me? In this flannel?" Atsumu gestures at himself, then at Sakusa. "Look at you." Sakusa is in his signature black, with tight skinny jeans with a loose tunic tucked in at the belt. A tote bag is slung over one shoulder and a tablet is nestled in the crook of his elbow.
“Alright, you lumberjack,” Sakusa says, huffing a breath of laughter and squinting at Atsumu at the nickname he’s given Sakusa. He crouches to try to pet the cat, who hisses at him. Atsumu tries not to laugh and fails, amending his laughter by pushing the half-consumed fish stick into Sakusa’s outstretched hand. The cat immediately warms to him as well.
“The way to a cat’s heart is through its stomach. I’m pretty sure that’s how the saying goes,” Atsumu says.
“‘Isn't there something wild and uplifting about their complete indifference to the human prospect?’” Sakusa murmurs. At Atsumu’s furrowed brow, he clarifies with, “It’s from a poem called A Lecture on Aphids, by Charles Goodrich.”
"You can just say that I'm better at making friends with animals," Atsumu says. Somehow, he’s captivated by the pretension of poem quotes used in daily conversation. Sakusa rolls his eyes.
"That cat is Satan reincarnated."
"What a good name. Isn't that right, Lucifer?" Atsumu gives a final scratch to the cat’s chin before both of them stand.
“You just have a bunch of poetry lines up those billowing sleeves of yours, Omi-Omi?” They both glance at the loose muslin sleeves of Sakusa’s tunic, pale skin underneath just barely shading the black fabric grey. Atsumu flicks his eyes away from Sakusa’s bicep as soon as he realizes he’s staring.
Sakusa hums. “I like to read it during study breaks. It’s nice to shut my brain off from organic chemistry sometimes.” He waves one hand towards the sidewalk and they begin walking towards the Fine Arts library.
Atsumu makes a retching noise. “I can’t even imagine doin’ organic chemistry. I’d take poetry breaks too, and I’m not even good at readin’ it.”
Sakusa tsks and looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “You keep saying that, but I haven’t read any of your writing on the poems assigned to you. I’m sure you’re doing fine.”
“I did have a question about this week’s analysis, speakin’ of. I really was on the way to the library, I swear,” he says, at Sakusa’s suspicious look. “I got distracted by Lucifer. Emily Dickinson is your girl, yeah?”
Atsumu’s nose scrunches with his wide smile when Sakusa laughs.
“I did say I liked her work, yes.” Sakusa reaches the door and holds it open. “Which poem are we talking about?”
“'Because I could not stop for Death’ and ‘I heard a Fly buzz - when I died’,” Atsumu says. “Compare and contrast.” Sakusa makes a face and Atsumu chuckles at it. “Yeah, I know. It’s a little more involved than the past few weeks of one poem analyses, so I’d like some help for it.”
Sakusa drops his bag behind the counter and points at a stool next to a bookshelf. “You’ll have to give me your impressions of each poem before we start to form some thoughts for the paragraph. I don’t want to accidentally influence your thoughts. Academic integrity is taken very seriously,” he says, and pushes up his glasses after the sentence, like a nerd. Atsumu bites the inside of his cheek to not make a smart comment.
He opens his laptop and they get to work.
For the rest of October, he sees Sakusa at least twice a week to either ask him to take a look at his assignment for the week or to just say hi and study together. Atsumu really likes spending time with him, actually, and finds Sakusa smart, snarky, and fun to be around – even with the occasional quotes from poems that Atsumu hasn’t read yet.
Surprisingly, this is what they bond over the most; finding and sharing lines of poems they’ve read. At first Atsumu just flicks through his borrowed library books to find certain lines he enjoys, but after looking up the poems that Sakusa quotes, he comes to enjoy scrolling through poem websites to find something new. It’s the weirdest form of flirting he’s done yet.
“‘Heaviness of the flesh infests me, my skin that holds me in its nets,’” Atsumu says, throwing up his hands in a lament because he’s dramatically trying to say that Sakusa is better than poetry than him and this assignment is going nowhere. “‘I wish to change shape, as you have done, and be what you are, but that would be untrue also.’ Sumacs, by Margaret Atwood.”
Sakusa shakes his head, amused, and replies with what Atsumu thinks is about their professors putting all their assignments and exams together in one week. “‘About suffering they were never wrong, the old Masters: how well they understood its human position: how it takes place while someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along.’ Musee des Beaux Arts, W.H. Auden.”
“Easy, cowboy,” Atsumu says. “English is hard enough, don’t go mixin’ French into it.” Another librarian tells him to be quiet, and Atsumu takes a sip of tea from his mug while he and Sakusa snicker, chastised.
During their work at the library, Sakusa occasionally brings out mugs of tea for the both of them when they hit the sluggish point of their night shift (Sakusa’s actual night shift and Atsumu’s self-imposed night shift to cram for other courses). They’re various blends of teas and they always manage to help Atsumu feel more energized and reassured. He always peers into the cups over the counter as Sakusa pours water from the electric kettle, and spots books open to different plants and their health benefits where Sakusa’s working on homework.
“That doesn’t look like organic chemistry,” he mutters, and Sakusa snorts.
“I promise I’m not super intensely into holistic medicine. A lot of drugs have natural origins, though, so I find it interesting. Shoutout to aspirin and penicillin.” He lifts a mug towards Atsumu, who takes it with a soft thank you.
“Those aren’t in here, right? What kinda’ witch’s brew is it this time, Omi-kun?” Atsumu moves his face over the steam billowing up from the mug and inhales. It smells crisp and earthy.
“Just oolong in that one. I take offense that you’d think I’d throw my chemistry experiments in here for you to drink; I’m a librarian, not a murderer.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” Atsumu says, and clears his throat. Sakusa leans back in his chair with a smirk on his face because he knows a poem is coming.
“‘Staring at the tiny planet, God calculated again,’” Atsumu begins. He rests his elbows on the countertop and cocks his head at Sakusa. “‘There was no space for a continuous forest, no space for an infinite sea, no matter how endless the search.’”
Atsumu lifts his mug in a toast. “‘And so the invention of your eyes.’” He grins when Sakusa actually blushes, ears going red. “Pattern IV, by Garous Abdolmalekian,” he finishes, with a mock bow in his chair.
“Not bad.” Sakusa takes a sip of tea and shrugs without meeting Atsumu’s eyes.
“C'mon, that was romantic, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu wheedles. “I’m totally charming.”
“Remind me if you can charm Takeda-sensei enough to avoid that 20% late penalty,” Sakusa says, and laughs when Atsumu swears at him and gets back to work.
Atsumu gets one of the highest marks during their midterm and nearly sweeps Sakusa into a hug when he rushes into the library between classes to tell him.
“Hiya, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu says. He’s just arrived from a Friday night commons room party after he remembered, midway through a round of shots, that he has a short essay due after the weekend ends. Sakusa watches him with wariness at Atsumu’s unsteady gait towards the front counter, and then in confusion as Atsumu pulls out a sticky note from his pocket and dangles it from one finger.
“Portrait of the Alcoholic Three Weeks Sober,” Atsumu says, hoping it comes out coherent. “By Kaveh Akbar.” He grins rakishly when Sakusa snorts and takes the sticky note that has writing on it from Sober Atsumu requesting one of E.E. Cummings’ books for his class.
Sakusa quirks an eyebrow and his gaze flicks up and down at Atsumu’s inebriated state. “Looks like a very inaccurate portrait,” he says, and steps out from behind the counter to walk over to the poetry section. Atsumu follows behind and watches the bookshelves blur past them. When they’re standing face to face between the bookshelves as Sakusa hands over the book, Atsumu follows up as usual with a favourite quote from the poem.
“‘So trust me now: when I say thirst, I mean defeated, abandoned-in-faith, lonely-as-the-slow-charge-into-a-bayonet thirst.’”
Sakusa’s dark eyes blink slow and syrupy, searching for something in Atsumu’s face. Atsumu himself blinks hard to try to keep it together. His inhibitions are lowered when buzzed; now that he’s finally interacting with his attraction to Sakusa after stamping it down whenever they studied together, it sways his entire body. All he can see is the shine of the shitty fluorescent lights washing out Sakusa’s complexion. His eyes catch on the open triangle of skin at Sakusa’s collarbone and he can smell the faint scent of pine from how closely they’re standing together.
“‘Imagine the sand forced to watch silt dance in the Nile,’” Atsumu continues, voice low. He leans in. The air feels thick between them and Sakusa’s expression is unreadable. “‘Imagine being the oil boiling away an entire person.’”
Sakusa inhales sharply, as if breaking the surface after being underwater for too long, and takes his arm. The tension is broken when he leads Atsumu back towards the counter to check his book out. Atsumu feels a little light-headed.
“If you wanted a cup of tea, you could’ve just said so,” Sakusa jokes, pushing a small mug into Atsumu’s hands. It smells of ginger and honey. After a few sips, the pounding in Atsumu’s head subsides. Sakusa gives him a wry smile when he sees the fog clear from Atsumu’s eyes.
“Thanks, Omi-kun. What’s in this? It’s magical.”
Sakusa shrugs. “Ginger. You need a clear head to make sure you can really read each of E.E. Cummings’ lines.”
“I came straight from the party,” Atsumu says, sheepish, and laughs along with Sakusa. He pushes their odd moment behind. “Save me my usual spot? Just gotta run back to the dorm real quick to grab my stuff.”
“Make sure you get a coat,” Sakusa says, plucking at a piece of lint on the sheer button up Atsumu has on. “You’re going to catch a cold.”
“Just means more tea,” Atsumu quips, and practically sprints through the autumn chill to get his coat and laptop.
He regrets it a few days later when he’s stumbling towards the library in the late evening near the end of the month. His head is swimming and he’s starting to feel chills; it’s kind of weird that he’d get a cold from five minutes of being outside at night a while ago. He usually runs hot and has a great immune system, if he says so himself.
The sidewalk spins and he stops in the middle of it, blinking hard.
"Atsumu?"
Sakusa is coming towards him down the sidewalk in a long black wool coat. Atsumu tries to wave, but sneezes into his elbow instead.
"'Mi-kun," he says, nose stuffed, and Sakusa's brow creases with concern. He takes in Atsumu's glassy eyes and steps up close to sweep Atsumu's bangs up and press a palm to his forehead. Atsumu's never been gladder Sakusa runs cold; he very nearly whimpers in relief at the cool touch to his overheating skin.
"Are you seriously going to study in the library like that?"
"’M fine,” Atsumu mumbles, but it’s ignored in favor of Sakusa taking him by the arm again and turning him around.
“Wait, stop,” Atsumu says. “Don’t you have a shift, ‘Mi-kun?” In his addled state Atsumu forgets that Sakusa was on his way away from campus, not towards it.
Sakusa shakes his head. “I just wanted to get some fancier coffee from the campus Starbucks. But we’re going to my place now so I can get some meds in you and you can sleep.”
They make their way back to Sakusa’s house a few blocks away. It’s cute, nearly like a little cottage, brown brick and ivy climbing up towards the rooftop. Sakusa unlocks the door and nudges Atsumu inside, who murmurs a “sorry for the intrusion” and nearly trips over the first step in the entryway.
The house is warm and smells like food, as if Sakusa has recently had dinner. The underlying scent of pine is still there and grows stronger when Sakusa manhandles Atsumu towards the couch and throws a blanket over him.
Maybe it’s Sakusa's witch accusations, all black attire, and herbal books are getting to Atsumu’s delirious brain, but he sees some frankly ancient looking books littering the kitchen table and on the shelves and wonders if Sakusa is a witch himself.
His eyes are drawn to a calendar hanging on the wall. The days are crossed out and the last one left open is –
“Shit,” Atsumu whispers. It’s October 31st – Halloween – and it’s a full moon tonight. He’s been so busy he hasn’t been keeping track. And this year, this October has a blue moon.
Some weird nerdy voice in his head that sounds like Sakusa corrects him and states that the current popular term for the second full moon in a month came from a misinterpretation from an amateur astronomer and actually used to refer to a fourth full moon in the astronomical season, but it doesn’t matter. All the pieces click into place as to why he feels awful.
Two full moons in one month for a werewolf is tiring.
Usually, one full moon each month doesn’t exhaust him, but the week before the one-night transformation can be rough as his body works up the energy for it. Atsumu figures the double event on top of exam stress (here in his head he can hear Sakusa talking about cortisol and stress) means his immune system is shot and lo and behold, he’s got a cold.
Atsumu fights the blankets to pull his phone out and check the time. It’s 10pm, which means he has some time to get out of here and back to his dorm where he can transform by himself and prevent anything bad from happening to Sakusa and his house. He’s busy trying to formulate an escape plan and stares off into the distance blankly.
“Here.” Sakusa pushes a large mug of vegetable soup into his hands. “Once you finish that, I’m making you take a shot of cold medicine.”
“Don’t remind me of that night,” Atsumu grumbles, and eats his soup while Sakusa snorts and continues puttering around the house for pillows and blankets.
Once he’s finished the soup, he tries to leave. “I can sleep this one off at my dorm, Omi-Omi, y’don’t have to watch over me. Don’t want you gettin’ sick either.”
Sakusa pushes him back into the couch. “You’re already here and exhausted. Just nap after you take this medicine.” Another mug replaces the soup mug and Atsumu tries to drink it fast, to get it over with. It’s lemony with the aftertaste of bitter cold medicine.
Time passes suddenly; Atsumu wakes up from his unintended nap with a jolt, hand smacking for his phone. He struggles his way out of the blankets and gets to his feet.
The room spins. “Why do my limbs feel so heavy?”
“Cold medicine does make you sleep,” Sakusa replies, getting up from the kitchen table where the laptop casts shadows on his face.
“What's time -" Atsumu shakes his head. One dose of cold medicine and he's somehow incoherent. "What time is it?”
“Almost midnight,” Sakusa says, and that washes any remaining sleepiness or fatigue like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on Atsumu.
“Fuck,” Atsumu says. He blinks and registers the pain that comes with transforming. His bones feel like they’re dissolving.
“Are you okay?” Sakusa is up on his feet and holds Atsumu by the shoulders, eyes flicking across his face. “You need to lay back down – Atsumu!”
“You hafta’ go,” Atsumu grits out, bolting down the hallway to lock himself in Sakusa’s bathroom. He nearly gets the door shut but Sakusa is there pushing it open. Atsumu can feel his incisors extending, sharpening, pushing against his lips. “This is not th’ impression I was tryin’ to make on the hot librarian these past few weeks.”
Sakusa’s mouth twists in amusement. “Where are you going? You’re in my house. I’m trying to take care of the ill hot lumberjack properly, or he’d never let me hear the end of it.”
Atsumu gives him a strained grin. “You, me, ‘nd a pot of whatever the hell tea you want, whenever and wherever. It’s a date. After this.” He tries to shut the door but Sakusa pushes back.
“After what?”
“Omi-kun, c’mon,” Atsumu whines. “I don’t want you to see me like this. Just a few hours in here and I’ll be good to go.”
Sakusa’s brow furrows in confusion. “See you with a cold, you mean? I don’t understand – a cold isn’t humiliating. If you need to vomit or something, do it. And you need to sleep in a bed, not the bathtub. Or on the couch.”
Sakusa shoves harder on the door and it’s easy for him to, since Atsumu’s strength is already depleted from both his cold and the shift of his body into his werewolf form. Atsumu stumbles further into the bathroom. It’s too late to hide – his vision changes, the red on the sleeve of his flannel greying out, and Sakusa’s sharp intake of breath means his secret is revealed.
Atsumu blinks at Sakusa through canine pupils. His ears extend and flick upwards, pointed and tufted with fur.
“You’re a werewolf,” Sakusa breathes, eyes wide with the realization, and Atsumu grits his teeth.
“You have to go,” Atsumu repeats.
“If we’re going to date, I might as well be here when you turn. I’m not afraid.” Atsumu groans. Sakusa is too kind.
“I really don’t want you to see this – “
Sakusa grabs his hand and Atsumu has to stop himself from doing a full body shiver at the contact. “Why not? Are you going to hurt me? I can defend myself.”
Atsumu laughs. “No, definitely not. I’m just – dumb, as a wolf.”
“What?”
The dumbfounded look on Sakusa’s face makes him laugh again. “I don’t want you to see me bark at this mirror for two hours,” Atsumu continues, already stepping into the bathtub to curl into it. “It’s really, really embarrassin’. I wish I coulda’ told you this before transformin’, would’ve saved whatever’s left of my dignity.”
Hopefully he’s exhausted enough in his human form to convince the wolf one to just nap it out. Sakusa shakes his head and then waves his hand in the air. His cellphone floats in from the living room into his hand.
Atsumu feels like the air’s been sucked out of his lungs. “What,” he parrots.
“In the interest of complete honesty because we’re going on a date after this, I’m a witch.” Sakusa closes the door behind him.
“So those teas y'gave me – "
“Just chamomile, or oolong, or whatever I said at the time,” Sakusa reassures. “I never lied. I wouldn’t use magic on you without consent.”
“Pin that in the corkboard of what to discuss after this,” Atsumu says, wiggling his eyebrows to Sakusa’s amused huff at the innuendo. “Well met, witch. After you accused me of being one because Lucifer the cat likes me better than you?”
“He’s a brat. I figured it would’ve taken actual witchcraft to make him like anyone.”
“It’s just frozen fish sticks, Omi-Omi.” Then Atsumu remembers what’s going on. “’Kay, shoo. Lemme just be a dumb dog in here all by my lonesome.”
Sakusa brandishes his phone, open to the camera application. “Nope. I’m gonna pet you until you drool and get it on camera.”
“Pin that in the corkboard of what to discuss after this,” Atsumu repeats, and gets to see Sakusa’s blush unfurl across his face before his vision whites out.
Atsumu never remembers much from his transformations. There are just flashes of things he’s been up to as a wolf. When he and Osamu were bitten and turned after playing in the woods as children too late at night, they’d spend their time running together in the forest or snoozing in the yard.
With Sakusa, he remembers three things: Warm hands on his ears, a balled-up sock, and the scent of pine trees in Sakusa’s bed.
He wakes up in human form clad in his grey shirt he had underneath his flannel and his grey sweatpants when the sun is filtering through the blinds.
“’M gonna kill you the second I’m fully conscious,” he mumbles into the pillow. He opens one eye to see Sakusa leaning against the doorframe with a mug in his hands. Sakusa is sleep rumpled this Sunday morning, also in a t-shirt and sweatpants in the colour of his signature black.
An amused smile plays at the corners of Sakusa’s mouth. Atsumu is tempted to launch out of bed to catch it with his own lips.
Sakusa takes a sip. “Is this because I videotaped you yelling at the stream of water that came out of the bathtub tap?”
“That and the fact that you tossed the sock but really, you hid the sock.” He grumbles some expletives into the pillow when Sakusa laughs.
Atsumu sits up, scrubbing his hands across his face and hair. He feels like a mess and must look it too, but if he’s reading the warmth in Sakusa’s eyes right, he’s sure Sakusa doesn’t mind.
Atsumu makes his way over. “You’re cruel, Omi-Omi,” he says, and shoves his face into Sakusa’s neck. His hands span Sakusa’s hips and tug him close.
Sakusa has the mug held high up in the air so it’s out of the way with one hand and the other slides up Atsumu’s spine. He shudders, and Sakusa chuckles.
“Worth it,” Sakusa says. “I think I’d go viral with how adorable it was. There’s breakfast, if you want.”
“Best one-night stand that wasn’t a one-night stand,” Atsumu replies, and watches a blush bloom up Sakusa’s neck up close. “You’re an angel, Omi-kun. I’d kiss ya, but I’ve gotta brush my teeth first.”
Sakusa scoffs. “I’m a witch, not an angel. Have you ever tried dog treats in your wolf form?”
Atsumu straightens and heads for the bathroom. “You lookin’ to train me, Omi-Omi? Either human or not, I can promise I’d be a good boy.” He adds an atrocious wink over his shoulder to punctuate the sentence and Sakusa snorts into his mug.
“Does that mean I’d get to put a collar on you?”
Atsumu chokes on toothpaste.
“Honestly,” he says, sentence muffled with the spare toothbrush in his mouth, “I’d do almost anythin’ you’d ask of me, Omi-kun.” Atsumu resumes scrubbing his teeth.
Once he finishes, he says, “Bewitchin’, and all that. How could I ever resist?” He gestures at all of Sakusa and gets another snort from the pun.
“Terrible. Let’s add that to the corkboard and we can discuss it over waffles.”
Atsumu hums and loops one hand around the back of Sakusa’s neck, hovering close with the unspoken question. It’s a little irksome that Sakusa is taller than him.
“Effort at Speech Between Two People, Muriel Rukeyser,” Sakusa says, into the space between them. Atsumu thinks of when they were this close in the library, and kind of wants to cut Sakusa off by kissing him, overwhelmed with endearment because he realizes now that Sakusa interrupted their moment in the library because Atsumu was buzzed and he wanted to be sure about this - about them.
“‘I want now to be close to you. I would link the minutes of my days close, somehow, to your days.’”
Atsumu smiles. Sakusa tilts his head to one side and Atsumu gently slots their mouths together, tasting hibiscus tea with the slide of Sakusa’s tongue against his.
His stomach growls, interrupting the moment, and they break apart with a laugh.
Best Halloween ever.