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They’re neck and neck, the other team leading only by two points. However, if the other team pulls ahead with just one more, then it’s all over for them. Game, set, match.
Tension swirls in the heady atmosphere of the gym, reeking of sweat and adrenaline. The artificial aftertaste of the sports drink remains stuck in the back of Sakusa’s throat as he scans the players from the other side of the net. He swallows thickly, eyes laser focused on the slightest shift of a foot, scrutinizing the split-second turn of a head.
The sound of the whistle slices through the air and Bokuto, pure muscle and force, sends the ball flying with his jump serve. Inunaki foresees the ball’s trajectory and swiftly positions himself for a receive, but someone else cuts in front of him and Sakusa could only smirk in equal parts annoyance and pride.
“Shoyou-kun!”
Atsumu is a form to behold as he tosses the ball. A menacing mix of technique and athleticism that makes him both a reliable teammate and a formidable opponent. In that very instant, Atsumu’s words echo in Sakusa’s head.
Omi-kun, did you know that if you see someone eat like they’re real hungry, you’d feel hungry too?
It’s frustrating how right he is because as Sakusa shuffles his feet in anticipation for the ball, he feels the hunger roil in some deeper part of himself. An almost primal want to reach higher, be faster. To do better . And witnessing Atsumu during a game, the potent manner in which he craves for the sport, sets off something almost akin to competitiveness. To see who can indulge himself the most in this feast.
The set is absolutely exquisite, Sakusa notes, as the ball sails through the air, ready for Hinata who makes an impressive leap to spike the ball for a textbook back attack. It lands with a piercing thud on the other side, just a few inches away from the end-line. The aftermath is a beat of stillness on the court.
That was perfect.
Coach Foster blows the whistle for the final time that evening. “Alright, that’s a win for Team Katsudon.”
Cheers erupt from the other side of the net and Sakusa spots Atsumu pulling in Hinata for an eager side-hug, ruffling the messy orange mop of hair on Hinata’s head while commending him for the spike. A flash of something uncomfortable curls in his chest, so perplexingly foreign that Sakusa’s natural response to it is to smother it before it tries to take root. He sees Atsumu looking at him and he’s giving Sakusa this playful, but still well-meaning grin that has the shadow of a gloat written all over it. Sakusa could have just rolled his eyes the way Atsumu expected, but instead he looks away.
What’s wrong with me?
“That was great, Hinata!” Bokuto booms from behind Sakusa. “But mark my words, Team Curry Rice will win next time!”
“You do know that we get rotated every practice match, right?” Inunaki quips as he begins his cool down stretches.
“I’m still getting my revenge either way,” Bokuto insists stubbornly. “But that was seriously cool, Hinata! And you too, Tsum-Tsum!”
“All in a day’s work, Bokkun.” Sakusa hears the unmistakable kansai-ben drawl from his right and he notices that Atsumu has already sidled close to him.
They share a look that’s quickly stunted when Sakusa goes back to drinking out of his water bottle.
Atsumu does the same but just as he's about to bring the water bottle to his lips, he hangs back a moment then gently nudges Sakusa with his elbow. “That was a really mean cross-court shot you did back there, Omi-kun.”
Now it’s never been in Sakusa’s nature to find pleasure in flattery or praise. In fact, he can’t even recall any recent moment wherein he had felt a remote boost to his ego when he was applauded for something he knew he should have been doing in the first place. Always passive, always level-headed. Yet right now, as he lets Atsumu's words sink in, it feels like there are tendrils of something warm that’s slithering from below his ribcage and suddenly there’s a hitch in his throat and he’s coughing out as water slides down the wrong pipe.
It dawns on him. This is a reaction to being complimented. And what could have possibly prompted this, Sakusa is too wary to try and find out.
“Whoa you okay?” Atsumu brings a reassuring hand to his back.
Sakusa heaves out a final cough, his throat just on the brink of being raw. "Just drank too fast. That's all."
"Geez be careful," Atsumu moves his hand to Sakusa's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "I promise you you're not gonna run out of water, Omi-kun."
The gesture coupled with the slightly teasing lilt in Atsumu's voice seem to yank Sakusa out of his earlier befuddled stupor and all he feels are the gradually rescinding waves of endorphins.
The usual post-match chatter ensues, recaps and highlights which for the most part are made of boyish taunts over bloopers and fumbles during the game.
Sakusa hears more peals of laughter among the haggard bunch, but of course the immediate fondness that strikes him is when he casts a glance in Atsumu's direction, catching his enthused smile that's as winsome as the day is long.
Endorphins be damned, the oxytocin high is something he can get used to all day instead.
"Okay everyone hurry up with cooling down and go get changed," Coach Foster announces. "Also before I forget, where's Kiyoomi-kun?"
Sakusa was in the middle of stretching his legs out, but he quickly scrambles to his feet. "Here, Coach."
Their coach regards his answer with a nod. "See me after you get changed. I have something important to tell you."
Atsumu snaps his head around to look at Sakusa who only shrugs at him.
Meian, quick to notice the sense of unease in the air, claps his hands. "You heard the coach, guys. Finish your cool downs.”
As Sakusa sinks back down to resume his stretches, Atsumu scoots closer until they’re at a distance to converse without having to raise their voices.
“It’s probably nothing,” Atsumu reassures him. “Maybe he’ll just need a follow up on your injury or something.”
Sakusa begins to rub his calf, but he pauses upon reaching the knee he had sprained.
“Perhaps so,” he says more to himself than in response to Atsumu.
It nearly startles Sakusa when he feels the familiar weight of Atsumu’s touch just at the base of his head, an act usually reserved in the quiet of their bedrooms or in empty parks during their nightly jogs. He almost gives Atsumu a pointed look, but recalls that the team has already been made privy to their dating status so he allows him to prod his sweat-matted curls. He could easily lean into it, he muses, but he stomps on this urge and simply saves it for another time.
Atsumu eventually withdraws his hold as he entertains an approaching Hinata with whom he shares a friendly high-five. They share impassioned remarks about today’s play, matching beagle-like energies and exchanging hyperbolics and superlatives. And as Sakusa takes an occasional peek at the two, he somehow can’t help but think of the same hand that had just tenderly held him and the burst of orange that had earlier been underneath it, the too bright tufts poking through his boyfriend's setter fingers. And soon that feeling in his chest creeps up once more. This time, however, Sakusa's not too confident he could put it out in a jiff.
“They want me to do what now?”
Coach Foster laughs and Sakusa can’t tell whether it’s from the news the coach just shared or if it’s out of amusement over his flustered reaction. Either way, Sakusa is just mildly relieved that his admittedly crude and uncharacteristic response didn’t earn him an earful, but this still hardly overrides his feelings of disbelief.
“You heard that right, Kiyoomi-kun,” Coach Foster says. “They’re doing a V.League Star Rookies spread for next month’s issue of Volleyball magazine and they want you to be a part of it.”
His left hand circles his right wrist, his thumb instinctively rubbing the stretch of skin.
“But I’m not really photogenic,” he admits in desperate hope of escaping this predicament.
“I don’t think they’re gonna care,” their coach dismisses. “They know you’re an athlete, not a model. So it's their job to make you look presentable enough for the magazine. Bottomline is that you just gotta show up and they’ll take care of everything else.”
Sakusa knows he’s fighting a losing battle so he waves his white flag and accepts defeat.
“So this is two days from today?” he clarifies, holding back an exasperated sigh.
Coach Foster nods. “You just have to be here at the gym before noon.”
He can already feel the deep lines appear on his forehead and it seems that the coach has noticed it too.
“It’ll be fun, Kiyoomi-kun! Just imagine that you’re a popular celebrity,” he tells Sakusa.
Coach Foster’s excitement is definitely palpable, but hardly contagious as Sakusa hesitantly accedes with a prompt thank you to punctuate his acceptance.
A celebrity? That’s the last thing I would want to imagine myself to be.
When he finally meets up with Atsumu outside, he doesn’t tell him immediately about his scheduled shoot and interview, and thankfully, Atsumu knew better than to hastily pry withheld information. Instead they just walk in silence until Sakusa bumps Atsumu with his shoulder.
“That was a great toss today by the way,” Sakusa tells him. “You’re seriously terrifying.”
Atsumu beams like the sun at him. “You really think so?”
“Don’t push your luck,” Sakusa replies. But Sakusa is willing to push his as he lets an inkling of those prior urges seep through just enough to let him take Atsumu’s hand, the one that’s been swinging at his side this entire time. And as naturally as the sun rises at dawn, they lace their fingers together with all the carefully rehearsed grace of two people who are steadily becoming more attuned to one another.
A contemplated comeback dies somewhere between them, but Atsumu makes an alternate response by squeezing Sakusa’s hand with just the right amount of intuitive force that makes Sakusa blush underneath his face mask.
It’s been too long of a day, Sakusa thinks. But at least he’s gotten some good out of it.
***
The obscenely loud crunch of the tonkatsu almost surprises Atsumu after he takes a satisfying first bite, but then he remembers who it was who had purchased the bento meal and had subsequently bribed him with it.
Usually tonkatsu shouldn’t be this crispy after spending some time in a pre-packaged box, but Sakusa has always been a person of quality and so when he had asked Atsumu to accompany him to a literal magazine shoot during his day off, the begrudging wing spiker had thrown in an extravagant bento meal offer which to Atsumu was definitely amusing in and of itself.
“You know you don’t really have to get me food or anything for that matter,” Atsumu had told him. “I’ll go with you if you just ask.”
“You say that as if you’re not already anticipating whatever it is I’ll be purchasing,” Sakusa had snarked as they continued to peruse the supermarket aisles.
Atsumu couldn’t exactly deny that one, but he had just brushed it aside. “Either way I’m not kidding when I said that I’d go willingly. I mean, we are dating. Isn’t this just like...another thing couples are supposed to do for one another?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly a fountain of wisdom when it comes to that,” Sakusa had said and they had left it at that when they finally reached the bento aisle and Atsumu’s baser instincts had kicked in naturally.
The gym where their team would usually spend hours wasting away until they’re sweat-soaked and heaving is barely recognizable with the way light stands and light diffusers have already been pitched around one of the volleyball courts.
Sakusa had been pulled aside in a hurried haze the moment they had arrived and so Atsumu has now been relegated to sitting in the figurative and literal sidelines, digging into the bento meal as Sakusa had predicted.
It definitely bruises his ego at times to be so easily read by Sakusa like that, but on one hand Atsumu does feel the tides of giddy delight lap at his senses when he considers this kind of dynamic as just another cog in their ever evolving dating machinations. To be able to catch each other’s smallest tells, to recognize one another’s seemingly insignificant habits and quirks. And so Atsumu continues to sit there, teeth sinking into the tonkatsu’s crispy exterior, wholly pleased that Sakusa could lean on him during such a momentous occasion in his volleyball career.
Eventually, Sakusa does arrive on set. Clad in their Black Jackals uniform, his slightly awkward gait doesn’t go unnoticed, well at least in the eyes of Atsumu who’s looking at him with the pride of a teammate and someone who’s definitely more than just that.
As much as Sakusa would like to insist that he’s far from modelesque (as per the sufficient grumbling he’s been doing since yesterday), Atsumu has called bullshit on that opinion because, boyfriend biases aside, he knows point-blank that Sakusa Kiyoomi is objectively attractive. The once lanky frame of his teenage boyhood had been replaced with firmer arms and a broader back. He had also grown into his features quite splendidly--the shapely brows, the slope of his nose, and the cut of his jaw. And as if all of that wasn’t enough, Sakusa had breached 190cm in height. Clearly God has favorites, Atsumu had once thought.
Initially, his unassuming physical charms were a cause of grief for Atsumu whose budding crush had only reached insurmountable heights when Sakusa had signed with the Black Jackals, thereby effectively condemning Atsumu to flustered blushes in secret. But now that they’re dating, something else would occasionally twist deep inside Atsumu, a feeling he’d unfailingly consider as purely irrational. However it does tend to grow legs on certain occasions and Atsumu would find himself second-guessing the specific looks that both women and men would send Sakusa’s way, looks that would flip a switch in Atsumu so that he’s suddenly itching to hold Sakusa, to claim him in front of everyone else (which through sheer force of will, he doesn’t act on).
Perhaps it could be the lingering nature of being a twin, Atsumu had supposed. An unspoken rule of what’s mine is mine, what’s yours is yours. Of course, as with any foolish rumination, Atsumu doesn’t divulge any of this to Sakusa.
Atsumu is halfway through his meal when the photographer and his assistant start briefing Sakusa about the shoot. And despite being a foot taller than everyone else on set, the obvious specks of his anxiety make him appear small, frankly resulting in Atsumu to feel sorry for him especially since he’s been compelled to forego his face mask for the time being.
The photographer confirms everyone’s status on set before asking Sakusa, who’s already in position by the volleyball net, if he’s also good to go. He only nods politely at the photographer.
“Alright, Sakusa-senshuu let’s do a couple test shots first,” the photographer informs him while raising the bulky camera to his face.
Sakusa nods again and almost immediately, Atsumu hears the rapid clicking sounds of the camera. He looks at Sakusa who startles at the initial onslaught of shutter noises.
Not long after, the photographer lowers the camera and assesses the shots. “Just, err, please try to relax a bit.”
Atsumu is certain that Sakusa’s fighting every urge to roll his eyes at the unhelpful comment and that almost makes Atsumu want to snicker. But then his boyfriend’s too tangible nerves only give way to more uncomfortable shifts of his feet and eventually, his left hand has latched onto his right wrist, prompting the ritualistic stroke of his thumb by the pulse point.
Oh Omi-kun...
The photographer seems to notice this too, but instead he compensates by dialing up his exuberance to an almost cringey extent, throwing pose suggestions in too lively of a manner which does nothing to mitigate the densely awkward energy on set.
Atsumu reckons that it would only be a matter of time before Sakusa reaches his limits and becomes too caught up in his head and predictably enough, Sakusa raises a stiff hand before opening his taut mouth to speak.
“I’m really sorry, but can I just take a minute?” Sakusa says.
“Of course,” the photographer relents. “Let’s take a quick break.”
Sakusa doesn’t waste any time walking off set, muttering a stream of apologies under his breath as he quickens his steps towards the entrance leading to the locker room. Atsumu would have automatically jumped up and chased after him, but he’s got enough sense to know that would only rouse suspicions. Not exactly ideal when they’re under the watchful gazes of scoop-digging media personnel. So he carefully snaps shut the lid of his bento box first, then shoves it inside the plastic bag before nonchalantly announcing to the staff that he’ll try to check up on Sakusa.
“Omi-kun? You in here?” Atsumu peeks inside their locker room. He spots Sakusa on one of the benches, head hung and thumb vigorously rubbing circles on the inside of his right wrist.
“Hey,” Atsumu whispers as he takes a seat beside him. “How are you feeling?”
“This was a bad idea,” Sakusa quickly confesses. “I’m just outside of my element and it honestly feels like it’s a lot.”
Atsumu doesn’t say anything to that. He’s never been too good with words anyway. But what he lacks in eloquence he’s been able to so far make up with in action. No longer hesitant, Atsumu lightly skims the back of Sakusa’s head with his palm, naturally curling his fingers at the base and slowly kneading away the tension that seems to have accumulated there over time.
It doesn’t take long for Sakusa to relax under his touch and ultimately let his head fall on Atsumu’s shoulder. His fiddling has also come to a full stop, both hands already dropping onto his lap.
“I’m here, Omi-kun.”
“I know,” Sakusa answers.
They stay together like that, still and silent in the very same space they’ve shared with other people many times over and as a consequence, any overt act of intimacy had to be limited. So they relish in this short-lived instance, to be so close and so near without reason other than to give and take comfort.
Sakusa, keen as ever concerning the passage of time, lifts his head and after a sharp intake of breath, pushes himself off the bench.
“I better get back out there,” he tells Atsumu.
Atsumu knows that judging by his posture, the cadence of his voice, and the certainty in his eyes that no further intervention is needed. “Yeah, of course. But you should definitely go ahead first.”
“Noted,” Sakusa says. But just before he takes any more steps, he turns on his heel and looks at Atsumu. “Thank you for being here, by the way.”
“You’re very welcome,” Atsumu replies with what he hopes carries enough assurance to last Sakusa the rest of the day.
At this point in their relationship, what transpires next shouldn't have caught Atsumu off-guard. But Sakusa is always one step ahead and Atsumu is too lacking in lofty expectations, so when Sakusa yanks him close and kisses him--briefly but deeply--he could only gasp like it's the first time all over again.
“You know you really should learn how to warn a guy,” Atsumu says too weakly for his liking.
And without any spare regard for Atsumu’s request, Sakusa gives him a questioning stare, his tongue swiping once across his bottom lip before he utters one word that would unknowingly have more impact than it could provide in any other context.
“Tonkatsu.”
“What?”
“That’s what your mouth tastes like.”
The searing burn that crawls all the way up from Atsumu’s chest to the tops of his cheeks is downright merciless.
“I-I’m never letting you kiss me ever again!” he threatens lamely.
Sakusa only laughs at him, finally leaving the locker room with noticeably far less nerves as when he had entered it.
And for once in Atsumu’s life, he finally experiences what it’s like to lose and win at the same time.
Sakusa goes through his stationary shots a lot more smoothly. Still a far cry from a seasoned fashion model, but the outcome is above average enough to satisfy both the photographer and Sakusa.
“That was good!” the photographer relays rather convincingly. “Next let’s take some photos of you spiking the ball.”
As if on cue, a staff approaches the net, ball already in hand.
“Tetsuki-kun here will work with you for these next shots,” the photographer says, motioning to the staff. “He’s worked with other players many times before so you can count on him to give you the tosses you need.”
Atsumu’s attention is instantly piqued because even though it hasn’t been a full year since Sakusa has signed with the Black Jackals, Atsumu has known him and his abilities for far longer. He knows Sakusa’s range like the back of his hand, understands which particular tosses could fully optimize his spiking skillset. And thus he finds himself sizing up this person who’s been assigned to supposedly bring out the best in Sakusa in a way for it to translate well on camera.
“Alright I think everyone’s all set, so let’s start!” The photographer, boundlessly energetic as ever, has moved a few feet back before squatting in position. “Whenever you’re ready, Sakusa-senshuu.”
Give ‘em hell, Omi-kun.
It’s quiet on set, the anticipation running high for collegiate MVP and now pro league star rookie Sakusa Kiyoomi. But even as a good thirty seconds have passed, he doesn’t give Tetsuki the go-signal or any signals for that matter.
“Is anything wrong?” the photographer asks.
“Actually,” Sakusa turns away from the net until he’s looking straight at--
Me?
“If it’s not too much to ask, but I would like for him to be the one to toss to me,” Sakusa tells the photographer, gesturing to where Atsumu has been sitting pretty for the past hour or so. “Again, if it’s not too much…”
“Ahh, Miya-senshuu!” the photographer exclaims as if Atsumu had just appeared out of nowhere. “Of course, of course! It would be a pleasure to see two talented athletes in motion.”
What are you doing?! Atsumu mouths at Sakusa who only gives him a look that’s definitely saying just get your ass over here.
Atsumu sighs, then he slips off his jacket and tosses it onto his seat before walking over to the volleyball net.
Right off the bat, Atsumu is awashed in the thick heat of all the artificial lighting and he’s squinting as he steps on set. While taking the ball from Tetsuki, he doesn’t miss the opportunity to whisper a ‘what are you thinking?’ to Sakusa when he passes by him. As expected, Atsumu doesn’t receive any response.
“Is everybody all set?” the photographer asks them.
And Sakusa’s dark eyes are on Atsumu, a pair of piercing ebonies that soften considerably once it locks with Atsumu’s honey browns.
“Let’s do it like we always do.”
Atsumu couldn’t smile any wider even if he tried. “You got it.”
Everything happened in a blur--Sakusa bumping the ball into a perfect arch, Atsumu flexing muscle memory as he executes the kind of toss he is beyond certain could only best highlight the accumulated years of Sakusa’s prowess and effort, and ultimately Sakusa going in for the kill. A line shot. A cut shot. A cross-court shot. Just one ball after another.
And it’s just the two of them, swathed in the smoldering embrace of too bright luminescence. Tunnel vision personified in the way they’ve tuned out the rapid fire clicks of the camera, the murmurs that have erupted on set. It’s an effortless free fall, Atsumu thinks. When it’s volleyball and Sakusa, he’ll dive in head first without caution.
They only snap out of it when the photographer cuts through their trance with a boisterous remark.
“These are by far some of the best photos I have ever taken!” he tells them both. “You’re definitely a natural, Sakusa-senshuu. The camera loves you after all.”
While the compliments were directed at Sakusa, Atsumu still allows pride to swell in him. An affirmation elicited by his personal setter instincts as well as the plain and simple joy of seeing one's boyfriend succeed and turn around an initially unpleasant experience.
"All's left is your interview and then we can finally call it a day," the photographer says.
"Sorry I'm late!" A voice cries from the entrance of the gym. "Got caught in an emergency."
The photographer chuckles as he folds his arms across his chest. "Well speak of the devil."
A petite woman with shoulder-length hair rushes inside, press ID swaying from her neck. And just behind her, Atsumu spots a much taller man whose face he thinks he's definitely seen before.
Is that the Deseo Hornets set--
"Iizuna-san?"
"Kiyoomi!"
Deseo Hornets setter, Iizuna Tsukasa.
Iizuna approaches Sakusa and without delay pulls him in for a hug. In an absolutely rare occurrence, Sakusa Kiyoomi doesn't grimace or flinch upon contact. Instead he actually welcomes it, reciprocating the familiar greeting.
And Omi-kun's former teammate.
"Look at you!" Iizuna says after they've parted. "Just fresh out of university and already the apple of everyone's eyes."
The corner of Sakusa’s mouth quirks up. A modest grin. “I really can’t take all the credit, Iizuna-san. After all, you were a fairly reliable source of support when we played together in university.”
“Aww Kiyoomi you’re being way too humble!” Iizuna says, throwing his right arm across Sakusa’s shoulders before he playfully ruffles his black curls. “I know I’ve said this before, but I wish you could have acted this cute when we were in high school!”
Sakusa looks unamused. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about..”
In that instant, something coils in Atsumu’s chest. A strangely nostalgic sensation that evokes scenes of him at seven years of age, scowling at his twin brother after their grandfather had given Osamu two extra pieces of mochi. Of him at age eleven when he had hidden Osamu’s Vabo-chan keychain which had been his twin’s reward for earning the most progress points at volleyball camp. And of him at thirteen, tirelessly training to become their team’s official setter after Osamu’s appointment as such.
And as Atsumu continues to bear witness to the mini reunion between his boyfriend and another man he pains to admit is definitely not lacking in the looks department, the feeling travels from his chest to his gullet, all the way upwards until--
“So this is Tsukasa-kun,” Atsumu interjects as he extends his left hand. “It’s nice to be able to formally meet you.”
Iizuna drops his arm from Sakusa’s shoulders then takes Atsumu’s hand before giving it a firm shake. “Well if it isn’t Miya Atsumu. It’s a pleasure to formally meet you as well.”
Atsumu doesn’t release his hold, but opts to put on a smile that’s on the verge of a sneer. “I’m looking forward to our team winning this weekend, by the way.”
A vaguely sardonic chuckle greets Atsumu’s taunt. “Never knew the Black Jackals had such a feisty player on its roster.”
The drawn up comeback never gets to leave Atsumu’s lips however because Sakusa has already placed a hand on his shoulder. An insignificant gesture to the untrained eye, but to Atsumu it’s Sakusa essentially saying think before you open your trap.
“Speaking of the game this weekend,” Sakusa chimes in, attempting to steer the conversation. “How come you’re in Osaka already, Iizuna-san?”
Iizuna glances at the direction of the woman from earlier. “See that girl over there? That’s actually my older sister, and today’s her birthday. So I thought I’d swing by early to have dinner with her.”
“I see,” Sakusa says. “I assume she’s the one interviewing me today which means I better go ahead. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of any delays in your schedule.”
“Yes,” Atsumu agrees with obvious enthusiasm. “You should definitely go and do your interview now, Omi-kun.”
Sakusa curtly throws him a pointed look before facing Iizuna. “Well then, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course” Iizuna says. “Oh, and Kiyoomi, we should really go out some time while I’m here.”
Atsumu glances over at Sakusa, mouth already pressed into a tight line. He looks to be mulling over the invitation, and in that instant, time feels like it’s crawling at an unnerving snail's pace as Atsumu braces himself for whatever Sakusa’s response will be.
“I’ll...check my schedule,” Sakusa tells Iizuna, concluding the seemingly drawn out silence.
“Well, you have my number,” Iizuna claps Sakusa once on the back. Again, hardly a flinch or even a disgusted sideways look. “I’ll be around ‘til the day after our match.”
Sakusa only answers with a quick nod, and as he walks away from them both, Atsumu begins to wonder why despite having just consumed a hearty bento meal, there’s a sudden inexplicable hollowness in the pit of his stomach.
***
The dormitory is quiet when they arrive. Perhaps someone else was at home, but neither of them had tried to confirm it. And as it had been after Sakusa’s interview and during the entire taxi ride home, their exchanges were few and sparse, culminating in them retreating into their respective rooms without so much as a word.
Atsumu knows he could have said something-- anything --but just as Sakusa had effortlessly deduced Atsumu’s susceptibility to food, the setter in turn could tell when keeping the word count at an absolute minimum was the more appropriate course of action to take. And it gets him to thinking that perhaps becoming too acquainted with one another’s mannerisms and idiosyncrasies does have a downside to it, and somehow, the perfectionist in Atsumu sets off a restlessness over realizing that he has yet to get it all right. Unfortunately, Atsumu Isn't exactly the most patient person in the world.
He decides that maybe a long shower would help bring a sense of clarity to him, but even as he stands under the scalding downpour to rinse out the suds, what only emerges from water and steam is the undeniably humiliating truth that he, Miya Atsumu, had been jealous. And he hates the way this reality crashes down on him with such a force that it only seems to strengthen the reality that it’s always been there somehow. Dormant and simply lying in wait. And how the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back was him having front row seats to that earlier display between Sakusa and Iizuna and the inevitable aftermath of grappling with the fact that there are other people whom Sakusa has reached a distinct comfortable consensus with.
That, in the end, it’s not just him .
Atsumu dries himself off before slipping on his boxers and his shorts. He spots the mirror by the sink, wipes off the steam, then looks at his own reflection.
“Just talk to him,” he tells himself before finally exiting the bathroom. Not entirely confident, but still resolute.
He goes over his mental script as he walks down the hall. Once he reaches his room, he swings the door open and--
“Holy fuck!” Atsumu yelps, nearly dropping his towel to the floor.
“Why are you so dramatic?” Sakusa says. “It’s just me.”
“Well I didn’t know you were gonna be in here!” Atsumu snaps. “You literally almost gave me a heart attack geez.”
Sakusa looks faintly apologetic, but instead of a ‘sorry’, he just pats the space beside him. On Atsumu’s bed. “Let’s talk.”
It really shouldn’t have to be that nerve-wracking yet Atsumu’s already starting to worry that the clamoring thump against his chest has gotten too embarrassingly loud--an inopportune distraction that could easily cause him to trip over his words.
Yet he manages to hold Sakusa’s gaze steady as he lowers himself until he’s joining him on his bed.
Okay, first step: If he’s the one who initiates, don’t make assumptions.
“So what did you wanna talk about?” Atsumu asks.
“At the gym today,” Sakusa starts. “What happened wasn’t exactly...ideal.”
“Umm, what do you mean?” Atsumu says, taking inventory of even the slightest visual cues. “Because I think your shoot went really well in the end.”
Sakusa shakes his head. “That’s not it. I was actually pertaining to when Iizuna-san arrived on set today.”
Next: apologize and do not deflect. By all means, do not deflect.
“Listen, Omi-kun I--”
“I had gotten jealous, is what I’m trying to say.”
Atsumu knew he was definitely gawking. “W-what?”
A tinge of pink blooms all over Sakusa’s cheeks and across his nose bridge. A deep contrast to the way he has furrowed his eyebrows.
“Banter has always been our thing ,” Sakusa says while averting his gaze, his left thumb already commencing to relentlessly swipe across his right wrist. “And it felt odd, to say the least, to see you do it with so much ease with another person.”
Atsumu couldn’t decide whether to cry or to laugh. He ends up doing neither, but instead reaches out to snatch Sakusa’s left hand and wholly taking it in his own hands.
“I think that makes two of us,” Atsumu confesses.
Now it was Sakusa’s turn to stare at him in surprise. “ You were jealous of Iizuna-san?”
“Bingo,” was Atsumu’s answer and at this point, he has effectively thrown away every carefully prepared reply and explanation he had initially wanted to bring up because plans be damned if being in a relationship just means you are doomed to experiencing plot twist after plot twist.
Luckily, Atsumu has always enjoyed surprises.
“It’s stupid like you said and I’ll definitely work on it,” Atsumu promises. “Because you chose me and I chose you and that’s saying something, right? And he was just your really good friend so of cour--”
“Atsumu,” Sakusa cuts him off and in the midst of his heated word vomit, Sakusa has already moved much closer to him. “You’re doing your rambling thing again.”
And this time, Atsumu sees it coming. The way Sakusa brings his face close to his, the slight tilt of his head, and finally a pair of lips against his and he’s melting . The nerves and the tension swiftly being replaced with everything wonderful and lovely and the shameless joy of being the one Sakusa’s chosen. To be Sakusa’s person.
What happens next, however, could not have been foreseen by Atsumu as he startles when he feels hands pushing him down, his bare back meeting the roughness of his sheets, the fabric of Sakusa’s shirt against his abdomen and chest.
The kisses only grow deeper, hungrier and they grab and cling onto each other with such fervor that Atsumu almost feels faint from feeling too much and wanting too much all at the same time.
And as if reading him completely (which Atsumu knows he probably did), Sakusa pauses and lets them both catch their breaths.
Sakusa looks positively feverish with the jarring flush on his cheeks, lips swollen, and eyes heavy-lidded as he pants while looking down at Atsumu. The latter presumes he probably shares the same features because he feels too delightfully warm and his mouth is still tingling from having the lights kissed out of him.
“So,” Sakusa leans in. “Do you still feel jealous?”
Atsumu pushes a stray curl out of Sakusa’s forehead before he runs the rest of his fingers through his dark locks. Then he smiles up at his boyfriend just as he tenderly holds the base of his head.
“Just only a bit,” Atsumu says.
“Well let’s take care of that,” Sakusa replies.