Archive of Our Own ^beta

He still needs to pack something to eat on the bus, he realizes, feeling the knot on his shoulder twist. Between hitting an awkward spike set by their second string setter because Iizuna will graduate soon and carrying his heavy backpack around school, Sakusa suppresses a grimace.

He wonders if he can just slap a heat patch on and call it a day.

"SPiCYSOL's new album dropped, I need to get my copy from— Umeda! Stop antagonizing Yamazaki!" Iizuna yells, sharply raising his voice. Sakusa watches as Iizuna abandons the stretching circle, running to separate the troublemakers. 

He bends his spine, hearing his back snap painfully in place, reaching for his toes. He gives a cursory glance to the clock on the wall. Three more minutes until practice is over. 

There's a light sprinkling of rain outside, making the air that circulate through the open gym doors sweet with petrichor.

"SPiCYSOL, huh? I'm more of a SIRUP guy," Their wing spiker, Irie, says, adjusting his glasses. Sakusa mirrors his movements, the stretching circle standing up and sliding into lunges. The burn of his calves are a welcoming feeling. "What about you, Komori?"

"Ling tosite Sigure and Asian Kung-Fu Generation!"

"Ah, you're a rock type of person," Irie nods with approval, standing up with both of his feet planted on the floor. The action is normal, but almost immediately, everyone scatters. The first years races to take the nets down while the second and third years are darting to the lockers. 

It's Friday. You can almost smell freedom among the sweat of twenty-five high school aged boys.

Sakusa takes his time tugging his shirt over his shoulders, changing back into his school uniform. Unlike most of them, his plans doesn't come into effect until ten where he intends to spend seven and a half hours on a bus overnight. His movements are unrushed as he goes over to the sink to wash the sweat off. Showering will be done at home. The shower tiles may look clean but he didn't bring his flip flops today.

"How about you, Sakusa?"

Sakusa snaps his head up from his phone, looking a blurry picture of the twins wrestling each other, taken and sent by Suna. His face is moisturized and clean. He twitches his mouth out of a smile, swallowing as he gazes up.

"What?"

Iizuna smiles, adjusting his tie into place, "Your Friday plans?" He asks without missing a beat.

The entire team is grinning at him and he knows it's in good nature when the usually cold Yamada cracks a smile at him.

"Amagasaki."

"Of course," Iizuna tugs his bag over one shoulder, grinning, "It's your turn, right? Give Miya-kun a hello from all of us."

Because they're poor and roundtrip shinkansen tickets are expensive, they both decide that the best (and cheapest) method to see each other is to use the overnight busses. 

If someone had told his fifteen year old self that he would spend the last quarter of his second year chasing after a boy living in Amagasaki, willingly sit in a cramped bus with no air circulation and people around him sniffling through the influenza season, he would break out in hives.

But as it is, he's dating Miya Atsumu and getting off at Namba Station. He heads off to an adjacent station where he'll hop onto the Hanshin Namba line.

He knows the stations by heart now. From Osaka-Namba is Domemae, Kujo, Nishikujo, Chidoribashi, Dempo, Fuku, Dekijima, Daimotsu and finally, Amagasaki.

"Wow, you give a whole new meaning to 'if looks could kill.'" 

The countdown in Sakusa's head stops half an hour early as Atsumu materializes from the crowd, laughing. He's wearing a black hoodie with a hunter green bomber jacket on top of it, unzipped. There's a small sling bag over his shoulder.

He stops in the middle of the street, blinking dumbly, "Why are you here?"

The plan was to meet Atsumu at Amagasaki Station where they were going to take a morning stroll around Ebisu Park before making their way to have specialty dumplings and castella afterwards.

Atsumu tugs on his backpack strap, pulling him into his arms. Sakusa's neck and cheeks heat up, being reflected back onto his face thanks to his mask. 

Atsumu's voice is affectionate. Something tight around Sakua's chest that has been constricting him for weeks now loosen, "Hey, lover."

"Stop calling me that," Sakusa replies, hiding his manic grin into Atsumu's shoulders. He digs his cold nose into Atsumu's warm neck, smelling his laundry soap and a whiff of deodorant. Several people walk around them with thinly veiled annoyance; it's still the early morning and they are blocking the path slightly, "People are going to think we're cheating outside of a marriage."

"But we're too young to be married," Atsumu laughs, "What about 'babe?' 'Baby?'"

"Am I a newborn? No."

"Omi-Omi."

"Fuck," Sakusa tightens his grip, Atsumu making a noise of complaint that he's squeezing him too hard, "I miss you."

Something else he hadn't expected at fifteen: that he fell head over heels for a boy five hundred and three kilometers away.

Their hands immediately curl around each other when they separate and Sakusa stares at Atsumu in the flesh, not through his phone screen or the spotty connection at their schools when they try to video message into the late hours of the evening. A giant wave of something soft and mushy rises in his chest and he tries to not show how pleased he is.

He gives a quick glance at Atsumu's mouth, still stretched into a smile. 

Atsumu whips out two paper slips from his sleeves like a magician, winking, "As for why I'm here," Sakusa's heart flips, watching the way the sun turns his entire head gold, "This is our date."

"Namba Station?"

"Was that a joke, Omi-kun? The Osaka Science Museum! I got tickets to the planetarium!" Atsumu shakes the paper slips. Sakusa plucks one, reading the kanji and feeling a grin spread over his mouth because he'd offhandedly mentioned how nice it would be to see the stars since they only have until ten at night before he has to travel back to Tokyo so he doesn't miss first period on Monday.

"You remembered."

Atsumu puffs out his chest, beaming, before leading him to the nearest conbini for breakfast. Sakusa follows, adoration dogging his steps as Atsumu unleashes a month's worth of gossip he's already heard through the phone, but he doesn't care because Atsumu can talk about paint drying and it'll be the nicest thing he's heard all year.

It's not glamorous, long distance.

Never had he watched and followed the weather forecast as closely as he did now. It's his Friday night routine, to select something weather appropriate for his Saturday knowing that Atsumu might plan surprise trips where they won't be under the cover of a roof. He's too aware of time.

Days, hours, minutes until he could see Atsumu. Days, hours and minutes after he said goodbye to Atsumu.

The only reprieve he has is when he resets the countdown in his head, waiting patiently as the night flashes around him, lamp posts whizzing from the country side, the bus bringing him closer and closer to Atsumu.

They go through four different floors, gazing at anything and everything. Sakusa watches as Atsumu pokes and prods the interactive models, bringing out his own hand sanitizer from his pockets before they hold hands again, killing the hours until it's time to see the planetarium.

When they settle in the seats, looking up at the blank ceiling and waiting for more people to show up, Sakusa checks his phone out of habit, looking at the time.

He sneaks a look beside him, of Atsumu's profile as the room dims and the projections appear in the sky. Someone starts narrating about the Milky Way during the winter season, music spilling from the speakers. 

An undercurrent of electricity sparks around his skin and he shifts in his chair.

The darkness around them isn't helping. His other senses are heightened, he can feel the cushiness of the chairs beneath him, Atsumu's slick hand in his palms, the narrator's lulling voice in his ears, explaining how humans have studied astronomy since the dawn of time in a dream-like voice. 

Sakusa swallows as he sees a vague shadow near his head inch closer to his ear. His mouth is dry, so he ends up coughing slightly.

"Hey, Omi?"

Sakusa stills.

"Can I kiss you?"

There's a warm puff of air near his ear and the narrator's voice and music in the background fades before he drags the fabric of his mask down. He slowly leans to the side, sliding his eyes shut as he presses against a set of lips, nervous and sweet, sighing when Atsumu pulls back. 

The skies above them shifts from a random constellation into the Pillars of Creation, its nebulous greens and blues lighting the heavy blush on Atsumu's face.

"Omi-kun," He rasps, tongue poking out. Sakusa stares at it, before he looks back up, knowing he's equally red, "Omi-kun."

He leans back in, meeting Atsumu halfway. He's glad they're at the very back, and that everyone's eyes are diverted upwards. Atsumu's lips are soft and pliant, their timid presses eventually making way to something more coordinated.

And later when he's riding the Jam Jam Liner back to Tokyo, watching Atsumu and his memories disappear into the night, he'll hold onto the blush staining his cheeks and the way they had pressed their foreheads together, grinning, not listening to a single word about stars.

He momentarily forgets about the countdown, leaning in to kiss Atsumu again, the tips of his fingers stroking his hot cheeks and jawline.

The third week of March appears. The timer in Sakusa's head ends.

He turns seventeen, Komori sobs like a giant baby at their senpais leaving, Sakusa gives Iizuna a handkerchief as a goodbye present and carries a new #1 jersey home.

"Should we go to a love hotel?" Atsumu wiggles his eyebrows the moment he steps out of the JR train. It's spring break and they have two glorious weeks to themselves before school starts up again. Already, Sakusa has a new timer in his head counting down until Atsumu has to leave, but the number is so large and far off that he just rolls his eyes.

They shove Atsumu's little carryon luggage into one of the train lockers and head their way to Tokyo DisneySea. Atsumu shares the gossip he's been hinting at for three weeks as Sakusa makes appropriate noises of shock.

Because it's his birthday week and the end of the school year, Atsumu splurged on shinkansen tickets and was able to step into Tokyo just before noon.

It's odd, to be suddenly handed Atsumu and two weeks of potential when they only see each other for a day every few weeks. No longer restricted by hours, the day is limitless. Tokyo is his jungle and Sakusa is an adept tour guide.

Atsumu is chattering about Hitachi Seaside Park as they sit in a family restaurant for a quick lunch, two black haired girls in pigtails passing by holding very full cups and making their way back towards a table on the opposite side of the room.

"It says the entire hill turns blue and it looks like the sky. The baby blues won't probably bloom yet, but maybe we can just go there and sit on a hill and pack a bento—"

"Do you want to?" He tugs one corner of his mouth up.

Atsumu looks up, the ends of his soba noodles flicking broth everywhere. A little curl of his hair where he's parted his hair is sticking up like a sprout. It looks slightly different today, not pressed to his forehead, but fluffier. Sakusa flexes his fingers, trying to resist the urge to lean across and fix it as they jam their knees into the tiniest table known to man. 

Atsumu swallows, raising a spoonful of broth to his mouth. His hair is shorter and neater, did he get a haircut before this? "Pack a bento? Yeah, I'm good at cooking, trust me! Osamu says I make okay food, which in his words, means I'm great at cooking."

"Go to a love hotel."

Sakusa watches with amusement as Atsumu sprays soup out of his nose, immediately bringing his elbow up and hiding his face. He slaps his chopsticks to the rim of the bowl, where it rolls to the ground, hacking and drawing every single pair of eyes towards them for several seconds.

Because Sakusa is benevolent and feels slightly bad, he passes some napkins across the table, full on grinning. Atsumu kicks his shins, probably deserved since his nose must sting.

"Omi!"

"Tsumu," He coos, leaning forward and dabbing Atsumu's chin with his own napkin. He fixes the little hair sprout at the same time while Atsumu shoots him a sulky scowl, "You missed a spot."

"Omi," Atsumu grumbles, "You're the worst, don't tease."

He just chuckles and presses on the call button embedded into the table to ask the waiter for a new pair of chopsticks.

They pay, get into the park and Sakusa gets roped into buying matching ears, watching Atsumu tip-toe to set them on his head. They're soaked in certain rides, but Sakusa doesn't mind, shaking the water away from the sleeves of his raincoat and giving that to Atsumu so he can cover his semi-translucent wet t-shirt.

Atsumu abandons Hiromi's room they've set him up in since she's studying abroad to curl up next to Sakusa, somehow lying half on top of him when Sakusa eventually peels his eyes open in the morning. Seeing Atsumu with sleep-ruffled hair isn't new— he's seen this for two years already— but Atsumu riding the trains next to him, wearing his Itachiyama jersey at home, peering at Sakusa's middle school as they walk around quiet neighbourhoods, it's all new.

And he thinks of what it would be like to have this every day, all too aware of what's hurtling towards them.

"I had fun," Atsumu says quietly, the somber mood tangible. 

It's dark and they're waiting outside Tokyo Station for the Jam Jam Liner that'll take Atsumu away from him. A puddle of water nearby reflects the cheery glow of the shops and neon signs around them.

The cherry blossoms falls from the trees. It's his most hated time of their visit, when they have to say goodbye.

Two weeks passed sooner than he expected. His room is full of purikuras from different machines and arcades, Yuki-chan, a stuffed plush of Osaka Aquarium's chubby ringed seal that was a belated birthday present, his matching Mickey Mouse ears and one of Atsumu's Inarizaki jackets hanging in his closet, unwashed and smelling like his boyfriend.

"I know it's gross," Atsumu offered the bag to him, slowly drawing it closer to his chest as Sakusa blinked, "But uh. It smells like me. I can take it back home if you don't—"

"I want it," Sakusa said, hugging the bag to his chest before they left his house. He'd grown accustomed to wrapping his long limbs around Atsumu. It'll be weird to sleep by himself again.

"Thanks for coming," He watches as a petal buries itself in Atsumu's hair. Leaning forward to fish it out, he also ducks his head and presses his mouth against Atsumu's.

Atsumu holds his hand up, almost cupping his face but never touching skin because his palms are dirty. His eyes are sad, "I'll be back soon."

He didn't really expect it, but he got into 'those moods' whenever he comes back from visiting Atsumu and he drifts in and out of existence for the next few days. Komori teases him about being clingy before he realized Sakusa was close to tears and apologized.

"I won't miss you," He stubbornly says, "I'm not sad."

Atsumu doesn't call him a liar, he just gazes at his eyes and shakes petals out of Sakusa's hair.

He reluctantly steps forward when the driver is calling for the last passengers.

Sakusa knows that if he really wanted to, he could just hold onto his fingers and keep him here, and Atsumu would stay for an extra night without kicking a fuss. 

But the first day of school is the day after tomorrow and Atsumu won't make it in time if he doesn't go now. It would look bad on him if the captain of the volleyball team has a reputation for being late.

He loosens their fingers. Atsumu steps forward and Sakusa stays where he is.

Later, after Sakusa watched the bus disappear, he trudges to his bathroom, changes his clothes and robotically goes through his bedtime routine. He can only focus on how heavy the skin around his eyes are, and how tired he is even though today is rest day and the only extraneous activity he did today was walking.

He looks at his bed when he steps inside his room. Atsumu had made himself home in for the past two weeks, splaying out like a starfish, scrolling away on his phone before they head off to bed. Sakusa always got a kick from pressing his cold feet onto Atsumu's thighs, shorts riding up to expose more skin.

But his bed is empty and so is his home and heart. Atsumu only visited for two weeks and already, Sakusa feels like his life had been turned upside down.

In a moment of weakness, he tugs Atsumu's jacket out of his closet and slides his arms into it, curling up in bed. Over on the other side of his door is his school uniform, pressed and ready to be worn in the morning. He gazes at the pictures he taped to the walls, of he and Atsumu crammed into a tiny booth throwing various peace signs at the camera.

If he wipes his eyes, no one is around to see him.

He turns around, grabs Yuki-chan and hugs her until he falls asleep, counting the number of days, hours, minutes and seconds that separate them.

"—Fucking Samu sassing me left and right even though he's my vice-captain," Atsumu complains, voice going to his ears as Sakusa grunts, working on his math worksheet. 

He has Japanese Literature, a stack of English vocab to memorize and the yakisoba recipe they're making tomorrow in home economics by his elbows. Next to it is a giant stack of club registration forms for the boys' volleyball club that he has to sort and sift through. It'll be hard to decide on the starting lineup but he'll just rope his cousin into helping him if it gets too bothersome.

Sakusa twists in his seat, feeling his back snap back into place. His head hurts.

"—You're not listening, are you?"

"Yes, I am," Sakusa retorts, lifting his eyes from his phone. Atsumu pouts unhappily at him, hair soft, fresh out of the shower. His room is lit with a desk lamp, giving him a golden glow. Osamu is absent in the background, so he must be studying in the kitchen or canoodling with Suna. "Your first years are giving you trouble."

They've hold off on visiting each other, trying to settle into the first few weeks of school.

It's a choice he didn't want to make but he knew that he had no chance of juggling everything when a larger-than-normal crowd of first years tried to wiggle into Itachiyama's first gymnasium, waving club application forms at him even though they've never seen an official practice.

"You looked like you weren't listening."

"This is what my face looks like, Atsumu."

A heavy pause. Sakusa looks down, ignoring the prickle of hurt in his chest when Atsumu doesn't say anything. For a while, they work on their own homework, glancing at each other when they think the other isn't looking.

"Are you eating?"

The question is so absurd that Sakusa looks up. 

"Of course I do," He frowns.

"Oh," Atsumu looks away, "You haven't been responding to my texts."

They send each other pictures throughout the day. A cat walking down an alley, the glow of a vending machine at night, their meals, Suna and Osamu's head bent together as Atsumu sits across them on the train home, Komori posing with meat buns, the sunset when practice runs late, the sunrise when they have morning practice, the empty train platform at dawn.

"You're not the greatest at texting yourself."

"I'm tired," Atsumu shoots back, cranky. Sakusa peers closer at him, noticing exactly how droopy the bags under his eyes seem to be.

"You should tell Osamu to step up if you're struggling so much."

"It's not the team," Atsumu yawns. He's rubbing his eyes too hard. Sakusa wants to tell him to stop, but it's interrupted as he continues, "I got a part time job after practice at the corner store near my house. Twenty hours a week."

Sakusa stares at Atsumu, something dark and bubbling making itself known in the pit of his stomach. 

If he was more attuned to his emotions, he would identify it as worry, but he tenses up.

"Why the hell are you getting a part time job?" Sakusa hisses, something explosive and ugly ripping out of his chest. If he could teleport to Amagasaki right now, he would force Atsumu to bed, even lie on top of him so he doesn't get up in the middle of the night to drill English verbs into his head. "Your job is to study and rest!"

Atsumu is incredulous. 

Sakusa stews, about to lecture even more when his boyfriend twists of his mouth, his yell coming out tinny from his phone speakers, "Not all of us have unlimited amount of money, okay!"

Sakusa closes his jaws with an audible click of his teeth, furious. Atsumu glares at him, daring him to say something. 

In a petty move, he ends the video call and flips his phone face down. Sakusa stares at his hand like it doesn't belong to him, his too quiet bedroom unnatural before focusing on the picture slipped between his phone and case.

A Polaroid of the both of them standing in front of a teamLab Borderless room mocks him. Their cheeks are squished together and Atsumu has his bunny smile, the one that shows off his entire teeth, beaming.

He opens one of his drawers, throws the phone inside and slams it shut. 

Money is a rather touchy subject for both of them. Sakusa, having two working parents and no siblings to fight with since all of them are financially stable and independent, have been getting overstuffed envelopes with his name on the kitchen table every Monday morning ever since he was old enough to take the train with Komori. 

Atsumu only has his mother. And he refused every time Sakusa offered to pay for his bus tickets, wanting to be independent.

He looks at the purikura picture closest to him, of him rolling his eyes while Atsumu blew kisses at the camera. 

"Stupid," He grinds out, plucking the photo off and turning it face down. He doesn't lift his head until the last of his homework is finished and he knows exactly what he has to do for tomorrow's yakisoba.

He pulls out his phone and feels his stomach drop.

No texts or messages.

He's typing out an apology when he looks at the clock. Ten past two. Atsumu would probably wake up if his phone buzzed, which is something he wants to avoid.

He hears the front door open and close. His parents must be home. He wonders how they do it, to keep a marriage stable while raising three girls and juggling residency before he came along because he has none of those three things and it's hard enough.

He dives for his covers, shutting his eyes as two pairs of feet hover near his slightly cracked door.

"Is he asleep?"

There's a hand patting his arm beneath the comforter and another adjusting his blankets. His mother makes an affirmative sound in her throat before Sakusa hears his door slowly click to a close, his parents walking away and speaking in quiet voices of what they should prepare for dinner.

He stares at his ceilings before dragging Yuki-chan over and holding her until he falls asleep.

"You guys fighting?"

He looks up from where he's on the ground, watching his niece, Ayumi, roll the ball towards him.

The countdown in his head has been paused ever since he dropped their call in a childish fit of anger. Sakusa doesn't even know what day it is, trying to swim among the homework, career forms, teachers hounding him about his future goals and whipping the first year into shape.

Sakusa passes the ball back to her, watching Hitomi use Ayumi's arm to mimic the rolling motion. Her ring, a pink sapphire set on a platinum band, winks in the sunlight, throwing rainbows on the warm hardwood. Hitomi's husband is outside with their father, helping to prune the bushes as their mother works up a storm in the kitchen with Naomi, "Who told you that?"

"Motoya-kun," Hitomi easily says. 

In order, his sisters are respectively ten, nine and eight years older than him. Naomi works as a surgeon with their parents and is currently teaching four year old Takumi to cut mushrooms safely. Hitomi is the next oldest, with two children and a photography career put on hold.

Hiromi is the youngest. She's still abroad, finishing her master's degree in something obscure and related to astrophysics.

Sakusa scowls, not telling her how they haven't seen each other since the new school year started. They've been sending pictures and the odd messages and video links about volleyball plays, so it's not like they're fighting fighting, "Motoya talks too much. We're fine."

He knows he's difficult. He thinks about Komori, who always had to come to his house with a clean set of clothes so often that Sakusa gave him a small drawer in his closet because they spend several nights sleeping in his room after binge watching shows anyway. He thinks about his parents and siblings who don't bat an eye at his pickiness and always carries a bottle of hand sanitizer with them.

It's easy to acknowledge that he's messed up. It's harder to be brave and apologize.

What if Atsumu hates him?

Hitomi hums, rolling the ball back to him. A curl of her sleek hair (she had chemically straightened it) falls from the bun knotted at the nape of her neck, "Long distance is hard. Relationships are hard."

He glares at the floor, feeling trapped, "Your point?"

It's a testament to sisterly love that Hitomi doesn't wrestle him down and tickle him to death like she used to when he was younger. Instead, she shrugs, "Did you talk to him yet?"

And by her tone, he knows that she means a real talk. He avoids the question.

"He must miss you, I would," She glances at the windows, where their father and Arata, her husband, have moved to the backyard, organizing the branches for garbage day tomorrow. Darkly, Sakusa wonders if everyone in their family have a poor taste for blonds, looking at Arata's light hair, "If I got into a fight."

He looks at Ayumi sucking on her pacifier and Takumi with Naomi's arms around his tiny hands. He suddenly can't stand it.

"Kiyoomi?" Hitomi asks, looking up, "Where are you going?"

"To run," He manages to say. He's already in a pair of shorts and t-shirt. He has forty minutes left before he needs to reapply sunscreen. He can do a few laps around the block, wanting to get away from how sickly sweet everyone in his life is to him, "Bye."

Golden Week is warm. The scorching heat of late spring snakes around his ankles as his feet pound the pavement, the streets quiet as everyone around the country goes back home to be with their families. 

He runs, thinking of the distance between him and Atsumu stretching. He sprints in bursts, until his lungs are burning and his calves are twitching, finding himself in the neighboring ward and far from home when he turns back.

It's hard. He knew that from the very beginning when he accepted the umeboshi from Atsumu and agreed to try it out because Wakatoshi had broken his heart in his first year of high school and Atsumu started appearing on the covers of Volleyball Monthly.

It's hard, it's hard, it's hard.

A high strung player, demanding nothing but the best with a bad attitude appeared in the All Youth camp. Sakusa is used to covering for the mistakes of his setters in middle school, but when he does a run up and the ball seems to magically appear in front of his hands, at the optimal height and speed, he'd swung by reflex and stared at his palms. A perfect cross spike.

Atsumu had gave him a smug smile and Sakusa knew at that moment that he wanted to play in the same team as him.

He's pulling out his phone to take a picture of a particularly vivid hydrangea bush with a grey cat laying beneath it, pausing when he's about to send it to Atsumu.

He knew it was hard. How many times did he check the web on his train ride back from Ajinomoto Center after he fended Komori off and the blush faded from his cheeks, reading endless internet pages on the cons of long distance relationships? 

It goes against everything he's set himself up for. Sakusa had a clear plan for his future and none of them involved being in a relationship with a boy some five hundred kilometers away.

And Atsumu, he closes his eyes, recalling the pictures Suna sent, of him standing in an isolated area behind the school, rejecting boys and girls left and right. His popularity speaks for itself, even if he's a formidable player on court that many would not want to interact with.

Sakusa's not special, a boy from Tokyo, a small fish among the one hundred and twenty-seven million people inhabiting this island. There are other wing spikers and aces that must exist closer, other people with the same black curls has him that Atsumu would probably get along better with, other people who are less prickly than him.

It's hard.

He hates Tokyo all of the sudden, wondering why it's so far away from Amagasaki, so far that Atsumu has to take a side job just to see him because Sakusa wants nothing more than to hug him in his arms.

His phone rings.

He stares at his screen. It continues to shrill at him, playing the special ring tone he set.

"Atsumu?"

"Omi-kun!" Atsumu screeches, so familiar and right that Sakusa knows that he's freaking out about burning something again like he did last time, "Quick! You gotta help me, how do I get this stain out of the pan? My mom's coming back from the store in ten minutes and she's going to gut me and toss my innards to the pack of crows outside and!—"

"Take it off the heat and pour baking soda on it. Douse it in water," He laughs.

He always knew when to call.

"Are— Are you LAUGHING at me?"

"No," He replies in a deadpan, before something bubbles out of him and he claps a hand over his mouth, looking left and right to make sure he's not disturbing the neighbourhood with his obnoxious voice. He's relieved, he's so relieved he can cry.

"Omi-kun!"

"Do you want to get the thing un-stuck or not? Take it off the heat, Atsumu."

The calls start up again. Atsumu unleashes a month's worth of gossip, ranging from Osamu and Suna getting caught kissing in the hallways to Atsumu nearly making a first year cry because he took wall sits seriously and every day is leg day if anyone wants to play for Inarizaki.

Sakusa thinks they can make it work, a small bud of hope blooming in his chest. He doesn't overwater it, just to be on the safe side, but he does twist the pot to make sure it gets ample sunlight. 

He receives pictures of anything and everything, their little fight swept under the rug, waking up to good morning texts from Atsumu once more.

And if Atsumu ever falls asleep while they're video chatting, Sakusa spends a few minutes staring at his features, the lamp turning his hair ambrosia gold, roots peeking in, the hard edge of his jaw prominent among the faint baby fat that's still gathered at his cheeks, dark lashes brushing the top of his cheekbones, the slope of his nose.

He's so achingly beautiful that Sakusa lifts a finger to trace the cold screen of his phone, pretending that it's his jaws and shell of his ear.

"Do you think we're doing the right thing?" He asks quietly.

Atsumu doesn't answer. He continues to snore, oblivious.

"You're not coming?" He blankly stares at his phone. Atsumu freezes for a split second from his internet connection before shifting again, looking guilty. His hair has gotten longer and there are roots poking out, reminding Sakusa that Atsumu was not born with the worst bleach job in human history.

"Uh. I have to take remedial classes."

"Remedial classes?" Sakusa echoes, hearing the air-conditioning whir in the background. Komori is making lots of noise in the kitchen, having picked up on the sharp tone of his voice. It's their annual Detective Conan movie binge day, something they do at the start of every summer vacation. 

Atsumu was supposed to come to Tokyo for two of the four weeks of summer break with his homework and half his life packed up in a bag. Sakusa thinks about the cafes he's pinned on Tabelog and the things they wanted to check off, hours and hours of research bursting into flames in his head.

"I...I'm failing a lot of classes."

Sakusa hears everything through waterlogged ears, "Failing?" 

Atsumu, as it turns out, is not great at juggling. He needs money, loves volleyball but also needs sleep, so he does every homework assignment at the very last minute, resulting in abysmal marks and a firm reprimand from Kita in the form of a home visit last week.

"And well," Atsumu huffs, avoiding Sakusa's glare. Osamu can be seen walking from room to room in the background, looking bored, "I've been told it's a problem if the captain gets benched for failing classes."

"You idiot!" Sakusa barks. Komori yelps in the kitchen and throws a metal bowl in the air.

Atsumu surprisingly doesn't raise his hackles up to swear at him. Instead, he looks like a kicked puppy and Sakusa immediately regrets raising his voice, "I know I'm dumb, okay!" Atsumu wails, "You don't need to rub it in! Samu's been doing that every chance he gets!"

From the back, Osamu gives the phone a thumbs up. Atsumu swivels his head around to give his brother the middle finger. Sakusa sighs.

"And how long are the remedial classes?"

"...Two weeks."

Instead of spending the first half of summer break together, Atsumu has make up classes. Sakusa doesn't think of how he'd pushed Itachiyama's own training camp later so he could selfishly see Atsumu during the first half.

There's a pulsing behind his head and Sakusa absently rubs his head, feeling exhausted all of the sudden.

"I'm sorry," Comes the tinny apology.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," He swallows his disappointment, "Study well. Don't flunk so hard you're not allowed to go to the youth camp this year. The scouts are watching us."

Atsumu just nods and promises he'll do well, sorry for breaking the bad news to him, he has to go now to pick up some materials from school.

And when their call ends, Komori hovers at the edge of the living room, holding a bowl of snacks with his eyebrows pulled in together.

Sakusa looks up, "Don't be a stranger," He presses the play button on his TV, watching colors come up. 

Komori settles next to him.

He pulls up the notes app and stares at the list of things they were going to do. teamLab PLANETS, a jazz festival in one of the train stations, a day at the Mori Art Museum, perhaps a walk down Omotesando and Sunshine City because Atsumu likes Pokémon Go, not to mention the festivals around the neighbourhood Sakusa wanted to go to, only having went several times when he was still little.

They munch on chilled cubes of watermelons and chips for a bit until the screen blurs from his eyes watering.

"It's stupid, isn't it?" He doesn't cry, but his voice does tremble.

Outside, the clouds hide the sun. The living room is thrown into darkness.

Atsumu won't be able to visit and it's all because of him. 

Sakusa rubs his eyes with the sleeves of the only red jersey he has in his closet that's dominated with blacks, greys, neon yellows and greens. It doesn't smell like Atsumu anymore and Sakusa doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing.

"It's not stupid at all, Kiyoomi," His cousin says quietly, leaning over to pluck several tissues from the table to press into his hands, "I'd be sad too."

"Much better, Miya-kun."

Atsumu sighs in relief at the 82 circled on top of his English assignment. It's a stark comparison to the 17 he'd gotten before summer break started. Narumi-sensei moves away and continues to hand out assignments as his classmates chatter around him.

When the bell rings, he books it out of the third years' classroom, side-stepping all of the cardboard lining the hallways and makes a beeline to the locker rooms.

"Ugh, please stop undressing each other in front of my fucking eyes," Atsumu complains, kicking his brother's shins and Rin's too, for good measure, on his way to his locker. He ignores the whack to his head from his twin, "It's gross."

"You'd be like this too, if Sakusa's here," Suna says easily. He shrugs out of his dress shirt and pulls a t-shirt over his head, standing with half his uniform still on.

"We're definitely not as gross as you."

"Wanna bet?" Samu calls out to Suna, the traitor. Atsumu should've eaten him in the womb.

"Ten."

"You're on."

"Hey!" He complains. Osamu cackles, because he's a demon in disguise, poor Suna for never realizing it, "Don't rub that in my face."

Osamu's expression softens slightly as he closes his locker shut. He's already changed, wearing red shorts and typical black t-shirts their school buys on mass order. 

Atsumu spins around, staring at the messy contents of his locker— empty packets of heat patches on the bottom, a spare stick of deodorant buried among it, one of his old hoodies lumped into a ball, shoved at the very back and what looked like to be the first career form he misplaced, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

It's raining outside. There's a faint pitter patter of water on the frosted glass panes lining the top of the room.

"So, how's Sakusa these days?"

"Good," He mumbles vaguely, pulling down his pants and making sure his belt is still looped through. Osamu makes a sound like a bird choking; so Suna and his brother definitely haven't gained mind reading powers.

He roughly folds his pants and hangs it on the singular clothing rack, digging around his bag for his red shorts. He pulls them on.

"Is he coming down for your birthday? We can double date."

Atsumu glances at his phone sticking out of the pocket of his pants, not seeing the green flash that tells him he has a text waiting. Sakusa isn't tech savvy in the first place so texts from him are rare and far in-between; they rely on calls most of the time, but still.

Is he texting too much and being a bother? Sakusa did say that sometimes he looks at the text, fully intending to reply, but he's tugged off by a classmate, teacher, or team member, forgetting all about it until Atsumu sends him another text.

But how many times can you double and triple text someone before they get sick of you? Is Sakusa sick of him? They didn't meet at all during summer break and Sakusa had a cold last month and told Atsumu to skip visiting. 

He would say something if he's tired of him, right?

"Tsumu?"

He looks up, seeing Suna's face morph into one of worry, "Are you okay? You look a bit...."

He lets out a bark of laughter, shaking his head and tying the string around his shorts so they don't wiggle down. He finds his runners from the depths of his bag as well, jamming his foot in and definitely not thinking of a boy in Tokyo with the brightest neon shoes, "I'm fine, I'm fine!"

"You know what he's like when he tries to think too much," Osamu's drawl comes at the right time. Perhaps it's a good thing Atsumu didn't eat him in the womb. "His brain cells are struggling."

Atsumu scowls at his twin, slamming his locker door shut as the rest of the team enter, already pulling their ties off their winter uniform, "Three laps, I'll race you for a meat bun."

"Bring it on, weakling."

Suna sighs behind them. Atsumu and Osamu explode from the lockers, yelling as they leap out of the building and onto the school fields.

Atsumu has a mental counter in his head too, of how many days are left until he gets to hug his boyfriend who lives five hundred and three kilometers away. When the counter drops to less than a day, the counter changes into hours, then minutes.

One more week until Sakusa comes. They hadn't seen each other since before summer vacation. Atsumu had remedial classes, Sakusa caught a cold, and then he got sick, as if the universe is dousing him in all the bad karma he had built up from years of rough housing with Osamu.

He jiggles his leg, watching the clock tick away slowly. Inarizaki's cultural festival is coming up in a month and classes have been shuffled around so homeroom is the last block, where they all gather to prepare and plan. Tokyo schools are also on the same schedule as them, so Sakusa is busy preparing for the butler café his class chose.

Or that's what Komori told him, anyway. Sakusa seems to be too busy organizing something with the captain of the girls' volleyball team as well, sending Atsumu several pictures of the moon from his classroom window.

He's eighteen today. He'd received Sakusa's card, Arare-chan, a new set of sports tape and earbuds in the mail three days ago, staring at the penmanship and placing it on his desk where Osamu called him a sap for staring at the piece of cardstock paper like a lovesick fool.

His classmates wished him a happy birthday and the team bought he and Osamu snacks and candy from the conbini. All in all, a normal day full of classes, quizzes, volleyball and antagonizing his twin. 

He's taken over one of the hallways, a paintbrush in hand. His class is doing a haunted house and he's been tasked to paint the set, finding peace with the way the paint brush creates streaks on the plank of wood.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but the next he knows, his reflection is floating in front of him and there's a hand shaking his shoulders. 

"Hey," Osamu frowns, "You okay?"

Atsumu stretches, feeling his neck cramp because of the awkward angle he had slept with. He yawns, stands to his legs and rotates his shoulders back, hearing something pop, "Just fell asleep."

Sleep. He doesn't get much of that these days too, even after quitting the convenience store job because his mother had hissed that under no condition was he going to flunk high school. Even if he's not going for higher education, he still spends most of his free time talking with his coach and guidance counselor, scoping out professional teams and listing the pros and cons of each team.

He has a team in mind, but he doesn't voice it, wanting to keep his options open. MSBY Black Jackals is perfect, just twenty minutes away from his hometown, but playing in Tokyo would be nice too.

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a gravestone, Samu," Atsumu scoffs. "You going blind or something?"

His brother is quiet, gazing at the stone and the various pots of paint around Atsumu. Osamu has his sleeves rolled up, tie loosened since all the teachers have gone home and an unhappy twist around his mouth, "Are you even sleeping these days?"

"I am!"

"Is he worth it?"

"Samu," He dangerously warns.

Osamu glares at him, voice quiet, "You're still burning yourself out, Tsumu. You're thinner than I am, how is that even possible?"

"It's all those onigiris for you," He argues, insults coming up automatically. "All that rice has to go somewhere, right?"

"Don't be a dumbfuck," Osamu scowls, "I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just worried," His voice loses the sharp quality that had caught Atsumu's attention at first, turning into something solemn, "You're so...tired all the time."

Atsumu stares at their shoes. There's a drop of yellow paint on the plastic cap of Osamu's indoor shoes, most likely from painting the café set his class is doing.

"Thanks for waking me up," He bends down, closing all the lids of the paint pot and gathering all the wooden tombstones that are dry.

His little brother turns around, "Where're you going?"

"Back to my class," Atsumu says, speedily turning the corner. He hands off the tombstones and tells the class president that he's taking a quick break before starting the next thing he has to paint— a sulking silhouette of a ghost. He grabs his water and the cardigan folded over his chair before leaving.

It's painful sometimes, to be around his brother and knowing that he and Suna don't have to spend sixteen thousand yen every few weeks to see each other. It especially hurts seeing them walk hand in hand on the way home from practice, something he and Sakusa can never have.

He finds an unoccupied bench towards the back of the school and looks at his bank account. If he's smart, he'll have enough to visit Tokyo a couple more times before he gets signed onto a professional team, shivering when a gust of wind makes itself known. Thank god for the birthday money he'd squirrelled away.

He's drawing Sakusa's cardigan he stole around his shoulders when one of his classmates pokes her head around the corner, her hair in a high ponytail.

"Atsumu?"

"Yoshimura? What's up?"

"Nice cardigan," She says, sitting down next to him. Atsumu makes a vague noise of agreement at the back of his throat, staring up at the sky. It's sunset hour, it's very pretty.

Sakusa used to send him pictures of the sky. He's been busy lately, their texts and calls dwindling to the odd text message, but it's alright, everything will be fine when Sakusa's in his arms and Atsumu can hug him.

A chord of fear strikes something in him. What did Sakusa even sound like? It's been so long since they've talked on the phone. And his Omi-kun, he knows what his face looks like, but asked to draw it out, Atsumu suddenly doesn't remember the important details, like where exactly the faint scar he has on the right side of his forehead is, half-hidden behind his bangs.

Oh. He's being confessed to.

Yoshimura's ears turn pink, hands fisted in her lap as she stumbles through words. They've known each other for more than a year now since the school doesn't bother changing classes for third years. She thinks he's very hardworking, handsome and his dedication to volleyball is something to marvel at.

"Thank you," It's easy to brush them off now, since he's had so many attempts to let people down, "But I have a boyfriend."

Yoshimura whips her head around, ponytail swinging so quickly that it nearly smacks her in the mouth.

"You're still dating the Tokyo boy?"

He looks at her, stunned.

"What do you mean 'still dating'? We never broke up."

They've always been together, trying to navigate through their messy schedules and prioritizing each other. Atsumu put everything he had in the relationship until he was forcibly pulled back because he couldn't flunk out of high school.

"Oh," Yoshimura squeaks, "I.... You stopped mentioning him, so everyone thought you two were fighting...."

He never feels the distance between them so viscerally until now, looking down and letting Yoshimura's words become static in his ears, thinking of the five hundred and three kilometers between them.

He has to fix this.

When Sakusa shows up at his doorstep still in his school uniform, lugging his backpack and a weekend bag over one shoulder, Atsumu thought he was dreaming until Osamu shoved him aside and told Sakusa to come in.

It's still Friday evening. The volleyball club doesn't practice on Friday evenings because Kita always believed in rest days, and what better reward than to let all of them out so they can start the weekend early? Atsumu had plans to scribble through his homework at warp speed before hitting the hay so he can be fired up and spend the entire day with Sakusa the next morning.

"How?" Atsumu follows his brother and boyfriend into the hallways. Osamu is pointing out the kitchen, bathroom and living room, "How are you here?"

"I took the Nozomi," Sakusa deadpans, sitting down in his dining room as Osamu shuffles off to get him a drink. Atsumu ignores his brother's gripe about being a poor host, staring at the few water droplets saturating Sakusa's hair.

Sakusa shakes his winter coat off, revealing the dark green blazer jacket and light grey sweater vest underneath. His tie is missing. Atsumu stares at his throat until Osamu kicks him in the back of his knees and he nearly brains himself on the dining table.

"Samu!"

"Here's some water and persimmons. I washed them," Osamu turns around, clapping him on the shoulder, "Bye, don't burn the house down."

Atsumu blinks, "Where are you going?"

"Rin's."

"Why?"

Osamu gives him a look, "Because our rooms aren't big enough to fit you, me and your boyfriend. Consider this my birthday present to you, 'kay? Don't do something that Baa-chan wouldn't want you to do."

"Fuck you," Atsumu says automatically, watching his brother pick up a small backpack up by the genkan, leaving. When the doors slam and there's a scratching of keys, Atsumu turns around to see that Sakusa has taken his mask off, looking left and right around his living room.

He still can't believe Sakusa is here, "How long are you here for?"

"My train leaves at seven in the evening on Sunday."

Nearly a full forty-eight hours with Sakusa. Atsumu sits down in the kitchen chair, ignoring the worksheets he was focusing on before the doorbell rang. 

Sakusa is chewing on the cut persimmons his brother cut, blinking and looking around him. He's quiet, though that's normal. Atsumu always thought that Sakusa wouldn't speak if it weren't for Komori chattering into his ears.

"Do you want to shower?" Atsumu blurts.

Sakusa does. Atsumu leads him upstairs and scrambles for a towel when Sakusa holds up a hand and procures one from his bag. He also pulls out a pouch of toiletries and his pyjamas before shutting the door.

The water starts. Splashing ensues. Atsumu pinches himself, still convinced he's dreaming when his mother announces that she's home.

There's a giant bag of groceries on the floor when he comes down the stairs. She's unravelling her scarf, face flushed. Atsumu stares at it, "What's that for?"

"Sakusa-kun," She blinks amicably, like this is normal, like she's seen Sakusa around and is used to him popping by after school on a Friday night and not like Sakusa lives on the opposite side of the country and just burned thirteen thousand, six hundred and twenty yen coming here in three and a half hours.

So Atsumu clears the table in a daze, sets up the nabe hot pot in a trance and watches as his mother flounces off, claiming that she's meeting her friend in a coffee shop.

"You're leaving me with him?" He panics.

His mother, who'd birthed him and always had his best interest in heart, nods.

"Enjoy your dinner!" She thrills, the door slamming after her.

Atsumu gapes, still wearing an apron and wondering what his family plotted without him when something good wafts in his nose. He spins around, seeing Sakusa with his hair mostly dry, wearing sweatpants with the pattern of giant cabbage roses and Atsumu's who needs memories sweater, peeking into the room.

He's trying to become part of the shadow, curiously poking his head out. The nice smelling thing is coming off his head. Must be shampoo.

"Hungry?" Atsumu manages, because his brain has decided that it has had enough and disconnected from his body. It should be illegal to look that good in his sweater and a frumpy pair of sweatpants that he's sure his aunt owns but with most things Sakusa puts on his body, he looks like a model.

Sakusa nods. 

Atsumu nearly had an aneurysm when Sakusa shared his pot with him even though he spent the last half hour making them their own individual servings. Their elbows don't touch and the TV in the background hides the awkwardness in the air as they slowly pick through the vegetables, meatballs and slices of beef and pork.

It's a lot like their first date, when they were still figuring it out. Atsumu smiles into his shirataki noodles at the memories.

"What's so funny?"

"Just thinking about the first time we went out," Atsumu says, turning around with a smile, "Do you remember that, Omi-kun? We got shabu shabu and went to Tempozan—"

He stops, words halted. Sakusa is only inches away. He'd placed his bowl and chopsticks down, leaning into Atsumu's face with pink staining his cheeks, lashes fluttering like those nervous chickadees that hop from branch to branch.

Atsumu lowers his eyes, staring at Sakusa's pink mouth, seeing the barest tip of a pink tongue nervously poking out, setting his hands on the table and meeting him halfway. Sakusa gently cards his cold hands around his neck, mouths moving softly as Atsumu breathes in Sakusa's shampoo, the hum of the television fading in his ears. 

Sakusa's here. He's here in Amagasaki.

Atsumu opens his eyes to see Sakusa looking awfully young with his large eyes and parted lips, seemingly dazed. It makes Atsumu want to pull him into his lap, like protecting a small bird from the rain before Sakusa seems to realize what he'd just done and jerks back slightly.

He turns to shovel mushrooms into his mouth, so red he looks like a glowing sign. 

Atsumu clears his throat, "I—"

"Shut up."

"But I haven't said—"

"Shut. Up."

He snickers and that's when Sakusa sharply knocks his bony knees against his under the table, "Cut it out."

"You're still shy about initiating?" Atsumu nudges him back as they empty the pot and wash the dishes. Sakusa is all pointy elbows and bark as they exchange insults, settling into a version of themselves that existed when Atsumu spent his spring break in Tokyo, "You're so cute!"

A sharp kick to his shins and a surly hiss, "You're so annoying, shut up."

"Is that the only insult you know, Omi-kun? Make me," Atsumu mocks, pulling him upstairs and pushing Sakusa down on his futon. 

Sakusa lands in a huff, hand grabbing at his shirt before Atsumu lets out a yelp, not wanting to accidentally knee Sakusa where it hurts before arms are wrapping around him and Sakusa leans up.

Sakusa's here, in Amagasaki, in his empty house and room while Osamu's away and his mother won't be back for a few more hours. Wasn't there a Latin phrase that meant seize the night? 

Well, Atsumu is definitely seizing the night as Sakusa pulls him closer, their mouths lazily working. He doesn't know how long they make out for, nor is he interested in knowing, because when Sakusa finally pulls back, he's looking flushed, lips shiny and eyes dazed.

"I missed you," Atsumu says, the words slipping out.

For a split second, he has a gnawing fear that Sakusa won't reply, but it disappears when Sakusa rakes a hand through Atsumu's hair, exposing his forehead.

"Me too," He mumbles, closing his eyes and pressing their foreheads together, grinning so wide his dimples show.

"Who gave you those pants?"

"It's a hand me down. Why?"

"Can I give you new sweats for Christmas? Okay? Okay."

"Wait, I haven't said anything yet—"

"Trust me, Omi, cabbage roses went out of style twenty years ago. Let's give you plain ones with a stripe running down the leg or something, make you look less like a grandma and more like a young person."

"You're the same age as me."

"I'm not! I'm older!"

"And you have a thing for younger guys?"

"Are you making a joke with me, Omi-kun? I'm so proud!"

"Shut up and go to bed."

"Or what?"

"..."

"Or what, Kiyoomi?"

Atsumu feels him lean up, something being pressed to his forehead. Then Sakusa huffs and rolls into a ball, making grumpy noises as Atsumu wraps his arm around his angry beanpole, grinning.

They should really talk about it.

They spend most of the morning being lazy, brushing their teeth and rolling on top of each other for kisses and make outs until their stomachs won and Atsumu is dragging Sakusa down to the kitchen because he'd turned limp from lack of food. 

It's nearly noon when they step out of the house, and Atsumu takes him on a tour of his neighbourhood, pointing out the skating rink, the local pool, the grade school where they met Aran, Kita's house far, far away in the distance and their middle school.

"This is Inarizaki," He says, gesturing to his school. Sakusa gazes the the buildings, drinking it all in. They go to a batting cage where Atsumu learns that Sakusa would be as formidable in baseball as he is in volleyball, the ping! of the ball striking the metal bat music to their ears.

They visit a park next, admiring the autumn colors. It's a beautiful day and he and Sakusa poses against the vibrant foliage, snapping a few pictures.

It's hard to bring it up when Sakusa is enjoying himself so much. Atsumu can tell now, even if his face is mostly covered in a mask as he waits outside the public bathroom— Sakusa needs to reapply lotion since the mask sucks all the moisture on his skin— of his expression through eyes alone.

He doesn't want to sour their day together. Every hour they spend in person is so precious, he needs to carefully hold it. He should live in the moment because it's not every day Sakusa visits him.

It's not every day he can see him.

He's not lucky, like Osamu and Suna.

"You hungry?" Sakusa says, slipping his mask back on. It's a black surgical mask that matches the black turtleneck he's wearing under a soft, burgundy fleece cardigan that Atsumu knows his sisters bought for him.

Atsumu hums, "Sure. It's three though, nothing's open. Conbini?"

Sakusa nods. They look up the nearest Lawson's and Atsumu carefully selects a reasonable snack to tide him over until dinner. His mother had texted him that she's making curry, he can be in charge of tempura if he wants, so they need to hit the grocery store before they go home.

Sakusa finishes his snack of a semi-ripe banana, a fruit sandwich he'd scrutinized for five minutes and together, they set off for the local grocery store, hand in hand. Atsumu asks how Itachiyama is doing, if the first years are giving him and Komori trouble.

Sakusa says no, but he's been hounded by his homeroom teacher to fill in his career form.

The conversation takes a sour turn at the mention of careers. They're third years after all.

Atsumu has avoided this topic for a while now, never knowing when to bring it up because he's always plowing through homework and juggling his school life with captain duties.

Sakusa shoves his hands in his pockets, watching Atsumu gaze at the shrimp selection with a complicated expression.

Atsumu doesn't know what to say, the basket by his feet as he grabs a tray of prawns and goes to hunt for more tempura flour. He can tell by the slouch of his shoulders that Sakusa is compensating for a pulled back muscle most likely— he'll have to try and convince him to stretch it out later.

"Have you decided on a school?" He asks the row of tempura flour. His palms are not sweaty, they're not. He's just....

Worried. Apprehensive. What if this is it?

"You're still dating the Tokyo boy?"

Atsumu nearly squishes the poor box with more force than necessary, listening to Sakusa mumble, "My parents prefers me picking med school, but they're fine with anything."

"Do you want to go into medicine?"

Sakusa hesitates, fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater, the sleeves grazing his fingertips. He looks oddly vulnerable even if he's tall enough that his head clears the shelves and his wingspan allows him to touch the row of tempura batter in front of him but also of the cake flour behind them.

"No, but I don't think I should be stopping my education at the high school level."

"Do you know what you want to study in university then? You can pick your school based off that."

Sakusa does. Atsumu listens to the way his voice turns brittle; Waseda has a promising sports science program.

Atsumu listens to the bad elevator music playing above his head, the beeping of the cashiers coming in from his left ear. He's reading the ingredient list of the batter box over and over again, feeling very cold even though he's bundled in a sweater and has a jacket layered on top.

Waseda. In Tokyo.

"Oh," He replies softly, setting the batter box in his shopping basket, next to the prawns.

Sakusa's eyebrows scrunches slightly and Atsumu knows behind the mask that he's twisting his lips. He wonders what his face is doing, staring at the tiles of the grocery store until he feels Sakusa tug on his sleeves.

He looks up. Sakusa frowns.

"Your eyes are wet."

"They're dry, I haven't been blinking," He clears his throat and hooks their elbows together, ignoring the way the shopping basket nearly takes out a granny nearby, marching forward towards self check out, "Come on, I'm starving. You like curry right, my mother's curry is the best!"

"Atsumu."

He's not going to talk about this. He absolutely is not going to make a scene in the grocery store. He's going to pretend nothing happened in the fast few minutes until they get away from people as his brain starts to go run itself in a tangent about how Sakusa doesn't like him enough to consider an Osaka university.

"Not now, Omi-kun," He pulls out his wallet from the depths of his jeans as Sakusa stands next to him like a particularly lost child, "Later."

"Atsumu," Sakusa tries again, frustration leaking into his voice.

"Not now," He snaps. He grabs the bags and marches out. It's a complete dick move he knows, but he's still processing Sakusa choosing Waseda, and he gives the store doors a quick glance to see that Sakusa has followed him out.

He slows down until Sakusa is walking behind him, following him home. The clouds are fluffy and mauve against the purple skies, something picture worthy that he would send to Sakusa when they were still in the honeymoon stages.

It stands though, no wonder they call it the honeymoon stage. It doesn't last, just like how he and Sakusa will be.

If his eyes prickles with pain on the way home, he doesn't let Sakusa know, quickly blotting his eyes with the back of his palms, thinking about the hand sanitizer he carried in his hoodie pocket and the travel sized wipes in his jacket.

He tried so hard.

Why did Sakusa choose Waseda? Did he ever consider Osaka at all?

As a very important guest, Sakusa is prompted to take a bath first by Atsumu's mother when they arrive. This is also his first time meeting her, and he bows neatly and properly before making his way upstairs.

"Why are you glum?" His mother says, putting him right to work. She has the curry bubbling away, the scent overpowering every room on the second floor. Atsumu grunts, cleaning the guts of the prawn and scoring the flesh so he can stretch them out into a straight line. He's not in the mood to talk right now, cleaning them with some potato starch.

She tsks, mumbles something about teenage years and leaves him to his own device. For a while, they work quietly, Atsumu watching the tempura prawns fry as he fishes them out to put in a basket lined with newspaper as his mother makes a salad.

He's in the middle of making the tempura dipping sauce when his mother breaks the silence.

"Sakusa-kun seems like a quiet boy."

"He's shy, he'll open up with time."

"Does he know what he wants to do after high school? Will he play in the league as well?"

He knows his mother is asking only because she cares and she's curious, but Atsumu wants to run away from his tiny kitchen right now, plant himself face first into his futon and mope.

"Waseda," He says in an odd, strangled voice.

A pause, then his mother's voice softens, "Oh Atsumu...."

And that tone makes him sniffle, holding cooking chopsticks in his right hand as she rests her head on his shoulders. He blinks tears away as she sits him down on a stool and hands him a glass of water.

"Have you spoken to him about this?"

He shakes his head, feeling her hand run through his hair. It's comforting. He almost forgot how he and Osamu would hang off each of her arms when their heads only reached her hips.

"Shouldn't you ask before jumping to conclusions?" 

She doesn't console him, never being soft handed in her parenting. It's tough, raising twins by herself and the occasional visit from their grandma who lives in Kobe, but she always reaffirmed Atsumu in a manner where he feels calmer at the end.

But this time isn't one of those times.

"No, but I don't want to let him go," He mumbles.

"You really like him."

"Too much."

"He has his own life and career to consider too. You shouldn't pick schools based on boyfriends or girlfriends."

He heard that advice countless of times from his homeroom teacher. Sakusa probably had that lecture sprung upon him too, to use logic when picking a school.

"But I want him to pick me."

She pats his head, "You can't force people to feel a certain way. Talk to him first, there's no use worrying about something you haven't spoken about," She tugs the chopsticks out of his hands and sends him off to wash his face in the downstairs bathroom.

When Atsumu comes out, eyes reverted back to normal, Sakusa is speaking quietly about his family, setting the table up. There's plates laid out already, and he's straightening the salad bowls as his mother circles around the kitchen with the platter of prawns.

Dinner is subdued. Atsumu wonders how long Osamu is sleeping over at Rin's, suddenly missing him. His mother tries to make conversation, but Sakusa can only reply to so many things before the air grows awkward and Atsumu tells his mother to take a bath while he cleans up.

"You can do whatever," He insists, tugging the plates out of Sakusa's hand. He dumps them all in the sink and rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie, pretending Sakusa isn't hovering, "You're a guest, after all."

"...Alright."

When he looks up, Sakusa is gone and Atsumu scrubs the plates as slowly as possible, trying to draw out the minutes. Apparently, he takes too long and is kicked out by his mother.

He sits in the lukewarm water for a bit, staring at the tiles and gazing at his bruised knees. 

With no other way to draw it out any longer, Atsumu drains the tub, towels most of his hair dry and enters his room, seeing Sakusa sitting cross legged, leaning against a wall, on his phone.

His curls are fluffy post shower, not a sight he never saw before, but he swallows, knowing that he's on borrowed time. The countdown in his head flashes, like a big and ugly warning that Atsumu has to do damage control tonight because he shouldn't let Sakusa return to Tokyo without addressing the elephant in the room.

"Look."

Sakusa angles his phone screen towards him. Atsumu bends down and gasps, looking at a play of France and Argentina.

"Was that recent?" 

Sakusa nods, chirping about the game highlights. Atsumu wavers, settling next to him and only chanting, one video, just one video over and over again in his head before they spend three hours staring at his phone, migrating from sitting by a wall to sharing a pillow in his futon.

"Look, Omi," He starts, before being shushed, Sakusa wrapping his arms around him. 

Atsumu stares at his sweater, the who needs memories motto pressed to his cheek. Sakusa's heartbeat is steady and slow.

They've turned off the overhead lights, using a lamp on Atsumu's desk. Osamu's side of the room, with his futon neatly folded and tucked into the closet, is bare, though his desk is scattered with books, notes, various boxes of Pocky and seven tiny food replicas on keychains.

He hears a little sniffle so faint he thought he might've imagined it.

But he sees the shine in Sakusa's eyes, sitting up and watching Sakusa shrink into a ball, sniffling harder.

He raises a hand to touch, to soothe, to rub circles somewhere, but he hesitates, watching the golden glow of the lamp fall across the blanket's surface, indenting and creating shadows where there are peaks and valleys.

"Omi-kun?" He tries.

Another sniff. Atsumu looks around the room at a loss, realizing that he's alone. 

"Kiyoomi," He places a hand on Sakusa's hair, stroking, "Talk to me."

He watches as the light falls on Sakusa's throat, seeing it flex as he swallows. His mouth opens and Atsumu feels his heart break, listening to the words of a boy who sounds too young and too old at the same time.

"I'm just sad," Sakusa croaks, "I get really sad when I have to say goodbye to you."

"But I'm still here. We have some time before your train—"

"But what's going to happen when I go to Waseda?"

Sakusa turns into a blur, and when his tears starts to flow, Atsumu allows them to drip down his cheeks quietly, continuing to run a hand through his curls

"Do you want to give up?" He breathes, forcing his voice to remain steady. They both can't break. One of them has to be stronger for the other one.

Sakusa throat works, mouth opening and closing in wordless answers. He shakes his head but pulls his elbows down, tears clumping his long lashes together.

"Don't you find it hard? I like you so much," Sakusa half whispers and half mouths.

Atsumu never hides anything from his spikers. If they're lacking, he'll tell it straight to them. Sakusa is of no exception, and he nods, watching a tear slip down Sakusa's eyes towards his ears.

"Omi," He sniffs, dabbing the tears away with a sleeve, and then leaning to get tissues from his desk since Sakusa isn't stopping, "Don't cry or I'm gonna cry."

"It's hard," Sakusa half sobs and half cries, mouth twisting into something ugly and beautiful at the same time, "It's so hard."

Atsumu presses a few tissues to his eyes. They don't talk much after that, mutually crying in a sad lump until Sakusa drifts off, cheeks tearstained and lying on Atsumu's futon.

He tucks his Omi in before wiggling next to him and drawing him to his chest as tightly as possible.

When Sakusa wakes, it's past noon from the clock on the wall and there are two male voices downstairs.

He sits up, blanket falling off. His eyes are tight and his skin feels dry from all the crying. 

Out of habit, the countdown in his head starts. Six more hours. The afternoon sun is streaming through the window Atsumu likes to take sunrise pictures out of.

Sakusa decides to splash water on his face and take his time with his morning routine, not wanting to give the Miyas a scare when he comes down the stairs looking like death personified. His dark circles are heavy and he didn't bring the concealer stick Hitomi gave him.

He tries to slap some color into his cheeks but fails, changing into real clothes and heading downstairs.

Osamu spots him first, sitting on the couch that's turned towards the stairs. He thanks Osamu for his tact when he gives him a cheery wave, definitely ignoring the way Sakusa hovers like a grim reaper, "Hey, heard you guys had curry without me last night."

"We did," He looks at the blond head not facing him, "How's Suna?"

"He's good," Osamu stretches the words out, flickering his eyes between him and his brother, "Not to sound mean, but what time is your train leaving?"

"Seven."

"Enough time for you guys to see something before the train goes, right?" He chirps this to Atsumu, who has turned around in the chair. Sakusa stares at the bags on his eyes, the tired slope of his shoulders and his red nose, no doubt rubbed raw from last night. 

All of that, just from him.

Atsumu says nothing but gestures him to sit on the dining table, Osamu ambling after him like a desaturated version of him. While Sakusa eats breakfast— not knowing who prepared it, but by the sloppy shape of the onigiri, he thinks it's Atsumu— and Atsumu disappears to do something in the backyard, Osamu chats with him about trivial things.

Surface level talk. He can do that, but once Osamu has exhausted his questions like Hyuuga-san did yesterday at dinner, the silence hangs over their heads like a rain cloud.

He stares at his empty plate, picking absently at his nails.

"Relationships are hard work, hm?"

He looks up, giving Osamu a soft, "I thought you'd be telling me to stop hurting your brother by now."

"I want to, believe me, but," Osamu shrugs, fiddling with a coaster on the table. His hands are the same shape as Atsumu's, identical to the last fingernail, but Sakusa knows in his heart that if he were to hold it, he would be able to tell which hand belonged to which twin, "It's not exactly my place to say. I'm not the one in a long distance relationship, I don't know what it's like.

"And I can see you guys care about each other," Osamu murmurs, setting the coaster down and picking up Sakusa's plate, "Don't worry about the dishes, you're a guest."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me."

Osamu blinks, then laughs, "Next time you visit, I'll convince Kaa-san to consider you family so we can pawn off our chores to you."

The question comes out of his mouth before he's aware of it, "You think we're going to be alright?"

He didn't plan to cry. He came here with the mindset to have fun and see Atsumu. He didn't mean for all of this to happen, for Atsumu to find out about Waseda this soon, for him to lose composure and make him cry last night.

Osamu stops, turning. His eyes are calm, even, "If there are two people who can handle a long distance relationship at our age, it would be you and my brother."

Sakusa feels his mouth twitch up into a smile.

Then Osamu shoves him in the direction of the back door, "Never tell Tsumu I complimented him, okay? You owe me. Now go talk to him please, he looks like I stepped on his puppy's tail or something, it's so weird to see my face look so heartbroken."

He laughs, stepping outside. Atsumu, who'd been loitering under a plum tree, tilts his head up.

The back door slams to a shut. 

Sakusa jerks his hand towards the house he just stepped out of, "Wanna go to Tempozan?"

Atsumu pulls out his keys and lets them inside, kicking up a fight with his brother as the entire house shakes about Osamu locking both of them out like they're his pets. While Sakusa packs, he looks at the who needs memories hoodie and lays it on top of Atsumu's blankets, folded neatly.

It should still smell like him.

Then he grabs a black and green zip up sweater from Atsumu's closet, sure that he won't go looking for it, and borrows it.

They're quiet the entire ride from Amagasaki into Osaka. It's a cloudy day and it's not that dark yet, so the lineup is fairly small and they get shuffled into a gondola almost immediately. The click of the lock on the door echoes before the wheel slowly starts up.

They rode this Ferris wheel on their first date. Sakusa came down a few days after Inarizaki got eliminated in Nationals, both of them greeting each other with twisted lips. They'd spent the entire day with hands in their pockets, acting more like friends than anything before the Ferris wheel lit up several blocks away.

Atsumu had saw his eyes brighten and dragged him along. They were so high above the ground, Osaka tiny at the apex of the wheel, the seas dark, their faces thrown in multicolored lights as the colors changed.

He remembered how electrifying the air was, remembered how he saw Atsumu pull his hand out of his pockets, holding onto his fingers, cheek dusted pink from the blush. That Atsumu wasn't a captain, lacking the eyebags on his current self, hair half hidden under a red toque.

And now, it's evening, Osaka starting to light up below them, the seas reflecting the sun and the lights nearby. Below them, a group of mothers are huddled in front of the aquarium entrance as children ran below, tiny as ants.

Atsumu, sitting across of him, looks miserable.

"Am I worth it?"

How many times has he seen Atsumu cry? Pull all-nighters just so they can see each other? Be miserable because of him?

Atsumu blinks, "What kind of fucking question is that?" He replies flatly.

Sakusa opens his mouth but Atsumu steamrolls him, "Of course you are! If anything, I should be asking you that question."

"Why?"

"I mean, you did cry in my bed yesterday," Atsumu looks off to the side, bending his head down slightly just right, the dark circles under his eyes slightly more prominent.

He says, in a small voice, "But I made you upset at the grocery store."

Waseda. It seemed like a nice enough campus and there's a strong men's volleyball team along with a program he's interested in. His parents seemed happy when he told them, giving him their approval even though he knew that they never set him with the same expectations they had with his sisters.

Pain flashes across Atsumu's face.

"Yes, you did."

"I'm sorry."

"...Wanna know something stupid? I get scared when you visit me sometimes."

"Why?"

"We only have such a short time together. I want us to have fun, I want you to have fun," Atsumu states, "You hate taking public transportation and I would hate for you to come here and you leave with a fight or something."

Sakusa looks at his shoes, contemplating, "Sometimes," He starts, "I think you're too good for me."

"Huh?" Atsumu exclaims, "No way!"

"Yes way!" He snaps, their voices bouncing around in the small gondola, "You're doing so much! Captaincy, school and a job! You're pushing yourself to your limits all because of me and I feel guilty! If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have failed your midterms. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be short on sleep! If it weren't for me choosing Waseda, we wouldn't be having this conversation at all!"

"Kiyoomi! They're choices I made for myself!—"

"I know! But it still makes me feel guilty! You shouldn't have to juggle that many things just to see me."

"...I handed in my resignation form a few weeks ago," Atsumu says evenly. Sakusa snaps his head up, "Yeah, I can't deal with it either. Don't worry, I have enough money to tide over for the rest of the year until the Jackals pay me." 

"So you're going with them."

Atsumu shrugs, smiling slightly, "Osaka isn't far from Amagasaki, it's a win-win. Kaa-san's happy that I'm nearby, I'm getting paid and getting my foot into a division one team," He fiddles with a hangnail, "I would've been happier if the Adlers offered me a spot, but it seems like they're eyeing someone else."

Sakusa bites the insides of his cheek, "That's good...more sleep...."

"...Last night you said this was hard," Atsumu gestures to the air between them, "And we're miserable."

Sakusa swallows. He tries to pull in deep breaths, feeling like he'd just agreed to walk to the front of the classroom to spontaneously recite a poem, "I just.... I miss you too much when you're not around. Especially after you visit me for a long time, I fall into a mood for a good week where I'm not happy at all. And when I think about continuing this for another four years, I...."

He wonders if they'll be okay. They're not going to be able to share a lot of their lives together, with Atsumu joining the professional circuit and Sakusa navigating post-secondary life. There's going to be a lot of things he won't understand and vice versa.

It'll be much harder, more difficult than what it is now.

"I feel like you'll leave me behind," He confesses, "You already are, in a way, heading towards a future that I can't relate to. I'm nothing special, I'm just a boy from Tokyo."

He was already scared of the distance, five hundred and three kilometers, now he has to consider their lives going off in different paths as well.

"'Just a boy?'" Atsumu laughs wetly. Sakusa jerks his head up, just in time to see him wipe his eyes, "You're not just a boy to me, Kiyoomi."

"Aren't you mad I'm choosing Waseda?"

"I mean...yeah, I was disappointed. Really disappointed. I wanted you to study here or at least somewhere closer, but that's selfish, right? You have your own life. I'd rather have the distance than not have you at all."

He stands and sits next to him, putting his head on Sakusa's shoulder. They stare at the scenery together, looking at the glowing city on one side and the dark waters on the other. A boat is coming into Osaka Bay, chugging along.

Atsumu lifts their hands, pressing the back of Sakusa's hand to his hot cheeks, "You know, I thought if I put in enough effort, things will be okay. But sometimes pure blind effort isn't enough, is it? I'm afraid of bringing up the bad things because we have so little time together. Stupid, right?"

Sakusa shakes his head, "It makes sense."

The light around them changes to a bright blue cyan.

"Omi-kun, you're a terrible texter, has anyone ever told you that?"

Sakusa makes a face, remembering of his siblings complaining of their messages being ignored by him, "Um."

"Since this is the season to bring up bad things, that's my number one complaint," Atsumu says, leaning his head on him. Sakusa presses his cheek on top of his head, "I hate double texting. Triple texting is even worse."

"...We can try calling instead."

"Yeah? Okay. Promise to talk to me if this isn't working out? If you're getting tired of phone calls?" Atsumu looks up at him, "I really, really like you more than I should. And I don't want you to ever be sad."

The backwards admission of how much Atsumu likes him makes him smile. It's so like him.

"Okay," He promises. He glances down at their hands, still linked together, "Do you think this is the right decision?"

"There's no 'right decision' I think," Atsumu mumbles, "I just know I like you and I want us."

Atsumu shakes their hand, gesturing to their entwined fingers.

Sakusa opens his mouth, "I want us too," Another boat appears around the corner, heading their way. The stars are winking in and out of the cloud cover, the sun sinking into the ocean.

"I'll be more patient," He tells the skies, "I'll speak up more."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Omi-kun."

"I don't. I only make promises I can see through the end," And he thinks about the one week period Komori had christened his 'moping time', wondering what he can do to distract himself from it, "We're in this together, Tsumu."

"...You're right. We're on the same team, aren't we?" Atsumu holds his hand tighter.

"Yeah, Team Tsumu and Omi," Sakusa eventually says, watching the boats dock by the pier.

They step out of the cart just as the sun starts to set. Atsumu leads him to a nearby conbini where Sakusa buys pre-packaged, processed food. They watch the night settle around them in silence, comforted by the way the clouds are drifting when Atsumu stands up and runs off.

"Atsumu?"

"Be right back!" His boyfriend yells, hurtling around a corner. 

Sakusa sits back in the chair, finishing his instant noodles. He checks the train's schedule again, making sure that he has enough time to catch it as he cleans up and sits, waiting for Atsumu to return.

Ten minutes later of replying to all his sisters— Atsumu's right, he's a bad texter— he hears a pair of feet pound the pavement and Atsumu careening into view, holding a box with something fuzzy inside.

He's flushed and red, panting and gesturing to the teddy bear tucked inside the box, "If you press the right paw, it'll say 'Omi-kun,' and the left will say, 'just a bit longer.'" Atsumu huffs, dropping back into the chair.

Sakusa holds the box, looking at the bear sitting upright, its button nose shiny and smooth, the fur the color of golden wheat. There's a bow around its neck, red.

"...It won't help because this shit's hard, but I don't know, I just had a thought that maybe you're comforted by my voice? And you can hug this like another Yuki-chan. It's... stupid, right? Yeah it is—"

"Shut up, Atsumu, you're thinking too much," He sets the bear and its box on the table and stands, hugging him, "Thank you."

Their goodbyes just outside the JR gates are no different than usual, tinged with sadness. Sakusa leans into Atsumu as long as he can, the blush around his cheeks covered by his hoodie, watching the minutes and seconds tick by.

The train chimes its last call for passengers.

He tugs Atsumu's hood on for him, kissing him on the mouth gently, some semblance of privacy between them before letting him go.

It's not easy, but they call each other more often, setting aside time where they can properly talk between morning rides to the train station, lunch breaks and when Sakusa is making dinner for himself and Atsumu is running around town to find ingredients for his mother. 

He presses Tsumu-chan's paws nearly every day before he leaves the house and Sakusa doesn't open his texts unless he knows he has time to reply to it, sometimes hiding in a bathroom stall and smiling at the stupid memes Atsumu sends.

And perhaps that's why his team understands when Sakusa breaks away from the stretching circle now, letting his vice-captain take over the cool down stretches to go to get his phone and stretch alone.

"Where's Captain going?" He hears a curious first year ask.

"Calling his boyfriend," Komori giggles, above the din of Yamada harping about the correct position on stretching their hamstrings, "Let him be, they don't see each other much. So, anyone have plans tonight?"

Sakusa smiles at the wall, turning his head around to gaze at the first years before he hears Atsumu's voice coo at him, Suna's and Osamu's jeers heard in the background, "Omi-kun!"

"Hey," He grins, "How was practice?"

There's something electrifying about watching the countryside fade away, houses getting closer and closer, apartments appearing, before the cacophony of towers stretching as tall as the sky appear so close to the shinkansen Atsumu's sure he can stick his hand out the window and touch them.

He'd always love seeing this view, looking forward to it every time he visits Tokyo, but he'll miss it for sure, along with the addicting feeling of Sakusa's eyes finally spotting him among the dozens of commuters exiting the train.

Five years later, it still gives him butterflies.

They don't run up to each other, but Sakusa does quirk his mouth up into a smile as Atsumu steps out with a weekend bag and proceeds to choke.

"What the hell are you wearing?"

"You're just mad I look better than you," He teases, pulling him in the right direction because no matter how often Atsumu comes in through Tokyo Station, he always manages to get himself lost. Don't get him started with Shibuya Station and its labyrinth pathways. Atsumu had gotten separated from Sakusa once and it was the worst twenty minutes of his life.

"Ready to move to Osaka?" He raises a brow, stepping out into the spring night. It's colder than he thought and he shivers, feeling Sakusa drape his jacket around his shoulders.

"Sure," Sakusa easily says.

"You're not scared?"

"What's there to be scared of? I got the MVP award for a reason," The former captain of Waseda's men's volleyball team says in a matter of fact tone. Atsumu elbows him, "There's nothing to worry about if I play how I usually play."

"Cocky."

"Please," Sakusa pushes him into a dark alley just outside of Tokyo Station, away from the businessmen and women walking to the train station to de-stress and drink after work. Atsumu grins, "I'm not like you."

The neon lights and street lamps backlights Sakusa's face. Atsumu stares at his soft mouth, warm eyes and chiseled jawline.

"Oh? What am I?"

"Conceited. Arrogant," Sakusa lists, leaning in for a hug and burying his nose into Atsumu's neck, voice soft, "And an okay setter, I guess."

Atsumu gasps, mock hurt.

Tonight, they'll meet Komori and Akaashi at TOHO cinema to watch a re-run of Kiki's Delivery Service. Tomorrow, Atsumu will help Sakusa uproot his possessions to Osaka where he'd signed a contract with Atsumu's team. 

There won't be a need for countdowns, shinkansens or night busses anymore.

"You're wearing a lot of these lately," Sakusa says, eyes soft as they share his childhood bed. It's as cramped now as it is when Atsumu was seven kilograms lighter and two inches shorter. Yuki-chan is sitting on Sakusa's desk, her round head peeking out of a box that's not yet closed.

He wiggles closer, watching Sakusa fiddle with the rings on the nightstand far away from the edge. Atsumu had gotten into rings and accessories lately, "Oh, I like them but I don't wear them at practice. It bothers me too much when I'm serving."

Sakusa hums. Atsumu feels him being squirreled tighter into his arms.

"Can I give you a ring in the future?"

He grins in the dark, not entirely sure if Sakusa can see it, sing-songing, "Not unless I give you a ring first."

Sakusa scoffs, "You don't know my ring size."

"Oh I do. You think I only know your clothing size?—" He's cut off with a pillow as Sakusa mounts on top of him. Atsumu gasps, because Sakusa is heavy and his knees are squishing his guts, "Hey! Cheater!"

Sakusa laughs, his silhouette visible in the darkness. They kiss. And then Sakusa leans to the side, turning the lamp on and rifling through his drawers.

Atsumu is about to pull his boxers off for a third round when Sakusa opens a tiny box and holds something round between his thumb and forefinger. His face is red.

"Holy fuck?" Atsumu says, because what else is he supposed to do, staring at the ring in disbelief. They'd spoken about marriage as something they want in the distant future so Atsumu's been biding his time, "I— I didn't think you'd actually—"

"Well you thought wrong," Sakusa slips the chain and ring around his neck before sitting back on his haunches, flushed and very pleased with himself.

He's not going to cry, he's not going to cry.

His voice cracks, "Omi—"

"We don't have to get married if you don't want to," Sakusa says quickly, scrambling for words, "Your mom probably thinks we're too young anyway. We can have a long engagement or whatever if you're not ready, I don't mind, you've waited long enough for me to finish undergrad anyway, so I want you to know that—"

"God," Atsumu pulls his boyfriend— fiancé— down by the neck to kiss him silly, "Fuck that, let's get hitched right now."

"Are you kidding me?" Sakusa pulls away, eyes wide with fear, "My sisters will kill us."

Atsumu blinks and then they're both laughing, curling up underneath the blankets. 

"When did you buy the ring?"

"...A few months ago," Atsumu turns to look at Sakusa, but he has his face twisted into the crook of his neck, hiding. Only his ears are visible and Atsumu feels a giant burst of affection for his beanpole, "Don't laugh or I'll tickle you."

"Prickly," He kisses the top of his head, grinning at the ceiling.

Sakusa lays his head on Atsumu's chest, humming in agreement.

He thinks about the five years that passed in a blink of an eye, remembering the way he'd cornered Sakusa away from his cousin just outside Ajinomoto Center in their second year of high school. He'd shoved a package of umeboshi from Amagasaki to his chest because Sakusa mentioned he liked them in an issue of Volleyball Monthly.

And he was very immature back then, to think that problems would just go away if he kept chipping away at it with more effort. Sakusa had been rightfully upset at him when Atsumu stretched himself too thin. They crashed and burned several more times throughout his university days because they were both hot headed and stubborn, but they always cooled off and returned to each other.

It still boggles him sometimes, to wake up next to an eighteen, nineteen, twenty and twenty-one year old Sakusa who grew past the need of teddy bears to hold in his sleep.

"Do you not get sad anymore when I leave?" Atsumu had asked once, watching Sakusa shove his curls underneath a toque. It's a bright winter day and they're about to head outside to get groceries for shabu shabu.

"Oh I do," Sakusa had said, like someone had asked him what color the sky was, "But that's why I call you right when you get on the shinkansen."

"Hey, Omi?"

"Hm?" Sakusa grunts. Atsumu knows he's pulled him from falling to sleep. His lashes flutter slightly, a peek of the moonlight slicing through the blinds.

"It's worth it," He says quietly, to the slim space separating their faces. Outside, cars are still moving on the motorways and people are heading home. He wiggles slightly closer to Sakusa, "The waiting during those five years."

Sakusa doesn't reply. He presses a sleepy kiss to Atsumu's cheek, breathing deeply. 

Seconds later, Atsumu joins him, both wrapped around each other.