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Sakusa was always keenly aware of the fact that, somehow, he was alive.
His existence up until now could be described as miraculous, considering all the cars he’d driven in that hadn’t crashed, all the food he’d eaten that hadn’t poisoned him, all the things he’d touched without contracting a terrible illness.
He shared that thought with Komori once, who only replied: “That makes a lot of people miraculous to you then, huh?” Not flippant, but not expecting a response either.
Yes, Kiyoomi thought to himself, anyone who is alive is a miracle to me.
That line of thought felt too cloyingly sweet the moment he let it loose though, so he reined it in and gave a vague noise of neither agreement or disagreement.
I’m alive, miracle or not, and that’s what matters. The flutter of his pulse, light and barely detectable from the curve of his wrist, seemed to beat in agreement.
1.
When he joined MSBY, feeling alive instead of like a walking shell of germs and stray thoughts became a lot more common. He would never admit it, but this team, these players, these conditions— as Atsumu would say about one of his wicked sets, they were perfect.
The dull pound of his heart was omnipresent as he spiked until his palms were glowing red and as he won and won and won, but it was especially vivid when—
“Nice kill, Omi-San!”
Ah. There it was.
It would have made sense if his pulse jumped at Hinata’s neatness, or the stacks of books in his room with titles like ‘Self-Care and Mindfulness for Athletes,’ or the twisting and turning sorcery that Hinata did every morning and called yoga.
(This is not yoga, Sakusa thought to himself as he watched Hinata, bleary eyed and barely caffeinated.
This is torture.)
No, Sakusa felt it first when they had won a long-fought game over the Adlers, filled to the brim with long rallies and strings of service aces from each team.
It would only be a few minutes before they shook hands and exchanged comments about the match (Wakatoshi’s form today was, as usual, beautiful) or searing promises about how the other team would be crushed next match (how Kageyama and Hinata managed to keep that energy even right after such a tiring game, Sakusa never knew). But right now. Hinata Shoyou, flushed with the glow of victory, jumped high into the air as he cheered and praised everyone’s performance.
“Omi-san! I for sure thought you’d be outta bounds on half of your serves, but they all stayed in! And all of your receives were super solid too! Oh, and Atsumu-san, you know that one toss you gave to Bokuto-san in the third set...”
Hinata’s smile was wide and gleaming as he doled out praise, skin flushed prettily from the exertion of his own impressive spikes and receives. As Sakusa’s eyes trailed Hinata’s enthusiastic movements around the other players, his head began to pound.
Sakusa blinked, caught off guard by the sudden roaring in his ears and the dull pound of his temples.
Do I have a concussion?
But he hadn’t hit his head, so that wouldn’t make any sense. Sakusa raised finger to the side of his head and inhaled sharply at what the barest brush of the pads of his fingers revealed.
His heart was pounding like it was trying to jump out of his skin. He felt, more than after any game, more than any other time in his entire life—
uncontrollably alive.
Logic, Kiyoomi, logic, he told himself sternly, before he could start wondering if the fumes from Atsumu’s attempts at making breakfast that morning had finally made their way to his brain. He had just won a game with his team, his slip-ups near nil, so of course he felt good.
But when Hinata smiled at him, the same smile he gave everyone else he ever came into contact with, it felt like all of the atoms in Sakusa’s body stopped their eternal movement. All things except for Sakusa’s pounding head and Hinata, mid-jump, seemed to go completely still.
It probably meant something.
Sakusa knew it meant something.
He chose to ignore it.
A lot of things in life— Bokuto’s seemingly impossible cutshots, Atsumu’s occasionally edible food, two people in a room of twenty three having the same birthday— were just flukes. This was probably another one, Sakusa told himself.
2.
Until it happened again.
They were warming up.
Hinata and Atsumu watched, as they always did (“Do you two have nothing better to do?”), Sakusa’s hands as they folded themselves inwards. Atsumu barely winced, as he always did, and Hinata let out a tiny gasp, as he always did.
However.
Unlike what used to usually happen during warm-ups, where the two would wander off to their own respective parts of the gym to warm-up, they would stay. Or, rather, Hinata would stay, and Atsumu would do whatever his bird brain prompted him to do that particular morning.
Hinata would stay, with or without Atsumu’s company, and he would ask questions.
At first it was just,
“So how does the wrist thingy actually work, Omi-san?”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Was it like that since birth?”
“Is it a genetic thing? Do your parents have it?”
Until the questions, before Sakusa could even catch the change, turned more into,
“Did you try that recipe I sent you, Omi-san?”
“Can you teach me how you did that stretch? Pretty please?”
“Your favorite hand sanitizer is that bubblegum one, right?”
(Sakusa had never told anyone that his favorite hand sanitizer was the bubblegum one, and he felt more exposed at that innocuous question than any of the others.)
Sakusa, after some poking and prodding, answered the questions, and began to ask his own.
“Can you pass the wipes, please?”
“How is Natsu-chan?”
“Has Kuroo Tetsuro stolen all of your money yet?”
Komori’s voice worms its way into Sakusa’s mind sometimes and cries, Those are terrible questions! I trained you better than this!
You did no such thing, is one affronted reply mental-Sakusa has to mental-Komori.
The other, more humiliating reply that’s mumbled indignantly by mental-Sakusa is: I don’t know what I’m doing, Komori, because no one has ever talked to me like this before besides you.
Because that’s what they did, Hinata and Sakusa. They talked during warm-ups. What Sakusa initially mistook as some persistent game of one-sided twenty questions was just... conversation. Because they were... friends. Mutual conversation sharers. Something.
And besides, Hinata was always glad to reach over and hand Sakusa whatever he needed (“Oh! This is a really nice brand, Omi-san!”), or to chatter about his little sister (“She’s annoying but she’s already way better than I was at her age.”)
The sudden, unfiltered question about the former Nekoma captain sent Hinata into gasps of full-bodied laughter, and Sakusa took an unnaturally large amount of satisfaction in Hinata’s accusations of Sakusa making his stomach hurt too much to move.
“He hasn’t stolen my money yet, but he’s set up a lot of things with me and Kenma! I don’t know if you know him, Omi-san, but he’s my sponsor! He was the setter for Nekoma, so you might’ve seen him around...”
Sakusa carefully noted the ‘yet,’ as if it was a perfectly viable possibility for Hinata to get his money stolen by Kuroo, and also noted the apparent closeness that Hinata and Kenma have shared since high school. Not for any reason, though.
No reason at all.
Which led them to today, one of the few days Atsumu decided to stay stuck to Sakusa’s side during warm-ups. Sakusa’s wrists slid into position, Atsumu winced, Hinata bubbled and fizzed before settling and striking up conversation with Sakusa, and everything was normal.
Except it was decidedly not normal, because Hinata seemed more intense than usual, and the attention that he usually had on Sakusa was magnified and focused by a million, like a camera lens on it’s highest setting.
Before Sakusa could lift his arms and start stretching his legs, Hinata was right there.
Right. There.
Face barely a centimeter from his wrists, inspecting them as if he had never seen them before, which was ridiculous, considering all the times he’d asked incessantly about them.
Hinata’s pointy (and, if Sakusa were to dare think it: dainty) nose was close enough that it could brush across the thin skin of Sakusa’s wrists, made thinner by the way it was being stretched. Just a breath closer, and his lips could settle comfortably on the jut of bone.
“Omi-san,” Hinata murmured, still so unthinkably close to Sakusa’s wrist. There was too damn much going on, from the hushed, almost reverent tone of Hinata’s voice to the way his breath skated up Sakusa’s arms and the way he wasn’t repulsed by the puff of air to Miya fucking Atsumu—
“You have pretty hands.”
The sensory overload dimmed, if only for a moment, into a static buzz. Sakusa felt the words settle and make themselves at home in every crevice of his mind as Hinata rocked back on his heels to offer Sakusa a blinding smile. Sakusa probably looked like a gutted fish.
(Though, once he became marginally more aware of his surroundings, he was satisfied to find that Atsumu looked just as flabbergasted as he did.)
“Can you play the piano or something, Omi-san? My friend Yachi played the harp and she had really pretty hands too!”
Sakusa blinked, slid his hands out from where they were tucked under his wrist, and replied, “I played the violin as a child.”
He breathed a quiet exhale as Hinata launched into a lengthy tangent about disastrous piano lessons, relieved that he hadn’t gotten caught in his stupor of... whatever emotion possessed him at that moment.
Sakusa felt dizzied with sensation and, with a looming sense of dread, he pressed two fingers on the curve of his wrist, right where Hinata’s breath made it’s acquaintance with skin earlier.
Ah, he thought to himself, less surprised and more resigned as he felt the rabbit-fast race of his pulse. Maybe it was another fluke— maybe the lightning had struck twice in the same place— but Sakusa wasn’t an idiot.
That was probably going to keep on happening, and lightning never hit the same person more than a few times. It was less of a fluke (less of a miracle, he thought, unbidden) and more of just…
“... a crush on Shoyo-kun.”
Sakusa wasn’t an idiot, which was why he wanted to leave the gym as soon as he possibly could. He had seen Atsumu’s face go from confused to something like smug knowingness, and sought to avoid seeing him for as long as possible to avoid this exact situation.
Unfortunately, Atsumu also wasn’t an idiot, despite what appearances indicated, which meant that he had been biding his time before accosting Sakusa at the tail-end of practice.
I knew he was being too quiet, Sakusa thought bitterly before turning from where he was packing his bag. There was no point in making this go on for any longer than necessary.
“Yes, I do have a…” Sakusa floundered for a moment. Crush was supposed to be the right word, but it felt too big and too small for whatever Sakusa’s rapid pulse around Hinata meant.
“... level of attraction to Hinata-san, though I don’t see how that concerns you.”
“Well, as yer friend—“
“Since when were we friends?”
Sakusa already had his mask pulled up, but he could’ve sworn that Atsumu thrived at the downturn of Sakusa’s lips.
“As yer bestest friend ever —“
“If you still have that crush on him that you did when he first joined, you don’t need to worry about me. Pursue him if you’d like.”
Sakusa was completely aware that Atsumu no longer held that crush on Hinata, but something had to be said before Atsumu could continue his train of thought. Atsumu was, as Sakusa learned from experience, best derailed when he got defensive over something.
However, instead of the immediate defense that Sakusa was expecting, Atsumu only preened.
“See, what’d I tell ya? No one except Samu knew about that crush, and he knows everythin’ about me, so that means that we’re best friends if we can read eachother like that, yeah? I doubt anyone else knows about yer crush either.”
Atsumu quickly tacked on, “I haven’t liked him like that in a while, Omi-omi.”
Sakusa, if he had been the type, would have crowed in triumph at his opening.
Now’s your chance! Drive him off before he can harangue you even more!
He squeezed a small amount of hand sanitizer onto his palm before he spoke, letting the silence drag for a few seconds longer. Atsumu was waiting for a response in their little rally of barbs, and Sakusa was going to deliver before making his great escape.
“I can tell,” he started, looking down at his palms. “seeing as you have a crush on Kageyama Tobio.”
He clicked the bottle shut, looked up at Atsumu’s face, and there was the ruddy blush Sakusa was hoping for.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me—“
“Now hooooold on there, Omi-omi!”
And there he was, thinking that he’d have a chance to leave.
“Do you ever shut up?”
“No, and it’s one of my most endearin’ qualities. Anyways, this ain’t about me.”
“Or Kageyema?”
Atsumu moved as if he was going to cover Sakusa’s mouth with his hand before remembering that the mask would’ve made the motion useless, and that touching Sakusa’s mask was asking for violence. His hands went to his hips instead.
“Especially not about Tobio-kun. I don’t know how ya managed to figure that one out—“
“If we’re best friends , Miya, aren’t I supposed to know these things?”
“But I have reason to believe that, for some ungodly reason, Shoyo-kun likes ya back.”
Right. The reason they were here in the first place, loitering in the gym instead of going back home.
Sakusa scrutinized Atsumu for a second. He thought about Atsumu, who was a liar (confirmed by Osamu, Bokuto, and Atsumu himself), and Hinata, who was kind and pretty and talented and talked to Sakusa with stars gleaming in his eyes and told him his hands were pretty and made Sakusa feel drunk on the sensation of being alive.
“I think you’re a fucking idiot, Miya.”
Sakusa packed his bag as Atsumu tittered around him, trying to catch his attention.
“Listen,” Atsumu whined, chancing a quick tug on Sakusa’s shirt. He stepped back as Sakusa levelled a thunderous glare in his direction, but soldiered on. “Omi, I’m tellin ya, he likes ya back! And ya know who has to suffer when yer in yer room, pinin’ the day away—“
“I don’t pine. I can’t say the same about you, on the other hand, with your, ‘Yer a goodie-two shoes, arentcha?’”
His Kansai-ben had gotten pretty good. However, the thought that he spent enough time with Atsumu to pick up on it wasn’t a good one, so he squashed down his satisfaction.
“I shoulda never told ya about that. And ya do pine, but I don’t even think yer aware of it. And it’s even worse cuz we all live in the same dorm! Ya know who has to hear about yer cool serve or yer cool hands or yer cool every-fuckin’-thing while also dealin’ with yer sappy face on the rare occasion ya get the balls to actually talk to Shoyo-kun? Me! Besides, who just randomly tells someone their hands are pretty?”
Sakusa would have been convinced by this logic had it been told from anyone else but Miya Atsumu about anyone else but Hinata Shoyo. Atsumu was a liar, and Hinata thought almost everything was cool. The sentiment probably meant nothing, if it was even true. He decided to focus on something else instead.
“I talk to him plenty.” Sakusa had begun to do yoga with Hinata in the mornings. If he fell a little bit deeper into his crush with every morning ray that illuminated Hinata’s face, well. What Atsumu didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Atsumu looked at him as if he were talking to a particularly slow-witted seven year old.
“That’s all you fuckin’ got out of— look,” he finally sighed. “I’m just sayin’ that you can probably tell him about yer feelings without fear of rejection,” Atsumu paused, faux thoughtful, “and even if he does reject ya, I’m sure he’ll at least be nice about it.”
“That’s encouraging,” Sakusa said dryly. He shouldered his bag.
“Forget about me. Have you gotten Kageyama’s number yet?”
“Omi!”
3.
Ever since Bokuto had moved out of the dorm to live with Akaashi, they (meaning Atsumu, Hinata, and Bokuto, with Akaashi and Sakusa being dragged along into their schemes) had unanimously agreed to hold movie nights in Bokuto and Akaashi’s shared apartment every month.
This wasn’t to say that they didn’t crash visit the apartment individually— even Sakusa could freely admit that hearing Bokuto’s bright, “Hey, hey, Omi-omi!” and Akaashi’s “Hello, Sakusa-san. Do you want coffee?” was a lot like the hands-free equivalent of a hug on a bad day.
But having all of them in one space, faces glowing from the light of Spirited Away and eyes shining in delight, was something that made Sakusa feel the word ‘family’ take form on his lips, in his mind.
It helped that Sakusa was given his own bowl of popcorn so he didn’t have to brush hands with anyone, but that was besides the point.
(It also helped that Sakusa got the whole chaise to himself, settled a comfortable few inches from Hinata, who squeezed onto a cushion with Atsumu while Bokuto and Akaashi got a cushion of their own.)
They were on a Ghibli spree today, and even though Akaashi had warned them all profusely from watching Grave of the Fireflies at midnight, Bokuto had pulled the puppy eyes and the “Akaaaaaashi!”
Sakusa and Hinata seemed to be thinking the same thought as this happened, and they subconsciously shared looks.
They’re so married, their eyes told, and Hinata grinned. Sakusa huffed a little laugh before it caught in his throat and he had to look away.
“Well,” Akaashi had finally sighed, resigned and endlessly fond. “I can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Bokuto, Sakusa learned that night, was a sobber. He cried like his life depended on the neighbors hearing his bawls. Atsumu and Sakusa were both the ones who blinked their tears away and aggressively cleared their throats every few seconds to stave off the flood.
Akaashi, despite having already watched the movie before, quietly hiccuped as he cried, and Hinata…
As with most things, Hinata cried with his entire body. His frame, made strong and powerful with years of volleyball, seemed fragile with the shudders that ran through him every few seconds, and he curled in on himself as he cried.
“That was a fuckin’ terrible movie,” Atsumu muttered, his own voice thick with barely-repressed emotion. He patted Bokuto on the back. “Garbage. Why didn’tcha say anything, Keiji-kun?”
“You’re a piece of,” a sniffle, “absolute shit, Miya.”
At that, Bokuto let out a wet laugh, and Atsumu gave a wobbly grin.
As Akaashi felt around for a box of tissues, Sakusa leaned his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes. It was already early morning, and the fact that he had felt so many emotions and spent so much time around other people was draining in itself.
The sound around hin dulled to a pleasant buzz. He wasn’t quite asleep yet, but his body was lulled into relaxation by the hum of noise and the warmth pressed to his side.
The warmth. Pressed to his side.
Wait.
Had Sakusa been more aware, his eyes would’ve snapped wide open.
Instead, he slowly opened his eyes and lolled his head to look down at his shoulder where Hinata’s head was cushioned. Thank goodness for clothes, Sakusa thought, a little nonsensically, else he’d be touching my bare skin. I’m not entirely sure if I’d mind, though.
That thought was what sent him reeling into awareness, and he stiffened as the last remnants of tiredness finally escaped him.
How did Hinata even end up there? Last Sakusa checked, Hinata had been curled solidly in Atsumu’s direction, having cried himself out to the point of exhaustion, which only meant that— Sakusa leaned back against the sofa.
Atsumu caught his eye. He grinned, and his lips pursed to mouth words.
‘Yer welcome!’
Sakusa didn’t believe in a god, but he prayed viciously to every higher being he knew that Atsumu would find himself bald the next morning, because of course he carefully maneuvered Hinata onto Sakusa while they were both unaware. Of course he did.
Sakusa’s eyes, unbidden, flickered down to the bright orange hair filling his peripheral vision. If he turned his head, his jaw would be able to rest carefully on the top of Hinata’s head.
If he turned his head, Hinata would probably wake up from the sheer force of Sakusa’s heartbeat racing in the curve of his jaw.
It wasn’t a surprise anymore.
(Maybe Sakusa had figured out the parallels his own body had set up for him. Maybe his heart pumped faster when he played volleyball out of, more than physical exertion, love. Maybe his heart pumped faster when he was near Hinata out of, more than a schoolboy crush, love. Maybe.)
Hinata, motionless up until that moment, shifted. His eyelids fluttered barely open, casting a delicate line of lashes over his vision. Sakusa could have counted each lash with ease. Hinata made a confused grumble and a garbled little, “O-Omi…”
(Sakusa didn’t believe in a god, but he might have had to rethink everything he had ever thought he knew about life. Who knew, Sakusa thought despairingly, that someone so unbearably cute could exist. How can someone so cute exist. )
Hinata seemed to be of the mind to move over despite still being mostly asleep, but Sakusa took a deep breath.
“It’s alright. Go back to sleep, Hinata.”
Hinata seemed mollified at the consent, and his breathing slowed once more. Sakusa leaned his head back onto the sofa. Why did he do these things to himself? Was it so hard to tell Hinata to kindly move over?
(Yes. It was really that hard.)
Sakusa was too busy having an almost out-of-body experience to notice Akaashi until a box of tissues was being gently waved in front of his face. Sakusa looked up at Akaashi’s kind, knowing face before turning to meet Bokuto’s gaze from the other end of the couch.
He looked back at Akaashi, who had lowered the box and was smiling beatifically, an angelic visage framed by the barely-there light of 2am and the artificial glow of the TV.
“You’re cute,” Akaashi murmured. “The two of you, I mean.”
Sakusa’s chest constricted, and he felt like he was being asked the hand sanitizer question again, but with far more gravitas.
“Is this what getting approval from the parents is like?”
Akaashi’s smile and Bokuto’s amazed gasp of, “Hold on, we kinda are like Hinata’s parents, aren’t we!” was enough answer in itself.
+1
Despite having gone through the motions of the Peacock Pose and the Firefly Pose and the How-Can-We-Make-Sakusa-Kiyoomi-As-Keenly-Aware-Of-The-Beauty-Of-Hinata’s-Body-As-Possible Pose just moments ago, Hinata’s leg was already beginning to bounce to the song that he was undoubtedly making up in his mind as he went.
Sakusa was torn between feeling endeared and wanting to place a steadying hand on the bare skin of Hinata’s knee. Both of those prospects were equally overwhelming, and Sakusa felt as if the sheer force of his emotion was bigger than what his one body could handle.
(So give it to someone else, Sakusa told himself. Let two bodies handle it. That’s what’s most logical. Let someone else know the enormity of what you feel.)
(Hinata could probably shoulder the world if he wanted to, but Sakusa was afraid that his love might weigh just a little bit more than that.)
They stood on the balcony together, limbs loose and warm under the quietly rising sun.
“You know, Omi-san, I…”
Hinata leaned forward on the rail as if he was bracing his body for impact. He paused, then seemed to change directions with his train of thought.
“I really miss my roommate Pedro sometimes.”
Sakusa felt himself release a breath he hadn’t realized wasn’t holding. Hinata was the type to talk about random things at random times, and Sakusa wasn’t sure why he expected something different now.
“He wasn’t really open at first, you know? Kinda quiet. But it turned out he liked the same manga I did, which was crazy because I probably would’ve lost it in Brazil if I hadn’t made a friend, and then bam! There he was, asking if I liked One Piece or Naruto more! It was a miracle, honestly.”
Sakusa didn’t know what possessed him in that moment but he repeated, haltingly, what he told Komori such a long time ago.
“I’ve been in a lot of cars in my life. The chances of getting in a car crash are a lot higher than getting a plane crash, and I’ve been on planes too. I’ve gotten sick, and it was terrible, and yet I happened to be born in the day and age where I can take some medicine and feel better,” Sakusa thought for a moment before adding, ”I’ve put up with Miya Atsumu for most of my professional career. I think I go through a lot of miracles, too.”
He avoided looking at Hinata as he spoke, feeling a little bit foolish. The pinks and oranges of the sun, at least, gave him something to focus on outside of his burning embarrassment.
“Not everyone knows Atsumu-san, but besides that, that makes a lot of people miraculous to you, huh?”
Not flippant, but patiently awaiting a response. Warm. Pinks and oranges seared themselves into Sakusa’s vision, into the inquisitive note of Hinata’s voice. Sakusa let himself think about cars and germs and best friends. He thought about his feelings that were too big to contain.
“Yeah. A lot of people are.”
“That’s a really nice way to think of things, Omi-san.”
“I suppose so.” Another slew of words appeared before Sakusa could stop them. “Did you do yoga with Pedro?”
Hinata, barely visible in Sakusa’s peripheral vision, startled a little bit at the question.
“Nope! I usually do it by myself, but you’re— Well, it’s— It’s kinda hard to focus with other people around, you know?”
I usually do it by myself.
(Sakusa sometimes let Hinata help him make dinner, despite his general dislike of anyone being in the kitchen at the same time as him. They never touched, but the space always felt smaller in a way that was new and comfortable all at once.
It wasn’t intrusive, what they had. They didn’t have bumping elbows in the kitchen, brushes of skin in the morning light as they stretched. What they had— eyes meeting over a cutting board, simultaneous sighs as they untangled themselves from their poses— was something even better. They welcomed each other.)
“It’s hard to focus around you, Hinata.”
Sakusa finally turned to look at the man next to him.
“Everytime I’m around you I feel like my heart is about to burst out of my chest. And I… I think that you’re the most miraculous person I know. I think you defy everything I’ve ever known.”
A multitude of emotions passed across Hinata’s face, too fast for Sakusa to catch.
I’ve given him the weight of the world and more. Can he shoulder it? Can he shoulder more?
Finally, Hinata inhaled. “Omi-san? Can I take your hand for a second?”
Wordlessly, Sakusa nodded. Hinata shifted from where he was leaning on the rail of the balcony to take a careful hold of Sakusa’s wrist. The orange of his hair glowed, and Sakusa felt like all the places where Hinata’s fingertips gripped his wrist glowed even brighter.
Hinata raised Sakusa’s hand to his chest, and before Sakusa could breath, before he could object, before he could say, “I never thought you’d give me the world in return,” Hinata beamed.
His heart, wrapped in cloth and skin and blood, felt like it was only a second away from escaping into Sakusa’s palm. Quick, hard beats.
“Oh.”
I can feel your heart.
Hinata, smiling a little wider at whatever gobsmacked expression was on Sakusa’s face, raised the hand that wasn’t holding a pale wrist to rest on Sakusa’s own chest.
You can feel mine too.
“I think you’re pretty miraculous yourself, Omi-san.”
They might have looked like fools to someone looking in on them, two men with their palms pressed against each other's chests as they stared at each other with disbelief and awe and love painting their expressions, but Sakusa couldn’t bring himself to care.
Hinata leaned forward, hand still flat against Sakusa’s body, and placed a gentle, fluttering kiss onto Sakusa’s cheek. He drew back, and Sakusa felt a swoop of disappointment.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve—“
“May I kiss you?”
Hinata looked a little bit surprised at the question, and Sakusa was surprised at his own brain for being able to function so well, and so boldly. Sakusa unabashedly stared as Hinata threw his head back to laugh, eyes flickering from the column of his throat to the white of his teeth to the flush of his cheeks.
“You may.”
Sakusa finally moved his hand to cup Hinata’s face, and he drowned in Hinata’s pleased sigh into his mouth as they kissed in front of the rising sun.
As Sakusa lips to pressed onto Hinata’s lips, warm and pink and orange under the sun, welcoming and comfortable and new, over and over again, Sakusa thought to himself:
Maybe this is a miracle, but maybe not. Maybe we were always meant to do this.
His heart beat, strong and true, in agreement.