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Sakusa Kiyoomi hates public places where people gather, especially bars. No matter how shiny the table tops look or how thoroughly the bathrooms have been cleaned, it’s just never clean enough. But EJP- a team that he’s recently joined for various reasons- has just won a game earlier today and declining an invitation to go out and celebrate seemed too rude for even Sakusa. So here he is, standing outside of a bar near the hotel that’s housing EJP and the Adlers both, fists clenching and unclenching. Komori, his cousin, and his friend Suna Rintarou are chatting quietly beside him. Sakusa isn’t the kind who makes friends- ask anyone who’s known him longer than a day- but Suna actually seems likable with his quiet demeanor and focus towards his volleyball career. Komori isn’t someone who Sakusa himself would’ve handpicked to befriend but it’s comfortable being around him, given that he’s known the boy his whole life.
They step into the bar and head towards a secluded table at the back, away from most of the bustling crowd near the TV screen on the opposite end. Sakusa sends a silent thanks to his companions, following the two boys while forcing his hands deeper into his jacket’s pockets. As they seat themselves, he grimaces towards the table and can almost feel germs crawling on his skin. Mind out of the gutter, Kiyoomi, he reprimands himself silently.
“When is he coming?” Komori asks, spinning his phone between his index and thumb.
“He should be here any minute.” Suna says, checking the time.
“Are you excited? You haven’t met him in almost a month.”
“Don’t be such a sap.” Suna rolls his eyes but a ghost of a smile tugs his lips anyway.
Sakusa gets up and heads towards the bar to order a drink, his stomach in odd knots. Suna is currently dating Miya Osamu- someone Sakusa finds pretty tolerable too- but his existence is something that reminds Sakusa of someone he’d rather die than remember. But as long as it’s just Osamu, he might be able to sit through the night with his friends without making some sorry ass excuse to leave early.
Trying his best to avoid touching any of the people around the counter accidently, he orders a fresh lime margarita and waits. His discomfort is probably apparent on his face because his drink is served way sooner than he expects, the bartender pushing the order towards him with an apologetic smile. Even though he mumbles a ‘thank you’ and nods in the bartender’s direction, the smile pisses him off. He knows that it’s a kind gesture and that he should be appreciative of it but everything, even the very air, seems to be getting on his nerves. Usually being out and about stresses Sakusa out so much that he can’t tell if it’s the fact that he’s at a bar and not in the comfort of his own hotel room that’s pissing him off or if there really is more to it.
Shrugging it off, he goes back to the table. Komori and Suna are laughing about something but only a part of him wants to know.
“Say, Kiyoomi, when was the last time you got laid?” Komori asks, smirking. Suna looks on expectantly, leaning back on his seat.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sakusa floors him with a death stare, not even bothering to answer the actual question.
“I mean, I know you’re very selective of who you want to get close to bu-“
“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’ll sleep with whoever you’re interested in next.” Sakusa says nonchalantly, pulling his mask down and taking a sip of his margarita.
Komori sputters, narrowing his eyes at his cousin. Suna starts laughing but stops midway, his eyes locking with someone behind Sakusa.
“Hey, Rin.” Someone says from behind, his voice deep but smooth like velvet, and Sakusa turns around to see Miya Osamu smiling at his boyfriend with the tenderness of a thousand moons. It’s such a contrast to what Sakusa recalls in the deepest parts of his memory, on a face nearly identical to Osamu’s that for a second, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“Hey, ‘Samu.” Suna says, his eyes soft and smile even softer, as he walks up to reach his boyfriend and engulf him in a hug.
After they settle down, a chorus of ‘hey’s and ‘how’re you doing?’s fly around the table. Osamu is currently setting up the newest branch of Onigiri Miya in Tokyo, his next destination being Honshu.
“I am from Kanto.” Sakusa says, “Maybe you can set up a shop there. Your food is actually pretty good.”
“Thank you, Sakusa.” Osamu says humbly, but the pride radiating off of Suna is enough for both. Sakusa realizes only now that he had been a little nervous about meeting Osamu; he wasn’t sure how the grey haired boy felt about him but now that they’re here, he seems to be okay with Sakusa. At least, he’s civil enough and that’s fine. He can work with that.
“You just got approved by Sakusa… damn.” Komori says, “You have no idea what that means.”
Sakusa glares at his cousin, nearly dumping his drink on him. Osamu is about to say something when he stops, waving at someone behind Sakusa. Although he’s not surprised that one of his companions has run into someone they know- this is why I fucking hate public places, Sakusa complains internally- he sure hopes that Osamu doesn’t invite them to stay. There’s only so much social interaction he can stomach in one nigh-
“Heeeeey, Sunarin.” a voice drawls from behind and Sakusa is sure that he’s having a cardiac arrest. There’s no way he would not recognize that voice and he’s fairly sure that the growing ache in his chest is fatal.
“’Tsumu, what an unpleasant surprise.” Suna says, sighing but his eyes are unusually warm and there’s a small smile on his face.
Sakusa is sure there is something medically wrong with him at this point; he can feel his ribs closing in on him, his chest taut with an emotion that almost feels too familiar and unknown at the same time. It takes him back to unbearably long nights without someone, days of staring at his bedroom ceiling- acutely aware of the absence of someone’s breathing. A lullaby that lulled him to sleep for almost three years.
“Hello, Sakusa.”
There’s a ringing in Sakusa’s ears as he finally manages to unfreeze his own nerves, looking up to lock eyes with Miya Atsumu’s golden brown ones. He knows that he’s supposed to respond but he wishes the world would still for a moment so that he could take a swim in the liquid gold of Atsumu’s eyes once again; he didn’t think he’d ever look into these eyes again in this lifetime, given how they parted ways. Hell, he didn’t even know he wanted to look at Atsumu again but now that he is here, he’s not sure how or why he looked away. Sakusa’s breath catches at his throat when he realizes that Atsumu called him ‘Sakusa’- impersonal, formal, cold- and not ‘Omi-Omi’. Why did I give him such a hard time about a stupid fucking nickname, he thinks almost belatedly as he opens his mouth to finally respond.
“Hey, Atsumu.”
The tension in the air is almost palpable but Sakusa is in his own personal hell to be too bothered by it. He twists and untwists his fingers in his lap, sweat pooling in the crevices of his palms. The jacket feels too heavy on his shoulder and he’s half convinced that somebody should call a medic for him and his fucking heart. Sakusa has always been good at controlling which emotions show up on his face- who gets to see the cracks and who only ever meets a stoic wall of indifference- but right now, he’s not sure what everyone is seeing; he’s not sure what Atsumu- the boy has always known everything there is to know about Sakusa, especially the things Sakusa could never voice- is seeing on his face.
To his relief or dismay- he’s not sure which is more prominent- Atsumu says nothing else to him as he takes a seat at the other end of the table, diagonal to him. Komori is sending concerned glances his way, his face guilt-ridden; he probably thinks it’s his fault that his cousin is in this predicament. Averting his eyes, Sakusa takes a sip of his drink, belatedly remembering that the only reason he ever switched from his small doses of whiskey to margaritas is because of Atsumu.
“Omi Omi! C’mon! You gotta try something other than whiskey someday.” Atsumu whines, big pleading eyes trained on his boyfriend, pushing a shot of tequila towards the latter.
“’Tusmu, no.” Sakusa rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his drink- whiskey neat, with two cubes of ice.
“That’s a grandpa drink. And you’re twenty one, jerk.” Atsumu pouts, taking the shot that he initially ordered for Sakusa. That’s it, he can’t take it anymore- Sakusa bursts into laughter, the carefree and unbridled kind that only Atsumu’s ever seen.
“Fine, I’ll try something else.” Sakusa concedes, and Atusum’s face breaks into a grin, “But nothing too strong, please.”
A drop of condensation touches the fingers around the glass and Sakusa is dragged back to the present, a sharp pang of nostalgia stinging his insides. Suddenly, he misses the oaken taste of whiskey and the way he used to only ever taste tequila on someone else’s tongue. The urge to throw his drink away and bolt seizes him but Sakusa makes himself sit there, breathing in and out. There’s someone else approaching their table but he can’t bring himself to care, not when a piece of hair falls into Atsumu’s eyes and all he wants to do is reach out and push it back. But he can’t, not with the table and the hoard of bitter memories and screamed goodbyes between them.
“Tobio is here.” Atsumu says suddenly, his face alight as he gets up.
Kageyama Tobio, his dark hair messy and blue eyes keen, is standing next to Atsumu. The other boys all greet him, shock very evident on Komori’s face; the dark haired setter having something with Atsumu is news to him too. But Sakusa can’t speak because there’s a monster clawing at the sides of his throat- a monster he’d been sure he had put to bed before this very moment- as he sees Kageyama lean in and kiss Atsumu’s cheek. A flush creeps across Atsumu’s defined cheekbones, his eyes soft and dreamy like a sunrise. The little detail pierces through Sakusa, like a bullet tearing through a half healed wound. Kageyama’s hands linger over Atsumu’s taped fingers, inspecting them for any serious injuries. Sakusa vaguely remembers how long it had taken him to let Atsumu touch him that casually- maybe five months? Six?- and it makes him want to hurl; he can’t imagine how tough it must have been for Atsumu, all those months of curling his fingers in instead of brushing them over Sakusa’s whilst walking or date nights. He had been aware of this in the past too, but watching Kageyama give Atsumu something so easily- something that had been monumental for him- chips away at his soul.
Kageyama settles down beside Atsumu, their shoulders brushing as the former looks down at the blonde to whisper something. Sakusa turns away, the churning in his stomach increasing by the second. Thoughts race past each other, vicious and unrelenting and he vaguely commends himself for not passing out or bolting out of the bar till now. He’s amazed there’s no blood on his hands or the floor, because the sound of his own heart cracking over and over again is echoing in his ears constantly. How is it not louder than the music flowing out of the stereo in the bar?
Memories from a humid night in mid August flood his mind, sweeping him away from the table and the present all together. He can see Atsumu’s face clearly, only it’s not lit up with tenderness at all- it’s tear stained and blotchy, eyes hollowed out and frantic at the same time.
“Kiyoomi, are you even listening?” Atsumu rasps, his voice raw from the screaming match they’ve been in for the last twenty minutes, “Talk, damnnit. Say something… anything.”
“What do you want me to say?” Sakusa finally spits out, his voice even but sharp as a broken glass, “What is there left to say?”
“I don’t fucking know, okay? I… I don’t know. All I know is that it’s fucking suffocating being in a relationship where I feel like I am the only one. The silence is deafening.” Atsumu begins shouting but his voice suddenly drops, fresh tears glistening in his bleary eyes. Sakusa can sense that his partner is teetering at the edge of a massive breakdown- his eyes have that manic quality that indicates he might snap at any moment- and a part of him truly does want to stop and help him calm down, breathe in and out like he has done so many times throughout the last three years.
But something holds him back- something dark and menacing, something that is almost devoid of any emotion. So he just stares, fists clenched in the pockets of his sweatpants, as Atsumu’s knees give out and he slumps down to the floor. His nails scrape at the hardwood floor of the kitchen, eyes darting from one thing to another as he repeats something over and over under his breath. Incessant tears streak down his face, his shoulders shaking. This is it- Sakusa knows that something between them has just broken beyond repair because even though a part of him wants to reach out and soothe the blonde haired boy in front of him, he doesn’t move a muscle. Because the sound of nails scraping against the wooden planks shouldn’t have been louder in his ears than Atsumu’s broken sobs but it is; his irritation should not be weighing out his urge to take care of his partner.
“Stop that.” Sakusa bites, dark eyes trained on Atsumu as he looks up, shell shocked.
“Wha-“
“I said, stop that. Stop scratching at the floor.” he says monotonously, “The sound irritates me.”
There’s a beat of silence when an array of emotions flicker across Atsumu’s face- shock, rage, confusion, hurt and finally, utter despair. It somehow dims his entire existence, like the light is bleeding out of him. Somewhere deep and distant in his soul, Sakusa feels a twinge of guilt but it’s not strong enough to break through the numbness that’s spread within him.
“After… after everything that I have tol- told you today… after everything that I have been telling you for the past few months, thi- this is all you have to say?” Atsumu says, his words stumbling over each other, “I guess it makes sense though… you barely look at me. You haven’t touched me in months I think. Every question of mine is answered with a grunt… and if I push it, we end up fighting.”
“Why do you push it then?”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Omi? Why do I push it? Because I am tired of feeling like a fucking ghost in your life. I am tired of trying to make us work when you make me feel unwanted as fuck. Because I am tired of pulling this dead weight with me for the last five months. Becau-“
“Fucking hell, Atsumu, give up then. I am so fucking tired too. Of your constant nagging, of you being so fucking needy.” Sakusa snaps, eyes narrowing, “You knew what you were getting into when you said you wanted to be with me.”
“I know-“
“I have given and given and given. I pushed all my limits for you but nothing is ever enough. If being with me is pulling dead weight then being with you is just giving and giving… you only know how to take.”
Sakusa can pinpoint the exact moment when something in Atsumu cracks, his eyes glassy and body still as a stone carving.
There’s a light tap on his shoulder and suddenly, Sakusa’s dragged back to the bar and its constant bustle. There’s a lump in his throat that he tries to swallow down but it won’t budge, pain prickling under his skin like a living thing. He looks around to see Suna and Atsumu missing from the table, the other twin immersed in a conversation with Kageyama.
“Do you want a refill, Kiyoomi?” Komori asks, concern still very evident on his face.
“Yeah but I’ll get it myself.” Sakusa mumbles and gets up, leaving the table as fast as he can. He’s ready to brave the throngs of people around the bar counter a hundred times over if it means that he won’t have to look at Kageyama Tobio ever again because he’s not sure if he can stop himself from bashing in the raven haired setter’s head, consequences be damned.
The crowd around the bar isn’t nearly as horrible as he expects it to be, but he sees something much worse and it makes Sakusa want to throw his empty glass away and run; he’s beginning to lose count of how many times he’s had the urge to break this particular glass tonight. His eyes find Atsumu leaning on the granite counter, elbows propping up his face as he chats with the bartender. The warm glow from the spotlights right above him paints him golden, reminding Sakusa of the very of the very first time he had seen Miya Atsumu play in an official match. Decked out in black and white, he had glimmered brighter than anyone else on the Inarizaki team- the golden eyes and blonde hair leaping out under the bright lights of the stadium. While Osamu always looks like the moon, serene and beautifully steady, Atsumu burns with the force of a thousand suns- like molten lava, like death and birth all at once.
Sakusa’s heart, or whatever is left of it anyway, clenches painfully as he comes to the realization yet again after all these years that he’s loved Atsumu for as long as he’s known him; even when he used to chalk up his feelings as simple admiration for a fellow athlete. Atsumu has always been his star, his golden boy. As he takes leaden steps forward, a sharp memory from that wretched August night springs up in his mind- Atsumu’s face drained of color, his eyes distant and hollow. The image makes his hair stand on end as the realization that he caused this- all the light in Miya Atsumu to go out, slowly, painfully over months- tears through him. Atsumu looks fine now but no matter how fast Sakusa runs or whichever hell he finds to hide, he knows it in his bones that he owes Atsumu an apology. Especially now that they’ve spent so much time apart, Sakusa can clearly see all his mistakes written in fine ink all over their story.
He takes twelve steps and he’s sure that no more than thirty seconds have passed but it feels like an eon before he finally reaches Atsumu. His laughter booms in Sakusa’s ears, the blood in his veins singing in a way it hasn’t in over two years. It occurs to him that being near Atsumu still feels like being under the sun but he shoves the thought away; he’s here to only apologize and nothing else. Atsumu’s boyfriend- the term leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat- is here and the last thing Sakusa wants to do is mess up anything for them.
Atsumu can probably sense him because he turns around, smile slipping away but his eyes stay bright; I remember him looking like this when we first started talking, Sakusa thinks to himself as he stands a foot away from Atsumu. Curious brown eyes that look like molten gold hold him in place and it takes Sakusa an embarrassingly long amount of time to find his voice.
“Hey.” Sakusa finally says, breaking the silence lingering between them.
“Hi.” Atsumu says, as he turns towards the bartender and gestures for a refill; he’s not exactly smiling at Sakusa but there’s no malice in his face either. He looks much like the fondest memories Sakusa has of Atsumu- when he used to be Omi Omi and the other was just ‘Tsumu.
“How have you been?” Sakusa asks, placing his empty glass on the marble top counter.
“I- I have been good.” Atsumu says and Sakusa knows that the former is being careful, tasting his words before speaking them, “What about you? How is EJP workin’ out for you?”
“I like it as much as I can like anything, I suppose.” Sakusa replies, heart warming slightly when he hears the distant accent that Atsumu still has even though he hasn’t lived in Hyogo for years.
“That’s great. EJP is a remarkable team.” Atsumu says, taking a sip of his drink. From the color of it, it’s definitely a devilishly strong strawberry margarita.
“You’re acknowledging the fact that some other team that’s not MSBY is actually good?” Sakusa asks, quirking up an eyebrow as he calls for the bartender. Atsumu throws him a side glance before chuckling, eyes crinkling in a way that Sakusa can’t remember seeing in the last few months of their relationship. This is what he had taken away from Atsumu; he knew it that night when everything finally ended and he knows it now. But he had been so wrapped up in the pain the following months after the break up- resigning from MSBY, adjusting to a life without Atsumu, training harder than he ever had- that it had never occurred to him that they should’ve parted ways on better terms. The truth is, he was afraid that if he saw Atsumu again, he’d reconsider parting ways altogether despite how toxic they had gotten and standing in this godforsaken bar, two years later, it still stands true.
There’s a stretch of silence between them as Sakusa sulks over his thoughts, hands curled deep inside his jacket’s pockets, as Atsumu nurses his drink. The bartender pushes his refill towards him.
“Is that a fresh lime margarita?” Atsumu asks and Sakusa snaps out of his trance, looking at the blond.
“Yeah.” Sakusa confirms and takes a sip, not sure what else to say.
“Wow, you regularly drink tequila now?” Atsumu asks, turning around to face Sakusa as a small crease mars the space between his brows.
“Uh, yeah? I usually never have more than two drinks, that is, if I even come out to drink.” When Atsumu doesn’t say anything, he adds quietly, “Some habits are hard to break.”
“I am sorry, Sakusa.” Atsumu sighs but locks eyes with him anyway, his gaze unwavering, “I am sorry I forced you to do so many stuff that you didn’t want to do. I was younger and I… always assumed that you just wanted me to give you that little push. But I know no-“
“Atsumu, you don-“
“Let me finish, please. I was always the talker, remember?” Atsumu gives him a sad little smile and Sakusa thinks that it would’ve hurt less if Atsumu had reached inside and twisted his heart, “I never should’ve pushed you to get out of your comfort zone.”
“It wasn’t bad for most of the part.” Sakusa says quietly, completely at a loss because he knows he’s the one who should be apologizing. He knows he’s the one who fucked it up; sure, Atsumu has always been impatient and obnoxious but he had been so patient with Sakusa, so understanding. But he’s human and with the way Sakusa had treated him in the last few months leading up to their breakup, Atsumu had every right to walk out.
“I just…I just feel like if I hadn’t been so hellbent on getting you to do things- why the fuck did it even matter that you only drank whiskey- if I had just…” Atsumu runs a hand through his hair, looking up at the ceiling and then back at Sakusa, “All I am trying to say is that I am sorry. I wished I had done things differently… maybe then we would’ve ended on better terms.”
Sakusa has no clue how to respond to that. Guilt bubbles up inside him like poison and it’s a wonder it’s not frothing out of him. Atsumu has been blaming himself for their failed relationship for the last two years? He thinks he’s the reason they didn’t work out? Is that how badly Sakusa had broken Atsumu?
“Atsumu, listen, it was me. It was all me.” Sakusa opens his mouth and the words gush out, like a wound being torn open, “I should’ve done better, tried harder. I… I should’ve talked to you when things got messy instead of shoving them away. I-“
“It’s okay, Sakusa- it doesn’t matter anymore. We fucked it up.” Atsumu says, smiling the kind of smile that has always made Sakusa wonder if he’s actually smiling or trying to hold back tears; for a fleeting instance, he sees himself reflected in Atsumu’s golden brown eyes but it’s gone, “I am a tequila guy and you only like whiskey.”
Atsumu takes his drink and walks away before Sakusa can even open his mouth. He watches as Atsumu’s frame gets smaller with each step and even though they broke up two years ago, something in his chest absolutely shatters at their unspoken goodbye just now. He’s surprised there’s still no goddamned blood anywhere because he’s bleeding all over, his hands shaking violently at his sides. Atsumu’s the one who walked away right now but he’s the one who ended things back then so what is this- a murder or a suicide? It doesn’t matter because he can see Atsumu’s arm pressed up against Kageyama’s, drinking from the same straw as the dark haired boy laughs at something. Even though Sakusa feels like the floor is drenched in his own blood and his ears are ringing with the last words Atsumu’s just said, he can’t stop fixating on the straw in the strawberry margarita.
Kageyama’s mouth. Atsumu’s lips. Their laughter. Tequila.
As Sakusa turns around and downs his own drink in one go, he knows that he would trade all the whiskey in the world- hell, he would willingly forget the very taste of it- if it means he’d get to have another shot with Miya Atsumu. He would let Atsumu break him and mould him in to whatever befits him, if only it could bring back what Sakusa had so carelessly lost in the dark of that wretched night. Running his hand through his hair, he brings out his phone to send a quick text to Komori saying that he’s had his fill for tonight and that he’s going back to the hotel. He vaguely registers that his friends might not perceive this well but frankly, right now, he can’t bring himself to care even in the slightest. As he steps out in to the fresh air of the night, he realizes with growing horror that he’s on the verge of tears.
The clearest memory he has of himself crying is after the first month he’d spent without Atsumu. It had been a regular day- eating, training, checking in with managers of teams he wanted to join, and ignoring texts from ex teammates from MSBY. That night he’d made himself a neat little dinner and religiously ignored the pang that went through his chest every time he sat down alone at the table. But he’d always been meticulous and eating anywhere else other than at the table was more than he could stomach. He’d drank a cup of chamomile tea and pulled out a book from his shelf to do some light bed time reading when something had fallen out of between the pages.
It had been a letter from Atsumu to him, something he’d given him as a token of affection on their first anniversary because even though he was no good at writing, he’d known that Sakusa loved to read. The tears had started as his knees had hit the floor and it didn’t stop for days; maybe even weeks. He had meant to throw away the letter but if someone looks through the shelf right at this moment, they would still find it tucked between a battered copy of A Tale of Two Cities.
As Sakusa crosses the road, he remembers the letter and the goodbye. He remembers the warmth of Miya Atsumu’s eyes and how it looks like liquid sunlight sometimes. He can feel tears prickling at the corner of his eyes and he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to cry out the hurt that he can feel settling into his bones, even if he cries again for days and weeks, maybe even months.
Miya Atsumu walks out of the backdoor of the bar, finding the person he’s looking for. His twin is leaning against the red brick wall, a cigarette held precariously between his lips. It’s a habit Osamu picked up when he was just starting his business- something to relieve stress, Atsumu assumes.
“Smokin’ in a back alley when you’ve just met your boyfriend after months.” Atsumu says, leaning back against the wall as well, hands tucked behind his back, “Trouble in paradise?”
“My boyfriend would accompany me out but he’s left to entertain the boyfriend you brought with you tonight.” Osamu says, blowing out smoke through his nose, “Komori is still too shocked to talk to Kageyama properly.”
Atsumu chooses not to comment on that, instead rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes. Probably not the best idea because suddenly all he can see is eyes as dark as granite and a mouth that smiles but doesn’t at the end.
“It’s always the quiet, dark haired ones for you, isn’t it?” Osamu says softly but it jolts through Atsumu like a lightning bolt. He opens his eyes and looks at his twin and for a few desperate seconds; he genuinely hopes that his twin is joking. But he’s not; he knows Osamu would never joke about anything even slightly related to Sakusa. Not in this lifetime.
“Shut up.” Atsumu mumbles and plucks the cigarette from between Osamu’s fingers and takes a long drag. The unfamiliar taste burns the back of his throat and he can feel his lungs trying to choke it out of him but he lets the smoke burn his insides. It can char him to the bones for all he cares right now. Because Miya Atsumu is a liar; he lied about it not mattering anymore. He lied about it all being in the past. He lied about him strictly being a tequila guy because his heart still burns when he drinks whiskey on nights when he misses Kiyoomi too much- it is the only thing that still tastes like him. He lied because that August night still haunts him and the goodbye is still a fresh wound that refuses to close even after two whole years. He is a liar because Sakusa Kiyoomi still matters, and probably always will.