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Atsumu has been in an unsurprising number of unfortunate, arguably tragic, situations far out of his realm of control solely due to the way his charming, bubbly, and downright enchanting personality rubs his soul-sucking, black hole-esque, sad excuses for friends the wrong way.
These instances include the time ’Samu deemed these qualities “too annoying" for Atsumu to be related to him, then ”lost” his birth certificate, sending Atsumu on a wild goose chase a mere three hours before he needed to have it. And the time Rin posted a downright appalling picture of him on twitter it went semi-viral - literal slander, Atsumu does not hesitate to remind him - simply because Atsumu had maybe accidentally sent the right text to the wrong person and created an itty bitty problem for a certain someone. And the time a perfectly reasonable and understandable miscommunication resulted in two people (who should not have met in the first place) meeting outside Atsumu’s apartment door at two in the morning, earning him a slap in the face, a noise complaint, and odd looks from his neighbors for weeks.
His current predicament - conundrum, quagmire, any other term that means shitty situation - however, takes the cake. Literally.
Atsumu double-checks, triple-checks, quadruple-checks the order placed with the kind old lady working behind the bakery counter so many times even her apparent rock-solid, tenured patience wears thin. With a snap of her knobbly fingers he finds himself walking out of the store, bell ringing as the door shuts behind him, leaving him alone on the street with a box containing his death sentence placed precariously in his hands.
After rounding the corner at the end of the block, he carefully balances the box on one arm and uses his other to reach for his phone and call a number labeled “ON THIN ICE” in his contacts.
In the time it takes for his phone to ring just three times against his ear, Atsumu has already questioned whether or not this person currently has him blocked (he doesn’t think so, but he can never be one hundred percent certain that he isn’t) and imagined over five different ways he could contact them if he is (the top contender is throwing a brick through their office window).
Fortunately or unfortunately, Atsumu can’t tell, the ringing stops and ambient sounds carry through his speaker as they answer his call.
“Rin, swear on yer life this isn’t yer doin’.”
“This isn’t my doing,” Childhood best friend turned coworker and future brother-in-law Suna Rintarou’s monotone voice replies dully over the phone, a touch of static and the faint sounds of keyboard clicking betraying how little he clearly cares about Atsumu’s life being completely over.
Atsumu is going to kill him.
“Yer a fuckin’ liar.”
“I’ve never once told a lie.”
“Bullshit.” Atsumu barks a laugh. “I just picked up the cake.”
Rin yawns loudly. “What cake?”
Throwing a brick through his office window suddenly sounds like a great idea still.
“The cake. Kita-san’s cake. The cake I delegated to you as part of the party-plannin’ committee. Is that ringin’ any bells?”
“Oh, that cake. I think I remember that.”
“Ya better remember it ‘cause ‘m gonna trash yer office and steal yer new desk chair because of it.”
Rin snorts and it bursts loudly through Atsumu’s phone speaker, almost causing him to drop the cake box. And maybe, Atsumu thinks, dropping the cake on the disgusting sidewalk and accidentally stepping on it a couple of times wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
“Is the cake no good?”
“No, the cake is no good!” Atsumu wails, catching the attention of a woman walking her dog across the street and the driver of a car stopped next to him. “Ya know it’s no good! I’m comin’ back to the office now, and when I get up there I’m gonna - you’re not - I -”
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
Atsumu’s face contorts in a mixture of anger and annoyance, and he ends the call without sparing the conversation a second thought. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and grips the box in his hands tighter, just barely stopping himself from experiencing the sweet rush of euphoria that would come from crushing it and watching the spilled icing melt on the hot concrete. Because no matter how much he wants to throw the cake away and find something else, he knows he can’t - the birthday party is in less than an hour and that will not give any of the bakeries close by enough time to customize the cake to Kita’s tastes, which Atsumu is absolutely not compromising - no matter how inconvenient or embarrassing this whole situation is for him.
Although his nerve endings are firing so quickly he’s tingly all over, he knows he can’t afford to panic right now. His first course of action: pick up some desserts from the convenience store by the office for the rest of his coworkers coming to Kita’s birthday party. For some reason, Rin decided to make Atsumu’s life about ten thousand times harder by not only messing with the cake design but also by getting it about a third of the size they need - and that’s just cruel to their coworkers who have been looking forward to this cake since they got Atsumu’s email this week as head of the party-planning committee.
His second course of action: somehow redecorate the cake so it still appears as though it was a product of an actual bakery - his edits and alterations unnoticeable to the detail-oriented eyes of Kita. Atsumu has confidence in his abilities to woo someone with his abundance of advanced skills, aesthetic qualities, and kitchen prowess, but he is not exactly a world-class decorator. He can admit that about himself. He’s humble.
Never in his life did he think he would be in a situation where his cake decorating skills - or lack thereof - would have the potential to end his chances with his office crush on the cute HR rep and get him potentially fired for harassing said cute HR rep.
Atsumu has put almost six months of work into slowly building up their relationship from strangers to work friends and is a mere two hours away from opening up the potential for compliments, kind gestures, and flirting. And if all goes well, he will ask Kita out in a month or so, Kita will say yes, and he will take Kita on the best date of his life - dinner and a walk around a nearby park, maybe get something for dessert, potentially kiss him goodnight at his doorstep - but he wouldn’t come inside.
They would go on dozens - hundreds - of dates to all the places Atsumu has dreamed about: painting class, ice skating, a lazy day in, rock climbing, and pretty much anything else. Atsumu is convinced anything would be a good date as long as Kita is there with him.
The vibration of Atsumu’s phone in his pocket brings him out of his Kita-centered daydream: them growing old together on a nice wooden pair of rocking chairs. He picks up his phone with a huff of annoyance, because who dares to call him while he’s imagining his future with Kita, and answers without a second glance.
“Hello?”
“You hung up without telling me what’s wrong with the cake.”
The low voice playing through his speaker raises Atsumu’s blood pressure tenfold in seconds and he almost hangs up again, if not for his desperate need to complain to literally anybody at this point.
“Ya know what’s wrong with it, Rin! The cake is all wrong!”
“That sounds like an Osamu problem to me.”
“Yer the one who ordered the cake!”
“Maybe I got Osamu to order it,” Rintarou offers casually, as if he didn’t just open up a new world of possibilities and potentially make Atsumu’s soul exit his body by force.
Atsumu imitates throwing his phone on the concrete with a string of curses, earning alarmed looks from some passerby. He reluctantly puts the phone speaker back up to his ear with a groan.
“Rin, yer so - Christ - Did you?”
“No, I ordered it.”
Honestly, at this point, Atsumu's anger isn't even directed at the cake itself; he’s already accepted that it is the way it is. In fact, he’s almost relieved that ’Samu isn’t involved so he doesn’t have to make another infuriating phone call after this one.
His relief mixes with Rin’s successful antagonization and Atsumu barks out a hysterical laugh. “‘M gonna have a heart attack. And I’m gonna kill ya.”
“Which one?”
“What - I - Fuck, both.” Atsumu removes his phone from his ear and smacks his forehead a couple times with the flat of his palm for getting this frazzled talking to probably the most harmless of all the sadists in his life.
Atsumu takes a deep breath and attempts to reason with himself and continues. “Why does the cake you ordered say ‘go out with me’ on it? And why is it about half the size I asked you to get? And why are there red roses on it?”
“That’s what you said you wanted to give him, isn’t it?”
Atsumu’s face burns.
“I was jokin’ - and ya knew that! Now I have to go by the store and buy, like, their entire stock of puddings! And popsicles! ‘Nd I’ll have to find some of that pre-made frosting, too - to fix the mess you got me in!”
“It sounds like you got it all worked out to me.” It must be Atsumu’s imagination that Rin sounds like he just stifled a yawn, because his friends - especially his future brother-in-law - could not possibly be rude enough to yawn while he’s inches away from a mental break.
“This is not - I don’t - UGH! What did I do to deserve this?”
“It’s what you asked for, ‘Tsumu, I don’t know what else to tell you,” Rintarou’s monotonous voice cracks momentarily in a clear indication that he’s trying not to laugh. “I, personally, think you came up with a great idea to end my - your - suffering.” Now he is for sure stifling a laugh.
Atsumu is definitely going to tell Rin’s mom about her son’s late-night trysts in high school with his “secret boyfriend” next time he visits home. As an accident, of course. I can’t help it, he’ll say, She’s just so easy to talk to.
Atsumu pulls his phone from his ear, opens his texts to Rin, and scrolls back until he finds the original conversation.
“Okay, I’m lookin’ at the text now, Rin, and I clearly said, quote, ‘no, but actually just get happy birthday on it all nice in frosting,’ end quote. Are ya listenin’? Rin?” The line plays silence in his ears. “Fuckin’ bastard! I’m blockin’ ‘im.”
This is a hollow promise, unfortunately, since he still needs a way to contact Rintarou to finish setting up the party. But after the party is over...
Atsumu sets a reminder on his phone for ten minutes after the party to block Rin for a couple of days.
“Serves him right,” he mutters, even though he hasn’t even done it yet.
When he sets the reminder, however, the current time kicks his ass into high gear, as there is very little time left to do the things he needs to do for this party. He was already pushing it picking up the cake when he did, and now he has to stop in a store - which is all Rin’s fault, he’ll be the first to say. This doesn’t even cover the time he needs to redecorate the cake and help Rin set up the ungodly dull fourth-floor conference room into something even vaguely passable.
Atsumu picks up his pace a little bit until he reaches the store - because he is a saint and has nothing but kindness and consideration for others in his heart. He prays they have everything he needs.
Thankfully, they do; and as it turns out, checking out with armfuls of puddings and popsicles and a tube of frosting while keeping his hands occupied with both the cake box and his wallet is difficult. Doing this while his thoughts are still very muddled and panicky is even more difficult.
He manages it, however, with only a few dropped items and one string of curses. A win, all around, he’ll say.
Carrying the bags and cake box into the office provides to be arduous as well; his arms are pulled down by the surprisingly heavy bags and sweat is beginning to drip down his forehead in the July heat. Thankfully, the office is closeby, otherwise the desserts he just bought would be a melted puddle and everything would really be a disaster.
Atsumu is stressed but hopeful. Sure, he was dealt probably the worst hand Rin or ’Samu have ever given him, but he’s fixing it. Maybe they’ve shortened his lifespan by about ten years, but he’ll be sure to get them back eventually.
For now, he has a cake he cannot, under any circumstances, present to Kita - or anyone else for that matter - but he also has a means to fix all of the problems created by the same small, unassuming, and unfortunately decorated cake.
Entering the building adds a new layer of stress to Atsumu’s still-recovering heart. Every turn and corner has the potential for Kita to be standing there, and even though Atsumu has nothing Kita doesn’t already expect to have, the idea of running into him in this state is enough to get his heart racing.
This panic informs Atsumu’s decision to use the break room on the first floor, where there are very few offices.Thus limiting the chances of someone walking in while he redecorates the cake and keeping him the furthest from the fourth floor where Kita works.
The first thing Atsumu does is put the puddings and popsicles in the fridge and freezer respectively so that they don’t melt any more than they already have. Then, he places the cake box on the counter next to an old knife he found in the back of a drawer and the frosting he just bought. He gives himself a moment to emotionally prepare for seeing the mortifying design on the cake again.
When he finally gets himself to open the box, he’s faced with the sight that has been imprinted on the inside of his eyelids since he first encountered it - a sight which will probably remain imprinted there until the day he dies. As he thought, seeing the words go out with me written all pretty smack-dab in the center of the cake now is just as upsetting as it was in the bakery earlier. His cheeks burn in embarrassment.
Atsumu makes quick work of scraping off the roses and tossing them in the trash can. It’s unfortunate - it really was pretty before. He can only imagine how perfect it would have been if Rin had given the bakery the right instructions.
“Hello, Miya-san.”
The soothing voice from the doorway almost makes Atsumu jump out of his skin right as he positions the knife over the words in the center, about to smear them around to, hopefully, create a marble effect of sorts.
He turns to look over his shoulder, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from flinching.
“I - oh! - Kita-san! What brings ya down here?”
There’s Kita, taking a few steps towards him with his hair flawlessly brushed and parted, his tie perfectly knotted around his neck, his button-up and slacks seamlessly pressed, and his brown shoes so shiny and clean they could act as makeshift mirrors. Meanwhile, Atsumu is hunched over a half-decorated cake, sweaty and disheveled. Just perfect.
“I had some business on the first floor and saw you walkin’ up through the window. I figured I’d come by and thank ya for plannin’ this party - I woulda been alright without one, I know it’s usually pretty busy in marketin' right now.”
Kita stops a few feet from Atsumu, standing with perfect posture and a soft look in his eyes and Atsumu melts.
“It’s no problem at all! Ya do a lot fer us, it’s the least I could do.” He stands up straighter and adjusts his shirt in his trousers and tries his best to shield the cake that still very much says go out with me from view.
“I’m happy just doin’ some good work.” His eyes flick down towards Atsumu’s side, where the tube of frosting is still in sight and the knife is still in his fist. Atsumu’s heart rate picks up and he shifts slightly over just in case the cake was visible from Kita’s vantage point.
Kita’s eyes light up with a slight smirk and the panic alarms in Atsumu’s brain start blaring. “Am I interruptin’ something?”
Atsumu laughs and hopes it sounds normal despite the fuzziness in his chest. “Ah, a’course not.”
They hold eye contact for a few more moments, and maybe Atsumu has undergone so much trauma in the last hour that he has transcended sanity and become completely delusional, but he thinks he can see something almost affectionate behind Kita’s eyes.
Atsumu blinks and, like a spell has been broken, Kita takes a step back and starts to turn around. “Well, I’ll see ya upstairs soon for the party. Good luck with whatever’s troublin’ ya back there.”
“Wait, Kita-san!” Kita turns his head back towards Atsumu with a confused countenance. Atsumu wishes he could pinch himself for how loud and desperate his voice came out; suddenly he feels very small under Kita’s gaze.
“Happy birthday,” Atsumu smiles to hide how nervous he feels.
Kita smiles back. “Thank ya, Miya-san.”
“Call me Atsumu.”
God. ’Samu and Rin always told him he had a big mouth, and Atsumu knew they were right but he always vehemently ignored it simply because it was ’Samu and Rin, but he just might have to start admitting they’re right.
“I - Miya is my brother.”
At first, Kita’s eyes widen in surprise, and then it quickly falls back into a light smile.
“Alright, Atsumu-san. Call me Shinsuke, then.”
Atsumu’s cheeks burn. “Of course, Shinsuke-san.” The words feel heavy rolling off his tongue, like something sacred a mere human like him shouldn’t be allowed to say.
Kita smiles once more and turns again, this time able to get all the way out of the door without Atsumu’s big mouth stopping him.
Atsumu is frozen in place for another minute, attempting to process the conversation he just had and the words that just came out of his mouth.
‘Call me Atsumu’?
Atsumu’s an idiot.
‘Call me Shinsuke, then.’
Or maybe he’s not as big of an idiot as he thought.
Atsumu faces the half-decorated cake again, this time with his head in the clouds and a burn on his cheeks that probably won’t be going away for some time.
Smearing the words around in a marble-y fashion proves to be easier than he first thought, and his confidence grows as he peels off the top off the squeeze-tube of frosting and begins write happy birthday! on the cake like he had originally intended before Rin decided to take matters into his own hands.
In the end, it’s not the prettiest writing in the world, and it’s a bit inconsistent as Atsumu got better at writing with it as he went on - but it’s legible, and that’s all that really matters.
He closes the cake box and puts it in the fridge to cool while he figures out the rest of the party. He pulls out his phone and texts Rin an update.
To: ON THIN ICE
>>Popsicles and puddings are in the first floor break room
>>Along with the cake I HAD TO FIX
From: ON THIN ICE
>>didn’t ask
To: ON THIN ICE
>>Please tell me you at least set up the room for the party while I was out
Atsumu waits for three minutes after Rin marks his last text as read before finally getting a response.
From: ON THIN ICE
>>yes
Atsumu groans.
To: ON THIN ICE
>>I don’t believe you. Send pic.
Another five minutes pass before Rin sends a picture of the fourth-floor conference room that the party planning committee picked for the party, decorated passably with some balloons and streamers.
Atsumu checks the time. The conference room definitely isn’t as nice as it would be if he had been the one to decorate it, but he doesn’t have time to go up there and mess with it.
To: ON THIN ICE
>>I’m coming up with everything now
>>Find the plates forks and napkins
Atsumu inspects the messages he just sent Rin. That bastard is out to get him, so he’ll probably have to be more specific - like he’s giving instructions to a child.
>>And put them on the table. Enough for everybody.
>>Also put a couple markers on the table too so we can write our names on our plates
There. Atsumu lets out a sigh of relief and pockets his phone. Rin may be an asshole, but he’d never ruin an office party for everyone just to make Atsumu pay for something so trivial as talking about his crush too much. Probably. Most likely. Hopefully.
Bringing the cake box and bags of popsicles and puddings up the elevator without dropping anything still proves to be one of the more annoying things Atsumu has ever done for his job, but it is much easier now that his steps are lighter and his mood has lifted greatly.
Much to his surprise, the decorations in the room have been altered slightly in the time between getting that picture from Rin and now, only a few minutes later. The balloons have been bunched more carefully, and the streamers have been re-taped around the table in uniform loops. Sitting on the conference table are a stack of plates, an unopened case of napkins, and a bunch of plastic forks placed neatly in a mug. There’s even a cake spatula from who-knows-where sitting atop the napkins. He almost swoons at the sight.
“See, I knew ya were all bark, no bite, Rin,” Atsumu smiles to himself as he places the bags and box on the table and begins to take everything out and sort it.
Once everything is set up and good to go, Atsumu sends a company email announcing the party’s officially ready and anyone can come on their lunch break for either a slice of cake, or (ideally) a popsicle or pudding.
Slowly, his coworkers from across all departments come in for their break and mill about. Atsumu bounces around, making sure there’s enough cake left for whenever Kita comes, and accepts his coworkers praise - because he deserves it, dammit, after what he’s been put through today.
The whole time he keeps an eye out for Kita, like a high school girl waiting for her crush to come to the cafeteria at lunch time. And, yeah, maybe he is a little bit, but he’s only slightly embarrassed of that fact, so Rin can fuck off with the way he’s snickering every time he catches Atsumu’s eyes darting to the door whenever it opens.
And when Kita does enter, it’s not an exaggeration to say it’s like heaven’s gates just opened up.
“Oh! Ki - Shinsuke-san!” He calls out, stumbling on the newfound intimacy of Kita’s given name sliding off his tongue.
Kita waves and pauses to give pleasantries to various groups of coworkers wishing him a happy birthday on his way to Atsumu, whose eyes can’t seem to leave him. Atsumu can almost feel Rin in his ear calling him pathetic or something of the sort.
When Kita finally approaches him, Atsumu reminds himself that he is not bad at talking to people and is, in fact, quite adept at getting people to like him. Sure, Kita’s brown eyes are warm and make his stomach flip, but he’s a man (or a whore, as ’Samu calls him) first and foremost - not a schoolgirl.
“Thank ya again for the party, Atsumu-san. It looks great.”
Atsumu swallows, willing the tingling sensation in his belly to come to a halt, and limits the smile that crosses his lips to one that is not overly giddy and is completely and totally normal for the conversation at hand.
“Ah, thank ya. Rin did the decoratin’, actually. I just picked up everythin’ else today.” Perfectly humble. Nailed it.
Kita nods. “Well, I appreciate it.” His eyes turn to the table, which has now turned into a bit of a mess as everything has gotten a bit jumbled. Atsumu is suddenly incredibly self-conscious of the disorganization. “The cake looks a bit small - was that a mistake?”
Atsumu pretends he doesn’t feel like a bullet just ripped through his chest.
“Ah,” He begins with an awkward laugh, “Rin made a mistake when he called the bakery. But it’s alright - I got it worked out. I did hafta buy almost every popsicle and pudding in stock at the store down the block, though.”
“Sounds like ya saved the party, to me,” Kita smiles one of his warm smiles - the one that has gotten Atsumu in so much trouble for not paying attention during workshops, meetings, seminars - anytime they are in the same room. He reflexively rubs his face with his hand to cover how pink his cheeks are getting.
“Thank ya - I - I’m not sure - I wouldn’t say that I saved the party -” Atsumu stammers. Very smooth.
Thankfully, Kita saves him from himself, because he’s the perfect man and was sent by god or fate or whatever to be everything Atsumu wants and needs in a man. “Do ya think I could get some of that cake? I don’t want to take some from anybody else.”
Atsumu lights up at the subject change. “Of course you can take some cake! It’s for you!”
“Alright. Do ya want some as well?” Atsumu could shed a tear at Kita’s genuine kindness.
“No! Ya don’t hafta get me any - I should be gettin’ some for you -”
“I’ll get a small piece for ya.”
Atsumu, heart swollen and burst into a liquid now filling the hollow shell of his body, stares dumbly, probably with actual stars in his eyes. “Thank ya, Shinsuke-san.”
In the few seconds Atsumu is standing blankly, still staring at the spot Kita was standing in, Rin has crossed the room, and they are suddenly face-to-face.
“You really do like him.”
Once again, the spell Kita put him under vanishes, and Atsumu scoffs, embarrassed, as if his crush on Kita isn’t common knowledge at this point.
“Why would I be lyin’ about that! I’ve never lied about anythin’ serious ever in my life.” Rin blinks. “What!”
“It’s gross.”
“Yer literally marryin’ ’Samu in less than a year!”
“Ew, don’t bring me and Osamu into this - we are not the same.”
“Yeah, okay, sure.” Atsumu folds his arms over his chest and turns his head to look at Kita on the other side of the conference table, cutting two small slices off the already half-eaten cake.
“Of all our coworkers, I’m glad you settled on Kita-san.”
Atsumu whips back to Rin, who is also watching Kita as he now carefully places the slices on two plates.
Atsumu raises an eyebrow skeptically. “What makes ya say that?”
Rin glances at him from the corner of his eye and then looks away again. “You have shit taste in men. And women, for that matter.”
“I do not!” Atsumu defends halfheartedly. Rin raises an eyebrow and Atsumu clears his throat and attempts a new angle. “I thought he scared ya.”
“He does,” Rin agrees simply. “But he might be good for you.”
“Hey! What does - wait - huh?” Atsumu’s eyes widen in shock as he continues to stutter his way into understanding the genuine and heartfelt comment Rin just made. Rin? Openly and explicitly wanting the best for him? Huh?
“Maybe if you start dating he'll make you more tolerable.”
“I fuckin’ knew it! -” Atsumu reaches out to smack Rin on the arm, but Rin is already walking away with a smirk on his face and his middle finger raised.
“Don’t fuck it up this time,” he says before finally turning away and returning to the rest of the party.
Atsumu grumbles curses under his breath in Rin’s general direction, hoping that somehow he’ll be able to hear it across the room and maybe feel an ounce of remorse. It’s not likely, unfortunately.
“Here’s yer piece.”
Atsumu smiles at Kita’s return, pulled out of his momentary funk, and accepts the plate being handed to him. On the plate is indeed a small slice of cake, a fork, and characters in Kita’s neat handwriting spelling Atsumu’s name and something that looks like the word ’yes’, for whatever reason. Probably force of habit from filling out paperwork about their coworkers, Atsumu thinks. Regardless, the sight of his own name in Kita’s handwriting is overwhelmingly pleasant.
If he was sappier, he’d say his name looks a whole lot nicer written in Kita’s hand.
“Suna-san is a troublemaker, isn’t he?” Atsumu shifts from inspecting Kita’s handwriting to paying attention to Kita, who’s looking at Atsumu almost expectantly.
“You would not believe some of the stories I could tell ya about him,” Atsumu replies with a sigh. “He’s harmless, though. Way deep inside, he’s a big softie, ya know? Way, way, way deep inside.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Atsumu-san,” Kita begins and Atsumu’s whole body tingles at the unfamiliar sound of Kita’s deep voice speaking his given name, “Suna-san seems like the typa character to push his friends around into doin’ things they might not be willin’ to do themselves.”
“Against their will, yes,” Atsumu adds with an exhale. He takes the fork on his plate in hand and finally tries a bite of the cake that put him through a lifetime’s worth of emotional stress in a single hour. Kita does the same.
Atsumu essentially inhales the rest of his slice after his first bite. Honestly, the cake might have been worth the hassle. So, at least there’s that.
“The cake is delicious. It was real pretty, too,” Kita compliments after his first bite as he watches Atsumu stuff the rest in his mouth like an animal. Atsumu hums in agreement and slows his chewing down now that he’s self conscious of Kita watching him. “Were you decoratin’ it when I stopped by earlier?”
Atsumu slowly swallows his normal-sized bite like a normal person, trying to stop it from getting caught in his throat, which dries up at the confirmation Kita knew he was decorating it earlier. Which means he might have been able to put together the pieces that he was redecorating it. Which means he might be able to see what it still had written on it when they talked earlier.
“I appreciate yer kind words, I - we - wanted to get ya the perfect cake. And yes. I, ah, I figured ya saw that,” Atsumu chuckles, attempting to suppress his surging anxiety.
“It’s a shame you couldn’t show me what the cake looked like before you started redecoratin’ it,” Kita says, cutting another piece off his slice of cake with his fork, almost amused. “Though I appreciate the lengths you went through to keep my party appropriate for work.”
Atsumu freezes and his brain short-circuits as it tries to decipher the words just spoken to him. This has to be a nightmare. Yes, exactly. He’s dreaming and it’s turned into a nightmare.
Except he’s still standing here, holding eye contact with Kita Shinsuke, who is eating more of his cake as if to mock him, as if to say ‘go on, dig yer grave a little deeper.’
“Huh? Wait, did you - you didn’t see -” That’s it, he’s getting fired for workplace harassment for sure. Oh, god. He’s going to get rejected in the most painful and public way possible. Where could he even go to sulk after this? He has a meeting later with his boss - “Fuck, I’m gonna kill Rin, I -”
“Atsumu-san, take a deep breath,” Kita’s deep voice stops his stammering instantly. “Ya already know my answer,” he says simply, his eyes shining.
If the world was a cartoon, Atsumu would have stuttering bouts of steam pouring out of his ears right now. The Little Engine That Could is his brain and it’s definitely trying to understand what the fuck Kita means, but -
He looks back down at his plate.
“I was tryin’ta keep it professional. And maybe mess with ya a little bit.”
Atsumu continues to stare at the ‘yes’ written neatly on the rim of the plate, just after his name.
There’s no way - there’s absolutely no way this is happening.
“Are you serious? Rin and ’Samu didn’t put ya up to this?” Atsumu looks back up at Kita, eyes big and desperate, but he couldn’t care less anymore about what he looks like. Kita’s looking at him with an unreadable expression, one Atsumu might dare to call fond if it was anyone else or in any other situation.
“No. I would never do somethin’ so cold,” Kita reassures.
A laugh tumbles from Atsumu’s lips in relief, his erratic heartbeat pushing it out of him in an irregular pattern.
“Fuck, yeah, I know you wouldn’t,” he agrees quickly. “Sorry, I’m just - this is - I’ve never been this flustered before.”
“I find that hard to believe. You’ve been with a whole bunch’a people.”
Atsumu’s face burns bright red. “Okay - not that many,” he stutters, still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that this is real and this is happening and Kita just agreed to go out with him. “It’s just different. It’s you, yanno?”
“I don’t, but thank ya,” Kita says with a smile.
“So, am I gonna have to come to yer office and file a document or somethin’?”
“If yer lucky. One step at a time.”
“I didn’t - oh my god.”
Kita laughs, and it sounds like church bells chiming and old wooden rocking chairs. Atsumu can’t help but split-face grin behind where his hands have instinctively reached up to hide the embarrassment on his face.
Around them, the party continues.