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“Damn. He is good.”
Atsumu huffed out a sigh from where he was slouched over a low chain link fence — the fence separating him from a row of courts where only one game was still taking place.
Typically he and his brother enjoyed commenting on other players' skills and quirks, but Atsumu was too busy staring down Itachiyama’s top singles player to pay much attention to anything Osamu had to say.
The blond twin barely saw Osamu’s impressed expression from the corner of his eye, where he continued talking about the plays happening on the court. While Osamu verbally expressed his admiration for the player, Atsumu physically expressed his disdain. He wanted to be the one on the other end of the court. He wanted to be challenged like that. Not that he wasn’t being challenged as things stood, but something about Itachiyama’s top player was different.
Osamu said that he just wanted what he couldn’t have, but Atsumu fervently declared it was for the challenge and the challenge alone. Nothing more, nothing less.
So while he couldn’t stand on the court with him, he always stood on the sidelines to observe. No, not to ‘gaze at lovingly’ or ‘desperately yearn for’ or whatever phrase Osamu decided to pull out of his ass to make Atsumu more miserable. Unlike himself, Aran had the pleasure of standing at the baseline opposite his. He put up a solid fight in any match, but this wasn’t just any match, nor any school they were up against. Itachiyama didn’t play matches. They won matches.
Atsumu and Osamu narrowly won against Komori and his partner, but it still wouldn’t be enough, even if Aran won.
Itachiyama was just that good.
Their camp hosted four different schools, but the others were overshadowed by the odd rivalry between two very specific players on Inarizaki and Itachiyama respectively. The schools were matched and expected to play games like they normally would, but considering Atsumu’s inability to not tease Sakusa, nothing about any game between the schools was ever normal. Sometimes their taunts were playful, sometimes they were full of tension and harsh glares. No one really understood it. It seemed like a constant competition, even when they weren’t within the vicinity of each other. Whether it be in conditioning, or rallies, or warmups — it persisted, everpresent.
Ultimately, Sakusa won against Aran.
Aran was the first to make his way off the court after congratulating Sakusa on the win, and he was met with cheers from the other few Inarizaki members watching. He was a model player, truly, losing with a smile and showing great displays of sportsmanship. Osamu always said his twin could learn a few things from him. Or Kita. Or anyone on the team, really.
Atsumu threw his bag over his shoulder after giving Aran a pat on the back and sauntered over to where the curly haired boy was catching his breath.
“Omi-kun. Good game ya played back there.” Atsumu sat himself down right next him, feigning nonchalance as he always did in his presence. He could see Osamu’s deadpan glare from a good ways away; apparently Komori appeared by his side as well, sporting a very similar look. He pointedly decided to ignore them.
Sakusa hummed in response. “Ojiro-san is a great player.” He took a swig from his water bottle, and held Atsumu’s gaze as he recapped it. “I assume Motoya won his doubles match?”
Atsumu laughed, throwing his elbows over the back of the bench, recalling the surge of excitement he felt after the win that took place just minutes ago. “Nope. It was a close game, but ‘Samu and I won 8-6.”
“Finally broke the losing streak then. What was it, 3 times in a row you lost to Motoya?”
Atsumu sat up straight, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “Who’s keepin’ track? Point is we won this time and we’ll win next time too.”
Sakusa smirked, wiping his brow with a towel. “Keep telling yourself that, Miya.”
Atsumu rolled his eyes, and paused to watch Osamu talk to an animated Komori. “How are ya even related to Mori-kun? He’s so nice and fun to be around. Yer so… not.”
Sakusa raised an eyebrow, sighing. “Right.” He picked up his rackets and bag, standing up. ”I’ll see you tomorrow, Miya.”
“Hold on, hold on.” Atsumu stood up right in front of Sakusa, blocking his path. He tilted his head to the side, lidded eyes relishing in Sakusa’s disinterested expression. “There’s gotta be somethin’ that proves yer not borin’.”
He tapped a finger against his chin before snapping his fingers. “Who’s yer favorite player?”
“I don’t have one,” Sakusa easily replied, clearly tired of the conversation.
“How? Everyone has a favorite player!”
“I’m not some avid fan, and I don’t idolize people. Sure it’s fine to learn from watching professional matches, but picking dedicated favorites doesn’t determine how I play so it doesn’t matter.”
“Sheesh. Fine,” Atsumu murmured. “Favorite shot then?”
“Forehand.”
“Oh my god,” Atsumu groaned, running fingers through his hair. “How are ya so bland.”
Both boys stopped and turned their heads with confused looks on their faces when they heard snickering from their side. Osamu and Komori played it off like they were still talking to each other, but it was obvious they were eavesdropping.
“Fine then.” He turned back to face Sakusa. “Best court to play on?”
Sakusa scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Hard courts, obviously.”
Atsumu’s eyes widened and his jaw went slack. He jabbed an accusatory finger into Sakusa’s chest, making the other boy stagger backwards a step.
“No it’s not! Everyone knows it’s clay!” Atsumu cried.
Sakusa nearly laughed as he slapped Atsumu’s hand away. “Every time I play on clay I have half the damn court in my shoes afterwards to remind me of how much I hate it. It’s hardly the superior court when it gets everywhere.”
Atsumu made an offended noise, eyebrows drawn together. “Ya can’t slide on hard courts! Slidin’ makes runnin’ around much easier. Plus it’s fun. And it’s easier on the knees!”
“How would you know when the ball bounces so goddamn high that you barely need to use your knees?” Sakusa sneered.
“That just means there is more friction! Which means more time to react. I hardly call that a bad thing.”
“What, you can’t get your ass below the ball fast enough on a hard court?” Sakusa lifted up his chin, using his small height advantage to look down at Atsumu. “Is that it?”
The blond crossed his arms in protest. “I can get my ass low just fine! How about we play a few sets tomorrow after the practices and I’ll show ya, huh?”
Sakusa paused to consider it, maintaining eye contact with Atsumu. “Okay Mr. ‘can't get my ass below the ball’. Tomorrow it is then. We are not playing on clay though.”
Atsumu’s face looked a tad redder than usual, and Sakusa’s lips tugged upwards with that observation, only riling up the blond player even more. He turned around and started walking away, leaving a flushed Atsumu in his wake.
“Just ya wait and see what my ass is capable of Omi, yer gonna regret this whole conversation by tomorrow, I can promise ya that much! I’ll beat ya, clay or not!”
Atsumu pouted and stamped his foot like the temperamental child he is. As Sakusa continued walking away, Komori shot Osamu a sorry look with slumped shoulders. The conversation was beyond pointless — the two onlookers having gone from laughing to cringing very fast. “We are related to children. Children.”
Osamu sighed, rubbing at his temples with a pained expression, not willing to look at his twin. “How the hell is one person so fuckin’ embarrassin’. Sorry ya had to witness… that.”
“I should be the one apologizing. Everyone thinks Kiyoomi is calm and stoic but he is such a nasty enabler,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m guessing you’ll be here for the great showdown tomorrow then?”
“Unfortunately I think so.”
Komori sighed, zipping up his track jacket and gathering his things. “Damage control is going to be fun, huh?”
“Yeah... fun,” Osamu grimaced. “Can’t wait.”
Each team had their own large room to house their players and provide a place to sleep, which meant that everyone on Inarizaki had the great pleasure of listening to Atsumu’s complaints (that somehow sounded more like angry praises) about Sakusa. While everyone around them was engaging in sensical conversation — mostly ignoring the blond twin — Osamu was force fed information about Sakusa that he particularly didn't care to know, because that’s what brothers are for. Or something.
After far too many sleepy hums of agreement and half hearted nods, Osamu reached behind him for his pillow. With no mercy he started ruthlessly bashing his brother’s head with it, in hopes of quelling the onslaught of Sakusa related chatter so he could do what he came to the room to do. That is, sleep, without his brother’s incessant commentary to stop him.
Atsumu cried out for him to stop, covering his head, earning a chorus of groans from around the room.
“What are ya doin’? I didn’t even do anythin’ wrong!”
“Ya act like ya want a battle to the death, which is stupid as hell, because you’ll never even play against him ‘Tsumu. This is just yer stupid way of avoiding askin’ him out on a date, and ya know it. Yer. Bein’. A. Dumbass,” he chides, punctuating each of his words with a hit to Atsumu’s head.
“What?” Atsumu physically recoils, eyebrows scrunched together in disbelief. “Me? Like him? ‘Samu, he is more prickly than a sea urchin and drier than stale bread. Why would I like him of all people?”
Osamu narrowed his eyes. “I dunno, ya tell me. Because yer the one who just talked about him and him only for an hour straight.”
“He is my opponent!”
“He is not,” Osamu insisted, waving a finger in his direction. “He is a singles player. The only reason yer causin’ him so much trouble is because ya like him.”
Atsumu glared at him, considering his words. “Fine. Maybe he isn't my opponent but I don’t like him,” he grumbled, crossing his arms in protest.
Osamu turned to the audience the conversation had gauged; all the other members of Inarizaki were stifling their laughter, and Atsumu’s eyes followed the players’ movements.
Kita looked rather amused with the direction of the conversation, hands folded in his lap instead of trying to separate the twins for once. Next to him Aran was failing to hide a smile. Ginjima was giving Atsumu the side-eye, clearly not believing a single word coming from his mouth.
“Yer all judgin’ me!” Atsumu wailed, now cradling the limp pillow placed in his lap. “I don’t deserve this.”
“Yes ya do, ya big baby.” Osamu tugged his pillow from his brother’s grasp, forcefully throwing it down on his futon and smushing his face against it. “Now lemme sleep. ‘M tired.”
Kita nodded in agreement, telling everyone to get settled for the night. “Tomorrow’s the last day, so I want to see all of you in top shape. It’s not everyday we get to play with players of this level, so we better make the most of it.”
“If Atsumu doesn’t make the most of tomorrow and ask Sakusa out, I’ll just do it for him,” Osamu mumbled, earning him a punch from his brother.
The remaining members laughed and crawled to their futons, quietly talking among themselves before the conversation turned into a round of goodnights so they could all get some rest.
Rest however, seemed unimportant to Atsumu considering his… predicament. He bit at his lip and contemplated his brother’s words for the better part of the next twenty minutes. Atsumu just liked seeing Sakusa all riled up, that was all. It wasn’t like the pout on his face whenever Atsumu said basically anything to him was cute. The way he meticulously fixed the strings of his racket when one of them was slightly crooked after an intense rally wasn’t endearing. The way he bounced the ball five times — always five times — before serving was something everyone noticed, not just him. Right?
At least that’s what he told himself. Regardless, he wouldn't let Osamu get to his head and he wouldn't let that affect his playing tomorrow. He had a match to win against Sakusa, so that’s exactly what he planned to do. It would be fine. Surely.
Atsumu woke up far too ready to start the day, flying through both casual training and matches with Osamu by his side and only one other person on his mind. He didn’t see him at all that morning, but he was nearly vibrating with excitement by the time their last game ended.
The organizers of the camp gathered all the teams up to give a quick speech. Atsumu didn’t hear a single thing of importance, barely paying attention to the standard spiel; he hardly listened to the beginnings of it, let alone the rest of the talk. He disregarded it all in favor of keeping his eyes on a head of frizzy black curls on the outskirts of the group.
They were dismissed to clean their courts and gather their belongings and Atsumu practically dragged his brother back to get done as soon as possible. Osamu hadn’t seen him this excited to pick up after himself since the legendary “Battle of the Balls” that occurred when they were first years. And that’s definitely saying something.
He picked up a basket and scooped up the scattered balls with immeasurable speed — to the point where Osamu gave up trying to help — allowing Atsumu do the work all by himself.
The gray haired twin looked to the court next to theirs, where Komori laughed upon witnessing the hastiness of Atsumu’s cleanup.
“Eager, isn’t he?” Komori questioned, unable to hide his smile.
“You could say that much.”
Atsumu yelled out a rushed goodbye before dashing off to find Sakusa, but before he could leave Osamu chucked his water bottle to his brother’s head, eliciting a whine from him.
“Oww! Whaddaya want?”
“First, I’m comin’ with ya, and second,” he reached to grab the racket previously thrown haphazardly at his feet. “Ya kinda need this? Didn’t know ya planned on beating Sakusa without a racket.”
Atsumu stormed over, snatching it from his brother's grasp. “I knew that,” he said with a huff.
“Uh huh. Go get ‘em tiger. I’ll be right there.”
Atsumu nodded eagerly, jogging over to some of the more distant courts to seek out his… not-opponent.
While all of the other players began filtering out of the area, searching for freedom from the heat of the outdoors, Atsumu was very eager to continue playing for as long as Sakusa would let him. His heart jumped around in his chest as he scouted the courts (the hard courts, he doubted Sakusa was anywhere else) and let out a blinding smile at the sight of him. He felt giddier about the whole ordeal than he’d like to admit; this was Sakusa Kiyoomi he was about to play, after all.
The boy had the court to himself, practicing his serves with his back to Atsumu. He stopped in his tracks to spectate, enamored with the way his racket seemed to meet the ball perfectly, in the same place every time. Atsumu watched as he bounced the ball, five times as per usual, and threw it upwards high enough so he could shift his weight to his right leg and spring forward. Just before his feet left the ground, Atsumu yelled out a loud “OMI”, startling the player and making him hit the ball far out of bounds, rattling the opposite fence with the amount of force he put into it.
He turned around and pressed his lips together in a tight line, narrowing his eyes at the blond. “Miya,” he said, in lieu of a greeting. “I briefly thought you were bailing on me.”
Atsumu let out a chuckle, walking onto the court. “I’d never Omi. I could barely sleep in anticipation last night.”
“He’s right,” Osamu called out from behind them. Both boys turned their heads his way, Atsumu with a scowl on his face and Sakusa with an amused smirk. “It was kinda pathetic in all honesty.”
“I personally thought Kiyoomi was going to create a hole in the floor with all the pacing he was doing,” Komori chimed in, not far behind Osamu. “But good for you guys I guess! Ready for that, uh… friendly competition,” he said with an awkward thumbs up in their direction.
“Nobody asked Motoya.”
The two on the sidelines snickered, leaning against the fence to spectate. Atsumu jogged over to the side of the court opposite Sakusa, jumping around in place to prepare himself for what was probably going to be a monster serve. “Shall we jump right in, Omi-kun? Wanna go to six? Eight?”
“Six for now,” he called out. “The faster I can win the better.”
Atsumu's smile quickly fell from his face. “Rude,” he murmured.
The two started playing, a very push and pull endeavor with plenty of duces and snarky remarks to go around. Somewhere after the score reached 1-1, Osamu and Komori started providing their own colorful commentary from the sidelines, entertaining themselves while watching the other two partake in their weird tennis tango.
And so they played, and played and played. Every time Sakusa had a small edge over Atsumu, the twin quickly followed to balance out the score again. With all the deuces they were getting, each game lasted far too long.
“We have been here…” Komori started, looking at his bare wrist, “...a long ass time. Hurry it up will you?” he yelled to the court. “I’m hungry.”
Osamu slouched over further, chin in his palms. “Atsumu isn’t even teasin’ Sakusa anymore. He’s just playin’. It’s weird and… normal. I don’t like it.”
Komori nodded, tapping a finger to his chin. “If Atsumu isn’t riling him up, then I suppose we could give them a nudge in the right direction. Make things more interesting.”
Osamu shrugged. “I’m up for it.”
Komori hummed in satisfaction, and made a show of clearing his voice. “My my! What a serve we just had from Sakusa Kiyoomi. I wonder who will be the first to get an ace. Could it be him, currently preparing to serve again? Or perhaps when it’s Atsumu’s turn to serve he’ll be the one to hold this achievement over Sakusa’s head? Does Osamu have any predictions?” Komori tilts an imaginary microphone to Osamu, prompting him to speak.
“Sakusa for sure. Atsumu doesn’t know what he’s doin’.”
Atsumu squawked, staring at his brother with an offended expression. “I will accept no slander from the peanut gallery!” he hollered. “And ya best believe I’m gettin’ the first ace.”
Sakusa shook his head on the opposite side of the net, a small smirk forming on the corners of his lips.
Atsumu saw it from across the court as he turned once again to face his not-opponent, the fire in his eyes clearly conveying his desire to be the one getting the ace. Atsumu got low and stepped back, putting more space between himself and the baseline, anticipating him to serve full force. What he was not prepared for, however, was the soft underhand serve Sakusa settled on, where he barely tapped the ball with the racket.
Atsumu saw it coming before it happened and dashed to the net, trying with all his might to not let the ball drop but it barely made it over — just out of his reach. He cursed internally, for multiple reasons. One, that was game point, so now Sakusa was winning. Two, he severely underestimated the speed at which he was rapidly approaching the net, to the point where he wouldn’t be able stop himself if he tried. He yelped with wide eyes as he crashed into the net, folding over it and tumbling to the ground in a crumpled heap of disheveled, embarrassed Atsumu.
Osamu started laughing hysterically on the sidelines, clutching his torso as he too folded in on himself, albeit for an entirely different reason. Next to him Komori looked seconds away from crying, biting his lip to at least pretend he was being a kind and supportive onlooker.
“Are… are you okay?” he asked, voice wobbling with the effort of trying not to laugh.
“No the fuck he’s not,” Osamu laughed, looking at his brother. “I’ve never seen someone eat it so bad.” Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes at the sight of his brother sprawled against the concrete of the court on his back, looking like the life force had been drained from his very being.
To say Atsumu regretted his existence wholeheartedly would be an understatement. In the corner of his eye he saw Sakusa offering him a hand, a real, legitimate smile gracing his already lovely features. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his cheeks were slightly red with the exertion from playing. He had the fleeting thought that this is how he would die. Or he supposed that maybe he already died. At least he kicked the bucket doing something he loved, in the presence of arguably the most gorgeous person to have ever walked the earth.
“For fucks sake Miya, are you going to continue staring at my hand or are you going to take it?” he asked, voice light with amusement.
Atsumu groaned and closed his eyes. “Leave me here to die. Tell ‘Samu he is a singles player now.”
“Yer so dramatic,” Osamu chuckled in the distance. “Get off yer ass will ya? Or are ya takin’ the loss because of a net?”
Atsumu brought himself to sit upwards at the mention of losing, looking to the boy in front of him with slightly flushed cheeks. He reluctantly took Sakusa’s hand that was still lingering in the air, pulling himself up with a huff.
“You okay? Did you hurt yourself?” he asked gingerly, eyebrows raised in amusement.
“Fine, fine, ‘m not hurt,” Atsumu grumbled, not meeting his gaze. “Can't say the same for my dignity though.”
Sakusa laughed at that, shoulders shaking lightly. “I think that’s a sign we’ve played enough tennis for today. I’d rather not deal with another dozen deuces.”
The blond nodded. “I guess that means ya won Omi-kun,” he sighed. “Ya did me dirty with that one though, I’ll tell ya that much.”
Sakusa shook his head with a small smile, jogging over to his cousin before helping Atsumu pick up after themselves. Osamu and Komori gathered their things and left, and when Sakusa returned Atsumu furrowed his brows in confusion. “Where are they goin’?”
“I told them they could get a head start, we are gonna go get something to fill that demanding stomach of Motoya’s.”
“Ya act like ya don’t need food too,” he grumbled in return, continuing to pick up balls around the court.
The two walked over to the cart, dumping the remaining balls in, and wheeled it over to where the rest were gathered. They silently packed up their rackets, the silence unusual considering their nature of constant teasing and bickering.
Sakusa studied the blond’s expression, and eventually nudged Atsumu with his elbow. “Stop looking so defeated Miya, neither of us won.”
“Maybe not, but face plantin’ mid point is enough to make it feel like a loss,” he mumbled.
Sakusa momentarily stopped shuffling through his bag, turning to face the other boy. “What, need me to kiss it better?”
Atsumu instantly stopped what he was doing, sputtered out a series of nonsensical noises with a gaping mouth. “I… uh, what?”
“You heard me. Or do I need to repeat myself?”
Atsumu wordlessly shook his head, mild panic taking over his wide brown eyes. “No, no it’s just… God, yer just so blunt Omi-kun. I never know when yer jokin’ or not,” he laughed, nervously scratching his neck. Sakusa stood still, virtually expressionless, taking him apart with his dark eyes, noticing Atsumu’s clearly anxious movements. Atsumu squirmed under his gaze, feeling so seen, so he fiddled with the straps of his bag to keep himself occupied. Sakusa chuckled and Atsumu’s eyes landed on Sakusa’s lips on their own accord, looking incredibly soft and oh so inviting, and seeming to be nearing his own. He gulped as Sakusa continued inching closer, his breath ghosting across Atsumus lips in a way that made him suppress a shiver. Closing his eyes and not daring to open them, he feared the brush of lips against his own would truly end his life right there and then.
He felt a gentle press against his cheek and gasped, realizing Sakusa’s lips met the corner of his mouth rather than his lips directly.
“Shit,” he said, breathless. Sakusa slowly pulled away, eyes so incredibly warm despite the coldness that usually accompanied his gaze. Atsumu’s heart thundered against his chest, wild eyes searching Sakusa’s own. “My heart is gonna jump outta my chest Omi, what the fuck.”
Sakusa bit his lip, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “So dramatic, as always.” He tugged on Atsumu’s wrist, prompting him to move from where he was glued to the floor. “Let’s go, they’re probably waiting.”
Atsumu nodded, taking a few faltering steps and smiling so wide he knew his cheeks were probably going to hurt later. “Had I known makin’ a fool outta myself was all it would take to get a kiss from ya I woulda done it ages ago.”
“You are pretty good at it, you know.” Sakusa turned to Atsumu, lips threatening to show a smile again. “Making a fool of yourself.”
“Hey! Low blow Omi, low blow. You like this fool though,” he said in a singsong voice, intertwining their fingers and swinging their hands between their bodies.
“I never said that. I think you hit your head too hard.”
Atsumu hummed, tugging on Sakusa’s hand to give the taller boy a quick kiss on the cheek. “Maybe I did. But I can’t complain.”