Archive of Our Own ^beta

I:

This is one hell of a couch. 

Atsumu had thought so when he was sitting on it earlier, coasting through a marathon of game footage on their next opponent. Miraculously, he'd gotten the whole thing to himself, courtesy of Sakusa's wide personal space bubble, and he'd taken advantage. The couch is plush, yet somehow firm enough so he doesn't sink down too far into the cushions. Most importantly, it's long enough for him to lay down without his feet dangling off the edge. Couches made for people over six feet tall are, ironically, in short supply.

Maybe that's why, after the third tape, he'd succumbed to drowsiness and fallen asleep. It's fine. He'd brought extra clothes to their hangout because you never know what might happen. 

Sakusa's only just stopped recoiling when he calls them friends, so it's probably too early for sleepover parties, but Atsumu isn't afraid to dream big. Never has been, never will, even if people call him overambitious. There's no point if you don't have shit to work toward that's challenging, and if you really want something, the goal being hard to grasp shouldn't be a deterrent. 

Atsumu wrinkles his nose as more of his brain starts to come back online after the nap. There's an urge running through him, begging him to get up and crack his spine, but he has no desire to move yet. Too comfortable.

"—when the bus broke down—"

His eyelids flutter at the sound of talking. A rough, stilted cadence he's getting more and more familiar with. Is Sakusa on the phone with someone?

Pressing his eyes firmly shut, Atsumu listens harder, trying to catch the conversation from a few feet away. Whoever Sakusa is talking to, he's not being that loud. Because of the whole sleeping thing? 

That's kind of considerate. Leaving the room might have been even more polite, but Atsumu will take whatever manners he can get from Sakusa. People tend to read him as being proper because Sakusa is so reserved, but that's a misguided assumption. Atsumu knows better. 

He's glad he does, because he's never laughed harder than after some of the firestorms that have left his teammate's lips. Sakusa is dry. Blunt, with a total disregard for tact in how he delivers his opinions. 

Granted, Sakusa doesn't always have something to say. But when he speaks up, everyone around knows he means it. The random guy harassing a waitress at the restaurant where they had their team brunch a few weeks ago sure had. At first, Atsumu had thought the guy was on Sakusa's hit list for using a fork he dropped on the ground, but now he believes differently. It was always the disrespectfulness.  

"I appreciated your offer. Even if your taste in music is… alarming."

Atsumu catches himself before his eyes snap open.

He's not on the phone. Sakusa is talking to him.

There's no chance that he's not.

One month ago, the Jackals had traveled for a couple of circuit games. Long trips but not long enough that management would consider the possibility of a quick domestic flight. 

Their team bus hadn't raised any questions in the past, had never displayed any weird noises or equipment glitches that anyone recalled. Yet it broke down on the way home on a lonely stretch of road late at night. Limited to zero cell reception unless you wanted to walk a couple miles in either direction. Meian had volunteered himself, and the rest of them had waited for their rescue with varying amounts of patience. 

For most of the team, getting stranded was an inconvenience. 

The guys had been looking forward to their days off and sleeping on a bus wasn't a prime start to rest and relaxation. Atsumu had felt similarly put out, and had joined Bokuto in whining about their ruined plans with old friends. He'd wryly consoled Hinata about the loss of extra, clandestine practice hours, saying it was a sign from the universe to chill. The bus breaking down was annoying, but nothing more—to him.

Then he'd looked over Inunaki's shoulder to the back row of seats and had seen Sakusa's brows sink into a deep furrow. Which wasn't unusual, but something about the sight had prompted Atsumu to investigate further.

He'd found Sakusa gripping both of his knees so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.

Not knowing what else he could do, and fearful that forcing conversation on Sakusa would make the situation worse, Atsumu had offered him his earbuds and phone. Something to distract him from whatever about the night had made him tense up.

Sakusa's face from when he acknowledged the favor is hard to forget. For a couple of seconds, his expression had wavered between panic and a neutral stare, clearly mulling over whether he would accept. But then Atsumu had earned the distinct pleasure of watching his brows lower and his lips go slack with relief. No smile had come along afterwards, but Sakusa calming down was sufficiently gratifying.

That night, Atsumu had realized that maybe, just maybe, he had a bit of a crush.

By now, he's willing to admit that his little crush has grown into something that occupies his brain at all hours, burning through his veins with barely-controlled need. It practically explodes out of him when they're apart, because if he doesn't let it out at least that much, he'll slip up when Sakusa and he are together, and that's not allowed to happen. Atsumu refuses to half-ass this rapport they're building between them.

Still, if he had ever wanted to put a lid on those feelings, he's missed his chance.

Not that he would ever stop wanting this. As frustrating as chasing after a guy with a near-impenetrable guard is, whenever he succeeds in getting closer to Sakusa, the victory feels exhilarating. Well worth the effort.

"—can't believe you unironically put that on your warmup playlist—"

Snuggling down into the couch's armrest, Atsumu smiles into the fabric, inhaling lavender. No wonder he'd conked out so easily. Sakusa's entire apartment is an aromatherapy haven between the aftermath of cleaning sprays, incense from his meditation corner, and the odd candle. Every time Atsumu comes over, he's always lulled by the gentle aromas mingling in the air to where his blood pressure lowers a point or two.

He likes the setup. It's pleasant. The only downside is it makes him wonder which scent Sakusa smells most strongly of; what he'd find if he got real close and buried his head in Sakusa's neck. 

What makes him happiest now though is listening to the one-sided conversation going on nearby. It doesn't matter to him that Sakusa is rarely chatty, and this means he can be, and Atsumu just hasn't pulled that out of him yet. He's opening up, even if it's because he thinks Atsumu is sleeping, and that means he gets to learn what's running through Sakusa's mind. If he's lucky, he'll hear something he can surprise Sakusa with later. A tidbit he can use to get in his good graces.

Even if Atsumu doesn't find out anything, zoning out to the rumble of his crush's voice isn't a bad way to cap off the night. If he can make Sakusa believe his act long enough, maybe they really will wind up having a sleepover—in separate rooms, but baby steps are still progress.

Atsumu doesn't expect much, so he's struck by the next words to leave Sakusa's mouth. 

"—You aren't that bad, Miya."

Vivid imagery fills his head of unfairly pouty lips curling upward, just like the night they scored their first match-winning point together as teammates. As much as Atsumu had screamed at Sakusa earlier in the set for not starting his approach early enough, and despite how much Sakusa had cringed at the sweat from everyone's bodies coating him during the celebratory group hug, he'd smiled. At Atsumu alone, for a few breaths too long not for it to impact his heart.

Honestly, that was probably when all of this trouble began.

II:

Atsumu tips his head back, leaning against the kitchen counter in relief.

Finally.

At long last, he's able to put a word to the thought that has been nagging him for the past two hours. Nothing that's happened has been overtly strange. Sakusa had shown up to his apartment on time for dinner, minus the overnight bag Atsumu had told him to bring. According to the curt response he'd got, Sakusa doesn't believe in casually deciding to sleep over at your friend's place.

Which is fair. Under better circumstances, it'd be pre-planned and decidedly less platonic.

Sakusa agreeing to spend his free time together at all is a win, though, and Atsumu had been determined to celebrate it like one. He'd roped Sakusa into coming over with a promise to prove that he wasn't the only Miya who can cook. And it's true. Much as Atsumu hates to admit it, Osamu has him outclassed, but he's not bad. He's not even stuck at average. Really, Sakusa should be grateful for the opportunity to eat his food, but rather than the grudging praise Atsumu would have settled for, he's gotten a lot of silence.

Conversation while they'd eaten had come largely from him, peppered with faint grunts or looks from his dinner partner. The first full sentence Sakusa spoke since arriving was an offer to wash the dishes. Normally, Atsumu wouldn't have let him. He was raised to take care of everything when hosting guests, and he's arm wrestled people before over less.

But he'd said okay.

Apart from the patter of water down into the sink and the scrub of the sponge over the dishes, it's quiet. Atsumu isn't sure what he's waiting for, or why his eyes are glued to the bare nape of Sakusa's neck like it will grant him answers, but he hasn't moved. He's spent the past minutes puzzling out what felt weird to him, and now he gets it.

"Yer awfully clammed up tonight, Omi-kun."

Arguably, not pointing it out would be the tactful thing to do, but Atsumu isn't interested in tact at the moment. If whatever's making Sakusa silent is too sensitive, he'll stop poking at the scab, but if there's any way he can make it better, then he's got to know what's going on.

"I'm not feeling talkative."

"Any particular reason why yer not?"

"No." Turning, Sakusa peels off the gloves he's been wearing, discards them, and sanitizes his hands. When he's ready, his dark eyes land on Atsumu. Then he sighs. "Perhaps I'm tired. I don't know. It's felt like a long week."

"Oh. Y'know, ya didn't have to come over just cause I asked ya," Atsumu replies. Pushing down his objections, he adds, "It's fine if you wanna go home early."

"That isn't the issue," Sakusa says, words clipped. "There's been a lot on my mind the past few days, and I'm drained. I would have no problem turning you down if I couldn't handle socializing."

"Yeah, I can buy that." 

The scenario isn't hard to imagine, because when Sakusa joined the team, he was a master at dodging invitations to go out. Didn't matter which one of the guys did the asking, the answer had always taken the form of a flat, swift rejection. It had taken them months to coax him into attending the biweekly brunches. Sakusa isn't a man easily moved.

That's one of the things Atsumu admires most. Liking that about Sakusa might be his love of challenges talking, but either way, it's true.

They stare at each other for a long moment until finally, Sakusa breaks the silence. "Trust me. I am fine."

Atsumu isn't sure if he believes that one-hundred percent, but he reckons that he won't get any closer to the answer if he doubles-down on an interrogation now. With his luck, Sakusa would become even pricklier, and then any good vibes from their hang would disappear. 

There's an art to communicating with Sakusa, and Atsumu has learned that it hinges greatly on knowing when to push and when to let things go. Usually, there's more of the latter. It's been hard figuring it out, because even a year ago, all Atsumu knew how to do with friends or family was push. To demand their best, and goad them along until that best surfaced.

He can't use that strategy anymore. Not when it's them.

"Good to hear. Wanna catch that movie then?" he offers, smiling.

Sakusa brushes past him rather than replying, an action that gives Atsumu some encouragement. If that's how they're playing things, the night might not be lost. After all, whoever gets to the living room first gets to pick what movie they watch. 

Later, maybe he'll find out what's eating Sakusa's brain alive. He's got an idea.

. . . . .

Halfway through the film, Atsumu lets his eyes close. 

The plan is a little harder to pull off tonight because they're sharing the couch. He can't spread out or hide his face in the cushions to pretend. Instead he needs to sell this. Thankfully, Sakusa had picked an older arthouse film that lacks the explosions and dumb jokes of their typical fare. Once in a while when Sakusa wins the race, he picks stuff like this.

Initially, Atsumu had turned his nose up at the idea of a movie filmed in black and white. He'd figured it would be boring, unrelatable, and stiff. To his surprise, he'd liked the first film they'd watched, and most of them since. Turns out that some themes are relatable in any decade.

Even if he did, seeing Sakusa get invested is enough entertainment for him. Getting to watch the way his eyes follow the film, rapt with attention, taking in every clever detail. He's got a handsome side profile. Well, handsome everything, but Atsumu tries not to play favorites.

He doesn't hate these movies, but it's plausible that he'd doze off during one.

Resting against the back of the couch, he waits, focusing on keeping his breaths steady and not overdramatic. With each passing minute, Atsumu listens, wondering if he's doing something stupid. Sakusa talking to him while he's asleep might have been a fluke and nothing more. Just because he's pretending now doesn't mean it will happen again.

Eventually, his pulse speeds up from mounting anticipation until it seems louder than the dialogue on-screen, pounding in his ears and making him rethink this whole plan. He's missing out now on prime Sakusa viewing time.

If he 'wakes up' now, he doesn't need to have regrets.

But then Atsumu hears him.

"I wanted to come over."

He swears he's never listened harder to anything in his life, hanging on every word like it will lead to some kind of breakthrough. Right now, he can't spare the brain cells to care why this is a thing Sakusa chooses to do. Atsumu only wants to hear what else he'll tell him.

"It's better than being alone," Sakusa says. "Even if coming here doesn't solve anything, and ultimately gives me more to consider."

The couch gives a low groan, and before Atsumu can fully register what's happening, fingers brush against his arm, stirring the sparse bit of hair there before gradually moving lower to rest against the back of his hand. Sakusa doesn't latch on, but his touch lingers like a heavy, unignorable weight. Atsumu does his best not to startle, but at any moment, it feels like his heart will punch straight out of his chest.

He hasn't learned a single thing about what the problem is, but Atsumu thinks he's gained one or two new issues of his own.

Sakusa's fingers flex against his skin, tentatively tracing a pattern he's too stupefied to interpret.

"I'll admit the food was good. So was the company."

III:

Atsumu is so frustrated that he swears he can't see straight. 

Exhaustion from two grueling sets leaves him weary down to the bone, but his mood blows right past that in terms of what's worse. He holds his arms stiffly at his side, jaw clenched tight, as he moves into the arena hallway. His thoughts aren't on going home, dinner, or even how he'll get around town to do either of those things. They're laser-focused on practicing his serves until his hands are screaming sore and the lights in the training center automatically shut off. 

Problem is, that's not going to help because it isn't the reason the Jackals lost today. But the last thing Atsumu feels like now is being sociable enough to ask someone to join him, and he can't just do nothing. 

He huffs out a terse sigh.

Atsumu's feet slow to a halt. He looks straight ahead and surprise makes him stop seeing red long enough to take in the person at the other end of the hallway. Sakusa is hovering out front of one of the locker rooms, slouched forward and staring at his hands.

Unease prickles at Atsumu, making him shift awkwardly on his feet.

No one is wholly at fault for their loss, at least not on this side of the court. Much as he hates to admit it, their opponent was better. Which happens sometimes, just not so often that the outcome gets any easier to swallow.

Perhaps sensing the eyes trained on him, Sakusa lifts his head. 

Rather than the usual expression, or something ticked off like how Atsumu feels, Sakusa's eyes widen when they meet him, and then flick away. His dark brows furrow almost mournfully. With no further acknowledgement, Sakusa turns and disappears into the nearby room.

After a minute or two of internal debate, Atsumu follows.

The more steps he takes, the more his anger dampens, and it evaporates to nothing when he finds Sakusa inside, sitting in one corner of the locker room. His body is leaning back against one of the cement walls and his long legs lay listless against the floor as if they're trying to melt into it.

Atsumu raises a brow. The last place he'd expect Sakusa to want to be is there, with the unknowns of what everyone is tracking into the ground. Sweat, dirt, and other stuff, none of it palatable to him under other circumstances. Typically after a game, Sakusa is eager to be the first one in the showers. Yet, Atsumu can admit today is exceptional, if only because losing sucks.

He approaches at a cautious pace and tries not to jump when Sakusa tilts his head to look at him.

"Ya… good there, Omi-kun?"

Now that Atsumu is here, curiosity leads to an anxious pit in his stomach, making it toss and turn like the words in his head as he thinks of what to say next. He's not sure how to come right out and ask what he wants - which really is about what Sakusa wants deep down. Or needs. If he can, Atsumu would like to fix the issue. Because this behavior isn't normal. That's all he's concerned about.

Well, it's not all.

But they're definitely not at a point in their bond where he can say, "I wanna help ya because I'm in love with ya."

Love is probably a way off for them, even if he does find the courage to admit he has a crush on Sakusa. Still, Atsumu knows they can get there. He will get there, someday, if he's allowed. Maybe it's strange to feel so certain about something you can't reach out and grasp, like emotions, but he just knows. He's surer of it than a lot of variables in his life. 

Even now, more than a week later, Atsumu can't get the feeling of Sakusa touching his hand off his mind. Can't stop replaying the words he heard while Sakusa believed he was asleep.

The words aren't an outright confession of anything, but Atsumu would be lying if he said they hadn't lit a hopeful fire in his heart.

"Not really," Sakusa answers, gaze falling away toward another corner of the room.

"D'ya just wanna sit here a bit, or?" 

"I might."

Atsumu purses his lips. Then he walks forward, and plops himself down beside Sakusa along the wall. "Then I'll sit with ya," he says, less as an afterthought but more because he has zero intention of leaving no matter what the answer would or wouldn't have been.

"Isn't there somewhere you'd rather be?" Sakusa asks, studying the landscape of lockers, tile, and benches before them. The room they're in isn't used much unless there's a tournament with a lot of teams, so it's vacant and a bit lonely seeming. Fluorescent lights beat down on the center of the room but miss the edges, leaving them sitting in the shadowy portion.

"Where's that?"

Sakusa cocks his head at Atsumu, as if he's the one being weird. "Practicing," he says simply.

Atsumu blinks. 

He can't say anything to refute that; it's exactly what he'd wanted to do until he found something more important to take care of. Nor can he tell Sakusa why he changed his mind. 

"Ah, that'll be tomorrow's problem. Tonight, I'd rather relax. Y'know," Atsumu adds, voice dropping, "I'm actually pretty tired."

It's just intuition, but he wonders if he might get an honest answer if he goes about it this way. He runs the risk of Sakusa thinking he's got some kind of sleep disorder with how Atsumu constantly dozes off when they're together, but he's willing to endure that suspicion so long as he reaps a reward at the end. As to what's bothering Sakusa, Atsumu has his theories, considering how the game went, but none of them fit quite right. 

The only person who can give him the clues he needs is Sakusa himself. 

"You had plenty of energy earlier," Sakusa comments. "Did stomping around the court like a child wear you out?"

"Hey," Atsumu grumbles. "Ya know it was a rough time for all of us."

"Yes, I do know." 

Another glance off to the side, and then Sakusa turns his gaze downward. His shoulders shift against the wall, like he's not sure what to do with his body. Atsumu watches him try to decide, all the while waiting for any clues of what's got Sakusa off-balance.

The simplest answer doesn't make sense to him, because if losing was why, they wouldn't be here. When they lose, Sakusa works harder too. Either that means extra time in the training center, with or without Atsumu's sets, or it means holing up at home and rewatching old game footage. They're alike in the way that neither of them can relax enough to blow off steam without feeling like they've earned that privilege first.

No, this moping around in a dark corner business isn't typical.

Prompted by a surge of determination, Atsumu raises his arms above his head, letting them stretch out and his back arch. He stages a soft sigh of a yawn and then lets his body go slack. It's a challenge not to break the facade when Sakusa looks over at him.

But instead of frowning, he meets Atsumu with a neutral expression.

"You can rest," Sakusa tells him. "If you would like to. I don't plan on leaving yet."

His pulse stutters in his chest for a moment, confusion disrupting the usual thrum of his heartbeat. Atsumu stares back, holding every muscle in his body frozen where it is, and tries to think of how to answer. He feels caught off guard.

This is new. Sakusa definitely hasn't ever invited him to sleep first. It's been a fluke in the past, or an act of his own volition once Atsumu had learned he might hear things Sakusa won't tell him when he's conscious. An act of desperation, maybe, but he's above feeling ashamed when it comes to chasing down something he loves.

If he accepts, will he still get to listen in on Sakusa's closely-guarded thoughts? Or are things different now?

"Okay," Atsumu replies, lowering his arms. "Maybe I will."

"Fine by me."

. . . . .

Waiting around and maintaining the pretense that he's asleep is tougher than it looks on paper. Every time Atsumu wants to move his body, or even breathe, he second-guesses himself about what actions fall under the believable category.

He's not sure how long it takes, but the first sign of his success—Sakusa letting out a sigh—sends relief flooding through Atsumu's veins. He slumps back against the wall, which probably only makes him more convincing. After that, he revels in each word that is spoken.

Sakusa begins by running through frustrations from the game. Curt comments bitten off halfway as if he's replaying them in his own head before skipping ahead to the next complaint he has. From the sound of it, Atsumu and he agree that, irritatingly enough, there wasn't much their team could have done to garner a different outcome.

As he listens, Atsumu represses the urge to clench his fist. He has to remind himself of his goal.

And then, after a long pause from Sakusa that has Atsumu holding his breath, the subject changes.

"I'm disappointed, because finally, I had figured out what to do. What I'd like to do," Sakusa is talking at a smoother cadence than before, the words flowing out with ease. "I told myself that if we won tonight, I'd move forward with my plans. But clearly, that didn't happen."

Atsumu's brows pinch together, confused, and he hopes it's not suspicious. Then again, who is to say Sakusa even is looking right now? He sounds caught up in a web of his own thoughts, unraveling them aloud bit by bit in front of his audience of one.

"I can't act now. Not when—" Sakusa trails off, and huffs. Beside him, Atsumu can hear his shoes squeak against the concrete, shifting to a different spot. Another pause. "Not when you're disappointed in me."

What?

Atsumu freezes, forgetting the rhythmic breaths he's been doing to keep his act going. His heartbeat jolts a little too, and he wavers between whether he should keep going or wake up now. 

What Sakusa is stating is false, of course.

He could never be disappointed in Sakusa, especially not as a player. Acting irresponsibly isn't in Sakusa's nature, even on his worst days.

If Atsumu is being honest, he holds Sakusa to a pretty high standard compared to the other spikers in the Jackals' arsenal. Their teammates are all dependable for the level they play at, but Sakusa's conduct goes beyond "enough." There's something even more reliable about his focus and level of dedication. He's a serious athlete and human being off the court. Definitely not a letdown.

And Atsumu feels like he's always made his respect clear. So what the hell isn't getting across tonight?

"You don't need to waste your time here."

Another head scratcher of a sentence, because since when has he ever been such a kind person as to do something he doesn't want and that doesn't outwardly benefit him? 

Since right now, apparently. But he has his reasons.

Atsumu bites back his gut response and forces himself to keep listening. One-sided though the conversation is, listening to it feels important, even if he doesn't like what he's hearing. He needs to endure if he's going to have a chance at combating the untrue things being said.

Sakusa hefts another, quieter sigh. When he speaks again, he sounds oddly defeated.

“Why do you gravitate toward me, Miya? I can’t be that fascinating to spend time with. And yet I can't ever get rid of you.”

He almost opens his eyes, almost lets loose words to challenge Sakusa's assumption. Instead of doing either, though, Atsumu gathers his courage, tips his body to the side, and falls.

Sakusa's shoulder jolts at the sudden weight leaning against it, and belatedly, Atsumu worries if he's just going to get shoved for his trouble. But then slowly, gradually, he feels the tension leave where they're connected until he's well and truly comfortable. Somewhere nearby, Atsumu smells a hint of lavender, faint and gentle like fabric soap after it's been worn in.

Ah, so that's what it is, he thinks, as he tries not to smile and invalidate his fake slumber. That's the scent closest to Sakusa's skin after all. Not any of the others back in his apartment.

That's fine. Atsumu never really pegged him as being a cologne guy anyway.

He can't manage a smooth wakeup now, but at least he's learned some of the concerns renting space in Sakusa's brain. And Atsumu can disprove them easily, maybe at the same time as tying up a loose end that he's been dragging his feet on for weeks.

Just a few more minutes of acting, and then he'll take action. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

Atsumu's face screws up, and he nearly convinces himself to ignore it when instead of a vibration, the device begins ringing. The rapid succession between a text and call urges him to open his eyes. He plays the waking up role as diligently as he can as he sits up and digs through his jacket pocket.

Stunningly, Sakusa doesn't budge an inch, leaving them shoulder to shoulder. He watches as Atsumu answers the call.

"Hey, what's goin' on, Takemoto-san?" 

His landlord's voice starts out polite but quickly gains a pleading edge as he explains the "small problem" with the pipes feeding the apartment on the floor above Atsumu's place. Two minutes into the convoluted explanation, it becomes clear to Atsumu that the problem is pretty major. Emergency calls have been made to a plumber, Takemoto informs him, but they can't get around to the work until tomorrow. 

Which means for tonight, he's out of luck for a place to sleep. To actually sleep.

Fantastic.

He hangs up not long after, fist clenched tight around his phone and irritation simmering beneath the surface of his composed expression.

"Is something the matter?" Sakusa asks, tilting his head to glance at him more closely.

"Busted pipes back at home. Not lettin' anyone on my side of the floor back in 'til tomorrow," Atsumu mutters, feeling the frustration flare a little hotter in his chest. He growls as he adds, "Shit happens, and I get that, but I'll admit I didn't need shit to happen tonight."

"Come home with me."

Atsumu whips his head around. "What?"

He's met with a firm stare. "You can stay over," Sakusa elaborates. "Tomorrow, perhaps we can go into the training center together. It's convenient."

Oh, it's convenient for a long list of reasons, Atsumu thinks, but there's a single, glaring problem he can see with that plan. Sakusa rents a one-bedroom apartment, unlike him. But beggars can't be choosers, and Atsumu is open to something a step down from the comfort of his own bed if it means sticking close to his goal.

And maybe meeting it.

"Gonna let me have yer couch, Omi-kun?" he counters, mustering up a grin.

"Why?" Sakusa arches a single dark brow. "My bed is large enough to sleep two people."

Atsumu gulps. "...You'd share it?"

"I don't see where else you would go. A couch isn't sufficient for anything more prolonged than a nap."

"Of course, yeah," Atsumu says, as evenly as he can. "Makes sense."

Try telling his heart that, though, because the damned traitor shows zero signs of slowing down anytime soon.

IV:

Going on two hours later, the irony of his situation hits Atsumu when he's trying to soothe himself enough to pass out. Whenever they've been alone lately, he's put on an act and pretended to doze off. Now, tonight, it's expected that he'll do that for real. 

He's not so sure he can.

Every condition surrounding him is perfect. The bed is spacious, leaving them a nice bit of room between their bodies so that they don't run the risk of brushing against each other. Sakusa's duvet is plush, and the pillows are the right level of firm. The air in the bedroom is cool, and blackout blinds keep out any stubborn bit of light from the street outside. Honestly, it's ridiculous how comfortable everything feels to him. 

And yet Atsumu is wide awake.

Pulses of adrenaline ripple through his veins with each soft noise that emanates from the other side of the bed, keeping him on high alert. 

Earlier, it was the flip of a page as Sakusa read through the novel from his bedside table. Now, the chorus is formed entirely of the rustle of fabric, or the odd sigh, as he turns and readjusts, perhaps just as desperate as Atsumu to induce sleep. They haven't talked since they got in bed together, other than the nervous goodnight wish Atsumu had managed to say before he closed his eyes.

Already, he's messed up. When they decided on him staying here, Atsumu had thought he'd use the opportunity to come clean. He'd planned on spilling everything to Sakusa about how he feels; Atsumu had hoped that everything he's heard over the past weeks would make that confession easier. Recently, he's dared to hope that Sakusa and him are thinking a lot of the same things.

Because more and more, when Atsumu replays the words, he hears a longing in them that matches the feelings he's been grappling with for a while. Sure, they're spoken in Sakusa's unique language, but he's become fluent in deciphering those.

Saying Atsumu isn't that bad reads like high praise. Appreciation for the small gesture of calming him down when he'd needed help.

Enjoying his company and the food Atsumu made him is a lot warmer, especially coming from Sakusa's lips, and it's maybe the easiest phrase to interpret of them all. 

Asking why Atsumu chooses to stay beside him is concerning for the doubt in himself Sakusa shows, but Atsumu can't get past the part where it's clear that Sakusa wants him around. Claiming that he can't get rid of Atsumu isn't true. If Sakusa had ever asked him to stop focusing on him, he would have. Without a doubt, because Atsumu respects himself enough to not cling to a relationship that's doomed from the starting gate. 

But that doesn't mean being rejected wouldn't sting.

It would, a lot, and for a while. He won't let that stop him from trying, though.

In the morning, maybe, Atsumu will give the confession attempt another go when they're rested and he's more clear headed. For tonight, he'll focus his efforts on sleeping and also not dying at the realization that if he was brave enough to reach out, it'd be so easy to drift off feeling Sakusa's warmth cozied against him. Just like earlier, he could play that off as an unconscious movement. 

Atsumu isn't trying to pretend right now, though, so he'll be good. He isn't hoping for any sort of conversation to emerge from Sakusa like the other times, or for anything to happen, really.

So it's a bit surprising when he's spoken to.

"I am sure this isn't where you wanted to be tonight, but I'm glad you're here, Miya." 

Another rustle sounds close by, like Sakusa has shifted onto his side.

"You can't be that upset if you followed me home."

Atsumu curls his fingers into the hem of the blanket, silently agreeing. He's not upset. About the only thing he's thinking of is listening closer, and trying not to give himself away as he lays less than an arm's length from where Sakusa is almost certainly watching him.

"There's no point in dragging this out any longer, so I'm just going to say it. If you prefer, imagine it's all a dream, and we don't have to discuss it in the morning," Sakusa says, a tightness to his tone that sharpens the words as they leave his mouth.

Suddenly confused, Atsumu's fingers grip the blanket hard as he tries to puzzle out what sounds weird to him. Then, with the subtlety of a bullet train crashing into him head-on, he realizes. 

Imagine it's all a dream.

Sakusa knows he isn't asleep.

Atsumu's eyes snap open, and he pitches himself up in bed until he's hunched forward on both hands, facing down a surprised-looking Sakusa. They're even closer now, so Atsumu can see the way his expression comes back to life when he relaxes from the shock. Once it does, Sakusa stares at him with no small amount of seriousness.

"I've grown fond of you. Very fond," he says, looking so composed that Atsumu feels unhinged by comparison.

Every time he breathes in, he can't help but notice the insistent pounding of his heart. He knows he looks like a mess too, with rumpled hair and him stripped down to the spare briefs from his gym bag and nothing else. Sakusa had turned his nose up at him wearing a sweaty tee-shirt to bed just for modesty's sake, and hadn't offered any alternatives, so it's all he has on.

If anyone had asked him before, Atsumu never would have dreamed of getting confessed to under these circumstances. He'd had a plan, several plans that changed as time went on, of what this moment would look like. First and foremost, he'd expected to be the one doing the talking.

Step one: failed, but he isn't complaining. Not one bit.

"I like ya a lot too," Atsumu blurts out, unable to hold it in any longer. "I don't wanna pretend it's a dream, either. I mean it, Kiyoomi. Everything."

"Kiyoomi?" 

"Ah, yeah," Atsumu answers, heat flooding his face and staining it pink. "Didn't feel right not usin' yer name there."

Sakusa's lips twitch with amusement. He reaches out a hand. "Come here."

Pushing past the nerves bubbling in his stomach, Atsumu accepts the invitation, settling closer to Sakusa in bed. He tentatively places a hand on Sakusa's bicep, teasing the fabric of his shirt sleeve between two fingers. Sakusa nestles down into the crook of Atsumu's neck, lips close to his ear so that when he speaks next, the whisper hits it and shoots straight down into his heart. "I don't mind, Atsumu."

The shiver that runs down his body then makes Atsumu's hand pause. He backs off just enough to catch a glimpse of Sakusa, staring deep into his dark, pretty eyes for another few breaths. Then Atsumu's gaze drifts lower. He doesn't think he needs to ask at this point, but he moves closer slowly all the same, just in case. 

Fingers thread into the longer strands of hair at the back of his head and tug him forward.

Letting out a surprised moan, Atsumu quiets when their lips slot together tighter. He focuses on the fullness of Sakusa's mouth as he leads the kiss, taking and giving as confidently as if he's imagined doing it thousands of times.

Maybe he has. That would make two of them.

"Tomorrow," Atsumu says once he's able to tear himself away. Even now, he's tempted to shut up, feeling Sakusa's warmth so close that it practically jumps across to his own skin. He bites back a laugh and settles for grinning when he asks, "Wanna sleep in before we go practice? I'm in no hurry to get outta yer bed."

"Only if we can stay just like this."

They settle into a new arrangement with him on his back and Sakusa melded to the length of his body, head cozy with his chest. Atsumu leans in to steal one last kiss goodnight against Sakusa's forehead. "Sounds like a plan," he murmurs, feeling his eyelids droop closed.

When Atsumu wakes up in the morning, with an armful of boyfriend and a contented heart, he realizes it was the best sleep he's ever had.