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“Hey, Omi?” Atsumu asks from his vantage on the couch. He’s splayed out on it, legs kicked up on one armrest and head tipped back on the other, fanning himself with a tired hand. He goes to shift his legs and the backs of his nude calves stick to the leather of the couch. He cringes. Whoever’s idea it was to stick a black leather couch in the centre of their living room with south-facing, floor-to-ceiling windows, is an idiot (he’s willing to ignore the fact that it was definitely his idea).
“Hm?” Sakusa hums from the armchair to Atsumu’s left. His head leans all the way back on the headrest, showing off his sweat-slick neck and the way his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. The fabric of his (disgustingly neon) yellow t-shirt is plastered to his torso like a second skin and Atsumu thinks that would be really attractive if he weren’t currently boiling alive.
“How d’ya convert Celsius to Fahrenheit again?” He asks, fumbling with the phone that sits on his bare stomach. He clicks around for the calculator, wincing when he glimpses the weather. A whopping 36 °C.
“Why do you need to know?” Sakusa attempts to blow a flattened curl out of his eyes. He fails, miserably, and the hair stays plastered to his forehead.
“I wanna know if we’re in the hundreds yet,” Atsumu says. He scrolls idly through news headlines. Heatwave this, heatwave that, celebrity gossip that Atsumu can’t bring himself to give a single shit about, the usual.
“It sure feels like it,” Sakusa mutters, more to himself than anything. He raises his head to stare forwards, squinting to recall. “In parentheses, degrees Celsius multiplied by nine fifths, close parentheses, plus thirty-two.”
“Thanks, college grad.” Atsumu types out the equation. “Damn, so close. Only 96.”
“Only?” Sakusa groans, letting his head fall back again.
Atsumu lets his phone fall to his stomach and closes his eyes. With the blinds pulled tight and all the lights off, only slivers of blinding sunlight manage to slip in from outside. They bring with them simmering heat and the lazy haze of a too-hot summer day.
When all four of them had coordinated a day off in common, melting into the living room couch waiting for Ushijima to fix the broken air conditioning and for Kita to get back with plenty of ice and frozen treats was not what Atsumu had in mind. He was thinking of a slow morning without rush, of a romantic walk to a nearby park, of afternoon tea at a hole-in-the-wall cafe, of dinner at an overly expensive restaurant.
He was not thinking of being sticky from head to toe in an apartment with a broken AC.
“This might be where I die,” Sakusa mumbles.
Atsumu opens an eye to peer out at him. “Yer so dramatic.” He tries for a chuckle but it ends up sounding more like a wet huff.
Sakusa gives a lazy grunt and runs a hand through the hair that’s stuck itself to his forehead. He shivers and visibly cringes at the sweat on his palm, standing from his seat and making his way to the kitchen sink. Grumbling something about his body betraying him with all the sweat, he washes his hands thoroughly and plunks back down in his chair.
It’s been a good hour of this, of lazing in the living room, too worn out from the sheer heat to do much else. Atsumu’s found comfort in the internet, in browsing aimlessly while waiting for news about the air conditioning. He’s been trying to distract Sakusa from the growing discomfort of being drenched in sweat with no end in sight. At least after a game he can shower the grime away and be clean and fresh right after. But on hot days like this, the heat manages to work its way into everyone’s very bones and with no air conditioning providing relief, it’s got Sakusa a little on edge. Or at least Atsumu figures so.
“Didja hear about the—” Atsumu is cut short in the middle of bringing up the latest piece of celebrity gossip (that he still can’t manage to give a shit about) by his own strangled yelp.
Ushijima walks back into the room, dabbing at his face with a towel slung over his bare shoulders. He crosses to the kitchen for a glass of water, chugging it down without realizing in the slightest the effect he’s having on Atsumu. Why does everyone have to be so damn attractive when he’s too lazy to do anything about it?
“Well hello, mister repairman,” Atsumu drawls. He bats his eyelashes in a way he hopes is attractive, but probably just looks tired. “Havin’ trouble fixin’ the AC? Maybe I could come help ya.” He winks.
Sakusa groans, “Stop quoting porn.” He finally tips his head forward again and—based on the way his eyes catch on Ushijima’s topless frame—Atsumu thinks he must be sharing some similar thoughts.
It’s a no binder kinda day, as Atsumu used to hum playfully as encouragement for Ushijima to give his body a break. Not that he ever needs the encouragement, he’s always been good a knowing his limits. But now he is fully topless, unashamed and rather unbothered-looking as he stands in the kitchen. Sweat drips from the hollow of his collar bones along the muscle of his chest and slowly down his taut stomach, eventually catching in the fabric of his grey sweats.
Sakusa gives an appreciative hum and Atsumu wolf whistles. It really is such a shame he can’t manage to lift himself off the couch.
Ushijima looks down at himself and back at Atsumu and Sakusa. Trace amounts of a satisfied smirk edge at his passive expression. Damn him , Atsumu thinks without real venom.
“I can’t fix the air conditioning. I’ve called for assistance but it seems a lot of people are having similar problems so it may be a while before anyone can help,” Ushijima says.
Atsumu groans low in his chest and lets his head fall back against the couch. He should be on a nature walk right now, listening to Kita and Ushijima have a detailed back and forth about every bird they spot. He should be listening to Sakusa complain that everything is a bit too bright. He should be playfully teasing them about anything and everything.
But here he is, stuck like glue to a couch and surrounded by two of the most attractive men in the world, waiting for the third to get home.
“Is there an estimated time for the help?” Sakusa asks, his tone showing his exhaustion.
Ushijima shakes his head.
“Is there an estimated time for Shinsuke’s coming back?” Sakusa asks.
Atsumu picks up his phone to check for new messages. “Nothin’.”
Sakusa groans and whispers a gruff little, “ Fuck. ”
“My sentiments exactly,” Atsumu says.
Ushijima sighs and makes his way over to the couch. Atsumu, stubborn as he is, doesn’t move his legs and instead allows himself to be manhandled as Ushijima sits down. Atsumu’s legs are replaced over his lap and peace is restored to the world once again.
Except for the fact that it’s still boiling hot and the air conditioning is still broken.
“Think we can salvage the date?” Atsumu asks. He wipes sweat from his forehead then onto his shorts. He hears Sakusa mumble something along the lines of, can’t believe how much I love this slob.
“I think it’s best to reschedule,” Ushijima says, “Going outside in this temperature seems…” His voice trails off and it seems the heat must really be taking its toll on him.
Atsumu hums in agreement and Sakusa makes a gargling noise in the back of his throats that can pass as an affirmative.
A solid five seconds pass in silence before the world seems desperately dull and Atsumu speaks again. “Now what?” He asks to no one in particular.
“We wait for Shinsuke to get back and then we wait for maintenance to fix the air conditioning,” Sakusa says.
“Well, yeah, but what then ?” Atsumu kicks his legs onto the ground and sits upright, only vaguely dizzy from the sudden change in altitude.
“Well, then things won’t be so damn hot ,” Sakusa hisses.
“Things are always hot with you two around,” Atsumu mutters.
Sakusa tries to hide his snort, he really does, but it bubbles up anyway and it’s got to be one of Atsumu’s all-time favourite sounds. Ushijima huffs an exhale (a laugh in its own way) and it’s easily a close second.
There’s a slow creaking at the door that has all three of their heads shooting upwards like overexcited puppies.
Kita walks into the living room, a straw hat atop his head and a warm smile rounding his rosy cheeks. He sheds the hat and turns his gaze fully to the room in front of him. “Hmm, two of you are shirtless,” He acknowledges. He doesn’t seem upset about it, or happy, really just neutral.
Atsumu scoffs a laugh. “Are ya tryin’ to sensor our bodies? Tryin’ to sensor his body?” He pokes a thumb at Ushijima. “Thought you were better than this, Shin.”
Kita raises his eyebrows like that’s the biggest bullshit he’s ever heard come from one person’s mouth, which can’t be all that true considering how much time he spends around Atsumu.
Ushijima just shakes his head, he’s learnt to put up with Atsumu’s shenanigans.
Atsumu stands from the couch (read: physically peels himself off the couch) and staggers over to Kita’s bag of treats. Inside is a full bag of ice, a tub of ice cream, and a box of popsicles. Atsumu thanks Kita with a kiss to his cheek and quickly snatches the popsicles before sitting (read: melting) back onto the couch.
He offers a popsicle to Ushijima, holding out the box while working open the plastic wrapper he holds in his hand. Ushijima declines, but watches with great interest as Kita heads to the kitchen to get bowls for the ice cream. In his own way, it’s a request.
“Want some?” Kita chuckles. The little smile that plays at his lips raises the room’s temperature by at least a few degrees.
“Yes,” Ushijima says, “Please.”
“Kiyoomi?” Kita offers.
Sakusa makes a noise that can pass as an affirmative. He shakes his head out and looks around the room with a sour expression on his face. He squints at the light and at the stickiness of his own skin and at the heat in the air, heavy and a little wet.
“What are you doing with the ice?” He asks, obviously keen on taking it for himself.
“I was plannin’ on puttin’ it in little bags, like ice packs,” Kita says with a shrug.
Sakusa hums like he thinks that’s a wonderful idea. He stands to get it done while Kita scoops the ice cream into three bowls. Atsumu continues to scroll aimlessly through social media and Ushijima peers over his shoulder to observe in content silence.
It’s another few hours before the air conditioning gets repaired and another few weeks before the four of them manage to coordinate another date, but the day isn’t completely a waste. Not when they all get to lounge around for hours and enjoy each other’s company in the most candid of senses.