Archive of Our Own

It’s three in the morning and Wakatoshi is wide awake.

His thoughts are loud. Too loud, amidst the silence of the night, and it makes everything stagnant. He looks up, a cluster of stars looks back at him, and he feels something crack and break within him. It’s miniscule, unseen, but he feels it with every fiber of his being. He gulps in a breath, trying to ease the sudden tightness in his chest.

He wonders if this was a normal occurrence in long-term relationships, much like his and Satori’s. He wonders if other people felt this too; this indescribable feeling of falling alone into the unknown.

Perhaps it is; as he’s heard before, large and roaring fire tend to gradually weaken over time. And there’s an unnoticed breeze blowing against Satori and his’ fire. The embers are dying, excruciating and slow, and Wakatoshi wonders if he’s the ember and Satori is the breeze. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

This is normal, however. No matter how terrified and guilty Wakatoshi feels, this is a normal occurrence in relationships. And whatever this is, him and Satori will get through it like they always do.

Like they always do. Because who are they, where would they be, if not with each other.

“’Toshi?” And in that moment, the earth spins by a fraction; the stars move, the moon peeks from the clouds—everything’s suddenly in motion and Wakatoshi moves with them. “Why’re you ‘wake?”

Wakatoshi faces him, his fiancé, with his tousled hair and droopy eyes. Satori blinks a few times, before lifting his upper body off the bed to look at Wakatoshi.

“I was just about to go to bed,” he replies, his voice rumbling against his throat. Without saying anything else, he approaches Satori and sits by the edge of the bed. He hears Satori hum; a ruffle of bed covers following after. Satori faces him, more awake.

“This late?” he asks, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Wakatoshi answers, looking away as he lays himself down. “I just could not bring myself to sleep.”

There’s silence afterwards, or maybe something even greater, that Wakatoshi is almost afraid to break it. Instead, he looks at Satori, and he sees him staring back. There’s a glint in his eyes, and they almost look like little stars. Wakatoshi feels something collapse inside him.

He wonders if, right now, Satori could see right through him; and if he could, he wonders if Satori understands. If he will understand. He feels so exposed, so raw and naked, and he feels even worse when a subtle light from the moon shines on them and Satori’s face comes to the view.

He’s looking at him, eyes wide and worried. Red eyes so intense under the moonlight, Wakatoshi finds it hard to remain his stare.

He feels movement beside him, and as Satori lies down, he speaks, “Wakatoshi, you know you can talk to me, right?”

“I’m here for you,” Satori adds, reaching his hand out to cup his cheek, his touch delicate and careful, as if he’s afraid that the weight of his hand alone can break Wakatoshi. He feels the cold surface of his engagement ring above his jawline and it sends a heavy weight on his chest.

“It’s not important, Satori,” Wakatoshi lies.

He feels Satori’s fingertips move by an inch as he leans in to press a kiss on his forehead. It’s so gentle and warm; it’s supposed to be comforting but right now, it only makes his heart ache.

When did this even start? When did it start hurting?

“I love you, Wakatoshi,” he whispers against his skin, before pulling away, his hand leaving Wakatoshi’s face simultaneously.

His tongue feels heavy, but he wills himself to reply, “I love you too.”

Because he loves Satori.

As his fiancé’s eyes fall close and his breathing steadying, Wakatoshi finds himself wondering once again, but this time, he puts it in a halt.

This is just a fleeting thing, an obstacle in their relationship. They have gone through different challenges; especially when Satori moved to France for five years and their communication gradually decreased. He loves Satori, he always has for most of his life, back in high school, and back when they were oceans apart.

And now, his fiancé is finally home. He’s right here, sleeping beside him; his face just a few inches away, his knee touching his, his fingers curled on Wakatoshi’s palm. But why is it, that even now, Satori still feels so far away?

-

Wakatoshi wakes up the next day to the smell of breakfast and a heavy heart.

-

Beknown to many, Wakatoshi is strong; a steady ground, an unshakeable force.  He supposes it’s true, as he rarely falters, rarely gets nervous.

“Ushijima-san? You’re still here?”

But coming home to Satori—he finds dreadful.

And perhaps that’s why, an hour later, he remains in their gym, his palms aching and the whole place rid of any form of garbage. However, he doesn’t quite understand the sinking feeling he has, as if he betrayed his lover.

Wakatoshi has done no such thing.

“Kageyama.” Wakatoshi nods as he walks to his things, “What brings you here?”

“I came back for my jersey,” Kageyama answers, his tone a bit unsure, “Uh… Ushijima?”

Wakatoshi pauses from fixing his things, before facing the setter. His eyes bore on him, his shoulders squared. Despite the brave façade, Wakatoshi can see that Kageyama is tense—too tense, and awkward.

“Are you—” Kageyama pauses to ponder, before looking away. He clears his throat, “Were my sets alright today?”

Before Wakatoshi could even answer, he adds: “You were unable to hit some of them.”

“They were alright, Kageyama,” Wakatoshi reassures, before returning to his things, “Your sets were perfect. I apologize, it was my fault for not hitting them.”

There are just too many things in Wakatoshi’s mind; too many doubts, too many questions, and it pulls him out from the present to drown in them. The worst thing, though, is that he never got any answers.

A sudden vibration from Wakatoshi’s phone interrupts the proceeding silences the two shared. It startles him, in a way that he feels his fingertips grow cold. And when he sees Satori’s face come to the view of his screen, he grabs his phone.

It has been ringing since their practice has finished. As Wakatoshi hits the ball until his palms grew red, it rings. As he rolls the net, it rings. As he lets himself indulge in the blunt pounding of the shower water on his bare back, it rings. It has been since 9:45, it’s a few minutes before 11 now.

Not once does Wakatoshi answer.

“Do you want a ride? I came here with Shouyou—”

Wakatoshi presses the decline. But this time, he sends Satori a text that he’ll be home soon.

He throws his phone back in his bag, before grabbing his things. “It’s alright, Kageyama. Satori and mine’s apartment are not that far from here.”

Kageyama gives him one long look, before nodding and walking away. Wakatoshi follows behind, not long after. The ringing in his phone stops, and he’s submerged in a comfortable silence. The night breeze sends a nipping chill on his skin, but he finds it relaxing. He wonders since when has he had this time for himself. His thighs ache, his palms still sting, but it feels nice. So nice, that Wakatoshi regrettably finds himself wanting it more.

-

Satori looks tired when he arrives home.

And yet, he greets Wakatoshi with a blinding smile, his lips stretching to a far end. There’s a faint smell of food that makes his stomach rumble and his mouth salivate. With the lights turned on, the television emitting white noises, the apartment feels so warm and comfortable. Everything just screams home.

“Welcome home, ‘Toshi!”

Home. Home. This is his home, with his fiancé, and he dreaded this particular moment to arrive. He dragged his training until 11 o’clock, walked home, and made Satori wait. He did all that, because he doesn’t want to witness the joy of coming home, to succumb in the embrace of his lover.

Or rather, he did all that, because there was no joy, no comfort, only a blunt ache residing inside him.

Satori is so kind, so loving; he and what they have are everything Wakatoshi wanted, and yet it hurts him. It just doesn’t make sense and yet it’s happening, and Wakatoshi can’t help but wonder if he really does deserve this. If he deserves Satori.

With a lump in his throat, he croaks out: “I’m home.”

-

“How was practice?”

“It was alright.”

Satori waited for him to arrive before he eats his dinner. So, right now, here they sit across each other, dining on microwaved food Satori cooked a few hours ago. Wakatoshi’s eyes are fixed on his food; he doesn’t spare Satori a glance, because once he does, all he can feel is something crawling on his skin.

Guilt. Unnecessary guilt. There’s no reason to feel this way, because he loves Satori, and Satori loves him. Nothing is wrong.

“My fiancé is always working so hard,” he hears Satori coo, “you even come home late now!”

“Mhm.”

Satori jokes, “Don’t make it a habit, though!”

With Wakatoshi’s lack of response, Satori drops the playful act. There’s something wrong with Wakatoshi. There has been for weeks, and even with his great efforts to hide his woes, Satori still manages to catch even the slightest hints. He’s always been great in reading him.

And every day he asks Wakatoshi what’s troubling him. Even with his persistency that nothing is wrong, he knows Satori thinks otherwise. And now, Wakatoshi can’t help but believe that there is definitely something wrong.

But he’s afraid.

Wakatoshi is terrified to admit it; to look Satori in the eye, swallow the growing lump in his throat, and voice out every last bit of his worries. Because he fears that if he does, something will change between them.

What he has, what they have, is everything Wakatoshi wanted. He doesn’t know if he’s ready for something to change.

“Hey,” Satori softly says, his head dipping slightly to catch Wakatoshi’s eyes. He’s successful. “You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever you want to say, I’m here to listen.”

Satori reaches out to intertwine his fingers with Wakatoshi’s, his cold hand embracing the warmth his own hand exudes. And as he curls his fingers to lock their hands together, their engagement rings touch, and it reminds Wakatoshi of everything in their pasts, everything in their present, and everything they have planned for their future.

With a gentle smile painting Satori’s face, he adds: “We did make that promise, right?”

-

Falling in love with Satori, is by far, the most bizarre thing he has ever experienced.

It comes to Wakatoshi without warning, disrupting his routines, changing his beliefs. When Satori grinned at him that one morning after summer break back in high school, his hair rid of any hair gel, eyes still puffy, it feels as if Wakatoshi’s whole world shifted, it tilted slightly by the axis. And when his name fell from his lips, it’s as if the planet turns a second faster, leaving his body craving for movement while it’s the both of them who remained still.

Falling madly and deeply in love with Satori is the most bizarre thing, but Wakatoshi would go through all that again if he could.

Loving Satori, however, is the easiest to do. The most natural of all.

So, when Wakatoshi finally musters up the courage to ask Satori to be his boyfriend and Satori saying yes, it’s as if everything falls into place. And every single day, when he wakes up, he spends it loving Satori. And even while they’re apart, he does it. It’s like fate already planned there to be a Wakatoshi and Satori before there even were them. Wakatoshi is made to love Satori.

“Satori?”

“Hmm?”

He feels Satori’s fingers run through his hair, coaxing him to sleep. He feels his control on his body slip, and he is left with his head unconsciously bobbing onto the crook of Satori’s shoulder. Even with Satori’s naturally cold body, there’s a certain warmth his embrace gives, and with every second passing, Wakatoshi finds himself melting more into it. He lets out a breath, before smiling sloppily against the skin of Satori’s neck. This must be what it feels like to finally come home. Not to Japan, not to Paris, but to Tendou Satori.

And with his mind flying somewhere else, his subconscious decides to do the talking. “Will you marry me?”

Satori tenses in his hold, his whole hand landing flat on his head, and that alone wakes Wakatoshi up from his sleepiness. Troubled, he pulls away from Satori’s embrace and stares at him. Satori stares back, his eyes wide and cheeks tinted pink.

“I—” Wakatoshi chokes out, “I meant—”

Satori laughs, shaking his head, the redness on his cheeks spreading all over his neck. It’s so pretty, he’s so pretty. Reaching out to cup Wakatoshi’s face, he says, “Of course I would, ‘Toshi. There’s literally no one else for me. Only you.”

Wakatoshi’s lips twitches twice, before stretching out into a full grin as he puts his lips on Satori’s; their mouths slotted together perfectly, it tastes like hot chocolate on a cold night. It tastes like meteor showers; like love, the universe, and loving the entire universe. It tastes like life; the beginning, the end, and everything in between.

In that moment, Wakatoshi and Satori are celestial.

He feels Satori smile against their kiss. Wakatoshi smiles back, before letting out a joyful laugh. It turns out, there’s nothing for Wakatoshi to be worried about.

“I love you,” Wakatoshi whispers as he pulls away, “I apologize this was sudden, I don’t even have a ring yet.”

Satori lets out a laugh. Tightening his hold around him, he says, “Good thing I have one.”

“What?”

“I bought it about a month ago. I was waiting for the perfect opportunity, but you beat me to it.” He gives Wakatoshi another kiss.

“When I finally come home to Japan for good, we can get married then,” Satori adds, moving slightly, as his arm reaches out to pull something out of his bedside drawer. “For now, let’s promise to be there for each other. Through sickness and in health, as they say.”

And there, in his palm, lies a velvet box, and inside a promise. Wakatoshi feels himself tear up. Choked up, he nods to Satori’s statement.

“See?” Satori’s voice is soft, in contrast to his usual nature. Carefully, he holds Wakatoshi’s hand as he slips the ring into his finger. “The perfect fit.”

Wakatoshi examines the ring, feeling a tear drop down onto his cheeks. He loves Satori so much. So fucking much. He can’t wait to build a future with him.

“Yeah,” Wakatoshi rasps out. He looks at Satori, “The perfect fit.”

Just like him and Satori.

-

Wakatoshi decides to stop wearing the engagement ring outside.

He finds it harder, more unbearable in each passing day to wake up next to Satori, to swallow the food he cooks for him, to even look at him. Because every time he does, he feels different. Satori’s smile doesn’t shine as bright for him as it used to, his weight on the bed doesn’t feel as welcoming as it does, and just sharing the same air feels suffocating.

And when he stares at Satori’s eyes, there’s something in it; expectations—so many of them, and it feels as if Satori wants Wakatoshi to split himself open for him, break himself down just to reach them. It’s as if Satori wants him to be something, and it bothers him, because he can’t be the person Satori expects him to be.

He knows Satori doesn’t want that, he’s sure Satori loves him regardless of his flaws and strengths. But still, it’s so hard.

Loving Satori is not supposed to be this difficult.

It irks him, how something he’s been doing his whole life become painfully foreign to him. And maybe that’s why he spends more time in places where there’s no Satori; he goes on morning runs before Satori even wakes up, and he goes home late at night. So late, that he often catches Satori asleep in the couch with the television running softly in the background.

Because in times when he’s away, Wakatoshi can breathe.

Satori, of course, questions it once, but Wakatoshi only brushes it off with an excuse. He claims that they’re training extra hard for a competition, and is trying out a new strategy. Satori looks weary, but tries his best to smile at Wakatoshi and wish him luck.

“Go kick their asses, Mr. Japan!” Satori cheers, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Wakatoshi pretends he doesn’t notice it.

He’s always so quick to trust him. Despite initially having doubts on Wakatoshi’s whereabouts, He chooses to believe him. And Wakatoshi—he’s lying. They don’t train on weekends, their training doesn’t start until 8 in the morning, their training doesn’t end at 10:30.

Wakatoshi is lying to him. Although he does feel guilty, it makes him feel relieved.

And that makes him feel even worse.

-

Beside Satori, Iwaizumi has been noticing a few changes on Japan’s ace.

How could he not, when he’s been miscalculating movements, when he’s been missing Kageyama’s sets, when he spends their breaks either staring at thin air or spiking balls until his palms turn red. His mind is all over the place, floating in different heights, and it causes him to falter.

Because even when he’s not with Satori, he’s still there. In the scent of his washed clothes, neatly packed in his bag, he’s in the sound of squeaky volleyball shoes, he’s in the moments where Wakatoshi zones out in the middle of practice. Everything reminds him of Satori and the growing guilt inside him

He may pretend there’s no growing tension between them, and he may pretend he’s not having any conflicted feelings for Satori, but what he can’t do, is pretend that the guilt of lying to Satori and wanting to be away from him is not killing him slowly.

“Ushiwaka,” Iwaizumi calls.

Wakatoshi pulls himself out of the court to approach him. The other has his arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched, as if he’s trying to read Wakatoshi through his actions. Perhaps he is.

“Is there something bothering you?” And when Wakatoshi remains silent, Iwaizumi adds, “your plays have been very…. Inadequate? Bad. Kageyama asked me to talk to you.”

He replies with a nod, before letting his eyes rake his trainer physique. He catches a glimpse of something shining on his finger; a wedding ring.

And before he can even stop his mouth, he asks, “You’re married?”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows shot up as a subtle pink blush rises on his cheeks. With a soft smile, he replies, “Yeah, me and Tooru got married back in April. He told me he wanted to get married right when the Cherry Blossoms bloom. And yeah, we did.”

Wakatoshi finds himself staring at Iwaizumi’s expression; his features powdered with a blissful kind of love, an unconditional one. It’s painted on his face how much he adores Tooru, and there’s an ugly, unwanted feeling crawling in his throat, threatening to escape into the open air.

He can’t help it. He can’t help but long for this feeling Iwaizumi has. When’s the last time he ever thought of Satori in such a way?

Then, there’s a sudden feeling of yearning, and it comes to him in waves. He misses Satori, he misses him greatly—which is ridiculous, because he’s here in Japan. But why doesn’t it feel that way? It’s as if… It’s as if this is not the Satori he’s grown to love.

Wakatoshi lets out an inaudible gasp before shaking his head. God, why did he even think of such a horrible thing? Of course—of course he loved Satori. He loves him now. This is just a rough patch in their relationship.

But still, it feels as if he’s getting swallowed by the ground he’s standing in.

“—Ushiwaka? Hey, Ushijima.”

“Huh?”

“You good?”

Wakatoshi feels dizzy. There’s pins and needles poking on his palms, there’s something scratching at his throat, and it leaves wounds, open and bleeding, and it spills all over him. Wakatoshi doesn’t know if he can keep himself together.

“Iwaizumi-san.” Wakatoshi’s voice is trembling, and it alarms Iwaizumi, and he almost doesn’t say anything.

But when he looks at Iwaizumi’s eyes, he doesn’t see Satori. And everything he’s been hiding at the very deep ends of his soul; he shows to Iwaizumi. From when he asks Satori to marry him, when he finally came home to Japan, and to the moments when he looks at Satori and he can only feel nothing but pure guilt and unknowingness.

He tells Iwaizumi how loving Satori is not as natural as he believed; how it stopped feeling as if he and Satori are made with the same space dusts; how they no longer feel like Wakatoshi and Satori, but Wakatoshi. Satori.

However, he covers it with a truth that somehow feels like a lie.

“Ushiwaka,” Iwaizumi sternly says, “you love him, right? And he loves you too.”

“I—” Wakatoshi pauses, “I do.”

“Then that’s enough reason to talk to him. Talk this out.”

I’m afraid, is what Wakatoshi wants to say, I’m afraid if I voice this out, it becomes real and as bad as I make it out to be.

Wakatoshi nods anyway.

“You two will be okay,” he reassures, “I’m here for you, Ushijima, okay? And of course, I have to be the best man in your wedding,” he jokingly grins.

Wakatoshi can only give him a hesitant smile as he pretends his statement doesn’t give him a pang in the chest.

-

He doesn’t talk to Satori. Instead, he talks to Iwaizumi every day. And the more he does, the more it seems as if he’s not alone.

(And the more he feels less guilty for lying and avoiding Satori.)

Lying comes easier for Wakatoshi now. When Satori asks where he’s going, he answers with Iwaizumi-san, we’re working on a new strategy. When Satori asks what time he’ll come home, he answers with I’ll be home late. And when Satori asks if he even has time to rest, he replies with I get plenty of rest.

Please come home. I miss you. Satori says. I’m busy. He replies.

Satori’s worried and doubtful expression hurts a lot less than it used to. His phone calls lessened too; it gradually turns into messages, wishing him luck and safe travels home. But still, whenever Wakatoshi comes home, he catches Satori asleep on the couch with his dinner sealed and kept in a microwavable container.

He doesn’t wake Satori up. Instead, he carries him to bed. But Wakatoshi doesn’t let himself stay and stare even a second longer at Satori.

Turns out, even when lying becomes natural to him, he still doesn’t know how to handle the heartbreak of seeing his fiancé with dried tear tracks on his face, the under of eyes decorated with eyebags, and his grip on Wakatoshi’s shirt a little too tight while he carries him to bed.

He wants to believe what’s happening with Satori is not his fault.

-

Satori is bound to find out Wakatoshi’s actions of avoidance. However, he doesn’t think it would happen so soon.

“It was supposed to be your day off today.”

Wakatoshi’s eyes widen, his hands dropping the ball he’s holding, as Satori’s voice echoes around the empty gym.

“It was supposed to be your day off today, yesterday and tomorrow.”

“And yet, you’re in the gym,” Satori adds, walking towards Wakatoshi with a frown, “You left the house at six o’clock, and you’d probably stay until 11 if I didn’t think of picking you up, huh?”

“You’ve been lying to me, Wakatoshi.”

There’s a certain edge in his voice, and Wakatoshi is afraid if he talks even a step forward, he’ll fall into the deep end. He’s never seen such passive-aggressiveness in Satori, and it makes his skin prickle.

But, but when he stops to stand in front of Wakatoshi, his expression changes. His eyebrows slant slightly in worry, his eyes wide, an open door to his soul and he looks so raw and understanding, and all the guilt he never felt in a month comes rushing back to him. It’s in forms of shackles, and he feels himself get chained into the ground.

Satori always chooses to be kind. And Wakatoshi chooses to run away from him.

“What’s going on, Wakatoshi?”

He feels his eyelids twitch at the question. “Nothing.”

Satori’s patience is wearing thin, he can see it by the way he locks his jaw.

“Yeah? Well, your Iwaizumi-san thinks otherwise.”

His head snaps at Satori’s direction, his fiancé’s statement filling him with disbelief. He frowns deeply at Satori. “What are you trying to imply, Satori?”

Satori squints at Wakatoshi, intimidating and threatening, before scowling. “I don’t know, Wakatoshi, you tell me.”

“You are acting immature,” Wakatoshi scoffs, before bending down to pick up the ball he dropped.

He hears Satori cackle, and in the quiet of the night it sounds so loud. It bounces against the four walls and it pushes and pulls at Wakatoshi’s whole body aggressively. But in that moment, he only feels something akin to burning.

And when he hears Satori’s reply, he feels it roar inside him.

“Well, you are acting as if you don’t have a boyfriend.”

Wakatoshi lifts himself up to face Satori with a glare, his whole shoulders tense. “Excuse me?”

Satori lets out a scoff, before walking away from Wakatoshi.

“Iwaizumi-san sure does know so much about my fiancé’s life than I do, right?” He mocks, his voice cracking slightly at the end. He walks his way towards the exit of the gym, his steps heavy and his shoulders pulled back. He tilts his head to the side to look at Wakatoshi, and with a glower, he adds, “You must like him so much, huh? Considering you’re never home.”

Wakatoshi lets out a huff, looking at Satori with genuine disbelief. He stomps towards him, grabbing his wrists to force Satori to face him. “So, this is what it is, Satori? You’re doubting my loyalty.”

His mind is all over the place. He feels angry, and scared, but mostly betrayed because how can his fiancé, Satori, even think that he’d cheat?

“Iwaizumi is already married. To Oikawa.” He tries to keep his voice stable, but as his sentences grow longer, it only rises. He grits his teeth, eyes wide, as he seethes, “Does that make you feel better?”

It’s ingenuine, a pure mockery of the situation and Satori’s sentiment.

“Goddamn it, Wakatoshi!” Satori yells, before forcefully pulling his wrist away from Wakatoshi. “God fucking damn it! That’s not it!”

Satori’s voice was so loud, his ears started ringing. He’s about to reply, until he sees the tears forming on his lover’s eyes; they glisten against the moonlight as it falls to his pale skin. His face is crumpled with wretched heartbreak as his shoulders tremble when he tries to keep in a sob.

Wakatoshi feels his whole world stop. He can’t hear anything, can’t feel anything but pain. In his chest, throbbing and aching, and it spreads through his body; from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingertips.

He swallows the growing lump in his throat before reaching out to cup Satori’s face.

“Satori…”

“Iwaizumi is not what I’m worried about,” he sobs out in a whisper, before grabbing Wakatoshi’s hand and pulling away.

He feels Satori’s thumb graze softly at his ringless finger and it makes sense. Wakatoshi quickly pulls his hand away as if he’s been burnt, as an indescribable fear fills his veins.

“Satori—” he begs, “Satori, I love you. It’s not what you think.”

Satori only lets out a sob, and it sends another crack in Wakatoshi’s already broken heart.

“Satori.” Wakatoshi’s growing desperation causes him to lean in and capture Satori’s lips with his.

He feels every piece of his foundation crumble when he realizes—when he fucking realizes that he’s kissing Satori, the supposed love of his life, the person he wants to spend his whole life with, and yet—

And yet, he feels nothing.

His hands tremble as he pulls away. His chest heavy. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. It feels as if thousands of knives are in his body, twisting and pulling, and he bleeds to the floor. Helpless, aching.

All of his days of wanting to be apart from Satori, all of the days where he questions his and Satori’s relationship, all of the days where he stays up late at night, hurting and longing for something that was always there just starts making sense in that moment.

It’s not supposed to turn out like this. They’re not supposed to turn out like this.

“Satori…” he whispers, “Satori.”

The face Satori makes is what Wakatoshi’s deepest and darkest fears look like. More tears fell from Satori’s eyes as he pulls his hand to muffle his sobs.

“I love you,” Wakatoshi repeats in a defeated whisper.

It sounds like an apology.

-

Neither of them talks about it. Satori’s messages cease to a stop. When Wakatoshi comes home, he never gets a “welcome home,” anymore. When Wakatoshi tries to talk to him, he only turns away. This has been going on for months. It feels as if Satori is no longer there, and Wakatoshi has grown numb to it.

But late at night, when Satori thinks Wakatoshi is asleep, he cries. They are loud and deep, and it makes his body tremble. He tries to muffle his sobs but he hears it all, and it’s gives him a new form of pain every time. Oftentimes, Wakatoshi reaches out to hold him through it, and Satori lets him.

And the moment he does, is when Satori only manages to fall asleep.

Wakatoshi doesn’t, however. He spends his nights staring at Satori with a hollow empty ache in his chest. Satori lost weight; he lost all the weight he gained in Paris. His cheeks are sunken and pale, causing his freckles to show more.

There’s a time when Wakatoshi traces them with his fingers, even the ones Satori has on his back, and he used to call them constellations. Satori laughs at him every time he does, and tells him that it’s nothing special. He didn’t believe it at first, but now he does.

It’s nothing special.

But it still hurts, because everything he believed in, feels unreal now and it’s all his fault. Because what Satori is now, this shell of what used to be such a happy person, is his fault. Because all they have planned, and all they built, is slowly falling apart. It’s all Wakatoshi’s fault.

Gently, he caresses Satori’s cheek, and even in his lover’s state of slumber, he sighs and relaxes in Wakatoshi’s touch. That causes Wakatoshi’s eyes to sting, but he blinks it away. He pulls Satori closer to his chest as he tries to sleep.

The thing is, Wakatoshi tries ending their relationship. Several times. But with the way Satori grips on his shirt every night as he sleeps tells him Satori isn’t ready for things to be over.

And truth be told, Wakatoshi isn’t either.

He knows he’s selfish for dragging this on, and he hates himself more and more everyday because of it. But he can’t bear the thought of living without Satori. There’s barely even a life for Wakatoshi before him, and what would even happen after it?

He’s not sure if he wants to find out. He’s a coward.

A selfish, horrible coward.

-

“How did you make it work, Iwaizumi?”

Iwaizumi pauses from writing to look up at Wakatoshi. He scrunches his eyebrows as he takes in Wakatoshi’s figure.

“Are you okay, Ushijima?”

Wakatoshi knows how Satori and his relationship is taking a toll on him.

He ignores Iwaizumi’s question. “You and Oikawa. How did you make it work?”

“Well…” Iwaizumi ponders for a while, patting the seat next to him for Wakatoshi to take, before continuing, “We never stopped trying.”

“See, we didn’t just get married in that particular day last April. We get married every day. Every time we wake up, it’s like reciting our vows again. So, we work together, through the good days and hard,” There’s a gentle smile in Iwaizumi’s face, and Wakatoshi feels something twinge inside him. “Tooru stayed in Argentina for years, but we still worked together through it all. It’s hard, but we need to keep trying. Because that’s what you do—to love is to try. Every day.”

“I think I just stopped trying, Iwaizumi,” Wakatoshi whispers.

“What?”

“I stopped trying. And I don’t know if I want to keep trying.”

Iwaizumi stares for a second, sympathy all over his face. “Do you still love him?”

Wakatoshi stays silent.

“Go home, Wakatoshi,” Iwaizumi says, giving him a comforting pat in the shoulder, “Talk to him.”

-

Wakatoshi doesn’t love Satori. Not anymore.

Not like how he needs him to.

-

Their anniversary arrives and it passes just like a normal day.

Wakatoshi spends his hours in the gym despite Iwaizumi’s protests, and Satori stays in his newly-opened store until closing time. When it reaches night time, Wakatoshi arrives home with Satori asleep in the couch.

Just like a normal day; the only difference is there’s a singular rose and a well-prepared dinner packed in a container resting on the table. And when Wakatoshi walks over to Satori’s figure, he smells of beer.

It’s not supposed to turn out this way.

Carefully to not disturb him, Wakatoshi wraps his arm around Satori to lift him up, but just before he can, Satori jolts awake and jumps to hold him.

“’appy annivers’ry, ‘Toshi,” he croaks with a slight slur. Wakatoshi stays silent as he lifts Satori.

And as he lays Satori down on their bed, he hears him choke out a sob.

“I’m sorry, Wakatoshi.” He sobs into Wakatoshi’s chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t enough— I c’n’t be what y’wanted—I’m sorry.”

Even with the number of times he’s heard Satori cry, it never gets less painful to listen to. With a familiar ache in his chest, he softly shushes Satori, pressing a kiss on his sweaty forehead.

“It’s not your fault,” Wakatoshi whispers.

It’s not Satori’s fault, but his.

He fell out of love. He fell out of love with someone as great as Satori.

“Hurts, ‘Toshi,” he whimpers, “It hurts. Please.”

Wakatoshi pulls Satori closer as he sobbed in his chest.

“I can’t—I can’t do this. It hurts,” Satori babbles as he cries, choking on his sobs, and Wakatoshi can’t do anything but hold him.

Besides, he’s done enough to cause Satori’s misery.

It drags on longer, minutes feels like hours and every time Satori hiccups a sob, Wakatoshi’s heart breaks. And now as Satori slumbers, Wakatoshi wonders if there’s still anything left in him to break.

It’s soon proven wrong because the moment Wakatoshi sits back in their living room, it feels as if the whole world is turning in an alarming pace, the heavens are crashing down on him, all the stars are dying and he is left in a cold, dark place, with nothing to see, nothing to believe, and nothing to hold on to. Tears form in Wakatoshi’s eyes and it falls uncontrollably; to the skin of his cheeks, to the surface of his palm, and to the fabric of his clothes. He collapses, wall after wall, brick after brick; and he curls into himself in poor attempt to keep himself together, to keep himself grounded as his world slowly crumbles before him. He feels powerless, unable to do anything but to keep his mouth from letting out sobs with his hands as he falls apart alone in a home no longer built for the two of them.

Wakatoshi doesn’t love Satori anymore. And it feels like a cosmic tragedy.

-

Wakatoshi waits patiently, his elbows leaning against his knees as he sits in the living room couch. The television is turned off, and no sound can be heard except for Wakatoshi’s soft breathing. However, not long does it take until the lock in their front door clicks and Satori comes walking in their apartment.

Surprise fills Satori’s features as he sees Wakatoshi. “You’re home early.”

“Satori.”

He looks at him, and Satori stares back. His eyes are wide, ready, anticipating. Wordlessly, Satori puts his bag down and approaches Wakatoshi. He sits in front of him, his fingers fidgeting the hem of his uniform. They shake, and Satori curls them into a fist to hide it from Wakatoshi. But he sees it all, even the subtle twitching of the corner of his lips and the bobbing of his throat.

Satori already knows. And somehow, it eases Wakatoshi a little.

Silence fills the room, and it’s so thick, Wakatoshi has to remind himself to breathe.

He clears his throat, taking a few courageous breaths, before slipping his engagement ring off his finger. Gently, he uncurls Satori’s fist and places it on both his palms. Satori lets in a sharp inhale that eventually turns into a sob, and Wakatoshi almost doesn’t go through with it.

But he knows he has to. They’re not happy anymore.

Be brave. If not for you, then for Satori.

“We need to talk.”