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Rintarou knows.
Rintarou knows Atsumu's watching him.
He's over here, downing his second shot of the evening, sitting across from Osamu, who is trying - and failing - to flirt with Shinsuke, and Atsumu's over there, standing beside the sink, nursing a glass of spiked lemonade because his body can't handle alcohol.
They're celebrating in Michinari's apartment, after the former libero announced he'd gotten hitched to his partner of five years.
Rintarou can't believe it - can't digest the fact that they're 23 and not 17, back when they were still unsure of what life had in store for them.
It's jarring, to say the least. One moment you're groping in the dark, the next moment you're drowning in light.
But he's aware he's reaping what he's sown - playing for one of the top volleyball teams, making his debut in the Olympics, contemplating whether or not he should adopt a cat - it's been years in the making, all the meltdowns, tears and training finally bearing fruit.
Pouring another shot, he abruptly directs his gaze towards the kitchen.
Sure enough, Atsumu is scrambling to look away, his eyes darting around the enclosed space, finally coming to a rest on one of the magnets stuck on the fridge.
Rintarou keeps his eyes on the setter, downing the shot.
It fills him with warmth.
He finally gets why alcohol is called liquid courage.
Excusing himself from the table, he gets up and walks to where Atsumu is.
Atsumu's eyes go wide when he realises what Rintarou’s doing, but he stays put nonetheless.
The middle blocker smirks.
He admires the way the fluorescent lights illuminate Atsumu's attire, his figure, his features, his face, his lips.
He thinks he's never seen his former teammate look this handsome.
No, not handsome.
Beautiful.
Rintarou's eyes are drawn to the drink between Atsumu's fingers. There's a wedge of lime on one side of the glass, the ice in it partially turned to water.
Clenching his teeth, he gathers everything he's felt for the past 4 years, ever since he was 18. Images of blue skies and white clouds, ice cream cones and Sprite cans, grey t-shirts and fox slippers, yellow dandelions and red camellias flash through his mind.
It's now or never.
He takes the plunge.
His right hand trembles slightly as he keeps it on top of Atsumu's.
The shock is visible in those doe-like brown eyes. "Rin..."
Upon hearing his nickname, Rintarou takes a step closer. He notices the baby hairs sticking to Atsumu's forehead, the small scar on top of his left eyebrow, the thickness of his eyelashes, the tinge of red dusting his cheeks, the softness of his lips.
"I like you, Atsumu."
As soon as he says these words, he can see Atsumu's lips part, hear the gasp leaving his mouth, feel the tension in the air.
However, Rintarou does not doubt himself. He's sure the feeling is mutual.
Atsumu looks down at the drink in his hands.
"I...I like ya too, Rintarou."
Rintarou smiles. He knows.