Work Text:
The day Atsumu meets Sakusa Kiyoomi, it rains. He blinks droplets out of his eyes as he jogs through the storm into the dinner hall, his volleyball jacket soaked in muddy water.
He scrubs his sleeve over his face to wipe away the rain and looks around for a spot to sit. Osamu isn’t there, and this makes it awkward already. He’s gotten used to his brother as an ever-present figure, a failsafe option to fall back on, but here he doesn’t know anyone, so instead of sitting alone, he plops down at a table next to two boys in neon jackets.
The uniform colours are familiar, but he can’t place them until one of them turns around and Atsumu realizes, ah. So that’s where I know them from. He’s researched the top-ranked volleyball players, partially to scope out the competition and partially to make sure his name is there, and Sakusa Kiyoomi is one of the best aces in Japan.
Atsumu coughs. “So,” he starts, “You guys are from Itachiyama, right?”
The other boy looks up—Komori Motoya. First-ranked high school libero in the entire country. “Hm?”
Atsumu’s palms start to sweat. “Yeah. I go to Inarizaki. You might’ve…heard of me?” he asks, with none of his usual brashness.
Komori’s eyebrows go up. “Oh. Miya Atsumu!” he answers, sounding delighted. “Nice to meet you. This is my cousin Kiyoomi. Don’t mind him. He’s a little shy.”
Atsumu laughs. Feeling more comfortable, he wriggles out of his jacket and wrings the rainwater onto the floor.
Sakusa scowls and moves further away from him.
Atsumu tries not to feel stung as he shifts to face Komori and plasters a grin on his face. “‘S okay. I would be too if I was one of the best aces in Japan.”
It’s a compliment to try and break the ice, but Sakusa just frowns and curls further in on himself. Atsumu’s stomach plummets.
━━━━━━
He sees Sakusa again before the start of a new V. League season, at MSBY tryouts. Sakusa looks a lot the same as he used to: moles freckling on his forehead and a mask hanging off one ear. He’s gotten taller. It makes Atsumu feel tiny in comparison, even though he knows logically it's only an inch or two difference.
He grins and sticks out his hand, bristling slightly at the way he has to tip his head up to make eye contact. “Hey. I’m Miya Atsumu.”
Sakusa looks at him with a crease between his eyebrows. He doesn’t accept the handshake. Atsumu has no idea if Sakusa remembers him, but if so, he’s doing a good job at hiding it.
“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”
“Nice to meet you, Omi.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Atsumu retracts his hand. “Oh.” He’s a little stung by that because the first thing he’d noticed about Sakusa, besides the height, was that he had suddenly become attractive, even considering the disgusted expressions and the aversion to touch; attractive to the point that Atsumu wouldn’t mind getting to know him. But now that’s all gone and blown up in his face.
━━━━━━
So Sakusa joins the MSBY Jackals, the team gains a new wing spiker, and—despite his better judgement—Atsumu gets a crush.
━━━━━━
One night, after they win a match against the Adlers, Atsumu sits up in his hotel bed. He watches Sakusa's pale skin disappear under his volleyball jacket, sees him grab a tissue from the bedside table to wipe everything off his stomach and legs.
He swallows hard as Sakusa stands to leave.
“This won't happen again.” Sakusa's voice is sharp.
Atsumu nods, still half in shock. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Okay,” repeats Sakusa, throwing the tissue in the trash and pulling a bottle of travel-sized sanitizer from his jacket pocket.
The doorknob clicks shut. Atsumu's alone again. The exhaustion hits him: bone-weary, love bites scattered across the expanse of his chest, his legs sore and aching, buried in blankets that smell faintly like the disinfectant Sakusa uses. Knowing it was a one-time thing, and wishing it wasn't.
━━━━━━
It happens again, and again. Atsumu can't play them off as isolated incidents anymore; both of them are hopped up on adrenaline from match victories or seeking consolation after a vicious loss. It's nothing personal.
He walks home from Sakusa's apartment after their final game of the season, hair still matted with sweat. All he wants is to go home and take a shower. The smell of Sakusa’s laundry sheets on his skin does nothing but make him feel disgusting, and it serves as a reminder that this is as far as his relationship with Sakusa Kiyoomi will ever go.
There are boundaries. Atsumu knows this.
━━━━━━
There’s a moment, somewhere between their matches against EJP Raijin and VC Kanagawa, when Atsumu falls asleep without even bothering to clean up the mess between his legs. He feels the weight on the other side of the bed lift away and hears Sakusa padding around the room, the tap running, clothes being pulled back on.
There’s a moment, somewhere between them falling onto Atsumu’s bed and Sakusa walking out the door, where Atsumu thinks, please stay. Where he watches Sakusa’s receding back and almost says aloud, just this once. Stay.
But he holds his tongue and rolls over until he's facing the blank wall.
(Sex may be part of their routine, but intimacy isn’t. Being allowed to touch someone isn’t the same as being allowed to hold them.)
━━━━━━
“Hey,” says Atsumu suddenly. “Y’know, this would be a lot easier if we were friends. Or at least on friendly terms,” he corrects quickly at the expression on Sakusa’s face. “Like—you can stay for a while, yeah?” he finishes, gesturing at the room as Sakusa is about to stand up. “You don’t always have to run.”
Atsumu is tired of running.
Sakusa’s mouth twists. “What are you talking about?”
He closes his eyes and tries to draw up courage. “Like…maybe we should get to know each other a little.”
All Atsumu knows about Sakusa Kiyoomi is how he makes his coffee in the morning (with one of those French presses they sell at the fancy cookware store), his favourite brand of sanitizer (Purell, or really anything except the gimmicky Bath & Body Works ones), the fragrance of his laundry detergent (“Springtime Lavender”), where he’s most sensitive (the skin on the angle of his hip bone), and his favourite place to be kissed (the spot where his jawline meets his ear).
“So. Friends?” Atsumu prompts when Sakusa doesn’t say anything.
A long moment of hesitation before Sakusa responds. “Friends.”
━━━━━━
Apparently, ‘friends’ means less harsh looks and spending more time together, doing drills in pairs, keeping sanitizer in the side pocket of his bag just in case Sakusa runs out.
Apparently, ‘friends’ holds weight everywhere except in the bedroom, because Sakusa is just as clinical, just as distant even when he has Atsumu’s mouth wrapped around him and his fingers tangled in Atsumu’s hair. As soon as he’s snapped out of his haze, he slips out of the bed, cleans up, and leaves.
(Being allowed to touch someone isn’t the same as being allowed to hold them.)
━━━━━━
Hinata sparks something. An idea, or maybe more of a fear, when they’re the only two in the locker room and he blurts out, “Atsumu-san, have you ever been in love?”
Atsumu nearly drops his shirt as he’s pulling it out of his bag. Upon closer inspection, it looks like something he accidentally took from Sakusa’s apartment, but he shrugs and tugs it on anyway. “Why? You havin’ relationship problems or somethin’?” Internally, he thinks he’s probably the least qualified to give relationship advice, seeing as he’s managed to get Sakusa Kiyoomi in his bed every week but never keep him long enough for anything else to grow from it.
Hinata turns bright red. “No. I mean…I don’t think so. Just—Kageyama’s been acting super weird recently,” he complains. “He said ‘I love you’ the other day.”
“What’s the issue, then?”
“I thought I would get to say it first,” Hinata mumbles. “And I’m going to, but what if he didn’t really mean it? What if I say it then realize it isn’t true?”
Atsumu slips on his shoes. “Shouyou-kun,” he begins, “d’ya really think you’re gonna start havin’ second thoughts as soon as you say it? You’ve been together for years.”
Hinata’s spiky hair droops. “I guess not.”
Atsumu claps him on the shoulder. “Exactly. You’ll be fine if ya just tell him how ya feel.”
Hinata brightens. “Thanks, Atsumu-san.”
“No problem.”
Atsumu stands up to walk out of the locker room, but Hinata’s voice stops him. “Atsumu-san, you didn’t answer my question.”
“Which question?”
“Have you ever been in love?”
Atsumu grips onto the strap of his volleyball bag. “I don’t think so,” he says eventually, by which he means maybe. Maybe once, and it’s already enough for a lifetime.
Hinata hums. “Okay. Thanks, Atsumu-san. See you tomorrow.”
“See ya, Shouyou.”
━━━━━━
He celebrates his twenty-sixth birthday at Bokuto’s apartment in Osaka. By the time he arrives, it’s a full-blown party: they’ve roped in players from across the V. League. Atsumu sees almost everyone he knows there.
“Where’s ‘Samu?” he asks Bokuto as soon as he sees him. He has to yell to be heard over all the voices and pounding music.
“Happy birthday, Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto says.
“Thank you, Bokuto-san. D’ya know where ‘Samu is? I haven’t seen him all day.”
Bokuto shrugs. “I think I saw him on the balcony earlier,” he answers. “We’re having dinner in thirty minutes, okay?”
Atsumu makes his way through the crush of bodies and slides open the balcony door. There’s a figure standing by the railing, but it isn’t Osamu.
“Hi,” Atsumu greets him. It’s awkward, to be saying hello so formally to the same person who had him bent over the kitchen counter two days ago, but he’s used to it by now.
Sakusa opens his eyes and looks over. “Happy birthday.”
Atsumu smiles. “Thanks. I didn’t expect you to be here.” He leans his forearms against the railing and his eyes settle on the neon city lights in the distance.
“I brought you a gift.”
His grin grows wider. “You didn’t hafta, Omi. I would’ve been glad you were here anyway.”
“I wanted to.” Sakusa glances directly ahead.
Atsumu bites his lip. “Thank you, then.”
━━━━━━
After dinner, he opens his birthday presents: mostly volleyball-related paraphernalia, although Inunaki gives him a bottle of black hair dye and he gets toning treatment from Meian, along with a magazine clipping about how to bleach hair healthily.
Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”
His gift from Osamu is an Onigiri Miya. “You can pretend to be me in public, now,” Osamu tells him, tipping the bill of his own hat. “It’ll help ya hide your real identity.”
Hinata, looking on with interest, chips in. “Osamu-san’s super popular, too. Lots of people online talk about the guy at the onigiri stand during our matches.” He turns to Atsumu. “Maybe you’ll get someone asking to take a picture with Osamu.”
Atsumu frowns. “That’s not fair,” he protests indignantly. “Why’s ‘Samu getting popular ‘cause of my success?”
“They realized I’m the better twin,” Osamu suggests.
Atsumu uses an elbow to jab him in the stomach. “It’s my birthday, ya can’t be mean to me.”
“It’s my birthday too, ya can’t stop me from sayin’ anything.”
The next thing he unwraps is a small box. He lifts the lid off to find a pocket watch. In the centre of the watch face, a volleyball is outlined.
There’s something odd about the watch. It ticks at a different rate than the clock on the wall, sometimes pausing and skipping. He brushes it aside, though, and figures he’ll just set it to the proper time later.
Automatically, he puts down the watch and turns over the box to check the card attached to it.
“Happy birthday,” he reads. “From your teammate, Sakusa.” He laughs. “Straight to the point, huh?”
Sakusa flinches when Atsumu addresses him. “I didn’t think there was anything else to say.”
“Fair point. The watch is beautiful,” he says, turning it over. “Where’d ya get it?”
“I saw it at an antique store in Yokohama. Thought you would like it,” says Sakusa flatly.
Atsumu tries to detect any trace of emotion in his voice, but there’s nothing. “Thanks, Omi-kun.”
“You’re welcome.”
They don’t talk much more—after all the presents have been opened, Bokuto nearly drops the cake on the floor as he’s trying to carry it to the table, and in the ensuing chaos, Atsumu stands up.
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he mumbles to Osamu.
“Don’t fall in the toilet.”
“Very funny.”
Atsumu walks into the bathroom and sits on the lip of the bathtub. Spreading out his hand, he places the watch in his palm and inspects it carefully. The back is smooth; there doesn’t seem to be a way to change or reset the time, at least at first glance.
He goes to the toilet and washes his hands, but he can’t help wondering what the deal with the watch is. He blinks and he swears the clock hands are moving in reverse.
He shakes his head to get rid of the fuzziness; it’s probably just a lack of sleep, making him see things that aren’t there.
Staring at the watch as its hands move in irregular patterns, he sits back down on the bathtub ledge and closes his eyes.
He’s in the bathroom of Bokuto’s apartment, and then he isn’t.
━━━━━━
Atsumu wakes up in Sakusa Kiyoomi’s bed.
In itself, this isn’t an uncommon occurrence. It happens at least a few times a month, and the sight of Sakusa’s bare back, dotted with moles, on the other side of the bed isn’t uncommon, either.
What is uncommon is the way Sakusa rolls over and says, “Good morning,” into his ear before planting a kiss on the slope of his jaw.
Atsumu almost jumps out of the bed in shock.
Sakusa frowns. “What?”
He musters up a grin. “Er…nothing, Omi. Are you…yer not drunk, are ya?”
Sakusa shoots him a deadpan look. “What the fuck are you talking about, Miya?”
Definitely not drunk, then.
Atsumu sits up. “What time is it?”
“Eight in the morning,” says Sakusa, climbing out of bed and heading to the bathroom to wash his hands.
Atsumu nods. “Yeah,” he echoes, heart beating out of his chest. “Okay.” He turns on his phone and checks the date. His eyes widen.
September 28th.
“Hey, Omi-kun,” he calls, because the date—it’s wrong, it has to be wrong, it’s October, his birthday was yesterday, there’s no way he—and everyone he knows—has mixed up the month. “D’ya know today’s date?”
Sakusa emerges from the bathroom, combing his hair. “September 28th?” he says, brows furrowed like he can’t tell whether Atsumu is kidding or not.
Atsumu smiles, wobbly. “Great,” he answers. His voice feels distant to his own ears. “Thanks.”
He opens his phone and scrolls through his contact list. The photo for Sakusa’s phone number is one of Atsumu kissing him on the cheek.
Atsumu blinks twice and scrolls past, resolving to shelve the thought for later. He finds Hinata’s number and opens a message.
from: miya atsumu
sakusa is acting weird this morning
do you know if something happened to him
from: hinata shouyou
hi atsumu-san!! ^^
hmm he seemed normal to me yesterday
you’re always with him, so if anything happened you’d probably be the first to know
from: miya atsumu
okay
thanks for the help
from: hinata shouyou
no problem!
i hope you guys aren’t having relationship problems ;;
i’ll see you at practice!!
from: miya atsumu
see you
Atsumu moves to swipe out of the message, but he reads Hinata’s last chain of texts and pauses.
from: miya atsumu
wait
hold on
what does that mean
“relationship problems”
?????
He reads the message again, and again, and again. The words don’t change.
Hinata’s typing bubble pops up.
from: hinata shouyou
uh
problems with your relationship??
from: miya atsumu
no but like
what kind of relationship
from: hinata shouyou
QQ atsumu-san i don’t know what you’re asking?
from: miya atsumu
never mind
thanks again
from: hinata shouyou
you’re welcome
?
Atsumu looks up from his phone. Sakusa has finished combing his hair and now he’s rinsing with mouthwash. He turns his head to meet Atsumu’s gaze and says, “Shouldn’t you be out of bed by now?”
Atsumu smiles weakly. “Yeah. Okay.” He gets up and walks to the bathroom just as Sakusa is finished.
When they pass each other on the threshold, Sakusa tells him over his shoulder, “I think the dryer is finished. If you’re out of clothes, check there.”
Atsumu nods and shuts the bathroom door.
He sits on the floor, turning his phone back on to find Bokuto’s contact.
from: miya atsumu
what is the status of my relationship with sakusa kiyoomi
from: bokuto koutarou
MORNING tsum-tsum
from: miya atsumu
morning
can you please answer
from: bokuto koutarou
??? what do
you mean
from: miya atsumu
whatever
Rolling his eyes, he closes the app.
He tries to put it out of his mind as he brushes his teeth and washes his face. When he tries to get dressed, he finds one of the drawers in Sakusa’s wardrobe is filled with his clothes, and another holds socks—folded, separated down the middle by whose socks they are.
He pulls out a shirt. It smells like Sakusa’s laundry detergent. He has a creeping suspicion that he knows what’s going on: waking up in Sakusa’s bed. The drawer of Atsumu’s clothes, the ‘relationship problems,’ the kiss.
As soon as Atsumu is dressed, he pulls out his phone.
from: miya atsumu
i’m going to ask you a question
don't freak out
from: miya osamu
just ask the fucking question
from: miya atsumu
shut up
am i dating omi
from: miya osamu
its 8 in the morning
from: miya atsumu
im serious
is he my boyfriend
from: miya osamu
yes
for some reason
from: miya atsumu
‘for some reason?’
whats that supposed to mean
from: miya osamu
nothing
ignore it
Atsumu tries his best to act natural as he enters the kitchen. It’s hard when he’s just found out he’s dating Sakusa Kiyoomi. He doesn’t know what the boundaries of their relationship are, either: sleeping together and sharing clothes, sure, but what else?
Testing the waters, he comes up behind Sakusa at the kitchen sink and drops a light kiss into his hair. “How’re ya doin’ today, Omi?”
Sakusa relaxes into his touch. “Miya,” he says in place of an answer. “Morning.”
Atsumu smiles. “Mornin’.” He wraps his arms around Sakusa’s waist and lets himself imagine, for a moment, that this is what it would be like if they were truly dating, if this wasn’t some weird dream or an alternate reality he hasn’t fully gotten a grasp on; if he could wake up in the mornings, see Sakusa’s face, peaceful in sleep, and know neither of them were going anywhere. If he could at least be sure of this.
━━━━━━
At practice, everything else is the same. Atsumu knows what to do, how to act, to go through the motions he’s used to, all the way until he slings his bag over his shoulder to head out at the end of the day.
“Where are you going?”
He freezes. “Home?” he says cautiously.
Sakusa’s eyes narrow. “Wait for me. The train doesn’t come until six.”
Atsumu plays off his mistake with a thumbs-up. “‘Kay. I was just gonna get some water from the vending machine, then we can go home.”
Sakusa frowns dubiously, but the crease between his eyebrows smooths out. “Alright.”
━━━━━━
One night, they’re riding the train home from dinner with the rest of the team when Atsumu starts to feel drowsy. He tries to make sure he doesn’t end up sleeping on Sakusa, but he feels a gentle touch guiding his head to a warm shoulder after a few minutes.
“Sleep,” whispers Sakusa, his voice tender, smoothing Atsumu’s hair tentatively. “I’ll wake you up when we’re home.”
Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut.
━━━━━━
Four days of falling asleep with his back pressed to Sakusa Kiyoomi’s chest. Four days of waking up and going to practice and running the same routine he always has, but with Sakusa beside him. It takes only a day to find where all the plates and cookware are kept in Sakusa’s kitchen (their shared kitchen, he corrects himself), and another two for the motions to sink into his bones; for opening the drawer next to the dishwasher to get cutlery and reaching under the sink to toss trash to become a habit.
Four days of absent-minded kisses, lunch at streetside cafes and dinner cooked in the golden hours at home, the smells of food wafting in the air as amber sunlight leaks through the window blinds.
Four days.
Within the first few days, Atsumu pieces together a rough understanding of what happened. Somehow, someway, he’s travelled to another dimension (apparently one where he’s in a relationship with Sakusa Kiyoomi) and—that’s where it ends. At this point, all of it is pure speculation.
The last thing he remembers is the watch Sakusa gifted him for his birthday and the party at Bokuto’s apartment.
Maybe he’ll get his answers there.
Now all he has to do is wait.
━━━━━━
He and Hinata are packing up their things at the end of practice. Sakusa is waiting for him in the hallway outside, and that’s one thing Atsumu still hasn’t gotten fully accustomed to: he’s used to Sakusa leaving practice as fast as possible. Seeing him linger so he and Atsumu can walk home together is uncharted territory, and it’s a shock even after four days of the same thing.
Hinata zips up his bag and tilts his head, looking contemplative. “Atsumu-san,” he begins, “have you ever been in love?”
Atsumu has heard this before. He knows he has—the same day last time, too. He swallows back whatever he was going to say and coughs instead. “I don’t think so,” he replies.
Hinata doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. “What about Sakusa-san?”
Atsumu shrugs. “I don’t know if it’s…love,” he says quietly, by which he means even if it is, the thought of that is terrifying.
“What do you mean?”
“Love is serious business,” Atsumu answers, unwilling to admit the truth. “I don’t wanna rush into it, y’know?”
“I guess.”
“Why’d ya ask?”
Hinata chews on his bottom lip absently. “Kageyama told me he loved me,” he mumbles. “I’m not sure if I should—I mean, I don’t want to have second thoughts when I say it back.”
Atsumu places a hand on his shoulder. “Just tell him, Shouyou-kun. I’m sure he’ll understand what you mean.”
Hinata sighs. “That’s what I was thinking too. Thanks, Atsumu-san.”
“No problem. Go get ‘em, yeah?”
Hinata beams. “Yeah!”
Atsumu leaves the locker room and laces his arms around Sakusa’s shoulders in an approximation of a hug. “Wanna get goin’?”
Sakusa looks up. “Let’s go.”
━━━━━━
The day of his birthday comes, and he’s in the same place—Bokuto’s apartment. Except instead of arriving and stumbling upon Sakusa on the balcony, they arrive together and head to the balcony anyway.
“Whatcha get me for my present, Omi?” asks Atsumu, half-teasing.
Sakusa looks forward. “You’ll find out later.”
“Won’t ya give me a hint?” he whines.
Sakusa is unmoved. “You’re going to open it soon. Just wait.”
Atsumu rests his elbows on the balcony railing. “You didn’t have to get me anythin’,” he mumbles quietly. “I know I made a big deal ‘bout it, but the gifts aren’t important.”
(Everything has been identical until now—down to every conversation and whispered aside—and maybe the birthday gift will be, too. Maybe the birthday gift will solve everything.)
━━━━━━
“‘Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto hollers, cupping hands around his mouth. “Come open your presents!”
Atsumu stands up from the sofa.
He goes through the motions: the black hair dye, the toning treatment, the Onigiri Miya cap and the quip from Hinata about Osamu stealing his brother’s thunder. Atsumu practically sleepwalks through it all.
Sakusa’s hand finds Atsumu’s and squeezes twice.
“Ya finally gonna tell me what ya bought, Omi-kun?” says Atsumu, grinning as he prays to god the watch will appear and fix this whole situation, otherwise he really won’t know what’s going on—whether this is permanent or his new reality or nothing more than a huge practical joke.
Sakusa hands him the box. His eyes flicker, half hopeful and half expectant.
Atsumu opens it to see—the same watch. The volleyball face, the irregular ticking, the same engravings on the outside. Internally, he breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he tells Sakusa when he remembers he’s supposed to say something. “Where’d ya get it?” Yokohama—antique store. Thought you’d like it.
“An antique store in Yokohama,” Sakusa answers. He hesitates. “I thought—it reminded me of you.”
Atsumu beams. “I love it,” he says, leaning into Sakusa’s touch. It still makes his heart twinge sometimes, the ease with which he can hold Sakusa and be held, without wondering when Sakusa will pull away and leave.
“I’m glad.”
Bokuto claps his hands. “Cake!”
Everyone stands up. Atsumu offers Sakusa his hand.
Atsumu waits to leave until the cake nearly slips out of Bokuto’s hands. He doesn’t move to help; he knows it’ll be fine.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” he mumbles.
Sakusa nods.
Atsumu walks into the bathroom, sits down, stares at the ticking watch, and waits.
Nothing happens.
He stares harder.
Nothing.
He squints.
After what feels like an eternity, finally—the watch hands stop and start to move in reverse. Atsumu closes his eyes.
He’s in the bathroom of Bokuto’s apartment. And then he isn’t.
━━━━━━
He wakes up in Sakusa Kiyoomi’s bed.
Enveloped in the scent of lavender laundry detergent, he looks up at the ceiling, wondering whether it worked or not.
His question is answered as soon as Sakusa rolls over and mumbles, “Good morning,” against the curve of his ear.
Atsumu’s blood runs cold. He must make a sound, because Sakusa pulls back.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he replies hastily. “What’s the time?”
Sakusa hums as he climbs out of bed. “Eight in the morning.”
“Eight in the morning,” he repeats. “Right.” Automatically, he pulls out his phone to look at the date.
September 28th.
His blood runs cold. From here, there are only so many possibilities, and only one that he thinks could even be possible: that the week is repeating.
As if to test this theory, Sakusa puts down his hairbrush, picks up the bottle of mouthwash, and says, “Shouldn’t you be out of bed right now?”
Atsumu swings his legs off the bed and stands up.
“I think the dryer is finished. If you’re out of clothes, check there.”
Atsumu flashes a thumbs-up. “Got it.” On his way to the bathroom, his assurance wavers. “Hey, Omi,” he begins, choosing his words carefully, “have you ever heard of…time travel?”
Sakusa pauses while he’s picking out clothes from the wardrobe. “What?”
“Like—going back in time, y’know?”
Sakusa eyes him sharply. “Did you sleep enough last night?”
He decides to drop the thread of conversation. “Never mind. I think I’m just hungry,” he dismisses with a nervous chuckle. “Not thinkin’ straight or somethin’.”
“Don’t skip breakfast.”
“I won’t.”
He closes the bathroom door, splashes his face with water, and slaps it a few times. “You’re not going crazy,” he whispers, like he’s trying to convince himself. “You’re not.”
He comes out of the bathroom once he’s wiped his face and finished with everything else.
Same drawer of Atsumu’s clothes. Same folded socks divided down the middle by who they belong to.
Coming up behind Sakusa, he hugs him from the back. “Mornin’, Omi-kun.”
“Miya,” he says, and now it’s his second time hearing it, Atsumu notices the undercurrent of fondness in the sound. “Morning.”
He rests his chin on Sakusa’s shoulder and basks in the warmth of familiarity.
━━━━━━
Out of habit, as soon as he’s finished changing after practice, he pushes open the locker room door and walks into the hallway.
“Where are you going?”
Atsumu startles at the sound of Sakusa’s voice. “Sorry. I was gonna wait for you out here.”
Sakusa purses his lips. “Okay.”
━━━━━━
The evening train home. Atsumu blinks his eyes open, a fruitless attempt to stay awake.
Sakusa places a gentle hand on his neck, guiding him until his head rests on Sakusa’s shoulder. “Sleep. I’ll wake you up when our stop comes.”
━━━━━━
That week, every moment is beat-for-beat identical. The only changes are when Atsumu says something different, charting a new course for the conversation, and even those are few and far between.
They order the same food for dinner. Meian is late to practice on Tuesday again, and Adriah loses his train card on Wednesday like last time.
“Atsumu-san, have you ever been in love?”
Atsumu tries not to grimace. Right on time. “Not particularly,” he says, twisting the straps of his volleyball bag.
“What about Sakusa-san?”
He stops. “I don’t know. It’s complicated,” he settles on saying, mustering up a weak grin of reassurance when Hinata’s eyes grow wide. “Why do you ask? Did Tobio do somethin’?”
Hinata sighs. “Yeah,” he admits, then his face morphs into a scowl. “Kageyama was being silly. I just…I guess I’m just doubting myself. Sorry to bother you, Atsumu-san.”
Atsumu shakes his head. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He shoulders the bag and walks out, addressing Sakusa with a soft: “Ready to leave?”
“Let’s go.”
━━━━━━
Standing on the balcony, Atsumu props his chin up in his hands. He’s only been sent back in time once—well, twice if he’s counting the first time, but only once in this strange reality of ‘dating Sakusa Kiyoomi.’ Maybe it’ll only be once. Maybe if he just ignores the watch, if he doesn’t stare at it until he goes cross-eyed and just buries it in his pocket where he won’t see it, everything will reset itself and work out.
“What are you thinking so hard about?”
Atsumu glances at Sakusa. “Nothin’,” he answers absently. “Sorry.” He laces his fingers with Sakusa’s. “So, what’s the gift?” he asks.
“You’ll find out.”
“Not even a clue? A small one?”
“You don’t have to wait that much longer,” Sakusa replies, dusk light gleaming on the proud slope of his nose, eyes soft and warm in the sunset.
Atsumu closes his eyes. “You didn’t have to get me anything besides,” he says. “I woulda been happy either way.”
Sakusa kisses the spot where their fingers intertwine, light. “I wanted to. It’s your special day, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.”
(Although, he supposes, reliving it several times already—and god knows how many more he’ll end up having to—takes away some of the importance.)
━━━━━━
“I’ve heard our fans really like Osamu,” Hinata mentions when Atsumu tries on the Onigiri Miya cap. “He’s super popular online.”
Atsumu makes a face. “That’s awful.”
Osamu elbows him. “Shut up, ‘Tsumu. Some people just have good taste.”
“Clearly not the people who like you instead of me.”
From the corner of the room, Suna snorts. “It might be the other way around.”
Atsumu kind of forgot he was there; he doesn’t remember Suna making his presence known last time. It’s bizarre, and so is the way he looks at Atsumu—like he’s dissecting him on the exam table.
Then again, that’s just how Suna acts sometimes.
“Sunarin,” he gripes. “Not you too.” He turns his gaze on Sakusa, imploring. “Omi, back me up here.”
Sakusa shrugs. “Whatever.”
Atsumu huffs. “Fine. Moving on. Omi, what didja get me?”
Wordlessly, Sakusa places a small box in his hands.
Atsumu has almost memorized the heft of it in his hand; the way the angles poke into his palm and how his fingers wrap around the edges.
Mouth dry, he pulls the lid off. The same pocket watch, the same uneven clock hands and haphazard ticking.
“It’s beautiful,” he says automatically. “Where did you get it?” He already knows the answer, but he can’t think of anything else to say.
“An antique store in Yokohama,” Sakusa responds.
“Thanks, Omi-kun. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
He slips the watch into his pocket and resolves to forget about it, resolves not to look at it in case that’s what triggers it.
The rest of the evening passes uneventfully. They polish off the cake quickly and relocate to the living room, where Komori is reenacting his middle-of-the-night encounter with an excitable raccoon. Everyone looks on in interest, but the fatigue is beginning to hit Atsumu and he yawns, head pillowed in Sakusa’s lap.
Sakusa runs a hand through his hair. “Tired?”
“A little.”
“Go to sleep,” Sakusa tells him. “Don’t worry.”
Before he falls asleep, his hand finds the watch in his pocket. He can feel it ticking against his palm. The watch hands stop and start again in a slightly different rhythm, shuddering occasionally and speeding up.
So Atsumu isn’t in the bathroom this time. He isn’t looking at the watch. The circumstances have changed—but it doesn’t seem to make a difference.
He’s in Bokuto’s apartment, and then he isn’t.
━━━━━━
Atsumu wakes up in Sakusa Kiyoomi’s bed.
And then—like clockwork, Sakusa rolls over, kisses him softly, and mumbles, “Good morning.”
Atsumu barely has the energy to react before he closes his eyes and thinks, fuck.
“What time is it?”
“Eight in the morning.” Atsumu can match every movement to a moment; Sakusa climbs out of bed and heads to the bathroom. He’s going to brush his hair, Atsumu knows.
He turns on his phone: September 28th.
The rest of the morning goes the same as last time, and the time before that. He brushes his teeth, gets dressed, and walks up behind Sakusa to press kisses to his neck and whisper, “Mornin’, Omi-kun.”
“Miya,” Sakusa responds. “Morning.” He yawns and places a clean plate into the drying rack. Atsumu’s heart throbs with the domesticity of it all, this small slice of morning that’s theirs and theirs alone to cherish, finding home in each other’s heartbeats like this is how it’s been since the beginning.
Atsumu noses into Sakusa’s collarbone curve and breathes in the smell of his body wash, sleep-ruffled and tinged with fruit scents. It’s the third time he’s found himself in the exact same situation, but he notices something new every time.
But he can’t reflect too long on the intimacy—or how quickly he’s gotten used to it.
The bigger problem is that he keeps waking up on September 28th in Sakusa Kiyoomi’s bed—in this strange reality where they seem to be boyfriends, even though before all of this Sakusa didn’t even like him, and the only time Atsumu would get a text from him was if he was feeling touch-starved or lonely or both—and now, Atsumu needs to fix it.
He just doesn’t know how.
━━━━━━
So three times now, he’s gone back to September 28th—a date with no particular significance he can think of. Three times now, and he swears it has to do with that watch.
The time loop is one thing. Dating Sakusa Kiyoomi is another.
That’s what makes him hesitant to try finding a way out of this loop: because what will he do if he breaks out of the cycle and finds out he’s back at square one, watching Sakusa walk out as soon as he’s cleaned up without even looking at him? What will he do if he retraces his steps and wishes he hadn’t?
Atsumu has become so accustomed to living with Sakusa that he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he gets sent back to the beginning again.
Maybe reliving the same week isn’t that bad.
It can’t be worse than the way Sakusa used to look at him sometimes, a mixture of confusion and disgust that made Atsumu wonder if he’d ever be enough.
━━━━━━
After the first few days, he realizes the mundanity is almost too much to bear. There’s no unpredictability—he knows exactly what will happen when, and even Inunaki’s story about his cousin accidentally bleaching his eyebrows gets boring quickly.
It’s tiring, every day being the same, and that exhaustion quickly leaks into desperation.
For the first time, he starts to think of how to get out of the loop—if there even is a way out.
He reasons that there has to be something if he isn’t just losing his sanity and imagining everything. A message, or a lesson, or something he can change that will reset it.
━━━━━━
He almost goes stir-crazy racking his brain. While they’re packing up from practice, he’s so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear Hinata calling his name.
“…Atsumu-san?”
He’s startled. “Yeah? What?” He turns around and sees Hinata looking at him curiously. It clicks into place.
He can mouth along with the words before Hinata even finishes the sentence.
“Have you ever been in love?”
“I doubt it,” he returns automatically.
“Not even with Sakusa-san?”
At this point, he feels like he’s reciting a script every time he has to reply. “It’s complicated. I don’t want to rush into things.”
Hinata nods, eyes large. “That makes sense.”
Then, remembering Hinata probably expects him to ask about it: “Why the question? Somethin’ happen between you and Tobio?”
Hinata stumbles while unlacing his shoe. “Yeah,” he professes. “I’m planning to…tell him soon. And I want to be totally sure.”
Atsumu holds back a sigh. “If you want to say it, just say it,” he advises patiently. “If you’re already sure, I don’t think gettin’ input from other people will change your mind.”
Hinata tilts his head. “You’re right,” he says after a moment.
“Of course I’m right,” responds Atsumu jokingly. “Good luck, ‘kay?”
Hinata grins brightly. “Thanks, Atsumu-san! I’ll let you know how it goes.”
━━━━━━
Bokuto’s party comes. Atsumu receives the same fucking watch with the ticking that makes him uneasy and the hands moving backward and forward in tandem.
He tries to take his mind off everything, so after all the birthday formalities, he stuffs the watch into his bag and cracks open a can of mango White Claw that Bokuto has in the fridge because his taste in drinks never left university.
The alcohol hits him quickly. He comments now and then on Komori’s raccoon story, dons his new Onigiri Miya cap to do an Osamu impression, and giggles more than he probably ever has sober. It’s not long before he reaches the ‘sleepy drunk’ stage. He tips his head onto Sakusa’s shoulder, feeling a pleasant buzz.
Sakusa runs a hand up and down his back. “How much have you drunk?”
“Not that much,” he says fuzzily, “but I lost count.”
Before he hears Sakusa’s reply, he lists suddenly to one side and closes his eyes as his head touches the sofa cushion.
━━━━━━
Atsumu wakes up in Sakusa Kiyoomi’s bed.
He suppresses a groan as he sits up. Eight o’clock. September 28th. The same scenery, the same situation, like a hamster wheel without an exit. He’s so frustrated, he doesn’t even react to Sakusa’s good morning kiss.
He needs a way out—as soon as he can.
━━━━━━
“Atsumu-san, have you ever been in love?”
“Don’t think so,” he replies absently. “Why?”
Hinata launches into the same spiel about Kageyama.
Atsumu sits down and inspects the nametag on the back of his shirt. “If you really feel like that about him, it’s no one else’s place to say you’re wrong, right?”
Hinata nods eagerly. “Thank you, Atsumu-san.”
“No problem.”
“Are you sure you’ve never been in love before? I mean…there’s Sakusa-san, and you seem like you have experience with this, so—”
“I’m sure,” says Atsumu, cutting him off.
Here’s what he’s sure about: in his original life, in the other universe or dimension or whatever it is, it doesn’t matter whether it’s called love or not. Sakusa Kiyoomi would never want him anyway.
━━━━━━
At this point, it isn’t fun anymore. The elation he first felt turns into guilt, and apathy, and now he wants to find the solution so badly that he calls Osamu and says, “Can ya meet me tomorrow? I wanna talk ‘bout somethin’.”
Osamu answers, “Sounds mysterious.”
“Shut up, I need your help. When are you free?”
━━━━━━
A day later, he’s in the corner booth of Onigiri Miya with his forehead touching the table. In the thirty minutes it takes Osamu to clean up and close the shop for the night, Atsumu goes through more than twenty variations of ‘I’m in a time loop and I need to get out of it,’ trying to find one that doesn’t make him sound like he’s been watching too many science fiction movies.
He hears Osamu sit down opposite him and looks up.
From Osamu’s expression of pity, he must seem kind of pathetic.
(He’s lived through the same week four times—five, if he’s counting the first one where he wasn’t dating Sakusa. He has the right to be a little pathetic.)
“What’s goin’ on?” asks Osamu, propping his chin up on his hand.
“What would you say,” Atsumu blurts out, because he’s never been one for tactful openings, “if I told ya I was stuck in a time loop and needed to find a way to get out?”
Osamu laughs. “Can you—what are you talkin’ about?”
Atsumu looks at him, dead serious, and Osamu catches his eye. “I’m not kidding, ‘Samu,” he says. “I’m not kidding. I need help.”
Osamu leans back. “Explain it to me, then.”
Atsumu tells him all of it, starting at the very beginning: falling into an arrangement with Sakusa, his birthday party, the watch, finding himself in the previous week and now with Sakusa as his boyfriend. Living the same week over and over again with no sign of it stopping.
And after that, he goes into even more detail. That no matter what he does on the evening of his birthday, he always ends up in Sakusa’s bed on the morning of September 28th. The way he knows exactly what someone will say before they say it; how he’s had the same conversations with the same people over and over again, and it was bearable at first but the sheer monotony of it is killing him.
In the silence of the restaurant, his voice sounds even louder. Osamu levels a stare at him. “So how many times has this happened?”
“Four.”
“You’ve gone through the same week four times.”
“Technically five, but I guess the first one doesn’t count. Not proper, anyway.”
Osamu’s brows furrow beneath his baseball cap. “Okay.”
“Look,” Atsumu says, quickly losing patience, “just believe me. I know exactly what’ll happen tomorrow. I know you’re gonna give me an Onigiri Miya hat for my birthday so I can go out without bein’ recognized—I know, ‘Samu, I’m not makin’ this up. I know Inunaki’s gettin’ me hair dye and Sunarin has ‘forgotten’ to buy me a gift but really he just didn’t wanna spend extra money.”
Osamu’s mouth opens slightly. “If—if this is real, whaddya want me to do about it?”
“I mostly just had to tell someone,” admits Atsumu, “but I also need to find a way to break out of it.”
Osamu presses his lips together in contemplation. “Maybe there’s somethin’ you need to learn before you can go back,” he answers thoughtfully. “A life lesson.”
“How?”
“D’you remember anythin’ notable happening this week? Like an occasion where you were bein’ tested or challenged?”
Atsumu stares at the dark wood grooves in the table. “I mean, I don’t think so,” he says. “It’s all been pretty normal.”
Osamu’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he picks it up. “Sunarin’s comin’ over,” he says absent-mindedly, staring at the screen. “That okay with you?”
Atsumu shrugs. “Sure.”
Osamu leans forward and puts his phone away. “Anyway—back to this. It might have to do with Sakusa, right? ‘Cause according to you, ya weren’t datin’ in that other life. Or whatever.”
“I dunno. It’s not like we’ve been havin’ troubles. And we’re not really in a relationship—I mean, in my reality.”
“But you want to be,” notes Osamu.
Atsumu splutters. “I never said that,” he huffs. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
Snorting, Osamu rolls his eyes. “It’s obvious, ‘Tsumu. You’re not as slick as you think you are with your pining bullshit. I’ve only heard ya talkin’ ‘bout him for a few minutes and I can already tell.”
Atsumu deflates like a popped balloon. “Lay off me for one second, will ya?”
“Never.”
“What’s your point?” asks Atsumu testily.
“My point is that you should try to remember anythin’ you’ve done this week that’s Sakusa-related. Talkin’ to him, or talkin’ to other people ‘bout him—”
The bell on the door tinkles and both of them look up, startled.
“Am I intruding on something?” Suna says, eyebrow raised.
Atsumu shakes his head. “Nothin’. Hi, Sunarin. Why’re you here?”
Osamu grits his teeth. “Subtle much?”
Suna laughs and sits down next to Osamu. “I was hungry.”
“There’s food in the fridge upstairs,” Osamu tells him. “Don’t sleep too late, ‘kay?”
Suna nods and disappears up the stairs.
“You guys are disgusting,” remarks Atsumu. “What’s even goin’ on between you two?”
Osamu makes a face. “We’re doin’ better than you are.”
Atsumu nearly spits out that’s a fucking low bar before he realizes he’d be insulting himself more than Osamu. “Can we get back to the topic, please?” he grumbles.
Osamu shrugs. “You were the one who got us off-topic in the first place,” he points out reasonably. “But I was sayin’ you should think about the Sakusa-related stuff you’ve done this week. Anythin’ that could have to do with your relationship.”
“We’re living together, idiot. There’s not much I did this week that isn’t Sakusa-related.”
The sound of footsteps echoes and suddenly Suna appears in the doorway, looking mildly interested. “What’s going on?”
“‘Tsumu’s havin’ relationship issues,” Osamu answers for him, shooting Atsumu a pitying look. “We’re tryin’ to sort them out.”
Suna nods understandingly. “Don’t let people question your relationship, Atsumu,” he says wisely, but it’s undercut by the smirk on his face. “Have confidence in yourself.”
Atsumu grins, feeling unmoored. Suna seems like he’s sending a message of some kind, but Atsumu’s too lost to comprehend it. “Thanks, Suna. I appreciate it.”
Suna salutes lazily. “Night. Happy early birthday.”
Atsumu smiles. “Night.”
When he looks back, Osamu is tracing the pattern on the table, contemplative. “He’s got a point, y’know,” Osamu observes.
“Who?”
“Sunarin. About not questionin’ yourself—has anyone made you doubt your feelings? This week, I mean?”
Atsumu frowns. “No. I don’t think so. Besides…” he trails off. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Osamu echoes.
“Hinata,” he mumbles, “asked me if I’d ever been in love. And I said no. I mean, I kept sayin’ no. I’ve always said no. If—”
“You told the truth,” Osamu finishes for him. “Maybe you’ve just gotta be honest with yourself.”
“But Hinata…Hinata wouldn’t do somethin’ like that,” Atsumu responds, shelving the ‘love’ question for later. “Any sorta time travel shit—he’d never be able to keep quiet about it. We would all know if he could cause time loops, right?”
“Maybe it’s not about the person,” Osamu answers. “It could be the question, yeah? Or the situation. Anyone else could ask and it might be the same.”
Atsumu blinks. “Okay.”
Osamu waves a hand. “Just a theory. That part’s less important than actually gettin’ out of the loop. Has Hinata asked you yet, this week?”
“Yeah, two days ago.”
“So you go through this one more time, and next week you answer differently. Then see what happens.”
“Okay.” He moves to stand up, but falters. “‘Samu,” he says quietly.
“Hm?”
“If this works…what do I do after? It doesn’t matter that I’m bein’ honest with myself when Sakusa doesn’t even feel the same about me.”
Osamu closes his eyes. “And this is a serious fear you have?”
Atsumu lifts his shoulders. “Kinda.”
“I think,” Osamu begins, “whether or not he likes you—or he’s in love with you—it’s not as important as you acknowledgin’ those feelings exist. ‘Cause if he rejects you, you’ll still have gotten somethin’ out of it, right? You won’t be lying to yourself anymore. Besides,” he adds, eyes twinkling, “you might as well tell him. Whatever happens can’t be as bad as it is now.”
Atsumu punches him half-heartedly. “You’re terrible.”
Osamu chuckles. “Go home, ‘Tsumu. And get a good night’s sleep. You look awful.”
Atsumu flips him off. He pulls on his jacket to go home, and right before he’s about to push the door open, he turns his head. “Night, ‘Samu. Thanks for all the help.”
Osamu waves. “You’re welcome.”
━━━━━━
So now he has an idea of what to do. Now he has a better chance at getting out of this loop, but it also means he has to face what he’s been avoiding for as long as he can remember.
He’s in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi.
By itself, that isn’t the most shocking revelation; perhaps he’s known for a while, the thought slipping beneath his skin and into his bloodstream, an infection that’s foreign but impossible to isolate. Perhaps it’s been this way for a while.
The problem is that now he’s fully accepted it, there’s no way he can go back to Sakusa without doing something.
Realizing he’s in love with Sakusa brings to the surface all the emotions he’s kept buried.
He can’t go on like this. This—pressing finger-shaped bruises into Sakusa’s skin and watching Sakusa cover them up with his shirt hours later as he gets up to leave. Standing on the precipice of something new and known at the same time that he can’t let himself feel worthy of. Waiting helplessly as he feels himself fall in love with someone who would never want anything more from him. This.
And it’s not just watching from the sidelines, either. It’s knowing that in another universe, in another reality, Atsumu had more. He was more, to Sakusa, once upon a time, without guilt or hardship or shame, love that didn’t need a voice but was there all the same.
He arrives at Sakusa’s apartment late at night, twisting the key softly in the lock and pulling off his shoes. He hangs his volleyball jacket on the rack next to Sakusa’s and pads down the hall. It’s nearly silent; the only sounds are the trees rustling outside and cars driving past, their red lights awash with darkness.
Atsumu slides into bed, gathering up Sakusa in his arms and nuzzling into the exposed spot at the base of his neck.
“Where’d you go?” Sakusa mumbles against the pillow.
Atsumu kisses him lightly on the cheek. “Went to talk to ‘Samu about some stuff.”
Sakusa hums. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yeah,” answers Atsumu after a moment. “Yeah, actually.”
“I’m glad.”
Atsumu has to press his lips together to push down a grin. “Night, Omi.”
“Good night.”
Atsumu’s eyes sting as he wraps his arms around Sakusa tighter and thinks, I don’t know how I’ll ever let him go.
Sure—he’ll be glad to make it back home, glad to get out of this week-long cycle, but at least he has Sakusa here. At least here, Sakusa doesn’t refuse to look him straight in the eye or make a disgusted face if he’s being too loud.
Atsumu wants to go home, but he wishes he didn’t have to trade what he and Sakusa have now for it.
He doesn’t want to let go of this.
━━━━━━
The rest of the week is the same as usual. Atsumu goes to his (and Osamu’s) birthday party, and he doesn’t even bother trying to escape the loop. He puts the watch into his pocket as soon as he gets it, smiles when everyone sings Happy Birthday, laughs at Komori’s story, and passes out sometime around eleven, right in the middle of hearing Inunaki regale everyone with a tale about accidentally dying his sister’s hair orange.
He’s in Bokuto’s apartment. Then he isn’t.
━━━━━━
Atsumu wakes up in Sakusa Kiyoomi’s bed, and for once, his first reaction isn’t frustration, but relief. Relief that this might be the last time he finds himself in this situation. Relief that it’s all going to plan so far.
Sakusa rolls over, plants a kiss on his neck, and mumbles, “Good morning.” He opens his eyes to see Atsumu smiling, and frowns. “Why are you smiling so hard?”
Atsumu sticks out his tongue. “I think it’s gonna be a good day,” is all he says.
━━━━━━
That week, every moment takes on a different meaning. He savours the minutes knowing this is the last time Sakusa will be his, but he’s looking forward to getting to move past this week. To make it through the month.
━━━━━━
“Atsumu-san, have you ever been in love?”
Atsumu freezes, his whole body going cold. He’s been ready for days, but now that it’s here: now that he might have just been presented with an out, he can’t speak.
“Atsumu-san?” repeats Hinata, his voice and face as guileless as ever.
He opens and closes his mouth, heart seizing up—battering desperately against the sides of his ribcage in a chokehold. “Sorry,” he manages to get out. “Can you…repeat the question?”
Hinata nods. “Have you ever been in love?”
He swallows hard, studying the cracks in the locker room floor tile. “Um. I think I…”
“You don’t have to answer!” Hinata hastens to clarify. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I wanted to—”
“No,” says Atsumu loudly. “I mean—no. Sorry, Shouyou. I’m just trying to collect my thoughts, y’know?”
Hinata nods.
“Once,” Atsumu whispers. His voice echoes around the locker room. “I’ve been in love once.”
Hinata tilts his head. “With Sakusa-san?”
Atsumu smiles. “Yeah,” he admits. “I can’t imagine…not being in love with him.”
Love, or something close to it: Sakusa’s sleepy grin in the morning and the soft light in his eyes, warm with tenderness. The little sound he makes as he yawns. The moles freckling his back and the slope of his nose in the twilight and him, all the atoms, the artless structures that make up Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Hinata looks at him carefully. “How do you…how did you know?”
Atsumu hums. “I don’t think it’s somethin’ you know. It’s more like—all the evidence stacks up until ya can’t ignore it anymore. You realize it slowly, y’know?”
Hinata’s eyes are wide. “That makes sense.”
Atsumu chuckles as he walks out of the locker room, feeling like the vice grip around his heart has lessened, if only slightly. “Good luck, Shouyou-kun.”
Hinata makes a noise of confusion. “But I didn’t tell you why—”
The door closes.
━━━━━━
The morning of his birthday party comes. Sakusa is sitting at the breakfast table when Atsumu finally stumbles out of bed.
“Happy birthday,” he says over his cup of tea. “Twenty-six years old.”
Atsumu makes a sound of affirmation. “Mornin’, Omi.” He walks up and rests his chin on top of Sakusa’s head.
“You’re really happy today,” notes Sakusa.
Atsumu grins. “It’s my birthday, can’t I be happy?”
Sakusa rolls his eyes, but the beginnings of a smile dance across his lips. “Whatever.”
This is what Atsumu thinks he’ll remember, when he’s back home: Sakusa’s smile, sleep-softened; glasses perched on his nose bridge, the frames creaking gently as he adjusts them; his hair splayed out against the pillow and his eyes bright with something an awful lot like love, spreading through time and space. The ends and the means, and all of it love.
How Sakusa says aloud the things Atsumu tries to hold back. The soft tilt of his mouth in half-exasperation. The way he greets Atsumu in the morning, reshaping every moment of their history into a single hello.
“Love you,” Atsumu tells him, kissing his head softly.
Sakusa turns around. A funny look flashes across his face—surprise, maybe, but it’s gone within seconds. “Love you too.”
━━━━━━
That night, Atsumu sits on the balcony, inspecting the watch in his hand. Voices filter out the sliding door.
A pair of footsteps approach behind him, in a familiar rhythm that’s practically second nature to identify.
“Hey, ‘Samu.”
Osamu’s face comes into his line of sight. “Hey. You havin’ fun?”
Atsumu nods. He clenches his palm and slips the watch into his pocket. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You seemed kinda eager to get out of there.”
Atsumu shrugs. A speck of dust blows off the balcony railing. “Just wanted some time away, y’know?”
“Want me to get Sakusa for ya?”
He shakes his head. “That’s okay. Feel free to sit down, though,” he adds, gesturing to the other chair.
Osamu sits. “What’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem.”
“Then why’re ya actin’ so moody?”
Atsumu focuses on the stars, faint in the late-dusk light. “I dunno. There’s somethin’ I need to do, and like—I know I gotta do it. But I’m still scared.”
“Scared how?”
“Like I don’t think it’s gonna go well. Like I’ll do somethin’ I regret.”
Osamu squints. “You won’t know until you try.”
Atsumu sighs. “I guess so. But—”
“So if this is gonna happen sooner or later, you might as well do what’s right at the moment, yeah?” Osamu says rhetorically. “Worryin’ about stuff that hasn’t happened yet isn’t helping you.” He leans back. “I think you should keep doing what’s best for you, even if you think ya might regret it later. Eventually it’ll sort itself out.”
Atsumu smiles slightly. “Okay. Thanks, ‘Samu. I appreciate it.”
Osamu smacks the back of his head lightly. “Happy twenty-sixth birthday, idiot.”
“Right back at you.”
━━━━━━
That night, he falls asleep on Sakusa’s shoulder, the ticking of the pocket watch matching his heartbeat.
━━━━━━
Atsumu wakes up in a bathroom. Upon closer inspection (seeing the ‘coloured hair’ shampoo lining the bathtub, plus the hair gel brand that Bokuto did a sponsorship for next to the sink), he realizes whose bathroom it is, and maybe that means—
Maybe that means it worked.
Maybe it worked, he thinks, hardly able to contain his relief.
He pushes open the door and heads down the hallway.
Everyone’s seated at the table eating cake, the same places they were in when he first left. Atsumu, finally, lets himself breathe.
“Why were ya in the toilet so long?” Osamu asks, teasing.
Atsumu makes a face at him. “Shut up. D’ya know where Omi is?” he says, looking around and noticing that Sakusa is conspicuously absent.
Everyone shakes his head and Komori looks up. “Oh, Kiyoomi went home,” he says casually. “Said he was tired.”
“How long ago?”
Komori frowns. “Ten minutes?”
He moves to the entrance automatically and pulls on his shoes. “I’m gonna go find him. Thanks, guys. I had a great time!”
Bokuto waves. “Bye, Tsum-Tsum!”
He runs as fast as he can to the train station. The next train to Sakusa’s apartment comes in ten minutes, and Atsumu can’t miss it—he’ll lose his nerve soon if he doesn’t just say it.
He stumbles his way through the entrance and the turnstile, onto the train platform. “Omi!” he calls when he sees Sakusa.
Sakusa turns around, eyes widening. “Atsumu, what the fuck are you—”
“I need to tell you something,” he says hastily. “I just—I know it’s late, and you’re probably too tired to put up with my bullshit, but I’m never gonna say it if I don’t right now.”
Sakusa quickly smooths out his face. “Say it, then.”
“I—” Atsumu stops. The space behind his eyes stings and he blinks hard. “D’you ever feel like you’re being selfish?”
Sakusa’s eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
“Like ya want more from someone than they can give you,” clarifies Atsumu.
A train rushes past. Both of them ignore it.
“I don’t follow.”
“There’s this guy,” Atsumu blurts out, and Sakusa’s mouth tightens, “that I’ve liked for a really long time. God knows how long,” he adds, a little helpless. “And I never thought he’d even look at me. Then something happened. He started sleepin’ over and we were having sex sometimes and that was nice and all but I wanted more,” he says quietly. “I want more. I always have.”
Their train arrives; the doors open.
Sakusa’s gaze is indecipherable. “Your point?”
“Would you—could you give me that?” Atsumu replies, his voice catching. “Is that too much to ask?”
“I still don’t get what’s—”
“I like you,” Atsumu says, flinching a little when Sakusa scowls. “I mean…love. I love you. I’m sorry if I’m comin’ off too strong, ‘cause I know this was out of nowhere, but—”
“What kind of joke are you playing?”
Atsumu frowns. “It’s not a joke,” he insists, hurt by the implication. “I’m serious.”
Sakusa’s mouth opens. Closes. “You’re an idiot,” he says shortly.
“C’mon Omi. Cut me some slack here.”
“Yeah,” answers Sakusa, for once seemingly speechless. “I mean…I didn’t know,” he says faintly. “I should have. I should have said something.”
“Am I being selfish?” whispers Atsumu. “Is it okay for me to ask this much? Is it okay to want more?"
Sakusa laughs helplessly. “Don’t you think I’ve been asking myself the same thing? For months now. I’ve wanted this. I do—I want it.” He steps forward, and Atsumu sees the look in his eyes: one of determination as he steps forward.
Sakusa’s lips are chapped and dry, but Atsumu doesn’t care. He pours everything into the kiss, nights of heartache left voiceless and reaching out in the morning to find that Sakusa is already gone and all the rest.
“This is kinda premature," he mumbles against Sakusa’s mouth, "but is it okay to say I think I love you?"
He doesn’t expect a response, so it doesn’t bother him when he’s met with only silence.
But five minutes later, after they’ve pulled apart and are sitting on the bench together waiting for the next train, Sakusa whispers, “You too.”
Atsumu can’t hold back the smile splitting across his face.
━━━━━━
“Hey,” he says suddenly, sprawled across the sofa in Sakusa’s living room. “D’you have the address of the place you bought me that watch? For my birthday?”
Sakusa looks up, mouth parting slightly. “I think so. I’ll text it to you.”
━━━━━━
A month later, Atsumu is in Yokohama, on the street Sakusa told him he bought the watch.
The antique store is a hole-in-the-wall place, the sign paint peeling and the wall plaster cracking. He walks through the door.
“Hello?”
An elderly woman stands up behind the counter. “Good afternoon. What are you looking for today?”
He hesitates. “Uh, I’m not actually lookin’ to buy anything. I just came to ask a question.”
She nods. “What’s your question?”
“Um. Do you ever…” he closes his mouth, feeling more foolish by the second. “I got this watch from here for my birthday.” He pulls it out of his pocket and shows it to her.
Her eyes brighten in understanding. “And? How do you like it?”
He sighs. “This is going to sound stupid, but I think it—messed with time. Because I kept getting sent back in time.”
She doesn’t move.
He musters up a grin. “Never mind. Sorry for botherin’ you.”
He shoves the watch back into his jacket and turns around to leave.
“Sometimes time will do that.”
He freezes. “Excuse me?”
“We all have things to learn,” she adds calmly. “This watch just gave you a push in the right direction. A second chance, perhaps. And a third. And a fourth. I hope that answers your question.”
“Will it happen again?” he asks.
She shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe when you need it most.”
Atsumu swallows. “Okay. Thank you.”
The watch is heavy, a weight he’s all too aware of. But it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would, and neither does the idea that maybe it’ll happen a second time.
He steps out into the street, sea air ruffling his hair. Right now, he doesn’t need anything else.
━━━━━━
I imagine that hour in the graveyard of dead poets
we ran out of screaming when lightning French-kissed
the thunder, angels flashing hot white, tangled up
in this sky of so much we didn’t do, all the forever
we have now to show for it.